Jarrick stiffened. “You know I am a merchant of an upstanding house.”
The trader gave him a disdainful glance. “I know that’s the name you use.” He shrugged. “Though I’ll grant, you might or might not be Jarrick Roald, but you’re either a supreme actor or a shame-ridden brother—elder, I’d guess. And I’d put my money you’re not an actor.”
Jarrick stared at him. “I am the elder brother. How...?”
“You’re a merchant; you study faces for a living as well. Perhaps I need to see more, to know which slaves will work well and which will require restraint or coercion. It was simple enough to watch you together. If you’d invented this play, you would not be so boneheaded in going about it. You would be more of a hero to your brother and less of an arse.”
Jarrick blinked. “What—how can you—”
Matteo shrugged. “I don’t pretend to be privy to what goes on between you. But your brother isn’t overjoyed to be rescued, if that’s indeed what’s happening. I don’t think he trusts you. And that’s reason enough for me not to trust you either, which is why that slave will remain in chains until we reach our destination.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE OVERSEER NODDED toward Luca and Andrew as well as the big demoted slave and the thin man who’d arrived with him. “Up front. You’ll pull the next leg.”
Luca’s stomach sank. As a privately owned slave, he’d thought he’d be exempt from the caravan’s draft work.
“Move!” A hand slapped the back of his head and shoved him forward.
There were crossbars for four draft slaves, in pairs. Luca and Andrew were directed to the wheel positions, with the big slave directly before Luca. Andrew was footsore and tired even in the mornings, and the overseers were particularly hard on the big man; they would be watched closely and driven hard.
Chains were run from the crossbar through the rings on Luca’s wrists. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping to see Jarrick arguing with Trader Matteo, but there was only another overseer taking a switch from the wagon bed. Luca caught his breath and faced forward.
“Move out,” came the order, and Luca leaned into the crossbar. His wrists flexed and swelled against the cuffs and there was an awful moment when the wagon hung motionless behind them, but then the load shifted and began to move. Luca hoped it would roll easily, that it had just been difficult to start, but the weight dragged behind them.
Andrew made a small sound, and when Luca glanced at him, his face was tense with strain. “I can’t do this,” he breathed. “I can’t do this all day.”
“Keep your weight low and forward,” advised the big slave in front of Luca. “Yesterday’s soreness will loosen in a few minutes. Keep breathing, slow and deep. Shallow will hurt you.”
Luca’s legs were beginning to burn. Privately he shared Andrew’s fear he would not last before the heavy wagon. Renner’s tinker cart had not been so solid. He shifted his hands on the crossbar and wondered where Jarrick was in the caravan. Did he know Luca had been pressed into labor?
Big drops of rain began to fall, chilling as they splattered over shoulders and arms. They were all breathing hard now, blowing in unison as they stepped together.
The rain increased, a steady downfall which made their drenched clothing cling to their tired legs. Luca ducked his head and pushed blindly, trusting the slaves in front to keep the pace and distance from the line before them.
The road angled upward, and Andrew gave a small despairing moan.
“Keep with us,” Luca told him with more encouragement than he felt. “We’ll manage.” Andrew nodded, his breath puffing white.
Luca licked his lips, tasting rainwater, but it did not satisfy him. When had they stopped to water the draft slaves the previous day?
A faint whistle gave a split second of warning before a switch fell across the big slave’s back, spattering Luca with water and making the slave jerk and gasp. Luca recoiled from the switch so near his face, and the overseer snapped, “To work!” and struck Luca, the switch biting through his sodden shirt to his cold skin. Luca yelped and threw himself forward. He had not even heard the man’s approach in the rain.
“No slowing,” grumbled the overseer. He struck the big slave again. “Move!”
Luca sucked air between his teeth. It would sting hotly for minutes yet, and on his cold back it seemed to bite deeper. He hunched his shoulders, trying to ease the feeling, but it only made pushing more difficult.
Trader Matteo came alongside the wagon, wrapped in an oiled cloak. “There’s a steep run ahead,” he told the nearest overseer.
Luca’s heart sank. Steep? How steep?
“I expect some trouble with this lot. That lean one in front had trouble moving a single, which is why I had him for so little. The other of course is more used to directing than to pulling his own weight, so keep an eye on him for shirking.”
“I’m doing my best,” the slave volunteered from the shafts.
The overseer slashed the switch across his shoulders. “Keep to your work.”
“Easy,” chided Matteo. “You can strip the shirt off his back if he gives you real trouble, but save your strength until then.” He splashed off through the slick mud. “Keep them moving.”
This was not one of the good army roads, but mixed dirt and gravel, becoming sticky without a drainage ditch alongside. Luca slipped and caught at the crossbar, missing a step with the others. He stumbled and found the rhythm again.
“...how you fare!” The thin slave was saying something to the big slave. It was hard to hear over the rain and the mud sucking at their feet. “...mud and the wagon...”
The big slave gave him a dark look. The road turned and Luca’s heart sank as he saw the first wagon above them on the hill.
The thin slave bit off a sharp, sibilant epithet and the big man threw him a furious glare. Andrew began to pant as they tackled the incline, and the wagon grew heavier in the mud. The overseer glanced to the rear of the wagon. “You in the line! Push!”
Luca bent over the crossbar, his chest nearly against his shackled wrists. He heard the dull slap of the switch in the line behind them. Sharp fear cut through his torso and tasted of steel in his mouth. The wagon dragged.
Andrew was lagging. Luca glanced toward him. “Come on.” Andrew rolled his eyes toward Luca in worried reply, his breath coming too fast to speak. There was another snap and yelp behind them.
“How do you like it?” growled the black-haired slave unevenly. They were no longer breathing in rhythm. “Slipping in the mud, the switch about your ears—how now?” He stumbled and caught himself.
“Shut up,” panted the big slave. “If you’d been worth half—”
“Faster!” The switch whistled into the big slave’s back, making him and Luca flinch together. “Put your backs in it!”
The switch cut through Luca, biting deep. He gasped and stumbled. The chains jerked against his wrists as he missed a step, and the switch lashed across him again as he tried to regain his footing and tempo. Then it stretched across and struck Andrew. “Get to work!”
Luca scrabbled in the mud and strained at the crossbar, his panicky mind capable of nothing beyond escaping the switch, moving forward to make it stop, make it stop...!
There was a cry from several voices behind the wagon and then a tremendous jerk as the wagon dragged backward. The overseer wheeled, cursing, and started for the rear. “Get up! Get untangled! What’s the matter with you stupid clumsy—”
They heaved at the crossbars, trying to restart the wagon’s progress uphill. Luca’s breath scraped in his throat. The big slave grunted as he pushed, looking about him for help or the switch.
The thin slave slipped in the mud. “This is your doing, all of it! I hope they flog—”
The big slave twisted and lunged, catching him at the range of his chains. The wagon hesitated as he jerked the slave toward him and drove his face into the crossbar.
Luca shrank back in horror as the slave fell
away from the bar, eyes rolling. The big man seized him and punched him, his movements short and confined. He struck again and once more as the other tried to shield himself with shackled arms.
The overseer was shouting beside Luca, flailing the switch. Luca ducked against the shaft, hiding from the fight and the wand that cut indiscriminately over them. More voices joined the shouting and bodies closed around them. Someone kicked Luca hard in the thigh. Then there was a roar of general triumph and the space over Luca cleared.
“Got him!”
“Bring a whip.”
“If he’ll attack another in harness—”
Blood ran over Luca’s cheek where the switch had caught him.
“—come right at someone—”
“He came with his back—”
Luca cautiously raised his head and looked into the enraged eyes of the big slave. He’d been dragged over the crossbar so he now faced the wagon, his crossed wrists tangled in the chains so he hugged the bar awkwardly. A man was twisting a belt about his folded leg, bound about the ankle and thigh, leaving him precariously balanced. The slave looked over his shoulder, his face contorted and reddened. “Get off me!”
“Here.” One of the overseers uncoiled a whip with a toss of his wrist. “Master said we could strip his shirt if he gave us trouble.”
The slave snarled. “Do your worst! You’d never dare if I weren’t chained.”
“Do it now. The line’s already stopped.”
Luca shrank back, but he was chained in place. He would be face to face with the bound slave as he was flogged.
The slave twisted, but he had only one leg to balance, and he fell against the crossbar. Chains tightened and scraped along his arms as he swore. The gathered crowd spread apart a little distance and the overseer swung. The lash whistled and buried itself in his back, making him grunt.
“Strip him!” someone called.
The second blow ripped fabric as the lash came free. The slave writhed and fell, dangling from the crossbar and the chains about his forearms. The whip came again and wrapped about his torso.
“Stop!” cried Luca, clawing at the crossbar. “Stop it!”
Someone laughed. “He’s not even tasting it himself.” The whip lashed the slave again.
“Stop! Please!” Luca gasped for air. “Don’t do this.”
“And why would we listen to you?” Someone stepped forward and reached for Luca. “We can knock you down a few pegs, too.”
“No!” Luca jerked his head from the grasping hand. “No, I’ll buy him. Let him be.”
There was a moment of stunned silence and then a sudden outburst of howling laughter. “You’ll buy him! If you had the means, you’d have yourself out of those chains, huh?”
“I am in earnest!” Luca’s voice shook. “Where is the trader?”
“I’m here.” Trader Matteo pushed forward from the crowd. “I’m curious—what’s your proposal? And it’d better be good, or tack-on or no, you’ll pay for interrupting fair discipline.”
Luca gulped. “Let me buy him. I’m good for it—or Jarrick is, you know that. I can pay for him, especially what he’ll be worth when they’re finished with him. You’ll lose money on him like this. Sell him to me.”
The overseers had fallen silent, amazed their master had even answered. They stared between them.
Matteo seemed amused. “You’re a slave until we cross the border. You have no property to offer and can own no slave yourself.”
Luca dug his nails into the crossbar and held Matteo’s eyes. “Jarrick!”
There was a long pause, a pause which iced Luca’s blood, but then Jarrick answered from the side. “I can act as his agent today and hold the slave in my name.”
Matteo nodded once to Jarrick and turned back to Luca. “I paid eight hundred for him.”
Luca took an unsteady breath. “He won’t sell for half that if he’s freshly flogged. Six hundred for him as he is.”
Matteo laughed aloud. “Look at the man, haggling over price from his own chains! I have to admire your audacity—but even that is not worth a difference of two hundred. I could keep him until his back closed and sell him at a profit. He has muscle enough, and with proper training I might even sell him again as an overseer or stockman. That could be two thousand, if he learns his lessons well.”
“If he learns his lessons well. But he’s under the whip even now, and only a few days after his previous master sold him freshly beaten for intractability. Will you pay for his keep and recovery on the hope that you can recoup your costs, or will you take the sure sale now?”
Matteo grinned. “I could argue further with you—or, slave, I could use other advantages in this market. But we’ve delayed long enough, and I would just as soon be rid of something with an unhealthy temper. Eight hundred, so I lose none of his price, and his labor until we arrive, to pay the cost of his feed. What do you say, from your chains?”
Luca forced words through his tight throat. “Eight hundred and his labor. But he will be less useful freshly whipped, and I’ll want him to do his share of the work rather than leave me to do it without him. He continues his labor directly.”
“And if he proves troublesome again?”
“Then I’ll see to him, or I’ll turn him over to your overseers, paying the usual fee for their service.”
Matteo laughed and nodded. “Good enough. Put that rock-brained hothead back in his place beside his new master and get these wagons started again. Water break on the downside of this hill, if anyone even needs it in this wet.” He glanced up the hill road. “No, it’s this cursed mud. We’ll change everyone at the break. Tell them they’ve only to make it to the top, and then we’ll change.” He waved. “Move!”
Two overseers stayed to unbind the slave’s leg as the others scattered. He glared at them, jaw muscles visibly clenched, and tensed.
“Try it,” sneered one overseer. He freed the short cudgel in his belt. “Come on, then—try it.”
“Hey!” Luca tried to interrupt.
One of the overseers turned to him. “You’re still chained here, pulling this wagon, too.”
“So I am.” Luca squared his shoulders. “But in a few days, I’ll be out of these chains. And then I might take it into my head to buy you, too.”
The overseer hesitated and then turned with a huff back to the slave. “Watch your step. You owe good labor, and we won’t stand for any stupidity.”
The other moved to retrieve his switch from the ground. “And you,” he addressed the dark-haired slave, “you’d better work proper, too.”
The slave rubbed blood from his nose, smearing it beneath his swelling eye.
“Now, get to work, and if this wagon doesn’t get up this hill, I’ll skin you all, no matter what you are. Move!”
Luca’s legs seemed locked in place, and for a desperate moment he thought he couldn’t take a step. Then he moved and they nearly collapsed beneath him, and he clutched at the crossbar to steady himself. But the fear and horror and bravado ran liquidly out of him, and he bent to his work as before.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ARIANA KNOCKED ON THE silver-painted door and hoped Elysia Parma was not in.
Unfortunately, the Silver Mage answered the door and beckoned her inside. “Come in, Ariana.”
She obeyed. “I’m sure you have many important things to do,” she said, trying to gesture and cross her arms at the same time. “And—”
“I do, many important things, and this is one of them,” Elysia Parma said firmly.
This line of protest would be futile. “Then—but what if this doesn’t work?”
Mage Parma led the way to a table with an array of objects and turned to face her. “What if it does?”
Ariana had no answer to that.
“Sit down, and let’s start.”
The objects on the table were an unlit candle with a blackened wick, a book, and a collection of colored beads. Ariana recalled similar items from her earliest days o
f training, when she had to kneel on her chair to see the surface of her father’s work table.
“You said magic in the Ryuven world was overwhelming,” Elysia Parma said. “You had to be protected from it, and then you finally used it, but only on a large scale. You manipulated great amounts of overwhelming power. No fine control work.”
“That’s right.” Ariana rubbed her palms across her robe. “Do you think I burned out my ability with Ryuven magic? Is that possible?”
“We wouldn’t know if it’s possible,” Elysia said gently, “until it happened, and you would be the first, as you are the first to survive the Ryuven world’s magic. But I don’t think that should be our first assumption.”
Ariana realized she had unconsciously folded her leg beneath her, as if to boost her height, and she adjusted her position.
Mage Parma continued, “I think you learned to protect yourself by shutting off your skill, so you would not be buried by the more powerful foreign magic. Now that you are home, where magic is more subtle, you have blocked yourself from sensing the more delicate strands.”
Ariana shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the case. I helped with the shield.”
“Where you suffered another fright—with good reason—and probably strengthened whatever barrier you’d erected. And you said the magic was more tiring, perhaps because you weren’t drawing power enough for it?”
Ariana did not want to think on this. “You’re telling me this is all in my mind.”
Mage Parma quietly snorted. “All magic is in the mind, as is every other intention we have. If you were unwilling to put weight on a broken leg, that would also be in your mind, but it wouldn’t mean it was without cause.” She tapped a stack of papers into order. “But neither should one assume the leg could never be walked on again, without teaching the mind to test it and assess it and progress on it.”
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