Luca lifted his chin. It was not Falten Isen standing before him, but Shianan Becknam. As you like. I am going to swing at you; you may block or not as it pleases you. Luca shifted his grip and lifted the staff.
Isen met his slow attack without hesitation, moving without speed but smoothly and powerfully. He did not seem to use much strength, but the weight of his body was behind each movement. Shianan would have approved. Luca responded as best he could, struggling to match Isen’s movements. Minutes passed as they moved about each other in a slow rhythm of patterned combat.
And then Isen paused, tipping his staff upward. He was breathing hard and a sheen of sweat covered his face. “Flames, I am not fit for this.” He laughed, panting. “I may not be able to call that physician a fool to his face after all.”
Luca smiled. “Are we finished, then?”
“Not yet, if you please. I only want a breather.” Isen leaned on his staff. “After this I’ll need Marla to piece me together again.”
Luca glanced away.
Isen scratched at his chin, thoughtful. “Fine woman, Marla. I hope she kept you well during your stay?”
“Of course.” Luca examined the grain of his staff, wondering if he dared ask the questions in his mind.
“You’re in merchanting, aren’t you?” Isen moved stiffly to the bench and faced Luca as he sat.
Luca’s resolve stiffened. He could not give up such an opening. “Actually, I know the man in Alham who signed the contract with Jarrick Roald.”
“Do you?”
“I was thinking of going to Alham myself, finding a place there in business,” Luca said, hoping he did not sound nearly so awkward as he felt. “I thought—I wondered if you might need an assistant, maybe just to start, when you go.”
Isen did not seem offended at the question. “Well, if you already know the city and the man I must work with, that would be a help.”
“I know Commander Becknam, but I suspect you’ll be doing most of your trade with someone else. He was only the man to sign the new contract—but he’s a fighter, not a bean-counter.”
Isen laughed. “Good to know. I hear you can’t pull anything over on him, though.”
Luca smiled despite himself.
“I don’t know that there would be enough work to require a partner—”
“Assistant.”
“—at least at first. But I see no reason we couldn’t travel together, and you could introduce me in Alham.”
Luca’s stomach sank. He could not introduce Isen in Alham, not to anyone who mattered.
“And we could see what might work out, as far as working together goes.” Isen smiled.
Luca tried to return the smile, but it felt weak on his face. He should not have asked, should not have pretended to be more than he was. Now Isen would expect more, now Luca would be humiliated when they got to Alham, now Luca must find an excuse to retract his words.
Isen moved the staff in his fingers, watching it. “Let’s spar, something nearer a real fight.”
Luca’s heart quickened, and he waved away the words with a false grin. “Oh, no.”
“I’m in earnest. It would be good for both of us.”
It would be good for neither of them. “But I may not fight you, my lord.”
“Certainly you may. Half-cripple against half-trained; it’s a fitting match. Do you agree?”
Every law of hospitality compelled him to agree. Luca resigned himself to a quick loss. “Just one round, my lord.”
“Good enough.” Isen stood slowly, his weight on his staff. “Are you ready?”
Luca lifted his staff so that it paralleled the tile floor, one end tipped toward Isen. “I’m ready.”
Isen’s staff whipped from its place as his crutch and spun into Luca’s, jarring it loose in Luca’s grasp. Luca recoiled, clenching his staff and jerking it to vertical to block Isen’s backswing as he backed away.
His knees had been unprotected when Isen attacked—the man had chosen to surprise Luca into movement without striking him.
Luca retreated across the roof, blocking Isen’s blows and acutely aware that he was not fast enough, that his opponent was deliberately pulling his attacks to allow Luca time to respond. Luca’s mind was empty, he could think of no action to oppose or counter the onslaught. He could only react, and too slowly.
And then Isen whirled his staff overhead and swept it downward toward Luca’s head with a sharp angry shout. Terror took Luca. His legs folded and he dropped to the tile, cringing. Air brushed his ducked face as the staff hissed past. Isen reversed the staff and brought it against Luca’s naked neck, arresting its movement so that it just rested there.
Luca could not move. He could not make himself move. He could feel the staff against his neck, but he dared not shift, dared not—
“Oh sweet fate,” Isen murmured. He withdrew the staff and stepped closer to Luca, extending a hand. “Here, son.”
Luca stared numbly at the open hand.
“Here, come on, then.” Isen flexed his fingers and nodded. “Up.”
Luca reached obediently for the hand and stood stiffly, muscles cracking with the movement.
“Breathe, son,” Isen prompted, his hands on Luca’s shoulders. “Breathe.”
Luca stared at Isen. “I—I...”
“Sweet fate, I didn’t know it would be like that. Here, walk a bit.”
Luca pulled away, hot with shame. He had collapsed and cowered, nothing more than a slave to be beaten.
Isen sighed and started forward, leading Luca about the roof. “I thought—but I did not think it would be—I’m sorry, son. I am.”
Luca tried to swallow, but his dry throat constricted.
Isen leaned on his staff. “Who gave you your training?”
Why did he ask?
“You had a good instructor, for what you had. Your defense is not fluent, but it is accurate enough, if slow. I wondered who it was who taught you.”
Luca took a steadying breath. “Commander Shianan Becknam, in Alham. He is also called the Count of Bailaha.”
“Becknam?” Isen moved deliberately away and sat on the bench, giving Luca space. “I thought the man who trained you had died.”
“No,” Luca said quickly. “He hasn’t died. I only left Alham.”
“And the man who signed the Roalds’ contract is the man who trained you. That’s how you know him.”
Luca nodded.
“Well, that makes sense. But I thought you had been in the east? Or was that after you left Alham?” Isen’s voice suggested that he already knew the answer.
“I was not in the east,” admitted Luca.
“I see.” Isen sat back on the bench. “You were not a soldier under Becknam.”
It was not a question. Luca shook his head unhappily.
“If you were not a soldier, why was he teaching you to fight?”
He knew. Surely he knew. “I—I don’t know, my lord.”
“He did not give you a reason?”
“He said once that he did not want someone helpless at his back, that it was no protection. But I do not know...”
“That was a generous offer, from a military man.” Isen held Luca’s eyes.
Luca slumped. “And one who was at Furmelle.” There was little left to hide, it seemed.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Luca’s breathing slowed, and his legs seemed more stable, but the humiliation threatened to smother him.
At last Isen broke the quiet. “When you left Alham and ended your training—did you come with Jarrick Roald?”
“Yes.”
The next words were gentler in tone. “Did you know that Jarrick Roald had a younger brother?”
Luca swallowed. “Yes.”
Isen’s expression softened. “Is your name truly Dom Nerrin, son?”
Luca shook his head.
Isen sighed. “I’m glad for Jarrick. He’s hidden it well, but he’s worried over you since—you left. Welcome home, I should sa
y.”
“Home is not welcoming,” Luca muttered.
“I see. I am most sorry for that.” Isen sighed again. “Marla knows.”
“She told you?”
“No, she didn’t. But her certainty of your character made me wonder about you. Your covering yourself, your deference—you do say ‘my lord’ when you’re unprepared, are you aware? I’m only a merchant, you know, as are you.
“And then I thought of Jarrick’s brother. I only guessed this hour. I saw that faint band yet marking your wrists. It’s nearly gone, so I could have been mistaken. But then in our match...” He shook his head. “Flames, I’m sorry. I did not mean—I would not have—I’m sorry.”
Luca closed his eyes, his face burning with shame. “I’m not much of a fighter, you see.”
“To the contrary, your commander did a splendid job. I meant what I said about your defense. But you did not spar with him, and you did not learn how to face down intimidation.” He smiled. “But you did remember to shield yourself with your staff as you—fell. And your defense never collapsed into flailing. In what capacity were you with Commander Becknam?”
“I was his personal servant.”
“How did you find him?”
“My lord?”
“Hear yourself? But I meant to ask, what kind of man is he? I have heard many stories.”
Luca straightened. “He is a good man, a very fair man. He deserves better than what he has. He is an excellent soldier by others’ accounts, but I am no judge of that.”
Isen smiled. “A hero off the field as well, eh?”
“I’m going back to Alham,” Luca said suddenly. “He is my friend—my only friend, it seems. Now that I have no obligations here or elsewhere, I will go to my friend.”
Isen looked at him. “May I speak bluntly?”
Luca smiled bitterly and gave an exaggerated shrug. “I think it’s clear I have no pride to protect.”
“Well, then, if you have been a slave in Alham, why would you return there?”
Luca drew a slow breath. “I have been a slave in Alham and in Furmelle, in Davan, across the Faln Plateau, and here on the Wakari Coast. It is not my place on the map which concerns me, but my place in this world.”
“And you feel that is in a foreign land.”
“I feel I am a stranger here in my homeland.”
“I see.” Isen offered neither criticism nor pity. “I hope, then, that your commander will recognize and welcome you, though he knew you only as a slave.”
“He will know me,” Luca answered confidently. “I only worry that he will be angry at my return. It was he who sent me from Alham.”
“And yet you want to rejoin him?”
“He knew I could be freed beyond the border. It is illegal to free a slave there, since the rebellions.”
“I see.” Isen regarded Luca. “Then I hope to one day give Commander Becknam my regards. I never met him in our joint efforts against the Ryuven, though I heard much of him. And I will tell him, if you like, that I think he is an excellent instructor as well.”
Luca gave a sardonic smile. “Even though I clearly failed in our match?”
“It was an unfair match, son. Your instructor may have been a commander, but you yourself are no soldier, and your opponent was once a captain.” He smiled gently. “That move is intended to disrupt and intimidate.”
Luca glanced down, humiliated. “As it did.”
Isen shook his head. “Don’t feel too bad, son. It sounds as though you’ve had a steep week. And if I may say for myself, facing Captain Isen, even as a cripple, is no simple task.”
Cole appeared at the steps. “Your supper is ready, my lords.”
“Thank you,” Isen said after a moment. Luca realized dully that he should have been the one to respond, as Cole’s duty was to him, but he had unthinkingly waited for Isen. He clenched his fists, disgusted with himself.
Isen rose, leaning on his staff. “Thank you for helping me to exercise. Come, let’s go down and dine.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
LUCA DRUMMED HIS FINGERS as he stared unseeing at Isen’s desktop. Surely in Alham there would be someone who needed an accountant or bookkeeper. And with Cole’s additional forty pias a month, they would be able to afford a small set of rooms.
Cole was seated in another room with a needle and thread, repairing his torn shirt more properly. Luca didn’t know what work the slave would find, but he would do his best, working toward his freedom.
Isen glanced up from his book as Marla entered. “You didn’t need to bring anything, but thank you.”
“I included some willow bark with yours,” she explained, offering him a steaming cup. She turned to Luca. “And this is for you, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
She turned back to Isen. “If we’re going to Alham... That’s not so far from where I was born, just a day or so. Could I go and see my mother? And see if there’s word of Demario?”
“Of course, if it’s so close.”
“Thank you!”
Isen glanced to Luca. “Have you decided, yet?”
He didn’t know how to admit he was deciding solely by his friends’ residency. “Alham’s the place that makes most sense. I don’t know any villages other than Fhure, and I don’t—”
Marla’s eyes widened. “How do you know Fhure?”
“My former master’s home. Well, not his home, his seat. He lives in Alham, but after he was made a count, he was given Fhure.”
Isen looked interested. “What is Fhure, Marla?”
“It’s where I was born.” She seemed to be struggling for words. “I was raised there, I married there, I lived there until I was sold and eventually went to Master Thalian.” She focused on Luca. “You’ve been there?”
Luca stared at her, realization dawning. “Are you Marta’s daughter?”
“Yes!” Marla beamed. “Yes! You know her? Is she well?”
“She keeps the estate’s books. She’s the one who taught you the number games.”
“Yes!”
Isen closed his book. “What a striking coincidence.” He looked at Luca. “So, it’s Alham, after all? Then we’ll be neighbors.”
Luca glanced up at Marla’s smile, and for the first time since leaving Alham, he felt he was making choices for himself, and they would be good choices.
TAMARYL CUPPED HIS fingers about the stubby candle and concentrated. Ordinarily he would not need both hands to guide the magic, but he had little power to command now. Beside him Maru sat very still, watching intently.
Below them, they could hear the pleasantly off-key wordless singing of Mother Harriet as she worked downstairs. They had to be quiet while she was in the kitchen; if they could hear her, so she could hear them. The bedrooms would have been less audible, removed so the family would not be disturbed by the servants in the kitchen, but Mother Harriet serviced them as well and they did not want her walking in on them with an armload of linens.
The candlelight flickered and darkened—not weakening, but changing color. The flame’s orange deepened to red. “Nice, Ryl,” whispered Maru.
Tamaryl nodded, trying not to let the color ebb as his concentration shifted. There had been no further reports of Ryuven raids. If they were to go home, they had to find their own way. That meant practice.
“It is not so difficult,” Tamaryl replied haltingly, “to color fire to red. Let me see if I can take it the other direction.” The flame wavered and lightened to fiery orange again, then yellow. Tamaryl took a slow breath and adjusted his fingers about the little candle.
Pale green streaked through the yellow, spreading gradually until the flame was a uniform grassy color. Maru held his breath. The green deepened and sank into blue, a darker blue, until the flame danced bright at the wick within the gem and a lovely sapphire hue at the edge.
“Beautiful.” Maru reached a finger toward the tiny fire. “I wish I—”
The flame guttered and burned its ordinary oran
ge. Tamaryl sighed and looked at Maru. “You wish what?”
Maru looked sheepish. “It was foolish. I can’t do even simple things, now.” He shrugged. “What good to turn a candle flame colors when you can’t heal a broken wing or go home—no, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Tamaryl gave him a wan smile. “I know you didn’t. And a caesious fire isn’t terribly useful, is it?”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and they fell silent. There was no reason for Mother Harriet to enter the little storage room, and they would give her none. She went humming down to Ewan Hazelrig’s chamber.
“But when we go home,” Tamaryl continued softly, “we’ll have Nori’bel see to you. She’ll take care of your wing and your power.”
“Can Subduing be reversed?”
“Sometimes. Often enough to be worth trying.”
“But what if it—can’t be done?”
Tamaryl closed his eyes. “If we stay, there will be no magic for either of us,” he said quietly. “Let’s get home.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
LUCA SHIFTED FROM FOOT to foot as Marla settled her small travel chest in the wagon. Isen leaned over the side. “Everything’s tight?”
“Everything’s fine, master. Stop fussing.”
“Goodman,” an overseer addressed Luca from one side. “We’ve had an injury. Will your slave be needed straightaway, or may we start him in the shafts?”
Luca looked at Cole. “I hadn’t thought to lend him.”
The overseer followed his gaze to Cole as well, appraising his muscular build. “Not to lend him? But... We’ll be wanting a fee for a passenger, then.”
Luca licked his lips. “Then I’ll speak with Remio.”
The overseer nodded curtly and started away.
Isen set a hand on Luca’s shoulder and led him gently a few paces from the wagon, away from Marla and Cole. Luca braced himself for reproof. “I know I should have given him Cole, but—”
“Let me speak,” Isen said firmly. He faced Luca. “You are your own man, and one with means. Jarrick Roald would never argue with a slave; nor should Dom Nerrin or Luca Roald.” He smiled and spoke more gently. “To hesitate is to invite questions. Confidence inspires agreement. A merchant should know this.”
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