The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

by Michael G. Manning

  But, the transactions between wardens and the nameless were rarely consensual. It was a matter of power, and the lack thereof. While Tyrion himself had once had a relationship with one of them, Amarah, he had not abused her. He had been seeking love, something the wardens simply couldn’t understand.

  Now one of them had made a toy of Kate.

  He hadn’t really let the possibility enter his mind, and now that he was suddenly faced with, it he found his anger burning white hot.

  The door wouldn’t open at his touch since it wasn’t his dwelling. Inside the two women had paused, pulling apart. Layla could just as easily see that he was outside as he could sense her within.

  Tyrion’s aythar flared as he activated one of his arm-blades and destroyed the door, its frame, and some of the wall. Layla’s shield came up as he strode into the room. She was standing in front of Kate. She was also naked and flushed. While nudity was required for most slaves of the She’Har, it was optional for the wardens, and they rarely removed the outward sign of their elevated status.

  “Tyrion!” she exclaimed. “This isn’t what…”

  He swept his arm to one side, gesturing as he used his aythar to slam her toward the wall, making sure she wouldn’t crash into Kate. The force of the blow stunned her for a moment, but her shield held. Tyrion raised a shield of his own, one that encircled the room enclosing the two of them but excluding Kate. Layla was a Prathion and he expected her to use her gift to try to escape.

  It was the only way she could hope to avoid death, after all.

  The warden remained visible, but she strengthened her shield. “Tyrion please, listen to me.”

  He growled and his next strike was more controlled, using just enough strength to shatter her shield without causing her too much physical harm. Layla sagged against the wall as the feedback threatened to rob her of her consciousness. “You should have known better, Layla,” he replied coldly. Stretching his hands apart he formed the red whip that was so often favored by the wardens.

  Killing her wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to prolong the moment.

  “Daniel stop!” shouted Kate.

  “You’re too soft, Kate,” he responded. “They have to know what will happen to anyone who hurts one of mine.” He stepped forward, preparing to bring the whip down on the senseless warden.

  “She didn’t hurt me, you idiot!”

  “I lived in this place for years, Kate. I know exactly how things work. Whatever happened, whatever she’s done to you, it wasn’t your fault. If you don’t want to see this, wait outside.” He readjusted the shield to allow Kate to reach the door.

  She didn’t move. “Let her go, Daniel. She protected me.”

  “I know how ‘protection’ works here,” said Daniel. “And Layla should have known enough to know how I would react if she expected you to pay for such a thing.”

  “That’s not what was going on,” insisted Kate.

  “I could see what was happening.”

  Kate glared at him, “I kissed her! Stop being a fool!”

  He lost his concentration for a moment, letting the whip vanish. Blinking, he looked at Kate, uncertain. “Wait… what?”

  “You heard me.” Now that she had his attention, she made no effort to hide how angry she was.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe if your first reaction to every problem wasn’t trying to kill someone, you’d discover that the world is more complicated than you imagine,” she told him. She was pressing against the shield now. “Will you take this down so I can get to her?”

  He glared at her.

  “Please?!” she said with some exasperation.

  Tyrion dismissed the shield and watched as she crossed over to Layla. Kate lifted the other woman’s head, brushing back her hair and stroking her cheek gently. The warden’s eyes rolled as she tried to focus on her.

  “What did you do to her?” asked Kate worriedly.

  “Nothing,” he grumbled. “I broke her shield. It’s the feedback, she’ll be fine in a little while.”

  “You’re a bully, Daniel.”

  His frustration returned, rekindling his anger, “I was trying to protect you.”

  “From what? Being kissed to death? There was no need to be so violent,” argued his childhood friend.

  “I don’t think you really comprehend what these people are like,” said Tyrion. “They aren’t like the people of Colne. They’re raised like animals. It does something to their minds. They behave like savages. They do things you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Like what? Women kissing?”

  “That isn’t what I meant, but it’s an example. That doesn’t happen in Colne…”

  “Yes it does,” declared Kate. “You’re just too stupid to know about it.”

  For the first time in a very long time, Tyrion’s cheeks colored, and he found himself on the defensive. “Who then?” he asked confronting her head on.

  “Me,” shot back Kate.

  “You and who?”

  “Darla Long,” she announced brusquely, naming the mother of one of Tyrion’s children, Anthony Long.

  “When was this?!” he demanded.

  “After you left—the first time,” she replied. “Before I married Seth…” She grew hesitant then, pausing, “…and then again a few years ago.”

  “Did Seth know that?!”

  “No!” she answered, balling up her fists. “Things got difficult between us, not that it’s any of your business. He never asked, and I never told him.”

  “So you were cheating on him, with a woman?” He was having trouble thinking clearly. All his assumptions about Kate seemed to be wrong.

  Kate marched forward, planting her finger in the middle of his chest. “You…!” she declared with emphasis, “…have no business judging me, not after all the things you’ve done.”

  Unable to think of a better response he glared at her, and she stared back, boldly. Her green eyes were never more attractive than when she was furious. Then his mind registered the gathering crowd of wardens in the street outside. “We need to leave,” he told her.

  Kate went to Layla and began helping her to her feet.

  “Leave her,” said Tyrion.

  “She’s coming with us.”

  “She belongs to the Prathion Grove,” he answered. “She stays.”

  “Then I’m staying too,” replied Kate.

  He considered killing her. No, killing both of them. Then he would destroy the room, the street, and burn Ellentrea to the ground. I wonder how far I could get, before they managed to stop me. Taking a deep breath he finally replied, “Fine. Bring her. I’ll think of something.”

  Turning, he left the room.

  Chapter 18

  The wardens minding the teens watched him with puzzled faces when he returned with both Kate and Layla. They found other directions to gaze once they saw the look in his eyes, however.

  “Tell your master I’ll be taking this one as well,” he said, gesturing at Layla. “We can discuss the terms later.” A warden was considerably more valuable than any of the other slaves within one of the camps, but he hoped the strangely helpful Thillmarius would prove amenable in this regard as well.

  Glancing at the others, he told them, “Let’s go.”

  “They took our clothes,” said Emma Phillips. The girl was trying to cover herself with two skinny arms and failing awkwardly. The gooseflesh on her arms told Tyrion she must be cold. He hadn’t noticed the cold air until then.

  “You don’t have clothes anymore, not here,” he stated flatly, starting to walk.

  Most of them followed, but Emma held back, hesitating. Apparently they hadn’t been outside much since arriving, at least not enough to make them lose their self-consciousness regarding nudity.

  “You can stay here if you like,” called Tyrion, “but they won’t give you your clothes back.”

  Emma followed.

  Most of them were cold he realized, even those whose powers had awakene
d. No one had shown them how to keep themselves warm. Kate seemed fine, though. Layla was keeping a layer of warm air around both of them. The observation colored his temples, and his ears grew hot. His temper was rising again.

  “Where have you been?” asked Gabriel, walking closer to him than the others.

  “The She’Har felt the need to interrogate me.”

  “We thought you were dead,” added Brigid. “It looked bad when they took you away.”

  He said nothing, though he could feel Kate’s eyes upon him.

  “Where are you going to keep them?” asked Layla.

  “At my house, for now,” he replied. He had been thinking of that for a while, and it was the best solution he could come up with. There wasn’t enough room there, of course, and it wasn’t finished, except for his bedroom, but at least there was a roof.

  “The white-stone?” said Layla.

  “The what?” asked Tyrion.

  “The white-stone place you have been building,” clarified the warden.

  The people of Ellentrea and the other slave cities lived in buildings grown from the roots of the god trees, so it was understandable that she didn’t really know what to make of his stone construction.

  “Yes,” he nodded. White stone, the phrase gave him an idea. “I prefer to call it ‘Albamarl’,” he added, using the words in Erollith for white and stone.

  They took the long way, following the edges of the Prathion border and skirting the edges of Illeniel territory. He didn’t want to be forced to answer any awkward questions. Albamarl was at the edge of the foothills, where they bumped up against the beginnings of the Illeniel Grove, just a few miles south of where he had had his recent confrontation.

  Many of the young men and women breathed a sigh of relief when they entered the building. The air was warm, maintained at a comfortable temperature by the enchantments he had worked into the stone walls.

  He made a quick walk through, reassuring himself that everything was still as he had left it. The wagon they had brought was parked behind the building, still loaded with supplies. The fresh goods had spoiled, but most of the dry goods were still usable. Beans, salt, and salt pork, onions, and some apples, much of it consisted of things that Tyrion had had little access to while living among the She’Har.

  There’s flour! he noted with some excitement as his mind explored the contents once more. Flour meant gravy, or maybe even bread, if anyone knew how to bake. Some of them do, he said to himself, even as he mentally avoided thinking about Kate. One of the boys, Jack, had been raised in a bakery.

  Tyrion thought for a moment. If he was going to manage fifteen people, he was going to need more room, more supplies. The ones whose powers had awakened would need to be trained. There was much to be done.

  He called his fifteen young charges together, pointing for them to line up in the large front room that was set to one side of the entry hall. Eventually, he planned for it to be a kitchen, but currently it was just a large empty space.

  He eyed them, noting which ones had visibly wakened their abilities and refreshing his memory of their names. “David, Sarah, Jack, Abigail, Ryan, Brigid, and Gabriel,” he named them aloud, pointing for them to move to the other side of the room as he did. “I want you seven over here. The rest of you will go outside and unload the wagon. Sort through the goods and wares. Some of it has spoiled while it sat out there in the elements. Discard the bad and bring the rest inside.”

  Ian Collins voiced what several of them were probably thinking, “What makes you think you can order us around?” He was probably the largest of the boys, but perhaps not the brightest of them. At fifteen he was already as tall as Tyrion and possibly wider, an impressive thing considering Tyrion’s not insubstantial physique.

  Tyrion graced him with a wicked smile, walking forward to stand nose to nose with the large teen. “You think you’re a match for me already, boy?”

  The others had already moved away, and Ian was sweating as he attempted to keep his eyes on Tyrion’s. He knew he had made a mistake. “I—I d—don’t have any m—magic yet, but…”

  “…but what?” interrupted Tyrion. “Were you going to say that, if it weren’t for that, you’d teach me a lesson? Is that it?”

  “N—no, ‘course not,” blurted the younger man.

  “Go ahead,” challenged Tyrion. “I’ll give you three free shots, if you think you can land one. After that I’ll fight you without my power if that’s what you want.”

  Ian stared at him, clenching his jaw. He considered the offer for a long moment and then without warning, he struck, launching a sharp blow from the waist, aiming for Tyrion’s midsection.

  The boy was fast, and the move surprised Tyrion. Given the short distance and the teen’s speed, he wasn’t able to avoid it, but he did manage to turn his body and tense in time to avoid having the wind knocked out of him. He felt the impact in his ribs. That’s going to leave a bruise.

  Ian hadn’t waited for him to recover, the other hand had come up and swung wide, aiming to catch him in the side of the head as he naturally tried to avoid the body shot.

  It wasn’t quick enough, however. Tyrion had expected that and ducked his head forward and to the side, flexing his knees as he stepped in and to the right. Before the teen could make his third attack, he reached up and put his hand out, shoving backward on the boy’s chest. Ian was still slightly off balance from his missed swing, and he stumbled backward.

  Tyrion kicked his leg, sending him to the hard stone floor. When the boy started to rise, he kicked again, catching him in the stomach and leaving him gasping. “You’ve got good instincts, boy, even if your balls are too big for your brain. I bet you were in a lot of fights back home, weren’t you?”

  Ian coughed, gasping for air.

  “Ever broken a rib?” asked Tyrion

  “Daniel! That’s enough!” shouted Kate, starting forward, but Layla grabbed her arm, cautioning her to silence.

  Tyrion watched the boy carefully, waiting until he had almost gotten his air, then kicked again, sending the hard part of his shin into the boy’s ribs with an audible crack. Ian fell away to the side with a heavy, gasping croak. He was clutching at his side, struggling to draw breath.

  “Hurts doesn’t it?” said Tyrion. “The pain is so intense you can’t draw breath. It’ll go on until you fear that you’re about to die, but not to worry. Usually your body will let you start to get small breaths before you pass out, but they hurt like the devil. It’s not something you forget.”

  He looked around at the rest of the room. The others had scattered to the far corners, each of them trying to put as much distance between the sadistic older man and his victim as possible. Only Layla had stayed in her original position, watching him calmly. She held Kate tightly by one arm.

  Tyrion waved at the seven he named before, “I want you seven to come closer. I was going to begin with teaching you how to stay warm, but today is your lucky day. We’ll begin with learning how to mend a broken rib. The rest of you…” he eyed the others, “…go unload the wagon. Bring the sacks of beans in here. We can use them to prop this idiot up, to help him breathe until we get this bone fixed.”

  He took his time with the bones, making sure they had time to understand what he was doing. He also tried to keep it as painless as possible, although he wasn’t entirely as successful at that as he might have hoped. Tyrion was beginning to feel a bit of guilt now that his temper had cooled.

  Kate was watching him with an expression that told him exactly what she thought of his methods. Did my anger with her make me more cruel than necessary? It was not the sort of thought he was used to anymore.

  The past ten years had been neat and simple. Once he had been allowed to leave the arena for good, he had lived peacefully, no children, no family, and almost no friends. He had been isolated within a bubble. Now he was being forced to emerge into an environment fraught with annoyances and complications, and the only social tools he understood involved blood and t
hreats.

  But I have to make them ready, he told himself. There’s every chance that the Illeniel Grove will force them into the arena.

  But if they didn’t? In that case, he had made an ass of himself for nothing, alienating the only other truly human people he had any hope of interacting with. The slaves of the She’Har had proven to be very poor company, with a few exceptions.

  One of those exceptions was standing beside Kate now, talking quietly to her. He might have classified Layla as an acquaintance before this, which was actually pretty high praise for one of the people raised in the pens. Other than Amarah, and Garlin, he doubted he would have considered any of the others even remotely familiar.

  She was very close to Garlin, he reminded himself, as close as wardens get anyway. He wondered if she would hate him once she knew the circumstances of her friend’s death. She had been friends with Garlin in what her people considered the ‘normal’ usage of the word friend, meaning acquaintances with benefits. And now she has Kate to fill the tiny void in whatever it is she uses for a heart, he thought bitterly.

  He wondered how she would react once he told her that he had killed her lover. Layla looked at him then, glancing up as if she knew his thoughts had been about her. Leaving his students and his newly mended patient, he walked over to the two women.

  “I need to talk to you,” he began.

  “I’m not really in the mood for conversation,” said Kate angrily.

  “Not you,” he corrected, focusing more directly on the tall dark haired woman standing beside her. “You.”

  “Haven’t you done enough already?!” said Kate spitefully. “I think you made yourself clear enough earlier. If you hurt…”

  “It’s about Garlin,” he said, interrupting the beginning of what sounded like might be a spectacular tirade.

  Layla’s eyes grew slightly wider, and Kate paused, unsure who he was referring to at first. Unfortunately her memory was uncanny sometimes, especially regarding names and people. Kate’s face lit with recognition, “Wait, was that the warden we met? The first one, I think you said his name when we…”