by Cate Dean
Xander was alive—he knew that much, catching a glimpse of his lieutenant, unconscious but breathing, as his captors had chained Liam. The dagger in Xander’s thigh would prevent any misguided attempt at rescue, but he would be able to tell Ari what happened.
One of his captors swore as his hand slipped, and adjusted his grip. Sweat poured off Liam, his body fighting the effects of the eldar. He was honestly surprised he was still conscious at this point. The poison should have dropped him right after the knife sank into his shoulder.
The smell of salt air edged the breeze that touched his face. They were close to the edge of the forest, and his chance to escape diminished with every step. He spent the journey attempting to marshal his strength—what there was of it. Now he had to act, or let them take him to whatever fate they had planned.
He fell against the soldier on his left. Curses echoed around them as the soldier fumbled—and Liam jerked free, stumbling forward.
He did not get far.
The other soldier slammed him into a tree. His injured shoulder hit first and agony buckled his legs. Fingers dug into his left arm, hot breath scorching his cheek.
“It’ll take more than what ye got to free yerself, milord.” Liam did not recognize the voice—and understood now that the two men dragging him away from his life were not soldiers. The man yanked him off the rough bark, the sharp edges of the shackles cutting into his already bleeding wrists. “But try it again, and ye’ll be heading to the Kahlri minus a hand.”
Liam closed his eyes, let them haul him forward. The Kahlri Desert—the only place in the kingdoms where slaves were legally bought and sold. If he was not fortunate enough to be bid on by a landowner—provided he survived to be part of the market—he would be sent to the quarry. Or worse, sold to the salt mines, where he would die alone and forgotten—
Stop.
Gareth meant to rid himself of Liam, but Liam refused roll over and die. One step at a time—he would find his way home, no matter where he ended up. One step at a time.
Moonlight blinded him, after the darkness of the forest. He was forced to his knees, and gripped the ground with shaking hands as his head spun.
“Head up.” The low, gravel rough voice cut through the night air. “I want to see what I’m buying.”
One hand grabbed his tangled hair and jerked his head back. He met pale amber eyes, framed by the traditional head scarf of a desert man.
“He’s strong, ye can do what ye need to—”
“Why is he gagged?” For a moment, hope surged through Liam. “Will I need to make him a mute before he’s sold, or was it to avoid an attempt to bribe you?”
Liam swallowed, forced himself to keep eye contact with the man. The slaver. They were not welcome in Palamar, not since his father outlawed any form of ownership, save bond servants. Their time was limited, and they were free once the bond was paid. Quite different from a lifetime of hopeless captivity.
“We was told he has a silver tongue, can talk his way out of anything. What ye do with that information.” The fake soldier standing next to the slaver grinned. “That be up to yer tolerance.”
“Stand him up.” When they did, Liam found himself eye to eye with the man. “Taller than I expected.” He turned Liam’s hands over, brushing his thumb across each palm. “Sword callouses,” he muttered, low enough that only Liam could hear. His hand moved up, pushing back Liam’s upper lip. “Perfect teeth.” Those amber eyes narrowed. “How much?”
“Fourteen.”
The slaver raised an eyebrow—and faster than Liam expected, his hand shot out and dragged the man forward.
“I would not even buy my own mother for fourteen. You’ll take eight, and be happy with it.” He lifted the hem of his robe, and slipped his fingers into the pocket of his loose trousers. With a barely concealed sneer, he dropped the gold coins in the man’s hand. “Now get out of my sight, before I change my mind.”
The men ran off, most likely to meet Gareth, give him his blood money. Part of Liam hoped they fleeced him.
Warm fingers cupped his chin, recaptured his attention. Not until the slaver touched him did he realize how chilled he was. “The son of a noble, or a wealthy merchant. Is there an envious relative, perhaps an inheritance to be gained by your disappearance?” The man studied him. “It matters little, though we will learn about each other, my new acquisition. I would know the best angle, the most enticing way to present you, for the maximum return on my investment.”
Liam closed his eyes, any hope he had that this man might help him fading with his words. The fingers freed his chin—only to close around his injured arm. Liam’s legs gave under the agony, his scream muffled by the gag.
“What have they—” Careful hands lowered him to the ground, then probed his shoulder. Gareth had his wound bandaged under the black shirt Liam wore. In the moonlight, any blood would be undetectable. “I am going to risk your silver tongue, boy. Do not give me a reason to cut it out.”
He loosened the gag, pulled it free. Liam coughed, his throat so dry he wasn’t certain he would be able to talk. He tried anyway.
“Eldar,” he whispered, his voice so raw he barely recognized it.
“And you are still conscious?” The slaver slid one arm under his back and helped him sit. “My wagon is just the other side of the clearing. Can you walk that far?”
“Yes.”
With the slaver’s arm around him, he stood, every inch of his body screaming at the movement. “You are not what you seem, my young silver tongue. Lean on me, now—and tell me if you need to stop. I have invested in you, so I do have an interest in keeping you alive.”
Liam focused all his energy on staying conscious as the slaver pulled him across the clearing. Every step jarred his shoulder, reawakening the eldar. It burned through him, turning what little strength he had to ash. When he stumbled again the slaver clucked his tongue and lifted Liam into his arms.
An eternity later, the world stopped moving. Liam opened his eyes, found himself in a wagon, surrounded by thick iron bars.
“Welcome back.” The slaver leaned over him, a wood goblet in one hand. “This is honey water. The sweet will help, and soothe your throat. Can you sit?” After a couple of tries, he managed, the shackles hindering him, his left arm shaking with the effort. “Good. Now drink—all of it.”
Liam took the goblet. When the water sloshed because of his shaky grip, the slaver sighed and took it from him.
“Like a babe, you are. Those fools.” He fed Liam the water, bit by bit, until the goblet was empty. “We will travel tonight, and tomorrow I will take a look at your wound. Stay alive until then.”
He covered Liam with a thick quilt, then closed the door and locked him in. Even if he was able, there was no possibility of escape.
Liam would do everything he could to regain his strength, earn the trust of the surprisingly compassionate man who had bought him for eight pieces of gold, and find his way home.
~ ~ ~
The pain in Liam’s shoulder woke him.
Evergreen and dry earth edged the breeze that cooled his face. He opened his eyes, and even with the steel bars obscuring his view, he recognized the scenery. They were on the other side of the forest, headed for the pass that led to the desert.
A light blanket covered him, the scratchy wool touching bare skin. He lifted the blanket, and closed his eyes. The slaver had cut away his clothes while he was unconscious; all he wore now was a loincloth, and since he was dry, he was safe to assume the slaver had also attended his other needs. Too late for embarrassment now.
Liam pulled himself up, using the bars, and let out a hoarse gasp when the iron cuffs shifted over his wrists. The wagon swayed as the horses slowed.
The slaver glanced over his shoulder. “Awake, are we?” He reined in the horses, climbing off the high seat as he talked. Dried mud smeared the tall black boots Liam had seen on desert men in Palamar. The slaver had spent a bit of time inside their borders. “I expected the eldar
to keep you under until we reached the oasis.”
“The—” Liam’s raw throat cut him off. He coughed, so harsh and deeply that his muscles clenched.
Strong hands helped him sit, and a cup touched his lips. “Drink, silver tongue.” Honey water slipped down his throat. He took as much as he could, his stomach rebelling at the need for food to go with the liquid. “I’ll leave you a bit of bread. Eat it slowly, or you will be cleaning up anything you are not able to hold down—with that silver tongue. Am I understood?”
Liam nodded, and hated that his hand shook when he held it up for the small loaf. The shackle rubbed against his wrist, pulling a pained gasp out of him.
The slaver laid the bread in his hand, eased his arm down. “There is little I can do for you,” he said. “Law requires the shackles until you are sold. But I can offer a barrier.” He took a colorful, striped silk scarf from the pocket of his trousers, and used a small knife to cut it in half. “This will hurt, but it will help protect you against more damage.”
Liam understood what he meant to do, and braced for the pain. It still knocked the breath from him when the slaver eased the shackle forward, picked up the jar of water, and poured it over his left wrist. The water hitting his right wrist nearly broke him.
“Gods,” he whispered, shuddering at the pain that roared down his arm. “Please—”
“I know it hurts you, boy. But the honey will aid in keeping infection at bay. I need you to keep still for me, now.”
The touch of silk on his raw skin had him jerking away. But his captor was stronger, and held him in place until both wrists were bandaged. Liam closed his eyes, his wrists throbbing. He knew by the way the wagon swayed that the slaver had climbed out. His voice filtered through the pain.
“Stay alive, my silver tongue. I would have the chance to hear you talk your way out of the life that awaits you.”
“My—reputation grows by the moment.”
“I imagine your voice is quite pleasant, when your throat is not ravaged.” The slaver smiled. “Another point in my favor. We should move on.” He glanced at the lightening sky. “I wanted to be across the border before sunrise, but this delay has—”
His voice cut off. Liam understood why a moment later.
The distinct sound of galloping horses echoed through the trees. Coming from the direction of home.
“Ari,” he whispered. Xander managed to escape after all.
The slaver cursed, running to the front of the wagon. It lurched forward as he snapped a short whip over the pair of horses. Liam crawled to the back of the wagon, used his left hand to drag himself up to his knees. In the distance, he saw them; two riders, the new sun highlighting the first rider’s blonde hair.
The trees thinned out, and ruins flashed by, the burnt-out remains of homesteads that were the victims of conflict. They were also the landmarks that announced the border lands.
Liam watched the riders draw closer. The front rider leaned over his horse, pulling ahead of the other. It had to be Ari. He would understand just what it meant if Liam crossed the border.
The slaver cursed at his horses. Grass and leaves turned to scrub, then scrub to dry, cracked dirt. Liam closed his eyes. Ari wasn’t going to make it.
A wild shout brought his head up. Ari’s horse burst forward, eating up the space between them. He raced alongside the wagon just as they crossed the border.
The wagon lurched to a halt. “Move an inch,” Ari said, “and I will do more than block your horses.” Foreign curses followed him as he rode to the back of the wagon. “My lord.” Ari dismounted, his face drawn and exhausted, a makeshift bandage on his left bicep. He carried himself straight as he stalked forward, reaching for the lock. “Let’s get you out of—”
“We are over the border, Ari.”
His hand froze. “No. I will not give you up because of an archaic law.”
“Ari—”
“Liam, I know what you face.” The use of his name surprised Liam. “I’d not throw my worst enemy into it. Now back away from the door, so I can let you out.”
“You need to go. Now, before—” Movement caught his attention, and the hope Ari gave him, just for a moment, faded as men seemed to melt out of the sand dunes. Mercenaries, marauders, outcasts. The border guard, ready to enforce the archaic law Ari was about to break. “Go, Ari. They will not wait for explanations.”
“Liam—”
“Tell Micah you did not find me.” He lowered his head, fought the despair that lodged in his throat. “Tell my brother to trust only you. Keep him safe, Ari. Promise me.”
“My lord—”
“Promise me, damn you.” Liam raised his head, met Ari’s eyes. “Then get out of here.”
“I promise to keep him safe. And I promise to find you, my lord, so keep yourself alive.”
“Thank you.”
He watched Ari swing into the saddle, pause long enough to reach through the bars and touch Liam’s left arm. “Let them know you can read. It will keep you out of the mines.” An arrow thunked into the side of the wagon, inches from Ari’s arm.
“Go.”
Ari swore, and spurred his horse, halting just on the other side of the border. Men swarmed around the wagon. Liam flinched away from the bars as swords and spears swung out, sparking when they hit the steel.
With the mercenaries escorting his wagon to the desert, he watched the only tie to his life fade into the distance.
Nine
As soon as they entered the city gates Ari sent Xander to the castle and rode straight to The Black Arrow.
He needed help, and he needed it fast.
His body ached as he dismounted. He managed three days of travel in two, and every injury, old and new, screamed at him for it. They would have to wait.
Damian stood when he stalked into the common room, not losing the smile on his face as he spoke to his fellow gamblers.
“I have an unexpected meeting. Please excuse me, gentlemen, and accept Fate’s smile on you tonight. Take my winnings and share them equally among you. Raine,” he glanced over at the bar. “Will you see that the money is portioned fairly?”
“Of course.” She walked out from behind the bar, as graceful as the first time Ari saw her. She looked from Damian to him, and he could see the dread darkening those blue green eyes. “Go,” she said.
Damian nodded again and met Ari at the door. “Outside.”
Ari didn’t waste any time. “I found the traitor. He ambushed us and sold Liam to a slaver. They crossed the border before I could stop him.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. I need you to go after him.”
Damian leaned against the side of the building, his face unreadable. Ari hated that he could become so unapproachable, in a heartbeat. “You can’t go back there, but you won’t leave Liam to his fate.”
“I can’t.” Ari swallowed, staring at the ground, too aware of the anger, the old pain swirling through him. He didn’t have Damian’s talent, and it would show on his face. “Liam’s strong, smart, and handsome. You know what they’ll do with him.”
“Can he handle a sword as well as the rumors claim?”
“Better.”
Damian sighed. “Ask me.” He crossed his arms when Ari raised an eyebrow. “It’s the only reason you would come here first. Now ask me, before I walk inside. Once I do that, this conversation is done.”
“I need you to go after him.”
“No.”
Ari grabbed his arm when he turned away. “Why did you lead me on if you were going to deny me?”
“For the game, gladiator. Isn’t it what I do now? Play games, play the smiling gambler, create a spy network for your too-young-to-understand Duke.”
“I think you waste your talents, hiding in a gambling house, pretending you know nothing more than cards and cheating. It’s why I chose you for the assignment. You know too much, and you do nothing with it.”
“You are one to talk, hiding behind the local
royalty or nobility, pretending you have no past.”
“I crawled away from it, T’Alon. With barely enough skin left on my back to heal. I paid my price for a life that doesn’t involve facing death every day.”
Damian let out a sigh. “And you don’t want Liam facing the chance of such a life.”
“Would you?” Ari scrubbed at his face. Gods, he was tired. Riding for close to a week, combined with the glimpse of the desert that nearly destroyed him were enough to drain even his resources. “The bastards who took him want the same strong-arm rule we both ran from. They cloak it in ‘for the people’ rhetoric, but I saw the documents. Liam was right to refuse any contact. I just never—”
“Thought they would resort to such measures. Fine.”
Ari blinked, certain he imagined the assent. “What?”
“Yes, I’ll go. On one condition.” He poked one finger into Ari’s chest. “Tell your men that I am not a spy. I’d cut my own tongue out before I gave my father any information.”
“So noted.” Relief wiped away the last bit of energy that drove him this far. Damian caught his arm, and leaned him against the front of the building. “I’m fine.”
“So fine you almost had a face to face meeting with our local stone.”
“Keep a sober head, T’Alon. You’ll be riding for the border by dawn.”
Damian flashed a smile. “Since I don’t imbibe, gladiator, that will be an easy request.” His smile faded. “I promise you, I will not come back without the young Duke in tow.”
Ari nodded. For all the fancy talk and quick hands, Damian T’Alon was still a man of the Delta—honest, straightforward, willing to lay their life on the line for a friend. Ari may not have been a friend, exactly, but they had a shared past, and a stake in the same future.
From this moment, Ari would trust him to keep his word. He had to; any other option meant losing all he fought so hard for.
“One last thing.” Damian stood near the door, one hand on the latch. “Who is our traitor?”
Rage burned through him, so fierce it almost eclipsed his pain.
“Gareth.”
