Slave nodded, but he was still not quite able to stop the trembling in his limbs, or the racing heart that seemed about to break out of his chest entirely.
‘We have time enough to eat, and for me to collect a few of my possessions.’ Ileki gestured towards the open food cupboard. ‘Eat,’ he urged.
Slave stared at the food, feeling his mouth moisten in anticipation. He squatted in front of the cupboard and began eating. When he was done, he looked up to see Ileki regarding him with a quizzical look in his eyes.
‘What?’ Slave demanded. He rose to his feet causing Ileki to flinch again.
‘I am not going to hurt you, Ileki,’ Slave said.
‘You frighten me,’ Ileki admitted.
‘Why?’
‘You are dangerous.’
Slave considered Ileki’s description. He recalled the people he had fought in the short time since leaving the darkness behind — the arena; the guards he had evaded; the pursuers; the thugs who had just threatened him. They had all fallen easily. He had been assuming they were simply poor fighters, but what if he was simply better? He shook his head to dismiss such speculations, needing to focus on more pressing issues.
‘We need to leave,’ he said once more.
This time, Ileki did not argue. He hefted a bag containing some possessions and slung it over his back. Slave looked at the bag, wondering what could be in it, and what it would be like to have possessions. The comforting weight of the Claw hanging at his waist reminded him that he now had a possession.
How do I feel about that?
After a moment’s thought, he realised: I like this being mine.
But was it? Would the creature, the thing who left it for him, one day want it back?
Ileki stepped to the door and opened it a crack as he peered outside.
‘It’s safe,’ he said.
Ileki led the way as they went back out into the vorbyndjaarge. As soon as he left the room, Slave’ssenses were assailed once more by the flood of massed humanity. All around him were the voices and smells of thousands of people living their lives. For a moment he stood, unable to move under the weight of the assault. The walls, covered in filth, seemed closer than before while the roof felt even lower and darker. Slave wondered about what might lie above his head. He had not paid much attention to the vorbyndjaarge before following Ileki in, but he did know it was more than one storey high. How many people were walking over his head, held up only by this ceiling?
A sense of concern, nearing dread, crept upon Slave. Even in his claustrophobic tunnel he had not felt like this. He shook his head, trying to clear the troubling thoughts of so many people, so close, crowding all around him.
Ileki paused to look back at him.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
Slave nodded and forced himself to move. To keep his mind away from the images of so many people, he focused on the information from his senses.
He could still smell the remnants of the myele powder, tinged with the scents of blood and viscera from the men who had attacked him. Beneath his bare feet he felt the detritus of life, while his eyes scoured the walls for sites of possible ambush or quick exit if necessary. Another part of his mind kept track of their course. If nothing else, he’d be able to find his way back to Ileki’s magically hidden room.
Whether he could open the door was another question entirely.
Ileki moved with confidence through the maze of corridors. Slave was impressed with his ability to ease past open doorways without attracting undue attention and how he could avoid the many uneven sections underfoot without seeming to concentrate on his feet.
A new sound cut across the incessant murmuring. Slave reached out and grabbed Ileki’s sleeve. Ileki stopped and turned to face him. He was about to speak, but stopped when Slave raised his hand. Ileki nodded when Slave touched his own ear, indicating that he should listen.
It became quickly apparent to Slave that Ileki could not hear what he was hearing — a low hum. Intermittent, yet insistent, it nagged at his mind. No matter how he tried to put it aside and focus on the other sounds, sights and smells around him, it broke through. Ileki shook his head and continued moving. Slave followed, trying to locate the source of the hum, but it continually eluded him.
The area they had reached was, if such a thing were possible, even more run down and destitute than most of the vorbyndjaarge. Evidence of despair was everywhere. The walls were cracked and crumbling, the ceiling above was broken and shafts of light shone through at disturbingly regular intervals. Shadows crossed the light as people in the levels above went about their lives. The ever-present sounds and smells of humanity were almost overwhelming. Slave again found his concentration wavering under the ongoing sensory overload. At one point he stopped and retched as a particularly foul odour reached his nostrils.
Ileki turned, revealing a cloth held closely to his face. Tears were streaming down his face, but from his expression, Slave guessed they were a reaction to the stench rather than tears of sadness.
‘Something — or someone — dead nearby,’ Ileki gasped.
Slave saw flickers of movement out of the corner of his eye: people scuttling by breaks in the walls. It occurred to him that they had seen very few people in the alleys, but before he could mention it, they turned a corner and were confronted by a group blocking their way.
The leading man stepped forwards with his hand raised, palm outward.
‘Halt, intruders,’ he growled.
Ileki stopped in his tracks.
‘Why do you travel here?’ the man demanded.
‘We are hunted by Slaaj,’ Ileki answered.
‘Why?’
‘My friend here,’ Ileki indicated Slave, ‘survived the day in the arena.’
The man looked past Ileki to stare at Slave. As expected, the man’s gaze went to Slave’s eye and the scarring across his face, then dropped to regard the slashes across his chest, taking in the Warrior’s Claw held in Slave’s left hand before flicking back up to remain on the silver eye.
‘Ice and wind,’ the man grunted. ‘No wonder Slaaj wants you. You would frighten most men just by looking at them.’
A low chuckle ran through the gathered people and Ileki visibly relaxed.
‘Welcome, freaks,’ the man said. ‘I am Vyndde Luutes.’ He held out his left hand, palm down. Ileki laid his own left hand, palm up, on top of it. Vyndde Luutes slapped it briefly with his right hand before stepping back. ‘Welcome to the vorbynd freaks. No one will dare hunt you in here, and,’ he added with a pointed look at Slave, ‘you might even fit in.’
Seeing that no violence was about to erupt, the crowd melted away, leaving the three of them alone in the evil-smelling passage.
‘Come,’ Vyndde said. ‘Let us go somewhere more comfortable.’ He led Ileki and Slave quickly through a series of narrow corridors, the stench fading with every step until it was nothing more than a bad memory.
Here, the alleys were narrower and darker, but cleaner smelling than in the outer reaches of the vorbyndjaarge, almost as if these people took some pride in their surroundings. Slave heard muttered conversations, voices raised in laughter and even once or twice light, high-pitched voices.
After hearing a small burst of laughing, he stopped and grabbed Ileki’s arm.
‘What was that?’
Ileki’s eyes widened in shock. ‘That was children,’ he said slowly. ‘Have you never heard children before?’
Slave shook his head. ‘I have never seen a child,’ he said softly.
Vyndde stopped and swivelled to regard Slave. ‘What are you, freak?’
Slave felt shame. ‘I am a man like you, Vyndde,’ he replied.
Vyndde shook his head. ‘No, you are not like me,’ he said. ‘You have never seen a child? How can that be?’
‘I have been a slave all my life.’
‘All your life?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your family?’
Slave shrugged, but
the question cut deep. He had read about families and, like freedom, they sounded like something worth knowing, worth experiencing. And like freedom, he had no idea how he would go about doing so.
‘Where are you from?’ Vyndde asked.
‘Here, this city,’ Slave said.
‘No, you aren’t,’ Vyndde disagreed. ‘I don’t know where you are from, but you are definitely not from Vogel.’
Slave was about to argue when Vyndde raised his hand. ‘Come with me, we can talk more comfortably in my rooms.’
Vyndde had three rooms, each one slightly larger than either of Ileki’s, and all were clean and well lit. Slave sat on a chair in the central room, noting doors to other rooms in the walls. From behind the door to his left he could hear the sounds of someone sleeping and in the crack under the other, he saw the flickering light of a small fire. The smell of cooking wafted in. Slave’s stomach grumbled at the enticing aroma despite having eaten not so very long ago. He ignored it.
A number of subtle clues were interweaving in Slave’s mind until a clear picture formed. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Vyndde.
‘You were expecting us,’ he said. He looked to Ileki. ‘You brought us straight here. Why did you do that?’
Ileki swallowed. ‘We need protection. Vyndde can offer that.’
Slave shook his head. ‘I don’t think Vyndde will offer anything. I think he is likely to trade protection.’ Unsure, but hoping his strange eye would be able to unnerve, Slave stared hard at Vyndde. ‘What can I possibly have that you would want?’
He was pleased to note a faltering in Vyndde’s expression.
‘You survived the arena,’ he said. ‘My freaks are in constant danger from Slaaj and his kind. And even without them, the vorbyndjaarge is never a safe place. I offer safety from detection in exchange for your rare skills with a weapon.’
A sudden rage, born of desperation, boiled to the surface of Slave’s mind. He leaped to his feet and with a single sweeping motion spun the Warrior’s Claw across the room to slam into the wall a finger’s width away from Ileki’s head.
‘You knew!’ Slave screamed. ‘You sold me back into slavery!’
Ileki was pale, almost fainting in fear as he stared at the still-vibrating weapon embedded in the wall. Slave strode across the room and wrenched it out.
‘I will not do as you ask,’ he snapped.
‘And how do you think you will get out of here?’ Vyndde asked.
Slave whirled around to glare at him. ‘How will you stop me?’
‘Numbers.’
The unexpectedness of the answer made Slave pause.
‘You may try to fight your way out of here, and you might make some headway, but the one thing we have a lot of here in the vorbyndjaarge is people. No matter how good you are, you will make a mistake — you might slip, you might overreach yourself, you might just get tired — but either way, you will fall under the sheer weight of numbers. You will die.’ Vyndde spoke evenly and calmly as if discussing the weather. ‘If you choose to stay and listen to me, however, you will live.’ He smiled a tight, malevolent smile. ‘Live or die, it’s your choice.’
‘One I have already made,’ Slave snarled.
‘Good,’ Vyndde said, misunderstanding Slave’s reference.
Slave tucked the Claw back under his jerkin and turned to leave. ‘Do not try to stop me,’ he said.
‘Slave …’ began Ileki, but his voice fell silent as Slave shot him a venomous glare.
‘A man who has never even seen a child should not react too quickly,’ Vyndde said. ‘There is a difference between a job and slavery.’
Slave hesitated at the door.
‘A job is an exchange between two people; you do something for me and I do something for you,’ Vyndde went on, as if sensing he had a chance.
‘You act as my bodyguard, and I give you food, shelter, a place to sleep and protection from those who are chasing you.’
‘What’s a bodyguard?’ Slave asked without turning around.
10
Keshik looked up as Panxo approached. His eyes regarded the tall Siecentan man before flicking across to Maida. She gave him the signal to show she was not under duress. The Swordmaster grunted in acknowledgement and gestured for Panxo to sit.
‘My thanks, Swordmaster,’ Panxo said. Maida made her way into the gyrn where she busied herself with preparing the ritual meal Keshik would insist upon when discussing business. Until she arrived with the tray of salted meat, nuts and cups of sweetened horse blood, Keshik would stare impassively, silently, at Panxo.
When she carried the tray outside, Panxo looked up at her with something like relief, which faded when he saw what the tray bore. Keshik smiled broadly and invited Panxo to share the meal.
‘Eat with me and we can discuss whatever business you wish,’ he said. He examined the six cups of blood carefully before selecting one to offer Panxo in the ancient way: the cup grasped lightly in the fingers of his left hand, the right handunderneath, supporting it. Panxo clearly knew the ritual as he accepted it in the same way with a deep bow of his head.
He raised the cup to his lips and drained it in one swallow as he lifted his head. Keshik watched him with a speculative look.
‘Wisdom,’ said Keshik, ‘can be spoken in any language.’ To complete the opening ritual, he selected the largest portion of salted meat and offered it to Panxo.
‘But all men understand the language of wisdom,’ said Panxo as he accepted the meat.
‘Thank you,’ Keshik said. ‘Few men know or honour the old ways any more.’
Panxo was clearly struggling to keep the drink down, but acknowledged Keshik’s thanks with a wave of his hand.
‘We are men of the old,’ he said. ‘If we do not honour our past, who will?’ He started to gnaw at the tough meat.
‘Tell me,’ instructed Keshik. ‘What is your business with a Tulugma Swordmaster?’
‘My employer has interests in the city of Vogel,’ Panxo started. ‘There are troubles there at present.’
‘Oh?’
‘The city is burning. The smoke rises high and my employer’s Mertian oracle sees trouble in the smoke.’
‘Vogel has burned before,’ Keshik said. ‘It will burn again.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Panxo. ‘But the oracle is troubled. She believes there is more in this burning. She fears the Dark has arisen again.’
Keshik stared at Panxo. ‘Your employer has a Mertian oracle?’
‘He does.’
‘How did he come by her?’
Panxo shrugged. ‘I guess he bought her from slavers.’
Keshik shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I have only heard of one other — Myrrhini, the Eye of Varuun.’
‘Ah, her. I also have heard of her. A rare beauty, I believe.’
‘I would like to meet your employer’s oracle,’ Keshik stated.
‘He is very protective of her, Swordmaster.’
‘As he should be.’
‘Then you will understand if he denies your request.’
Keshik stroked his long moustaches. ‘No. That will be my fee for taking this job. A Seeing from his oracle.’
Maida tried, but failed, to hide her disappointment at Keshik’s decision. He could demand any fee he wished for his incomparable services, and he frequently chose whimsically. If she weren’t in charge of their money, they would have been destitute long ago. Keshik heard her sigh and flicked her a hard look. She tried to return his glare but failed.
‘You disagree, Maida?’ he asked.
‘No. Not at all.’
‘It is done then.’ Keshik returned his gaze to Panxo. ‘I will attend to your employer’s interests in Vogel for the fee of a Seeing from his Mertian.’
Panxo rose smoothly to his feet. ‘I will pass on your terms, Swordmaster.’
‘I will wait here for your response.’
Panxo returned before the sun had set. He bowed respectfully to Keshik and sat down on the same cushion.
/> ‘Your terms are acceptable to my employer,’ he said without preamble.
Keshik stood. ‘Good. Let us go.’
‘You mean now?’ Panxo said, scrambling to his feet.
‘Yes.’
‘This could be interesting,’ Panxo said.
He led them through the darkening streets of Jooure. The weather was closing in quickly, the mild warmth of the day giving way to clouds and wind. The first scent of snow reached Maida’s nostrils as Panxo stopped at the door to an unprepossessing house. He knocked firmly and an iron shutter slid open to reveal a pair of eyes staring out.
‘It’s you, Panxo,’ the man behind the door said. ‘The boss is expecting you.’ The shutter was slammed shut and a moment later the door swung open. A squat, powerfully built man with shaven head and full beard stood watching them with his legs apart and arms wide, as if expecting a fight. With wary eyes, he looked them all up and down, pausing on Keshik. His examination took in the Swordmaster’s stance, his thick wrists, multiple weapons and the famous scars. Finally satisfied, he gave a dismissive snort and stepped aside.
Panxo led them past the guard and along a short, wide corridor to a simple door. Without knocking, he pushed it open and ushered Keshik and Maida inside.
Panxo’s employer was an elderly man with cropped white hair and the stance of a former warrior. He stood beside a large bookcase, holding a book which he snapped shut when they entered.
‘So, you are Keshik, the Tulugma Swordmaster,’ he said in a cultured, educated voice that carried hints of a Siecentan accent. He slid the book back into its place on the shelf and approached.
Keshik bowed deeply.
The Siecentan stopped in his approach and returned the bow.
‘My name is Huenu,’ he said. ‘And I welcome you into my home.’
Maida was keen to see the Mertian oracle. She had heard of the mystical women with the ability to see beyond but she knew there would be formalities to observe. Keshik lived by ritual and it was obvious that this Huenu was one who appreciated such things.
Huenu ushered them to a table where a small meal of salted meat, nuts and six metal cups of what could only be sweetened horse blood was set. Keshik and Maida sat while their host selected for them.
Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms Page 8
