Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

  ‘Where’s your ship?’

  ‘Boat, man, boat,’ Iskopra protested. ‘And she’s over there,’ he added, with a general waft of his hand. ‘The Sotiria is as fine a vessel as you’ll find.’

  ‘She’d be the only vessel, I’d warrant,’ Keshik muttered.

  ‘Which reduces the competition, don’t you think?’

  Keshik narrowed his eyes as he stared at Iskopra. He was the stereotypical image of a seaman — bleached hair, leathery skin, bare feet and clothes predominately made of canvas. His gaze was clear and open, his smile engaging. Keshik could sense no guile in the man.

  ‘What price?’ he asked as he sheathed his swords.

  Iskopra laughed. ‘Normally, I would name some ridiculous amount and make you bargain, and then when we agreed that you have no money, I would suggest that the beautiful lady and I could come to some arrangement, but …’ He stepped back quickly, raising his hands as Keshik half drew his swords again. ‘But,’ he went on, ‘I can see that would be a foolish move. No, friend, I think that given the circumstances, your cheerful company would be price enough.’

  Keshik snorted and slammed his swords back down into their scabbards. ‘Where is this boat of yours?’

  Iskopra gave an injured look. ‘She’s there,’ he said, pointing.

  Maida and Keshik looked again, noticing the small craft tucked in against the dock. It was an open boat with a single mast supporting a triangular sail. Keshik was not surprised to see oars lashed to the sides.

  ‘That?’ Keshik exclaimed. ‘How far do you expect to get in that?’

  ‘Further than you would,’ Iskopra retorted.

  Keshik sighed and shook his head.

  ‘I will take that as a binding agreement.’

  The Sotiria was bigger than she looked from the dock, but she was still small. Iskopra clambered down the ladder first and held it steady while Maida, then Keshik joined him. The little boat rocked alarmingly before they found their places.

  ‘Done a lot of sailing, then,’ Iskopra commented as he steadied the boat.

  Keshik glared, but Maida giggled.

  ‘Grab an oar, fighting man,’ Iskopra instructed, ‘and let’s get away from this burning wreck of a city.’ Keshik watched Iskopra as he fitted the oar, then followed suit. ‘And you, beautiful lady, if you would hold the tiller and keep us pointing at that end of the breakwater, I would be most obliged.’

  Maida sat beside the tiller and shifted it until the prow of their boat was pointing where Iskopra had indicated.

  Keshik grunted as he pulled hard on his oar.

  ‘Aye,’ Iskopra observed. ‘Rowing will test you a little.’

  Keshik did not answer, but leaned his back into the task of keeping up with Iskopra, stroke for stroke.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the sailor said. ‘It’s not far and we’ll be able to use the wind. You can catch your breath then.’

  They rowed in silence until Maida felt the waft of a breeze on her face as they reached the edge of the breakwater. Iskopra obviously felt it too.

  ‘We can stop now,’ he said to Keshik. ‘Let the wind do the hard work for us.’

  Maida sat in the stern of the boat, switching her gaze between watching Keshik stow his oar and the dock they were rapidly leaving behind. Iskopra had just stood to raise the sail when the first figures appeared. They ran to the edge of the dock crying out and gesticulating wildly.

  ‘Keshik,’ Maida said. ‘Look!’

  Keshik and Iskopra paused in their actions to follow her gesture. The people were blurred by distance into a single mass. Keshik felt a chill as he watched them.

  ‘Should we go back?’ Maida asked.

  ‘No,’ said Iskopra.

  ‘But we could take a couple,’ Maida protested.

  ‘And who would decide who to take, and who to leave behind?’ Keshik asked.

  Maida sighed and tore her gaze away from the frenzied crowd at the dock.

  ‘I suppose you are right,’ she said. ‘But still …’

  Iskopra shook his head and pointed towards the dock. Maida turned to see the first wave of arrows arc into the sky. She screamed and threw herself down, but the open boat would provide little shelter from the falling missiles. Keshik bounded across to stand over her. A steely slither sounded as he drew his swords. With a shout, he attacked the deadly arrows. He swung his blades faster than the eye could follow, and the arrows fell harmlessly around Maida’s crouching form.

  The wind finally caught the sail and the little boat surged forwards. Keshik slowed his swords as the threat faded, even as the screaming crowd continued to fire arrows after them. He remained standing astride Maida with swords at the ready until they rounded the end of the breakwater and headed out into the Silvered Sea. Only then did he lower and sheathe his blades.

  He stepped away from Maida and reached down to help her up. She took his hand and sat again in the bow. No words were necessary; they seldom were. Her smile, his nod, were all they really needed. Keshik turned and sat on the simple plank that ran athwart the boat, just behind the mast.

  Iskopra sat beside him after setting the sail.

  ‘That was quite a display,’ he said. ‘I think I should ask your name about now, but I feel I will regret it.’

  ‘Keshik.’

  ‘Ice and wind! The Swordmaster! What are you doing in Vogel?’

  ‘Leaving.’

  Iskopra roared in laughter and slapped his knee. ‘The stories never say you have a sense of humour.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Keshik’s flat tone and hard stare seemed only to incite Iskopra’s humour even more. He doubled over in unrestrained glee. His laughter seemed so genuine, so unaffected that Maida quickly joined him. Keshik grunted in surly annoyance and folded his arms, staring ahead. Their laughter drifted out over the calm water as they left Vogel harbour behind and sailed on to the vast Silvered Sea.

  37

  ‘The Scarred Man?’ Slave repeated. ‘Why call me that?’

  ‘It is you,’ Myrrhini whispered. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Who are you?’ Slave asked.

  ‘I am Myrrhini.’

  ‘Slave,’ Ileki said.

  Slave tore his eyes from Myrrhini to regard Ileki. Their eyes met in recognition and then he looked down to Waarde. ‘Is she …?’

  ‘Alive? Yes. They would not bother with a dead noblewoman.’

  ‘Good.’

  The Sana Waarde moaned softly and rolled onto her side. Her eyes flickered open. ‘Slave?’ she said. ‘Is that you?’

  Slave kneeled and reached his hand through the bars towards her.

  Ileki sighed and walked away to sit opposite Waarde. He closed his eyes.

  ‘I’m here, Waarde,’ Slave said.

  Ileki sighed theatrically and shook his head. ‘She’s not interested in you, Slave,’ he said. ‘She just used you for sport and idle distraction. She’s why we’re here.’

  Slave looked up at Ileki and shook his head. ‘Slaaj sold us all, Ileki. Not just her.’

  Waarde sat up at the mention of Slaaj’s name. ‘He sold us?’

  ‘Of course he did, you stupid little woman,’ Ileki snapped. ‘What else? Did you think a party of slavers just happened to be waiting for you to take a walk in the woods?’

  Waarde glared at Ileki. ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’

  ‘I will speak to you any way I want, you idiot. If it wasn’t for your stupid brother’s arrogant misuse of his abilities, we would not be here.’

  ‘Don’t you ever speak of my brother!’ Waarde hissed. ‘He is dead.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘How dare you.’ She rose unsteadily to her feet and took a step towards Ileki.

  He opened his eyes and watched her. ‘Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a half-dead haze of daven insanity?’

  Waarde hesitated.

  ‘Because that is what will happen to you if they,’ he jerked a thumb at the slavers, ‘ever find out about you.’
/>
  The little noblewoman blanched as the truth of Ileki’s words sank in. She stopped advancing on the Reader and seemed to collapse to the floor of the wagon. Ileki pushed himself up and stood over her.

  ‘You caused all this, bitch,’ he snarled. ‘We are on the way to being sold into lifelong slavery because you could not keep your idiot brother under control.’

  ‘No, we are not,’ Slave said. ‘I am not going back into slavery.’

  ‘What can you do about it?’ Myrrhini asked.

  Slave shook his head. ‘I don’t know yet, but I will die before going back.’

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ Myrrhini said in a small voice.

  If he heard her, Slave gave no indication. He started to walk around the cage, examining the bars, the floor, the lock. At regular intervals, he shook the bars and kicked at the wooden boards into which they were fixed. Myrrhini watched, puzzled.

  ‘Hey!’

  Slave looked up as a guard approached. He was as shabby as all the others, wearing scuffed leathers and carrying a spear. His horse was an ugly brute with a white flash down his nose and half an ear missing. ‘What are you doing, ugly man?’ he demanded.

  ‘Looking for a way to escape,’ Slave answered.

  ‘Thought you might be. You’re ugly enough to be stupid.’ The guard urged his horse close to the cage. ‘Tarrak,’ he addressed the driver. ‘Got the keys?’

  The driver shook his head. ‘Urryk’s got them.’

  The guard pulled his horse away from the wagon and headed off towards the axeman who had captured Slave. He rode alongside for a short while before trotting back.

  ‘Yar, Urryk thinks he might be a risk in there. It’s time for these men to be walking with the rest,’ he said to the driver. He unhooked some chains from his saddle and tossed them into the cage.

  ‘Put those on,’ he directed.

  Slave picked up the manacles. He turned them over in his hands, feeling the hard metal, the nicks and scratches from too much use.

  How many people have worn these? How many died with these locked around their wrists? So much suffering. So much despair.

  He lifted his eyes to stare at the guard.

  ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I will not put them on.’ He stepped towards the edge of the cage and dropped the chains to the ground outside the bars.

  The guard reined in his horse and slid out of the saddle. ‘It’s you or the girl,’ he said as he picked up the chains. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Which girl?’

  ‘You choose.’

  ‘No.’

  The guard shook his head. ‘Bad choice, ugly.’ He remounted his horse and rode ahead. Slave stood watching him as he rode alongside two other guards. After a brief conversation, the others turned to look at him before wheeling their horses around to ride back to the wagon. With a sinking feeling, Slave saw them nock arrows onto their bows. He waited until they came close enough before preparing himself to face their arrows.

  To his surprise, they did not aim their bows at him. They aimed at Myrrhini.

  ‘Put them on, or she dies,’ the guard said.

  Slave looked at Myrrhini, then back to the armed guards. He shrugged. ‘I don’t know her. Don’t owe her anything. Kill her. I don’t care. I won’t put those chains on.’

  An arrow split the air. It hissed across the distance between them straight towards Myrrhini. Instinct overrode thought and Slave reached out. He caught the arrow cleanly less than a hand’s span away from her face.

  The guard who had fired lowered his bow, as did the others.

  ‘That was impressive.’ The voice came from behind him. Slave spun around to see the axeman, Urryk, regarding him. ‘Slaaj said you were the best he’d ever seen. I didn’t believe him, of course, but…’ He shrugged, allowing the sentence to peter out, unfinished.

  Slave gripped the bars and snarled at Urryk. ‘I will kill you if you try to enslave me.’

  Urryk snorted disdainfully. ‘You are already enslaved. Enslaved to so many different people and things you couldn’t even number them.’ He pointed at Myrrhini. ‘Why did you save her life? As you said, she is nothing to you. She is nothing to me either.’

  Myrrhini rose slowly to her feet. ‘You are mistaken,’ she said. ‘I am Myrrhini, the Eye of Varuun.’

  Urryk roared with laughter. ‘Of course you are, child. And you know the name of the Key Wielder too.’

  ‘Joukahainen.’

  Urryk’s laughter faded, to be replaced by a speculative frown. ‘And the head of the Arms?’

  ‘His title is the Arm of Varuun and his name is Erno.’

  Ileki slid down the bars to the floor, cradling his head in his hands. Urryk watched him.

  ‘You knew,’ he accused Ileki.

  ‘Only just found out, Urryk. I told you this woman,’ he pointed at Waarde, ‘was part Mertian.’

  Urryk tossed the key to the wagon to another of the guards. ‘Let him out. He’s more than earned his cut for this trip.’

  Slave felt like he had been kicked in the guts. Pain ripped through him, pain unlike anything he had known. How was this possible? It made no sense. Ileki had told him about his wife, rescued him from pursuers, given him magical protection from Sondelle, followed him into Slaaj’s service. Slave staggered away from the bars, unable to keep balance. His world swirled crazily around him, threatening to unhinge him completely. How could all that be a lie? What would make Ileki do something like this?

  Slave lurched backwards across his cage until he lost balance and fell. His head struck the wooden floor hard, sending painful stars dancing behind his eyes. Dimly, he heard Ileki’s cage door open and close.

  ‘Don’t let him out, whatever you do,’ Ileki said. ‘He’s more dangerous than you know.’

  Myrrhini kneeled beside Slave and cradled his head. ‘You saved me,’ she whispered. ‘You didn’t have to, but you did. It is just like my vision. All around you is death and violence, but within your protection, there is safety.’ She stroked his hair back out of his eyes. ‘I was right to come here.’

  ‘You are even stupider than you look, child,’ the Sana Waarde snapped. ‘There is no safety with him. I was with him when they took us. Look how safe we are.’

  Myrrhini raised her head. ‘I have been called stupid a lot recently,’ she said. ‘And yet, I am here, with this man whom I saw in my vision. I am safe from the cold, the hunger and the hunters out there.’ She tilted her head to indicate the cold plains around them. ‘And you saw how he saved my life a moment ago.’

  Waarde snorted, an indelicate sound at odds with her appearance. ‘We are locked in a cage, surrounded by murderous thugs, being taken to stand on the slave blocks of Venste. I don’t call that safe.’

  ‘We are both worth far more to them alive than dead,’ Myrrhini countered. ‘And I am in here with him. No one will come in here for fear of what he will do to them. I call that safe.’ She lowered her head to regard the scars that sliced across Slave’s face. Softly, with great care, she traced one of the lines with her finger. ‘What did this to you?’ she breathed.

  Slave’s eyes flickered open and focused on Myrrhini’s face. ‘Something dark and evil that lives beneath the city of Vogel,’ he said.

  ‘I think there are two such things, and I fear they are both released into our world.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly, but I fear the answers may lie back where I came from. And I do not want to go back.’

  ‘If that’s the case, girl, you might just have to do what you don’t want to,’ Waarde said.

  Myrrhini paled. ‘No. I will be taken back into captivity.’

  The Sana looked her up and down. ‘Looks like a pretty easy captivity.’

  Myrrhini recalled her room, the warm bed, the food, the library and had to agree. ‘It was,’ she said. ‘But it was still captivity.’

  Some orders were shouted and the wagon jerked back into motion, reminding Myrrhini of the reality of her situation
. Despite her brave words, she was desperately afraid of what was to come.

  Their situation was not without hope, however. In the conversation and revelation about Ileki’s duplicity, the arrow that had been shot at her had been apparently forgotten. When Slave had dropped it near where Myrrhini sat, she carefully pulled it under her. When she rose to her feet, she had tucked it up along her thigh, held in place by the waistband of her dress. It nestled, sharp and dangerous, beside her leg, hidden — not much perhaps, but it was a weapon nonetheless.

  Waarde started pacing around her cage. It was about five paces long and two paces wide, identical to Slave and Myrrhini’s. She lost balance slightly as the wagon bumped over something, causing her to grab at the bars to steady herself.

  ‘Ice and wind,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘What? Did you break a fingernail?’ Myrrhini asked.

  The Sana glared at her. She held up her hand to show a thin trickle of blood on one finger.

  ‘Looks serious,’ Myrrhini said. ‘Shall I call a guard to see to it?’

  Slave pushed himself up to his feet and walked away from Myrrhini. Already, the young woman was beginning to annoy him. She seemed silly and frivolous, despite her portentous utterings about visions and doom. His mind was confused, unable to focus, still reeling from Ileki’s betrayal.

  Was it only the one betrayal? How far did his duplicity extend?

  He knew he should be thinking about escape — the horror of yet more slavery loomed large in his mind — but the shock, the incomprehensibility of Ileki’s actions scattered his thoughts, leaving him staring blankly out of his cage while the women wrangled.

  The slavers were a much bigger group than he had realised. There were at least twenty guards keeping watch on the wagon and the line of wretched slaves following it. Of these there were about fifty, both men and women. They trudged with heads down, chained together at the wrist and ankle, wrapped in blankets to ward off the cold while guards on horseback rode around them, urging them on.

  Anger took root in his mind. A boiling sense of fury, of violent need, of hunger to bring chaos, seemed to appear, unbidden, somewhere deep within his consciousness. Slave felt a growl build in his throat. To see these pathetic suffering slaves, mindlessly driven across this icy plain towards their fate tapped a primal rage he had experienced before. He gripped the bars of his cage, trying to maintain control. His whole body started to tremble. The low growl escaped his throat. Blackness crept into his vision, clouding the edges of his sight, narrowing his view.