Beside him lay an unconscious guard from his own band, tied with ropes. The man mumbled slightly but was not conscious. Matted blood dried in his hair showed he had received a vicious head wound. A rough hand reached out and grabbed Borric by the chin, yanking his face around to face the man who had kicked him. The man squatted before Borric. He was thin, wore his beard cut close so that it looked little more than stubble. His head was covered in a turban that once may have looked fine but now looked only faded and lice-ridden. He wore simple trousers and tunic and high boots. Over his shoulder stood another man, wearing an unadorned leather vest over his bare chest. His head was shaved, save a single lock of hair down the middle, and a large gold ring hung in his left ear. Borric recognized these as the trademarks of the Guild of Slavers, from Durbin.
The first man nodded at Borric, then looked at the guard with the bloody face and shook his head in the negative. The slaver pulled Borric roughly to his feet without a word, while the thin man took out a dagger and before Borric realized his intent, cut the unconscious guard’s throat.
The slaver whispered harshly in Borric’s ear, ‘No tricks, spellcaster. Those chains will blank out your magic, or Moskatoni the Trader will have my dagger for dinner. We move before your friends can find us. Speak a single word aloud and I’ll kill you.’ He spoke in the northern Keshian dialect.
Borric, still groggy from the blow to his head, only nodded weakly. The slaver pulled him along through the small gully where a group of horsemen were ransacking a bundle of baggage. One of the men swore quietly. The slaver’s companion passed where Borric stood and grabbed the man. ‘What did you find?’ he asked, speaking the patois of the desert, a mingling of Keshian, King’s Tongue, and the language of the desertmen of the Jal-Pur.
‘Women’s clothing and some dried meat and cakes. Where is the gold we were promised?’
The thin man, obviously the leader, swore as well. ‘I’ll kill that Lafe. He said nobles brought gold to the Empress.’
The slaver shook his head, as if he had expected this sort of disappointment. ‘You should know better than to trust fools.’ He glanced up at where the wind shrieked overhead and said, ‘The storm passes. We’re only yards away from this one’s companions.’ He inclined his head at Borric. ‘We don’t want to be found here when the storm is over.’
The thin man turned to face his companion. ‘I lead this band, Kasim.’ He looked to be on the edge of rage. ‘I’ll say when we move and when we stay.’
The slaver shrugged. ‘If we stay, we will have to fight again, Luten. They will be ready this time. And I see nothing to make me think we’ll find gold or jewellery with this band.’
The man called Luten glanced around, a near-feral light in his eyes. ‘These are armed soldiers.’ He closed his eyes a moment as if about to cry, then opened them and clenched his teeth. Borric recognized a man with a violent temper, who ruled his company through intimidation and threats as much as through any natural leadership. ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed. Nodding at Borric, he said, ‘Kill him and let us flee.’
Kasim moved Borric behind him, as if protecting him, and said, ‘Our agreement was I would have the prisoners for slaves. Otherwise my men would not have joined with yours.’
‘Bah!’ spat Luten. ‘We didn’t need them. We were more than a match for those guards. We were both misled by that fool Lafe.’
As the wind began to lessen, Kasim said, ‘I don’t know who is worse, the fool or he who listens to the fool, but I will have this man for the auction. He is my profit in Durbin. My guild would not look kindly upon returning without at least this small profit.’
Whirling to face Borric, the man called Luten said, ‘You. Where is the gold?’
Feigning ignorance, Borric said, ‘Gold?’ Luten stepped forward and struck the Prince across the face. ‘The gold some nobles brought to the Empress’s Jubilee.’
Borric extemporized. ‘Nobles? There was a party of nobles we passed along the way. Two, three noblemen with guards, heading for … an inn. The Inn of the Twelve Chairs, I think. We … hurried because … the hide trader was anxious to get his hides to the tanner before they turned rotten.’
Luten turned and shrieked his fury into the wind. Two men nearby put hands to swords, startled by the sound. ‘Quiet,’ said Kasim.
Luten spun, his dagger out, pointed at Kasim. ‘Don’t order me, slaver.’ He then pointed his dagger at Borric. ‘This one is lying and I’ll have more than these damn boots to show for three men killed!’ Borric glanced down and saw the boots he had won gambling were now on Luten’s feet. He had been thoroughly searched while unconscious, it seemed. Luten shoved Kasim aside, coming to face Borric directly. ‘I’ll have the truth out of him, as well.’ He drew back the dagger, as if to thrust at Borric, then stiffened. A sad, almost apologetic expression crossed his face for an instant, then he fell to his knees.
Behind him Kasim withdrew the dagger he had just stabbed into Luten’s back. Kasim then grabbed Luten by the hair and said, ‘Never threaten me, you stupid man.’ Then with a quick jerk he pulled back Luten’s head and sliced his neck, sending a fountain of blood spurting off to one side. ‘And never turn your back on me.’ Luten’s eyes turned up in his head and Kasim released him, letting him fall at Borric’s feet. ‘Let this be a lesson to you in your next life.’
To the others in Luten’s band, he said, ‘I lead.’ There was no argument voiced. Glancing around, he pointed to a depression in the small gully, overhung by a clump of boulders. ‘Dump him in there.’ Two men picked up Luten and threw him into the depression. ‘And the other.’ The dead guard was carried and tossed in beside Luten.
Turning to face Borric, the slaver said, ‘Show me no trouble, and you’ll live. Trouble me, and you’ll die. Understand?’
Borric nodded. To the others, Kasim said, ‘Get ready to leave now.’ He then jumped up to the edge of the gully, ignoring the howling wind. The powerful slaver put shoulder to one of the larger boulders and shoved it over, starting a small landslide which covered the two bodies. He leaped nimbly down into the depression, and glanced about as if anticipating trouble from one of Luten’s men. When no one offered him any difficulty, he rose to his full height. ‘To the oasis at Broken Palms.’
‘What are your skills?’ The slaver stood above Borric, whose wits were slowly returning to him. He had been dragged to a horse and forced to ride with his hands manacled. The pounding he had taken had added to the disorientation he had felt since his capture. He vaguely recalled the storm suddenly being over and then arriving at an odd oasis, surrounded by three ancient palm tree trunks, broken off by some cataclysmic storm of years gone by.
Borric shook his head to clear it and answered back in the formal court language of Kesh, ‘What skills?’
The slaver took his answer as a sign of confusion from the head blow. ‘What tricks? What magics do you do?’
Borric understood. The slaver judged him a magician from Stardock, which accounted for the magic blanking chains. For an instant, Borric felt an impulse to explain who he was, but thoughts of his father receiving ransom demands on his behalf kept him from answering quickly. He could come forth at anytime between now and the slave auction at Durbin, and perhaps between now and then he could conspire to escape.
Suddenly the man lashed out and struck the Prince a backhanded blow. ‘I’ve no time to be gentle with you, mage. Your party is but a few hours away and no doubt will be looking for you. Or even if they have no love of you in their hearts, there are still many Imperial patrols out. We mean to be far from here, quickly.’
Another man came to stand over the kneeling man. ‘Kasim, just kill him and leave him. No one pays a good price for a magician at the slave blocks. Too much trouble keeping them in line.’
Kasim looked over his shoulder and said, ‘I lead this band, now, I’ll decide who we kill and who we take to market.’
Borric said, ‘I’m no magician. I won the robes in a game of poker.’
The second man ran
a hand over his dark-bearded face. ‘He lies. It’s some magician’s trick to get free of the manacles and kill us all with his magic. I say kill him now.’
‘And I say if you don’t shut up and quit arguing, there’ll be another worthless carcass for the vultures to feast on. Get the men ready. As soon as the horses have been watered and rested, I want to put as much distance as I can between those guards and us.’ To Borric he said, ‘We found some pretty baubles in the bottom of the baggage, mage. The lady you rode with had enough gold for me to pay these brigands. You’re my profit.’
With an inarticulate grunt, the raider moved away, signalling the others to ready for riding. Borric managed to sit upright against a large boulder.
‘I’m no magician.’
‘Well, you’re no fighting man, either. To travel unarmed at the edge of the Jal-Pur, one must either have a great company of guards or a great deal of faith. Faith is for priests, which you’re not. You don’t look the fool, but then I’ve never been one for casual appearances.’ Shifting from Keshian to the King’s Tongue, he said, ‘Where are you from?’
‘Krondor,’ Borric decided through his aching head that he would be best served by obscuring his identity, ‘but I’ve travelled a lot.’
The slaver sat back on his haunches, arms resting on his knees. ‘You’re not much more than a boy. You speak Keshian like a courtier and your Kingdom tongue is nearly as fair. If you’re not a spellcaster, what are you?’
Improvising, Borric said, ‘I … teach. I know several languages. I can read, write, and do sums. I know history and geography. I can recite the line of kings and empresses, the names of the major nobles and trading houses—’
‘Enough!’ interrupted Kasim. ‘You’ve convinced me. A tutor, then, is it? Well, there are plenty of rich men who need educated slaves to teach their children.’ Without waiting for any response from Borric, he stood up. As he stepped away, he said, ‘You are worthless to me dead, teacher, but I am also not a patient man. Do not be too much trouble and you will live. Cause me difficulty, and I’ll kill you as soon as spit on you.’ To his band he said, ‘Mount up! We ride to Durbin!’
• CHAPTER SIX •
Dilemma
ERLAND TURNED HIS HORSE.
‘Borric!’ he shouted over the still-howling wind.
James and the guards watched from where they stood holding their horses. The newly elevated Earl shouted, ‘Get off your horse before she runs away with you!’
The already excited mount was snorting and whinnying at the frightening noises and stinging blasts from the sandstorm, despite her training and Erland’s firm control. The Prince ignored James’s orders and continued to circle away from the others, shouting his brother’s name. ‘Borric!’
Gamina stood beside her husband and said, ‘It’s difficult to concentrate with this wind screaming in my ears, but there are thoughts coming from that direction.’ She covered her face with her forearm, turned, and pointed to the west.
‘Borric?’ asked Locklear, who stood next to James, his back to the biting wind.
Gamina held up her arm, letting the sleeve of her gown shield her face. ‘No. I’m sorry. I don’t know these men, but none of the minds I’ve touched is his. When I attempt to focus on what I remember of his thoughts during the battle …’
‘Nothing,’ James finished.
‘Could he be unconscious?’ Locklear’s expression was hopeful.
Gamina said, ‘If he’s stunned or farther away, then I would not sense him. My abilities are limited by the strength and training of the other mind. I can speak to my father from over a hundred miles away and he can speak to me across incredible distances. But those who attacked us are no more than a few hundred feet away; I get images and stray words about the fight.’ With sadness in her voice, she said, ‘I can’t sense Borric anywhere.’
James reached out to her and she came into the comfort of his arm. His horse nickered at the change in pressure on the reins and James gave an impatient yank on the leathers, silencing the animal. Softly, so that only Gamina would hear, he said, ‘I pray the gods let him be alive.’
For an hour the wind blew, and Erland circled his companions to the limit of his ability to see them, while he cried his brother’s name. Then the winds ceased, and in the silence that followed, his hoarse cries rang across a desolate landscape: ‘Borric!’
Locklear signalled to the Captain of his company for a report. The officer said, ‘Three men dead or missing, m’lord. Two more wounded enough we should get them to shelter. The rest are fit and ready.’
James considered his options, then decided. ‘You remain here with Erland and search the immediate area, but don’t wander too far. I’ll take two men and ride to the Inn of the Twelve Chairs and see if that Keshian patrol can help us locate Borric.’ With a glance around the barren landscape, he added, ‘I’m certain I have no idea where to begin looking.’
For the next few hours, through the early afternoon, it took all of Locklear’s powers of persuasion, with some not-so-idle threatening, to keep Erland from riding farther into the wastes than Locklear judged safe. The young Prince was frantic to search for his brother, in case he was lying unconscious a few yards away, in a gully or ravine, in need of care. Locklear spread the men out to patrol the surrounding area, always keeping a chain of guards posted so that someone was always in sight of the impromptu camp. Gamina tended the wounded, getting them ready to ride to the closest shelter when James returned.
Finally, James returned, accompanied by the Keshian patrol. Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi was obviously displeased to have his respite interrupted, especially given the potential for personal difficulty should his superiors judge him somehow at fault, as the attack came in his patrol area. He wished to put as much distance between himself and these cursed Islemen as possible, but the possibility of an international incident between the Empire and her largest neighbour gave sufficient reason to put his irritation aside and help in the search for the lost Prince.
Experienced trackers quickly discovered the gully wherein the raiders had hidden. Shouts brought the entire company to the edge of a gully, where two scouts were inspecting a large rockfall. One continued poking about in the rubble while the second scout carried a single boot up to where the Islemen waited. There was no mistaking the scarlet and yellow design of the boot. Pointing back down at the mass of boulders he said, ‘M’lord, I found this. A little farther in, under the rocks, I can see what’s left of the foot that wore it.’
Erland sat in silent shock as James asked, ‘Can we dig him out?’
The Keshian scout at the bottom of the rockfall shook his head. ‘It would take a company of engineers a day or two at best, m’lord.’ He pointed up to the place the slide had begun. ‘It was recently done, from the signs. To cover the owner of this boot, and others, perhaps.’ Then he pointed to the far side of the gully. ‘And if too much movement occurred here, the other side might come down as well. I’m afraid it will be risky.’
Erland said, ‘I want him dug out.’
James said, ‘I understand—’
Erland interrupted. ‘No, you don’t. That may not be Borric down there.’
Locklear attempted to be understanding. ‘I know how you must feel.’
‘No,’ said Erland, ‘you don’t know.’ To James he said, ‘We don’t know that’s Borric down there. He could have lost the boot during the struggle. He could be a prisoner. We don’t know if that’s him under the rocks.’
James said, ‘Gamina, is there any sign of Borric?’
Gamina just shook her head. ‘The thoughts I detected earlier were in this gully. But there was no pattern of thinking that was familiar.’
Erland was unmoved. ‘That proves nothing.’ To James he said, ‘You know how close he and I are. If he were dead … I’d feel something.’ Looking across the broken landscape of the high desert he said, ‘He’s out there somewhere. And I intend to find him.’
‘And what are you going to do, m’lord?’
asked the Keshian Sergeant. ‘Ride out into the plateau country alone and without water or food? It doesn’t look it, but it’s as much a desert here as in the great sand ergs of the Jal-Pur. Beyond that rise of ridges over there the true sandy wastes begin, and if you don’t know where the Oasis of the Broken Palms is, you’ll not live long enough to find the Oasis of the Hungry Goats. There are thirty or so places out there you can find water and a few with food-bearing plants as well, but you can walk within yards of several and not know them. You would die, young lord.’
Turning his horse back toward the way they had come, Sergeant Ras-al-Fawi said, ‘My lords, I grieve for your loss, but my duty dictates I ride on and discover others bent upon breaking the Empire’s peace. I shall file a report on this when I reach the terminus of my patrol. If you would like, I’ll leave a scout with you and you may continue your search. When you are satisfied that nothing more can be done, head back to the road.’ Pointing south, he said, ‘The road continues past the foothills of the Pillars of the Stars to Nar Ayab. We keep many stations and patrols along that route. Dispatch riders move constantly among those stations and into the heart of the Empire. Send word ahead of your arrival and a state welcome will be mounted by the Governor of Nar Ayab. From there, he will send mounted soldiers to protect you until you reach the city of Kesh.’ He left unsaid that had this been done from the start, the bandits would never have been able to surprise the Islemen. ‘I will mark this location, and ensure exact directions are in my report. In time, the Empress, blessings be upon her, will order engineers out to retrieve your young Prince, and he will be returned home for a fitting burial. Until then, I can only wish you the gods’ favour in your travels.’
With a wave and heels to the side of the horse, the Sergeant and his patrol headed away from the gully. James skirted the top of the fall and looked down to the lone Keshian scout who remained. ‘What do you see?’
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