The Bastard’s Pearl

by Connie Bailey

  Sheyn was reminded that this wasn’t a classroom exercise when Ognyan grabbed a fistful of his robe.

  “Look at me when I speak to you,” Ognyan growled.

  Sheyn met the warlord’s gaze without a trace of fear in his eyes. He was frightened of what might happen to him, but he wasn’t going to let this barbarian see him cringe.

  “That is not how a slave looks at his master.” Ognyan ripped Sheyn’s robe from neck to crotch. “But I wager your expression will change when I take you for the first time.”

  Chapter 6

  YEVDJEN RETURNED to the sitting room and pulled Luks down onto his lap. “What is that pout for?” the king asked indulgently. “Is there some food you’re craving that you don’t see here?”

  “No, my lord,” Luks said.

  “Something is keeping the smile from your lips.”

  Luks smiled fetchingly at his master.

  Yevdjen shook his head. “Tell me what has displeased you.” He watched Luks pour wine before he spoke again. “You’re not jealous of the new slave, are you?” As Luks handed him his cup, Yevdjen stroked the young man’s cheek. “He’s a gift for Ognyan, not for me. Now, be merry.”

  “Where is the new slave from?”

  “His strangeness has made you curious too?”

  “Yes, my lord. And I’m curious about something else.”

  “Speak freely.”

  “Though he bears the scars of a daaksi, I see nothing of the Shrine’s training in him.”

  “He didn’t come from the Shrine in Djenaes.”

  A fine line appeared between Luks’s brows. “How is this possible?”

  “What difference does that make? Ognyan wanted a daaksi and I procured one for him. What more is there to know?”

  “Daaksim are for kings. They are not vulgar trophies for—” Luks stopped speaking and stared at his master in utter shock as he brought a hand up to his burning cheek. Not once in over a decade had the king laid a hand on him in anger, and surprise robbed him of speech.

  “Nonsense,” Yevdjen said dismissively. “It’s true you’re a rare beauty and you have an uncanny talent for pleasing a man, but there’s no magic in that.”

  Luks bowed his head, letting the auburn waves of his hair slide forward to hide his face.

  “Have I hurt you?” Yevdjen asked.

  “Not you, my lord. I am only sad that my kind has fallen so low in the regard of this world and the one above.”

  “They filled your head with nonsense at that Shrine.” Yevdjen put his fingers under Luks’s chin. “I indulge you because you please me, but when all is said and done, you’re a pleasure slave. You should remember your place.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Yevdjen set down his goblet. “This wine is sour.”

  “I’ll fetch another jar.”

  “Go into the cellar at the right of the ladder and take a jar from the farthest corner. I’m in the mood for something special.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “And I wish you to join me, so bring another cup.”

  Luks bowed his head and left the room.

  “Enjoy it,” someone said as Yevdjen lifted his cup to his lips. “It will be your last drink.”

  Yevdjen reached for his sword, but a boot came down on it. The king looked up. “Bastard!”

  “Yes,” said the tall man. “It is the Bastard of Savaan.” He put the point of his long sword against Yevdjen’s neck.

  Yevdjen swallowed. “Prince Kashyan,” he said. “Welcome to my court.”

  “Not surprised? Well, I suppose you knew this day would come.”

  “I knew you’d try to kill me if you had the chance.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have abducted my mother and held her for ransom.”

  “That was twenty-five years ago. I was a boy of fourteen.”

  “There is no time limit on my mother’s honor.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  A drop of blood trickled down the king’s neck. “How did you get so close to me with your life?”

  “I’ve had scouts watching you since I got my first command. It took patience, but at last, I have you where I want you. I’ve killed your guards, and my lieutenant is taking care of your warlord right now. Prepare yourself for death.”

  “You’d kill an unarmed man?”

  “You want a fair fight? Did you give my mother a weapon?”

  “She was just a woman!”

  “She was my mother. You took her, and you defiled her, and you sold her back to a husband who was ashamed of her. She died alone and heartbroken, believing herself worthless because of you. You deserve no mercy from me.”

  “Ognyan!” Yevdjen bellowed.

  “Shout all you like,” Kashyan said. “No help is coming to you.”

  “Let me stand up, at least.”

  “Did you let my mother stand up?”

  “Do you want to hear about it? Or would you rather stay with whatever story she told you?” Another trickle of blood flowed down Yevdjen’s neck.

  Kashyan cursed under his breath and took a step back, afraid he’d kill Yevdjen too quickly. “On your feet,” he said. “And pick up your sword.”

  “Why give me this chance?”

  “Because simply killing you wouldn’t be satisfying enough. It would be over far too quickly.”

  “Oh, Bastard.” Yevdjen grinned. “I do like your spirit.” He drew his sword and faced Kashyan. “You’re wearing riding leathers, and I’m in my robe, but I’ll not complain. Fight for your life, boy, because I intend to.”

  “I fight for your life and the privilege of ending it.”

  Yevdjen grinned wolfishly. “My blood is stirring as it hasn’t done in years. If I die today, at least it will be by the sword and not in my bed of old age.”

  SHEYN FROZE, every muscle rigid as iron, as Ognyan seated his rod. He felt pressure at his entrance, and his breath congealed in his throat until he felt as though he was suffocating. There was no distraction from the reality that he was helpless to stop what was happening to him. He could feel Ognyan’s excitement, and it fed his horror.

  Ognyan grinned as he leaned forward, trying to force his thick length into Sheyn without the aid of lubricant. The petrified look on Sheyn’s face was sweeter than honey to Ognyan, and he reined himself in to savor the moment. His greatest pleasure had come from mounting prisoners in the aftermath of a battle when his blood was up and he felt like the God of war himself. However, that custom had been outlawed by the high king. To Ognyan’s surprise, forcing this foreign daaksi gave him the same thrill. The pale lad wasn’t as attractive as Luks, but Ognyan was beginning to see his charms. If only the daaksi would make a little noise, Ognyan was sure he could find release.

  “Feel that?” Ognyan said as he pushed again. “You’ll soon know what it’s like to be topped by a man. When you feel my thrust, you’ll make plenty of noise.”

  Ognyan grinned, and then he went still, straining to hear a faint noise. Climbing off Sheyn, he slid from the bed. As his feet touched the floor, he pulled down his kilt and grabbed his sword belt. Buckling the belt around him as he ran, Ognyan followed the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal. He saw Luks coming up from the cellar and ordered the daaksi to hide until the king came for him. Luks set down the jug he was carrying and hurried away.

  Sheyn was stunned and relieved by Ognyan’s abrupt departure. As he shivered in reaction to the assault, he wished with all his heart for someone to come and take him away from this misery and make everything all right again. He wished for the power to take revenge on those who hurt him. He pulled at his chains as he tried to curl up around the awful pain at his core, and he wished he could go back to moment before he left Aeriq for the last time. He didn’t understand what had happened to him, but he knew it was worse than anything his mother could have imagined. And when that bloody-minded brute Ognyan came back, he was sure it would happen all over again.

  KA
SHYAN LUNGED, Yevdjen skipped back out of reach, and the duel continued. Both men were tall, broad shouldered, and deep chested, with strong muscles forged in hours of practice with heavy weapons. Neither had an advantage in height or reach, but Kashyan was fifteen years younger than Yevdjen. On the other hand, Yevdjen had fifteen years more experience and a familiarity with his surroundings. The fight was even, intense, and shockingly brief.

  The deciding factor was the difference in the weapons in their hands. Kashyan carried a long fullered blade that had been passed down for generations. The ingot used to make the sword came from the Utmost East hundreds of years ago, and the metal was difficult to work. It took two gifted smiths three days to forge the blade, and they needed a team of six men to keep the bellows going day and night to ensure a hot enough fire. Grinding the edge took another month. In the fist of a strong, fearless man like the Bastard of Savaan, the sword had no equal.

  Though Yevdjen was a powerful and wily swordsman, the first time he solidly blocked a blow, his weapon was shorn in half. Kashyan’s stroke was not deflected at all; it barely lost any momentum as it slashed through Yevdjen’s robe and the flesh beneath. Yevdjen fell back, raising the broken sword as a makeshift shield, as Kashyan hammered at him. The hilt flew from Yevdjen’s hand, and he ducked away from the blow aimed at his neck. He kicked a large cushion under Kashyan’s feet, but the Bastard leapt nimbly over it. Yevdjen looked swiftly around, but he knew there was nothing within reach that could be used as a weapon. Sumadin’s king accepted the inevitable and spread his arms, inviting the killing stroke. Kashyan didn’t hesitate to stab his enemy through the royal boar of Sumadin embroidered over Yevdjen’s heart.

  As Yevdjen fell, a flicker in the dying man’s eyes alerted Kashyan. The Bastard spun around in time to block Ognyan’s sword. Ognyan pressed the attack, driving Kashyan back with his greater weight. Kashyan recovered from his surprise and went on the offensive. He was beginning to gain ground when another man appeared in the arched doorway. Ognyan glanced over, saw that the warrior was no friend of his, and abruptly broke off the fight.

  “Coward!” Kashyan barked as Ognyan turned and ran. “Don’t let him get away, Djenya!”

  Ognyan avoided the doorway, smashing directly through a plaster wall into the room next door. He dove out the window, tucked into a ball, and rolled to his feet. A few running steps brought him to the stable, and he jumped onto his horse’s back. Without bridle or saddle, he clung to his mount with hands and knees as the animal bolted. He grunted when an arrow pierced his back, but he held on and urged the horse to run faster.

  “Raas damn your eyes!” Kashyan cursed as he caught up with his lieutenant. “I told you to catch him, not let him get away.”

  Djenya Fairhair leaned on his bow and shook back the dark gold locks that were his namesake. “It would probably have been a good idea for us to have tethered our horses a bit closer.”

  “Rascal!” Kashyan gave his best friend and second-in-command a dark look. “You don’t have to remind me. But it was too great a risk.”

  “It was your revenge and your decision.” Djenya smiled. “I’m just trying to avoid blame for letting Yevdjen’s best general escape.”

  “Yes. Let’s talk about that,” Kashyan said as he walked back to the lodge. “Weren’t you supposed to kill him?”

  “That was my intention, but I was foiled by sorcery.”

  Kashyan gave his friend a sidewise glance, his glacial eyes glinting with something like humor. “Magic, eh? I see. Well, I suppose I have no right to scold you for failing to follow orders.”

  “No, not really. How could I be expected to fight magic?”

  “Exactly what sort of sorcery was it that prevented you from killing Ognyan?” Kashyan asked as they entered the royal sitting room.

  Djenya glanced at the dead king. “It would be easier to show you than try to explain.”

  “Lead on.” Kashyan paused. “Just a moment.” He bent down and looked into Yevdjen’s face, but whatever he was seeking, he didn’t find it there. Yevdjen was just another corpse. It had occurred to him at an early age that Yevdjen might well be his father—they had the same distinctive pale green eyes—but that had no bearing on his vengeance. And his father could have been any one of the young Sumadi nobles who’d taken part in the raid. He only knew one thing for certain about his father: he was most definitely not King Nakhol of Savaan. Nakhol had told him so on many occasions.

  Nakhol had branded Kashyan a bastard, and Kashyan had taken up the name like a badge of honor. He refused to be put aside; he was the son of a queen of Savaan, if not Savaan’s king. He never forgave Nakhol for abandoning his mother, and he’d taken grim pleasure in the king’s failure to produce another heir with any of his increasingly younger brides. These days, Kashyan stayed far away from the royal palace, serving as a captain of cavalry in his brother’s mercenary army, the Horde of the Hawk. The Horde was in Muergath at the behest of Muergath’s king, and Kashyan had taken the opportunity to settle a matter of honor in nearby Sumadin.

  Kashyan looked around as he followed Djenya down a broad corridor. He rightly guessed they were in the lodge’s sleeping quarters and tapped Djenya on the shoulder.

  “Where are we going? If it hadn’t occurred to you, Lord Ognyan will certainly return as soon as he finds reinforcements.”

  Djenya grimaced. “Are you sure? He ran away quickly enough.”

  “Yes, that surprised me. His reputation is of a man who fights likes a bear.”

  “In here,” Djenya said, as he opened an elaborately carved door.

  Luks backed across the room when Djenya entered.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Djenya called softly. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

  Kashyan pushed the door wide open and stared at Luks. “Great Raas! Djenya, are you mad?”

  “I’m bewitched. Didn’t I mention it?”

  Kashyan groaned. “That would be Yevdjen’s daaksi?”

  “I was as surprised as you when I saw him. Why would Yevdjen bring a pleasure slave on a hunting trip?”

  “I heard daaksim used to go into battle with their masters.”

  “And you have the hide to say I’m addled?”

  “You are addled.” Kashyan paused. “You let your short spear think for you.”

  “At least I employ it for something.”

  “Let’s go,” Kashyan said.

  “Are you joking? We can’t leave him here.”

  “Why not?”

  “It would be cruel.”

  Kashyan sighed. “All right. If you want him, then bring him, but he’s your responsibility.”

  “Of course.” Djenya started across the room with his empty hands held in front of him. “Come with me, pretty one. I’ll take care of you.”

  Luks shook his head. “I belong to the king. If you touch me, he’ll kill you.”

  “Yevdjen is dead,” Kashyan said. “I just killed him.”

  Luks paled. “Dead?” He heard the truth in the big man’s voice, but he didn’t want to believe it. With his protector gone, he was at the mercy of chance until he found another master.

  “It was a matter of honor,” Djenya said. “Now come with us. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “You,” Kashyan said. “You won’t let anything happen to him. I don’t care what becomes of him.”

  “How can you be so cold? Just look at him,” Djenya said. “He’s… perfect.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Kashyan said. “What of it?”

  “Do you even have naaks?”

  “Yes, and they’re shriveling right now as I imagine Ognyan riding back with the Sumadi war band.”

  “Come along,” Djenya said to Luks. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t leave you here.”

  Luks considered the outcome if Ognyan did return with an army. Ognyan would no doubt claim the kingship and everything that went with it, including Yevdjen’s daaksi. Between the prospects of belonging to Ognyan or being taken by a raider,
Luks chose the evil he didn’t know. Once the decision was made, Luks acted upon it immediately. With ingrained grace, he walked across the room and put his hand in Djenya’s.

  Djenya smiled. “You won’t regret this,” he said as he led Luks away.

  “Wait,” Luks said when they passed the royal bedchamber.

  “Wait for what?” Kashyan turned and glared.

  “There is a prisoner in that room.”

  Djenya shrugged at Kashyan. “Any enemy of Sumadin is a friend of ours, yes?”

  Chapter 7

  WITH A put-upon look, Kashyan kicked the door in. Sheyn stopped yanking at his chains and stared at Kashyan through the curtain of his disheveled hair. Luks sensed the invisible bolt that pierced Kashyan’s soul, and a great foreboding filled him.

  “Can you believe our luck?” Djenya said. “Two of them.”

  “Ayeesh! The Gods hate me,” Kashyan said.

  “Yes, they do, or why would they have made you so weak and ugly?” Djenya grinned. “Come on. Let’s free this one and get back to camp.”

  “You do remember that we have several leagues of forest between us and the horses?”

  “These lads look fit enough.”

  “What if one of them changes his mind and raises an alarm? The pale one looks angry enough to eat my liver raw.”

  “You would say something like that when I’m starving. Hurry and free him and let’s be gone.”

  Sheyn scowled at Kashyan as he pulled away to the limit of his chains. He was determined to keep a brave face, but when the bright sword flashed down, he flinched. The blade cut through the gilded silver as though it were butter, leaving Sheyn with two awkward bracelets. In another moment, his legs were free, and he scrambled off the other side of the bed.

  “Stop,” Luks said. “I know you understand my words, foreigner, so listen to me. If you run, these men will kill you. Surrender, and they’ll care for you.”

  “I’d rather be dead.”