His brother’s house, Rydah saw, was no bigger than his own, yet his brother had three children: Symal, Memma’s daughter, and two of their own, Rapkin and Galena. Rapkin, a boy about nine, and Galena, a girl aged seven, were standing on the porch, on either side of Memma when they arrived.
Rydah had met Memma just twice, but he hardly recognized her now. She had been an outgoing, smiling, pretty girl when he’d seen her last at his father’s house four rynes ago. Now she, like Farda, seemed pale and drawn, worry lines etched on her face and streaks of gray in her black hair. She wore a shapeless dress that hid her once curvy and alluring body.
Rydah remembered how his older brother talked of her before he ran off to marry her so many rynes ago.
“She’s beautiful, Rydah,” he’d said. “When she walks into a room, people stop talking and look up, even Damons! She makes the most wonderful tiles, full of color and detail. She’s got orders she can’t fill because no one wants her to farm out the work. They all want Memma originals.”
Rydah, who’d been nine at the time, hadn’t understood how hard his brother had fallen for this woman. When Farda ran off that summer, his father had been shocked, but Rydah was devastated. He looked up to Farda. He had counted on him to be there for him, to help him grow up. But this woman had come in and stolen him away. And a Craftswoman at that!
It had taken rynes for their father to forgive Farda. Rydah wasn’t sure if he had ever fully forgiven Farda himself, given their scant contact. Now, standing on the dusty street, looking up at Memma, scared and forlorn, Rydah felt shame that he hadn’t come under better circumstances.
“Rand’s greetings, Memma,” he said softly.
She smiled and for a brief moment, Farda’s words came back to him. She did light up her surroundings. But the smile faded all too quickly.
“Come,” Farda said. “Let’s go in.”
“Your slave is welcome too,” Memma said as she herded the youngsters inside.
Rydah nodded, unlocked Jenya and allowed her to come in out of the heat. The trip had been hot and dusty. Sweat ran in rivulets along the hollows of her collarbones and down between her upthrust breasts, coating her chain that hung down to her knees. She made no complaint, however. She followed, silent except for the jingling of her chain and bell.
Inside, the house was neatly organized. It had the same main room and kitchen arrangement as Rydah’s, but it had two front windows on either side of the door. Two tables dominated the room. One held wood carvings and tools, the other tiles and molds. The only other furniture was a ratty couch. Stairs led to the loft upstairs, where Rydah assumed they all slept. It would be crowded, he was sure.
“Forgive me for bringing my slave,” Rydah said, not sure why he felt compelled to apologize. “I just purchased her a few suns ago and I wasn’t sure I could leave her alone yet.”
“No need to explain,” Memma said. “Let me get you both some water.”
“Thank you,” he said, following her to the kitchen. He startled when he saw an officer, dressed in the red garb of the high lord sitting on a chair in the corner.
Farda, seeing his brother’s reaction, introduced him. “Lord Rydah,” using his Damon title, “this is Apnar, liege of High Lord Bandar’s guard.” The liege, hearing Rydah’s title and seeing his cloak, came to his feet and bowed.
“Rand’s greetings, m’lord.”
“Rand’s greetings,” he said automatically in return. Taking advantage of the guard’s deference, Rydah decided to press him. “Why are you in my brother’s house?”
The liege looked up sharply. “I was given direct orders from High Priest Kendam to stay in Farda’s house until the Acolyte was located.”
Rydah nodded, realizing that he had just been outranked. Kendam was Bandar’s second-in-command and was known as a ruthless taskmaster. Many who dared to challenge him wound up dead, in prison, or simply disappeared. His ruthlessness allowed Bandar to appear benign, although Rydah knew all of Kendam’s orders came from the top.
Rydah kept nodding, and before he could think of the right response, Memma, bless her, appeared with a ladle of water. Rydah occupied himself with the drink, taking the first ladleful as was the custom before allowing Jenya to drink.
“Do you think Symal is here?” he finally asked the guard, trying to keep up his bravado.
“No,” the liege replied, “but the high priest said it is important that I hear anything that might lead to my Acolyte’s whereabouts.”
Rydah kept his face a mask. He knew his brother would not be able to talk freely with Apnar nearby. When he set out this morning, Rydah had pictured sitting down with his brother and Memma and talking about places the couple might go. Then he and Farda would head out to search. In his mind, it had been so easy. Now Rydah knew just how high the stakes were in this game.
It was obvious that Bandar was deadly serious about locating his wayward son quickly, probably before word leaked out to the High Lord Syran of Farzan. No doubt it would be perceived as a rejection of Princess Wenelle and that insult might not be overlooked. Instead of uniting the priestdoms, as the marriage had been intended to do, it could tip the balance the other way, with potentially disastrous consequences.
Rydah sent Jenya to bring in his stores of food and offered to share them with his brother’s family. Naturally, they refused and offered theirs instead. They went back and forth a few times before reaching a compromise to share all the food.
Apnar sat on a chair in a corner throughout the meal, making no effort to join in or to leave them alone. A soldier brought him in some bread, and he ate, chewing noisily, listening to every word spoken. Farda’s two younger children hovered near their mother and watched the adults with trepidation.
Rydah, embarrassed that he knew so little of his brother’s life, asked how Symal had met the Acolyte—they didn’t exactly travel in the same social circles.
“At a Blethryn crafts show,” he said. “Memma and I had gone to your city in the growing season and the Acolyte stopped by our booth to admire our artwork. When he caught sight of Symal, he admired her as well.”
Rydah vaguely remembered the fair. Why hadn’t his brother contacted him while he’d been in town? He already knew the answer to that question—Farda had believed, perhaps correctly, that he might shame his brother. The fallen Damon visiting his Damon brother. What would the neighbors have thought?
Farda’s sacrifice troubled Rydah because it hit close to home. How could he be so concerned about his social status? He hadn’t grown up that way. It seemed he’d begun to fall victim to social climbing, despite his pledge to himself that he’d never do such a thing.
After catching him up on current family news, Farda began reminiscing. This seemed odd to Rydah—given his brother’s concern over his step-daughter’s whereabouts. He wondered why Farda was wasting time with memories.
“Remember that dog you found? You wanted to keep it, but dad said no. You hid it under the house for a dal!” He laughed as if it were a funny memory.
Rydah remembered the incident painfully because once the dog was discovered, his father drove it off.
“What was his name, anyway? Didn’t you call it Burko?”
“No,” Rydah said with more heat than he meant to. “He was Barlo.” Farda should remember the name—he had suggested it!
Farda paid no attention to his brother’s pain and went on to another story. “What about that time you got caught peeking into the windows at the slave girl down the road? Boy, I thought dad would whip you for sure!”
“I wasn’t peeking! I was looking for you! I had seen you sneaking around there, so I followed, then I lost you. Then I looked into the window to see if you had gone in. That’s all. Why bring that up now?”
Suddenly, Rydah felt like the little brother again and he was embarrassed in front of his breeder.
“Sorry, little brother, but I thought I should tell you the truth after all these rynes. I had been looking in the windows at that slave—remem
ber her name? When I heard a noise, I ran away. Only later did I find out it was you I’d heard approaching! And that you’d been caught doing what I had been doing! Only you weren’t doing it!” He laughed out loud.
Rydah burned. That slave, Ganari, had been beautiful. Not as beautiful as Jenya, but she did have larger breasts, he remembered. That didn’t matter to a nine-ryne-old, however. He had wanted to find his brother.
His father didn’t beat him. He thought it meant Rydah was growing up. There had been some serious teasing by his brother, but otherwise it wasn’t an issue. Boys could see naked slaves outside every sun. Rydah wondered why his brother was making a big deal out of such a thin memory now?
“I wish you didn’t have to get back on the morrow, little brother,” Farda said, his voice dropping in pitch. “But I know you have that big project for High Lord Bandar to complete.”
His gaze pinned Rydah just as he had been about to deny it. Suddenly, Rydah knew, Farda’s comment had been for Apnar’s benefit. Farda would have no idea what he was working on and furthermore, he had begged him to come out to help search—why would he send him home again so soon?
It was obvious. Wherever Rydah would go, he’d be followed by soldiers. Unless the soldiers thought he was simply returning home.
“You were always terrible at directions,” Farda continued. “I have a map of the region, if you’d like to get your bearings for your return trip.”
More cryptic talk. Farda knew as well as Rydah that the road led almost straight back to Blethryn, with few turns. A drunken monk could hardly get lost.
Farda was trying to tell him something, but what?
“Yes,” he said, playing for time. “Some of those intersections make me dizzy. I’m not sure which way to turn sometimes.”
“Here, little brother.” He rose and went to his worktable. He pulled a map from a wooden box and spread it out.
Looking at it, Rydah could see the road leading west. Smaller villages were dotted here and there off side roads. Because this was a farming region, most families were scattered all over. The villages were small, but key to communication and commerce.
Apnar came over as Farda showed Rydah the route. “Look, it’s almost a straight line. You need to make a left turn here and another left here.” He traced it with a stubby forefinger. Rydah paid little attention to it—he was looking over the other villages, trying to understand what his brother was saying.
Apnar looked bored.
“Sure, I see. It was this intersection here that confused me,” he pointed. Meanwhile, he was reading the names of small towns. Perhaps there was something there…
Pelgron, Dashelstep, Mantaro—none of these names seemed unusual.
Rydah’s mind raced. What was Farda trying to tell me?
“Just aim your wagon at the rising sun tomorrow and you shouldn’t have difficulty,” Farda said.
Then Rydah noticed his brother’s little finger, tapping lightly well below where his forefinger was pointing. The tiny dots nearest it were Lapron and Balgari.
He almost gasped when it hit him.
Of course! The incidents Farda had mentioned! Barlo was the dog and Ganari had been the sexy slave girl. Put them together and Farda had just told him where he thought his daughter and the Acolyte might be: Balgari.
Looking quickly, while pretending to follow the map, Rydah found a turnoff about five leagues west that wound its way down past Mantaro to the tiny village of Balgari. No doubt the soldiers had been there already. How would he find the Acolyte and Symal if they hadn’t?
There was no way to ask his brother. Already, Farda was folding the map up and putting it away. “You need to develop a better sense of dir—”
“No need to concern yourself, m’lord,” Apnar interrupted smoothly. “My men will accompany you home.”
Rydah froze. “Oh, there’s no need of that, Apnar. I’m sure your men are needed in the search.”
“Not at all,” he said, steel in his voice. “I must send messages back anyway, so I have two riders heading to Blethryn on the morrow.”
“Good,” Rydah said hollowly, realizing he was trapped. “I would feel safer with the High Lord’s men.”
For the briefest of moments, Rydah and Farda read each other’s expressions. “Of course, you’ll stay here tonight,” Farda said, recovering quickly. “The guard has been sleeping on the couch, but I think we can fit you in upstairs. Your slave can be chained up outside.”
Rydah had been about to accept, thinking that during the night, his brother could whisper where he thinks Symal is hiding when Apnar again moved in.
“I wouldn’t think of taking a sleeping spot away from a Damon,” he said, his eyes glinting. “Please take my couch. I would be pleased to sleep on the floor.”
His meaning was clear—he would not allow the two brothers to be together so they could pass secret messages.
Except he didn’t know that, for the most part, they already had.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, Rydah was beside himself. He didn’t know how to get away from the soldiers, and even if he could get away, he had no idea how to search the area around Balgari to find the Acolyte and Symal. He hadn’t been able to speak to his brother privately all night.
And even if he found them, it still didn’t solve the problem of how to help them.
Rydah tried not to let his dejection show on his face as he stepped into the carriage. The two soldiers waited nearby on horseback. Rydah observed Apnar hand the older one of them an envelope, probably meant for Kendam—or perhaps Bandar himself. He ached to find out what was in it. Was there news of the Acolyte?
Apnar came over to him. “M’lord, I’m sending Robnak and Mardor along with you. They will see you safely to Blethryn.”
Rydah thanked him. What else could he do?
“Did you sleep well, m’lord?” Jenya asked as she climbed into the carriage.
“Oh, yes, fine,” he said distractedly, seeing Apnar’s cold blue eyes on him. Automatically, he began to chain her to the iron railing at the front of the carriage, more for Apnar’s benefit than his. “And you?”
“Yes, m’lord. Madam Memma even came out to make sure I was comfortable before going to bed. She gave me a pillow!”
Rydah paused. Memma gave her a pillow? That was an unheard-of kindness to a slave. Slaves were used to sleeping outside at night during the hot season. And Jenya has probably never used a pillow in her life before—
His heart lurched. Where they alone for a few moments? Did Memma pass on a message?
He looked at Jenya, trying to catch her eye. Jenya, seeing Apnar, simply stared at the railing in front of her and said nothing.
Rydah climbed in and they started off, the two soldiers riding ahead a few paces. He tried to come up with a solution, but every one met with failure and arrest.
If he tried to run, they’d know he knew something. He’d be arrested and made to talk. Rydah couldn’t kill the guards—it wasn’t in him to do violence like a Warrior. Besides, a killing would not untangle the thorny knots of love, it would only make them worse. The only solution that occurred to him was to return to Blethryn, and once the soldiers left him, ride east again to the turnoff and try to find where the Acolyte and Symal might be hiding.
He feared much of this sun would be wasted.
The soldiers seemed to be in no hurry to get back. That letter Apnar gave the soldiers must not be very important. He wanted to shake the guards and tell them the High Lord needed the message right away and they’d better ride ahead. That would never fool anyone, of course. It would only raise suspicion. He was sure Apnar had told the men to watch the lord carefully.
They traveled east for four leagues without speaking, a soldier riding along either side of the carriage, making it impossible for Rydah to talk to Jenya. She seemed nervous.
“Did you see that, m’lord?” Jenya said suddenly. Robnak turned to her, his eyebrow a question mark.
“What? No. What was
it?” Rydah asked.
“A biter beetle! It swooped down toward the horses!” A biter beetle, also called a kalachar, was known for sucking the blood of beasts and men. They could grow large in the hot season—up to the size of one’s thumb—and became quite tenacious as the wet season approached.
Both Robnak and Mardor pulled away and looked around. If a kalachar bit one of the horses, it could bolt and might upset the carriage. These insects were not to be ignored.
Rydah hadn’t seen anything. He’d been lost in thought. “Well, I shouldn’t worry—” he started to say.
With a shriek, Jenya wrenched herself from her seat, swatting wildly in the air. Rydah could still see nothing. His eyes darted, looking for the kalachar. Jenya, her arms waving, pitched over the side of the carriage and was dragged along by her chain before Rydah could yank the horse to a stop.
“Guards! Help me!” he ordered as he jumped out. The solders reined their steeds and hopped down, rushing to help free the injured breeder.
“She may already be carrying my child!” He shouted, running around the carriage to her side. He crouched down and unlocked the chain, allowing her to slip down to the road.
“A biter beetle, m’lord,” she gasped. “I fear them so. I know I shouldn’t. I’m sorry, m’lord.”
“It’s all right,” he said, checking her wounds. With the help of the two soldiers, they lifted her up into the shaded carriage, careful not to jar her in case she had broken bones.
Rydah saw her right leg and buttock were scraped raw and oozing blood. “Did you break anything?” he asked anxiously.
“I’m not sure, sire. My leg hurts. My side.”
“Do you know where a doctor might be around here?” He asked the older guard, Robnak.
“Yes, sire. There’s a doctor in Mantaro, about two leagues south of here.”
“All right, I’m heading that way.”
The two guards looked at each other, confused. This hadn’t been in their orders. “Sire, we’re supposed to accompany you to Blethryn,” Robnak said.
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