Had he just saved their lives?
The man upon the dais switched back to the local language, speaking quietly. The savage woman glared. Anneliese took Pilar into her arms, hugging him hard in spite of the pain from her wound. She glanced back toward the chiseled man, but he was gone.
The woman approached, inclining her head and ushering them from the light. Anneliese blinked, picking shapes from the darkness. The crowd parted as if loath to be near her.
The chamber became a corridor. Anneliese walked with an arm about Pilar, comforting him while supporting herself. She was nearing the limit of her strength. Even breathing was an effort.
Bowls of glowing rocks dotted the passageway, marking each fork of the branching path. Faces looked up as they passed. Many were children. The cave-like dwellings appeared comfortable, with tapestries covering the walls and pillows upon the floors. Anneliese imagined curling up upon the cushions.
Their guide called out, her voice sharp and impatient, startling Anneliese. A man appeared at an entranceway. He wore a metal band about his throat. He walked to the woman, and she gestured wildly, speaking in their guttural tongue.
Anneliese leaned against the wall, sliding until she sat upon the floor. Pilar moved close, his eyes averted.
Rubbing the back of her neck, Anneliese asked, “What are they saying?"
Pilar glanced to either side. “He wonders why she leads us the long way."
"She's just getting even.” Anneliese smiled ruefully. “She'd much rather have slit our throats."
Stepping forward, the man handed a stoneware jug to Anneliese. Water. She drank greedily, not even tasting it, feeling the liquid strike the emptiness of her stomach. A sudden cramp warned her to drink slower. She gave the jug to Pilar.
The wall at her back was cold, and she wondered how deep they were beneath the surface. How far had this detour taken them from the Trader City?
What did Sayer-Kihn mean when he said he would take them into servitude?
The woman spat an order in their direction, and their brief respite ended. Anneliese returned the jug to the man, nodding her thanks. The savage woman grabbed her shoulder, propelling her forward, and the resulting pain shot stars across her vision.
In silence, they followed the dimly lit maze. Ahead, three men turned to greet them. Anneliese recognized Sayer-Kihn. His robes were soiled and spotted but he wore them regally, and as his cohorts raised their lanterns behind him, his demeanor was that of a king.
The woman bowed respectfully, although her lip curled in a sneer, and stepped backward into shadows. The man to Sayer's left picked up a thong-wrapped bundle, approaching them. Pilar shrank back, clinging to Anneliese. Muttering incomprehensibly, the man pulled the boy aside, strapping the package to his back.
So that was it, she thought—they were to be pack animals. She lifted her chin, glaring at Sayer-Kihn. “I suppose you expect us to drop to our knees, praise you for saving our lives."
Sayer shook his head. “I did nothing. Even Sivlow-Rakin would not be so bold as to execute an off-worlder. That is why I was invited to your arraignment—he expected I would take the problem from his hands."
"And now we are your slaves."
"Ah, the bundles.” He shrugged. “Tokens of allegiance. I could not dissuade my rival."
"I will not carry your possessions,” she said.
"Yet, if you are a slave as you so profess, it would seem you have no choice. Unless, of course, you prefer that I execute you myself."
"I can be of better use.” She stepped forward. “Take me to the Trader City. You will be well rewarded."
Sayer burst into echoing laughter. “Forgive me, but those do not look to be the hands of a princess."
"You are unwise to mock me. My father is powerful."
"I see. And is there a reason we should let that live?” He motioned toward the boy.
Anneliese paused, taken aback by the scorn in his voice. She said, “Pilar can teach your children to speak Standard."
"Assuming I would wish him to do so."
"Trade is power,” she said. “But one cannot hope to trade without communication."
Sayer-Kihn's eyes flickered. He cocked his head for a moment, as if listening to an inner voice. At last, he nodded and his companion dropped a parcel at her feet.
"Please carry this.” Sayer's eyes brushed hers. Turning, he strode away.
CHAPTER 24
Mortar Thielman stood in a pool of shadow beneath the roaring brazier. The debtor's pens ahead were anathema to him now. To think that Anneliese, his own flesh and blood, had suffered such degradation. Caged prostitution.
He spat the bile from his throat and, clenching his fists, walked down the darkened rows. Female hands uncoiled like snakes through the bars, beckoning. He despised them, hated that which drove them to such depths. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to burn the place to the ground.
A tattered man hustled behind him. The gaoler, Mortar thought. He was not the man he'd seen here so many years ago. So much the better. Mortar pulled a coin from his pocket, holding it just out of the smaller man's reach.
"I am interested in the off-world girl you had here last week. Who bought her release?” Mortar spoke in the native language, although he expected the gaoler capable of understanding Standard. He wove the coin through his fingers, making sure the man saw it. “You know this girl. She had silver hair."
The gaoler's eyes darted between the coin and the bodyguard standing in the darkness. He gnawed his lip—and Mortar realized that he had no tongue. He brought the coin down until it nearly touched the man's nose.
"I know you keep records,” Mortar said.
The gaoler's breath quickened, whistling through pinched nostrils. He shook his head, stepping back.
Mortar laid a hand upon his shoulder, still brandishing the coin. “I can be very persuasive."
With a gargled squeal, the gaoler knocked Mortar's hand away, sending the coin flying. He turned, struggling, tripping on his own robe.
Mortar roared, lifting the man by the throat, slamming him against the bars of a cage. “Where is she? You feckless limmer!"
The gaoler's eyes bulged. He clawed at Mortar's fingers. Mortar threw him to the ground then rang the cage with his fist.
"What are you looking at?” he bellowed at the shadowed face within.
Turning abruptly, he stormed down the path, boot heels loud upon the gravel. The bastard knew something, Mortar thought. He should have shaken the truth from him. He should have forced him to comply. His hands twitched, still feeling his fingers about the man's throat.
But violence rarely afforded the truth. He needed reliable information. He prided himself in out-thinking his opponents. Had they beaten him this time?
No! The conspirators must have left a trail. Ahzgott was conveniently dead and the gaoler had no tongue—but they had not thought to silence the lift operator, or foreseen a young ruffian would visit the pens. And Surah ... how did she fit into this?
Suddenly he stopped walking, pressing his forehead against the bars of a cage.
Mari, if only you were here. I was always stronger with you at my side.
Straightening slowly, he looked down the path. Insects chirruped in the darkness. The cages were silent. Vacant. The authorities must be slipping, he thought, if they couldn't keep the debtor's pens filled.
Then he heard a rattling sound—a bicyclist and a cart. Mortar approached noisily so as not to startle the man.
"Hello,” he called in the local language.
The man hunkered down, nodding, almost groveling. “Are you lost, kind sir? May I help you on your way?"
"Lost? Not at all. I'm looking for a ride back to the Resort."
"Oh no, sir. You do not wish conveyance in my wagon. I use it to carry feces ... and the occasional body."
"Is that so?” Mortar grimaced then voiced the unspeakable. “Do women die here regularly?"
"Not just women.” The bicyclist grinned—a s
ecret to tell. “Have you ever heard of Harmadeur-Fezzan-Gendarme?"
"The Security Master?"
"The same. He died in that very pen."
Mortar's ears perked. “You found him?"
"It was quite a thrill, I must tell you, to see him lying half unclothed, fouled in his own blood. His eyes were open, glazed with shock as if still gazing into the face of his murderess. And there were strands of hair like spider silk draped over his body."
"Say again?"
"Hair, as if he lay trapped by an insect's web. My friend and I bathed him and put him into my wagon before contacting the guards. So important a personage. It was quite a thrill."
"You say there was white hair covering the body?"
"Yes. I will show you."
From a pouch beneath the seat of the bicycle, the man drew out a braid of hair. In the moonlight, it shimmered like silver. Mortar felt his chest tighten.
"I keep it for luck,” the bicyclist said. “I think any woman who could kill such a man must be very courageous indeed."
Mortar took the braid from his hands. Blinking rapidly, he tilted his head back. Courageous? He wanted to shout to the stars.
CHAPTER 25
Anneliese stared at Sayer-Kihn's retreating form. He'd left her alone, no one to stop her from running away.
But which way should she run?
Holding her scorched arm tight to her body, she picked up the package at her feet. The bundle was heavy. She thought of the burden tied to Pilar's back. If she left now, she would be abandoning the child to a life of drudgery. Breathing deeply to summon her strength, she started after Sayer's entourage.
The tunnel was dark but for the glow of lamplight ahead. The rock was rough and dusty as if she'd passed beyond the outskirts of a city into a hinterland. Sayer-Kihn's voice drifted to her. He bantered with his men as if looking forward to home.
Home. She breathed the word into the darkness, trying to recall the sounds, the smells of her homeland. What was her father doing this moment? Would she ever feel safe again?
Abruptly, she realized she was falling behind. She shifted the unwieldy parcel, struggling to keep pace. The lanterns moved out of sight.
Wait! she wanted to cry. Don't leave me here.
Her step slowed as if she treaded mud. She sobbed, succumbing to despair. Hugging the bundle to her breast, she dropped to the ground. A shiver coursed through her body, her flesh alternately chilled and feverish. Turning onto her side, she blinked at the blackness crowding her vision.
A hand pulled away the robe at her shoulder. Someone spoke. Emotions raged behind Anneliese's closed eyes—anger that they'd disturbed her, relief that they'd come back. A voice rose in question and Pilar answered.
Anneliese tried to smile at the boy, tried to tell him she was all right. She just needed to rest, needed to contemplate the enveloping darkness. Fingers slipped behind her neck, raising her head. Water touched her lips. She felt herself lift into the air, cradled like a child. A voice spoke in her ear.
Sayer! Sayer-Kihn was carrying her. Wonder seeped through her pain-induced lethargy. Her head was upon his shoulder, face pressed against the side of his neck. She breathed deeply of his scent.
Suddenly she was falling, dropping through deepening layers of darkness, plummeting—no, diving, knifing headfirst into a pool of water, surfacing to find Sayer's smile. His expression hinted at acceptance, a belief in her, and she held the image gingerly, explored it like the tender emptiness of a newly lost tooth.
But as she watched, the golden eyes turned hard, the visage melting until Cade stood there: Cade, with his crooked smile and rugged beauty, laughing at her reaction, kissing the top of her head.
Oh, how she loved him, how she dreamt of their life together—a life that would never be. Did he know how much he'd stolen from her?
She cried out, writhing, tears hot upon her face. How could she continue living, unable to dream? She'd wanted to please him, to spend the rest of her life pleasing him. Where was Cade now?
* * * *
She awoke in a crib of pillows. Her mouth was dry. A dull ache pounded her temples. Stirring, she found that she lay naked beneath a finely textured blanket. Her skin felt clean and dry. A bandage covered her shoulder.
She lifted her head. The room was swathed in tapestries from floor to vaulted ceiling, creating a running mural of people. In the corner, a brazier threw streamers of light upward. Beside the steady glow sat a young woman.
Anneliese froze. The woman held a book in her lap, reading both with her eyes and with her fingers, playing the page as if it were a musical instrument. She wore her hair in braids like snakes coiled upon her head. About her neck was a burnished metal band.
Anneliese's fingers went to her own throat. She also wore a band. She was a slave, pressed into servitude. With a choking snarl, she sat up.
The woman dropped her book, her eyes blank with fear. Gibbering and gesturing, she fled the room. Anneliese wrapped the silky blanket about her breasts, sliding her legs over the edge of the crib. She felt stronger—and voraciously hungry.
Sayer-Kihn appeared in the doorway. He'd discarded his outer robes and now wore a soft leather jerkin, baring his arms. Dark brown hair spilled down his back, held from his face by a leather thong above his brow.
He said, “You've awakened. Good. How do you feel?"
"Where am I? How dare you undress me?” She struggled to stand.
"Spoken like a true princess. My name is Sayer-Kihn. May you feel welcome in our barrow."
"I want to speak to Pilar,” she said.
"Perhaps another time. Right now, I believe you should have something to eat."
"You've killed him, haven't you. Bastard!"
Sayer's face darkened. “Take care with your words. Our lineage is very important to us.” He tossed a tunic onto the crib. “Dress yourself."
Anneliese set her lips, thrusting out her chin. How dare he order her about? She would not be his slave—would not!
Carefully, she pulled the garment over her head. Her neck felt hot and swollen, her arm uncooperative.
"Had I known you were hurt, of course, I would not have asked you to carry the tribute,” he told her.
"Why not?” she asked. “Aren't you my master?"
"You don't understand. You are indentured to me. That means you are in my care. Out of respect for this, you are expected to do what I ask."
Respect—Anneliese scoffed inwardly. She stood before the tall man, close enough to smell the scent of his skin, the oil he smoothed into his hair. Plains and valleys sculpted his face, and as she looked up, she realized it truly had been chiseled—scarred by the rites of primitive passage.
Suddenly she felt small and disheveled, wishing she still had her beautiful hair, her expensive clothes. She straightened the tunic about her boyish form.
Sayer-Kihn led her to an antechamber, brightly lit by glowing urns. In the middle of the room, she saw an exquisite statue.
Malpais! Anneliese stepped toward it unbidden, instantly drawn to the stone. The piece was large, nearly two feet in height, and masterfully carved: a woman with two faces held a sword overhead, one foot poised as if over a chasm.
The figure shone in deepening layers of darkness, green-black with veins of gold, as if it were alive, as if it would move from its pedestal the moment she looked away.
"A gift,” Sayer told her. “I have no talent, myself."
"Jefe-Naik,” Anneliese whispered.
He cocked his brow. “How do you know this?"
"In the marketplace, I met an old woman...."
Babesh, the woman had cried, and Cade had raised his hand to strike her. Anneliese shuddered with the memory.
Sayer-Kihn watched in silence, his eyes strangely unfocused, as if she had just opened a door he'd thought was barred. After several moments, he turned away.
"Come with me,” he told her.
The antechamber led to a huge cavern. Voices rose and fell like a heartbeat.
Sayer made a sweeping motion. “This is our barrow."
The cave was so wide she could barely see the other side. Great urns lit the area, tinting the air with a coppery glow, a perpetual sunset. The perimeter held circular doorways so symmetrical they seemed scooped from bare rock. And the walls....
Anneliese held her breath, stepping deeper into the courtyard. The walls held a montage of flowing images: battles and beasts, the birth of a child carved indelibly into the rock. It must have taken years, she thought, to complete such a masterpiece.
"How many people live here?” she asked.
Sayer-Kihn gave a short laugh. “My people have no concept of numbers, no word for count."
Anneliese thought of the vendor arguing for more coins when Cade bought the stone teioid, of the woman whose eyes shone as she brought them coffee. “Some of you learn quickly enough."
She looked overhead. The ceiling was as black and impenetrable as a night sky. To the side, she saw the glow of another plateau, people upon a staircase of perhaps a hundred steps.
"Are you king to all of this?” she asked.
"I am chiliarch. The easiest translation would be protector."
He led her across the courtyard. People turned as she passed. They wore finely detailed jewelry: lizards upon their forearms, snakes about their waists. Their eyes glinted in the thin light.
A group of children approached. They giggled, goaded by each other's presence, seemingly in awe of the tall man. Sayer-Kihn addressed each in turn, laying his hand upon head or shoulder as they beamed up at him.
Anneliese stood back, feeling oddly embarrassed. Who were these Llaird, so feared by those in the city?
Sayer-Kihn knelt to hug the youngest child. Beyond him, Anneliese noticed a group of women staring at her with undisguised contempt. She shied away, drawing into herself, suddenly remembering Sivlow-Rakin's condemnation of her: I doubt your people will find merit in such a trade.
The children ran off and Sayer got to his feet.
Anneliese moved close. “It seems that not all would welcome me to your barrow."
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