by LeRoy Clary
During the initial departure, we had all been in a rush to escape before the house-to-house search discovered us, but as we rode, my mind reviewed everything Anna and I had discussed. I wanted to turn and look at Emma. Was there a flaw in her disguise? Like the Blue Woman’s feet that never touched the ground? Could a mage make an image so realistic that we never even suspected?
The obvious answer was, no. The less obvious one said that if what Anna had shared with me, and I believed her, Emma was some sort of creation that spied on us. It knew who and where we were, what we said, and all about us. It passed that information on to others, I felt sure. A mage had to be responsible for such a deception—one more powerful than any I’d ever heard about.
I couldn’t help but try to treat Emma the same as always but thought about it before saying anything. In my wildest imagination, I could not think of one scenario where what Emma was doing was done to help us. Those scenarios meant to hurt us came easily.
The next problem I faced was what and when to tell Kendra. Not telling her might make her angry. Telling her might do worse and would probably place us all in danger. I had an image of a roaring dragon falling from the sky and snapping Emma in half before eating both halves. But the image dissolved as my mental image had her evaporate like smoke as the dragon tried to bite her.
Kendra had a temper about some things—or the lack of them. Loyalty was one. I convinced myself this was not about loyalty.
There was also another problem with telling her. The information had come from Anna. Not that Anna was a liar. But she was a child. That meant I had no proof of who she was—or was not. What if Anna was wrong? Could she be and my overactive imagination provided me with false facts.
My head felt tortured like it was being squeezed between the huge hands of a giant. It was about to burst.
Kendra said sharply, “Did you hear me?”
She was speaking to me. I turned. “No, I was thinking of something else.” My eyes fell to Emma.
She gave me the cutest little-girl smile I’d ever seen.
I said to Kendra, “What did you say?”
“That we need a plan. I think we safely managed to escape Vin. Now what?”
I thought that her suggestion would be true if Emma didn’t relay our location to the Vin Army. Turning to face away from Emma, I said gruffly, “We need to keep moving.”
Flier reined in his horse and let me catch up. He rode beside me. “Something bothering you.”
In the same soft tone that he used, I answered, “Yes. Not something I can share right now.”
He rode on ahead. That is how to tell a true friend. He didn’t ask for an explanation, argue, or pry. He accepted what was said and we moved on. I glanced to our right and found the dragon pacing us, flying low over the desert, but in the same direction.
Too bad Kendra did things differently than Flier. But he wasn’t my brother, and she was my sister and our squabbles are part of life. It was too bad.
Or, perhaps not so bad that she was always protecting me. Her dragon was ready to defend all of us. Good. We might need it to eat a little girl-apparition. My temper was growing short, and my anger rising.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Princess Elizabeth
The man who was my captor never talked unless he had to, never told me his name or anything personal. That made him seem more dangerous and prevented any feelings from developing by either of us if you exclude hate. He was nameless, faceless rode with his scarf pulled over his lower nose and mouth and refused to speak unless required.
It had worked. He scared me. In addition to all that, he didn’t appear impressed by traveling with a princess, didn’t seem to care at all about my royal position, young age, or importance to the Kingdom of Dire. There was a job to be done. Deliver me to people in Dagger. That was all. While riding, his eyes never ceased to scan the horizon, peek behind every shrub, or listen for voices on the wind. He was not scared, but cautious.
It was not that I required verification of my royal position by needing his respect, but his total lack of humanity worried me. Without a word of warning passed between us, I understood that if I made an attempt at escaping, it had better be successful or he would kill me and move on to his next assignment.
All that information roiled around in my mind meant that I wouldn’t fail in my escape attempt—which meant that my plan needed to cover all aspects and must work the first time. It need not be complicated.
However, I also had to consider that the nameless man would kill me without reservation, so my first strike had to be my best. Could I do less to him than he would do to me? Worse, he intended to use the kidnapping to transport me to Dagger where the Council of Nine would have free rein to do what they wished with me in secret. There might be rumors, but nobody would know where I was, or that I’d been tortured and killed. To Dire, I’d simply disappeared in Vin, after being abducted from a ship.
My mission to negotiate a treaty failed if that happened. Others would die because of my failure. I couldn’t do less than my best.
All that flashed through my mind after hearing the whisper of material rubbing against material, as someone snuck up on us. Actually, I believe there might be two of them since the sounds came from slightly different directions. If they woke my captor, my chance at escape might not come again.
The pair sneaking up on us might be rescuers. Or rapists. Or thieves.
No matter, my pot shard had already sliced through the last fibers of the bindings, the shard was held tightly as a small knife might be. If the people creeping up on us woke the bounty hunter, and he killed or ran them off, he would naturally check to see if I was tied—and he would find my ropes cut and a little pottery knife in my hand.
A second chance might not come, so I steeled myself to use the pot shard to slice his throat while my other hand reached for the rock I’d identified earlier. A slashing cut followed by a rock from the darkness would end him.
Another sound broke the night air. A sort of a tap of wood. Not loud. Unnoticed by anyone not listening or more than a few steps away. Then a second sound. A short hiss followed by a solid thump.
A groan followed, as well as the rush of four feet.
They had passed right by me. Two men had rushed the bounty hunter in the dark. A few grunts and other unknown sounds that I assumed were them hitting him, and then they returned to me. Before I could move, the rock was knocked from my hand, and the potshard went flying as I tried to protect myself from a fall. Hands grasped me. A dark figure cuffed me with the heel of his hand so hard I nearly passed out. He hissed, “Quiet.”
The other man rolled me over on my back, roughly took my upper arm near my shoulder in one hand and drove his fist between my knees. In a twist of movement, he used those two points to lift me over his shoulder as he stood.
The other hissed close to my ear, “Not a sound.”
We ran. Better said, they ran, and I bounced so high and so hard, my stomach hurt by the second step. They didn’t stop at two steps. They continued for a hundred or more.
I vomited down the back of the man who carried me, to his disgust. His hands clenched painfully tighter for a moment; then we continued into the darkness. Finally, he slowed, slipped me from his shoulder, and the other placed a noose around my neck. He had me leashed like a dog.
“Do not try to escape,” the one who carried me panted.
The other tugged the leash to tell me which way to walk. It seemed I’d gone from a bad situation to one worse. However, it didn’t seem the time to talk or complain. The coarse rope around my neck provided all the instructions needed.
One took the lead, the other followed me. The soft sand pulled with each step. My legs burned with exertion. We moved slowly, but steadily. Twice we paused for long drinks from gourds hung by strings from their necks. Both men smelled of sweat and lack of washing. One smelled of vomit. Mine.
After what seemed half the night, we paused. The night air was chilly, but the sand still
held warmth and one said, “We sleep here.”
The rope was used to truss me, and I had no potshard to work with. Besides, I was exhausted and no sooner sprawled in the sand than I slept. I awoke with a blinding sun in my eyes. It had risen above the flat floor of the Brownlands and intensified by bouncing off the sand.
I sat and shielded my eyes with my forearm. The movement woke my new captors. However my task was harder with the rope holding me. My eyes adjusted, and I got my first look at the two men.
Both wore desert robes that hung to their ankles, sandals, and while one had a pale green scarf wrapped around his head, the other wore the same color as his robe. They were smiling. Not at me, but to each other. Job well done, I interrupted.
“Do you know who I am?” I decided to begin with the most relevant question. If they had snatched me from the bounty hunter because they knew me, it opened several doors to negotiate. If not, those doors might still be opened.
“Young, pretty women, bring good prices at the auction houses of Kaon,” one said.
The other added, “We will be rewarded richly for you.”
Kaon. The kingdom separated from Dire by impassable mountains where there were deposits of valuable minerals. Digging them was hard, dangerous work. Miners demanded high pay, but slaves were only paid for once. Men and women.
The one had stressed my looks and age, which suggested other things before being sent to the mines. However, there are slaves who are worth more than others. The sellers would want to know of any special skills that might earn them more on the auction blocks. While not seeing how I could accomplish my mission in Kondor, my release might be bought.
We stood and continued walking with the sun on our right, so we were going north, in the direction of Kaon. Away from Dagger. With the revealing of my name, the right person might agree to release me—after receiving enough gold to last a lifetime.
With those thoughts in my head, I walked faster. Once released, I would again take a ship to Dagger. However, it would be filled to nearly sinking with the best troops Dire could send. Maybe two ships. The thoughts of the ships arriving in port and slaying my enemies made the walking easier.
The sun heated the sand until any part of my feet that touched it burned. We paused for water again, and between the three of us, we emptied the remaining water gourds. That said we were close to wherever we were going because they couldn’t be so stupid that they would run out of water. They were people of the Brownlands and knew how to live in the waterless expanses. The desert had more rolling hills, and the nearest barren mountains were near enough to make out detail.
We climbed another long hill and from the crest found a shallow valley filled with small trees and lush vegetation. In a clearing were five tents, and far to one side a larger one. People moved about their duties, and slaves were chained to each other in strings of about ten.
My semi-euphoria from earlier evaporated with the first sight of the chained slaves. Tied to a post was one being whipped, and two others carried a dead man between them to a pit that had been dug, a pit large enough to hold dozens.
A hand pushed me forward, even as I digested what lay below. Dead slaves are worth nothing. Killing one is like a farmer plowing his own crops just before harvest. It isn’t done. A poor harvest is better than none. Slaves are money. Slavers don’t have to treat them wonderfully, but they do need to feed and care for them until they reach the auction blocks if they wish to earn the most from each sale.
The one being whipped while tied to the post would be worth fewer coins at the blocks because of it, so his offense must have been major. The wounds wouldn’t heal for weeks, long after he was sold, and the scars would last a lifetime. They would warn buyers of a problem with the slave and disobedience. It was like trying to sell a cart with only three wheels. Farmers want all four. The dead were a worse statement. Even a slave in poor health, or one stupid, was worth more than one dead. That fact there were bodies meant a certain amount of them were expected to die as part of the process of taking slaves.
My feet carried me down the slope while my mind churned. At the bottom, instead of pushing me in the direction of the other slaves and tents, my captors turned me to the largest tent. At the entrance, a huge Kaon warrior stood with the massive curved blade I’d heard about worn at his side. It appeared to be a fixed scowl he wore.
One of my guards bowed and as he faced the ground, said, “Is the Slave-Master reviewing new ones today?”
The Kaon warrior nodded once, curtly.
One of the pair that had captured me now stood to either side, as if proudly showing off what they’d accomplished in capturing me. We walked ahead, pushing aside the diaphanous material that kept the insects outside. Within the coolness of the tent, the ground was covered with throws, carpets, rugs, and even tapestries.
A raised dais such as might be found in a throne room in a palace held five nearly nude young women and one enormous man who sat on soft pillows. He held a goblet of wine high and said, “Welcome.”
“Welcome? That’s your first words?” I demanded.
“What should they be?” he asked, a hint of amusement evident at the corners of his mouth.
I had a few choices to make. If I pretended to be just another young pretty woman, and I’d end up beside him, feeding him grapes or pouring his wine. Worse, when I later tried to reveal my position, he wouldn’t believe me.
If I told him who I was now, it would go one of two ways. One meant instant death because the Slave-Master would want no part of the revenge my family would convey. He wanted no part of the assassins they would send his way, and the small army to back up the assassins. If that was his decision, I’d be killed immediately and probably anyone who heard my confession, too.
But he was a businessman. A seller of goods to the highest bidder. A valuable commodity had just entered his tent, and the potential for profit would be too great to allow harm to come my way. I said as I raised my chin to meet his gaze, “I am Princess Elizabeth of Dire.”
My words may well have been the same number of sharp spears poked at him, from the way he reacted. The goblet fell from his hand, red wine spilled on the pillows, and as he sat straighter, he pushed a beautiful woman who had been resting her head on his knee aside. His face contorted and turned crimson. He said, “Do you know the Dragon Tamer called Kendra?”
“My servant?” My voice was hushed, too. How could this man know her?
“Her brother’s name?” he demanded. “What is it?”
“Damon.”
His lower lip twitched as he prepared to ask his next question. “Do you play the game of blocks?”
The entire conversation was going sideways. I admitted, “Yes.”
“Are you as good as Damon?”
His words shocked me. The twinkle in his eyes was both caution and humor. How he knew Damon also was the first puzzle. “Better than him. I taught him to play.”
He patted the pillow at his side. “Then sit here. We must talk. Are you as temperamental and sly as Kendra? She is an evil woman, you know. I have stories to tell you, Princess.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Damon
I couldn’t take my mind off Emma, even as we made our escape on the small horses. I tried but couldn’t. If she was what I believed, there should be clues—things that I’d missed that warned of her. The Blue Woman’s image had been transparent enough to see through at times. The skill and concentration required to perpetrate such quality deceptions for any amount of time were beyond believable. Yet, in my heart, I believed it had happened.
My mind centered on what similar errors or mistakes Emma may have displayed. She ate, of course. Food went into her mouth. How could that be true if she was an apparition, a creation of mist, light, and imagination?
But had she really eaten? I’d seen her, hadn’t I? The questions tumbled over each other in my rush to ask and answer each of them.
The small horse underneath me jostled with every step but was i
gnored as I seized on an aspect that came to mind. Had I really seen her eat? Emma had sat with us at meals. At other times she had accepted food handed to her. My memory confirmed she was a small eater and often didn’t eat all that was given to her, but that was not uncommon with children. But try as I might, there was no recollection of her actually placing food in her mouth.
I struggled to remember a single instance where that had happened. She had food served to her at the beginning of meals, and her plate held less at the end, but she could easily have taken handfuls of food and tossed them into the shrubs or placed it inside a pocket and disposed of it later.
She left footprints, I was sure of it. And it was easy to check up on, but what if the footprints were as much a manifestation as she was? Leaving them would be far easier than providing the convincing image of a little girl who remained in contact with us day after day. If she had heard us talk of the Blue Lady, and she had, she knew of the transparency of the image and the lack of footprints.
The footprints didn’t have to be real. If my fingers had touched one of them, it might have found no impression, despite the appearance. When contrasted with the complexity of a total image of a small girl, what is a footprint?
I rode near the head, only Flier in front of me, instead of at the rear where I usually traveled. The reason was so Emma didn’t turn around and catch my eyes locked on her, or a scowl on my face.
Anna entered my head, *Believe me, yet?*
*Belief if maybe not the right word, but I’m questioning everything about Emma. If you’re wrong, the consequences will be terrible.*
*I’m not.* She fled from my head as if slamming a heavy oak door behind her.
As I calmed myself, Kendra pulled her horse beside me. “Something wrong? I asked you that before, but you’re still acting strangely.”
I shrugged. “We’ve been running for what seems like months, first in Dire, then the Gallant, and now the desert. It’s a lot to take in. I just want to go home and return to our old lives.”
