Even as Berin urged his horse forward to try and lose himself in the crowd, two more guards who had been stationed further ahead closed in and cut him off. Tariska was still by his side, caught unawares in the same trap. Idressin had simply vanished.
Chapter 22
It was undoubtedly the long illness of Habbakal the Third which weakened Karkor’s grip on the Empire and allowed the aristocracy to undermine the balances which preserved the feudal system for so long. The old Freeholder contracts were in fact being frequently replaced by a much harsher social regime, culminating in the outright slavery reemerging in several parts of the Empire. Slavery was officially illegal, but it was widely rumoured that much of the profit found its way into the coffers of the noble houses and certainly authorities at all levels were encouraged to turn a blind eye to the practice.
The Longest Dynasty - Sabdar A'Dain
Empire: Belugor
“Come on, mate, why not admit it? Yer makin’ it up. It’s a tidy reward they’re offerin’. I wouldn’t mind a slice of it meself. But four blokes ‘ave suddenly turned into one bloke an’ a bint! What’s more, ‘e’s supposed to be a furriner and ‘e talks ‘igh Balotins, all posh-like. Nar, let’s say yer made a mistake and leave it at that.”
“I haven’t spent the last three months riding my guts out to be told I’m making a mistake by some ignorant idiot...” Pak stopped shouting, realising he had gone too far. His enraged face was only inches from the Guard Commander’s stolid countenance, which was stiffening into obstinacy. Just his luck that the plain-clothes Special Forces men who had been on the scene a few moments ago seemed to have taken out after that slippery bugger Fordosk and left him with the job of pulling in these two.
He needed this man’s cooperation, so he continued in a more reasonable tone. “This man is definitely one of them, I remember him well. And one of the others was here, I saw him: he just ran off into the crowd and we’ve agents chasing him.” Pak liked the sound of the ‘we’. “As for the bint, she’ll fetch a big reward too.”
Pak hadn’t known about the girl; but she was foreign like the others and his monetary instincts told him that her capture might make up some of the shortfall from missing the others and maybe soften the threat which still hung over him.
“Why don’t you give me a couple of guards for escort and I’ll take them to the police headquarters in Peedimar? It’s only a couple of days down the road.”
“Can’t do that.” No ‘mate’ this time. The Commander was doing nothing to help this insulting young whippersnapper. “I haven’t men to spare for traipsin’ off on fancy goose chases.”
“Then how about you hold them prisoner, while I fetch a police escort? I promise I’ll cut you in for part of the reward.”
Greed and injured pride warred briefly to produce a gruff, “Alright.”
Pak rode off, his body stiff with suppressed anger. Locked in a cell in the guard house, Berin and Tariska had no idea what was happening, although the probable reason for their imprisonment became depressingly clear, as Berin recalled for his companion how they had crossed the outlaw’s path in Dendria and about the reward offered for them. How Pak had come to be waiting for them at the frontier, he had no idea. The simple fact was that they had no sooner set foot in Belugor than they had been captured. Idressin had disappeared in the confusion and wherever he was, he was now entirely on his own, with the day of the Talisman’s arrival approaching fast.
They sensed that the half-heard argument between Pak and the Guard Commander was probably over them, but had no idea of the outcome. Their spirits rose as they witnessed Pak’s departure, but sagged again when there was no sign of their release.
They would have been little encouraged had they understood the conversation taking place in the guard-room. The corporal, who was second-in-command of the post, was sharing a jug of ale with the Commander, both of them with their uniforms unbuttoned and their feet up on the table. Half an hour after Pak’s departure the talk came back to their two new prisoners.
“Load o’ cobblers, if y’ask me,” growled the corporal. “That young twerp’s just after makin’ a quick fortune an’ ‘e doesn’t give a monkey ‘ow ‘e does it.”
“Well, ‘e’ll ‘ave a job tangling with old Iron-Ass down in Peedimar. If there ever was a copper ‘oo went to the last word of all the rules, it’s ‘im.”
“Must be important though, these people they’re after. A thousand Impies. Never ‘eard anythin’ like it before.”
A lengthy period of speculation followed on what the bored guards would do with such riches, before a new thought about their captives occurred to the corporal.
“Yer know, Shiff, just suppose ‘e’s right. Suppose this fella in the cell is one of ‘em.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, what d’you think would ‘appen?”
“Nothin’. What d’you mean? We ‘and ‘em over in a day or two an’ that’s it. After that, it’s nowt to do wi’ us. Except for the reward, o’course.”
“We wouldn’t see nothin’ o’ that reward an’ you know it. I was meanin’ if Iron-Ass gets involved an’ this fella ‘ere is so important, we’ll ‘ave police and Special Forces an’ the gods know ‘oo down ‘ere askin’ questions.”
The Commander sat up, his expression uneasy. “Yer right. An’ if any o’ the men told ‘em about our little sideline, we’d be right in the shit. They ‘ang yer for takin’ bribes.” He glanced a little wildly at the corporal, who had always supplied the brains behind their nefarious activities. “We got to get rid of ‘em. Quick. Then there’s no way to prove ‘e was important an’ everyone’ll lose interest.”
“’Ow about,” the other suggested slowly, “selling ‘em to Frink? They’ll never be seen again an’ we can get somethin’ out of it after all. ‘E’s out back, due for the off any time now. An’ then we’ll say that police turned up from Razimir, said these two were wanted back there, an’ took ‘em off. If that jerk Pak wants ‘em, ‘e can go to Razimir an’ look for ‘em.”
The plot was duly carried out within minutes. Berin and Tariska were led out of the cell, to be inspected by a small sharp-featured man with dead eyes in an unchanging face. Any hopes they had of release were quickly dashed. Frink paid the Guard Commander a quarter of what he was asking, then jerked his head for the prisoners to follow him out of the back door of the guard house. Before they fully realised what was happening, rough hands had seized them both and shackled them by the neck and one leg into the sorry group of captives who waited outside.
Tariska stood frozen for a moment, then went completely mad with fear. Panting desperately, her eyes staring, she backed off to the full reach of the chain and tore fiercely at the iron ring locked around her neck. She gave no sign of noticing Berin’s attempts to calm her, as she thrashed to and fro. Watched with complete indifference by the slave overseers, she exhausted herself within a few minutes and ended by sitting on the ground, keening softly, blindly trying over and over again to release the immovable shackle from her leg. Berin squatted helplessly beside her, mystified and shaken by her anguish.
Shortly afterwards Frink reemerged from the guard house, wiping his lips, signalled to his henchmen to get the march under way and the nightmare began. The overseers were not unnecessarily cruel to their charges, just callous and concerned only to keep the columns moving. They soon realised that beating Tariska with their long sticks was not going to stop her staggering from side to side and wrenching the captives chained to her out of the line. The youth who had come with her seemed willing to help, so the chains were rearranged. Now Berin could walk alongside her, take some of her weight and keep her faltering steps straight.
They did not move fast, but it was well into the night before they stopped. They seemed to be taking a route to the east of the main highway, a track that wound through patchy woodland. Unhitched six at a time, they were taken like animals down through the darkness to drink at a stream and to relieve themselves. Later still hunks of br
ead and some mouldy smelling cheese were distributed. There were no blankets and no chance to find a soft bit of ground. They slept where they were.
Berin was worn out. His ankle was raw with the chafing of the chain and his arms and shoulders ached fiercely with the effort of supporting the girl. She had still not uttered a single word since leaving the border post, and he was more afraid of her unnatural silence than of her obvious weakness. He forced himself to stay awake, cradling her head on his shoulder, until he heard her breathing slow and quieten in sleep. Within minutes he too was slumbering.
The next day was worse. The sores on their legs began to bleed, thirst turned every breath into a rasping pain, and Berin suffered agonies of cramp in his spent muscles. The second night he fell asleep at once, and because Tariska was oblivious to her surroundings, both of them missed their meagre ration of food.
In the morning Berin was in such pain that he thought he could not survive another day. But he did. And the next. And the next. After seven days, they reached a guarded camp on the edge of a small town. For the moment, this seemed to be journey’s end, and inside the stockade Berin trembled with relief when he discovered that they were not marching on the next day. Tariska had still not spoken or given any sign of recognition.
For the first time since their capture Berin began to take note of his fellow prisoners. There seemed to be a large number in the camp and most of them exhibited the round heads and broad features of Dendria. They were a dispirited lot; but then, Berin thought, he would be worse than dispirited himself, if he had had to walk from Dendria in chains – he would probably be dead. He viewed them with fresh respect; they were survivors.
On the morning after their arrival their shackles were released. There were guards with swords at the gate and men with bows patrolled a walkway on the outside of the wooden palisade. No one was going to escape. Berin was so grateful to be able to rest that he did the minimum that day. He found a place for Tariska to sit, leaning against one of the sleeping sheds in the weak sunshine. He fetched food and water for them both. And he dozed, letting sleep restore him. Always thin and gangling, the youth now looked emaciated. But there was a resilience and a wiry strength in his bony frame which was far from spent.
At night they were chained by the neck again in long rows inside the huts. Each of them had had a splash of paint applied to their foreheads to identify ownership and all carrying one colour were herded into the same quarters. The guards seemed indifferent to the actual arrangement of the prisoners as long as they were in the correct building, so Berin was able to take the place next to the girl and cradle her in his arms as before. He couldn’t tell if she was receiving any reassurance from his presence, but strangely it made him feel better: stronger somehow, not totally obsessed by the running sores on his ankle and the stomach cramps from the rancid food and filthy water. Even the wild fears about what fate might await them were more controllable, simply because he felt responsible for someone besides himself.
Groups of captives arrived and others left regularly, and on the second day Berin twice noticed men walking through the camp, apparently picking a selection of the inmates, who were immediately chained together and herded away. On the third day he himself was picked.
It happened while he was half asleep and the guards were already reaching for him, when he exploded to his feet and bared his teeth. He could never let himself be separated from Tariska. Never. Left by herself as she was, she would probably die. His defiance was futile, he knew; but he had no choice. He steeled himself to fight and waited for the guards’ reaction.
It was swift in coming. Resistance from the Dendrian prisoners was virtually unknown and the slavers were not about to encourage it to start. The youth jumped over one slashing blow from a long stick, only to receive a numbing crack on the arm from another and simultaneously a jab in the solar plexus, which left him retching on the ground. He clambered to his feet and as the guards reached for him again, pushed them weakly away, gasping “No, no, I must stay” over and over again. Impatient hands grabbed his arms to drag him away, when an authoritative voice brought everything to a standstill.
Still winded and sick, Berin peered to identify the voice as the restraining hands fell away. The speaker, a large pleasant looking man with white hair, approached Berin and studied him awhile in silence.
Then he spoke in High Balotins. “How doth it happen that thou knowest this tongue?” The youth was bewildered. He must have used High Balotins himself. But why was it important? And who was this person?
The question was repeated, and he managed to stammer a reply. “I was instructed by . . . a friend.” The silent scrutiny was resumed, followed by more questions.
“Thou art not Dendrian. From which country hast thou come?”
Berin had been the quickest learner on the boat from Far Sentor and his grasp of the language was sufficient for this kind of conversation. He was also beyond caring what he said. He told the truth. “From a country which men name Esparan, very far beyond Dendria.”
His interrogator frowned in concentration and shook his head. “I know it not.” Then sharply, “Thou art not Quezma, art thou boy?”
Berin shook his head. “No. Mine country is...”
“No matter”, the other broke in brusquely. “Canst thou read?”
“Aye, verily.”
“And count and keep tally?”
“Aye, verily I can.” Berin was beginning to feel the faint stirrings of hope at this line of questioning.
“And write in this tongue also?”
“A little.” Even this was an exaggeration, but if there was a chance for them here, he was not going to miss it over the small matter of a lie.
After a moment’s thought, the man simply said “come”, and strode off expecting Berin to follow. He was twenty paces away before he glanced round and saw to his surprise that the youth had not moved. He returned, puzzled and clearly annoyed, and placed himself in front of the motionless prisoner.
“What ails thee?” The tone was sharp. “Thou hast said before ‘I must stay’. Why must thou stay? Art thou affixed to the ground?”
It was a joke of sorts, but in this grim situation Berin did not feel up to raising even a smile. Perhaps a little flattery would help. As soon as his brain began to function again, the youth realised that this was exactly what Idressin would do. Instead of being dominated by his own desperation or pride, the tutor would adopt whatever attitude was needed to wring the maximum advantage out of such a chance encounter.
“It is mine sister, your honour. She is ill and suffereth grievously. As your honour would understand, it is my bounden duty to protect her.”
The white-haired man pursed his lips and frowned down at Tariska lying listlessly against the hut wall. She was already thin despite Berin’s continual efforts to get her to eat: she was dirty and her skin had an unhealthy pallour. Eventually he shrugged, muttered something to himself in another language, and turned back to Berin.
“Mayhap I will regret mine decision. Bring thou the girl also, howsoever she seemeth unsuitable for the smallest labour.”
He set off at once towards the gate of the compound, leaving Berin to follow slowly, supporting the girl. She could walk, but it was clearly an effort and as soon as Berin let go of her, she would simply sit down. To make it worse, the sores on her ankle had a nasty septic look. Berin had bathed them for her every day, his hands shrinking from hurting her, his heart squeezed to see the complete lack of reaction in her vacant face.
The man was waiting impatiently for them at the gate. He led them to a larger timber building nearby. “Remain thou here”, he commanded, and with one further doubtful look at Tariska he went inside.
Berin had come to the conclusion days ago that it would be virtually impossible for Idressin to find them and that they would have to make their own way out of this grim trick that fate had played on them. He knew they were here to be sold as slaves, but if this man wanted him to read and write, it could wor
k out much better than a chained gang. With Tariska as she was, escape was unthinkable. He groaned at his own ignorance. He had no idea what was wrong with her or how to help her recover.
His reverie was interrupted by the reappearance of the white-haired man, who thrust a piece of paper into his hand and said, “Read thou that for mine ear.”
Fortunately for Berin, the writing was distinct and at the first glance he guessed what it was, a bill of sale for himself and Tariska. He worked his way through it, his mind racing ahead of his tongue, trying to sort out the words he didn’t know. The main part of it was of no value to him full of ‘hereby assigned’ and ‘released forthwith from all liabilities’ and so on. He did however glean a few points of interest. The man’s name was Sinkul Terrem and the next words were ‘of Wicca Ridge Mine’. The amount paid for the pair of them was one Sirrot and fifty Lendars. From what he could remember, in Razimir that would have bought about six sacks of potatoes or half of a dinner at the Glasshouse. It did not bode well. If slaves were so cheap, no owner was going to waste much time looking after them.
“Humm. Thou comprehendest not all the words, fellow. But thou art quick in thought. I like that well. Canst thou perchance converse in any other tongue also?” He spoke a few words in a couple of languages unfamiliar to Berin, then gave up and turned away, only to swing back as the youth said in Shattun, “Is this tongue of any use to you, sir?”
“Indeed it is, now that we are exporting. I should have thought of it myself.” With a curt “Follow me” in Shattun, he led them to the rear of the building where he indicated a large wagon loaded with supplies.
“This wagon is mine. We leave in half an hour. The girl can ride, you walk.” Berin’s surge of relief was clear on his face. The man gave him a sardonic glance and laughed. “No need to chain you, is there? You’re already tied down so you can’t move.” He nodded towards Tariska. “And no need for you to pretend it’s your sister. The camp guards told me you sleep together. Makes no difference to me. You work well for me and you can do what you like.”
The Tears of Sisme Page 55
