“Does Oniwe’aru expect you?” the other asked, an effort to stop Tamaryl without open challenge.
“He will see me.” They were males, assigned to the palace but not Oniwe’s personal guard. Tamaryl did not pause but carried Ariana directly between them, and they turned, hesitated, and then watched him pass.
“Tamaryl’sho!” one called at last. “Please wait while we speak to Oniwe’aru!”
He did not slow. He guessed where Oniwe would be. He went straight down the corridor, turning at the second corner, holding Ariana tightly as he entered the cool patio. Ryuven scattered as he entered to the edges of the shaded pavilion. In the center Oniwe turned to face him, his expression solemn. “Tamaryl’sho.”
Tamaryl sank directly to one knee without breaking stride. “I beg to speak with you, Oniwe’aru.”
There was a long moment while Oniwe weighed the decision, and then the ruler made a slight gesture which sent the others from the pavilion. Tamaryl did not move.
Oniwe indicated the gardens around the patio, cooled with bubbling fountains. “This is not a suitable place for private conversation. Come this way.”
Tamaryl rose, still holding Ariana, and followed the ruler through a door and into a small, lavish audience room. Oniwe crossed the room and sat upright in the ornate chair, settling his wings behind him. Tamaryl paused inside the door and settled Ariana’s unconscious body on the cool floor. He straightened, took two steps forward, and knelt. It was not the courtier’s position he had taken on the patio, but a supplicant’s, on two bent knees with his hands on the floor before him, fingers spread with the tips of his forefingers touching. Oniwe would understand he meant no challenge. “Oniwe’aru.”
Oniwe did not tell him to rise. “Explain why you are here.”
Tamaryl chose to answer differently. “I regret our division, Oniwe’aru. It has always been my interest to serve you.”
“The division was your doing.”
“I meant only to serve well. I felt our path would harm us all in the end.”
“So you said.” Oniwe shifted a wing. “So you’ve come to make restitution?”
Tamaryl’s throat began to close and he swallowed hard. “I beg you, Oniwe’aru, let me return.”
Ariana was two steps behind him. If it seemed Oniwe would kill him, he would throw himself over her and leap between worlds with his dying effort, returning her even injured or dead to her own world.
But Oniwe merely frowned. “You have been in exile in the human world,” he said. “Hidden from us.”
“Yes, Oniwe’aru. I was hidden within a binding.”
“A binding,” Oniwe repeated. “Like a Subduing?”
“Something like that.”
“You sacrificed your power so we could not find you.” Oniwe scratched at his chin. “Who was it who bound you?”
“The White Mage.”
Oniwe’s mouth curved into a slow, grim smile. “You must have been quite a prize for them, Tamaryl.”
“He did not publicize me.”
“No? What, exactly, did he do with you?”
“He made me a slave.”
Oniwe laughed. He laughed a long time, it seemed to Tamaryl, his wings moving with the effort. “You were a slave—a slave, without power, in the human world.” He gave one final, small chuckle. “No wonder you have returned to beg for forgiveness.”
“It is not forgiveness I seek,” Tamaryl said carefully. “I still believe what I said then, and I still desire to serve you.”
Oniwe frowned again. “How did you come here, if you were bound?”
“My mistress released me,” Tamaryl answered.
“And you have brought her as an appeasing gift to me?”
“No,” Tamaryl said levelly. “No, I must return her.”
“You come with many conditions to your begging.”
“Only those two stipulations,” Tamaryl said. “All else is yours to dictate.” He rotated his hands so that the tips of the middle fingers touched and lowered his forehead to them, spreading his wings flat across the floor. “Punish me if you must. Mark me physically. Take my titles and rank from me. But let me return, please, Oniwe’aru.”
Oniwe stood, shifting his wings behind him. He walked slowly forward, and Tamaryl’s pulse pounded. Oniwe paused, his sandaled feet only inches from Tamaryl’s skull. “You were so proud,” he said quietly. “I never thought to see you take this position in my palace.”
Tamaryl could not speak once he had made himself so low before Oniwe’aru. He tried to swallow the fear throbbing inside him.
Oniwe’s weight shifted and he lifted his right foot to place it, as Tamaryl’s posture demanded, across the back of Tamaryl’s bent neck. Tamaryl’s forehead ground against his numbing fingers. The pressure increased slowly, and his torso was flattened against his thighs, his shoulders pressed to the hard floor. He dragged his face to the side and Oniwe pressed hard so that his throat ached against the tile.
He couldn’t breathe. He rolled one eye upward, trying to see Oniwe, but the angle was too steep. He closed his eyes and waited, burning for air.
He would not be able to reach Ariana. She would die here as well.
“I ordered your death, Tamaryl. You had betrayed me. You defied my orders.”
Blood pounded in Tamaryl’s ears, nearly drowning out Oniwe’s words.
“You still hold those opinions which inflamed me then. You still defy what I ordered then.”
The room was fading around Tamaryl. So it would be….
“I have seen what it was you feared, though. Some of the sho—the wars have not made them better leaders. Their lands have suffered, which we could ill afford. Our trade has suffered.”
Tamaryl’s wings shuddered. Then the pressure eased slightly, and his pulse burst through him.
“I do not deny that your contumacy infuriated me. But I think now you did believe you were serving our interests.” Oniwe removed his foot and Tamaryl jerked his head from the floor, gasping for air.
“Tamaryl’sho,” Oniwe said sternly, and Tamaryl pressed himself again to the floor, trying to slow his breathing. “You did defy my orders. But I see now why you did. Your method still deserves punishment, but I think so many years in exile as a Subdued slave to humans is sufficient. In fact, I consider it crueler than most of what I sentence.” He paused. “Tamaryl’sho, raise yourself as befits one of your rank.”
Tamaryl shifted to one knee, his hands to the ground on either side of him.
“Tamaryl’sho, I commute your sentence of death to a term of exile, which you have served. You may return to your place here, but I assign you the onerous task of repairing the damage you foresaw. I restore your rank and privilege so you may have authority to serve as I dictate. Now rise.”
Tamaryl stood, knees trembling. “I—thank you, Oniwe’aru.”
“You had robbed me of an excellent prince, Tamaryl’sho.”
Tamaryl swallowed hard against his constricting throat. “It was not my will, Oniwe’aru.”
“I know.” Oniwe sighed. “To tell the truth, I wish I had listened then. But I wish you had not drawn such a sharp line. You made it difficult to hear you.”
“I am sorry.”
Oniwe turned, his wings shifting. “When we learned you were alive—I acted precipitously. I am not proud I was ruled by my previous thoughts so blindly.” His fingers flexed slowly. “Returning, I realized I regretted my action.”
Tamaryl hardly dared to breathe.
“And so, since, you have survived, I view this as something of a second chance for both of us. I might regain my prince doniphan, you might regain your place. But there is little room for error, Tamaryl’sho; I cannot overturn my edict lightly.”
Tamaryl swallowed. “I will give no cause to regret this action, Oniwe’aru.”
“Good.”
Oniwe gestured toward Ariana. “Now tell me about her.”
“My mistress,” Tamaryl said. “I brought her here to save her life fro
m an accident in her world.”
“To save her?” Oniwe frowned. “Quite the loyal slave, were you? Oh, yes, she released you. I suppose you felt some gratitude. She is injured?”
“Not from that. I think it was the journey between-worlds.”
“That should not render her unconscious. It is painful for humans, but not debilitating.”
Tamaryl shook his head. “No, it was after we arrived. She was—she was screaming, covering her ears, scratching at her skin.”
Oniwe’s expression turned to grim amusement. “You were enslaved to a mage.”
“Yes! Is that the cause?”
“We have brought only a very few mages as prisoners,” Oniwe said. “It is never worth the trouble; they die almost immediately. From what we can surmise, the magic in their world is so diluted that they are susceptible to it here, where there is so much more.” He frowned. “Even asleep, she should have died by this time. There must be something different about her.”
She is the White Mage’s daughter. She is stronger than any they’ve captured before.
“Maybe she has only a small skill?” Oniwe suggested. “So perhaps she can sense the magic but is not overwhelmed by it.” He shrugged. “You have refused her to me, so she is your responsibility.”
“Is it safe to carry her back like this?”
“We have never tried to take anyone back. But I wouldn’t recommend it. Even if she is still alive, she probably cannot withstand the between-worlds again.” He walked a few paces away. “Ask Nori’bel. She’s treated the mages we brought back.”
“Thank you, I will.”
“And I see the humans’ barrier is down. Was that your doing?”
Tamaryl’s breath caught. “No. I only took advantage of it.”
“Regardless, it is good to know.” Oniwe regarded him. “What are you thinking, Tamaryl? I know there is more in your mind.”
Tamaryl hesitated, trying to find words, and then he knelt again on one knee. “Thank you for your magnanimity, Oniwe’aru. Thank you for allowing me to return.”
Oniwe nodded. “Do not disappoint me, Tamaryl’sho.”
“No, Oniwe’aru.”
“What more? And rise.”
Tamaryl straightened. “There is someone I must find.”
“Daranai’rika.” Oniwe smiled. “She has not taken a mate.”
“Thank you, Oniwe’aru.”
Oniwe looked at him a moment. “No, that is not whom you sought. Who else?”
“I was—Maru.” There was a promise, pledged years ago.
“Ah. Maru.” Oniwe’s expression did not change. “He disappeared for a time after you were found in the human world. After I left you there.” He looked at Tamaryl. “When he returned, he refused to say where he had been.”
Tamaryl’s heart froze.
“I had my suspicions,” Oniwe said.
Tamaryl could barely form the words. “What—what….”
“Don’t look at me so! He was only shirking at worst accusation. No one had seen him with you, and even I would not kill one for burying his lord and friend.”
Relief seeped through Tamaryl.
“Go and find him. He serves in this palace. But do not neglect Daranai’rika. She was very much affected when you left. Having one’s betrothed suddenly declared a traitor with a price will do that.”
“Yes, Oniwe’aru.”
“And take this girl with you; I don’t want her left in my audience rooms.”
“Yes, Oniwe’aru.”
“And I will have you return to tell me of the human world and this shield they’ve tried.”
Tamaryl nodded. “Yes, Oniwe’aru.”
Chapter 19
Shianan left the soldiers and mages arguing around the Shard. There was nothing he could do here. General Septime would speak for the military.
He left Ewan Hazelrig rigid within the shouting group, staring at the Shard. Shianan did not know how the White Mage could function at this time, how he could stand while knowing his daughter was with the Ryuven.
Tam won’t be able to protect her. He had to hide here for years. They’re both dead.
But Hazelrig clung to something, some shred of desperate fantastic hope allowing him to say Ariana was not dead. Perhaps the Ryuven would try to ransom her.
Shianan threw back a heavy wooden door, cracking it sharply against the stone wall. Three men started up from their table of dice. “Commander.”
Shianan forced his voice to steady. “You have the Gehrn priest here.”
“Yes, sir. He’s been kept for questioning as you said.”
No one had bothered with him yet. The more immediate concern was the shield. “And the slave with him?”
“We’ve got him, too, sir. Separate cells, sir.”
Shianan nodded. “I want to see him.”
The guard reached for a ring of keys. “He’s been yelling and cursing and—”
“Not him,” Shianan said. “The slave.”
The guard unlocked a door beyond the guards’ room and went down a short hallway before turning into a row of locked cells. Insistent cries came from some doors, while other cells were occupied but silent. The guard paused before a door and checked at the grilled window before unlocking it. “Here he is, sir.”
Shianan pushed back the door and stepped into the narrow cell, less than the span of his arms. Wet straw squished beneath his boots. The black-haired slave sat in the muck with his shoulder to the wall, trying to support himself without touching his raw bare back. His head moved slightly to take in Shianan and the guard, and then he dropped his eyes.
“I’m taking him,” Shianan said.
The guard looked at him. “Not the priest? I mean, sir, it’s….”
“I know the usual process when there’s an extra slave imprisoned,” Shianan said. “There’s no record of the second prisoner, he goes to the auction block, and the money is split amongst you. But you’ll have to make do without this one.”
The man straightened. “Yes, sir.” He crossed the narrow cell. “Up with you, then.” He reached for the slave.
“Leave that!” Shianan had not seen whether the guard had meant to seize the hair or collar, but he would tolerate neither. Not this night. The guard took a step back, surprised, and Shianan focused on the slave. “Get up.”
The slave put a hand on the damp wall to steady himself as he unfolded stiffly, flexing his torn back.
“Follow me.” Shianan went without looking at the guards, without glancing back for the slave. He could hear the uneven step behind him in the corridors, and he slowed his pace.
He had no need of the slave at all. What he had just done was illegal—no more illegal than the guards quietly selling surplus prisoners for profit, but they were mere guards and he was a commander, a count, and the bastard.
But so much was wrong, and there was only one aspect he could seize and control. The Circle, the council, and the army would want Ande. Shianan would take the slave.
They reached his quarters in more time than the walk generally took. Shianan could hear the slave faltering behind him. He went through his office and dragged a chair to the foot of the bed, its back to the footboard. “Sit there—the other way. Straddle it and face the bed.” He went to a chest and began withdrawing the medical supplies he kept for his own minor training injuries.
The slave obeyed, slumping over the back of the chair. Shianan took an iron-cuffed wrist and set his hand on the footboard. “Hold there and don’t move. What’s your name?”
“Luca.” It was hardly a voice, more an airy rasp of an answer.
Shianan stared down at the flogged back. Ande had done his work well; the cuts were deep and swollen messily. There didn’t seem to be any long scars outside the stripes from what he could see, so this was the first time the slave had been scourged. He dipped a cloth into the washbasin he’d brought.
The slave flinched as Shianan began to wash away the crusted blood and fluids to expose the cuts themselves, bu
t he remained mostly still against the chair. Shianan worked efficiently, switching from the washbasin to a little jug of watered wine—“hold tight”—to clean them of infection. Luca jerked as the alcohol entered his torn flesh and Shianan slapped a hand on the unmarked shoulder. “Hold still, and it will be done quickly.” He rubbed the alcohol into the wounds as Luca sucked his breath and twitched.
Finally he tossed away the wine-soaked cloth. “That’s done. Only a little more.” He took out a heavy jar of numbing ointment. “You won’t enjoy this either, but it shouldn’t be as bad.”
Luca held grimly to the footboard as Shianan rubbed the ointment into the damaged back. It didn’t take long, and Shianan wiped his hands clean. “Good. Bandage to keep it clean and we’ll be finished.”
He lay two clean sheets over the back, sticking in the ointment, and then wrapped a few lines of bandage lightly to hold them in place. He set the top loop about the shoulder to keep it high and began to tie off the bandage, pushing the heavy black hair aside from the knot. The slave winced.
Shianan frowned and lifted the hair more carefully. Across the neck was a thick ring of abrasion and deep bruising, a mass of fresh contusion. Shianan’s lip curled. “I see you must have resisted after all.”
The slave nodded minutely.
A new thought came coldly to Shianan. He’d heard only one word from the slave, and that hoarse. “Can you speak?”
“Y-yes.” It sounded as if he were speaking through nails. “Yes, my lord. It—it will come.”
Shianan scooped his fingers into the ointment again. He rubbed the ointment into it, trying to be gentle over the battered throat, working around the chain collar.
This is what they had done at Furmelle. He had agreed to this.
He stepped back, wiping his hands again. The slave would be dehydrated as well. “Luca, was it? You’re finished. There’s water in the corner.”
Luca rose gingerly and went for a drink. Shianan noted how carefully he swallowed. The numbing did not penetrate. “Now,” he said, “I have to go back to the Wheel.” He pulled an old shirt from a chest and tossed it onto the empty chair. “Stay here for now.”
Shard & Shield Page 14
