Luca closed his eyes, not wanting to see the instruments over his arms. The cuffs were not designed to be opened easily or often. But the smith removed them without undue effort or discomfort, and Luca lifted his too-light arms with a sense of disbelief.
“The collar, too,” Shianan prompted.
The smith grunted and pushed Luca forward against the table, drawing his hair out of the way. “You bring this one back from Furmelle with you?”
“Not myself.”
The smith rolled the chain in his hand. “I can cut this easy enough,” he said. “But it looks like you’ve been using it. You sure you want it off? He’ll be bare, then, no cuffs and no collar, and from the looks of things—” he gave the collar a little tug—“he’s been some trouble.”
“I think that’s behind us,” Shianan said easily. “He won’t be any trouble.”
The smith’s hand rested on Luca’s shoulder and, with a grunt of discovery, he prodded at the swollen welts. “You sure, lordship?”
“As I said, no one will complain against my slave.”
The smith turned. “This really your slave? You’re not….” He looked at the trader. “This couldn’t come back on us?”
Shianan shrugged. “I didn’t bring a bill of sale, but my word should be good.”
“Huh.” The smith pulled at the collar again. “Sorry, lordship. I just never seen anyone who wanted to strip equipment off a slave they’d had to knock back into line.”
“Again, I don’t believe he’ll give any trouble,” Shianan replied, circling the table. “Will you, Luca?”
Luca did not understand, but he was anxious to have the collar off. “Oh, no, master,” he said, a nervous edge to his voice. “No trouble. I will be obedient and willing and reliable, master.”
Shianan made a small gesture, suggesting this was all the proof they needed, and the smith grunted. Then he picked up a chisel and hammer and pulled the chain tight against Luca’s neck.
Luca squeezed his eyes shut, but he felt nothing as the chain parted with a metallic sound. He opened his eyes and sat up, seeing the hated chains abandoned on the table.
“We’ll be back for the smaller cuffs,” Shianan said. “What do I owe for tonight’s work?”
The smith shook his head. “Pay for the cuffs. And if you don’t come for them, I had no part of any illegal freeing.”
“Don’t worry on that,” Shianan told him. “Thank you.” Then he turned and started away. Luca followed, his arms swinging loosely at his side. Emotion swelled within him and he had to hold himself to a measured pace behind Shianan.
But he did not wait long. When they had left the slavers behind, Luca sprang forward to face his master. “Thank you!” he breathed, foolish in his enthusiasm but unable to contain himself. He seized Shianan’s hand, desperate for some gesture to express his gratitude. “Oh, master, thank you!”
Shianan jerked back. “Stop,” he said, his voice rough. “I never liked that collar anyway. It was no great thing to have it off.”
Luca bobbed his head. “But—it is—thank you!”
Shianan pulled his hand free and continued walking briskly. Luca leapt to follow. “And the cuffs. You ordered the cuffs changed.”
“Tam’s were better.” Shianan did not look at Luca.
Luca hesitated. Tam was the slave boy he’d envied, with his small cuffs and unmarked skin and easy attitude, who had died when the shield crushed him and his mistress. Or when the Ryuven had appeared within the shield.
But Luca had benefited nonetheless. “Thank you,” he repeated, and then because his master obviously did not care to hear more, he fell silent and followed Shianan down the street, staring at his pale and empty wrists.
Shianan wound through the market, between the vendors packing wagons for the trip home and a few late shoppers like themselves, and stopped at a booth of woven mats and stuffed mattresses. “Wait a moment,” he called to the seller rolling a straw mat.
The seller gestured for his slave to continue packing and came to Shianan, appraising his clothing and judging his rank. “Yes, lordship?”
“I need a floor mattress,” Shianan said. “What do you have left today?”
They reached quick agreement. The seller whistled and pointed, and a slave rolled and tied the mattress as Shianan counted out coins from a tooled leather pouch. “Here, my lord,” the slave muttered as he passed the heavy roll from his shoulder to Luca’s.
Luca blinked. He was clearly subservient to his master—and yet without the wrist bands, he was not so clearly a slave.
He eased the rolled mattress onto the shoulder without half-healed cuts and turned to follow Shianan. Shadows cast by the taller buildings fell across the plaza, throwing the marketplace into half-darkness. Around them men hoisted packs on their backs or pushed carts and wagons into the steady stream of exiting traffic, shouting at those in their way.
Shianan stopped at a wide, low building with a sign in the shape of a tankard. “I want a drink.”
To the right of the door stood several wagons with slaves lounging against their vehicles. To the left, a man cupped his hands to drink at the trough of a rude fountain, an over-sized pack resting beside him. Luca understood; slaves were not permitted. He stopped beside the door and leaned the mattress against the wall.
“Luca.” In the doorway, Shianan jerked his head to indicate inside. “Coming?”
Luca stared at him. Inside? But—
Shianan gestured again. Luca picked up the mattress and followed him inside.
They took a table in the corner, where Luca could lean his bundle out of the way. Shianan nodded for Luca to sit and Luca did, wary and uncomfortable.
A woman in a low bodice worked her way through the groups of laughing and arguing customers, dispensing a smile here and an admonition there, until she reached them. “Good evening to both of you,” she began, displaying yellow teeth in a wide grin. Luca caught a glimpse of iron cuff as she gave their table an obligatory brush with a rag. “What’s your pleasure tonight?”
“Wine for you?” Shianan asked Luca.
Luca stared stupidly. “Y-yes,” he managed.
Shianan nodded. “And stronger for me,” he told the woman. “The cruelest you have.”
She gave him a knowing look. “There’s some in the back of the cellar that we don’t bring out just every night. But seeing as you have someone to steer you home….” She winked and grinned and left.
Luca stared at the table between his bare wrists. His master had removed his collar, removed his cuffs illegally, taken him inside a tavern which did not permit slaves. Why?
Master Shianan, are you giving me my freedom? But he dared not form the words.
Shianan was subtly testing his ribs with his hand. “That amulet works miracles,” he muttered, “but it’s not enough.”
Luca nodded briefly, uncertain if a reply were required or appropriate. His back had benefited from most of the healing power. More generosity had been shed on him this day than since he had first been enslaved—since, perhaps, before.
The slave woman returned with the drinks, setting wine before Luca and a cup and dusty bottle before Shianan. “Enjoy it,” she said, “and wave or shout if you want for something.”
Shianan poured out a portion and drank it straightaway. “Good,” he said, making a face. “This will do.”
“Do?” Luca repeated.
Shianan took another drink and grimaced again. “I mean not to dream tonight.” He flicked a finger toward Luca’s cup. “Go ahead, drink.”
Luca had not tasted wine in years. He sipped slowly.
Shianan did not speak but drank, keeping his eyes on the bottle. Luca made his wine last, not wanting the serving woman to bring another without Shianan’s order. The tavern began to empty gradually as the tradesmen finished their drinks.
Shianan’s movements slowed and then, as he reached for the bottle again, his fingers slipped on the neck. “I think,” he said, “it is time to go home.”
He raised his hand to summon the woman. “Bring another bottle of this. I’ll carry it with me.” He looked at Luca and blinked. “Go on. I’ll pay and meet you outside.”
“Yes, my lord.” There was no reason for Shianan to send him ahead, but Luca had given up trying to understand his master tonight. He took a gulp to finish the wine and heaved the mattress over his protesting shoulder.
The waiting slaves were gone, departed with their masters and wagons and packs. Luca walked into the street and something slammed into his skull.
Light sparked through his vision and the street fell hard against him. Hands groped over his body as the ground and sky whirled. “Nothing,” a voice rasped. “Must be on the other one!”
Then there was no one, and Luca lay still for a moment, trying to bring his vision into focus again. His head was ringing, and a paving stone pressed cold against his cheek. His right arm lay across the rolled mattress.
Distantly he heard sounds of a disturbance, or maybe some sort of struggle. He should escape, crawl away from the vicious men before they could hurt him again. He pulled himself to his hands and knees.
There were three men fighting behind him. Shianan stumbled as one of the thieves struck him but he swung back, reaching with his other hand for something at his waist. The second thief hit Shianan from behind and he staggered. The thief seized his arm and shoulders and shoved him headfirst into the slaves’ trough, twisting his arm to hold him under the water.
Shianan struggled but could not break the hold. The first thief began to rip items from his belt. Luca stared dumbly as Shianan’s thrashing slowed. The thief holding him leaned hard, keeping him underwater.
Luca scrambled to his feet, snatching up the rolled mattress. They were intent on drowning and robbing Shianan and did not see him coming. He swung the rolled mat hard against the thief holding Shianan and felt the jolting impact as the man stumbled backward, raking Shianan roughly over the trough’s edge.
Luca turned to face the other thief, who danced backward. Shianan gasped raggedly for air behind him. Luca heaved the mat again, but the thief ducked nimbly out of range and the heavy mat sailed wide, leaving Luca unguarded as the thief moved forward. Luca flinched away from the swinging cudgel and pain flared through his temple.
The thief grunted as dull steel flashed across his side. Shianan wheeled, but the other was already fleeing. He turned back, but the attacker stumbled backward, hands to his bleeding flank, and ran down the street.
Shianan dropped to his knees and then to his hands, panting hoarsely. Luca looked after the thieves, racing in opposite directions to discourage pursuit, and blinked blood from his eye. He knelt beside Shianan. “Master!”
Shianan’s head drooped toward the paving stones, and he was shaking with exertion or injury. He tried to speak, but the sound was lost in his gasps for air.
Luca could not see for the wet hair hiding his face and his folded posture. Had he been stabbed as well? Had he been too long underwater? “Master?”
“You great stupid fool.” Water ran from Shianan’s hair and torso, puddling beneath him. “That was your chance. Why didn’t you run?” He pushed himself slowly upright. “You could have been a free man.”
Luca stared at him. He had no collar, no telltale wrist cuffs. If he could hide the pale streaks on his arms for a few days—
“They would have killed you,” he said numbly.
Shianan shrugged. “And what of it?” He clenched his fists. “My last thought would have been that at least you would go free.” He shook his head, staring at his fists in his lap. “But no, I could not even do that.”
A chill ran through Luca. He gulped and said, “You’re bleeding, master. Let me help you.”
Shianan made a disdainful sound. “This?” He put a hand gingerly to the cut over his swelling eye. “It’s nothing. At least it gives me an excuse for the dent in my ribs.”
Luca’s back was beginning to scream, though he’d not even thought of it during the attack. “And your money—they robbed you.”
Shianan shook his head. “I never carry more than I’ll spend.” He sighed and wiped bloody water from his face. “Where’s my drink?”
Luca found the bottle beneath the trough. He picked up his mattress and started after Shianan, limping uphill toward the military grounds.
Wielding a mattress had been too much for his back, even half-healed, and his head pounded. Luca gritted his teeth and shuffled the last distance, hardly noting how Shianan clutched his side as he reached for the door. They went through the office and barely into the living quarters before Shianan fell into a chair and Luca dropped the mattress to the floor, careless of reprimand. He lit a couple of lights, creating a narrow circle of illumination.
“You should’ve run,” Shianan said gruffly without prologue. “That was your best chance.”
Luca could think of no safe response. He gripped the back of the other chair and leaned on it.
“But you ignored your chance and came to me. So you’re still a slave, and I am still alive.” He frowned at Luca. “You’re terrible in a fight. Go put something on that.”
Luca turned and went to the little chest of medical supplies. They had nearly exhausted the rags and bandages, but he took two of the few remaining and handed one to Shianan, pressing the other against his own head.
Shianan pushed the wadded rag against his split eyebrow. “Sit.” He opened the second bottle and took a drink. “I should sit with a slave. I cannot even die properly.”
Again cold raced through Luca. “No, master,” he heard himself say. “You wouldn’t—”
Shianan took another drink and looked fiercely at him. “Why not?” He drank again, huge swallows that made his throat strain. He coughed, eyes watering with the alcohol, flushed even in the candlelight. “There are enough people who would be gratified by my death; I could oblige them.”
No. Luca looked down, horrified. No, master. Live—live, so I may stay. Don’t send me to the block again. But of course he could not say that. He swallowed.
Shianan took another drink, his eyes on the wall. “I gave the Gehrn their house and their ritual. The failure of the shield is my fault. Ariana—she’s—Mage Hazelrig has to know she’s gone because of me. The king…. He’s furious. The entire kingdom is at risk because I agreed a Gehrn priest could come to the Shard.” He made a sharp gesture toward Luca. “Even you. If not for me, you wouldn’t have been strapped to that scaffold and skinned.” He took a deep drink from the bottle.
The room swayed a little around Luca as he shifted the clotting rag. “No, master.”
Shianan looked at him with reddened eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to sit?” He stared pointedly at the chair until Luca lowered himself into it. “I can’t even look after my own men. Do you know how many have died in my command?” He swallowed. “I killed Ariana, too. And Tam. And if the Ryuven come—if they come while the shield is down, how many more will I have killed?” He snorted. “Partial triumphs, he said. But they were all just slow deaths.”
Luca gripped the edge of the table. “Master,” he said urgently. “I was told once, while you yet breathe, there is hope. You don’t know what may come.” The words tasted foul.
Shianan took another drink and looked across the table at Luca, blinking hard. “What may come? The Ryuven may come. The Ryuven may come and kill every one of us. And it will be my doing.” His words were blurring.
“Not yours,” Luca said automatically. “That was master—the high priest.” He squeezed his fingers on the table. “He broke the shield.”
He could not tell whether Shianan heard or understood. Luca lowered his bloodied cloth and looked at Shianan, drinking again. His face was purpling. He should have had cold meat on it.
“While you breathe, eh?” Shianan said after a moment, his words even less clear. “That’s pretty.” He fixed reddened eyes on Luca. “Do you believe that?”
Luca dropped his eyes to the table. While you yet breathe, Luca, there is hope.
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He clenched his fists. Liar.
A frenzied banging at the outer door made Luca jump in the chair. “Commander!” shouted a voice outside. “Commander! Ryuven!”
Luca shoved himself away from the table, fear pricking him so that his fingers fumbled on the latch. The door was flung back and Luca stumbled as the soldier burst inside.
“Commander! The mages have sounded the alert. There’s a Ryuven here, sir, here in the hold!”
“Ryuven, eh? Already?” Shianan nodded and reached for the bottle. “Well, invite him in for a drink.”
The soldier’s eyes widened and he backed a step. “I’ll go to General Septime, sir,” he said, and he fled.
Chapter 26
Luca pushed his hands through his hair and ran, ignoring the ache stabbing through his shoulders. Beside him Shianan scraped at his dusty tunic with one hand and shielded his eyes from the morning sun with another.
“What are you doing?” Shianan demanded, squinting.
“Accompanying you,” Luca answered. He was almost afraid to have his master out of sight, after Shianan’s drunken talk the night before. And with angry soldiers and even Ryuven outside, he felt safest near him.
Shianan scowled and jerked at a lace. “I don’t need you in the king’s offices.”
“Then I will wait outside,” Luca answered quietly, surprised at his boldness.
They passed between liveried guards, leaving the sunny courtyard behind. The door banged behind them, making Shianan wince. “Keep well out of the way,” he conceded, lacking the energy to order Luca home. “And ‘soats, hide your wrists; I don’t even want to think what will come if someone sees you without cuffs.”
Luca tugged his sleeves over his hands. They went up stairs and through corridors and came to an anteroom. The secretary looked at Shianan with pursed lips. “You’d better go right in, your lordship.”
Shianan’s rigid shoulders rose another quarter-inch. “Thank you.” He turned and strode forward, pushing back the doors determinedly. Luca caught a door before it rebounded and followed.
Shard & Shield Page 18
