16
Captive Journey
Marsh was woken by the feeling of stone slithering away from her limbs, and pushed away from the wall in a panic just as soon as she was able. A large hand grabbed her hair as she tried to slide around a horribly familiar pair of boots, and Ardhur dragged her to her feet.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
“Latrine?”
He sighed and handed her to one of the female guards. The woman didn’t ask what was required but took Marsh where she needed to go, helping her get through her morning ablutions without undoing her hands. Twice, Marsh tried to ask. The first time she was met with a scowl, and the second time she received a fist to the gut.
She didn’t bother asking again; the answer was clear. When she arrived back where Ardhur was waiting, most of the other prisoners were eating small shroom-bread rolls and drinking water from a shared flask. The guard deposited Marsh beside the rock mage with a sour glare.
“Tell her how it works,” she snapped before wheeling around and stamping away.
Ardhur turned his head and held up a roll.
“Hungry?”
Marsh nodded but kept her eyes on his face rather than the roll.
“Best eat fast, then,” he said, and dropped the roll at her feet.
Marsh dropped to her knees after it but stopped. There was no way she was going to chase after it with just her mouth. She glanced up and caught the look on his face, then she glanced across at where a small knot of guards had gathered and was waiting in eager anticipation.
“You are one set of sick shroomies,” she said, looking up at the rock mage and sitting back on her haunches.
Ardhur’s lips tightened and he set his foot on the roll, grinding it under his heel.
“Maybe that will help,” he said, but Marsh got her feet under her and stood.
“I’m not that hungry,” she declared, although her stomach rumbled loud enough to give away the lie.
Ardhur smirked.
“Suits me,” he said. “Less you refuel, less trouble you’ll be.”
Man had a point, but not enough of one for her to try eating the mushy smear of crumbs that should have been her breakfast. She watched as he lifted a flask of water to his lips and took a long swallow, and was not surprised when he waved it toward her.
“Thirsty?” he asked, and Marsh gave him a single nod, wondering what he’d do next.
To her surprise, he placed the bottle against her lips and tilted it.
“Wouldn’t want you dying of thirst, now would we?”
Marsh rolled her eyes, but she didn’t stop drinking until he took the flask away. When he held up the gag, she took a step back, but he snaked out a hand and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck before she could move too far. He soon had the filthy cloth in place.
“There’ll be no speaking to the dark for you,” he said, and Marsh glared at him.
She didn’t need to speak to the dark; she could just step into the shado—
A staff slammed into the middle of her back, jolting her back into the real and knocking her back to her knees. This time her attempt to stand was stopped by the end of the staff resting between her shoulder blades.
“You’ll walk like the rest of us,” Warven told her and poked the staff into her back.
Marsh gasped and bowed her head. It looked like she’d have to work out another way to get free. She really hoped Roeglin would catch up to her, soon. As much as she dreaded what the master was going to say about her sneaking off again, she didn’t care. She needed to see him. She couldn’t just disappear into the caverns.
Her mind drifted to her uncle. It would be just like her parents all over again, and that was if it wasn’t already like that. After all, he couldn’t know she’d escaped the attack on the caravan. He might not even know there had been an attack. All he would know was that the trade route to Ruins Hall was closed, and there’d been no news of her since.
She had to get to him. She had to let him know everything was all right.
Marsh gasped as Warven poked her again. Honestly, when she got free, she was going to take that stick and…
Except it was shadow, and would bleed into nothing the minute he let go of it.
“Get up!”
For real this time? she thought, remembering that he’d been the one to put her on her knees in the first place. The staff struck her once more, harder this time. Fine—for real. Marsh struggled to her feet and got into line with the rest. It didn’t help that she was at the back, the worst place to be in any caravan, just like she’d been the last time the shadow monsters had attacked.
Only this time, she was in a caravan of slaves run by the very people who’d summoned the shadow monsters. Maybe this time, she’d be safe from that. She could only hope, especially since there were plenty of other things she should be worried about. She sighed, and Ardhur stepped in close and fastened a collar around her throat.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, he clipped three ropes to it. One he fastened to the collar of the person in front of her, the second he passed to Warven, and the third he tied to his own saddle.
Huh, Marsh thought. Looks like they don’t want me to go anywhere.
Trying to think of a way to do exactly that kept her mind occupied as the raiders got them moving. It also stopped her fretting over Roeglin’s absence from her mind or testing Warven’s vigilance. So much for “walking in the dark like the rest of us.” the shadow mage was riding a mule to one side of her, while Ardhur rode on the other. Talk about a statement of power.
As they left the campsite, Marsh wondered where this trail led. It seemed well traveled despite not having any glows, which begged the question of where it went and just how long it had been in use. Her questions were only partially answered when the trail came to an abrupt end in a tunnel that had been constructed in the time before the world went mad.
Marsh swept her gaze over the walls, wishing she could reach out and touch the ragged chunks of manmade gray stone that clung in random patches between clusters of shrooms, toadstools, and moss. The ground beneath her feet showed two dull and rusty strips of metal, and she wondered why it hadn’t been mined, and just how long it had taken for the dirt and debris to fill the gap between them and be packed into the hard trail beneath her feet.
Overhead, the tunnel formed a perfect arch, and she twisted her head, following its curve. Despite her situation, she was in awe. It was no wonder Mikel brought in the best artifacts, and a wonder he’d brought them to Kearick at all. It puzzled her as to why he would when he could access Madame Monetti on his own. Why go to the dealer instead of directly to the customer?
Marsh chewed that over, almost missing when the folk ahead of her slowed and a low moan of despair rode back along them. The sound made her look to the front, even as the guards up front poked and prodded the reluctant leaders forward into a much more open space. She had almost reached the point at which the first of the prisoners had balked when Mordan crashed into her head.
I am here. I follow. I can take the stragglers. Marsh had a clear impression of Ardhur on his mount and the swift desire to see him fall between her sharp teeth and claws before leaping over Marsh’s head to snap the neck of the “little one in black.”
No, Marsh thought, answering the kat even as she jerked to a halt, looking around to see where Mordan was hiding. Stay hidden. Follow, but please stay hidden. No hunting.
Warven’s staff slammed into her. Once. Twice. A third time, flattening her to her knees, her head ringing even as Ardhur’s line stayed taut and she choked for breath. A low snarl rumbled down the passage, and the mules shied and danced.
Marsh tried to send soothing thoughts to the kat, but she couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t… Warven hit her, again and she curled over her knees, waiting for it to stop. She was glad when Mordan remained silent, even though she could feel the kat’s disapproving presence in her skull.
“Up,” Ardhur comma
nded, jerking on the lead when his mule had settled down.
“Up,” Warven repeated, jerking on his lead and prodding her with the staff.
Marsh “upped,” thinking of what she’d like to do to them, staff and mules included. Ahead of her, the man she was linked to also rose, as did the one in front of him and the woman in front of that man. Watching them, Marsh saw there had been more consequences to her beating than she had realized.
“I’m sorry,” she tried to say, and choked on the gag.
Warven’s staff nudged her forward, and the whole line started to proceed once more. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift to the link she had with the hoshkat. Behind her, in the dark, Mordan stalked them, keeping her scent in range and assessing the essential prey keeping Marsh captive. This time, Marsh refrained from saying anything. She just kept putting one foot in front of the other.
As she did, her thoughts turned to Roeglin and the annoying presence he usually was. Curious to see if he was still in her head, Marsh sought him in her mind, but he was nowhere to be found. She tried to reach out to him but couldn’t, and fatigue spread through her limbs. She stopped, trying not to think of how much she would miss it if she never heard his voice again.
Her thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when she ran into the back of the man in front of her. He gave a soft oomph and stumbled forward, just as Warven and Ardhur pulled their leashes tight. Marsh’s eyes snapped open, and she backed up a few steps. She was mumbling apologies behind the gag when Ardhur slipped from his mule and took the two paces needed to reach her.
As he raised his hand toward her, Marsh flinched away, but he merely unclipped his lead from her collar.
“We’re here,” he told her, unclipping the rope that linked her to Warven’s mule. “Follow the others—and behave. We’ll be watching.”
With a shift of his eyes, he indicated the two closest guards and Warven. Marsh followed the look and then looked back at him, but Ardhur wanted an answer and gripped her shoulder.
“Understand?”
Marsh repeated the track her eyes had taken over the guards and Warven, taking in the staves carried by each. This time when her eyes returned to Ardhur, she nodded. There was no point in trying to say anything since he’d left the gag in place.
To her surprise, he pulled his dagger and stepped behind her, cutting the ropes binding her wrists and forearms. The pain as her circulation returned brought a whimper to her lips. Marsh stifled it, rubbing her arms until the pain subsided. When she didn’t reach for the gag, Ardhur slipped it from her head.
“It’s hard to eat with this,” he said. “You can have it back later.”
As if she’d want it, but Marsh didn’t reply. She just nodded, again; it was safer that way. Seeing she understood, Ardhur swept his hand toward where the line was moving into a large cavern. The trail ran between two islands of slightly raised stone that looked like they had been tiled a very long time ago. The shrooms had been cleared as far back as she could see, and the loam covering the cavern floor had been scraped back to reveal more of the tiled floor.
It meant they’d be sleeping on something harder than earth, but cleaner, too. Marsh wondered what Ardhur was going to do for stone. It wasn’t like he could encase her in ceramic…or could he?
She let her gaze drift around the cavern, taking in the walls, and the people. By the Deep, so many people! They sat in rows, starting at the farthest wall and reaching halfway across the nearest tiled platform. Something in her recoiled at the sight, and Marsh stopped. All she wanted to do was run.
Unfortunately, she was still clipped to the man in front of her, and he had no intention of running. When the rope drew tight between them, he stopped too. This time he turned and looked back. Taking one look at her face, he reached out and took her arm.
“Come on,” he said. “You don’t want to get into any more trouble than you’re already in.”
He had a point, and Marsh let him draw her forward, noting that the nearest guards relaxed as she followed his lead.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and one of the guards shook his staff in her direction.
Marsh flinched and looked away, but not before she caught something familiar in the cast of her companion’s features. He kept hold of her arm until they were settled in a line in front of the nearest row. Once they were all sitting, one of the guards came along the row, dropping a roll into each of their laps. This time Marsh was quick to catch hers.
She was about to raise it to her lips when the man beside her covered her hand with his own.
“Wait,” he said, and she realized the guard was watching her with a predatory look on his face.
When Marsh rested her hands in her lap, he cast his gaze down the line and then nodded.
“You may eat,” he said, and this time Marsh waited until her companion lifted his roll and took a bite before raising her own.
As Marsh did, however, the guard stepped forward and laid his staff across her forearms.
“Except for you,” he said. “You can wait.”
Marsh lowered her hands but kept her eyes on the guard’s face, refusing to look at her meal. After a long pause, he nodded.
“Now you can eat.”
“Thank you,” Marsh whispered, her stomach lurching as she took a bite.
The guard did not reply, but his mouth tightened with distaste, and he looked back down the line.
“Water!”
Water was given from several shared canteens, and Marsh was grateful there was any left in the bottom of the one that reached her. She drank and waited for whatever was coming next. She was not expecting Ardhur, but she knew what he was there for.
The thought of being encased in stone sent her heart plummeting, and her eyes filled with tears. She still hadn’t been able to get any sense that Roeglin knew where she was, and she still hadn’t figured a way out of her predicament. She knew there was one; she just hadn’t found it yet.
Part of her wanted to beg not to be put back into the stone, and part of her wanted to thoroughly deserve having to go there. That second part might have won if her traveling companion hadn’t laid his hand on her knee.
“I will be here,” he said even as his face asked the rock mage for permission to fulfill that promise.
Ardhur caught the glance and nodded.
“And you will be responsible if she gets up to anything tonight.”
The sudden responsibility didn’t deter the man.
“Agreed.”
He took Marsh’s hand as Ardhur called the rock from the earth beneath the tiles, keeping her steady when she thought about fleeing. As the stone flowed up her throat and over her head, he added one more thing.
“I’m Patrik, by the way.”
It was the last sound Marsh heard until morning, but she felt the weight of his arm on her shoulder and caught the warmth of his hand near the holes beside her nostrils and mouth, and it was enough.
17
Company in Captivity
It was a relief when the stone melted away from Marchant’s face the next morning. She was stiff and sore when she was finally freed, and no closer to working out how she could escape the stone casing, not that she’d tried very hard.
“Patrik?” she asked, not sure she had heard correctly the previous night.
He nodded, casting a wary glance at the guards. Marsh followed his gaze but kept speaking.
“Fabrice’s husband?”
He turned abruptly to face her.
“Yes. Do you know her? Is she okay? Did she—”
He grunted as two of the guards crossed to where they were sitting and drove a staff into his stomach.
“Silence in the lines!”
“Quiet!” added the other guard, striking him a second time.
Marsh reached out and grabbed his staff.
“Hey! I’m as much at fault as—”
It was a mistake. Curling up under the rain of blows that followed, Marsh reminded herself that there were t
imes when she really needed to keep her mouth shut.
But that was not one of them, she told herself. That wouldn’t have been fair—and she had taken their attention off Patrik. That was good, since Fabrice wouldn’t thank her if she got her husband beaten to death just when she’d found him.
She stayed curled up for several long moments after the blows had stopped, waiting until one of the guards nudged her with the toe of his boot. Her hiss of pain must have reassured them that she was still alive because they moved back to their positions by the wall. When she was sure they had left, Marsh uncurled, stifling a groan of pain as she did so.
Patrik gave her a look that said he might be about to offer her sympathy, but Marsh raised a finger to her lips and pulled herself upright.
‘I’m fine,’ she mouthed, not saying a single word out loud.
His mouth twisted in an expression that said he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t reply. Marsh wished she could take that haunted look from his face, but knew she couldn’t afford to speak the words it needed. She settled for resting her hand on his knee instead. After a minute, he rested his hand over hers, and they sat like that until the guards made their rounds.
After they’d been fed and watered and taken to the latrines, they were settled back in their lines and ordered to silence. Marsh watched the guards, wondering when they’d move them out. She wished she had something to do or that they were allowed to talk, but she knew better than to push that boundary again.
It wasn’t long before she discovered what was going on, since the guards were under no obligation to keep quiet.
“When do you think they’ll arrive?” one asked as they walked past, making a cursory check of their prisoners.
“Word is they’re expected late in the day.”
“So we’ll be here one more night, then?”
“Just one.”
Another shipment? Marsh huffed out a long sigh and tried to calculate how many hours had passed since she’d woken. It was too depressing to think about.
Trading into Darkness Page 15
