“Hello, Aiden, how was your day?”
Aiden studied the pale, grey cast to his brother’s features, the odd curvature of his shoulders and spine. Alasdair was the only person at the castle, in Dorland for that matter, that didn’t mind Aiden’s piercing stare.
“My day was wretched as usual. How was yours?”
Alasdair’s eyes took on their distant light again. “Wonderful. I was reading the tale of when Eldon conquered the Orahim without shedding a drop of blood.”
“You should be able to recite that one by heart, Alasdair,” said Aiden with a warm smile.
“Oh, but every time I read it is like the first. I see something new, something I never noticed before. And even if I didn’t, I would never cease to wonder at Eldon’s brilliance.”
Aiden sighed, wishing he had time to pursue such pleasures. His mind worried over the confrontation with Carona again. Why had he allowed his annoyance to show so clearly to her?
Alasdair blinked as if realizing he wasn’t alone for the first time. “Your day didn’t go well, did it, Aiden?”
Aiden met Alasdair’s brief gaze. “No, not well at all. This morning I had an argument with Everard...”
“Not another one?”
Aiden nodded. “I was late for hearings...”
“Again?”
Aiden nodded once more. "My mind wandered during the middle of them so everyone had to repeat their complaints, and I had a vicious fight with Carona.”
Alasdair’s face took on such a grieved look that Aiden was immediately sorry he’d burdened his brother with his problems.
“I wish you didn’t have to be King, Aiden.”
“So do I, Alasdair,” said Aiden, smiling at his brother’s childlike concern. “So do I.”
Alasdair pulled his spectacles out of his book and closed it, rising to his feet. Aiden rose with him and followed his brother’s bent, shuffling gait deeper into the library, back among the multitude of books. Aiden’s fingers trailed along the spines of the books as he followed Alasdair, his eyes reading the titles.
Alasdair replaced the book on the shelf and then continued down the row, scanning the titles with a practiced eye. Suddenly he paused and turned to glance at his brother.
“Have you investigated my charges about the slave trade between Dorland and Sarkisian?” he asked.
Aiden frowned. Alasdair had come to him two weeks prior, worried sick over rumors he’d heard in town regarding a growing slave trade in the outlying lands of both Dorland and Sarkisian. Aiden found it difficult to believe, but since that time there’d been a few reports of travelers turning up as missing during routine runs between the two Protectorates. These travelers were always children, just prior to adulthood, and women, never men. Where these slaves were supposed to be taken and to whom, Alasdair hadn’t known and Aiden couldn’t discover. In fact, Aiden hadn’t gotten any information at all from his search.
In all probability, Alasdair had heard a false rumor; although, it bothered Aiden for Alasdair was seldom wrong and he would never accuse anyone of doing something so heinous without cause.
“I have inquired, Alasdair, but I haven’t found any proof to corroborate your claims.”
Alasdair’s deep, dark eyes took on an urgent look. He stepped forward and grasped his brother’s arm at the elbow. “You must, Aiden, you must. We can’t allow this sort of atrocity to continue. A slave trade, Aiden, think of it. Of all the depravations Humans are capable of, slavery is the worst. They’re taking women and children, using them for unspeakable things. This should be your top priority above all else – above granting hearings, tending to the business of the Protectorate, or wooing Carona.”
Aiden frowned. “It just isn’t that easy, Alasdair. If I had some proof, if one person would come forward and admit he’d been accosted on the roads between Dorland and Sarkisian, that his child or wife had been taken, then I could take action, but as yet that hasn’t happened.”
Alasdair held Aiden’s eyes. It was a rare occasion and one in which Aiden knew he ought to pay close attention to what his brother was about to say.
“Do you think a slaver would allow anyone to escape one of his raids and come back to the Protectorate to warn anyone? You’ve had reports of missing people, entire families, but you haven’t done anything to investigate. You’ve got to find out more. If I’m right, there are slavers in Dorland at this very minute trafficking Humans as property. How can you stand here and do nothing?”
“What would you have me do, Alasdair?” said Aiden, raising his hands in supplication.
Alasdair’s hand tightened on his brother’s arm. “Go into town yourself, Aiden, inquire, look around, keep your eyes open.”
“And if there are slavers, you really think they are going to show their business when the King and his entourage comes into town?”
Alasdair looked down and drew a heavy sigh. “You have to go without guards and retainers, you have to go in disguise. The same way I went when I wanted to learn the truth.” He lifted his eyes and glanced at his brother. “I’ve still got the costume. No one recognized me when I wore it, not even Lyell Vito.”
“You went into Dorland by yourself, Alasdair?” said Aiden, concern for his ailing brother making his voice sharp. “Do you realize how foolish that was? Do you realize the danger you could have been in?”
Alasdair bit his lip nervously. “I didn’t think it was too great a risk to help my people.”
Aiden exhaled in aggravation. He didn’t often get aggravated with his youngest brother, but the thought of him probing the dark, underside of Dorland in disguise without anyone to protect him was maddening. Alasdair couldn’t take care of himself. He wasn’t strong enough. Worse still, Alasdair wouldn’t carry a weapon. He believed it went against his principles. Aiden had respected this choice when Alasdair made it, but after his brother’s most recent confession, he found it nettling and disturbing.
“Don’t go into Dorland again, Alasdair, unless you go with a full retainer and guards. This isn’t a request from your brother, this is a command from your King.”
Alasdair glanced at him from the corners of his eyes. He chewed mercilessly on his lip and fiddled with his fingers. “You’re angry with me, Aiden? You’re angry that I tried to find out if there’s a slave trade in Dorland?”
Aiden shut his eyes and tilted back his head. “No, Alasdair, I’m angry that you took an unnecessary risk...”
“Nothing is unnecessary when you are trying to stop slavers...”
“Curses, Alasdair, there are no slavers!”
Alasdair recoiled from his brother’s anger. He didn’t answer him, but he didn’t need to – the hurt in his eyes plunged deeper into Aiden’s heart than any words could have.
“I’m sorry, Alasdair,” said Aiden wearily, resting a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m just tired and irritated from the day. I’m not angry at you. Please forgive me.”
Alasdair nodded, but didn’t lift his head.
Aiden combed his fingers through his blond hair. “All right, Alasdair, you win. I’ll go into Dorland in disguise and try to find out about this slave trade rumor.”
Alasdair lifted his eyes to his brother’s face and they danced with gratitude. Aiden had just berated him, yet Alasdair was the one who was grateful. Love for his brother swelled in Aiden’s breast. Only Alasdair could be so forgiving.
“When, Aiden, when?”
“As soon as things settle down here at the castle. I have an entire week of hearings booked. I won’t be able to get into town until the middle or last part of next week.”
Alasdair grabbed his brother’s hand and held it tightly. “As long as you go, Aiden, thank you.”
Aiden patted his brother’s hand and nodded, drawing another weary breath. “I’m going to bed. If I’m asleep, maybe I can’t mess up anything else today.”
Alasdair smiled, but he’d already turned his attention to a book just visible over Aiden’s shoulder. Aiden watched his b
rother retrieve the book and wander aimlessly down the row to the table at which he’d been sitting. A pang of envy struck Aiden. Alasdair was concerned about this slave trade rumor, but once he’d given responsibility of it to his brother, he was no longer bothered. Aiden wished he could let go of disturbing thoughts as easily, but it was his job to worry over them until he found a solution. Aiden wasn’t very good at finding the solutions, but he did a right good job at worrying.
As he left his brother in the library, he began to brood and he knew that sleep wouldn’t come to him for a long time this night. Still that was his job as King and the only other person who wanted it was his brother, Adison. Adison wouldn’t worry over a problem, he’d find the most radical form of action to take, and then everyone would pay for his moment of conviction.
CHAPTER 2
Nakoda was built like the bear he was named after. Well over six feet tall, chest as broad as a board, hands as big as paddles, he was a brute of a man with long dark hair, brilliant blue Stravad eyes, and a pleasant enough face if his eyebrows had been tamed. As they were, they overshadowed his eyes, giving him a dangerous, edgy look.
His mother had been best friends with Amaroq’s mother, the two of them having children within days of each other. Amaroq’s mother had given birth to a small boy with perfectly proportional limbs, quiet and quick in the ways of things, eager to learn, but distrustful of the world around him. Later she would come to understand how the world pressed in on the boy, battered against his senses, how every pain and hurt others suffered hurt him. It made him distance himself, grow wild, untamed, wary. She named him Amaroq, Wolf, a fitting name for one such as he.
The distance he imposed on himself, she came to realize, was a good thing. He drew people’s attention. His brilliant blue eyes, bluer than most Stravad were ringed by thick dark lashes, his features displayed a perfection unique among a people known for their physical beauty, his compact body long of limb, lithe, agile. When he was three, he could scamper up most trees, skip from rock to rock in the stream, and swing across the parapets that lined the caves in Tirsbor, catching the thin support logs and leaping to the next, until his mother was frantic with worry that he’d fall to his death.
He never fell.
He thrived. He grew strong. He grew intelligent.
He had few playmates, and that worked well for him. Nakoda became his closest friend, following along behind him, lumbering in his wake, and Naia, Amaroq’s sister, damaged at birth, unable to speak or hear. He loved her as he loved no other. Beyond those two, he had his mother and her mate, and he was content.
The Tirsbor Nazarien left him to his own devices until he was five. Then they decided he would become a scholar – learn the history of their people, learn the languages of Samar. He rebelled at first, trying to run away, but one did not escape Tirsbor. He was made to learn, to spend hours locked in the caves, studying with the elders, but as soon as they grew tired of his restlessness each day, they released him.
Then he and Nakoda wandered the maze, spending hours exploring. They were never told the way out, never given the precious maps that would set them free. The elders feared to lose Amaroq, feared to allow him his freedom, so they kept him within the maze, let him explore to his heart’s content, but they knew he’d never escape them, never try to leave. Not as long as they had his mother and sister. Not as long as they had that which he loved most of all.
The years passed, many of them, and Amaroq never thought to leave Tirsbor. He was content. The elders warned him that outside the sheltered valley, his affliction, his ability to sense others’ pain would overwhelm him. He felt overwhelmed enough in their small society, so he couldn’t imagine what it would be like beyond the protection of Tirsbor. Besides that, everything he needed was here.
He grew to manhood in the canyon, contenting himself with his books, his studies, and his wanderings with Nakoda. He was not physically imposing as Nakoda, but strong muscled, quick and agile. He could battle with any weapon they gave him, they’d made sure of that, but he didn’t like to fight. He didn’t like to inflict pain. He had skill at hunting, but he hated to hunt, preferring to eat greens and fruit to meat.
Nakoda had no such problem. His large form required much meat and he urged his friend to go with him while he hunted. More often than not, they came back with nothing, but not because of a lack of skill. Amaroq frightened the creatures off when Nakoda wasn’t looking, filling their minds with images of blood and death, so they ran. Still, the two wandered off whenever they could on the pretense of going hunting.
Scrambling from branch to branch, Amaroq made the leap to the next tree and scampered through the boughs, then he dropped down in front of Nakoda without a sound, startling the huge man into a grunt of surprise. Nakoda’s bow came up in defense, then he released his breath and glared at his friend.
“One of these times, I’m going to shoot you, you know?”
Amaroq laughed and slapped Nakoda’s iron shoulder. “Not in this lifetime, Bear. I’m too fast.”
“Too arrogant and you’re a grown man. Too damn old to behave like this.”
Amaroq ran up the trail, then waited for his slower friend. “Hurry. I can smell supper cooking at the caves.”
Nakoda grumbled. “Nothing fresh. Why didn’t you let me shoot the deer? You promised me I could take an animal today.”
“She had a fawn. Did you want to kill both of them?”
Nakoda fell into step beside him and they climbed down the trail into the open area before the caves. Walking along the stream, Amaroq leaped out onto the rocks and picked his way over the slippery moss, always staying above the flow. Nakoda didn’t try to follow. He ambled along the stream bank, keeping abreast of his more nimble friend.
A couple of young women were washing clothes in the stream. They giggled when they saw the two men approach. Actually, Nakoda had no delusions. They giggled because of Amaroq, not him. Although they never spoke to either of them, it was Amaroq with his long black hair, his brilliant Stravad eyes, and his pretty features that drew their admiration.
Amaroq bounded across the rocks and landed in the middle of the women. They threw up their hands and swatted at him, but he danced away from them, leaving them giggling and watching after him as he headed for the caves. Glancing over his shoulder, he laughed, nudging Nakoda with his arm.
“They want us.”
“They want you,” growled Nakoda.
“Which one will you choose for the Procreation Ceremony?” Amaroq said, still looking behind him.
Nakoda bumped him in the side, making him stumble. The women giggled some more. “I won’t get a choice. Neither will you. The new girls go to the elders. You know that.”
Amaroq stopped walking. “Then I’ll refuse.”
“They’ll never let you refuse. You’ll go to a proven breeder. We both will.”
Amaroq chewed on his inner lip. “I want to pick for myself. Just this one time.”
“Ha!” shot Nakoda over his shoulder. “You always say such stupid things.”
Amaroq ran to catch up. The caves rose above them, glowing a rosy color in the dying light of the day. He marked the larger number of warriors patrolling the parapets, quickly counting them. A strange feeling of anxiety permeated the evening, making the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end. He caught Nakoda’s arm.
“Something’s wrong.” He pointed to the caves.
Nakoda squinted, then gave a grunt and continued walking.
“Nakoda!”
Nakoda stopped and turned. “What? What do you feel now?”
“I don’t know, but…”
Nakoda narrowed his eyes on him. He knew Amaroq had feelings, had sensations. He couldn’t read minds like some of the elders, but his intuition was often more accurate, more reliable. And sometimes those feelings crippled him. If he felt something now, something was wrong. Nakoda turned and picked up pace. Amaroq hurried to catch up.
They came to the lowest level and climbed the
ladder. Amaroq went first, because he was the most nimble. Nakoda’s family occupied the third tier: he, his mother and youngest brother. They didn’t rank and Nakoda’s father had never gone beyond a simple patrolman. Not that Nakoda ever had anything to do with his father. No Nazarien male ever did.
Amaroq’s family lived on the sixth tier; two below the council, the Tirsbor commander, and the elders. Their status came not from Amaroq’s mother, a Nazarien woman who’d fled the order when she was a girl, but from Amaroq himself, his lineage, his paternity. Naia, his sister, damaged as she was, stayed with them only because Amaroq demanded it. If she’d been on her own, Naia wouldn’t even be granted the right to live in the caves. She’d be relegated to the shanties along the stream, where other defects made their home.
The warriors on patrol marked the men’s approach, but they didn’t greet them, didn’t give them any information whatsoever. This wasn’t unusual. Amaroq held a unique status here in Tirsbor. He didn’t patrol and he didn’t train with the other warriors. Beyond his hours of discussing philosophy and government with the elders, his time was his own. The regular warriors resented it, although they’d never say it, but they resented it just the same.
Climbing to the third tier, Nakoda motioned to his family’s cave and they hurried to the opening, parting the leather curtain. The interior was small, a circle carved out of the mountain with three pallets resting on stone shelves, a cook fire vented through a hole above the door, a few shelves holding dishes and baskets filled with the family’s clothing. Nakoda’s mother and brother were not here.
He glanced over at his friend and chewed on his inner lip. This too wasn’t unusual. Nakoda’s mother often took meals with her closest friend on the sixth tier. Going back out, they climbed to the sixth tier.
The World of Samar Box Set 3 Page 96