“We’re looking for someone,” said Shandar. “We figure this might be the best place to get information.”
“What sort of information?”
Shandar pushed his glass over to the bartender and the man refilled it, then filled the other two. Amaroq wasn’t sure how he was going to choke down another glass. This time the bartender took the bill Shandar had in front of him.
Shandar tossed back his drink. “We’ve had problems around Tirsbor. Some strange disappearances.”
The bartender’s back straightened. Amaroq paused with the glass nearly to his mouth. He felt the wave of apprehension roll off the man. This man knew about disappearances. “You don’t say?”
Shandar nodded.
Amaroq threw back the drink. It blazed down the center of his body again, but this time it didn’t burn as badly.
“Any disappearances around here?”
The bartender shook his head, but he didn’t answer. He went back to wiping the bar. Amaroq knew he was lying. Before he could say anything, though, a hand slid across his shoulder, brushing back his hair.
“Hey, sweets, since this is your first time drinking, maybe it’s your first time for other things as well.”
Amaroq shifted on the stool and looked down at the pretty redhead. He smiled, a flush of warmth sweeping through him.
“I could teach you.”
“Oh, I’ve participated in many Procreation Ceremonies,” he told her.
She laughed. So did the bartender, but Shandar nudged her aside.
“He doesn’t need any lessons,” he said, forcing Amaroq to face the bartender again.
Amaroq felt a wash of disappointment, but he tamped it down. The redhead slid her hand along his shoulder again. “If you change your mind, sweets, you know where to find me.” A piece of paper dangled between her fingers.
Amaroq reached up and took it, catching Shandar’s eye. He opened the paper as the girl walked away, seeing a number written in thick black script.
Shandar took the number and crumpled it. “What’d I tell you?”
“Maybe she wanted to talk. You said we should talk to people.”
“She doesn’t want to talk with you.”
“You don’t know that.”
Shandar narrowed his eyes on him. “I do.” He pushed his glass forward again for another drink. The bartender filled all three glasses. Shandar and Nakoda downed theirs, but Amaroq had begun feeling light headed. There were too many smells and emotions in this tavern, and the booze wasn’t helping.
Shandar swiveled on his seat and looked around the room. Something caught his eye in the back corner and he nudged Amaroq with his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll teach you darts.” He slapped another bill on the bar. “Beer,” he said and the bartender poured a pale golden liquid into three large glass mugs, sliding them over to the men. Picking up his mug, Shandar walked toward a strange circular object tacked to the wall. The circumference had been divided into concentric rings of diminishing size, which had been further sectioned into wedges that were painted different colors and set off by wire. Three red fletched darts had been driven into the board.
Shandar yanked them out, then backed up to a painted white line on the tavern’s plank floor. Squinting at the circle, Shandar tossed a dart. It landed on the far outside in a wedge colored black. The other two wound up in nearly the same place.
Retrieving the darts, Shandar declared a number. Amaroq understood it was the sum total painted on the wedges Shandar had hit. He handed the darts to Amaroq, motioning to the line on the floor. “Think you can beat me?”
Amaroq set his beer on a table near the mark and gave Shandar a weary look. This wasn’t finding Naia. This was wasting time. He sighted and then cast. His three darts landed nearly in the middle of the board.
“Whoa!” shouted Shandar, going to retrieve them. He recited a higher score than his own and passed the darts to Nakoda.
The big man took his position and flexed his muscles, rolling his shoulders as he squinted at the board. Amaroq picked up his beer and took a sip, but the bitter taste nearly made him retch, so he set it down again.
Finally Nakoda launched his throws. Each one stuck in the dead center of the board.
Shandar whooped and did a little jig. “Bull’s eye!” he shouted, hurrying to collect the darts again.
Nakoda beamed a smile and took a gulp of his beer.
Amaroq glared at him. “Let me guess – Dorland.”
Nakoda shrugged, draining his glass.
After a few more rounds, Amaroq caught on to Shandar’s method. Men were drawn to the game, wanting a chance to play against the big Nazarien with the uncanny skill at darts. A few more rounds of beer and the men began to talk, their natural reticence loosening. Amaroq drank only when prompted, so he stayed relatively sober, devouring everything they said. They made a few mentions about slavers, rumors mostly, but nothing more concrete. Still Amaroq circulated among them, picking up snatches of conversation here and there.
After more rounds, though, the talk turned to women and a running total of how many each man had bedded. Looking at some of these men, with their paunches and their thinning scalps, Amaroq suspected it might be a lot of hyperbole, but who was he to judge? Taking a seat on the edge of a table, he glanced back toward the bar and found the bartender leaning against the wall, wiping glasses with his rag.
Figuring this was his chance to question the man, Amaroq moved toward him, taking a seat on the stool right in front of him. The bartender gave him a passing glance.
“My name’s Amaroq,” he said. “In your language, it means wolf.”
The bartender gave a jut of his chin. “Drake,” he said. “You want another beer?”
Amaroq had left his latest beer back with the darts. “No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not much of a drinker.”
“Nazarien usually aren’t.”
Drake’s eyes fixed on him. “You aren’t like other Nazarien. You smile and laugh. The ones I knowed never did that.”
Amaroq nodded. He felt Drake’s eyes searching him, so he swiveled and turned, watching the game. “The person we’re looking for,” he said casually, “is my sister, Naia.”
Drake made a grunt of comprehension.
“She was out with a Nazarien patrol, beyond the walls of Tirsbor, when they attacked. She can’t hear, so she didn’t hear the attack.”
“That’s bad.”
Amaroq nodded.
“That’s real bad.”
“She means the world to me.” He turned and met the bartender’s eye. “Since she can’t hear, she can’t talk, so we made up this language with our hands. We told each other everything.”
Drake nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“I have to find her. No matter what. I have to find her, but the longer she’s missing, the more I’m afraid…”
Drake looked down at the bar.
“You know what I’m talking about. You know more than these others. How?”
Drake’s gaze rose and swept his patrons. “I don’t want trouble.”
“You won’t get trouble from us.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. I knowed I won’t get trouble from you.”
“It’s the slavers?”
Drake shrugged, continuing to wipe the same glass. “You don’t know who they are. Could be any one of these guys. They come into town, buy supplies, then go back into the wilderness. Some say they also make deals while they’re here. Maybe they make deals right in my tavern.”
Amaroq nodded. “Give me another beer, so they don’t get suspicious.”
Drake used the glass he was drying and poured another beer, setting it before the Nazarien.
“I had a girl working here. She escaped from Chernow.”
Amaroq curled his hands around the beer and looked up. “Nazarien?”
“Yep.” Drake reached for another glass. “Pretty little thing. Sweet. Soft-spoken. I wouldn’t let her turn no tricks, but plenty of the m
en, boy, they wanted her.”
“What happened?”
“She left here one night to go home. She rented a room near the dry goods store. She never come back to work. I went looking for her. Her landlady told me she never did come home that night.”
Amaroq swallowed hard. “Did you find out anything more?”
“I asked around. Then I was made to know I needed to stop.”
“How?”
Drake’s eyes rose to the men again, searching them. “Set fire to the trash bin. I just caught it in time before it sent the whole place up. I knowed then to let it go.”
Amaroq shook his head. “Wait. Why couldn’t the fire be caused by something else? Cigar, pipe tobacco?”
Drake set the glass on the counter and leaned closer to Amaroq as he reached for another one. “Their symbol was on it. The slaver symbol – crossed swords with their tips pointed downward. Someone painted it on the bin.”
Amaroq rubbed a hand across his forehead. If they’d threatened this Human man for asking questions, what would they do to three Nazarien snooping where they didn’t belong?
“I wish I could help you more. It’s bad to lose your sister.”
Amaroq nodded, but he didn’t know what more to say.
* * *
Amaroq shifted restlessly on the bed. He couldn’t sleep, worrying over the things that Drake had told him and whenever he closed his eyes, he felt like the world was moving. Shandar said it was the drink. Amaroq figured if drinking caused the world to move, he was better off without it.
“Shandar?”
A grunt in response.
“Tell me more of the story.”
“You need to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep. The world won’t stop spinning. Besides you’re not asleep.”
“I was.”
“You weren’t. I would have heard your snoring. Between you and Nakoda, it’s a wonder anyone can sleep in this inn.”
More grumbling and shifting as Shandar turned over.
“Shandar?”
“What?”
“Why can’t you sleep?”
“Too much on my mind.”
“Naia?”
“Yes.”
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“We’ll find her, Wolf. I promise.”
“What if we don’t? They threatened the bartender when he asked a few questions. What’ll they do to us? I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this town with so many people.”
“You’re doing real good, boy. I thought you’d be bolting long before now.”
Amaroq rolled to his side. “I would, but that doesn’t help Naia.”
Shandar was just a lump in the darkness. He shifted again, rolling to his back. “Okay, you win. I’ll tell you more about your mother, but I don’t remember where I was.”
“She’d just given herself up to the Front Guard and told Mistress Alloway to run.”
“Right.”
* * *
The commander of the Front Guard, the man Mistress Alloway said was named Deck Prestar brought her into an office, dismissing his other men, and forced her into a chair. Then he stood over her, watching her, a strange look on his face. Slowly he reached out and ran a strand of her dark hair through his fingers.
She tried not to flinch, but she didn’t want him touching her.
He leaned down, peering into her face. “Where’s Eldralin? Tell me because I don’t want to hurt you.”
She understood that Nevaisser, especially after Mistress Alloway had translated it for her in her kitchen. Besides that, he’d said it often enough on the way over here. “I not know this.”
“You don’t know where he is?”
“No.”
“But you’re his woman?”
“Yes.”
She forced her hands to stay fisted in her apron. She wanted to curve them around her belly and protect the babe growing there, but she didn’t want him to guess she was pregnant.
He said something. She thought she recognized the words, but she wasn’t sure. She squinted up at him and shook her head. He muttered a curse, then walked to the door and yanked it open. He shouted something into the hallway.
Shutting the door again, he went around his desk and took a seat, leaning back, his dark eyes never leaving her face. Kaelene refused to fidget or give anything away. She wasn’t going to let him know how afraid she was. She wanted Talar to come for her, but she was terrified about what they’d do to him.
A few tense moments later, the door opened and a boy came into the room. He was barely a teenager, the first blush of fuzz on his upper lip. The commander motioned to a chair next to her and the boy slid into it. His hands shook and when he glanced at her, she marked his dark blue eyes. He was at least half-Stravad.
“I’m Ozias. I’m employed by the Sarkisian army to translate,” he said in Nazarien.
Kaelene gave him a skeptical look. “Employed or imprisoned?”
He looked surprised by her hostility. “Employed,” he said.
The commander barked something at him. Ozias nodded, then turned back to Kaelene. “Tell him where Eldralin is. He doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“I understood that when he said it the first time, but I don’t know where he is. He left this morning and I don’t know where he went. I never know. That’s how it is with us.”
He translated for the commander. The commander said something else.
“He thinks you’re lying, that you’re trying to protect him.”
“What does the Sarkisian army want with Talar anyway?”
“That isn’t your concern. You should be more concerned with what’s going to happen to you.”
She nodded at the commander. “They hurt women then?”
“He needs to find Eldralin anyway he can. Anyway.” Ozias emphasized the last word.
Kaelene lifted her chin. “I not know this,” she said in Nevaisser.
The commander blew out air. The boy ducked his head and his hands continued to shake. “They will hurt you,” he whispered.
“Then they hurt me.”
Ozias raised his head and looked at the commander. He said a number of things. The commander lifted a hand and rubbed his chin, contemplating. Kaelene watched the exchange, uncertain what they were talking about. She caught a few words, but nothing more. Not enough to string together a whole sentence.
“What? What are you telling him?” she said, tugging on the boy’s shirt.
He brushed her off and continued his conversation with the commander.
“Ozias? Tell me!”
The commander held up a hand and nodded, then he barked something in a stern voice. A moment later the door opened and a soldier appeared. The red panther paw blazed from the front of his uniform. Kaelene felt weak, her heart hammering in her chest.
The soldier reached down and grabbed her under the arm, trying to force her to her feet, but her legs wouldn’t support her. A cold sweat peppered over the surface of her skin and she closed her eyes against the black spots that crowded her vision.
She felt Ozias on her other arm, forcing her to rise. His breath came warm against the side of her face. “They’re letting you go.”
She blinked, trying to see him clearly.
He nodded. “They’re letting you go.”
Kaelene frowned. “Why?”
“They believe you don’t know anything, and they have no reason to hold you.”
That explanation flew in the face of everything she’d heard about the Front Guard, everything they’d been saying since she was brought here, but she wasn’t going to argue. She starched her resolve and pushed the soldier away. Her eyes chanced to meet the commander’s. He was watching her with one brow raised.
Straightening her back, she lifted her chin. This was likely a lie – make her think she was going home, then lock her in a cell, or do worse things to her – but she wasn’t going to let them know how afraid she was.
The soldier brought her to a room with many chairs and a large desk, then crossed it to the front door. Unbolting the door, the soldier yanked it open and pointed outside where she could see late afternoon sunlight spilling over the street.
Kaelene’s eyes met the soldier’s and he made an impatient motion. Without waiting for another invitation, she bolted, racing across the room and running out the door. She didn’t stop until she made the street again where other people were walking up and down the boardwalks. Stumbling to a halt, she glanced back and watched the soldier calmly close the door.
Releasing her held breath, she closed her eyes and exhaled, then she gathered her skirts in her hands and began running again, headed toward the hospital and Talar. More than anything she wanted to feel his arms around her, know that he was safe. More than anything, she needed to see him.
CHAPTER 9
Aiden woke when Naia shifted against him. She was lying on her side, her back fitted against his chest, her thighs resting alongside his. Her fingers closed around his wrist, drawing his arm up and over her body as she sought more warmth. She was sound asleep. Aiden welcomed the few hours every night he got to spend with her tucked protectively in his arms.
At his back, Le turned and curled into Aiden’s warmth. Aiden could feel every bone in the boy’s body. If they didn’t escape soon, he was sure Leland Hale Rand would add himself to the list of corpses they’d left on their way from one horrid campsite to the next.
Sometimes at night they were herded into a small outlying settlement where Duard and his slavers held auctions. Aiden lived in terror that one of these times either he or Naia or Le would be sold. He could guess why he was never auctioned. Duard was set on breaking his will. And Le. It was obvious the boy wasn’t well and wouldn’t last a week at hard labor. But Naia was a different matter.
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