Sliding into a natural culvert, he climbed the bank and peered through the bushes lining the road. He could count two guards on either side of the ridge, watching the road, two beyond the bend and two more…
“What have we here?” came a voice and he felt something sharp press against the small of his back. “An intruder?”
Before he could turn, hands closed over him and he was bodily lifted, then hurled into the road, landing on his back, the air knocked out of him. He gasped and blinked up at the wispy clouds floating by overhead, his ears ringing with the impact.
He felt the cold touch of steel against the hollow of his throat and a man’s face loomed over him. He had a jagged scar running from his left eye down into the collar of his shirt, close-cropped brown hair, and wide-set brown eyes.
“You knocked the breath out of him, Elvert,” he said, his upper lip lifting in a sneer.
“Let me gut him,” came the deep rumble of a male voice.
Amaroq focused on the huge man, bigger than Nakoda, standing to the smaller man’s right. He had heavy jowls and small, mean eyes. The scar-faced man pressed a knee against Amaroq’s chest. Amaroq gasped, unable to push him off because of the knife pressed against his throat.
“Now why’d you wanna do that? This one’s pretty as a girl.” He trailed his hand down the side of Amaroq’s face. “There’s some that like them pretty.” Reaching into Amaroq’s belt, he grabbed his knife and tossed it to Elvert. “Duard’s gonna wanna see this one.”
“I’m here for my sister!” Amaroq said over the pressure of the man’s knee against his diaphragm. “You took her!”
“Really? That’s a damn shame, innit? But it seems to me, you got bigger problems than she does, precious.” Pressing harder into Amaroq’s chest, he leaned closer. “Tie his hands, Elvert,” he commanded.
A moment later, Amaroq was hauled to his feet, his arms bound behind his back. He staggered, trying to regain his equilibrium. The feel of the slavers’ emotions oozed over him, making him want to squirm. He’d felt rage before and hate, but this was something more, something that made his stomach roil.
Elvert shoved him in the back and he stumbled, but the other man caught his arm and steadied him. “Don’t damage the goods now, Elvert,” he warned.
They forced Amaroq to walk before them, shoving him if he took too long. He tried to get a feel for the lay of the land, the number of guards now focused on them, the way the road curved back into the canyon. He tried to catalogue the sounds, the smells, the sensations, but he couldn’t deny he was afraid now.
What if Shandar and Nakoda couldn’t get past the guards? What if the slavers knocked him unconscious? What if they decided to slit his throat before he could control their actions? He realized he hadn’t thought this through well enough. His experience with people hadn’t extended to those that had no regard for life.
But it made sense. There was no way you could peddle flesh and maintain even an iota of compassion. Amaroq had miscalculated and now he didn’t know if he could pay the price they were likely to extort.
Focusing his thoughts on his sister, he stumbled along before them, forcing down his fear and desperation, forcing himself to stay in control. That was most important. He couldn’t lose control. There was no way Nakoda or Shandar would abandon him in this place. They would find a way into the canyon if they had to kill everyone they met along the way.
The sun rose above the hills and the temperature climbed. Amaroq shivered, but he knew it wasn’t from cold. They continued on, winding deeper into the canyon, the rock formations on either side growing larger.
Finally they came to an open area, the canyon walls rising around them. A number of buildings were scattered in the space, along with hitching posts, a well, and a few horses. Men meandered back and forth, some pitching horseshoes, others sitting in the shade of the trees, watching the procession come their way.
When they reached the middle of the compound, the scar-faced man hauled Amaroq to a halt and waited. A man on the porch of the main house rose and opened the screen door, going inside. A moment later, he returned with another man.
This second man was dressed in strange garb, the shirt buttoned up to his chin, wearing a coat despite the summer heat. The color was a muted brown, matching his hair and moustache. He regarded Amaroq for a moment, lifting his hand to stroke the mustache, his eyes searching him from head to toe.
“I’m here for my sister!” said Amaroq loudly.
“Caught him snooping at the main entrance, Duard,” said Scarface.
Duard came forward, continuing to stroke his moustache. He stopped in front of Amaroq and looked him over, then made a slow circle around his body. Amaroq resisted the impulse to keep him in his line of sight.
The man leaned over his shoulder, his breath warm on Amaroq’s cheek. “Nazarien?” He shifted and eyed the medallions in Amaroq’s left ear. “Important Nazarien. Not many get the star of Eldon.”
“I’m here for my sister.” He forced the words out between clenched teeth. The man made his skin crawl. His emotions were like oil, making Amaroq feel unclean.
“Your sister,” he purred in his ear, then he continued his circuit around him until he stopped in front of him again. “I don’t have your sister.”
“I know what you do here.”
The man snapped his fingers. “Hogan, bring our guest a chair.”
Scarface hurried to the porch and grabbed a chair, carrying it back and placing it behind Amaroq. Then he grabbed his shoulder and forced him to sit, even though his hands were still bound behind him.
Duard leaned over him, searching his features as if he were evaluating him. “These Stravad...sometimes the men are as pretty as the women.”
Hogan gave a laugh, his grip tightening on Amaroq’s shoulder. “I thought you might notice that. There are those who’d pay good coin for one like him.”
Duard held up a hand. “Ah, but he’s older than most. A trained warrior I’ll wager. He’d never be trustworthy. They don’t like that. They don’t want to fear they’ll have their throats slit in the night.”
Amaroq lifted his head, forcing himself to meet Duard’s gaze. “I’m here for my sister.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands. You were caught trespassing on my property.”
“I know you have her. Turn her over or…”
“Or?” Duard stroked his moustache. “Or?”
Amaroq knew he didn’t have an or. He was in trouble. More trouble than he’d ever been in his entire life. This man was not going to be open to suggestions of any sort. “Or you and your men will die.” Shandar had once told him, when in doubt, bluff your way out. That was all he had at this point.
“How did you know about us?”
“What?”
Duard smiled. “Don’t play. You speak the language perfectly. You know what I said. How did you know about us?” He motioned around him.
Amaroq knew that to tell him would only bring him down on Erjen. He wasn’t giving the man up no matter what. “I followed your tracks.”
“How? We always deliberately hide them. How did you follow us?”
Amaroq narrowed his eyes. “I’m Nazarien.”
Duard straightened and stood regarding him for a moment. Hogan’s fingers flexed on Amaroq’s shoulder. Eldon’s star, he wanted to throw the man’s touch off.
“You’re lying.”
Amaroq blinked in surprise. That was his gift – to tell when someone was lying. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say.
“You didn’t follow us. You were told about us.” Duard grabbed the arms of the chair and brought his face close to his prisoner’s. “Who told you?”
“No one.”
Duard nodded, then straightened. “You might have something, Hogan. I know of people who would pay for one like this.” He grabbed Amaroq’s chin and forced his head to the side, so he could see his profile. “He’s educated, speaks perfect Nevaisser, and he mig
ht be broken. Either he’s brave beyond reason, or he’s brash and acts before he thinks. I’m betting on the later. I’m also betting someone would pay big money to get him back, wouldn’t they?” He brought his lips close to Amaroq’s ear. “You aren’t just any Nazarien warrior, are you? You’re special. You’re one of a kind.”
Amaroq twisted his chin out of Duard’s hold and glared at him. “I’m here for my sister.”
“But how to break him?” He went back to stroking his moustache. “We don’t want to mark up that face or break anything.” He snapped his fingers again. “I know. We’ll use the brands. We can brand him where no one will notice. Elvert, bring them here. Hogan, strip him to the skin.”
Hogan reached for Amaroq, but Amaroq fought, kicking out, throwing his head back and trying to make contact with the man behind him.
“Subdue him if necessary, but don’t mark him up!” shouted Duard, taking a step back.
Hogan’s hands were on his shirt, ripping at it as Amaroq saw the huge man move from the direction of an outbuilding with a piece of metal in his hands. Fear pumped hot and furious through him and he slammed his head into Hogan’s chin, rocking the man backward.
“Control him!” shouted Duard.
Hogan raised his fist, the other hand pressed against his bleeding chin. He backhanded Amaroq and sent him sprawling from the chair, his head ringing. He’d caught him in the temple and stunned him.
Amaroq lay for a moment, fighting the blackness that descended, struggling to maintain consciousness. He felt himself being hauled into a sitting position and he kicked, connecting with something yielding. He heard a grunt, then Duard was stumbling away, his hands between his legs.
“I don’t give a damn where you brand him!” he shouted. “I want to know how he found us!”
Elvert came forward with the glowing brand. Amaroq’s attention focused on it to the exclusion of all else. Panic swamped him, made him dizzy. Fear washed over him in a wave. Hogan grabbed a handful of his hair and hauled his head back, immobilizing him.
He’d come for his sister, but he was paying the price. Eldon’s star, he’d botched this whole thing in the worst way possible. His heart pounded so hard, he could feel it in the roots of his hair – it stole his strength.
Just as Elvert stopped in front of him, a commotion sounded at the entrance to the yard. A horse reined in before the main house and a man in a dark cloak addressed Duard.
“Kalas Eldralin just entered the canyon. He’s coming this way. He has a large force with him, larger than what we can muster.”
Duard held up a hand, stopping Elvert. He shoved the huge man backward. “How far away?”
“Not far. You don’t have much time. We can’t stop him. He’s got too many men.”
Duard’s eyes lowered to Amaroq. “Get him out of here. Finish him, then make sure you dispose of his body,” he told Hogan. “And make sure he won’t be found.”
Before he could respond, Hogan hauled him to his feet and forced him across the yard to an outbuilding situated on the edge of the property. So close, so near. Kalas Eldralin was riding this way, but by the time he arrived, it would already be too late.
Hogan wound one hand in the bonds on his prisoner’s arms, and he kept the other on Amaroq’s shoulder, shoving him forward. As they moved across the yard, the other men whipped into motion, clearing things away or rushing out of sight. Amaroq tried to look back at Duard, but Hogan propelled him faster across the ground.
They stopped before the outbuilding and Hogan reached around him, pulling open the door, then he shoved Amaroq inside. The interior was dark and Amaroq smelled the musty scent of grains and other earthy vegetables. The air had cooled considerably and he could make out the indistinct shapes of bundles stacked to the ceiling.
Before they’d crossed the entire room, Hogan’s fingers closed on Amaroq’s shoulder and he hauled him back against him. His hand shifted and he drew back Amaroq’s hair. “Shame to waste such a fine specimen,” he whispered in his ear.
Amaroq shivered in revulsion, then without warning, he threw his head back again, this time connecting with Hogan’s nose. The man jerked away, shouting a curse, and Amaroq wrenched his bonds out of his hand, stumbling to one knee. Before he could right himself, someone stepped between him and Hogan.
Hogan made a guttural sound and slumped against the dark shape, then he slid to the floor. A beam of light fell over his face, illuminating his staring eyes and his shocked expression. A bloom of red spread across his stomach as he gave a last exhalation and lay still. Amaroq sat down hard, unable to stop looking at him, another shiver racing over him.
Nakoda turned and came to his side, sliding his sword into its sheath as he knelt and began cutting away Amaroq’s bonds. Shandar dropped in front of him, dragging his attention away from the dead man.
“Are you okay?”
Amaroq nodded, his eyes drifting back to the body.
As soon as the bonds fell off, Shandar caught him in an embrace. “I didn’t think we’d get here in time.”
Amaroq closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He was safe. They’d come for him, and he was safe. For a moment, that was all that he could feel. Nakoda’s strong presence at his back grounded him, as did Shandar’s embrace.
Finally he eased away from Shandar and looked him in the eye. “Thank you,” he said. “I knew I could count on you.”
Shandar gave a laugh and caught him behind the head, touching their foreheads together. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Wolf,” he scolded.
Amaroq gave a grunt of agreement. “I can promise you that I won’t,” he said with conviction.
CHAPTER 15
Naia did find soap root. The three of them took turns bathing, soaking away weeks of dirt. While Naia bathed, Aiden found a thistle flower and worked at it, pulling away the tiny petals until he had a serviceable comb. He wandered the shore, waiting for her.
Tirsbor was two days away, he thought. Help was so close. Then why did he feel anxious? Because Naia was anxious, because Naia didn’t want to go back to her people. Le had told him privately he thought Naia hadn’t been treated very well there, but Aiden would see things changed. He wouldn’t allow anyone to mistreat Naia ever again. In fact, he intended to take her back to Dorland with him, so the stay in Tirsbor need only be as long as it took to garner their help in transporting him back to his kingdom.
He took a seat, drawing a deep breath. He tapped the thistle against his palm and thought about home for the first time in many weeks. He wondered about Alasdair and Lyell Vito. He thought about Adison in passing and concentrated mostly on Carona.
Would she accept the dissolution of their marriage if he permitted her to remain at the castle enjoying the privileges of a queen? He thought it likely, but even if she didn’t, he intended to end his false marriage to Carona and be with Naia instead.
He stopped himself and looked up at the hills that marked Tirsbor. But what if Naia didn’t want him? She didn’t want to go home; however, that didn’t mean she wanted to be with him. He ran a hand through his freshly washed blonde curls.
His thoughts shifted back to Dorland. Wondering about Naia was too painful right now. He needed more time to sort it out. He wasn’t clear about his feelings regarding going home himself, but it was an easier subject to dwell on.
Did he want to be King again? He sighed heavily and lifted the thistle, turning it in the pink light of the dying sun. He needed to go home and set things straight with everyone there, but he didn’t think he wanted to be King. Maybe Adison was going to get his wish fulfilled, maybe Aiden would turn the crown over to him after all.
His mind drifted to his own kidnapping so many weeks before. He’d spent a great deal of time at first wondering why he’d been abducted, how the slavers had made it into his chambers that fated night so long ago. As survival became more difficult, Aiden stopped thinking about Dorland altogether. Now he couldn’t get it out of his mind. He needed to go home, but was it safe to do
so?
Someone had wanted him eliminated, that fact was glaringly true, but who?
At first he’d suspected Adison. Who else hated him with such vengeance? But he couldn’t hold that thought too long. Adison might hate him, might be envious of him, but to arrange a kidnapping by slavers? Not even Adison was that cruel. Adison might covet the throne, but he wasn’t a monster. And more than that, Adison would be so afraid of being caught, he’d never act on so nefarious an impulse.
Aiden blinked when Naia stepped in front of him. He’d thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen before, but now...her skin shown flawless and bronze in the half-light, her black hair shimmered despite the few remaining tangles, and her eyes seemed a deeper blue. Unable to speak or move, Aiden held up the thistle comb he’d made for her. He felt like an idiot, but was rewarded with her stunning smile. She was spectacular.
She knelt in front of him, trying to pull the tattered ends of her shirt around her. She took the comb from his hands and began pulling it through her straight, sleek black tresses. It caught in the knots and she struggled to work it out.
Aiden placed his hand over hers and gently pried her fingers from the flower, then turned her until she was sitting on the ground before him. He carefully disentangled her hair from the makeshift comb and began methodically working on the snarls.
It took awhile, but Aiden didn’t mind. Her hair smelled fresh and clean, and was soft beneath his hands. He looked around at her face and saw her eyes were closed. She was enjoying the attention.
Le had come back to their rudimentary campsite after bathing himself and he’d curled into a ball and had fallen asleep. They’d eaten earlier and Aiden had been shocked by the amount of roots the boy could put away. Clean and with a full stomach, he must be feeling more alive than he had in a long time.
The World of Samar Box Set 3 Page 116