"Oh, yes, Chief Physician for the Parsadi army, and in my old age, chief instructor at the healing academies.” He sighed. “Father, will I ever see you again?"
"Only the Unseen knows."
Too soon, Commander Meer came for him. Adon and Naqueron made their farewells in private, then walked out together to the city gates where the one hundred peace hostages had gathered. General Istrak waited, a resplendent figure in her ceremonial armor, mounted on her horse, a silent reminder that time was fleeting.
"General! Mercy! I beg you!"
Adon groaned and refused to turn around as Taisha stumbled out through the city gates. He knew exactly how she would look. Her golden hair would hang in carefully arranged tangles and her face would glisten with, not tears, but clear syrup to simulate tears. That trick had never fooled him. Taisha had been amused that he saw through her posturing, and then lectured him on the necessity of falsifying emotions to persuade the ‘lesser ranks’ to do what was ‘appropriate.'
Taisha staggered past him, wailing for mercy and pity. Her clothes were torn to display her luscious curves and alabaster flesh. He nearly burst out laughing—Taisha didn't know General Istrak was a woman. Tantalizing the military mind wouldn't do her a lick of good.
"You do realize, my son, this is further evidence of your narrow escape?” Naqueron murmured, so only Adon and Commander Meer heard him.
"Who's the tart?” Meer said just as quietly.
"A very strong-minded, obtuse woman who wanted to use my son as a stepping stone to power in the city."
"Stepping stone, hmm?” He watched Taisha throw herself to the ground a dozen steps from General Istrak's horse. “You don't seem the sort to let others walk on you."
"Thank you, Commander.” Adon gave him a head bow, and bit his lip against laughing aloud at the cheeky grin the commander sent him.
"My son is a foundation stone, and the misguided lady wanted to make him a decorative tile. Her error.” Naqueron sighed. “I suppose I must intervene before General Istrak loses her patience and has the little fool beheaded.” He stepped away from them.
"He's a brave man, your father,” Meer said.
"I don't think the General would punish him for—"
"Not General Istrak. That woman. I wouldn't come near her without a net, a club, and a muzzle.” He shuddered, and this time Adon couldn't help but laugh aloud.
* * * *
"He is my love,” the trembling blonde wailed and made half-hearted struggles in Prime Minister Naqueron's grasp.
L'istra was grateful for her helmet, to hide her expression. The twit likely had every male within sight fooled. She heard snickers and mutters from the ranks of women archers behind her and to her right. They weren't fooled by the artifice this visibly self-indulgent creature employed.
"Before the peace hostages were chosen, they were carefully examined and questioned. The man you claim is your love professed he had no ties, no obligations to keep him in the city.” L'istra hated the echo inside her helmet, designed to change her voice and amplify it, so those who did not know her continued in the illusion that she was a man. A young man, granted.
"But we are to marry!” She sagged, a good tactic for winning sympathy—but Naqueron let her slide from his grasp, and she ended up an undignified heap in the dust. She squealed and struggled to her feet, no longer delicate and distraught, so those who were alert realized she played a game.
"If he was betrothed, he would have been allowed to stay. He was told that.” She nudged her horse forward, and her guards stepped aside so there was nothing between her and the woman who insisted Healer Adon belonged to her. “I think exile is a far more pleasant prospect to him than marriage to you."
"Oh—You—He—” The blonde shuddered, her face contorting into a ravaged mask of what her face would be in another twenty years. L'istra felt a moment of admiration for Adon for not tying himself to that self-indulgent twit. He had to be a man of rare intelligence and insight not to be blinded by the curves and perfume and cosmetics.
"Enough!” She raised her hand and the trumpets blared, drowning out the words the woman squealed. L'istra didn't look back as she turned her horse. Her army fell in behind her.
Home. Finally.
* * * *
Crown Prince Eber snarled and complained from the moment the hostages climbed onto their horses and set off on the moon-long journey to Parses, the capital of the Parsadi Empire. The only thing Eber didn't complain about was his horse. This prince had never set foot within a stable, much less put his foot into a stirrup or rested his buttocks in a saddle. At least he had sense enough, or maybe pride enough, not to admit he knew nothing about riding. By the end of the day at this ground-eating trot, the prince would be sore and unable to climb down from his saddle. Adon planned to be too busy to attend the prince. He didn't care if he had to offer his services as a physician to the kitchen slaves, he would be too busy for Eber.
Eber's complaints stopped in mid-afternoon when the guards riding alongside the peace hostages changed. The new soldiers were all women. All archers, judging by the bows and quivers strapped to their horses. Their arms were bare and they didn't swelter in the long leather-and-bronze tunics and leggings of the foot soldiers. Their long hair hung down below their riding helmets and their figures were displayed by their light leather corselets. So, women warriors weren't all tough, mannish harridans who joined the army because they couldn't find a husband. Adon felt something twist in his belly when he realized that more than a handful of the women guards appraised him the same way he had seen bordello owners appraise adolescent slave girls in the market.
I was a fool. Adon had felt relief when the chosen peace hostages turned out to be all men. Maybe if there were a few girls among them, cowering in fear at the lustful looks the male soldiers sent them, the females wouldn't eye him like honey-glazed goose set before a starving man. They would be busy defending the girls against their fellow-soldiers. Hopefully.
To his consternation, the women warriors didn't wait until the end of the ride. When the sun touched the top of the mountains ahead of them and word came back through the long column to halt and make camp, the one riding closest to him leaned over to snatch at his reins.
"First claim,” she said, loudly enough to be heard above the rumble of horses’ hooves and wagon wheels.
"No fair, Edi,” the woman riding two horses ahead called back. The worst of it was, she laughed. “I saw him before you did."
"Seeing isn't enough,” a red-haired, sharp-faced woman riding next to Eber shouted to them. “It's the taking that matters."
Nillio, a mincing royal who shaved his head and painted his eyes in the fashion of the delta-dwellers, let out a yelp like a plucked chicken. Adon turned in time to see two women warriors drawing back their arms. It was rumored Nillio couldn't perform unless the woman was drugged unconscious and it was all done in the dark. Adon could imagine how even the threat of being an object of lust would send the useless man into spasms. They had probably pinched him to test his muscle, or even tried to check out his equipment through his clothes.
"Here, what is the matter with all of you?” Eber tried to stand up in his stirrups. He dropped down sideways into the saddle and let out a yelp. “Is this any way to treat the peace envoys to your nation?"
Adon marveled for about three seconds at the dignity of the useless crown prince. Then he realized it all had to come from injured pride. No woman showed any interest in Prince Eber. That had to hurt. He liked to brag that he had already fathered enough sons for a regiment, but not one woman had come forward to claim her rights as the mother of a royal bastard.
"You want to be first?” the woman who held Adon's reins called. She guffawed when Eber turned red. But she let go of Adon's reins and maneuvered her horse over beside the prince.
As expected, Eber pouted when the peace hostages rode into camp and were told to report to their four tents, already set up within sight of General Istrak's command tent. The four w
omen who had laid claim to his services for the night just laughed. Adon wondered if they knew this was going to happen and they had been playing games with the prisoners. Or maybe they had heard enough rumors about the prince after the siege ended, they knew he talked a better horse race than he could run.
Nillio earned some respect when he dismounted with some grace, despite the stiffness in his legs and the pain on his face. He slid off his horse and grappled at the saddle to stay upright and didn't let out a sound, despite the sudden pallor of his face. Adon imagined the other man, who really was quite a good scholar, had grown up sitting in quiet rooms, and the closest he had come to a horse was in the historical documents. Until today.
Eber complained that he had to share a tent. He complained that he had to sleep on blankets on the ground. He complained when hot water didn't magically appear the moment he whined that he wanted to wash the dust off his face. He complained the loudest and longest when Adon helped those who asked for salves to numb their aching backsides and didn't offer it to the prince ahead of everyone else.
"Healer.” The gruff voice of Commander Meer cut off a tongue-lashing twenty-four years overdue for the prince. “You're needed."
Adon asked with a gesture, holding up the pot of salve, and the commander nodded. He hurried to dispense salve to those still waiting for relief. Seeing the fury in Eber's eyes, Adon snatched up the two sacks that held all he had been allowed to take to Parses, and carried them out of the tent with him. He wouldn't put it past the angry prince to despoil him in retribution.
Then again, the prince might find that anyone who had feared and obeyed him had been left behind in Eber. Those trapped in the tent with the angry prince were more likely to ignore him or give him some long-overdue pummeling.
Hialatus, the chief army physician, had sent for Adon. There were healing wounds to tend and broken limbs to examine. Besides Adon's help, Hialatus wanted to learn how the healing practices in Eber differed from those in the Parsadi Empire. Adon was tempted to accept Hialatus’ offer to spend the journey with the healers. However, he knew he had probably earned the scorn of some of his fellow-hostages just because he had eaten with the Parsadi healers after he finished his healing duties. His time of exile in Parses, or wherever he was sent in the Empire, would be hard enough without the animosity of the other exiles.
When he returned to his tent, he found three women inside, inspecting the hostages like other women inspected fruits and vegetables at the market. Adon stayed in the doorway, hoping no one would notice him. To his disgust and relief, he saw Prince Eber was already missing.
"Ha! Here's the one I've been waiting for,” a woman crowed, revealing three missing teeth, and two more going brown with rot.
"Isn't that cute? He's shy,” another one called out when Adon involuntarily took two steps backward, out of the tent.
In seconds, the women surrounded Adon. He clenched his fists and prepared to call up his healing magic to use as defense. How many of his attackers could he put to sleep with a touch before the others realized what he was doing?
"You were told you could only have your sport if the prey was willing,” a woman said, appearing from the shadows among the tents and torches.
The three women stepped back as if Adon had stung them. Apprehension made him turn to study this stranger who caused such a quick, and welcome, reprieve. She was slightly above average height, her eyes so pale blue they looked silver. Her jet-black hair was pulled back in a braid that hung halfway to her waist. The ends curled, and Adon imagined her hair was a cloud of curls when loose. She wore no ornamentation, no rank insignia, but her dark green tunic and pants were clean and of new cloth, and that made Adon suspect she was nobility.
"You want to play, don't you?” the gap-toothed woman said, turning to Adon. Her voice was soft, and she smiled, but a threat burned in her eyes. The message was clear: if he didn't agree with her, she would find ways to make him pay.
"Did you ever hear the story about The Fool and the Emperor's Stallion?” the newcomer said. She took three steps closer and stopped, arms folded, head tipped back as if she considered the starry sky more interesting than the tableaux in front of her.
The women murmured negatives. Adon wondered what sort of power this young woman had. It wasn't fear she generated in them but respect bordering on worship.
"The Emperor sent for a new stallion, to breed his prize mare while she was in season. He wanted an exceptional colt to give his son on his wedding day. The fool entrusted with bringing the stallion to the palace started out walking, as he had been ordered. But then he decided the day was too hot, so he rode the stallion. Then, when someone offered him a few coppers, he let other people ride the stallion."
The red-haired woman snorted and nudged the woman next to her, and they both waggled their eyebrows at Adon. He could almost hear them calling him a stallion and demanding the right to ride him.
"The fool made a good bit of money, letting people ride the Emperor's stud, and even more money letting three other nobles put their mares to the stallion along the way. When he finally arrived at the palace, the stallion was dirty, hungry and exhausted, and the high-blooded mare wanted nothing to do with him. The Emperor was greatly displeased, and had the fool sent to the galleys to work until the desired colt could be bred. When he learned some nobles possessed colts of the stallion's bloodline, he ordered the fool's wife and children sold into slavery, and everything he owned confiscated by the crown. The stallion had been so abused along the journey, no one could control him, and he eventually had to be put down. So the fool lived out his life in the galleys."
"What does that have to do with this?” the gap-toothed woman muttered to her neighbor.
"Consider how you would feel if you were offered a peace hostage as your slave, and then you found out that a dozen women had used him and abused him before he came into your hands. If you have no consideration for the honor of our hostages, consider the woman who will be disgraced by possessing a battered and bruised and threadbare gift."
The woman with the scar across her left cheek nodded slowly and looked Adon up and down with a new, considering light in her eyes. The three stood there a few moments longer, visibly digesting that idea. Then, as if they decided with one mind, they nodded, saluted her, and walked away into the darkness.
"Thank you,” Adon murmured.
"No, thank you for your help. Hialatus told me what a blessing gift you are. I swear, he urged Meer to include you among the hostages just because of what he could learn.” She smiled, and the somber warrior vanished. She was just a tired maiden who couldn't hide her quiet beauty inside her uniform.
"Well, then I will thank the Unseen for Healer Hialatus. And for your timely story.” Adon bowed. “May I ask your name? I assume you are a commander here."
"In a manner of speaking.” She shook her head, a bit of mischief gleaming in her eyes. “I'll have all men assigned to guard you and your companions for the rest of the journey. Just in case. Good dreaming to you, Healer."
"And to you, Commander...?” Adon nodded, silently asking for her name.
"Istrak.” A tiny snort of laughter escaped her and she vanished into the deep shadows between the tents before Adon could stop gaping.
That was General Istrak?
He barely heard the flood of questions from the other men when he entered the tent.
* * * *
Prince Eber returned to the hostages’ tent long after moonrise, when almost everyone was asleep. Adon woke when the prince entered the tent. Healers learned early to awaken at the slightest disturbance, so their minds weren't clogged with sleep when they stumbled to tend emergencies. He kept still, eyes half-closed, listening to the prince stumble and muffle curses, tangling himself in his bedding and groaning.
No boasting, no complaining that the women who had taken him for an evening's entertainment hadn't been skilled enough for him, no mockery aimed at those who had been left behind in the tent to wonder and worry. Adon l
ay awake another half hour after Eber lay down, wondering why the prince had been considerate of the other men and crept into the tent so quietly. Could it be the prince had finally met his match when it came to a voracious, sometimes brutal sexual appetite? Did he hear Eber muffle a few sobs in the night?
Chapter Three
The next morning's ride passed in blessedly quiet contemplation for Adon. His thoughts kept slipping back to General Istrak. How could such a young woman be a warrior with so much power? The Parsadi Empire wasn't like other kingdoms, granting officer commissions to men because of the powerful connections of their families. The Parsadi Empire's army was powerful and efficient because officers had to earn their ranks. They had to demonstrate their skill in battle and their strength and their endurance. Either Istrak had been raised in a warrior's household, or she possessed magic that kept her young, lithe, and scar-free despite her years in the army.
That last thought occupied Adon for several hours of riding through the heat and dust. Yes, Istrak was desirable, but he felt nothing when he looked at her. Even now, contemplating her sleek shape under her simple uniform, he felt no stirring in his belly or warming of his blood. What was wrong with him? Maybe the thought of being gang-raped by a horde of sweaty, dirty, entirely too-masculine women warriors had frozen something inside him.
Then again, had he wanted Taisha, once he learned what she was really after when she flirted and flattered and made his loins burn with hunger? Women of power froze something inside him. He could appreciate Istrak's sleek beauty and grace, but he couldn't see her as a desirable woman because of her power. After all, Taisha had tried to remake him to suit her, desiring power over his life. General Istrak had the power to control the rest of his life.
To his relief, Eber kept quiet all morning. He didn't complain, didn't make demands, didn't mock those who had more difficulty than he did, climbing into their saddles.
The Sword and the Slave Page 2