She was on her feet when the door opened to admit Winterseine. Docilely she kept her eyes on the floor and her hands at her side.
"Well," said Winterseine, his voice almost a purr, "it's nice to have you back, Dancer. Tell me, why did you run away in the first place? You knew that I would find you."
Rialla answered meekly, "Yes, Master. I knew that you would find me. I am sorry that I ran—I was frightened."
"What frightened you, Little One?" Again his voice was soft, like a predator stealing up on its prey.
Rialla felt the first twinge of fear—but it was a slave's fear and she was here by choice. The thought steadied her. Just as she started to answer his question, Tris attempted to contact her.
Rialla, where are you?
Later, she snapped at him, and closed her mind tightly to his presence.
To Winterseine she said hesitantly, "One of the other slaves there, in the upper rooms of the tavern in Kentar… she was killed that night. I saw them bring her body out." She paused and framed her words carefully out of truths. "The day before, the man who owned her was asking the barkeeper how much it would cost to buy me."
It had been idle speculation, a common question rather than serious intent, but the thought of being sold was frightening to a slave. Better the known evil, which one has gotten used to, than the unknown. Slaves are taught to be afraid of the unknown.
"So you ran away, killing one of my people."
"He startled me," Rialla said tremulously, remembering the shock of the man's death. "I pushed him and he hit his head on something on the floor. It was dark and I couldn't tell what it was." She had hit him as hard as she could with a mallet that had been left in the stables. She'd set the mallet near the body, and left. But Winterseine would expect her to lie and she had to stay in character. . There was a squeak as Winterseine settled himself into the big, leather-covered chair behind his desk. "You killed him with a hammer."
Rialla shook her head and looked frightened. A slave would never admit such a crime and Winterseine knew it. "No," she said. "He hit his head."
"You killed him," said the voice of the Master implacably. He might know that she wouldn't admit it, but he still needed her to realize that she couldn't get away with lying to him. He didn't wait for her reply again. Instead he asked a different question. "Where were you going?"
Rialla shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Away, anywhere." That was true enough.
"Laeth said that he picked you up in the South. How did you get there?"
"After a few days, I don't know how long exactly, a man found me hiding under a bush. He took me and sold me to a merchant who smuggled me out of Darran and sold me to another merchant who worked the countries in the Alliance." Though selling an escaped slave was illegal, it was commonly done.
"I can't have slaves escaping, Dancer." Winterseine's voice was stern, but there was regret in it as well—a father talking to an errant child. It made Rialla want to retch.
"No, Master," said Rialla submissively, and the slave master sat back to contemplate her punishment.
The guard led her through a maze of hallways until he came to a place where there were two half-sized doors set into the wall at waist height. Rialla could hear soft sobbing sounds coming from behind one of the doors, and she watched apprehensively as the guard slid the bar off the other one. The door opened to reveal a dark hole even smaller than the door itself. A cobweb covered one corner and the guard brushed it aside.
"In with you," he said. His manner wasn't threatening, but Rialla had no doubt that he was willing to enforce his command.
She entered the darkness as slowly as she could, wanting to give any insects the chance to get out of her way. The opening wasn't quite tall enough for Rialla to crawl on her hands and knees, so she had to squirm forward until her feet slid through. The guard closed the door behind her and threw the bolt. Rialla stretched out her hands and felt the end of the cell; it was little bigger than the coffin the Darranians used to bury their dead.
For a normal human, such confinement would have been frightening. Rialla's awareness, though, wasn't limited by the stone around her. She could tell when the guard left to find lunch, she could touch the terror of the slave occupying the other cell, and she could feel Tris's impatience as he waited for her to tell him what was happening.
Rialla!
Yes, she answered.
Are you all right? Where are you?
She caught his worry and sent back reassurances as she responded. I'm in solitary. It's not so bad; he had to do something for discipline and he doesn't like damaging his slaves if he can help it. I thought that it would be worse.
I'll take your word for it, Tris answered, I feel trapped inside these stone buildings humans like to build; I wouldn't care to be enclosed in a smaller area. I think I'll go exploring today and see what I can find out—call me if you need some company.
Where are you going to explore? Rialla asked curiously. His face was known to Winterseine and a fair number of his guards. If someone saw Tris wandering through the castle, his presence might be questioned.
Illusion is a simple enough magic, replied Tris, apparently having little trouble following her thoughts. Not many people notice one more bench or decorative plant. A picture formed in her mind of a plant, similar to those scattered about Westhold, and a battered bench.
What if someone tries to sit on you? questioned Rialla, still feeling uneasy at Tris's ability to read thoughts that she wasn't actively projecting.
That's why I prefer the plant when I can, but the bench has a rotted leg to discourage anyone who might want to rest.
Luck to you, Tris, Rialla said. Be careful.
I will, he assured her, withdrawing to a less intimate level.
The other slave was beginning to get frantic in the enclosed dark space. Out of a latent sense of compassion and a desire to test her empathy further, Rialla decided to see if she could help her fellow penitent.
Patiently she worked through the fear of the other slave, sending peace and reassurance. Gradually rid of her fear, the woman was rocked by another emotion: hatred. Her emotion was strong, and it gave Rialla a clear picture of the focus of her hatred: Winterseine—hardly a surprise.
Unable to bear the contact any longer, Rialla withdrew and struggled to rid herself of the residue of the slave's fear and hatred. When she was calm, she steadied herself and projected the soothing peace that would allow the other woman to sleep. Gradually the other slave allowed herself to be pacified and fell into a light stupor.
It was late in the afternoon when Winterseine and two guards came to get her out. She crawled out of her hole and stood blank-faced for his inspection. He narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully before leaving her with the guards.
Rialla watched as Winterseine slid out the bar that held the other slave captive in the coffin-shaped hole. In the relative light of the hold hallway, Rialla could see that the other's skin was so dark it looked as if it were carved from oiled ebony. Her features were fine-boned and her thick copper-colored hair hung past her waist—another Easterner.
As Rialla looked at the other slave closely, she realized what Winterseine had seen to make him look so thoughtful. Though the other slave's face was as blank as Rialla's own, it was lined with exhaustion and her hair was matted with sweat. Slight tremors shook her shoulders as she struggled to maintain the passive stance that Rialla had adopted. Rialla knew that she herself looked as if she'd been sleeping in a cot all afternoon.
"Take them to the baths and have them cleaned. Return the dark one to her classes in the blue room. Take the dancer back to her cell," ordered Winterseine briskly, and the guards led the slaves away.
In a clean tunic and freshly washed hair, Rialla found herself back in the little cell she'd spent the night in. There was a meal of bread and fruit waiting for her. She left the food where it was, waiting for Tris to come and eat with her.
Daylight came in from the high window, and the bars left their
shadows on the walls rather than the floor. Rialla paced for a while before retreating to the accustomed discipline of the exercises that had become second nature to her as both dancer and horse trainer.
If she were going to have to dance very often, she might as well be in shape for it, she decided ruefully. Her bad leg was tight and she babied it through, hoping that she wasn't doing it more harm than good.
When she was finished, there was sweat running down her back, but she wasn't overly tired. Into her right hand she poured a little of the cool water from the ewer that had been left with her food. She splashed the water on her face and dried it off with the bottom of her tunic.
Bored, she sat beside the fresh straw and began to braid it as her mother had taught her to fashion horsehair rope. The straw was bulkier and not so strong, and the rope kept breaking before she got very far, but it was something to do.
She was beginning to eye the bread wistfully, when she realized that Tris was very near. She noticed a change in the stone near the top of the cell by the window. It looked at first as if the stone were growing. The granite blocks and the mortar between them bulged out in a lump roughly the size of a man's body. The lump slid gradually lower until the bottom of it rested on the ground. Slowly Tris pulled free of the rock, his body and features became distinct. The color of the stone gradually left his skin and clothing, and Tris stood brushing dust off his tunic and breeches.
"Better you than me," commented Rialla.
"What? You mean passing through the stone? It's not that bad—granite's kind of scratchy, though. I prefer marble or obsidian, but granite's more common."
Rialla laughed at his serious tone.
"So," she said, "how did your explorations go?"
"Fine," he replied, rubbing his beard as if it itched. "I didn't see anything unusual except the number of cats here."
Rialla nodded and grabbed a piece of fruit. "Most castles have a lot of cats. They keep down the rat population." She bit into the tart apple and sighed with appreciation. Sianim was too warm to get really good apples.
"No, I mean a lot of cats. Someone here really likes them." Tris sat with his back against the wall. "How was your day in solitary?"
Rialla gave a rueful shrug. "Not bad, better than tomorrow will be. There was another slave from the East there, but I didn't get any useful information out of her."
"What do you mean better than tomorrow?" Tris hadn't been moving before, but now he was still, like a predator who has scented his prey.
Rialla finished the apple and put the core back on the tray. "Do you want something to eat?"
Tris shook his head without losing his air of intensity. "I'm fine. What about tomorrow?"
She tore off some bread and stood leaning against the wall. When she was through with her piece, she said wryly, "I'm in for it. I was stupid and forgot that I was supposed to look abused after a day in solitary. Now he's got to find another punishment." She sighed drolly, trying to soothe him as she felt his anger rise. "I guess I was never meant to be a spy."
"What will he do?" asked Tris again, grim-voiced.
She shook her head. "I have no idea. Don't worry, it probably won't be anything too painful—he doesn't want to ruin his slave. He has to maintain a fine balance: too little discipline is disastrous, but too much discipline will break the spirit and ruin a dancer."
Tris looked down at the floor and asked, "Does it bother you to be a slave again?"
Rialla glanced at his hands, which were clenched around his left knee. He was having a harder time with her enslavement than she was. She paused thoughtfully for a moment before she answered, hoping that she could make him understand. "I would have thought it would, but it doesn't. I guess it makes a difference that it was my decision to come back. I choose to act like a slave, so they can't make me feel like one. Does that make sense?''
He looked a bit baffled so she added, "A slave has no power to make decisions; I do." Thinking about tomorrow, she smiled with little humor. "I have to live with the results too."
The next morning, when the guards came, Rialla was awake and ready for them. She wasn't taken to Winterseine this time, but to the castle punishment chamber.
The chamber was in a light and sunny area in the corner of the main floor of the castle. Both of the windows were low enough to get a nice view of one of the walled gardens behind the castle. Clear glass was expensive, so the windows were barred and open to the air.
Rialla supposed that the windows were there to remind the prisoners that there was a world outside, and to keep them from succumbing to the hopelessness that made them die too soon under the torturer's knife. From the despair she read in the few moments before she pulled her shields all the way up, she could have told Winterseine that he was wasting his windows.
The guards attached her tether to a wall and left her alone with the other prisoners, none of which were slaves. She had never been in this room; Rialla had been a tractable slave before she escaped.
The leash was a formality without the arm restraints— she could have taken it off with very little effort—but she was supposed to be a good slave. There were no guards, just the prisoners attached to the wall with heavy manacles.
Heavy canvas curtains blocked off the business end of the chamber. Rialla was just as glad not to have to look at the arcane devices responsible for the human wrecks that moaned pitifully where they hung like so many carcasses at a butcher's shop.
As she waited, Rialla became more and more agitated. The unpleasant emotions that pervaded the chamber were so strong she couldn't block them completely. They served to reinforce her apprehension. She got to her feet and paced back and forth to relieve her tension and keep her from tearing her collar off and running to Sianim as fast as she could.
Several men entered the chamber talking and laughing. One of them came up to her and unfastened her lead from the wall. He stank like sweat and other people's terror, and couldn't keep his hands to himself.
Rialla didn't struggle, and eventually he tired of his fun and blindfolded her with a strip of cotton cloth stained with dirt and dried blood. She followed the tug on her leash, stumbling blindly over the uneven floor. She hit her shin against a piece of wood and decided that it must have been a stair, because she was lifted up a short distance and put back on her feet on top of some sort of platform.
He pushed her backwards until her shoulders pressed against a bar of wood that moved slightly when she touched it. She felt the jerk at her neck as he attached her collar tightly to the bar. Her arms were pulled up over her head and tied to another bar that seemed to be both higher and farther away than the first. A thick strap was secured around her waist.
Rialla heard a groaning sound as the bars took her weight and her feet were slowly drawn off the floor. As her back arched against her support, she realized that she was tied to a large wheel. It stopped turning and her legs were pulled back and attached to another bar on the wheel.
When the man was satisfied that she was secure, he groped her one last time and went on to his next job. She couldn't close her ears to the noises in the chamber nearly as well as she could close her mind to the suffering that spawned them. She found herself wishing that they would punish her and get it over with.
Finally, there was a creak as the mechanism that turned the wheel was unlocked. Slowly she was pulled up and over the top of it. The wheel made an odd noise, but before Rialla was able to figure out what the sound was, her head was immersed in cold water.
The shock made her gasp, and she came out of the water choking and spitting out the fluid she'd swallowed. She was disoriented, and her head hit the water again before she was ready. She was underwater the third time when she realized that the wheel wasn't being turned at a steady rate that she could gauge. She gagged and spat out the water that she had tried to breathe. The distraction caused her concentration to fail, and the strength of the shield that kept out the emotions flooding the chamber faded.
As soon as her barri
ers weakened, Rialla got a full dose of the torment of the other victims in the cell. She started to scream and her head was forced underwater again. This time the trip through the water was so slow that she started to black out before her nose broke the surface again. The wheel stopped to let her catch her breath, and she managed to close most of her barriers again as she choked and fought frantically for air.
Tris. She didn't really expect to be able to touch him without dropping her shields more than she could in this room. She was surprised when she got an answer.
Rialla? She could read the concern in his reply as he caught the edge of her desperation.
The wheel began to move again, and involuntarily she struggled against the ropes that held her. She started to tell him what was going on, but she couldn't form any coherent messages before she was under the water again.
Rialla! The demand in his tone brought her back to herself, and she struggled to communicate what she needed.
Talk to me… The struggle to keep from breathing the icy water grew more difficult. Please… I need you to give me something to concentrate on… Her face was numbed by the cold, and it was getting hard to tell when she was out of the water.
It wasn't until her forehead started under again that she realized that she'd held her breath too long. She managed to grab a quick breath before water closed over her mouth.
Rialla? What… He stopped, and she could feel him forcibly restrain himself. Slowly, as if he were reciting out loud, he sent her what she'd requested. Black cherry root, otherwise known as nightshade or belladonna, can be used as a sedative or pain reliever in small enough doses…
She grasped onto his words like a lifeline, using them to calm herself, much as a monk chants himself into a trance. She didn't care what he said, as long as he kept talking.
He seemed to sense what she needed and kept up a steady flow of information. She found that she could use him to block out the feedback she was getting from the other occupants of the chamber. Once she was calmer and not feeling other people's emotions, Rialla could tell when she was about to be submerged.
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