The Thief Lord's Son (The Eastern Slave Series Book 3)

by Victor Poole

  She settled herself with a groan. Oddly, though her arms were injured and sore, she felt more power in her shoulders than in her legs. Her legs were still irritatingly soft behind the knees. She gathered the reins, and pressed the horse with her lower legs. She rode around the edge of the bone-covered tree; on the farther side of the poison tree she found the clear dirt path Delmar had taken her on before. She nudged the horse into the path, and urged him forward. The horse gave a thunderous snort, as if to express his relief at leaving the smell and the flies behind; he flew into a canter.

  Ajalia caught her breath; the horse moved excellently well. His knees unfolded with an action like butter spreading over a fire, and his head bobbed neatly in and out. Ajalia's thighs ached, but she clung to the horse and rode away from Delmar. He did nothing to stop her, and in a few moments she had left the clearing of the poison tree, and she was under the thick shade of the forest boughs. The shadows flashed like dark wings over her cheeks; she opened her eyes wider, and let the wind made by the horse's pace buffet at her cheeks. She wished she were in the desert again.

  The path did not last nearly long enough; in a few minutes, she caught sight of the white road that led towards Slavithe, and she slowed the black horse. He jostled the reins, and his hind legs gathered sharply beneath him. Ajalia could feel the powerful shifting of his hindquarters, and the flexible action of his forehand. She turned the horse, and let him walk through the forest, towards the hidden hollow made of tree roots. She wished she could go straight to Slavithe, but a sickening wrench at the bottom of her gut told her she would regret the journey if she tried. She told herself it was silly to fear the guards at the gate, but she had a feeling that the Thief Lord would have spies for her at either gate into the city, and she did not feel up to a fight just yet. Her brain was tangled in waves of narrative; part of her was still on course for the caravan's original purpose; she caught herself making plans for dinner, or thinking of how she would tell Philas of her designs for the little house. Everything was different now. She wanted to sit and think; things kept happening to her, and she felt totally out of control. The sway of the horse's back, as his legs swept over the forest floor, and the rock of Ajalia's hips in the saddle, made a soothing symphony of movement.

  "Philas is gone," Ajalia murmured. She stuck out a finger on one hand. "Leed is coming back," she continued. She watched the horse's ears flick back towards her as he picked his footing through the dense forest. Ajalia was no longer heading for the hollow; she let the horse walk forward, and choose his own path. She had no idea where she was going; all she was sure of was that the road, and the gates of Slavithe, were not ahead of her. She thought she was moving at a wide angle towards the wide stone wall.

  "Lim is dead," Ajalia whispered to herself. She lifted a third finger, and swallowed. She felt suddenly dizzy. She knotted one hand into the black horse's thick mane, and shook away the sparks in her vision. "The body is gone," Ajalia said slowly, wiggling her third finger, "and the Thief Lord knows that Lim is dead."

  She glared down at her extended fingers. Why, she asked herself, would the Thief Lord know about Lim? How could he have known? With a snap, Ajalia's brain spun into motion; she halted the horse, and turned back. She had not gone too far; by retracing the pacing of the black horse, she was able to regain the dirt path, and from there, by watching the trees very closely, she was able to move gradually towards the interior of the forest, to the place where the hollow lay.

  When Ajalia found the hollow, Delmar was there.

  BAKROTH'S WIFE

  "I thought you left," Delmar said when he saw her.

  "Has your father tried to kill you before?" Ajalia asked. She swung off the horse; her legs crumpled as soon as they met the ground, and she sat unceremoniously in the dirt. She saw Delmar flinch; she saw him almost stand, and stop himself. She could not see his face clearly from where she sat. The horse nuzzled at her legs in a friendly manner, and started to browse on the tender grass nearest the ground. Ajalia slipped the bit out of the horse's mouth; the Eastern bridles had a headstall built in beneath the bridle, and the bit could dangle beneath the horse's jaw to free his mouth. Ajalia listened to the crunch and grinding of the horse's teeth. His rubbery lips flopped around the tendrils of green that thrust up through the dark earth.

  Cautiously, Delmar climbed to the edge of the hollow, and sat with his legs dangled over the roots.

  "Why would you think my father would try to kill me?" Delmar asked.

  "The Thief Lord doesn't know I'm here," Ajalia said. "Lim guessed that I would be with you. He followed you. He was sent to kill you. He wanted to kill me, but the Thief Lord sent him to kill you."

  Delmar stared at Ajalia with puckered lips.

  "No," he said slowly. "I don't think so."

  "Who were those men?" she asked.

  "Which ones?" Delmar asked evasively. Ajalia sighed.

  "The black bearded man, and the yellow bearded man," she said patiently. "They came and talked to you near the poison tree."

  "Oh," Delmar said. He wiggled like a child on the long curve of bark. "They just run errands. And things," he added. Ajalia looked up at Delmar, and Delmar stared morosely at the horse.

  "Your father's trying to kill you," Ajalia said gently.

  "No," Delmar said. He sounded as though he were giving his opinion about the taste of a dish.

  "And he's tried before?" Ajalia asked. Delmar's eyes wandered to her. He looked lost.

  "Maybe," he admitted. "I don't think so."

  "That means yes," Ajalia said matter-of-factly. She got on her hands and knees, and started to stand up.

  "I think you're pretending," Delmar told her. "I don't think you're sick anymore."

  "All right," she said. She leaned against the black horse, and untied the girth of the saddle. Delmar watched her dispassionately. She pulled the saddle free of the horse; the horse twitched the skin all along his back, and snapped his tail from side to side.

  "He's a nice horse, too," Delmar said. His voice was full of unshed tears. Ajalia ignored the self-pity that dripped out of him. "The other horse was nice, on the road," he said with a sigh.

  "You like horses," Ajalia accused him.

  "Do not," Delmar said quickly.

  "Do too," she said. She unbuckled the reins, and tied them into a long tether. The leather was braided to make it strong, but she wished she had a rope. Ajalia tied the horse to a tree in the midst of long grass. She carried her goatskin saddle to the hollow, and put it over the curve of the outermost root. "Help me," she said, holding her right arm up towards Delmar. He considered her.

  "No," he said. He sounded snippy. Ajalia could have laughed, but she restrained herself.

  "I see we are no longer friends," she observed.

  "You didn't need to dig up Lim's body," Delmar said.

  "You're lucky I did," Ajalia said. "Your father sent those men to find you, or your body."

  "So?" Delmar challenged her.

  "So, now your father knows you can kill, and that you will dispose of the body well," Ajalia said. "He will respect you more now."

  She went around the hollow to the far side, where the ground ran up in a gentle rise to the lip of the twisting roots. She walked slowly up the rise, and then rolled into the hollow with a sigh. She could feel Delmar's eyes on her.

  "It's all right," she said, her eyes closed, "I won't kiss you anymore." Delmar regarded her with suspicion.

  "Why would you say something like that?" he asked.

  "Why can I do magic now?" she countered. He was twisted on the edge of the hollow. She watched the dark circles under his eyes, and the ugly shadows in his cheeks.

  "You imagined that," Delmar said. "You can't do magic."

  "I'm going to start a war," Ajalia said conversationally. Silence greeted this statement. The hum of insects filled the spaces between the branches. The sun danced between the verdant branches, making reflective shadows of green and gold throughout the hollow.

&nbs
p; "Why?" Delmar asked.

  "Because I can," Ajalia said. She drew her knife from her waist, and pulled the blade out of the leather sheath. She rolled onto her stomach, and worked the point of the knife under the knot of bandage on her left arm. Delmar watched her cut through the fabric; she unwound the bindings until her raw and bloodied inner arm was exposed to the air. She turned the long scrapes in the light; a shadow of dark lines was just visible in the slop of blood and shining raw skin. Ajalia could not tell if the dark lines were in the shape of her brand. The scars were crisscrossed red scratches; her skin was smoother now, but raw. With the knife, she snicked the thread that stitched down the bandage on her right arm, and pulled away the cloth. When both arms were exposed to the air, she laid her wrists side by side, and examined them. The left arm looked healthier; the right was still dark, and oozing with blood. Ajalia flexed her hands and made fists. When she squeezed her fingers into a fist on her right hand, the deep ugly scratches wept blood. Paper thin scabs were coalescing on the edges of her left arm. Ajalia eased gingerly onto her back, and stretched her arms out into the dappled sun. The air in the forest was cool and clean against the marks on her arms. Delmar sat on the edge of the hollow, watching her; she looked up into the kaleidoscope of leaves and branches above her head, and thought of rain.

  "A long time ago," she said dreamily, "when the East was young, and my master's ancestor wove the first strands of silk to sell to the merchants west of his home, a legend went through all the land of a kind of sickness, an evil that gripped men's souls and choked the life from them." Delmar shifted uneasily; he slipped down into the interior of the hollow, and folded his arms over his legs. His eyes were fixed on Ajalia's left arm, which was stretched out near him. Ajalia thought of the night he had licked her, the golden light on his tongue soaking like fire into her skin. "They said that it was a plague," she continued, "but a plague of evil, instead of death. My master's eldest father gathered many of his slaves, and took them to the mountains, to the place where the rocks touched the sky. He took three of his most trusted slaves with him, and climbed the mountain. His son was with him, and his daughter."

  Delmar inched closer to Ajalia; he reached out one hand and stroked the skin in her left palm. His fingers were warm and rough.

  "Can I help?" he asked. She nodded, and moved backwards until her head was in his lap. He took up her left arm, and examined the cuts.

  "When my master's eldest father reached the crown of the sky," Ajalia said, "he met with the chief god of his people. The god told him that there had been a war in the clouds, and that the evil star had knocked loose the harmony of the sky. He said that all men would be evil now. My master's ancestor bargained for many days with the chief god; finally, he agreed to a trade: the lives of one thousand of his slaves, in addition to the blood of his son, and the virtue of his daughter, in exchange for power to destroy the evil star." Ajalia turned her head so that her forehead rested against Delmar's abdomen; he felt warm and comfortable against her skin. She could feel tendrils of sleepiness creeping down through her eyes.

  "What happened to him?" Delmar asked.

  "He died," Ajalia said. "He cut off the heads of one thousand slaves, and he gave his daughter to the traders from the far west. She was given to the king there, and her children were used as slaves in the house of the king. His son was bled a little for one hour each day until he died."

  "Did he get the power he wanted?" Delmar asked.

  "No," Ajalia said. "There was no evil star, or any power. But he destroyed my master's ancient house. My master seeks to rebuild the glory of his ancestors. His forefathers, those who came before this father, were once the kings of the East. My master yet inherits the title of master to all in the East," Ajalia said, "but the title is no longer respected. It is an empty name."

  "And your master wants it to mean something again?" Delmar asked.

  "Not really," Ajalia said. "He just wants to be king of somewhere." Delmar looked down at her. She closed her eyes.

  "That's a stupid story," Delmar said angrily.

  "Well," Ajalia said.

  "What was the point of that story?" Delmar said. Ajalia looked up at him.

  "Why are you so mad?" she asked.

  "Well, why would you tell me that awful story?" he demanded. "That was a stupid story!"

  "Well, yes," she said. "It was."

  "So why tell me that?" he demanded.

  "That's what I'm here for," Ajalia said. "That's what Philas was asking me."

  Delmar considered her for a time.

  "I can't follow that," he said. Ajalia sighed, and shrugged closer to him.

  "My master wants power in the south," she explained. "Everyone else is settled, overgrown. The infrastructures of power throughout Leopath are established. It would take decades to seize power, and my master is not a young man. He wants to rule before he dies."

  "And?" Delmar asked.

  "And Slavithe is a wilderness," Ajalia said. "Isolated, cut off from most of the continent, and poor. You have resources here," she told Delmar, "and you don't know how to use them."

  Delmar stared at her.

  "This makes no sense," he told her.

  "You are not as thick as you seem," Ajalia said. "You are clever, underneath the slack jaw and the vague eyes. You see things. Your people are like children. My master is a cunning man, and a just man. He seeks to rule, and your land is rife with possibility."

  "So you've come to conquer Slavithe," Delmar said slowly.

  "Not exactly," she admitted. "I'm officially securing a permanent trade route."

  "Why?" Delmar asked.

  She did not answer.

  "You know that your father will kill you," she said, "if you don't do anything about this Thief Lord business?"

  "No," Delmar said slowly, but she heard doubt in his voice.

  "He wants your brother Wall to inherit," she pressed. "Why?"

  "Because Wall is not pathetic," Delmar said promptly.

  "No," Ajalia said. "Wall is obedient to your father, and he is corrupt. Your father is milking your people, enslaving them. Your father is destroying Slavithe."

  "He isn't," Delmar said.

  "Is," Ajalia said serenely. "If I had not gotten Philas prepared and out of the city when I did, your father and mother would have seized the caravan and confiscated the silks." She looked up at him; his lips were working, and his eyebrows creased. "He destroys trade," she said. "He destroys the hope of the people, and their ability to better themselves. I bet," she said, "that two generations ago, there were not many bound women in Slavithe."

  "What do you mean?" Delmar said quickly.

  "Women with their hair cut," Ajalia said. "Women with children, who live as servants, and work for their lovers, like cultivated plants."

  "I don't know," Delmar said.

  "Liar," Ajalia said. "You read old records. You could tell me what it was like a hundred years ago."

  "I don't want to talk about this," Delmar said.

  "Are you finished?" she asked, tugging at her arm, where he had been stroking the skin.

  "No," he said, holding on to her. She sat up and turned around to face him.

  "What did that mean, before," she said, "when I was out of my body?"

  "It was nothing," Delmar said smoothly. "You must have fainted."

  "Liar," Ajalia said.

  "Read the book yourself," Delmar said, pointing at the slim bulge in her robes. "The book will tell you. It was nothing."

  Ajalia studied Delmar's eyes. His gaze, which was normally clear and honest when he looked at her, was behind a film.

  "You're lying to me," she said slowly. "Why?"

  "I'm not lying," he said, "I'm telling the truth."

  "I don't believe in magic," she said. "Is that why you lie?"

  "Look, this is magic," Delmar said. "Good, honest magic." He pushed his fingers against the bark of the hollow, and sparks of glowing yellow raised into his hand. He lifted his lighted fingers and held t
hem in front of Ajalia's eyes. "This is magic," he said. "The pieces of my heart, the essence of my life. I can pull them to the surface like this," he said, "and I can put them into you. Watch," he said, and he took her left arm nearer to his face. He examined the rough cuts and patches of strangled skin. He selected a piece of raw flesh, near her wrist, and touched the glimmering lights on his fingers to the bloody place.

  Ajalia hissed; the golden light was like fire, burning into her with the heat of an iron.

  "That burns," she told him.

  "Your skin is very weak," he told her. "The cuts should have healed by now. I didn't know how sick you were. I wouldn't have put so much of myself straight into you, if I had known."

  Ajalia sat up a little. Tickles of uncomfortable ire were twisting up and down her spine; she felt as though she were going to be sick.

  "I'm not weak," she said.

  "Your skin is weak," Delmar said. "Your muscles, here," he touched his fingers to the top of her forearm, where the skin was drawn tight, swollen a little, but unbroken. Her flesh throbbed at his touch.

  "That hurts," she breathed.

  "I know that now," Delmar said. "I thought you were stronger, when I put the gold into you. I'm sorry," he added. "I didn't mean to wrack your whole body with pain like this."

  "I told you," Ajalia said. "I did warn you, remember?"

  Delmar shrugged. "It's too late now," he said. He kissed the place where he had put the magic in. Ajalia saw that his cheeks were hollow and black again. He had been looking better, but now he looked worse.

  "What is this magic doing to you?" she demanded suddenly. "Are you hurting yourself for me? Is doing magic hurting you?" Ajalia put a hand against his cheek, and lifted his eyes to her. "Stop it," she commanded angrily. "You're killing yourself, aren't you?" she demanded.

  "It isn't bad," Delmar said. She saw he was lying.