I cut in, my own voice flat. “How do you know this? My uncle invited those hordes in. He leads them.”
Cephas shook his head fervently, his thick reddish hair flying. “Nay. He is merely their puppet, as you would be Brutal’s puppet. Once, he thought himself their leader, but no more. He hasn’t controlled his own bowels since they took over.”
Ly’Tana burst in. “How do you know all this?” she demanded, her arms akimbo.
“I have my own spies in the palace, Your Highness.”
Her eyes narrowed. What her thoughts were, I had no clue, for Cephas went on doggedly. “He marries you, Your Highness, for in doing so, he becomes your heir. Your father never knows the details of your death, he will believe what your husband’s messengers tell him. Your death in childbirth would probably suffice to convince him. Your people,” he gestured to Kel’Ratan, “would also die, but the Kel’Hallan King would be told they remained in the Federation, enjoying Brutal’s most gracious hospitality. Meanwhile, he planned for you to enjoy as a playmate Prince Raine here. You would bear the son of a gladiator, a slave, and that child would someday take his sire’s place in the arena. After he is born, my liege would then be forced to murder you, while Brutal watched.”
Ly’Tana’s narrow green glare slowly turned from Cephas to me. “You? You would kill me? You knew of this, and said naught?”
Kel’Ratan growled, wordlessly, low in his throat, his own fierce blue eyes hot.
Taken aback by Cephas’s brutal honesty, I scrambled to put my wits, and my tongue, back in some semblance of order. “Um, well, he—that was before I met you—he said—”
She slowly closed the distance between us, her furious eyes spitting emerald fire. I leaned back as far as I dared without actually taking a step away from her fury. Her face upturned to mine, she rapidly waggled her hand back and forth in the tiny space between us. “You and me,” she gritted between clenched teeth, each syllable slow and clear, “we are going to have words.”
“Um,” I said hastily, thanking all the gods above and below that was all she said. “Whatever you say.”
With a final angry snort, she backed to Kel’Ratan’s side, her expression furious and her eyes still glaring.
Poor Tor. With all his potential protectors angry, furious and murderous, he had nowhere else to go. I eyed him sourly as he ducked behind Kel’Ratan. He can hide, I thought.
“Brutal has every available soldier looking for you,” Cephas added. “For both of you, Your Highness.” He bowed again to Ly’Tana. “He must have you both, alive. If your bodies are broken, that’s hardly an issue. He can heal you—” He glanced significantly at Rygel, who scowled. “—and break you later. Nevertheless, he must have you both. Alive. And soon.”
“If Lionel knew of his,” Kel’Ratan gestured toward me with a flip of his hand, “heritage, why did he not he act on it? Didn’t he also want Connacht on his plate?”
Cephas shook his head regretfully. “What Lionel planned, I have no answer. Perhaps he thought to keep Prince Raine for a time, and then pursue a similar plan later. Once he had Kel’Halla’s jewel in his crown.”
I quirked a doubtful brow. “Then why keep me in the dangerous profession as a gladiator? At any moment, I might be killed, and a dead heir is useless.”
Cephas coughed, his eyes anxious. “Um, sire,” he said softly. “He still had your sister.”
I growled. He took a hasty step back, as did Kel’Ratan, Kel’Ratan’s hand dropping to his sword hilt. Only Rygel and Ly’Tana held their ground. Yet, Ly’Tana watched me with worried concern puckering her fair brow, while Rygel’s scowl deepened.
I unclenched my fists and tried to relax. “My sister is as royal as I,” I said softly. “That makes perfect sense. Relax, Cephas. I wouldn’t punish the messenger for the message.”
His brow rose a notch. “I would not have put it past Lionel to marry Broughton to your sister.” He coughed, suddenly remembering who had intended to marry Brutal. “My apologies, Your Highness. Brutal did indeed plan to kill you.”
Ly’Tana waved a negligent hand. “I suspected as much.”
He bowed respectfully to Ly’Tana. “May I add, Your Highness, I do apologize for the abrupt way you learned of your fate, had you married the Crown Prince.”
She flicked a glance at me, a quick glance for all that. Yet, I read that glance correctly. She intended for us to have a very long chat. I bit back a groan.
Ly’Tana merely smiled. On the surface, it appeared a sweet, gentle smile, but the gleam that flickered in the green depths of her eyes made it an extremely dangerous smile. I personally did not care to be on the receiving end of that smile. “I reckon I owe it to my betrothed to return the favor. Should we meet again.”
I gestured to Cephas. “Is there more?”
“Aye, my liege. Brutal managed to kill two of his royal brothers, but the other four have fled, with their retainers and armies.”
I nodded again, catching Kel’Ratan’s interested gaze. “Go on.”
“He has executed hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of folk, most on naught save a suspicion of treason. His carnage has left Soudan in ruins, with much of the population fleeing his wrath. Most of his true enemies have escaped to plot against him.”
Ly’Tana and Kel’Ratan glanced at one another. Kel’Ratan shrugged slightly at what appeared to be a silent conversation. “Well, we did want a rebellion. Now we have one.”
Rather than ask for an explanation, I invited Cephas to continue with a lift of my brow.
“High Priest Theodoric, of course, is absolutely loyal, and Theodoric has at his disposal one of his kind.”
Cephas jerked his head in Rygel’s direction. Rygel merely nodded, accepting what we all suspected.
“We already knew,” he replied calmly. “Did you manage to get a name, perhaps?”
“Aye. His name is Ja’Teel.”
Rygel sucked in his breath through his teeth, hissing. Ly’Tana and Kel’Ratan moved closer to see him better, Kel’Ratan’s hand on his sword hilt. Tor peeped out from behind Kel’Ratan’s legs, eyes wide, as he stared at Rygel. As though ignorant of Rygel’s power and heritage, until now.
“You know this wizard?” I asked.
“Aye, my prince,” he replied grimly, running his hands restlessly through his hair. “He’s a bad one. We need to get your sister and get out of here. Fast.”
“Is he as powerful as you?”
“No one is as powerful as me,” he snapped. “But he’s very dangerous. I will tell you more of what I know of him, my prince, but now is not the time.”
“Very well.” I wanted Rygel to tell me, but knew he was right. I fisted my hand in anger. Brutal held all the cards, while I floundered about, literally, in the dark.
“Anything else?” I asked Cephas, modulating my voice, which wanted to growl again. “Do you know anything else we should know?”
“Aye.” An evil grin blossomed in Cephas’s craggy face. The faint light glinted off his white teeth. “Since you hit him, well, he hasn’t…well, you know.” A faint tinge of red climbed his cheeks from his mustache as he glanced at Ly’Tana in embarrassment.
“Raped anyone?” she said, her brow arching.
Cephas bowed slightly, his grin fading. “His savagery has increased, however. Along with the public executions, he has privately tortured anyone he suspects of sedition. As many as a score a day. Ja’Teel has taken Rygel’s place as chief torturer. People stream out of Soudan in panicked flocks, escaping Brutal’s madness. This city will go up in flames, and his finger is on the spark.
“There is war here,” Cephas murmured. “I would go with you, if you would have me, sire.”
“There will be war where I go,” I said gently.
He met my gaze squarely. “I know. I will fight with you. And die, if needs be.”
“Then you are welcome.”
Cephas straightened his back, his head rising up proudly. “I would swear allegiance to you now, my liege.”
/>
“Later,” I said, smiling a little. “I am naught but an escaped slave, hardly a prince. If we both survive what is to come, then that will be soon enough.”
“You are my liege, with or without an oath, Your Highness.”
I squeezed his shoulder briefly in acknowledgment. Turning, I snapped my fingers at Rygel, waking him from his angry reverie.
“Rygel. Get rid of my disguise. I want her to recognize me.”
“Will she?”
I shrugged, helpless and impatient now, with the news Cephas brought making me worried. Theodoric’s pet wizard may already know where we were. That brought something else to mind. I turned on him sharply.
“Does Brutal know of my sister?” I demanded.
“Sire, I do not know.”
“Your spies did not tell you?”
“Nay, my liege. On that subject, I heard naught.”
“It would be prudent to assume he does,” Kel’Ratan muttered. “If Lionel knew, and if Cephas found us by staking this place out, then perhaps Brutal also has hidden watchers.”
Rygel made no movement or word, but suddenly my gold locks turned blacker than the night around us.
“How did you leave him?” I asked.
Cephas grinned and shrugged. “Like you, I just up and left.”
“Would he look for you, do you think?”
“As busy as he is with his wars and torments and his search for you, I doubt my absence is naught more than an irritation.”
“Let’s hope not,” Kel’Ratan muttered, stroking his fingers down his thick mustache. “If he suspects you left to join us…well, I think he’ll be more than irritated.”
“Rygel, stay here and watch for your friend,” I said tersely. “If you can locate him by magic, try.”
He nodded shortly, walking a short distance away from the group, his hand on his sword hilt.
“Ly’Tana, I would have you and Kel’Ratan also remain here, on watch.”
She took my hand briefly in her own. “Bring her out safely, Wolf.”
“Good luck,” Kel’Ratan said.
“Cephas.”
With my former Slave Master at my shoulder, I strode boldly across the dark street to the home of Adhas, the fish oil merchant. Oddly, I felt nothing strange about our sudden role reversal, and found it not only right, but also comforting. I had always liked Cephas, and he never mistreated me, or punished me unnecessarily. While I never wished we could be friends, the possibility had been there. We both had known it, felt it.
“Now there would be a fine match, sire,” Cephas said as we walked. “You and Her Highness, that is.”
I jerked my head to stare. He saw my shock and merely grinned.
“After all, she’s no longer betrothed, my liege,” he went on. “And even in my dottering old age, I can see there is something between you two.”
I fetched a deep sigh of resignation and gestured to the stout wood of Adhas’s door. “Would you like to break it down, or shall I?”
“Oh, my liege, I would not dare keep you from such pleasure. Indeed, I should like to see a master at work.”
Grinning, I gave the stout door a quick examination. Like the stone of the tunnel beneath the slaves’ quarters, the door was old. While not as old as the mortar, and certainly not as robust, it had been strong once. A few cracks showed through here and there, the oak aged and shrunk just slightly away from the frame.
“Here goes naught.”
As before, I took a few steps back and then rammed the door with my shoulder with all my weight behind it. It did not break, but rather exploded inward in a shower of splinters and jagged lengths of hewn oak. I kept my balance with little effort and had my sword out before the tumbling remains of the door hit the rushes.
Cephas jumped inside beside me, his own blade bared and leveled. The room we found ourselves in lay dark and full of deep shadows. The moon gave some illumination, and my eyes, already accustomed to the night, saw keenly. A warehouse indeed, barrels stood stacked four and five high, ranked in several rows. To my left sat a counter, with three simple stools before it. I caught a glimpse of smaller crocks stacked neatly on sturdy shelving behind the counter. It looked to be a well-ordered, prosperous place. The place reeked of fish, and I absently wondered how any sane person would live here with the reek. No danger presented itself immediately, but I heard a door slam somewhere overhead.
I trotted to the stairway, just beyond the counter, and rapidly mounted them, Cephas at my heels. I found myself at a narrow hallway that ran both left and right, a few doors that sealed rooms behind them. A faint light illuminated the bottom of a door at the far end of the hall, on my right, and to this door I went. I did not try to lift the latch and check if she had barred it. I just raised my leg and kicked it open.
It fell against the far wall with a resounding crash. As I suspected, she had barred it against us. The stout bar had shattered at my kick, and the broken pieces tumbled to the floor.
Inside the room, a woman with a slender sword stood defiant, ready to defend herself. She was alone. I sheathed my blade and strode inside, taking in everything. Her bedchamber, obviously, it held a large comfortable-looking bed with wool blankets and high pillows; fur rugs covered the bare wooden floor. I scented heavy, expensive perfumes, a cloying heavy aroma that made my eyes water in protest. Underneath, the odor of strong incense wafted, threatening me with a sneeze.
A small lamp stood lit on a table beside the bed, its top littered with trinkets and a few jewels. A stout cup of heavy metal inlaid with semiprecious stones stood next to the lamp, perhaps a nightcap of wine to send her to sleep. Obviously, she was a woman of means. I finally looked at the woman herself.
Tall and slender, she wore a simple dressing gown, her flowing dark hair loose and curling about her shoulders. She stared at me with both fear and courage; the way she handled her sword told me she had some training, but little practice. Her brown eyes held panic on a tight rein as she watched us enter. I could almost see us in her huge eyes—two very large, well-armed and well-muscled men in her private rooms—and watched her already pale complexion grow ghostly.
I took a few strides toward her, ignoring the bared steel pointed at my chest.
“Cooperate, and you may live to see the dawn.”
“What do you want?” Adhas’s voice shrilled with fear. “Take it and go. Leave me in peace.”
I slapped the sword out of her hand, hearing it strike the wall and fall to the floor. Unarmed, she tried to face me with a shred of courage, but wilted beneath my icy stare. She shrank back against the wall, cornered, trapped, unable to either fight or flee. Adhas raised her arms to shield her face, trembling so hard I thought she would fall. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“Please, sir,” Adhas pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me. I will cooperate, I swear I will. Just don’t hurt me. Please.” She began to weep.
No doubt she thought we intended rape. The thought so disgusted me, I almost turned away. I tried to soften my voice, to become less threatening. Yet, when I spoke, my voice held a soft growl, more menacing than ever.
“Your slave girl,” I rumbled. “Where is she?”
Adhas raised tear-stained cheeks to peep up at me. “Yasmina?”
“Call her.”
“What do you want with—” she began, but stopped as I loomed over her, catching her glance once more. She nearly bit her tongue in shutting her teeth.
Turning her face, but keeping her eyes on me, Adhas called, “Yasmina! Come.”
I also turned in the direction Adhas looked to, seeing a small door, closed, that must open into a smaller room. No doubt, the girl stood on the other side, in terror of the invasion in the night, and wanting no part of it. Would she obey the summons? Or would she flee, thinking her mistress would soon be killed? I bet my soul the door would open.
I watched with anxiety and a hungry greed as the door slowly creaked open.
She stood in the doorway, half-hidden behind the threshol
d. She wore a simple shift that reached mid-thigh, shapeless and filthy. Tangled black hair cascaded down over her shoulders to her thighs, covering most of her face. I saw huge gray-blue eyes peeping through the mass, eyes filled with fear of me, of Cephas behind me, of her mistress. Dirty bare feet stood on the wooden floor, laced with scratches and insect bites. A simple collar of braided leather, so old it appeared stiff and cracked with age, encircled her slender, pale neck.
I caught my breath, for a moment unable to draw another. I drank her in, as a starving man takes food for the first time in days. Her eyes. My father’s eyes. My mother’s sweeping black hair.
“Arianne,” I breathed.
Her head went up, much like a deer scenting danger. “Wha—what do you call me?”
I held my hand out, palm up, inviting her to take it. She looked from my hand to my face, then back again, eyes never still. Her hands delved under the mass of dark hair to cover her mouth, tears standing in those huge gray-blue depths.
“Arianne,” I choked. “I’ve come to fetch you home.”
This time I saw her start, saw the wonder and fear in her eyes, saw her mouth open in astonishment, only half-hidden now by her hands. She glanced from me to her mistress and back again. “What did you say?”
“I’ve come to fetch you home.”
She stepped closer, beyond the shelter of the doorway, staring deep into my face, into my eyes. “I know you. Somehow, I know you.”
“I know you!” Adhas shrieked suddenly. “You’re The Wolf. You killed our King.”
I ignored her, leaving Cephas to mind her as I encouraged the slender girl to come forward. “You know me, Arianne.”
“That name—”
“It’s yours, my sweet Arianne. Your true name. Come.”
I desperately needed her to come to me, for I knew my size, my scars, my menace would frighten her. Should I step toward her, she might see me as a threat and flee. To see her fear me, to cringe or even run away, would drive a dagger into my heart. She must come to me. She must.
She took one tiny step closer. Huge eyes behind their curtain of hair watched me with more curiosity than fear. I wiggled my fingers enticingly, but could not dredge up even the faintest smile. My heart thundered in my chest, my breath short and ragged. Where was the great Wolf now, the champion of champions? Afraid to move even one step for fear of a tiny girl bolting from me. Me, afraid of a small girl-child who stood no higher than my waist, a girl who cast me into the unfamiliar realm of panic. Fearing she would choose to stay in familiar slavery rather than face the world, free, with a strange man. I saw myself through her eyes: a huge man, hulking, scarred and predatory. A man born to kill.
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