Slave of Sondelle: The Eleven Kingdoms

by Bevan McGuiness

  ‘Ready to listen now?’ Slaaj asked. Slave stared at him and did not speak. Taking the silence as assent, Slaaj went on. ‘You will work for me or you will die, here and now. I won’t lie to you; I don’t want to waste talent like yours, but with that sorcerer looking for you, I have no choice.’

  The mention of Sondelle made Slave look up.

  ‘I thought so,’ Slaaj said. ‘You are more afraid of him than of me. Fine, let me rephrase myself. You will work for me, or I will give you back to him.’

  Slave nodded slowly.

  ‘Good. Let that be the beginning of our relationship, then.’ Slaaj turned and started to walk away. ‘Come with me.’

  He led Slave through a passage lined with locked doors into a large sandy area. Slave counted his steps and memorised his path. The sunlight once again hurt his eyes and made him cower slightly. He raised his manacled hands to his face.

  ‘This is the training ground,’ Slaaj said. ‘It is here that I will instruct you in the skills you need to have to be the very best.’

  ‘You have nothing to teach me,’ Slave said quietly, lowering his hands as the pain from the light lessened.

  ‘I doubt that,’ replied Slaaj. ‘Because if I didn’t, you would not be wearing those chains.’

  Slave looked down at the heavy manacles around his wrists.

  ‘What weapons do you know?’ Slaaj asked.

  ‘Sword, knife, Claw, fighting sticks.’

  ‘As I thought, all hand-to-hand. What about the bow?’

  Slave shook his head.

  ‘Good, we’ll start there.’

  ‘My Claw?’ Slave asked.

  ‘Ah, that. You will get it back when I decide I can trust you with it. Don’t worry.’ He held up his hand when he saw Slave’s expression. ‘It is safe, you will get it back. For now, we will try the bow.’ He gestured to another guard and the man came to unlock the manacles. He approached Slave cautiously and when Slave felt the jab of a sword being pressed into his spine, he held out his hands to be released.

  The chains came off and Slave rubbed his wrists. ‘Thank you,’ he said to the guard. ‘I regret killing the other man,’ he added.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, he was careless,’ said Slaaj dismissively.

  ‘He didn’t deserve to die,’ Slave said quietly, but Slaaj was already walking towards a number of men practising with bows. Slave followed, taking note of the others around him. There were upwards of a hundred men and women practising with all manner of weapons, as well as unarmed combat. There were some who were obviously unskilled, and some who were very good, as well as perhaps fifteen instructors. Surrounding the training ground were about twenty guards, all armed with bows and dressed in grey leather jerkins with Slaaj’s crest on the left breast.

  When he reached the archery instructor, Slaaj clapped the woman on the shoulder and spoke in her ear. She looked across at Slave. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

  ‘Slave,’ Slaaj said. ‘This is your instructor. Her name is Aesla and she is the best archer you will ever meet. Learn from her. Learn well.’ He turned and stalked away.

  Slave stared silently at Aesla. She was short and slender, but her arms were hard with muscle. Her eyes were dark and her expression speculative. Her brown hair was pulled back, tied by a single leather cord. She wore a jerkin laced across her chest and a short, grey, leather skirt. In her right hand she held a recurve bow, at her left hip hung a quiver full of arrows. They were all fletched alike. He could not identify what bird had supplied the feathers. Her legs were bare and as well-muscled as her arms. On her feet were simple sandals.

  ‘Here,’ she said, tossing her bow to him. Slave reacted to catch the weapon. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Shot a bow before?’

  Slave shook his head.

  ‘You caught that with your left hand. Are you left-handed?’

  ‘I use both, but I prefer the left.’

  ‘You look strong. See if you can pull that string back to your face.’

  Slave looked at the others practising, raised the bow as they did and heaved the string back easily. Aesla frowned.

  ‘You are strong,’ she mused. ‘Come with me.’

  She led him to a rack of bows and stood in front of it looking alternately at him, then at the bows. After a short while, she selected one and handed it to him.

  ‘Try that.’

  He raised it, drew back the string and released it. It snapped forwards with a loud thwack and Slave cried out in surprised pain as the string slapped his forearm. Within moments, a large red mark appeared, indicating the bruise that would soon follow.

  ‘Two things, Slave,’ Aesla said quietly. ‘First, if you ever dry-fire a bow again, I will have you flogged. And second, I think you need a heavier bow.’

  ‘Dry-fire?’

  ‘Release the string without an arrow nocked. It damages the limbs.’ Aesla selected another bow and handed it to him. Slave gave back the one he had and tried the new one, taking care to let the string down without releasing it.

  ‘Good,’ Aesla said. ‘You learn fast. That one will do.’ She selected a handful of arrows and gave them to Slave. ‘Let’s see if you can be taught to use it.’

  16

  Keshik and Maida left Jooure early in the morning. Huenu had insisted they spend the night in his home rather than in their gyrn at the market. He had provided three guards to watch over their possessions while they slept in a bed for the first time in two or three Crossings.

  Maida enjoyed the warmth of blankets and the comfort of a mattress while Keshik enjoyed Maida. It was not that Maida did not take pleasure in his attention, it was simply that she would have preferred to sleep for longer.

  There was also the bath.

  It had been far too long since she had bathed properly, and properly meant more than a freezing dip in a pond that was mostly covered in ice. To her, bathing meant enough warm water to luxuriate in, soap and a thick, clean towel at the end. It also included not stinking — both her and Keshik.

  Sitting astride her horse in clean clothes, with clean hair, a robust bag full of newly acquired gems and a purpose, she was as happy as she hadbeen for some time. Keshik, riding beside her, looked content.

  Beyond Keshik rode Panxo, as far away as he could manage. He rode well, but he was not welcome. At first, Keshik refused to entertain his presence, but Huenu had somehow convinced him after Maida had left them arguing to take her bath.

  They rode south towards Vogel, leaving behind the icy chill of the north and moving into the milder climate of the great Lac’un farmlands. Despite the opportunities for straight roads to cut through the vast plains, the trails that traversed the farms meandered like cattle trails. At regular intervals along the trails were specially designated areas where travellers could pitch tents and camp. Several of these had become small towns with inns and even markets.

  It was in one of these impromptu towns that Keshik decided to spend the night. The weather had been closing in all day, with heavy thunderclouds building from the north, an icy wind blowing at their backs and the temperature dropping steadily with the sunset. Maida looked with undisguised longing at the warm firelight flickering behind a window of the inn. Keshik saw her gaze and reined in his horse.

  ‘Stop here tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you need to ask?’ Maida said.

  They dismounted and made their way inside, where they were greeted by the silent stares of the innkeeper and the six drinkers sitting at the bar. Keshik strode in unconcerned, with Panxo at his left and Maida behind them.

  ‘We want rooms for the night, stabling for our horses and food,’ Keshik said into the silence.

  ‘Yar,’ the innkeeper said. ‘I have them all.’

  ‘We have coin to pay,’ said Maida.

  ‘Take a seat while I fix you a drink and we can talk about your coin.’

  The innkeeper gave a curt gesture to a young lad, who rose from his seat and went outside. Panxo gave Keshik a quizzical look.

  Kes
hik grunted. ‘Go with him,’ he said. ‘Make sure the horses are well housed.’

  When he had left, Keshik relaxed visibly. ‘I don’t like him,’ he said to Maida. ‘He’s not what he seems.’

  Maida had to agree. In the days since leaving Jooure, Panxo had given the semblance of being sullen and withdrawn, but his watchful gaze never missed a thing. For a man apparently lost in his own thoughts, he was far too observant and alert.

  ‘Where are you heading?’ the innkeeper asked, sliding two mugs across the bar to them.

  Instead of answering, Maida opened the small pouch she habitually wore around her neck and pulled out two coins. She held them up to the light for the innkeeper to see before pushing them back across the bar.

  ‘Tusemon coin,’ he said, picking them up. ‘Don’t see a lot of these.’ He hefted them appreciatively. ‘Good value.’

  Keshik sipped his wine. ‘Good wine,’ he echoed. ‘Now about our rooms …’

  Maida let the two men haggle good-naturedly over the price of their stay as she sipped her owndrink. When they agreed, she handed over the coins. The wine was spiced, rich and full-bodied. It was warmed and it eased her aches and soothed her mind. If the wine was this good, she could hardly wait for the bed.

  Panxo returned, bringing with him a gust of freezing wind before he could close the door.

  ‘Good decision to stay here, Keshik,’ he announced. ‘Not even the warmth of your friendship would have made any difference tonight.’

  At the name, the whole inn fell deathly silent. Maida’s brief moment of peaceful contentment vanished as tension filled the room. The innkeeper stared at Keshik’s face, as if seeing the moustache and the scars for the first time. His face went pale.

  ‘I am looking for a quiet night and good food, that is all,’ Keshik muttered. ‘I am not in the habit of killing people who provide what I pay for.’

  Maida suddenly chuckled mischievously. ‘I suppose this means we will not be troubled in our rooms?’

  ‘With Keshik, the Tulugma Swordmaster, in the inn, I think we can all rest easily in our beds tonight,’ a voice drawled from the shadows at the rear of the room.

  Maida strained to see who had spoken, but she could do no more than make out a figure. Panxo half rose and his hand went to his sword, but Keshik’s grip on his wrist stopped him. From Panxo’s grimace, Maida guessed the grip was as hard as it was fast.

  ‘Why do you say that, stranger?’ Keshik asked.

  ‘Who would risk facing the most feared swordsman in the world for the chance of lifting a few coins from sleeping travellers like us?’ the man replied. He remained hidden in the shadows, but his voice betrayed something of him.

  ‘Your accent declares you a Rilaman,’ Maida said.

  ‘Indeed. You have a keen ear, mistress.’

  ‘And your flattery declares it louder,’ Panxo grumbled.

  The hidden man laughed heartily and stepped out into the light. He was of average height but with the powerful shoulders, arms and chest of a swordsman. His short pale hair was brushed back from a high forehead above intelligent grey eyes. He was clad in simple leathers with a heavy cloak over his shoulders, a well-used sword hanging at his hip. As he stepped forwards, Keshik shook his head slowly as if in disbelief.

  ‘Tristan,’ he exclaimed. ‘I thought you long dead!’

  ‘Hoped,’ Tristan corrected.

  Keshik released his grip on Panxo’s wrist. ‘If you want to take offence at this man and attack him, I wish you well.’

  Tristan eyed Panxo warily. ‘He’s better than that,’ he said finally.

  Keshik shrugged and turned back to his drink. ‘He might slow you down for a moment or two.’

  Tristan laughed again. ‘Just long enough to work up a thirst.’

  Panxo glowered at the newcomer, whose smile did not dim.

  ‘Run away, boy,’ he said insultingly. ‘Let your elders talk about grown-up things.’

  Rage coloured Panxo’s face. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword and started to pull it out.

  ‘If your sword leaves its scabbard you will be dead before you see me move.’ Keshik did not bother turning to face the younger man as he spoke.

  Panxo snarled and slammed the sword back down. With a muttered curse, he spun on his heel and stalked from the inn. When he wrenched open the door, a swirl of snow blew in. He did not hesitate at the cold and slammed the door as he left.

  ‘Feisty,’ said Tristan after the swirling snow had settled.

  ‘Stupid,’ Keshik said.

  ‘Dangerous,’ Maida cautioned.

  ‘That sort usually is,’ Tristan agreed.

  ‘But usually only to themselves,’ said Keshik.

  Maida sighed and finished her wine. The innkeeper refilled it and pushed it back to her. She went to offer him more coin, but he shook his head.

  ‘The price included drinks,’ he said.

  Maida replaced the coins and sipped her wine. The alcohol was starting to work on her as she listened to Keshik and Tristan talk.

  ‘…seen you in an age,’ Tristan was saying.

  ‘Been up north,’ Keshik replied.

  ‘Never liked the cold enough to try the Wastes. I hear there is a lot of work available.’

  ‘I like the cold.’

  ‘Never did understand that. Personally, I like it a bit warmer, more like Aposmenos or Midacea. Plenty of work there, too.’

  ‘Never liked Aposmenosens or Midaceans,’ Keshik said.

  ‘You don’t like anyone.’

  Keshik had to smile. ‘I thought no one had noticed.’

  ‘So what brings you down into the warmth of Lac’u in such lovely company?’ Tristan raised his cup in salute to Maida, then gestured with his head towards the door.

  ‘Maida has been with me for a long time.’

  ‘Lucky man,’ Tristan said.

  Keshik raised his head to stare at Maida. His dark brown eyes were intent as he minutely examined her face. At first, Maida had found this scrutiny unnerving, but had come to appreciate it for what it was: Keshik loved her. Only she could really tell it, and then only after a long time coming to know the taciturn swordsman. He had once — very drunk and very happy after a particularly dangerous job — told her what he saw when he stared at her like this.

  ‘Your skin is flawless, pale like pure snow. Your eyes glint like the finest emeralds beneath hair the colour of flame. Your cheeks rise like snowdrifts heaped up by the northern wind, kissed by the pink of a frozen sunrise.’ There was more, a lot more, and whenever she remembered it she blushed. His appreciation and frank appraisal of her body was expressed in blunt, unflinching terms. Every time he stared at her and his eyes drank in her features, she had to lower her eyelids and look away. The honesty in his gaze made her weak.

  ‘Very lucky,’ Keshik agreed.

  ‘Fine, that explains the lovely Maida, but the unlovely Panxo …?’

  ‘A job in Vogel.’

  ‘That is a job you should avoid,’ Tristan said. ‘Vogel is a very unhealthy place at the moment.’

  ‘Vogel has always been an unhealthy place,’ Maida said.

  Tristan acknowledged her comment with a silent toast of his cup. ‘It has become more so recently,’ he said.

  ‘Which is why my employer has retained my services.’

  ‘And sent his lapdog to watch over you?’

  ‘He’s more than that,’ Maida said.

  ‘Oh, without doubt, beautiful Maida,’ Tristan said. ‘But first and foremost, he is here to watch you, friend Keshik.’

  ‘That is not a particularly profound observation.’

  ‘No, I mean beyond a normal role of keeping an eye on you or even protecting his employer’s interests. He is, as the lovely Maida has said, dangerous.’

  ‘Let him try.’

  ‘He won’t try; he will strike as a coward.’ Tristan lowered his voice. ‘I smell an assassin.’

  Maida drew in a sharp breath. ‘An assassin?’

 
; ‘He does have the look,’ Keshik agreed.

  ‘Do not turn your back on him.’

  ‘Are you busy at the moment?’

  ‘Not particularly. Why? Do you want company?’

  ‘I think I might need some.’

  ‘Done.’

  17

  ‘You gave everyone such a shock,’ Onaven told her. ‘It was just like when you were sick during the ritual that time.’

  Myrrhini did not answer. She had not been sick, neither during the ritual nor in the library. Somehow she had spoken a language she did not know, and she had not known that she was speaking it. But what language? And why was it forbidden?

  ‘I want some paper and some charcoal to write with,’ she said.

  ‘Of course, Myrri,’ Onaven said. ‘I will have them here for you when you get back from meeting with the Key Wielder.’

  Myrrhini sighed and accepted the inevitable. Joukahainen had summoned her again and nothing could interfere with his summons. Everything would have to wait until she returned. Onaven finished braiding Myrrhini’s hair and set about dressing her in the sumptuous costume.

  When she was done, she stepped back and minutely examined Myrrhini to ensure nothing was out of place or imperfect.

  ‘You will do beautifully,’ she finally declared.

  ‘Let’s get this over with,’ Myrrhini said. Onaven raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, very well, Onaven. The Eye of Varuun hears the call of the honoured Wielder and obeys.’ Onaven smiled and stepped back to usher the Eye of Varuun out into the corridor.

  ‘So you can speak the ancient language, Myrrhini,’ Joukahainen said.

  ‘No,’ Myrrhini said.

  The aged Key Wielder tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of his throne.

  ‘You were heard by Koslea and Aue uttering words in the forbidden tongue,’ he snapped.

  ‘If it is forbidden, how do they know I was speaking it?’

  Joukahainen did not answer. His fingers resumed their normal skittering. Myrrhini lowered her head to stare at the golden line in the floor. Her knees were already sore from kneeling on the cold stone and her back ached from the weight of her clothes. Get on with it, old man!