Griffin's Shadow

by Lelsie Ann Moore

  “Marcus. I got your message, and I was intrigued. Where is this extraordinary merchandise you wish to show me?”

  “He is right over there, Mistress, sitting against that post…. Ashinji! On your feet, now!”

  Upon hearing his name, Ashinji looked to where Marcus and the woman stood waiting, but couldn’t bring himself to move. The trauma of his situation had momentarily paralyzed him.

  “You heard the boss!” snarled Lacus. He aimed a kick at Ashinji’s ribs, but a sharp word from Marcus halted his foot in mid-swing. Slowly, Ashinji climbed to his feet. He moved to stand before Marcus and the woman, pushing tendrils of wet hair out of his face with his shackled hands.

  The woman gasped and her eyes widened. “Is this…is he…?”

  Marcus bobbed his head. “Yes! He is, indeed, Mistress.”

  “But…however did you get him?”

  “I bought him in Amsara from the duke’s daughter. She’s leading a small campaign against the local elven warlord. This one was captured in battle by some of her soldiers.”

  “He’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  Ashinji studied the woman closely while she and Marcus discussed him as they would a stallion or bull. She still possessed much of her youthful vigor, even though the lines at the corners of her dark eyes betrayed her maturity. Her lustrous black hair framed her face in a complicated coiffure; her fine clothes and jewelry spoke of her wealth and position. The three men—two flanking her and one at her back—wore plain but well-made clothing. Ashinji guessed they were high-ranking servants in the lady’s household.

  “He says he’s noble born, the son of one of their lords,” Marcus continued. “He speaks excellent Soldaran.”

  The lady looked impressed. “Is this true? Do you speak our language?” she addressed Ashinji, then cocked her head to one side and provided the answer to her own question. “Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes. What is your name?”

  “Ashinji Sakehera…Mistress,” Ashinji replied softly.

  “Ashinji,” the lady said, rolling his name on her tongue as if savoring a sweetmeat. “The sound of it is so…so like you,” she added. “Exotic and sensual.” Her dark eyes smoldered.

  “He’s young, fit, and a trained warrior, Mistress. He will do well for you, however you choose to use him,” Marcus said. “Do you want to see him stripped?” The lady nodded in affirmation.

  Ashinji’s gut churned. Wild thoughts of escape flashed through his head, but in his heart, he knew them to be futile. He remembered the human girl, bound and naked on the auction block. Asa the blond bear came forward, hands grasping, but Ashinji fended him off.

  “I’ll do it myself,” he growled and awkwardly wriggled out of his tunic. He raised his chin in defiance as Mistress de Guera’s eyes took in his naked body from head to toe. Her gaze lingered for several heartbeats below his waist then swept up to pause at his left shoulder.

  She raised a perfectly manicured finger and pointed. “Is that a new scar I see there on his shoulder?” she inquired.

  “Uh, yes, Mistress, it is,” Marcus answered. “He was shot during his capture. I first saw him right after the camp surgeon had cut the arrow out of him. He was in bad shape, but I gladly took on the task of nursing him back to health.” Marcus smiled broadly. “As you can see, the wound healed beautifully, and he’s fully recovered.”

  “So it seems.” Mistress de Guera’s tongue darted over her lips. “You may cover yourself…Ashinji.” Ashinji felt a wave of relief as he pulled the rough tunic back down over his body. He had experienced humiliation in the past at the hands of his brother, but Sadaiyo’s worst could not compare to what he had just endured. He struggled to hold his head up, though his cheeks burned with shame and fury.

  “As I’ve said, Ashinji, here, is a trained fighter. He’d be an excellent draw as a gladiator,” Marcus pointed out.

  “Yes, he would. The people are always hungry for the exotic, the novel. Aruk-cho is still one of my biggest money-makers. The crowds turn out in droves to see him whenever he appears. A pureblooded elf is something no one has yet seen in the Grand Arena.” Mistress de Guera stepped forward, and before Ashinji could dodge or pull away, she seized his head between her hands and stared straight into his eyes. He froze.

  “Perhaps I have another use in mind for him,” she murmured. A little piece of Ashinji’s mind, detached from all the horror, noted that he and the lady stood at the same height. A fragment of memory flashed across his mind’s eye— one of the many moments when he had been this close to Jelena, preparing to savor the taste and feel of her warm, soft mouth. Unbidden tears welled in his eyes.

  Mistress de Guera held him thus for what seemed like an eternity. The scent of roses swirled around them.

  “There is such sadness in you, Ashinji,” she said.

  “Do you wonder why, Mistress?” he replied in a ragged voice.

  She shook her head. “No, of course not.” She trailed a finger across his lips and stepped back. “Name your price, Marcus.”

  “I couldn’t part with him for less than two hundred imperials, Mistress,” Marcus replied, rubbing his palms together.

  “I want him, Marcus, but I won’t be robbed. I’ll give you one hundred.”

  Marcus threw up his hands. “Mistress de Guera, for you and only you would I sell him at a discount, but I have to recoup the extra expense it took to get him here. I had to pay for the medicine and the special food that restored his health out of my own pocket, you know. Give me one-fifty and I’ll make some profit, at least.”

  The lady rolled her eyes. “Your sad story doesn’t interest me, Marcus. One twenty five.”

  “One-forty, Mistress. Please, have some compassion! You must admit he’s worth every copper.”

  “One-thirty, and not a sol more.”

  “We have a deal, my lady,” Marcus purred. He grinned and held out his hand. Mistress de Guera huffed and shook her head, but she took Marcus’ hand and shook it. A tiny smile flickered over her lips as she glanced toward Ashinji.

  So, it’s done, Ashinji thought. At least I’ve been spared the humiliation of a public auction. He watched as one of Mistress de Guera’s servants stepped forward and removed a leather pouch from his belt. He handed the pouch to his mistress, who opened it and carefully counted out the agreed upon price and dropped the coins into Marcus’ waiting palm.

  “I’ll need proof of ownership,” the mistress said. Marcus rummaged around in his belt pouch and produced a folded piece of paper.

  “I trust, since this was a private sale, we can, ah, avoid full disclosure to the market clerks?” He held out the paper. “I’d prefer to pay as little tax as possible.”

  “Of course,” the lady agreed, unfolding the paper and perusing the contents. “Well, this all seems to be in order.” She refolded the paper and tucked it into the wide belt at her waist.

  “It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Mistress de Guera,” Marcus said with a grin. He turned to face Ashinji. “I know you can’t appreciate this, but I did you a big favor by selling you to this lady. I could’ve sold you to one of the brothels or to a torture house. At least now, you’ll have a chance to win your freedom. Good luck to you, Ashinji. I mean that. Hold out your hands.”

  Ashinji obeyed, because he could do nothing else. Marcus removed the shackles from his wrists, but another of the mistress’s servants stepped up and snapped a fresh pair on almost before Marcus had taken his off. He then attached a stout chain lead and deferentially placed the handle into the hand of his mistress.

  Mistress de Guera gave the chain a gentle tug. “Come along, Ashinji,” she ordered and turned to walk toward the front gates of the main market. The three servants closed up around Ashinji, both to shield him from curious eyes and to block any possibility of escape.

  A sedan chair awaited just outside the gates, a quartet of burly slaves crouched beside it, sweating in the midmorning sun. Mistress de Guera mounted, assisted by one of her servants, and the slaves
hoisted the chair to their shoulders. Another servant secured the leash attached to Ashinji’s manacles to the back of the chair, then unfurled a large parasol and held it over his mistress’s head. The procession started off. Ashinji looked back once over his shoulder to see Marcus and his two assistants standing beside the gates, watching.

  To his astonishment, Marcus waved. Ashinji turned away in confusion.

  Waves of heat rose from the dusty road. Ashinji’s damp hair dried quickly and now hung down his back in a tangle. He longed for a comb and some almond oil.

  Strange how such little things seem so important now, he thought.

  Mistress de Guera remained silent and aloof in her chair. The slaves set a steady pace toward the stone bulk of the Grand Arena. The servants walked in silence as well, ignoring Ashinji. He felt like a ghost, floating along in their midst.

  They approached the Arena from the rear, entering a vast complex of annexes that sprawled out from the main structure like the wings of a great bird. The bearers turned down a wide alley between rows of high brick walls broken at regular intervals by tall, wooden gates. They halted outside one set of gates which resembled all the others, except for a brass plaque attached to one post. Ashinji could not read the words engraved upon them—they were too small for him to see from where he stood—but he guessed that they identified this particular place.

  Two of the servants scurried forward to push open the gates and the slaves bore Mistress de Guera through. Ashinji had no choice but to follow.

  He found himself walking across a small, grass covered quadrangle toward a set of inner gates. One of the servants shouted and the gates swung open to reveal a much larger, sand-floored enclosure.

  The yard lay empty under the glare of the sun. Wooden posts sunk into the ground at regular intervals stood around the perimeter. An awning of canvas ran the length of one side. Beneath the awning, Ashinji could see the deeper darkness of open doorways. At the far end of the yard, opposite the gates, stood a two-story building, surrounded by a brick wall of its own. A small arched gateway pierced the wall, blocked by what looked like an iron grille. The chair bearers made for the house and set their mistress down before the gate.

  Mistress de Guera spoke for the first time since leaving the slave market.

  “Send Aruk-cho to me in a quarter turn,” she ordered. She climbed out of the chair, straightening her skirts as she alighted.

  “Yes, Mistress,” the youngest of the servants answered, then turned on his heel and sped away.

  “Bring him,” Mistress de Guera said, indicating Ashinji with a flick of her wrist. The older of the remaining servants untied Ashinji’s leash from the chair and pulled him along in the mistress’s wake. They passed through the iron gate— which had been cleverly fashioned into the semblance of a climbing rosebush— then across a small, fragrant garden humming with bees and through an arched doorway into the cool interior of the house.

  It took a moment for Ashinji’s eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the dwelling, but when he could finally discern his surroundings, he saw a large open room full of low, wooden furniture, ornate carpets underfoot, and gauzy hangings softening the walls. The far end of the room opened onto a courtyard.

  Mistress de Guera settled gracefully onto a padded bench. “Leave us,” she commanded, and the two manservants promptly withdrew, though Ashinji had no doubt they would remain within earshot should their mistress require them. “You may sit, if you wish.” She indicated the carpeted floor. Ashinji considered what it would mean if he sat at this woman’s feet, decided it was pointless to worry about such things any longer, and sat.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she said.

  “I am the second child of Sen and Amara, Lord and Lady of Kerala. My father is the Commanding General of the King’s Army of Alasiri. I have a wife, who I love more than my own life, and a child on the way who I may never see.” His voice broke, and he had to pause, lest he cry out in anguish. Mistress de Guera sat in silence, waiting, as he mastered himself enough to continue.

  “I have an older brother and three younger sisters. My wife’s father is Keizo Onjara, King of Alasiri…I am not sure what else you wish to know.”

  “When Marcus said you claimed to be a nobleman, he didn’t say you were a prince.” Mistress de Guera leaned forward and Ashinji caught the scent of roses.

  “I am not a prince,” he corrected her. “I am married to the king’s daughter.”

  “How did you learn to speak Soldaran so well?”

  “Languages come easily to me. I know Sharan and a little bit of Qoum, as well.”

  Mistress de Guera sighed and leaned back. “I hear the pain in your voice, Ashinji. You miss your home, your family… your wife. You fear you will never see any of them again, and truthfully, you probably won’t. Still, there is a chance for you to survive and to make a place for yourself here. I’m going to give you a choice, the last one of any consequence you’ll get as a slave. You can go to my stable and earn your keep and possibly your freedom as a gladiator. You’ll be treated just like all the rest of my fighting slaves. Or… you can live in this house, with me, as my personal slave.”

  Ashinji studied Mistress de Guera’s face but her visage remained smooth, almost expressionless. Tentatively, he reached out with his mind to brush the surface of her consciousness and encountered only calm anticipation.

  “If you choose to live in my house, you’ll be allowed to come and go as you please,” the mistress continued. “I’ll dress you in clothes befitting your position, and you’ll dine at my table. You’ll share my bed as well.” She arose, cat-like, from the bench and stood over Ashinji. Gently, she began to caress the top of his head, running her fingers through his tangled hair.

  “I can make your life here very easy, beautiful one,” she whispered.

  “Jelena, my wife, is my soul-mate, Mistress,” Ashinji answered. “I could never bring myself to betray her, not even to save myself pain and hardship… I must choose to be a fighter.”

  Mistress De Guera continued to stroke Ashinji’s hair for few more heartbeats. “Very well,” she sighed, then stepped back and regarded him with disappointment. “I can’t say I’m surprised, though I did hope… I can keep you in my house by force, but I won’t. I’d rather you come to me willingly. Corvin!” she called out. The senior manservant appeared. “Is Aruk-cho here yet?” she asked.

  “He’s waiting outside the gate, Mistress,” Corvin answered.

  “Give Ashinji here over to him.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” Corvin stepped forward and grabbed the back of Ashinji’s tunic. He gave it a sharp tug. “On your feet, slave,” he ordered.

  Fighting a surge of anger, Ashinji complied.

  “Ashinji, look at me,” Mistress de Guera commanded and he raised his eyes to meet hers. “My offer remains open. Should you change your mind, just get word to me.” She waved her hand and Corvin gave his back a firm shove, propelling him toward the entrance to the house.

  Ashinji exited, blinking, into the heat and heavy fragrance of the garden. A bee darted past his ear and he swung reflexively, hitting himself in the face with the chain that bound his wrists together. Cursing, he rubbed his jaw.

  Corvin guffawed. “I hope you swing a sword better than you do a chain, tink!”

  “I would not come within striking distance of me when next I hold a weapon, if I were you, human,” Ashinji responded in a low voice. Corvin sniffed, but held his tongue.

  They approached the gate and Corvin stepped in front of Ashinji to push it open. “Aruk-cho!” he called out. “The Mistress has got fresh meat for you!”

  Ashinji stepped through the gate onto the hot sand of the yard. Something large and dark stood beyond.

  Ashinji gaped in astonishment.

  An akuta!

  Chapter 26

  A Gladiator’s Life

  Ashinji had first learned about the race of horse people from an old book in his father’s library, but until now, he believed th
ey had died out many years ago. In the ancient past, the akuta had been staunch allies of the elves.

  Built like a man from his torso upward, with powerfully muscled arms and broad shoulders, the akuta stood at least a head taller than Ashinji. Just below his waist, where the hips and legs of an elven man would have been, the four-legged body of a horse began. His hide glistened like black satin in the sun. A thick mane of black hair sprouted from his head and cascaded over his shoulders to brush his withers.

  A heavy leather harness crisscrossed his upper body and attached to a thick, metal-studded belt encircling his man’s waist. Leather guards covered both forearms. An enormous, curved sword hung at his side.

  The akuta’s fathomless black eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Ashinji.

  “My heart grieves to see you here, friend,” he rumbled in a voice like distant thunder.

  “I had no idea any of the akuta still lived,” Ashinji replied. “Are there many more of you?” He stared in awe at the creature, remembering his dream of several weeks ago.

  “We are far fewer in number these days, but we hold our own, much like our old friends the elves do. I am Aruk-cho of the Wakani Clan.”

  “I am Ashinji Sakehera.”

  “I will see to Ashinji now, Corvin. You may go.” Corvin’s chin shot up and a look of offense twisted his plain features. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stamped back through the gate, disappearing into the garden.

  Aruk-cho produced a set of keys from a pouch on his belt and unlocked the manacles on Ashinji’s wrists. Sighing with relief, Ashinji massaged where the metal had chafed his skin.

  “Follow me,” the akuta directed as he headed off across the yard toward a long, low building, the manacles swinging from his hand.

  “How did you end up here, Aruk-cho?” Ashinji inquired. He had to scramble to keep up with the akuta’s long, rolling stride.

  “I was a slave like you, once. I made the mistake of going up against the chieftain of my tribe. I lost, and so found myself in bondage, sold to the Soldarans. That was many years ago.”