by Jim Galford
“I’m sorry,” Dalania whispered as she stopped, and Raeln could only stare at her hopelessly as his lungs tightened. “They were waiting for us.”
*
Waking gradually, Raeln’s first sensation was agony as his stomach muscles clenched around the stone embedded in his flesh. Someone else was nearby and he was on his back, but it took him a minute or two to make out where he was. Even the cold winds seemed to be gone, making him wonder how long he had been unconscious. He wanted to lash out and try to get to his friends, but he was well aware that aimlessly swinging at the air would do little good.
Opening his eyes, Raeln saw dry old wooden beams overhead that held up hardened clay bricks. It took him a moment to remember where he had seen similar building designs: the abandoned village outside the mine. Dismissing the idea that he was there, he noticed the rising smoke of a fire burning at one end of the room. Without being able to move easily, he could still see bits of furniture from the edges of his vision.
“Do not move or this will be worse,” warned a man sitting beside Raeln. When Raeln looked up at him, his eyes went straight to the black tattoos around the man’s eyes. Panicking, Raeln tried to stand, but the man put a firm hand on his chest, holding him down. “I had hoped to have this done before you woke,” he said, frowning. “Calm yourself, beast. The pain will get worse before it gets better. Much worse.”
Raeln could hardly breathe, trying to scream for help at the same time as he fought to stand. With the stone still in his stomach, it was all he could do to choke down small gasps of air. Before he could sit up, a woman and another man came to his other side. One grabbed his shoulders as the other moved down and grabbed his ankles. In his weakened state, he could not break their grip on him.
“I am sorry, but we have to do this,” explained the original man, and Raeln realized he was applying pressure to Raeln’s stomach as he used some form of tool to grab at the stone deep in the wound.
Raeln fought against the hold the Turessians had on him, but he was far too weak. They held him tightly as the man twisted the stone in his belly and adjusted his grip. With an agonizing tug against his insides, the Turessian ripped the stone free. Pain washed out Raeln’s vision, and his attempts to scream took the last of his breath away. Slowly, he felt himself sinking again, thinking he would never wake.
Sometime later, the world seemed to lighten, and Raeln opened his eyes to find he lay in another hut like the last one. This time there was little furniture around him and the old woman who had held his shoulders down now sat beside him, her worried expression creasing the tattoos on her face. Thin white hair lay over her shoulder, swept away from the shaved sides of her scalp. When he looked up at her, she smirked and sighed.
“We had thought we lost you, despite our efforts. Do you know where you are?”
“Captive,” he managed to croak out.
“Yes, after a fashion. Can you tell me what the last thing you remember was?”
Raeln groaned and closed his eyes. “Liris and the others beat us down so you could catch us. Doesn’t matter after that.”
“Liris?” the woman asked, frowning. “Could you draw her markings? I don’t know her.”
“No. All of the markings look the same to me.”
The Turessian woman chuckled and nodded. “I thought not. I am sorry for asking. I hadn’t thought about the fact that you can’t read. I sometimes forget and think you are people.”
Raeln snarled at her, though she kept smiling at him, undaunted. She did not seem to recognize she had insulted him. “I can read and write. My sister was a wizard. I received the best education our parents could give us.”
“A southern wizard? I doubt she could read more than a few words herself. I apologize, I know education is not the focus of your people. I do not mean to criticize. We get few uneducated barbarians out this way, unless they intend to invade. Were you trying to invade?”
“No, we were trying to sneak in. Doesn’t matter now. Finish killing me and be done with it.”
The woman laughed, reached down to Raeln’s stomach, and lifted a blood-soaked rag from his skin. When he looked down at it, he saw there was little more than a small cut remaining of his wound. It had been tended to expertly.
“We will not kill you, beast,” the woman told him, switching the rag for a clean one. “I am Preserver Yiral. Do they name your people or shall I call you by your breed?”
“Raeln of Hyeth.”
“Very good, Raeln. We will continue to tend to your wounds until you are able to work. Your companions are nearly healed and will be put to tasks within the day. I have firm hopes for your capabilities. We have few strong slave-caste left after the purging. You will be worth quite a lot to the clan, assuming we can keep you alive. Infection is difficult to heal if it is deep enough.”
“Slaves?” Raeln said, trying to sit up. Yiral shoved him back down. “Where are we?”
“You are in the clanhold of clan Feirenn. Our scouts brought you in before the dark ones could claim you. You will work our hold’s lands, likely moving heavy items around, given your size.”
“Oh, just kill me.”
“Why would we kill you? You are worth far more alive. Feirenn would never kill a slave-caste that can work. Not even you, these days. That would be poor use of our resources. The council might have other plans for slaves—”
“I’m no slave!” growled Raeln, shoving Yiral away as he sat up. Almost immediately his head spun and he nearly fell off the edge of the bed.
Yiral eyed him suspiciously and lifted part of his torn shirt to look at his shoulder. Frowning, she said, “You have no slave markings. That is truly rare so far from the southern lands. Did you travel far?”
“A few weeks,” he answered, the fight fading from his heart as dizziness made it difficult to think clearly. “No…a couple months, I think.”
“You would likely have been tired even without this…interesting…injury. Rest, knowing you are safe, Raeln. We will not harm you without reason.”
“Since when do your people need a reason to kill?” Raeln practically spat at her.
Yiral’s eyes narrowed and she replied, “Since when do yours send a handful of incompetent soldiers into Turessi without an army around them? Be mindful of your insults, Raeln. Even I have a limit to my patience. We have crushed armies that came onto our lands, and we are being kind in not executing all three of you.”
“My friends are not soldiers,” Raeln replied, rubbing at his face. “I was…not for some time, though. We were not attacking your lands. Yoska is a merchant, and Dalania little more than a watcher of the wilderness. They pose no threat.”
“None of those who have invaded have posed much threat,” admitted Yiral, her anger already cooling, judging by her tone. “You claim to be educated and also a soldier. My studies of the southlands may be incomplete, but I was under the impression that your armies are made up of those strong in arm, not mind.”
Raeln laughed weakly. “Generally true. We keep a few wizards in the ranks, when possible.”
“We do the opposite, Raeln. Our people keep a handful of those strong in arm to help pull the valued soldiers to safety. A slightly different philosophy from yours, and I would hope that helps you understand why I believe you would be no match for any Turessian in battle. We gauge wisdom by capabilities on the field of battle, though not with a sword.”
“I’ve held my own against plenty of wizards,” he said firmly, seeing she did not believe him. “Like I said, my sister is…was…a wizard. I wasn’t good at magic, but I had the same education.”
Patting his knee in what Raeln could only see as a dismissive gesture, Yiral answered, “Rest yourself and we can discuss this tomorrow. If you are educated, we will find a suitable member of the clan for you to prove it. Until then, do not worry yourself so much about whether we see you as educated or uneducated. To us, you are still a wildling. We certainly are not keeping you alive for your mind.”
Raeln stare
d at Yiral, trying to elicit any remorse or hesitation in her willingness to insult him. She neither flinched nor shied away, instead smiling slightly as she met his gaze. He wanted to claw her face off, but he could not make himself stand and go after her. His whole body hurt and he was so very tired.
While he tried to calm himself to keep from killing an old woman, Yiral began prattling on about something related to her clan that Raeln had no interest in. Finally he blurted out over her in midsentence, “Where are my friends? Have you done anything to them?”
Yiral stopped talking and glared at him, likely for being rude. He had seen that same expression on his mother’s face when he had been learning to abide by his oath to Ilarra and made the mistake of speaking publicly. “Your friends are alive and well. I take offense that you think we would harm them without reason. Given your unwillingness to even attempt to be pleasant, I believe I have made a mistake in trying to find any hint of civilization in you. You are no better than the other wildlings we find from time to time. Rest and we will see if your temperament improves.”
Yiral got up from her chair and went out the door of the small hut, letting in a burst of bitterly cold air before she shut it again. Raeln heard a lock close on the outside of the door, letting him know exactly what his options were, given the tiny windows of the hut. Unless he went through the door, he was going nowhere. He would need to regain much of his strength before he could bash through it. Doing so would be far from subtle and likely draw the attention of every Turessian in the area.
Raeln got to his feet slowly, keeping a hand at his side to be sure to know if it started bleeding again. Limping around the cramped quarters, he found basic amenities, such as a chamber pot, a bowl of water, and an old brush. There was nothing that would serve as a decent weapon or allow him to break out of the hut’s thick clay walls. The walls themselves appeared soft enough that he doubted he could crack them, no matter how hard he hit them, yet firm enough that he would likely wear down his claws long before digging through. That left him staring at the door again.
Sitting back down on the cot, Raeln put his head in his hands and wondered if he was to blame for the enslavement of his friends. Whether he was responsible or not, he had to find a way to free them, or he would never forgive himself.
As he thought on how to get his friends out of danger, he began coughing in the chill air of the hut, covering his mouth in the process. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered with blood. Escaping was not going to be easy. He would need to go along with the efforts of the Turessians to heal him, no matter the risk. Doing anything else would likely wind up with him dead before he got within sight of the others.
*
A little after the next dawn, Raeln woke from his meditation as the lock on the door snapped open. He blinked away the drowsiness that came with the light sleep he had put himself into, managing to compose himself and present the look of one who had been awake all along by the time the door swung open, revealing Yiral. He could see others, but Yiral closed the door quickly as she stepped inside and lowered her hood. Raeln had not noticed during her last visit that more tattoos ran across the shaved portions of her scalp and back over her ears. If it had some meaning, he had no idea what.
“I had wished…” she began, before looking down at the floor, where Raeln had discarded his shirt before resting. “I apologize. I always forget southern barbarians do not expect their clanmates to walk in at any time. Do you wish to cover your body? I do not know what your people’s modesty requires.”
Raeln made no effort to budge. If anything, he found himself straightening up to make sure that she had to see him clearly. “I’m fine. What did you want?”
Frowning, Yiral made a point of not looking at him. It was not the nervousness of someone who was offended morally, but Raeln thought she seemed uncomfortable with the very idea of him having his shirt off. Thinking back on what he had seen and heard about Turessians shunning “prideful” displays of themselves, he guessed she found the act of removing his shirt to be distasteful. All the more reason to leave it off.
“I have spoken to the other preservers,” she explained, looking anywhere but at him. “They reminded me that there have been a few other foreigners who claimed education, likely out of a hope of avoiding slavery entirely. You have admitted that you are no spellcaster, so we do not need to concern ourselves overly with honor and rank. However, they are willing to consider a place for you in a household, rather than as a laborer.”
“What do I have to do to get out of here?”
“Several things,” Yiral replied as she sat at the end of the bed, near his paws. She smoothed her robes and continued to keep her eyes on her own hands. “First, I need you to prove that you can read and write. Our children are taught that much before they are four, so I must begin there.”
Raeln laughed at her, getting a scowl in reply. “Four? Most of the humans don’t learn that until they are eight or more, if they learn it at all. My people might learn it by two, but I’ve never heard of a human…” He watched Yiral’s face. She was absolutely serious. Clearing his throat, he said, “I can read and write.”
Nodding, Yiral passed him a rolled parchment, which he took. “Read it to me.”
Raeln grinned at the idea of how easy his task was, unrolling the parchment. Inside, he saw endless flowing patterns of the Turessian runewords, like those on Yiral’s face. They were as meaningless to him as trying to read words on the waves of a river. He could not even be certain which way the parchment should be arranged.
Sighing, he rolled the parchment back up. “I can’t read that,” he said, leaning over the side of the bed. Putting the tip of his first finger’s claw into the dirt of the floor, he traced out several words. “My name, the names of my family members, and the proper spelling of the major cities from the region where I lived. I don’t know Turessian, but I’m not illiterate.”
Yiral bent to study the text on the ground, which she then smoothed away with her boot. “I can read your people’s script. I will award you this test, though many of my fellow preservers may consider reading and writing that language to be little better than the paintings goblins and other rodents make on their cave walls. You will need to do far more, Raeln. You have only proven that you can match the skill of a child. I would ask for a more…drastic…test of your wisdom. If you wish, I can make the case for you working in a house now, but if you can pass another test, you may be able to ensure a far easier life for yourself, even after I am gone. With that, you might even be able to convince my brothers and sisters to allow your friends to join you.”
“Do whatever you need to,” he answered without hesitation, thinking anything they did to ease his life would also mean it would be easier to escape.
“You are not ready. Rest a few more days. I will have slaves bring you meals until your strength has returned. You will need it.”
Without another word, Yiral got to her feet and started toward the door. She stopped there with her back to him, as though thinking for a while. Turning slightly without looking directly at him, she finally said, “We are not an unkind people, Raeln. If you wish company, we would not be averse to sending a missive to another clan to see if there are more like you in the region. A trade would be simple and possibly ease the burden I see in you. There is no reason to run if you have another at your side—”
“Just send my friends to me,” he snapped, straightening his back and readying his mind to return to meditation. “I don’t want or need company of the kind you’re suggesting. Prepare your tests. I’ll wait.”
Yiral smiled slightly at that before hurrying from the building. The lock clicked shut with a sharp finality that made Raeln flinch.
*
Several days later—how many, he had trouble guessing, given how much of each day he spent resting and how randomly the meals were brought to him—Raeln stood ankle-deep in snow with the sun rising behind him. From what he could see of Feirenn’s lands, the clan occupied a reg
ion east of the stony hills where he and the others had been found, mostly settled into a dense section of evergreen woods. Huts of varying quality had been set up all over the area, though most had been clustered either up on the side of a hill near where he waited or down in the lower lands, close to what appeared to be a mill of some sort. The hut where he had spent the last few days locked away was down there. He had gotten his first look at the village when Yiral had led him up to where he now stood, waiting for whatever test they intended for him.
“They have found a reasonable challenger to prove your wisdom,” Yiral whispered, standing off to his side as he waited. She had escorted him up the hill and told him to stand there until the time was right—from what Raeln had gathered, he was not allowed out on his own. Still, he was in no position to try to escape just yet, so he was happy to follow her obediently. For now.
As Yiral led him up the hill to a large open space, a dozen other Turessians had come out and gathered in a ring around them and silently watching. Like Yiral, they wore black robes, boots, and gloves, all of a very simple in cut. Some had completely shaved heads under their hoods, though not all. Many eyed Raeln with suspicion, though a few of the younger children watched him with curiosity, whispering questions to their parents. He had seen similar looks from his own village’s children the first time a vicious little kobold had wandered through, scaring them all.
Standing there waiting, Raeln had plenty of time to study these people. They did not have the maniacal look many of the Turessians he had seen in the south. The children appeared as normal as any, aside from the tattoos that marked some of those nearing their teens. Were it not for those markings and the lack of physical contact among anyone—including parents and children old enough to walk—he could have let himself believe they were people of any other land.