Shadow Cross (The Shadow Accords Book 5)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Anger surged through her once more, but she kept it contained within her. She would not react; she would not do anything that would endanger her ability to find freedom. But that would take patience, and patience had not always been her strong suit.

  But… she couldn’t risk being too patient. Were she to be lax in what she planned, the caravan could escape, pulled by horses that could move faster than her. What would happen were she to lose sight of it? She didn’t know where it headed, and even if she had, she didn’t know these lands well enough to know where to find it. That meant dealing with the buyer quickly enough that she could return and follow the wagons.

  She flicked her gaze to the cloudless sky and the moon. She had the night.

  The buyer seemed content with what he saw, and he stepped back, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a thick purse that clinked as he tossed it to her captor. The flat-eyed man held the purse open, flicked his finger through it as he seemed to count the coins within, and once content, he tied it closed once more and pocketed it.

  A dark thought came to Carth’s mind. What was the value of a woman like her? Did they know that she had access to magic as she did? Would that have made her more valuable? Or was it only her spirited nature that made her more valuable?

  Those thoughts sickened her, as did the idea that the same transaction had happened many times before.

  She had thought that the women would’ve been sold openly, and was relieved to know that such trade was not welcomed throughout the south. It was a relief to know that such transactions had to be done stealthily, and under the cover of night.

  In many ways, Carth appreciated that the transaction happened at night. At night came the shadows, and with the shadows came Carth. The shadows were hers, and it was time these men began to understand that.

  When her buyer grabbed her wrist to lead her away, she did not resist. She glanced at the moon again, noting the time she had remaining, and wondered if she would be able to break free and return to the wagons before the morning.

  Would she be able to do so?

  15

  As her buyer led her away, Carth whimpered softly, hoping to convince this man of her fear. She needed him to think her subdued, needed him to think that she would be afraid of something worse happening to her.

  And she was afraid.

  She feared what he intended for her. A man like this, a man willing to purchase a woman and turn her into a slave, likely using her in some sort of horrible way she could not imagine… what would it take? What sort of thoughts burned inside his brain to allow him to do something like that to another person?

  The man stopped and jerked on her wrist. “You will be quiet as we move through the night. I see that he’s struck you before. Do not think I will be any less forceful.”

  Any hope that this man might be somewhat reasonable, that he might not have interest in harming her or treating her with the same disrespect as the flat-eyed man had treated her, evaporated with that comment. That gave her all the answer she needed as to what sort of man he was, and took away any hesitancy she might’ve had about treating him with violence.

  “I only want to go home,” she said with a whisper. She tried pitching it in such a way that she would be believable, that he would think that all she really wanted was to return to her home. If only she had a home. The Goth Spald was her home.

  “You’re with me now.”

  He grabbed onto her wrist and dragged her forward. Surprisingly, he didn’t lead her towards the lights in the village. He brought her towards a narrow path that wound through the tall grasses, leading towards the dark smear of trees in the far distance. Curiosity stayed her hand and prevented her from attacking him. She didn’t know if he had any weapons on him, but she suspected she could incapacitate him before he could react, and that she could get free fairly quickly. Partly, she wanted to know where he was taking her. She had time, likely several hours from the angle of the moon as it moved through the night sky, but not enough to be too complacent.

  When they reached the trees, Carth noted two other men.

  She swore to herself. She’d missed her opportunity.

  Had she attacked before, she would’ve been able to escape. Now she had to contend with three men.

  If she had access to her magic, or even to her knives, she wouldn’t fear the odds. As it was, she was at a disadvantage.

  The longer she walked with the anger still boiling within her, burning through the poison the flat-eyed man had used on her and the other women, the more she began to have a clear mind.

  She still could not reach for her powers and knew that was intentional. But why?

  What was it they used on her that prevented her from accessing those abilities? Even with Ras, when he had captured her, he had not separated her completely from the flame or from the shadows. She had been able to reach them but had not been able to use them against him.

  The fact that she was completely separated from them now, that she could not reach them, scared her more than anything else. She might have a clear mind, but she did not have the resources she was accustomed to.

  The man stopped near the other two. Carth noted that three horses were saddled near the tree line. Horses were rare in the north, but she’d seen them more commonly in the south, and the wagons had been pulled by four horses each, lumbering along, pulling the wagons with them, moving at a pace she would not have been able to maintain had she been marching alone.

  One of the men, a smaller man with a hooked nose and eyes that barely reflected the light of the moon, stepped forward out of the tree line. He wore a short sword on his belt, and he moved with a grace that spoke of comfort using his weapons. This was a man to watch, a man she knew she would need more than only her knives to confront safely.

  “Why this one?”

  Her buyer glanced back at her. A dark sort of smile twisted his mouth. “They called her spirited.”

  “Spirited? What does that mean?” the smaller man asked.

  The third, larger man, who in some ways reminded her of Guya with the way his arms bulged beneath his shirt, muscles even rippling beneath his pants, stood with his arms crossed, watching them wordlessly.

  Her buyer chuckled. “Spirited because they don’t know what they had. They never know. That’s why they dose them with slithca syrup.”

  At least now Carth knew what they had used. The man pulled the vial of powder from his pocket and shook it.

  “They mix this with water. Less potent that way, but it would be tasteless, and it has the added advantage that it would remove any potential from those with it.”

  “This one doesn’t appear to have any potential.”

  The man shot Carth an interested look. “No, she does not. But this was the one he said was the most difficult capture. The most difficult capture is often the one who has the most potential.”

  “Spirited?” the smaller man asked.

  The other man nodded again. “That is what he said.”

  What had happened here? What had she gotten herself into?

  These men seem to know about different abilities and seemed unconcerned about the fact that she possessed them, not even worried about what those abilities might be.

  Who were they? How was it that they seem so unconcerned with the fact that she might possess some way of harming them?

  She felt conflicted. Here she wanted nothing more than to return to the caravan, rescue the women, and kill the flat-eyed man so that she could reclaim her knives. At the same time, she wanted to understand who these three men were, and discover what they might know about her and whether they might know of others like her.

  “Where did she come from?” the smaller man asked.

  Her buyer grabbed her by the cheeks again, pinching her face in his strong grip. Carth chose not to fight, knowing that doing so would only reveal herself to him now. As far as he knew, she was still drugged. She wanted him to think that for as long as possible, needing to use that to get the advanta
ge.

  “Look at her dark hair. That’s not the southern trait. Light skin as well. I think she’s from one of the northern isles. I’m not sure which one, but once we get her talking, she’ll share.”

  “The north?” the smaller man asked. “Where would they come across somebody like that?”

  “You know all the ships that come through Asador. Likely they grabbed her off a ship, thinking her nothing more than a courtesan. They have weird customs in the north.”

  The large man opened his mouth and grunted out his response. “Strange powers, too.”

  The other two men looked to him, and both of them nodded. Her buyer spoke. “Yes. And strange powers. That’s why we have her. Whatever power she possesses, we need to understand. We can use that power.” He nodded to her. “Bring her along.”

  Were they with the Hjan? She didn’t think so. They didn’t appear to have the scars she associated with the Hjan, and none of them had moved by the strange flickering movements that Invar had referred to as traveling. Yet… what else would they be?

  “How far are we going to get tonight?” the smaller man asked.

  Her buyer glanced from Carth to the horses. He frowned, and then, with a motion so swift she didn’t see it coming, he struck her on the back of the head, and she crumpled.

  16

  Carth awoke to early-morning light, a grayish sort of dawn spreading through the trees. The horse swayed beneath her and she feared toppling off it, but somehow did not.

  Her head throbbed, and it angered her that she had now been knocked unconscious twice in a short period of time of time, both times by men who had not seemed to have any sort of special power or ability. Here she had thought herself so powerful, and so clever after learning to play the game Tsatsun, but she had been bested more than once by men who should not have bested her.

  Trees rose around her, and the smell of pine and thick wet earth clogged her nostrils, letting her know that she traveled through a forest. With the growing light of day, she knew that she had been out too long, long enough that her goal of reaching the caravan, rescuing the women, and destroying the flat-eyed man was no longer possible.

  A plan formed in her mind—one in which she stole the horse and escaped from these men, possibly killing them as she went—before she dismissed it. She had no ability to ride a horse.

  Still, she needed to escape. That much she did know.

  Her mind remained clear, something that had not been the case when she had woken from her captivity with the flat-eyed man.

  Another horse rode alongside her. The buyer from the night before leaned towards her face, and in the light of day, she was able to see the way he studied her. He had dark brown eyes and hair to match, and a more youthful face than she would’ve expected. In spite of that, his expression was hard, and she knew he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. This was not a man for her to overlook. This was the kind of man who led another deadly man like the one who carried the sword.

  Whatever else happened, she would have to be careful.

  She reached for the shadows and felt a flicker, almost as if she could touch them, but then they faded from her, slipping free from her grasp.

  Carth bit back an angry swear under her breath. She shifted her focus, trying to reach for the S’al that burned within her, but unlike the night before, it no longer came to her.

  The man smiled slightly. “If you think to reach for some sort of ability, know that they would be limited. I have given you slithca. Do you know what that is?”

  Carth shook her head and then stopped because of the throbbing within it. Her head ached from where he had struck her. “No,” she croaked.

  “Most with abilities in the south recognize slithca. This confirms my suspicion. Where are you from?”

  “Balcath.” Carth used the same island she’d used before. It would fit his expectations, far enough north that she could have been from there.

  Her captor cocked his head. “Balcath? Your complexion is far too light for those of native to Balcath. And your speech doesn’t have their usual inflection.”

  He leaned forward and grabbed the sides of her face once more, pinching her with that hard grip of his. Carth clenched her jaw, wanting to say something, wishing for the strength to resist, to fight, to strike back. She hated the fact that her magic failed her.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Talun.” She would let him think she was from anyplace but Ih-lash, or even from Nyaesh. If he had heard of either of those, he might know the nature of her magic, so that when it did return—and she was determined to see that it did return—he might have some way to counter it, much like Ras had been able to counter her.

  It was bad enough that he had given her some sort of drug while she had been unconscious that prevented her from reaching the magic. It would be worse if they could do that as well as counter it were she to regain the ability to reach it.

  “Talun? They have a particular marking they place upon their children.” He grabbed her arm and yanked up her sleeve, before doing the same thing with her other arm. A smile spread across his face. “Not Talun. Not Balcath. You have an accent unlike any I’ve ever heard. I hear hints of Salosh and Yinr, but it’s not what I would expect. I would guess that you are well-traveled, but with a woman your age, I would not have expected such travels. Tell me, where are you from?”

  His tone had grown harder the more he spoke, and Carth felt a flutter of fear in her chest. Anything she might say might be misconstrued, but worse, she suspected he would know if she did not tell the truth. This was a learned man, one who recognized nations in the far north, to the point where he recognized small details that Carth had not even known. A scholar? It was possible that he didn’t really know, but more likely was the possibility that he did know. And if he did know, it wouldn’t be long before he discovered where she really was from. It was all the more reason for her to conceal it as long as possible.

  “Vichton,” Carth said, naming a village that had been destroyed by the blood priests. The village was no more, and there was no way to prove that she was or was not from Vichton. In addition, the village was so small that she doubted anyone would recognize it. If he did, she had another answer prepared. “My homeland was destroyed, and my parents moved us, trying to find a safer place. That’s how I ended up in Asador.” That much he could allow to be true. Let him think she had come here for safety. Let him think that she was unaware of her abilities.

  Her captor’s brow furrowed and he shrugged. “Perhaps you are. We will know soon enough. You won’t be able to reach your abilities, though I wonder how much you know of them. Enough to make you—what was the word?—feisty. Yes, enough to make you feisty.”

  He left her alone then, leading his horse away from her, so that Carth rested across the saddle, her head still throbbing with every movement, questions racing through her mind.

  This was no simple man. This was not someone who had purchased a slave for prostitution; this was something else. More than ever, she needed to know why, and who he was.

  Still… she had to do so quickly, because she needed to get back to the caravan before it traveled too far. She had to get back to the caravan before another of those women were sold as she had been, before anything worse could happen to them.

  And she still wanted to destroy the flat-eyed man.

  17

  They reached a small clearing in the forest, the sun burning through the trees, and Carth was lifted off the back of the horse and thrown to the ground with no more concern than were she a sack of grain. She cushioned her fall, rolling to the side, but her breath still was pressed out from her as she landed.

  She suppressed a grunt, trying to limit how much she revealed herself. Already she was concerned that the scholar who had purchased her knew more about her than she wanted. He had discovered enough in the few moments that he had spoken to her to make her aware that he likely would pick up on small details without her needing to share anything. It exposed
her, making her uncomfortable in a way she had not felt when she had been captured by Ras.

  Carth looked up through the trees, noting the fading light of day. She logged a count within her mind, keeping track of how many days it had been since she had been in the wagon. The longer she went, the less likely she would be able to return.

  Find the flat-eyed man, find the wagons, and rescue the women.

  She kept that chant within her mind, knowing that if she did not, those women would be sold and worse would happen to them.

  Her buyer seemed to have no interest in harming her. He might have held her, and he might confine her, but he had done nothing to harm her so far. That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t change, or that he wouldn’t strike her. She prepared for that possibility, knowing just how likely it was that he could change in a heartbeat.

  The smaller man with the hooked nose threw a waterskin at her. Carth glanced at it, afraid to drink from it, especially considering that she thought that she had been poisoned when she had last drunk some water.

  The man grinned. He picked up the waterskin and shook it. Popping the top off it, he said, “Just drink, all right? It’s safe enough.”

  He took back the water bottle and took a long drink himself. When he replaced the cap, he tossed the water bottle at her feet, and Carth simply stared at it.

  Her hands and legs weren’t confined. They didn’t seem concerned about possibility that she might run. Without any abilities, she doubted she’d get far.

  She eyed the horses tied to one of the trees with an appraising stare. If she could reach one of the horses, she thought she might be able to untie it quickly, and… then what?

  She wasn’t nearly as skilled a rider as these men. She didn’t doubt they would be able to chase her down with the other two horses, and without her abilities, without the potential to use either the shadows or the power of the flame, there was very little she could do if they were to recapture her.