“We did.” Master Durnik displayed his forearm and the manacle upon it. “An eternal reminder of our time in bondage. Gods strike me down if I ever complain about a late night again.”
Yaz smiled though he privately suspected their time at the tower was over.
“There’s no way we can sneak everyone out with those brands,” Silas said. “After the chaos this afternoon, they’ll be sure to check everyone at the gate, assuming they let anyone out at all.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Yaz said. “Our only option as I see it, is to pretend to be their owners. We’ll claim to be taking them to an estate outside the city. The trick will be convincing the guards to let us out without taking too close a look at everyone.”
“I believe I can help with that,” Sage Fry said. “With some glue and shredded paper, I can make it look like we have a skin condition. Add a little black ink to the mix and we’ll really be scary.”
“That could work. Silas, would you take over on lookout detail and ask Sandul and the others to come back here?”
“You got it.” Silas hurried back toward the door.
“Brigid,” Yaz said. “Would you be kind enough to go to the stables and collect our horses and gear? We should be set here when you return. Right?”
Sage Fry nodded, not looking up from the concoction he and Master Durnik were mixing up.
Brigid took a step towards the exit but Yaz caught her arm. “Be careful.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’ll be fine. Good luck.”
He grimaced as she walked away. Much as he hated letting her go alone, a woman by herself was much less likely to be considered a threat. Hopefully the guards wouldn’t give her a second look.
“We’re ready,” Sage Fry said.
He had a pot of goop that looked like really thick oatmeal mixed with charcoal. For a moment Yaz feared Sandul might decide to take his chances fighting his way out of the city, but good sense won out and soon everyone was getting daubed with slop.
This was going to work, Yaz told himself. Maybe if he thought it enough times, he’d really believe it.
Chapter 26
Leonidas entered the ruins of Domina’s lab and found her standing, hands on hips, staring at the mess. She’d heard Shade’s report the same as him. Rend’s army was coming to claim his prize, yet here she was doing nothing. Well, maybe not nothing since the smell was gone, but she hadn’t done much. It took all his self-control not to blast her where she stood.
Domina looked up as he entered. Her lips were twisted in an angry snarl that immediately smoothed when she realized who it was.
“I can’t do it, Leonidas,” she said. “We need to return to the citadel so I can use my undamaged laboratory.”
“You heard what Shade said,” he countered. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“I understand, but I simply can’t do what I need to here. I only have three of the eight required reagents, all my mixing vessels are shattered, and even my heating stone is broken. I’m not saying this to make your life difficult, I’m simply telling you the facts.”
He sighed. Her frustration sounded genuine. Everything he knew about her argued that she’d move heaven and earth to do what he wanted. If Domina said she couldn’t do it, then she couldn’t. Glass crunched under his boots as he walked over to her.
Leonidas caressed her throat, gently wrapping his right hand around it. “We’re so close. You know that, dear Domina. You know I’m counting on you for this final push.”
“I know.” She took his hand, pulled it up to her cheek, and sighed. “I won’t let you down, I promise. It’ll only take a day to travel to the citadel, three days to brew the poison, then another day back. We will be done long before the soldiers arrive. Trust me, Leonidas. Have I ever let you down?”
He offered her a fond smile. She was right of course. She had never failed, not yet anyway. If this was to be the first time, it would also be the last. Should his dream die because she couldn’t perform her duties in a timely manner, he swore she would die in the most horrible manner he could imagine. Leonidas let none of this show on his face. Distracting her would do nothing to hasten her work.
Better to let her believe he had full faith in her talents. If that faith was misplaced, well, there were other alchemists out there. Some of them no doubt saner, if not as loyal. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
Hopefully.
Chapter 27
When Brigid arrived with the horses, Sage Fry had finally finished slathering the ex-slaves with his concoction. They all looked like something out of a horror story. If Yaz had seen them in the forest at night, his first thought would have been to bash them in the head. Their appearance should certainly stop anyone from looking too closely. Hopefully the guards would agree.
“Did you have any trouble?” Yaz asked.
Brigid shook her head. “No trouble at all, though the innkeeper did wonder where you and Silas were. I told him you were securing merchandise for our return trip.”
Yaz grinned and dug a length of rope out of his saddlebag. He tied it to the pommel of his saddle. “You guys are going to have to pretend to be slaves for just a little longer.”
He looped the rope around each of their necks and then he, Brigid, and Silas mounted up. They looked like a proper slave train. With any luck that, combined with the disguise they’d whipped up, would get them through the gate.
The streets were practically deserted as they made their way toward the main gate. Yaz had expected to find at least a few guard patrols out looking for them. Perhaps they were looking in the rougher parts of the city first. The bookbinder had set up a shop in an upper-middle-class neighborhood, not the sort of place you expected to find escaped slaves.
At the end of the street they’d merged with the city’s central avenue. A long line waited to exit the city. Over forty guards were stationed at the closed gate and a dozen archers stood above it on the battlements. They certainly weren’t taking security lightly.
As they made their way to the end of the line, Sandul said, “That’s one hell of a lot of guards.”
“Just keep your heads down and stay calm. You no longer look much like the dangerous rebels they were planning to hang. In fact, you look like escapees from a cemetery.”
Sandul chuckled and lowered his gaze like a proper slave. The family in front of them was muttering about the delay, complaining that they were going to be late meeting relatives outside the city. The longer this took and the more annoyed people got, the better it would be for Yaz’s group.
The line slowly shuffled forward. At the front, the guards were checking every wagon and every bag, as if a slave could hide in a backpack. Clearly someone was after them to be thorough, so thorough they were going to be, even if it made no sense. From what Yaz had seen in his travels, doing things even when they made no sense appeared to be standard practice in a lot of places.
The stream of people wasn’t just flowing one way. More wagons were coming in than going out, most full of goods, but a few empty, no doubt on their way to pick up a load.
The incoming wagons got almost no scrutiny as they passed the gates. Must be nice.
Nearly two hours after they got in line, Yaz and the others reached the front. Six guards approached them, three grabbing the reins of their horses while the other three went to examine the slaves. Out of the corner of his eye, Yaz noticed the archers on the wall watching closely, arrows nocked on the strings, ready to draw and loose.
“Where are you taking the slaves?” the guard sergeant asked.
“To cut firewood on our master’s country estate. He wants them out of the city before they infect the others in his household,” Yaz said.
“Why does the—”
“Gods’ mercy!” one of the guards shouted, scrambling back from the slaves.
Everyone reached for their weapons.
“What’s wrong?” the sergeant asked, hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Just look a
t them,” the guard said. “There’s something wrong with their skin”
“Like I told you,” Yaz said. “Our master wants them out of his household until they recover. Or die. The healer doesn’t know what’s the matter with them, but he thinks it’s some kind of a flesh-rotting disorder. Makes them ugly but they can still work.”
“I’ll just have a quick look,” the sergeant said. He moved closer and Sandul looked right up at him. He stopped in his tracks. “Ugh. I can certainly see why you want them out of the city. Unfortunately, my orders are that no slaves leave, not until we find the ones we’re looking for.”
“We’ll just wait here by the gate,” Yaz said. “There’s no way I’m bringing them back to the mansion.”
The sergeant chewed his lip. “Might be a while before we can find the fugitives. Sure you want to wait here?”
“Better than bringing them back home.” Yaz shrugged and guided his horse off to one side.
As the sergeant moved off Yaz muttered, “Give the people behind us a good look.”
A moment later a woman screamed and men cursed. The group directly behind them staggered back in a rush to put distance between themselves and the infected slaves. In doing so they crashed into the group behind them sending everyone tumbling to the ground.
A kid cried and ran out of line, nearly getting run over by an incoming load of firewood.
More shouts rang out.
No one seemed to realize what was going on as the chaos grew.
The sergeant glared at Yaz who shrugged as if to say, you’re the one that wouldn’t let us go.
Jaw clenching and relaxing, the sergeant finally said, “Get out of my city and take those filthy, infected wretches with you. And don’t bring them back, healed or otherwise.”
Yaz nodded and tugged on the rope. “Sorry for the trouble.”
They led the train of escapees out the gate. Everyone gave them plenty of room to pass. They didn’t stop until the city was out of sight.
Finally, Yaz blew out a sigh. “You’re going to have to teach me how to make that mixture, Sage Fry.”
“Oh, it’s quite simple. Just glue and finely ground paper mixed with a little ink. It should come off with soap and water.”
“Should!” Sandul said.
“I’ve never actually applied it to skin before,” Sage Fry said.
“At least it got us out of the city,” Brigid said.
“Yeah.” Yaz grinned. “If it doesn’t wash off, it’ll wear off eventually. We’ve still got a few hours before dark. I want to put as much distance between us and the capital as possible.”
No one argued with that and they set out.
The combination of stress and walking left everyone exhausted when they finally stopped for the night. The sages weren’t used to hiking and Yaz had been forced to give up his horse to Mistress Alma only a few minutes after leaving sight of the city. Half an hour after that, Silas gave up his mount to Mistress Beatrice.
To say that everyone was glad to settle in around the fire would be a vast understatement. While Mistress Alma oversaw the meal preparations and Sandul and his men scrubbed furiously to get the glue off their faces, Yaz sat beside Chief Sage Durnik.
“I can’t thank you enough for getting us out of there, Yaz,” Durnik said. “You can’t imagine the mind-numbing drudgery of writing page after page of basic facts. Sometimes for twelve or fourteen hours straight. My hands would end up so cramped I could barely lift my spoon to eat the gruel that passed as our nightly supper.”
“I’m sorry it was so difficult for you, Master. I would have come sooner, but I feared for those without your special skills. Individuals who can read and write are far too valuable, so I thought you’d be safe until I freed the others.”
Durnik patted Yaz’s arm. “You did exactly the right thing. Horrible as it was, we were never harmed until we received these cursed brands. Your parents would be very proud of what you’ve accomplished. Are we the last group you need to rescue?”
“No. I still have to free the dragonriders.” Yaz took a deep breath. “Speaking of my parents, I’ve asked every villager we’ve rescued and no one knew what happened to them. Can you tell me?”
“I never saw your mother,” Durnik said. “Yazguard was taken away with the other riders. Their fate is unknown to me as well. I wish I had better news.”
Disappointed but not surprised, Yaz could only offer a weak smile. “That’s alright, Master. I’ll find them eventually, no matter how long it takes.”
“I have no doubt of that, my boy. You have your father’s courage and your mother’s stubbornness.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Mistress Alma said.
Yaz put his worries aside and joined the others for a meal. Once everyone was safe in Rend, he’d set out for the free cities. Hopefully he’d find his father or at least someone that could tell him where he was taken.
Chapter 28
Moz stopped beside a blistered patch of earth. To his right, dozens of trees had been blasted down and tossed about like pick-up sticks. Charred bodies mingled with the trees. It looked like a strike force had set up here and then got hit by something powerful. The scorch marks told him all he needed to know. When Ariel’s dragon saved them from the riders this summer, its breath weapon had left blackened earth like that behind.
The Dark Sages must have set up an ambush, only to get ambushed themselves. He grinned at the thought of those bastards getting a taste of the dragon’s power. His amusement didn’t last long. He still had to catch up with Callie and make sure they were okay.
Moz dismounted and tied his horse to a handy spruce sapling. There had to be some sign of where they went. The battle looked like it happened a week or so ago. Hopefully time hadn’t washed away the subtler signs.
He studied the area, finding more bodies in the process; these looked like they’d been crushed by a giant’s club. No doubt more of the dragon’s handiwork. The sages had suffered a heavy defeat here. There was no sign of any bards among the dead, thank the gods.
After fifteen minutes of searching, it became clear that any tracks leading away from the battlefield had been washed away. He wanted to hit something, but there was nothing around but trees. He was about to stalk back to his horse when a thin line of smoke caught his eye. Someone had a fire going over there. Maybe he could find a witness at the very least. He had no better ideas what to do next.
He rode toward the smoke, skirting the forest, and keeping his eyes peeled for potential danger. An hour before dark he spotted a village. The smoke came from a dozen different chimneys. Moz shivered, suddenly eager to be somewhere warm and surrounded by people. A mug of ale wouldn’t go amiss either.
Light in the windows and noise seeping out the door drew him to the town’s inn. He slipped into the common room and sighed as the heat from a great fire in the hearth washed over him. Twenty people crowded the scattered tables. Moz worked his way towards the bar at the rear of the room. He settled on an empty stool at the far end.
A portly man in a stained white apron ambled down to him. “What can I get you, Ranger?”
“Ale, a bowl of whatever you’ve got that’s hot, and some information.”
“The first two are easy enough and if I can help with the third, I’ll be glad to. Hang on while I get your dinner.” He went through a door behind the bar and emerged a minute later with a steaming bowl and a full mug. He set both in front of Moz. “There you are, goat stew. Let me guess. You’re here about the ships that fell out of the sky last week.”
Moz nearly choked on his first swallow of ale. “Say what?”
“You didn’t know about the ships? I figured the king sent you to investigate. At least I expected someone to come investigate. If you’re not here about that, then what can I do for you?”
“I’m hunting fugitives. They’d be dressed in black. If you saw them, you’d remember.”
“Point of fact, I do remember a sketchy pair come through here a day or so after the ships f
ell. They spent one night, bought horses, and lit out at first light. One was a skinny, weaselly fellow and the other had a lean build, but there was nothing weak about him. The second guy scared the hell out of me even though he couldn’t have been politer.”
Moz nodded. The first one had to be Rondo. He’d kind of hoped the dragon had killed the man, but his luck wasn’t that good.
“That’ll be two of the men I’m looking for. See which way they went?”
“Nope, but Mark, the stable master, might have. Hang on, he’s in having a drink right now.”
While the bartender went to find Mark, Moz tucked into his dinner. The goat was tender and spiced just right. It was about the best meal he had since leaving Bernard and Ella’s place. Moz was just finishing the last of his ale when the bartender returned with a tall, burly man about forty. From the smell, this had to be the stable master.
“Ben told me what you wanted. Them fellas were headed north out of town. Hate to get them into trouble. They paid good scale for my horses and didn’t haggle.”
“They’re murderers,” Moz said. “Many times over. Neither is deserving of your concern.”
Mark blanched slightly. “Did you need anything else, Ranger?”
“My horse is tied up outside. If you’d be so kind as to take him to your stable and tend him, I’d be grateful. I’ll be heading out at first light.”
The stable master nodded and withdrew.
“You’ll be wanting a room then?” the bartender asked.
“If you have one.”
A day and a half after leaving the village, Moz came within sight of the main border crossing. He hadn’t visited the fortress in years, not since the war ended. Looked like they’d added even more guard towers and tents. There hadn’t been nearly that many tents the last time he reported in. Speaking of reporting in, he needed to let whoever was in command know about the massacre at the western border fort. That wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.
The Slave War Page 15