Skymaster, p.9
Skymaster, page 9
part #3 of The Guildmaster Saga Series
Lorens sauntered to the Waifia's railing and leaned against it, his hands folded lazily over the water. "Lady Amdria. It's been a long time."
A sparkle shone in the woman's eyes. "Surely I'm not old enough for it to have been that long, although you've aged nicely, your highness."
"I've grown up," Lorens corrected. "You, however, haven't changed at all. Perhaps it hasn't been so long as all of that."
The amusement in Amdria's gaze grew. "Still charming, I see. Perhaps you'd like to enlighten me as to why you're on an Ilyaran ship, flying a slaver's flag and humoring an ill-tempered water witch as a...companion?"
"It turned out Captain Nasira and I had a few ambitions in common." Lorens sent a languid smile toward Nasira, who somehow managed to look fond of the Northern prince in return.
Or maybe not just 'fond of'. She looked at him in very much the same way Hassin and Princess Inga looked at one another.
Rasim couldn't imagine how she could pretend that look, even if he also couldn't imagine how she could mean it. He shot a nervous, confused glance at Sesin, whose scowl, fixed on the deck, was so tight he thought she must be giving herself a headache. Hassin, who might have understood Nasira's acting ability better, was glaring at the captain so hard that Rasim was surprised she didn't catch on fire from the heat of his anger. Rasim thought maybe he didn't understand adults at all.
Amdria murmured, "Fascinating," which drew Rasim's attention back to her. "I would love to hear about these ambitions, your highness."
"Captain?" Lorens purred the word and Nasira's thin smile appeared momentarily.
"Hassin. Offer the lady a bridge. Politely."
Hassin's nostrils flared, but he did as he had to: a gentle water spout spun out of the river and danced to the woman's feet, then rose to her waist. She sent a startled glance toward Nasira, who gestured grandly. "Step in, madam. Feel free to bring two or three of your men. You'll none of you get a drop on you."
Amdria's cautious gaze went to Lorens, who opened his hands as if in invitation. Eyebrows lifted, Amdria stepped forward. The waterspout rushed around her and lifted her. Rasim could see her jaw stiffen, but she didn't tip over and Hassin certainly didn't spill her into the river as he carried her and two of her escort forward. In a moment or two they were gracefully deposited on the Waifia's deck, directly in front of Hassin.
Lady Amdria traced a fingertip over his jaw. "That was you, my sweet?" Her Ilyaran, like her Northern, was spoken without an accent.
Hassin, through clenched teeth, muttered, "It was."
The woman's smile flared unexpectedly. "And you're angry about it. Tell me why."
"I'm not a dog to perform tricks," Hassin snarled, and the woman laughed.
"Are you not? Then why do as your captain instructs?"
"She's not my captain." The hatred in Hassin's voice made Rasim flinch. "She's a traitor to us all. She's a backstabbing, underhanded, conniving—"
"Hassin, choke yourself," Nasira said coolly, and his power surged, water gagging in his throat. He clawed at it, unable to reach with the thick rope collar he wore. His face flushed an ugly red, foam starting at his mouth. Rasim watched in horror, afraid that Nasira might actually kill the first mate to prove her power, but at what seemed to be the last possible instant she said, "Hassin, stop choking yourself," just as casually as she'd given the order.
His magic cut off as quickly as it had started. He collapsed into a heap, tears staining his cheeks as he heaved for breath. A coil of rage spun in Rasim's chest and his hands shook as he struggled for some way to retaliate against Nasira, even if she, too, was performing a role.
His fury, reflected across the whole deck, made the Moranese woman laugh, though. "How angry your crew are, Captain. Freshly enslaved, I think. We know you didn't raise a slaver's banner until a day ago. Lorens…?" She turned her attention to the tall Northern prince, who stepped forward and offered his hands. Amdria took them, and they bowed slightly toward each other in a formal greeting.
Lorens's voice dropped as he obviously moved closer than formality required...or even allowed. Curious interest flickered across the Moranese woman's face again as Lorens murmured, "You're the heir to your family's fortunes, are you not, Lady Amdria? Perhaps it's hard to understand the frustrations of being a younger sibling. There is very little for me to do in the North, lady. My duties are to charm and delight, not to rule, and I find it...tedious. If I am to be nothing but ornamental, I would like to do it on my own terms, at least, rather than perform for my sister and mother's convenience. And the captain here—" he cast Nasira an appreciative look— "afforded an opportunity to become my own man."
"An opportunity laden with Ilyaran slaves." Amdria still sounded, and looked, curious.
Nasira finally spoke again. "I would like to offer a gift to you, madam."
Amdria twitched an eyebrow upward. "A gift."
Nasira made a dismissive gesture at the bound witches on the main deck. "If any of them pleases you, I would be glad to offer that one as a tribute to you and your fair city."
"Really." The woman's eyebrow arched higher. "It's clear they've had no time to resign themselves to their fate, so you wish to offer me an untamed gift. And one in ropes, not chains. There are those who would not consider that a kindness."
Nasira leaned forward, a nasty smile in place. "There are those who wouldn't, but you're not one of them, are you? Fresh, angry and powerful, all at your disposal. I might beg the generosity of chains from you, rather than ship's rope to bind them with, but take your pick, my lady. Grant us leave to enter your city and to make our sales. If, in a few days, you are satisfied with your new property, perhaps you might be willing to help me establish a residence in Moran. I will not," she said in a suddenly low and flat voice, "be returning to Ilyara, for obvious reasons."
"Ah, yes. That ship has, as you Ilyarans say, sailed, has it not? You've made your choices. What happens, Captain, to Ilyaran guildmembers who flout guild law this way?" Amdria glanced at Lorens, but immediately returned her attention to Nasira.
Nasira's lip curled. "Exile. It's the choice we make."
"Few of you make it."
"Few have nothing left to lose."
"Have you nothing?"
Nasira, with soft intensity, said, "Nothing."
"And the prince?"
The captain's gaze and voice changed again as she glanced toward Lorens. If Rasim hadn't known better, he would have honestly thought she was in love with him, although there was a slightly hard edge to Nasira's expression. "What's between us is nothing to do with what I left in Ilyara."
"But perhaps it's to do with what you've found since," Amdria murmured.
Nasira's gaze sharpened as it returned to the Moranese woman. "Perhaps. I would say, at least, that his highness opened my eyes to possibilities I had never considered."
Amdria looked thoughtful. "My memory of Prince Lorens is of a clever youth who wished to be part of all the political goings-on. This is a dangerous way to do so, your highness. Do you not risk the wrath of the Ilyaran guilds coming down on your people?"
"The Ilyarans are famous for not making war," Lorens replied with confidence. "My sister and mother will declare me a rogue element, acting without their permission—which is of course true—and the Ilyarans will accept their apologies rather than fight."
"And if they should mount a rescue mission, or make war on Moran?"
"They never have before." The flat truth in Lorens's voice made Rasim's stomach clench. It was hard to remember, listening to Lorens's answers, that their goal right now was to be a rescue mission. They needed the Moranese woman to believe him, but Rasim wished it wasn't so easy. "I have some degree of personal wealth, Lady Amdria," Lorens continued, his tone very royal and condescending now. "If the Ilyarans come for their people, the Moranese would have two choices: fight, using their own enslaved Ilyaran witches, or release those slaves back to the Ilyarans. If it comes to the latter, I will personally guarantee the return of the purchase costs for every slave sold off the Waifia."
"And for those who do not come from this ship? Who will repay the cost of the labor we might have had from those now-freed slaves, if we hadn't risked you and this ship in our port? Who will repay the costs of purchasing them in the first place, and the cost of the mindkiller to keep them pliant?"
"No one," Nasira said flatly, obviously cutting off anything else Lorens might have suggested. Amdria's eyebrows rose as she looked toward the captain, but Nasira's expression was unforgiving. "Those slave owners will have had many years of use from their slaves to justify the cost of purchasing them, and future labor is unknowable. A plague could sweep Moran and kill every slave here tomorrow. You cannot claim losses on what might have been."
Amdria's eyes narrowed. "There are many who would disagree with you."
Nasira spread her hands expansively. "I welcome the discussion."
The Moranese woman barked a laugh, then nodded at the captain and the prince. "Very well. I regard your presence and your propositions interesting enough that I will arrange for you to speak with the Council. If they approve, you will be free to then sell your wares. I will provide proper chains, and will—for your benefit, of course—leave guards on your ship."
"And I will leave slaves ordered to defend themselves at all costs."
Amdria's mouth pursed, then turned to a smile. "Of course. I admire your forethought, Captain."
"Nasira," the captain said. "If we are to be engaged in business together."
"Nasira," Amdria repeated. "Very good. I'm pleased that we shall be friends. Now, as to your delicious offer of a gift..." She trailed her fingertips against Hassin's cheek again, igniting rage in his black eyes. "This one is lovely. I shall be pleased to accept him. And if I might make a suggestion, Nasira...?"
"I'm listening."
"You might choose one or two of your less valuable slaves to enter in the Arena. It's a splendid way to show off your wares, and might fetch you a better price for your more impressive merchandise."
"This Arena. Tell me about it."
Amdria shrugged. "A slave pit, where the inconvenient, old, or bold are brought for the city's entertainment. There are a few professionals, of course. Gladiators. It guarantees almost none of the new slaves survive more than a day or two, but no one puts them in the Arena if they want them to survive. Ilyarans are rare in there, though. You'd earn good will for the entertainment, and get bidders excited over owning a witch."
Nasira's smile was a knife's edge. "You say they don't survive long?"
"A day or two at most."
"Then I have the perfect witch for your pits." Nasira flicked a finger toward Rasim. "That one."
12
The casual flick of Nasira's finger felt like it plunged a fist into Rasim's belly. This was the plan, this was his plan, but his breath left him and the rope he'd held slipped through suddenly numb fingers. They weren't friends, he and the captain, but he'd thought her hatred of him had faded. He had never imagined she might jump at the chance to have him killed. For a sick instant he cast his mind backward, wondering if Nasira had, after all, had something to do with him being thrown off the Waifia as it sailed north.
It didn't matter now, not really. Rasim's shoulders were jostled as two of Amdria's men came on board and cut his ropes, then pulled his arms behind him and chained his wrists together. Sesin cried a protest, but Rasim, still stunned, didn't even try to fight. He had nothing to fight with, anyway: he was small for his age and his magic was stunted by the mindkiller. All he could do was stare at Nasira, waiting for some sign that this was a terrible joke.
No such sign came. When he couldn't command his legs to walk well, Amdria's men dragged him past the captain, who watched with her nasty, cutting smile still in place. Only Nasira's cackling whisper followed him as he was hauled off the ship. "Remember, slave. No seawitchery."
A wild hope blossomed in Rasim's chest. He shot one look back over his shoulder, taking in Nasira's smirk and the hopeless gaze of the rest of the crew. Only Sesin had any other expression, a fierce triumphant joy that she quelled almost before Rasim was certain he'd seen it flash over her face. He let his own gaze drop again and allowed himself to be hauled away without protest. Excitement strong enough to be sickness pierced his gut, and he couldn't stop the shiver that wracked his body.
One of his captors snorted and said something clearly mocking, even if Rasim couldn't understand the actual words. He didn't care: they could assume his trembling was fear all they wanted.
Nasira had forbidden him the use of seawitchery. Specifically seawitchery.
He had no idea if she knew whether he could command stonewitchery, and for a horrible moment thought perhaps he should have told her as they hatched their plot. He still believed King Taishm should be told first, so he could decide if Rasim's talents were a threat, but...well, Nasira had been so careful to make sure he heard her order. Their secret, their plot, might not be discovered, if he utilized his other magic. He might be able to use stonemastery under the very noses of his captors, because they wouldn't be looking for it.
But it was too soon to try. He needed to be out anyone else's range of command, because he couldn't risk being seen working magic at all. Which meant he needed—terribly, frighteningly—to be in the Arena. He kept his head down, thinking ferociously, and barely protested when he was thrown into a shallow cart. His guards spoke to the driver, a man whose thin face looked as though it had never seen a smile, and Rasim was chained into the cart's belly. One of the guards prodded him until he knelt up, able to see—and be seen—over the cart's low sides. He was bumped and thudded over the Moranese streets to shouts of interest and curiosity, though if any of the callers asked questions, the driver didn't respond. A woman pitched an apple core at Rasim when he met her eyes, and after that he kept his gaze on the cart floor.
There would be some way, inside the Arena, to free himself. There had to be. He would have the use of stonewitchery and his own wits, and that would be enough. Rasim told himself that as his knees began to ache from kneeling on the cart's wooden belly, and as his shoulders began to hurt with the weight of chains. It wouldn't be for long, and then he would find the Ilyaran slaves, free them too, and perhaps together find some way to break the back of Moranese slavery. Conviction burned in his chest, filling him with confidence and the fever of wanting to act.
A shadow fell over him. Rasim looked up, and his conviction faded into awe.
An impossibly tall wall rose up above him. It was not stone, as it would have been in Ilyara. Rasim thought it was mostly mud, maybe with sticks woven within it as support, but it was hard mud, almost stone, and it was taller than any building in Ilyara. Its thick sides bulged outward as they passed through a door so deep and broad it was more of a tunnel. Wondering how he'd missed the vast wall in his inspection of the city, Rasim glanced backward and saw they'd been traveling down a shallow hill for some time, so the enormous structure stood in a dip in the valley floor.
The cart rattled through into a sand-floored arena more than a hundred feet across and at least twice that deep. Its back wall was a natural amphitheater in the valley hills. The Moranese had simply completed it as a gigantic oval to build their circus pit. There were hollows in both the valley wall—caves, Rasim thought—and in the man-made walls. All of them were fronted with heavy iron gates through which there could be no escape.
He had never even imagined a structure like the arena. Faced with it, his plans to free himself seemed naive. The driver, unimpressed by the view, seized his chains and dragged him from the cart. He hit the sandy dirt hard on his knees before scrambling to his feet and following in the driver's wake. The driver threw Rasim in front of another keeper, whose gaze was disdainful as he looked on the Ilyaran. The two Moranese spoke for a moment, their language swift and unintelligible to Rasim's ears. When they were finished, the other keeper took Rasim's chains. This time he was faster and kept his feet as he was hauled across the sands and finally thrust into one of the iron-barred cages. The door banged shut behind him, and Rasim fell against one of the stick-and-mud walls, gasping at the suddenness of his imprisonment.
"Well, well. Fresh meat for the ring," said a woman in a familiar tongue, from the back of the cage. A Northerner emerged from the darkness, and Rasim took an instinctive step back. She was as tall and nearly as broad across the shoulder as the Northern guard Gontor, the biggest man Rasim had ever seen. Her skin, where it wasn't marked and notched with scars, was as browned by the sun as any Northerner could get, and her hair, which she wore in a braid as tight as any Seamaster's braid, was white from the sun. Looking him up and down, she added, "Ilyaran. You won't have understood a word of that. Just as well."
"I speak your language," Rasim said in a voice gone hoarse. He had met many politically and magically powerful people, but this woman looked like she could break him in half without trying.
The woman's eyebrows, which were so white they stood out against her tanned face, quirked upward. "Where did you learn my language, Ilyaran?"
"Mostly in Hongrunn. Where did you learn mine?"
"My partner in the pits taught me, until the day I had to kill him to stay alive. My advice? Don't get too attached to anyone." The giant woman stalked to the back of the cage.
Rasim sank to the floor by the barred entrance, staring at thick cage walls. They looked like dried mud, not stone, and he didn't know if he could work with it. Even natural-born Stonemasters had trouble working with earth, and found metal, like the bars across the cage's entrance, nearly impossible to shape.
The danger he was in hit him suddenly, sharply, and made a pit of fear in his gut. He should have been much more frightened before this, having been captive twice already, but he'd had such confidence in his dual magics that he'd forgotten to be afraid. He lowered his head against his knees, shivering and trying to imagine how he could survive this mess.
