Shadowborn - Captivity Part 1

Shadowborn: Captivity.

by Sharon Green.

Chapter 1.

It was no more than mid morning, but the heat was already so intense that it made ripples in the air above the lines of new plants in the field. We'd been moving up the furrows between the lines, pulling out weeds by hand, sweating heavily despite the short, thin rags we wore as clothing. Our guards sat or stood at one side of the field, suffering more than those of us who worked in the field despite the small amount of shade they'd found. Even leather armor is difficult to bear in heat like that, and some of the guardsmen had leather reinforced with small amounts of metal.

I stopped for a moment to straighten up and stretch my aching back, using the opportunity to glance around. The other women working with me were at least two strides behind in their respective rows, which meant they couldn't afford to take the time to stretch. How well we did our jobs was judged by the work speed of the fastest of us, and any woman who didn't keep up was beaten when we got back to the city. It didn't matter whether it was lack of food and general strength that caused the lagging, or pain from a previous beating. Any woman who didn't keep up was punished.

I raised my face in an effort to find the least, smallest breeze, but the heat ripples in the air must have been too heavy to move. They had used men to plow the field, but planting and weeding was done by women - an arrangement the guardsmen preferred. If there had been male slaves in the field instead of female the guardsmen would have had to be alert, not to mention spread out on all sides of the field. Male slaves had a tendency to try escaping, but female slaves...

I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, then bent again to the plants on my left before glancing over my shoulder to the far side of the field. All the guardsmen were there, waiting for us to finish the rows we worked and then return toward them by way of the next two rows. I'd done just that in the last three fields I'd been put to weeding, but only because those other fields had been too close to the city. This field was no more than ten strides away from the edge of the forest, and this time I meant to escape or die in the trying.

I kept casual watch over my shoulder as I pretended to pull weeds, and saw exactly what I'd hoped to see. One or two of the guardsmen had noticed me when I'd stretched, possibly thinking about the noon rest and mealtime, but their attention had drifted away even before I'd bent to the plants again. No sense in picking a slave for the noon time until the officer had picked his. That was another reason guardsmen preferred female slaves to male - or at least it was a reason for most of them.

I counted another ten heartbeats just to be certain and then, still bent over, I scuttled toward the near edge of the field. The hot brown dirt under my bare feet gave way to wild gra.s.s and creepers and an occasional root from one of the short bushes, but I ignored the change and just kept going. I had ten strides to cover before I was into the forest proper, and the distance doubled when you scuttled rather than strode.

I had covered about half the distance when I heard the shout, but I still didn't look back and I certainly didn't stop. The shout had come in a woman's voice, and the next instant other femalevoices rose to join the first. One of my sister slaves had reached the end of her row a bit sooner than I'd expected, had straightened and looked around, and had seen me. If she hadn't yelled she and the others would have been punished for the escape I attempted, whether or not I succeeded. If I was recaptured I alone would be given punishment, so they were understandably anxious to see me retaken.

But not as anxious as I was to get away. I continued running bent over, ignoring the thudding of my heart and a frantic desire to straighten up and run at full speed, knowing the guardsmen must already have their bows in their hands. With the amount of distance between us they had no hope of catching me on foot, but arrows fly faster than men or women run. If they had a clear target they could get me in the leg, leaving me alive to be taken back to the city for punishment. It would be far better for me to stay bent over and risk a shaft in the back, one that would end my life before I could be returned to the city. A third escape attempt brought slow death to a slave, and I had already tried twice before.

I wasn't far from the treeline when I heard a distant shout, low and garbled but clearly in a male voice. I waited an instant and then scrabbled to my left, changing position without changing direction. That shout had undoubtedly been one of the guardsmen, ordering the women in the field down flat, which meant their arrows would soon be in the air. If they couldn't see me well enough, if they only shot at where I'd been...

My half-prayer to the G.o.ds was answered in the same way it had been tendered: half way. I heard nothing of the tw.a.n.g of bowstrings, but suddenly there was a swarm of angry insects in the air to my right, tearing into the ground and trees in whistling fury. That would have been fine, exactly what I wanted - except for the single shaft that flew too far to the left. It went by me just as the others did, but as it pa.s.sed it sliced open the back of my right shoulder, nearly making me cry out with the pain. A moment later I was into the treeline, but I hadn't gained the position without cost.

Once I was deep enough into the trees I could straighten up, but I couldn't slow down despite the burning pain in my shoulder. And under no circ.u.mstance could I stop. I had already left a smear or two of blood for the guardsmen to find, and even with the broadleaf I held to the wound I would be leaving a trail they could follow if they really wanted to. I had to get as far away as I could as quickly as I could, and count on the devastating heat to keep them from following very far.

I changed general direction every fifty paces or so, but still kept heading deeper into the forest.

The air was a bit cooler there under the trees but gasping it in set my lungs aflame, the flood of sweat drowning me adding to the fire rather than quenching it. What that salty moisture felt like going into the wound is best left undescribed, but as I ran it certainly wasn't unfelt. The leather brow band I wore kept some of the flood from my eyes, but the rest blurred my vision and hung my hair in strings down my back.

After ages and eons of running, the time finally came when the G.o.d Ahainel took back the breath and strength-of-limb he'd lent me. I would have had to stop even if the guardsmen had been right behind me, but as far as I could tell they weren't. I wanted to lean on the tree I stopped near, more than that I needed to lean on the tree, but I couldn't afford to leave any more traces of blood than I already had. I shook my head to clear my vision as best I could, then looked around while I gulped in air. A small thicket of leaves and branches began not far ahead and to my right, so I forced myself into motion again.

After no more than three paces inside the thicket, I had to get down on hands and knees to go any farther. That is, I had to get down on half-hand and knees. My left hand still had to hold the broadleaf in place over the wound, and my right arm wasn't really up to supporting me while I crawled. It took a lot of effort to keep going that way and my progress wasn't very rapid, but eventually I reached a spot where I could simply lie down.

And maybe pa.s.s out for a short while. I opened my eyes to the feeling that time had gone by, but it was still daylight and there were no sounds of pursuit. I lay face down in the gra.s.s of thethicket, my left arm under my chest, my right arm at my side, my entire body aching so badly I thought for a moment that I was coming around after a whipping. I knew what that felt like well enough, but wasn't prepared to know it ever again.

Even if I had to die to make it so. As I lay unmoving in the gra.s.s I could hear the scream of a furred hunter in the distance, a clear warning for all to keep away from the kill it had just made.

Those who hunted in the forest shared only with their own, but were willing to take as prey anyone or anything unable to defend itself. It was one of the things that kept most female slaves from running, and my chain sisters weren't entirely wrong. As long as you stay alive you always have the hope of getting free somehow, but some of us reach the end of hope sooner than others.

I forced myself over onto my left side in the gra.s.s, trying to ignore the presence of the heavy metal collar locked closed around my neck. I'd worn that collar for almost two full seasons, close to a complete cycle of the sun G.o.d's travels through a portion of his domain, and could no longer bear its weight and what its presence made me. By birth I was still Kenoss, and Kenossi aren't known for making quiet, obedient slaves.

"Which would have helped if they'd believed I was Kenoss," I muttered, trying to work myself up to real movement. I had the heavy black hair of the people I'd been born among, but none of those in the city had ever seen or heard of a Kenoss with eyes as light as mine. If I'd had the usual dark eyes they would have offered me to the Morsee or cut my throat, but they never would have put me on the market square for sale. Among the Morsee, traditional enemies of the Kenoss, I would have had the chance to prove myself worthy of freedom; sold in the city, I was expected to prove nothing but what a good slave I was.

I made a very rude sound and struggled into a sitting position, fighting off the dizziness sent by Dakko to befuddle me. I may not have looked like others of the Kenossi, but I'd survived every Trial throughout my childhood and not simply by luck. There hadn't been another Life Seeker with more skill than I, and if I'd remained with my people - But I hadn't remained with my people, not after the Whispers had seen me during the Trial of Pa.s.sage. Whispers, we children had always called them, for the way no one ever spoke about them out loud. They'd watched me perform during the Trials, seen me qualifying easily, and once all the festivities were over they'd ... chosen me to be trained in their ways. I hadn't wanted to go, but I hadn't been allowed to refuse.

Getting myself up on my knees let me look around a little more easily, but it also told me what a meager amount I had left in the way of strength. It had been far too long since the last time I'd had anything decent to eat, and the work I'd been put to hadn't been easy. I needed time to rest and heal, time to recover from too long a fight against what they'd tried to make me, but I was still too close to that city. I had to keep going until the horrible place was a long way behind me, and only then would I be able to stop for a while.

I had something of a struggle getting out of that thicket, and once clear I had to rest briefly before going on. The wound in my shoulder wasn't all that serious, but it was still bleeding and didn't seem interested in stopping particularly soon. I couldn't see the wound very well, but I didn't need to see it to know it was there. The blazing pain of it announced its presence clearly, but I couldn't do more than put a fresh broadleaf over it before going on.

In a strange way the running I'd done earlier had been easier than the walking I did now. The thought of guardsmen right behind me had allowed me to overcome privation and pain, enabling me to use every shadow of strength my body possessed. Simply walking through the tangled forest allowed me to reach almost none of that strength, and it came to me suddenly that the Whispers - the Inadni - would have found nothing of surprise over the matter. I could recall being taught something about that, in preparation for the Higher Mysteries, not long before I'd walked away from the Inadni for good...

I shook my head to clear away the stilted mold my thoughts always fell into when I remembered things about the Inadni. They used the old-fashioned modes of speech of theirfounders rather than modern accents, and that was only one of the things about them that had annoyed me. We in the outer world had come quite a way since the founding of their order, a lot farther than I had gone through the forest, but the Inadni made no attempt to reconcile the two worlds, choosing instead to reject all progress and advancement. They were fools, the lot of them - I stopped very still when the scent came to me, and a tick later I didn't need the scent. The big cat stepped out of the bushes that had hidden her until now, her entire bearing showing contempt for the prey that stumbled along through the forest. If the guardsmen had found the traces of blood I'd left, this could be one of the reasons they'd decided not to follow. Why make the effort to run down a troublesome slave when the denizens of the forest who scent her blood will do it for you? Fresh blood will usually attract one of the big cats, and the nose of the brown, spotted female not far from me twitched with the scent.

I said, "I give you greetings, Sister. Can you tell me if there is water not too far distant from this place? I brought nothing with me in my escape from those of the Cursed Place, not even all of my blood."

"A bit of blood is small payment for the recovery of freedom," the cat answered automatically, startled by the way I'd spoken to her. "You are one of those, then, who speak the tongue of the Strong and Victorious. I now find little wonder in their having been unable to hold you. You are one of us rather than one of them, and that despite the crippled and grotesque form you wear.

The water you seek is near for a healthy hunter, not so near for one such as you. Come, I will lead you to it."

She turned then and moved off to my left, but her pace was slow in deference to my "crippled"

condition, and she glanced back over her shoulder to make sure I was keeping up. I followed after as quickly as I could, smiling to myself in relief that I'd found a female rather than a male.

Females were used to accepting the limitations of cubs with only a small amount of the impatience of males, which meant I might survive the forest after all. The language of the Strong and Victorious was one of the first things I'd learned among the Inadni, but I didn't intend using it more than I had to. The words were harsh for a human throat, especially a human throat that needed water so badly.

The female had exaggerated the distance to water just a little, a ploy for greater effort she might have used on cubs as well as cripples, but I still only just made it. The hardest part was going downhill toward the stream, a stream I wasn't even able to detect until I had worked my way down a good portion of the steepness. I'd been silly enough to think that going downhill would be easier than walking a flat stretch, but by now my balance was just about gone, my right arm was nearly useless, and my left hand had all it could do to hold the broadleaf over my wound. Going down that steep a slope almost did me in, and that despite the number of small trees available to hold to.

The big cat had talked to me quite a bit as we'd walked through the forest, telling me that lack of fear was one of the ways her kind recognized my kind, but while I went down the slope she was silent. I hadn't been afraid when I'd first met her because I'd been trained not to be, but right now even I could smell the fear that mixed with the sweat of effort and pain that poured out of me. If I slipped going down it would certainly be all over for me, the treacherous terrain just about guaranteeing that. All that effort spent in escaping slavery, just to have it come to nothing because of some landscape...

But it didn't come to nothing. The stubbornness that the Inadni had always found so unacceptable kept me from giving up or surrendering to the fear, and I finally made it to the bottom of the slope in one piece. The big cat grinned as she watched me from a few feet away, amused by not needing to stay out of my path any longer. The short distance to the edge of the stream was full of stones, but at least it was level.

I had to take a moment to catch my breath even if I was burning up from lack of water, but after that moment I was able to stumble to the edge of the stream and go to my knees in frontof it. The stream bank was low at that spot, making the water easily accessible to the animals of the forest, which meant I had no trouble using my left hand to bring some of it to my mouth. I wanted to gulp the liquid, wanted to drain the wide, swiftly running stream from bank to bank, but even as I was now I knew better than to try. I had to drink slowly, or I would soon wish I'd never made it to the stream.

She-cat crouched next to me to lap at the water herself, her sense of concern satisfied by having given me first chance to drink. She was very close to me, at least as close as she would have been to a helpless cub, and I clearly remember feeling appreciation for that. She was trying to protect someone who couldn't protect herself, and it wasn't her fault that the effort turned out to be the worst thing she could have done.

The other she-cat must have been stalking us, confused about why my own cat hadn't already taken me down, probably deciding there was something wrong with my companion. A decision like that would have encouraged the newcomer to also decide to steal my cat's prey, and that was just what she tried. Voicing a growl of warning to stay out of her way, the newcomer launched herself at me in attack, that being our first indication that she was around.

I began to turn from the stream immediately, but the she-cat beside me moved with the speed of the G.o.ds, launching herself into a counterattack meant to keep me from harm. Unfortunately for me she was much too close, and when she turned that fast her large hunter's body struck me, knocking me into the stream.

I had enough time to hear the screaming fury of the two cats coming together in battle, and then the water closed over my head, cutting off awareness of everything else. Or almost everything else. The water wasn't as cold as it might have been, not with the windless heat of the air above it, but the chill was enough to touch my wound with greater pain. In spite of that I struggled to regain the surface where I'd be able to breathe, and found the effort almost beyond me. I was exhausted nearly to the point of the end of my strength, and the stream current was even faster than it had looked from the bank.

After a time that seemed like eternity my head finally broke through to the surface, but it was no more than a partial victory. The stream had me firmly in its grip, carrying me downstream at a speed that would have been very satisfying if I wasn't more than a step short of drowning.

Hearing nothing of the sound of fighting cats told me they'd been left far behind, and that was another thing to curse the whim of the G.o.ds for. My she-cat would very likely have been willing to hunt for me until I healed, but now I was back to being alone again.

If I lived long enough for it to make a difference. I choked on some stream water and spat out some, horribly aware of how soon I would no longer be able to keep myself afloat. My left arm worked alone along with the feeble kicking of my legs, but only to keep me from going under. I wasn't all that far from the stream bank, but the distance might as well have been leagues. I simply hadn't the strength to fight the current to reach the bank.

And then I saw the dead tree up ahead, fallen half on the bank and half out into the stream. The tree was nothing but bare branches sticking out like the stiffened hand of a corpse, but if I could clasp that hand I just might be able to avoid becoming a corpse myself. The stream obviously intended to sweep me right by the tree, but I couldn't allow that to happen.

If the distance had been more than the body-length it was, I wouldn't have made it no matter how determined I felt. One-handed I fought the stream current in an effort to reach the end branches of the tree, and the first one my hand closed on snapped off with a sickening abruptness. I scrabbled around trying to reach another branch before I was carried past the tree, my heart thudding wildly, and when the second branch didn't break under my frantic grip I wasn't sure I believed things would stay like that.

It took the pa.s.sage of a long string of ticks before I was able to calm myself enough to breathe more easily. I had a weak grip on the tree branch, and being downstream of the tree meant I couldn't afford to lose that grip or I would be immediately swept away. The current was a good deal less with the tree there to slow it, but my meager strength was also less after all thestruggling I'd done. I'd have to get to the bank without delay, or - I heard the sound of a small splash behind me and to my left, the direction the stream bank was now in. The splash was closer than the bank, much closer, and hearing it let me suddenly remember an earlier splash I'd been too frantic to notice at the time. Without bothering to turn to look I immediately let go of the branch I'd worked so hard to get to, but it was already too late. Just as I let go an arm closed around me, the arm of whoever it was who had swum toward me from the bank.

"No!" I screamed with the fury of insanity, refusing to accept the fact that I'd been recaptured, trying to fight my way free again. My own efforts and the stream's had carried me away from the city! I couldn't be recaptured, I just couldn't!

But I was. The thick arm around my waist had no trouble retaining its grip, and expending the last of my strength like that sent me down into bitter blackness.

Chapter 2.

Consciousness began to return with the awareness of lying face down in the gra.s.s, all of me apparently wringing wet. Confusion and disappointment and bitterness and fury all raged around in my head, and I couldn't remember the reason for it until I heard the voices.

"... out of the stream, then carried her here," the first voice said, a deep male voice full of casual authority. "That wound in her shoulder isn't doing too well, and she looks as though she hasn't eaten since the full moon before last."

"Most people consider it foolish to waste much food on a slave," a second male voice said, this one sounding more casually arrogant than authoritative. "Leftovers usually keep them going long enough to earn back whatever price you paid for them, plus a small profit. After that you can always buy a new slave."

"I don't like waste," the first voice returned, now heavy with distaste. "My people currently do the same thing, or at least the upper cla.s.ses do, and it's time the practice was changed. I foresee a time when we won't have enough - "

"Well, what is it you want now?" a querulous older male voice interrupted, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps. "How am I to continue with my studies when I find myself constantly badgered by all of you over trifles? I agreed to ply my arts during this campaign, but not every moment of the day and night!"

"My apologies, Honorable, but this is more than a trifle," the first voice said, sounding not at all apologetic. "I pulled that girl from the stream, and her wound is in need of your healing arts.

She's - "

"Girl?" the older voice interrupted, now even more annoyed. "What girl? I see no girl."

I heard exclamations of surprise from the other two men, and I cursed silently while trying to crawl faster. I'd pulled myself along the ground to the bushes at the edge of that clearing and was right now behind one of the bushes, but that didn't put nearly enough distance between me and whoever it was who had captured me. If only that conversation could have continued uninterrupted for a little while longer - !

"G.o.ds rot her, she's actually run off!" that second, arrogant voice exclaimed in outrage. "Even half drowned as she was, we should have chained her!"

"She didn't run, she crawled," the first voice corrected with what sounded strangely like amus.e.m.e.nt. "Wait here for a moment, Honorable, and I'll fetch her back."

When I heard heavy footsteps starting after me I tried to get to my feet to run, but I managed to struggle no higher than my knees before he caught up. Once again an arm went around my waist and then there was another under my knees, both raising me from the ground with no effort at all.

"No, you don't!" he warned me as I closed my left fist, intending to smash him in the face."Hitting me won't do you any more good than trying to run did. You don't have enough strength to do me much damage, but the same doesn't hold true for me toward you. Why don't you save it at least until that shoulder's been fixed?"

He stared at me with a faintly amused smile on his face, his red hair dripping with the same water that soaked his blue thigh-length tunic. His green eyes seemed just as amused as his smile, but despite all that enjoyment he'd made a very good point. If they were going to fix my shoulder, I'd be better off waiting until then before starting a fight.

"Well, well, it looks like we've achieved a truce even if lasting peace is nowhere in sight," he said with a chuckle, turning and beginning to make his way back to the clearing. "Introductions now seem to be in order, so I'll begin by saying I'm Talasin of Redann. What's your name, girl?"

I was right now paying more attention to where he was carrying me than to what he was saying, as I hadn't done much looking around the last time I'd been in the clearing. It wasn't entirely a natural clearing, that could be seen at a glance, and the direction we were moving in was the way to get back to the stream. I'd been going in the opposite direction, toward the deeper forest, away from the area of fancy tents which filled the clearing. To the left and right of the tents, scattered among the trees, was what looked to be the campsites of a fairly large number of fighters. Guardsmen of some sort would have been my guess, but as to whose guardsmen...

"A slave?" a voice suddenly said in outrage, and I turned my head to see a short, brown-haired, beardless man dressed in light blue robes. His sallow face was narrow and entirely humorless, and his dark eyes blazed.

"You called me here to tend a slave?" he demanded, most of his fury aimed at the man who carried me. A second man standing beside the one in blue was a lot larger, more the size of the one carrying me, a sandy-haired, brown-eyed fighter in dark red tunic rather than blue. He and my most immediate captor wore swords, but no leather other than in the sandals on their feet.

There were also a couple of guardsmen who were in leather above dark gold tunics, but they stood a short way off and were only casually interested in the goings-on.

"I called you here to tend this slave," the man carrying me, Talasin, returned with the beginnings of annoyance. "Didn't you listen to anything Fearin said? I know you were there when he warned us, you were standing less than two strides away from me. You can't mean you've forgotten?"

The sallow-faced little man scowled, half in embarra.s.sment over the accusation, half in what seemed like an attempt to search his memory, and the big man beside him laughed.

"Lokkel here might be quicker to remember if that slave was worth remembering," he said, proving himself to be the second voice I'd heard, the arrogant one. "I've seen and made use of worse in my time, but certainly not lately. Those blue eyes don't belong in a face as unattractive as hers."

"You can't expect everyone to be as beautiful as you are, Garam," the man holding me said with a laugh, obviously very amused. "But Fearin didn't say if she was as beautiful as a song or as plain as a sword rag. He just said we had to have her."

"It appears to me that you do have her," the small man Lokkel said, stiffness as well as petulance now filling him. "If she needs to be tended, call one or two of the animal handlers seeing to the horses and mules. They're certain to be perfectly adequate to the task, and I have far better things to occupy my time. I trust you'll excuse me now?"

His bow was pure sarcasm, undoubtedly saying he had no need at all to ask anyone's permission to leave, but he was answered in an unexpected way. Without his knowing it a younger man in deeper blue robes had come up behind him, a man with blond hair and beard and blue eyes to match his robes.

"Your trust is misplaced, Lokkel, since you're not excused," the man said in a very deep voice, one that caused the smaller, older man to pale and start. "You'll use your arts to heal that slave as you were told to do, and then you can go back to your studies.""I fail to see why you don't use your own arts, Fearin," Lokkel retorted as he turned, false aggressiveness trying to cover extreme nervousness. "A master of your rank should find very little beyond his ability, therefore - "

"Therefore I should do your job for you," the man Fearin interrupted, disgust in his tone as he stared down at the smaller man. "You've been trying to push things off on me since you joined us, Lokkel, and I'm more than tired of the practice. Yes, I can heal the slave as well as you can, but no, I have no intention of wasting my time refreshing the spells in my memory. Learning those spells is what you've chosen to devote your life to, and now you're going to use some of them."

"Since you insist, Fearin, of course I'll give you the benefit of my learning," Lokkel came back, now using stiffness to cover his increased upset. "I have no need to be told how many things there are demanding your time and attention, I merely thought the healing spells were among the great many you maintain mastery of. Set the slave on her own feet, Talasin, and then step away from her. This will only take a moment."

"Spend two moments and do the job properly," Fearin said, his attention now on the way Talasin began to put me down. "That wound in her shoulder isn't the only thing requiring healing, something you would know if you had looked at her more closely. Stop thinking of her as a slave and start to consider her someone we've been commanded to add to our numbers."

"Commanded," Lokkel echoed, his narrow face now openly disturbed. "I hadn't realized..."

Lokkel stopped worrying about the conversation at that point, possibly because of the difficulty he could see I was having standing up all alone. What he'd just been told seemed to mean quite a lot to him, which cut short his fiddling around. He raised his arms, sent an unfocussed gaze directly at me, then began to speak his spells.

The pa.s.sage of time turns strange when one of Power directs a spell at you, and the experience is never easy to describe. Everyone knows, of course, how the entire world seems to turn blue, and how the shade of blue always indicates the amount of strength possessed by the one wielding the Power. Explaining what the Power does to you is the hard part, and my experience this time was as confusing as anyone else's. It felt as though half of forever and most of all things ever born or made were used to repair my wound and the ravages of slavery, but it also happened in a single instant through the use of nothing but words. When the forever-instant was over and Lokkel began to lower his arms, I no longer found standing up a problem.

"Now that's an example of proper, efficient healing," Fearin said with such deep satisfaction that the Healing Master nearly blushed from the compliment. "You have my thanks, Lokkel, and now you can go back to your studies. You're obviously not wasting your time with them."

"You honor me with your words of praise, Fearin," Lokkel answered with a bow he meant this time. "Should you have further need of me, please don't hesitate to call."

The small man turned and walked away with his head held high, his entire bearing saying he was sure he was being watched with awe and admiration by everyone behind him, but that wasn't quite the truth. The two fighters Talasin and Garam seemed more bored than awed, and the High Master Fearin was looking at me.

"You were so close to the end you were nearly beyond the help of all but the G.o.ds," Fearin commented, his dark blue eyes as calm as his voice. "I don't have to be told you weren't the best of slaves, but that's all over with now. Once you've helped us to our final victory, your reward will be your freedom. What's your name, slave?"

"What my name isn't is slave," I answered, using my left hand to rub my shoulder while I gently flexed my re-strengthened right arm. "Whoever your victory is supposed to be over, it means less than nothing to me. Keep your reward, man of high Power. When you come across a slave you can use the reward then to impress her."

"Watch your mouth, Ugly!" the fighter Garam barked, taking one step toward me. "Even free men don't get away with talking to High Masters like that, and you're nothing but a scruffy girl slave. If he doesn't care to knock you flat, I'll be glad to do it for him.""Prince Garam, please," Fearin interrupted as I shifted my gaze to the fighter, the High Master's deep voice sounding more than annoyed. "I appreciate your offer of help, but I'm capable of answering an insult by myself. Look here, girl, I don't have the time to play around with you. I can take back that healing you were given and then simply stand here and watch you die. If you prefer that to pledging your cooperation, just say so."

"I prefer that to pledging my cooperation," I responded obligingly, still keeping my eyes on the fighter Garam. I didn't trust Garam to keep his distance the way he'd been told to do, but his only reaction to what I said was a tightening of his jaw and a thicker reflection of anger in his eyes. The other fighter, Talasin, simply looked surprised.

"You think I'm joking," Fearin said very flatly, the coldness increasing in his voice. "You think I wouldn't have had you healed if I intended to take it back again. You think - "

"I think I don't particularly care what you do," I said, finally turning my head back to Fearin.

"I spent almost two full seasons as a slave and refuse to spend a moment more that way. Free or dead, whichever I become I will be it now, not at some future time and at the pleasure of my ... betters. If you think I'm not serious, call my bluff."

"Free or dead are only two of the things it's possible for someone to be," Fearin said, the coldness now reaching for his eyes as he straightened where he stood. "There are worse things than death, worse than you can possibly imagine, horrors so overpowering that strong men have been known to soil themselves from no more than glimpses. Shall I give you one of those rather than death?"