Knite

The captain was from the far eastern lands we knew so little about. She was, like most of her people, religious about wearing as little as she could. Only propriety and her love for profit clothed her in the loincloth and chest wrap she wore. I found didn’t much mind her nakedness.

“A half-gold each,” she said, waving and directing her crew as they tugged and prodded chained men into their ship’s hold.

“Each?” I asked, amused.

The short captain craned her neck to look up at me. “For the risk of bringing in three free men, yes, a half-gold each.”

“And our horses?”

She shook her head. “Five. Each.”

“And how, pray tell, did you come by that estimation?”

“I hate horses. They’re bulky, flatulent, and entirely too fond of shiting where they stand. Besides, I’ll have to leave behind some of my merchandise, and since I’ve already purchased them, they’ll cost me twofold in storage and late fees.”

“Fine,” I said, shrugging.

“Five horses and five persons then?”

“Just the one horse. We’ve already sold the others.”

She nodded. “Seven gold and fifty silver then.”

I waved over our escort. She stalked over from beside the stone stairs leading up to the city.

“Eight according to the captain,” I told her.

“Silver?”

I shook my head.

The escort regarded the captain with the same wooden expression she'd worn since she’d collected us from the inn. “For a cargo of five?”

The short, tanned captain looked between me and the soldier like a child who was about to be reprimanded for some act of mischief. “And a horse.”

“Reestimate the cost, Captain Jule. Keep in mind that this fare is being commissioned by Mistress Stone herself.”

The captain sighed in defeat. “For her, I would count my trading rights to be payment enough.”

The escort nodded and turned to me. “I believe my duties have been completed. On behalf of my mistress, I bid you farewell.”

Within a quarter turn, we’d embarked. I think the captain had thought to put us in the hold. Instead, she’d opted to give us use of the berth deck, forcing her disgruntled crew to bunk with the slaves and horse. Roche found their complaints amusing, which of course he felt the need to inform them of. The man would be more trouble than he was worth if he wasn’t worth so much.

Half a day into our journey and in the calm of night, Merkon awoke dazed and confused, intermittently going into rages. He barked incoherent ramblings and swung his fists at any who tried at nursing him. When he tired himself out, we gave him water and fed him fish, troubling his constitution to no end. For hours he dripped with sweat and spewed back all we’d given him. Finally, deep in the night, tired and overworked by his mental and physical woes, he slept. When next he woke, late the morning after, his fever had died and his mind had shaken off most of its deliria.

“Why?” he asked.

Roche, Helena, and I turned to the boy. Sanas was on the upper deck. She had refused to come down. I think the berth reminded her too much of The Bridge. From the way she hugged herself, rocking back and forth, the upper deck wasn’t much better.

“Why?” Merkon repeated. He stared at the ceiling and made no move to sit up from his sweat-stained bedroll.

“Because you were unlucky in birth,” I said.

His face turned to me. I sat leaning against a wall to his right. I could see him weighing my words, a slow dance of meanings working their way across his thoughts, transforming confusion into understanding. “My parents—"

“Are not your parents,” I said.

His body stiffened. His emotions did the opposite, roiling and boiling. I decided to comment before his anger bubbled to the surface and gave thought to the assignment of blame.

“I gave them a strong, dutiful son when they would’ve had nothing but a child's corpse. I gave you a doting family when you would’ve had nothing but a torturous childhood—likely one that would’ve seen you dead before you lived through it. I think all but Lorail should thank me for the kindness.”

“Lorail is…” he began.

“Yes.” His question was clear.

“Then I am a…”

“Fiora.”

“And you took me from—”

“The hardship of her attention.”

“Why?”

“I thought you already had the answer to that question.”

“No,” he said. “You told me why I should accept it in thanks, not why you chose to play righteous god with my life.”

I smiled. I knew I liked the boy. Roche, lying on a hammock and carving a flower from a small block of wood, tittered in agreement.

“Why am I here?” Merkon asked, wincing as he made to shift into a sitting position. “I am a mere guard—an inexperienced, weak guard at that. Why am I not dead?”

“You underestimate yourself. You mightn't have any worthwhile training in sensus, but your martial skills are laudable. Nevertheless, it is not your skill but who you are that has placed you in these circumstances. What is it you last remember?”

“Our duel. Then…the rush of water.” Shadows of fear crossed his face. “I tried to fight it but the water was dense. Too dense. Dense enough I knew I was in the dead sea. No matter how hard I pulled and pushed, I couldn't break the surface. Eventually, the water rushed down my throat. I tried to cough it out. I remember the bubbles brushing against my face, blinding me. Then darkness came and I knew no more.”

I looked to Helena who sat crosslegged, crushing herbs in a small mortar and pestle. She had enough wherewithal to avoid my gaze.

“I apologize for my incompetent servant,” I said. Helena bristled. If nothing else, she’d long been a proud woman. I couldn’t hold it against her. It was me who gave her the source of that pride. “Her mission was to orchestrate your death so others would think me gone. She’d taken some liberties with how she went about the task.”

“How could my death help you disappear?”

I got up and kneeled beside him. A hand to the back of his head, a brief flash of sensus, and the mask he never knew he’d always worn crumbled away in a mass of facial twitches.

I had deactivated the disguise before my arrest so his supposed death could be mine, reactivated it when we left the city so others would not take note, and eradicated it now because we were far enough from any who knew this version of me that it didn’t matter.

Merkon reached up and ran his fingertips down his face. “What have you done to me.” Features I’d worn for the last eighteen cycles gazed back at me. The hair remained light brown, though its soft curls straightened to dangle down to his nose. His eyes, now a little closer to his hooked nose, had brightened from umber to tawny.

I took out a small mirror and handed it to him. “As the price for the life and death I spared you, and the one I’d given in its place, I borrowed something of yours. This is me giving it back.”

It took two and a half days for us to get to the shores of Halor Island. We disembarked a little ways off the coastal city of Haloryarey. The name translates to ‘little Halor’ in the ancient language. Despite its derivative nature and general poverty, as one of only two landing points and the place of choice for priming slaves, the city, behind the isle's capital itself, was the largest settlement in Lorail’s domain.

We walked up the well-trodden, winding road to Haloryarey amid packed carts, some of them carrying grain and livestock, many of them full of slaves, all of them led by women. Merkon, whose weakness demanded he ride my mare, earned glowers and murmurs for daring to partake in a privilege men of The Island of Betters were largely barred from. Only the presence of Helena and Sanas leading the horse prevented those glowers from swelling into action. I was glad the journey had tamed the mare’s temperament for a time. Seasickness seemed to have leached away her fractious energy.

Roche and I trailed behind the horse, hoods up, heads down, and trying our best to appear submissive. Roche was shaking. Others thought him meek. I thought him excited.

As we took the last bend of the beaten road, the city lay sprawled before us, no outer walls or gates hiding its form. The soil here was dead and hard despite being so close to the ocean. No foliage or greenery grew as far as the eye could see. Low buildings of sandstone—their imperfection showing them to have been mundanely constructed—were splayed between wide streets of packed earth, none more than two floors. Despite its rather copious population, few of the inhabitants walked the streets.

Helena found a horse trader operating her business on an isolated field of mud at the edge of the city. The trader, a diminutive woman who seemed ill-suited to her profession, came out of the stables to meet us.

I watched absentmindedly, my mind focused on a hooded figure skulking in the shadow of the nearest building. They’d been trailing us since we’d gotten on the road to the city.

“What can I get you?” the horse trader asked.

“Four horses,” Sanas said.

The horse trader wiped her small hands on the dirty rag hanging from her belt. “Preferences?”

“Four geldings of stout constitutions should do,” Sanas said.

The woman glanced over Sanas’ shoulder, frowning when her eyes found Merkon atop my mare. “I can get you a cart for your men if need be. Then three geldings would do. One for the cart, the others for you and your associate.”

Sanas shook her head. “No need.”

“You’re letting slaves ride horses?”

Sanas tensed. She’d felt like a slave for far too long to be comfortable with the word. “Would that be a problem?”

The woman offered nothing but a shrug in protest. “Not my business what you let your slaves do.”

The hooded figure began to move away from us. I leaned in to whisper in Sanas’ ear. “Handle this. We have a shadow I must take care of. Take whatever horses are available and ride west. I will find you when I’m done. Nod as if you're permitting some request of mine. It wouldn’t do for the trader to think me an out-of-control slave.”

“Be careful,” she whispered back. Only time would mend her trust in me. I owed her some. We would see if it would be enough.

She nodded and a quick bow from me completed the ruse. Sanas grinned at the sight. It had been a time since anyone had bowed to her, let alone The Dark Prince himself lowering himself before her.

I turned into a lonely passageway and took to the thatched roofs. Traffic was thin and a man running through the streets would not wait long to be detained.

The figure walked a convoluted route of small alleys and complex intersections, venturing ever deeper into the city. I tried to touch their emotions. The dark hood hid more than just their face. Unsurprising. On an island full of Augers, no one dared leave their soul out for plunder if they could help it.

After a lengthy pursuit taking us well into the city, the figure broke into an empty square, the area unusually quiet. I knew better. The silence told me what I’d failed to realize. Strength like mine was hard not to rely on, even when I knew I could not use it.

I dropped the short distance down from a single-story building of crude brick and walked into the open space where the cowled figure stood, waiting.

“Fast in body but slow in mind,” she said, lowering her hood. Captain Jule turned to me with a smirk. “Like a wild stallion unaware he’s being led by the reins. Gods, I hate horses.”

I smiled and began to strip away my weapons. Running was out of the question. I was caught, and in truth, had but two viable options: fight and be captured, or obey and be captured. There was a third, but though possible, it was just as unacceptable. I chose to obey.

Sometimes I hated my promises.

I dropped my twin swords. My other blades followed, clattering atop one another. Once the last of my weapons fell, I followed, dropping to my knees.

Jule did not comment but her smirk persisted. Only the thought of making her death slow and hard kept my thirst for her at bay.

“Maybe not that slow,” she said.

“How?” I asked. “All the other captains were clear in their duplicity; I could smell their greed like fresh manure on a stale summer day. You, on the other hand, seemed fond of coin but otherwise more…scrupulous. I was wrong, and I am rarely wrong.”

“Superior skill can take .”

“Spare me your games,” I growled. She flinched at that and I released a slow breath to calm my urges. “You’ve won. Answering me would cost you nothing.”

She grinned, proudly, happy to brush past her spike of fear. “My namat is a rather useful sort. Particularly for—”

Guards interrupted any exposition she might’ve offered. They streamed out of the surrounding buildings, dozens of them, their hooded cloaks wrapped about their dark-blue uniforms, their weapons drawn, their matrix glyphs charged. I was surrounded.

Forty wasn’t so many. Even without my true sensus…

Their leader separated from the crowd and ambled forward. Her fur-trimmed armor drew in the late afternoon sunlight. She gazed at me behind the narrow slit of her helmet. “Broken before capture? My mistress will not be happy.”

“Not my problem,” Jule said. “I get paid for delivering him, which, now that he’s in your custody…” She turned and walked away, barging past a pair of guards to leave the encirclement. I stared after her with fantasies of how I’d dance her on the edge of death, of letting her befriend pain as it took her on a slow journey into madness.

“Arse on heels,” the armored woman commanded, pulling me from a daydream of Jule impaled from arse to mouth with a healing spike. I scoffed but did as she asked.

“No need to raise your voice,” I said.

She struck me in the jaw with a gauntleted hand. The matrix-carved metal bent on impact and she pulled her fist back with a hiss. I hadn't moved.

“You’ll pay for that,” she growled.

I smiled at her. “There’s really no need to prove your control of the situation. I am, for now, committed to obedience.”

Her hand reached into the folds of her uniform and came back with a slave collar, the small intricate matrixes on its surface gleaming. I grimaced at the sight. She grinned.

The metal band snapped shut around my neck, shutting off my sensus. Next, she called for a rope. One of her people handed her a bundle of corded twine. She looped it around my wrists, pulling it stiff.

My eyes narrowed. “Violence without purpose is—"

She drove her fist into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs. She was strong for a Halorian.

“You will pay for that,” I groaned.

“Silence.” She turned back to her subordinates. “Bring me my horse!”

The horse came to an abrupt stop. I tumbled into the horse's rear legs. Grass tickled my face. The Horse’s long tail tickled the back of my neck. Clothes ruined, ribs bruised and broken, left wrist dislocated, and a nasty collection of cuts and scrapes decorating my front, I decided there and then the helmeted woman would die. The first blow would cost her a few fingers, maybe an ear. This pesky insult would cost the bitch her life. Ah, who am I kidding? Her death was signed the moment I met her.

We’d arrived at a beautiful mansion at the edge of the cliff. It was four stories of marble—the only building with more than two floors—and surrounded by beds of flowers, evenly cut grass, and a line of trees circling its perimeter—the only plant life I’d seen since stepping into the city. A sensual woman dressed in a silken dress of deep blue stood between two magnificently carved pillars that marked the edge of the vast portico. An older man stood by her side, his arms clasped behind his back.

The woman in blue stepped toward me as I perused my surroundings. “They tell me you’re a slave I might be willing to take on. Care to tell me why?”

I pushed onto my knees and stood—feeling no pain can do wonders for ignoring injuries. There was a cut on the inside of my cheek, filling my mouth with blood. I spat it at her feet. She giggled a little. An odd thing for a woman as old as her. It was one of the many foibles she adopted in the pursuit of imitating her mother.

“I suspect my favorite acolyte was rather upset about having to let you go,” she said. “She loves a challenge almost as much as I.”

I sighed. Of course Sishal was one of hers. Lira had always favored the more volatile sort.

She grinned. I was glad Roche was not there to see it. Much of his pain was wrapped up in a smile that was all too similar.

“What are you worth?” she asked. “I might enjoy conquering you, but I prefer it when my leisurely pursuits gift me with more than just pleasure.” I stayed silent. She turned back to her slave. “Danar, was Jule expecting me to be impressed by his resistance alone?”

The old man stepped forward and bowed. “Captain Jule’s messenger said he was sent by Celia, Master. Personally.”

“Ahh, I see. So Stone herself has deemed him worthy.” Lira turned back to me. “How is it we sent Rahala then?”

“Crowol was there, Mistress. She would’ve handled the matter if it had escalated.”

The guard, who’d already come off her horse and knelt on the ground, her head bowed, spoke up. “Might I speak on the matter, Mistress?”

Lira nodded her assent. “Say what you will.”

“Although his arrest was without much incident, he did exhibit a control and capacity for raw sensus that dwarfs my own.”

Lira scoffed. “My little Ralaha, that does not mean as much as you seem to think.”

The guard bowed deeper, taking the insult in stride. “As you say, Mistress. What I meant to express was that I think his abilities could, if barely, contend with Master Crowol’s.”

Lira quirked a brow at that. “Really? You think he can compete with my Crowol? I suspect that if that were true, he would most certainly have attempted an escape. Very well, Danar, take him to the training pens. I will see about uncovering the truth of it when he has had time to ripen in one of my stalls.”

Danar was stronger than he appeared. He hoisted my considerable weight onto his shoulder with little effort, lugged me around the mansion along a colorful mosaic, and took me into a small building at the back of the rear garden. An underground staircase stood in the center of the small space, spiraling down into darkness. Every step down it dug his shoulder into my ribs. One such step pushed a broken rib hard enough to puncture a lung. If he heard my wheezing, he paid it no mind.

Every circle of stairs met us with a tunnel. The first three were full of muffled moans, the stench of sweat nauseating. The fourth was subdued by the screams of the fifth and sixth, the air thick with the scent of fresh blood. The seventh, despite the piercing cries of the floors above, was silent. Here lay my destination.

Danar strode a little way into the tunnel, opened a thick metal door, snatched off my slave collar, and threw me into a small room barely big enough for me to lie in. My back hit the far wall and the door slammed shut before I slid to the floor.

I sat in nothingness. There was no smell, no sound, no light in the room. When I tried to speak, my voice was stolen before it could reach my ears. The skeleton cage was good. Not perfect, mind you, for whoever had built it couldn't hold a finger against my brother, but good.

With nothing to do until they came for me, I remained where I lay, closed my eyes, and consigned myself to wait.

Everyone always thought I had a grand plan. I didn’t. I never did. What I had—and have—was the ability to adapt and adjust as needed. Whenever I succeeded, others saw the fruition of a complex strategy. I think they undersell my talent and overestimate my mysticism. Complex strategy requires everyone and everything to adhere to the limits of expectations. In a world of chaos, a strategy would necessitate the power of a god. There are no gods.

So without certainty, without gods or deities, and when all seems against me, my talent is supreme.

My niece would not wait long to suffer this talent of mine.