Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2) (8 page)

He held my gaze. “When we have our mercenaries. I promise.”

As I had never known the High Lord to break his word, the ache in my heart eased a little as we moved on. Once we had the children, I would see what I could do about healing them. I prayed to the spirits that I would get the chance.

Sheep and goat bleated side by side as we moved forward. Cows, horses, then other great animals I had never seen before, the color of desert sand, long-legged, taller even than Batumar. They must have been used for dragging carts, for I could not see how a person could sit on one’s back where a giant hump took up all the space.

Batumar stepped closer to pet one. “Camels.”

A portly man—fat as a harvest mouse, in truth—immediately rushed up to us with an earthenware jar. “Camel milk, mistress. The healthiest of all milks. It will cure any disease. It will strengthen any weakness.” Then he smiled slyly at Batumar. “It will increase a man’s strength in bed.”

I nearly choked on my own spittle at his brazen suggestion. The High Lord of the Kadar certainly did
not
need help between the furs.

But Batumar laughed at the small man and clapped him on the back. “We will take a flask.”

“A taste, mistress?”

I accepted the cup. The camel milk tasted saltier than cow milk, and richer. Likely it did have some medicinal benefit.

“Very healing,” he said again. “Camel piss too. A cask of that?”

I knew urine was used in the tanning of furs, but I never heard of it used as medicine. Batumar was ready to move on with the flat flask that had an interesting knobby topper, but I asked the merchant, “How does this heal?”

The man went on about wounds and infections, but he was no healer, so he could not tell me what I wished to know. And then I saw a large cage far ahead, apart from the others at the edge of the market, and something about the majestic animal inside drew me forward. I forgot all about the camels.

“It is not the same one,” Batumar said as I passed him.

Eight men were attempting to move the tiger cage, struggling to hold the four long carrying beams—two in front, two in the back—as the tiger roared inside, snapping at them with her fearsome teeth and swiping at them through the bars. I could see scars on her side. I knew those scars.

I grabbed Batumar’s arm, my heart pounding with excitement. “It is she.”

A year earlier, I had been sold into slavery at the port city of Kaharta Reh but was later taken to Karamur, the High Lord’s seat. On that journey, our traveling group had come across a tiger. She had come too close to me. Batumar’s warriors filled her side with spears, but I had healed her afterwards. I had understood that she’d meant us no harm, had only been defending her young.

She had been fearsome then, but now she was truly terrifying in her fury. Between the tiger and the rest of the market, warriors stood on guard at a distance with their bows and arrows, others with lances, in case the cage could not hold her.

Batumar and I stopped at a safe distance.

“Where are you taking her?” he asked the workmen.

The tallest of the ragged men answered without looking at us. “One-Tooth Tum bought her. He’s taking her to the fighting cages of Naresh.” He grunted as they heaved. “She is worth her weight in gold there.” He grunted again. “If we can get her to the ship. Thrice the size of our island tigers. A Selorm battle tiger, I wager.”

She was powerful and powerfully enraged. I did not want her blood to be spilled on Rabeen’s rocks. I fastened my eyes to hers and hummed a spirit song in my heart.

Oh great mother, I greet you as a friend. Oh great mother, I bring you no harm.

Her gaze sharpened. She shook her head. Could she hear? Did she recognize me?

Oh great mother, think of the forest. Think of the wind in the trees. Think of the water of the creek. Oh great mother, think of sleep.

Her eyes found mine. The tiger blinked once, slowly. She stood still now, did not try to swipe at the men through the bars.

Oh great mother, think of the forest. Think of the wind in the trees. Think of the water of the creek. Oh great mother, think of sleep.

She lay down with a great heaving sigh, which nearly unbalanced the crate, but the men steadied it again, grunting under the weight. All the while, she was looking at me.

Some of the men caught her gaze and glanced toward me with fear, others with speculation. I paid them no mind.

Oh great mother, think of the forest. Think of the wind in the trees. Think of the water of the creek. Oh great mother, think of sleep.

And the tiger closed her eyes.

More people were watching now, wondering why all that roaring suddenly stopped. As more and more eyes turned in my direction, Batumar tugged me away.

I followed with reluctance, consoling myself with the thought that I would see the tiger again on our ship.

“What happens in the fighting cages of Naresh?” I asked Batumar.

“Whatever pleases the Queen of Naresh. Female warriors fight each other, bears, lions, and tigers. The gladiator cages of Naresh draw men from the far corners of the world. They fill the cages with a mixture of fighters and beasts, and the fight goes on until only one warrior remains. The women fight naked, with a single double-edged blade. It is considered a great attraction.”

I could not imagine such a place.

I did not wish for the tiger to go to the fighting cages. But neither did I want her to remain on Rabeen, this rock in the middle of the sea. I could see no escape for her here. I consoled myself with the thought that we had a long journey to the mainland. I would think of something before we reached the port of Ishaf.

We meandered back toward our ship, taking a different path through the warren of passageways. Shaking another coin out of his boot, Batumar purchased a blanket made out of camel hair to increase the comfort of our cabin. I tied it around me like a second cloak. The blanket smelled like the camel had, but it did block the wind.

Then we bought dried fruit, smoked sausages, and more cheese, and flat, hard bread that would have to be sawed to bits and soaked in water before we could eat it.

“I would spend the last of our coin on pickled eggs,” Batumar said, and I nodded in agreement.

We had passed by those earlier. Sealed tight in their earthenware jars, the lid made of metal, that would be one food the rats could not attack. Pickled eggs might save us yet if we lost everything else.

The beggar children did not bother with us again, as a new ship had come to port, but a little girl sitting aside by some sacks of wheat grabbed my ankle as we passed.

“Food, blessed mistress. A bit of food please, or a little coin,” she begged in a singsong voice laden with pain. Dark circles of suffering framed her eyes. She winced as she shifted.

Batumar reached into our food sack and came up with a chunk of cheese, which the girl grabbed greedily.

She was moving her arm with difficulty. And she could not move her boney little legs at all. As her clothes shifted, her scars became apparent. She was deformed from having been badly burned.

While Batumar inspected a bag of oats, I reached my hands out to her without thinking. I would have naught to do on our long journey but lie on top of a pile of potatoes. I would have time to recover.

She startled but did not pull away.

I could feel her damaged skin and the muscles that had been destroyed beneath. Then I felt for the good skin and good muscles of my own body, and I sent my healing spirit into her. I gasped as her pain flooded me, but held on until she was fully healed.

Her gaunt face cleared and her emerald eyes flew wide with astonishment, even as I had to steady myself against the pole that held the canvas roof of the stall next to us. She moved her arms and legs, laughter bubbling up her throat as she jumped to her feet, losing her balance and falling down again. She hung on to the wheat sacks behind her and pulled herself to standing once more, eager to learn to walk again.

“Tera.” Batumar managed a growl that was at the same time angry and concerned.

I tried to breathe against the pain I had drawn, watching the girl move in every direction in jerky twists, like a dancing drunkard. Then she suddenly stilled, staring past us before collapsing to the ground and wrapping her arms around herself, her laughter replaced by a gasp of fear.

A wizened old man was running toward us with a dark storm on his face. “What have you done?” He sucked in air. “Heathens!”

He reached us and began to strike me with his fleshy hands at once, but Batumar shoved him back, looking ready to cut him in half.

The man turned to the merchants behind their stalls, and, having caught his breath at last, began loudly complaining for all to hear. “A full gold piece it cost me for the blacksmith to burn them just right. My grandson I lost to infection, but this one lived. Now I have to have her burned again. Who will pay for that? What if she dies? She will probably die, I tell you.”

He waved his arms and stomped his feet as he turned to Batumar. “I demand payment.”

The vendors around us nodded in agreement.

“It is right.” A tall man with pockmarks on his face spoke up. “You damaged his property. If you do not pay for it, you are committing theft.”

The sea of angry faces scowled at us as if we had stolen a side of mutton off a table.

I let the pole go and stepped closer to Batumar, leaned against him for support as pain coursed through me. We could be swallowed in this crowd and never be seen again. One-Tooth Tum would not come looking for us or be overwrought by our disappearance. He already had our crystals.

The crowd moved in closer. A few daggers appeared. One man hefted an ax. I hid my hands behind my back, fearing what would happen if they branded us thieves.

Batumar shot them a warning look, pulling to his full height, squaring his shoulders.

“Can we take her with us?” I whispered, my heart pounding.

He stepped between me and the angry mob, measuring up the men, his stance ready for fight. “We will be traveling through war-torn lands crawling with enemies. She would be no safer with us,” he told me under his breath, his gaze on the crowd.

I knew he had little if any coin left, which we might need to pay the captain to let us off the ship in Ishaf. We might have to buy our own lives yet. And the lives of every man, woman, and child on Dahru depended on our success. But Batumar did reach under his doublet and pulled out a gold piece.

The old man’s eyes glinted with greed as he snatched the coin with a speed that belied his age. He bit hard on it, then gave a satisfied nod as he quickly hid it in a secret pouch behind his belt. Then he stuck his chin out toward us. “Where is the rest?”

I could not have moved had I tried, just breathed against the pain as I waited for the men to finish bargaining.

“Do not burn her again.” Batumar’s voice had a cold edge. He held out another gold coin. From the grim look he shot me, I understood that this coin was our last. “On the next merchant ship, send her to Karamur to serve.”

He stood and spoke like a warlord. He put his hand on his sword.

The old man grabbed the coin, bit this one too, then hid it as quickly as the first. “Yes, my lord. On the next merchant ship, I shall send her to Karamur to serve.”

Batumar looked around at those who had gathered around us. “You are the witnesses.”

Some men put away their daggers with disappointment as they eyed us, probably wondering if we could possibly have some coin left. But a few of the more honest-looking men nodded.

Then Batumar turned to the old man again. “I shall come back this way. When I come to Rabeen again, she better not be here. When I reach Karamur, she better be there waiting, or I will come to find you.”

The old man nodded rapidly. “There are two merchant ships in port right now, my lord. I will put her on the one that leaves first for Dahru. I will even send one of my servant women with her to make sure she arrives safely to the palace.” He grabbed the girl and dragged her along, realizing now that Batumar might be a man of some power.

She was smiling back at us as she stumbled after her grandfather. She might fear being sent to a distant land, but she feared more the blacksmith’s fire. I hid my pain and smiled back at her. I prayed to the spirits to let us see her again.

A few stalls behind her, Pek stood by a pile of sugarcane, watching us with open curiosity on his face.

As the crowd dispersed, Batumar lifted me into his arms and carried me through the rest of the market, all the way to our ship and into our cabin. Even being carried hurt.

He settled me down gently on his fur cloak, then covered me with the camel-hair blanket. Every muscle in his body was stiff with anger. “You should not weaken yourself like this.”

“I do not like the market of Rabeen.” I gasped out the words.

His large hands brushed the hair back from my face, frustration and concern in his gaze. “How long will you suffer?”

“Not long,” I promised.

His chest rose, his displeasure all over his face.

“I am a healer,” I reminded him.

“I like it best when you are locked up in my Pleasure Hall.” He climbed onto our platform next to me. “Nay. I like it best when you are in my arms,” he corrected.

Soon we heard the rattle of the great chain as the sailors raised anchor; then we sailed around the small island to drop anchor again so the tiger could be loaded. Batumar opened the porthole so I could look out and so that fresh air could come in.

The cage waited at the end of the dock. The tiger was still lying down, although she growled as the men lifted her. I sent my spirit song to her to make her transfer easier. I did not wish for her to be dropped into the sea while locked in the cage.

After the tiger had been loaded, the servants carrying her returned to shore and quickly returned with a dozen black-and-white goats before leaving the ship for good.

Then I caught sight of a man nearly as tall as Batumar, his head and face wrapped in a black scarf against the wind, hurrying toward our ship with nine beggar children running behind him, much like the ones we had seen earlier—here an arm, there a finger or an ear missing.