Destiny: Child Of Sky (35 page)

She pulled the frosty veil up over her face and followed the corridor into the belly of the arena, stepping past puddles of water pooling from the melting snow blowing in the cracks. The deeper she went, the more populous the corridor became, until at last she was standing outside what was obviously the main subterranean entrance to the arena, one of many hallways leading back into the fighters' complex.

As she passed the opening she could hear in the distance a deep resonating ring, followed by a surge of shouting: Tovvrik, Tovvrik, Tovvrik. She hurried ahead of the rolling cheers, into the back tunnel and away from the gruesome noise, the sound of celebration.

A crude list of the gladiators and their bouts was scrawled in chalk on the wall of the arch that led to the bowels of the arena. In each bout one of the two names had been struck through. It was not difficult to find Constantin's; his was the final bout of the evening on the main program, and, from what she could tell of the number system in the language of the Sorbolds, it had been the match that had supplied the most lucrative odds.

Slaves were milling around the musty hallways, carrying food and bottles of medicine, emollients and wine, the women dressed as she was, gathering in a penlike area to the left of the archway. Rhapsody pulled her veiled hood closer and slid into the stream of human traffic, letting it carry her into the pen, hoping she was in the right place.

In a moment her hunch was confirmed. A short, muscular man with thinning gray hair and robes far richer than any the slaves wore appeared at the other end of the tunnel, and as he approached the women fell silent, looking at each other and watching with anticipation. He strode through the tunnel, came out through the archway, and then climbed an area of steps at the forefront of the pen, his eyes alternately scanning the crowd of slave women and the chalk writing behind him.

He turned behind him and shouted to one of the manservants down past the archway, and after a moment another man came from down the corridor and handed him a parchment page. The slave bowed respectfully and referred to him as Treilus; Rhapsody made note and tried to shrink behind some of the taller, more eager women until Constantin's name was called.

'Assignments for this evening's healers," Treilus announced.

Her stomach turned as she watched the process of selection. Most of the women slaves were vying for the opportunity to be chosen, displaying their bodies to their best advantage, and Rhapsody had to remind herself that some duties they faced must be even worse than this one.

Memories of her own past threatened to flood her with the mental equivalent of bile; she struggled to keep those thoughts at bay. Her stomach turned at Llauron's naivete. Treilus might say he was looking for healers, but she knew a whoremaster when she saw one. Her plan dissipated in a puff of desperation. Rescuing Constantin had just become a secondary concern. Now it was a matter of trying to survive what might be corning.

The first two fighters for whom women were chosen clearly had a connection to powerful people, and the slave women jostled and scratched each other, trying to position themselves appropriately. Then Constantin's name was called, and the pushing and preening stopped. The crowd of slaves became eerily silent, a sign that Rhapsody felt did not bode well for her.

Swallowing her dread, she dropped the veil that covered her face and hair and moved subtly into better view as Treilus was scanning down his list. When his eyes rose from the document they went immediately to her, and she shuddered as his mouth dropped open and he moved the parchment list in front of his lower abdomen to cover a sudden obvious change in the area. She hoped that his task was foremost in his mind; it hadn't occurred to her that he might be shopping for his own evening's entertainment as well as medical care for his gladiators.

Treilus came down off the step and pushed his way through the crowd of slave women until he stood directly before her. His eyes roamed unabashedly over her body as he walked around her, examining her from different angles. When he stood before her again he took hold of the scarf that served as a bodice for her costume and pulled it roughly toward him, looking down at her breasts inside the flimsy cloth. He released the scarf with a coldly professional air, and reached out absently to inspect a lock of her hair. His fingers caressed the golden strands, drawing them across his lips as though he was tasting them or investigating their softness.

He must have found them satisfactory, because he coughed and looked down at her, approval spreading over his face. “I don't recognize you," he said in a gratingly high voice. “Who are you? To whom do you belong?"

Rhapsody stared at him, trying to look as though she didn't understand him. “Can you speak Ancient Lirin?" she asked, in her native tongue. Clearly he couldn't; the blank look that crossed his face at her response was replaced almost immediately by a delighted smile.

'A captive!“ he said, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Constantin will be very pleased." The slave women looked at each other, some wearing grim expressions, others seeming relieved. Treilus motioned to one of the manservants, who brought forth a bottle of emollient and handed it to him.

'Can you understand me?“ he asked in an exaggerated tone. She nodded slightly, trying to maintain her look of mild confusion. "Good, listen well,“ he continued, handing her the bottle. Rhapsody stuck it into the scarf between her breasts and gave him a foolish grin; Treilus burst into laughter and rubbed his hands together again. "Oh, you will be perfect,“ he said, patting her cheek. "You will be delivered to Constantin's room, where you will service all his needs. Are you skilled in massage?"

Rhapsody nodded eagerly. “You are a toad," she said meekly in her best Ancient Lirin.

'Excellent!“ Treilus exclaimed, growing more excited. "Remember this, though: whatever else you do, you must be sure to massage the muscles of his back and shoulders before morning. He needs to be returned to fighting condition by tomorrow afternoon. If he is not, I will have you beaten mercilessly. Can you remember that?"

'Of course. May you be blessed with unstoppable diarrhea," she answered, lowering her eyes respectfully.

'You'd best attend to that part first," he said, a wicked look coming into his eye.

“You might not be in any condition to do so afterward. Go, then, and service him well."

'I hope you die in pain for what you are doing," she said in her unique language.

“And I hope that I am able to help bring it about." She bowed and followed the manservant into the corridors that led to the gladiators' sleeping quarters.

-

'What a beautiful creature,“ Treilus said to the nearest manservant. He dug his fist into his side, trying to quell the sudden wave of gas that was roiling through his intestines. "Have her brought to my chambers in the morning when Constantin is done with her, if she is still alive."

A knock sounded on the antique door, stirring Llauron from his reverie.

'Enter."

The door opened and Khaddyr came in, looking unusually breathless.

'You wanted to see me, Your Grace?"

Llauron smiled. “Yes, Khaddyr, thank you for being so prompt." The In-voker rose from his chair and gestured for his chief healer to enter the room, which Khaddyr did, closing the door behind him. “There's a supper tray here; please help yourself."

Khaddyr nodded but did not yet avail himself of food, instead hanging his heavy winter cloak on one of the pegs by the door. Then he went to the hearth and stood before the fire grate, warming himself. The wind had grown chill and bitter, and a storm was predicted. His hands had almost frozen in the time it took to journey here from the hospice.

Llauron poured himself a snifter of brandy. “So how are the patients doing?"

'Most are recovering quite well, Your Grace."

'Good, good. I am particularly interested to know the conditions of the survivors of the Lirin raid on Lord Stephen's border patrol this morning."

'None of them lived, Your Grace."

Llauron's eyes opened in surprise. “None?"

'Yes, they were apparently far more grievously injured than we originally suspected."

The Invoker inhaled the bouquet of the brandy, then took a sip, allowing the liquid to swirl around his mouth and over his tongue. He swallowed. “Even what-is-her-name, Cedelia, that woman with only the leg wound?"

'Yes, Your Grace. It must have gone septic."

Llauron's cool blue-gray eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “I see. Were you able to get anything out of them before they succumbed?"

Khaddyr went to the tray and picked up a plate. He began to fill it, glancing back at the Invoker, who was staring out the window. “The usual, Your Grace. They denied knowing why they were in Navarne, or traveling through Avonderre, or participating in any way. All they remembered was being in Tyrian, and then waking up, wounded, on the forest floor in Navarne. I wish they could have been more enlightening."

'Indeed." Llauron sat heavily back down in his chair.

Khaddyr took the seat opposite him. “On another topic, when do you expect to begin your journey?"

Llauron drained the brandy snifter. “In a month or so; the date hinges on a few things that haven't been sorted out yet. I'll be sure to give you as much notice as possible to make sure things are in order for you while I'm away."

Khaddyr smiled. “Thank you, sire. I'm sure everything will run smoothly in your absence. I will see to it."

Llauron met his smile in return. “I'm sure you will."

'Did I hear the guards say that Rhapsody was here earlier?" Khaddyr rubbed his hands together, massaging the chill from his knuckles.

Llauron folded his hands. She had come through the secret entrance; this was most interesting. The breach in his security was more widespread than he had realized.

'Yes,“ he said. "She was here to procure medicinal herbs and salves for Ylorc's infirmaries. She's gone back there now. I'm sorry you missed her, but she didn't want to be away from the Bolg for a moment longer than necessary. Seems they are in the throes of some sort of horrific endemic influenza."

'What a shame,“ Khaddyr said sympathetically. "Can we offer any assistance? I have some acolytes who have completed their medical training; you could send them to Ylorc with the next mail caravan to help in the hospitals."

The Invoker rose and went to the supper tray. He took a plate and began to fill it, trying to keep up the appearance of an appetite that had utterly vanished.

'What a very kind thought. I'm afraid it's too late, however. She was terribly upset.

When she left Ylorc the bulk of their army had already succumbed; I fear by the time she returns there will be nothing left but a few surviving fragments of the population. Epidemic disease is a terrible thing, but it is even more devastating for primitive cultures."

'I see. I'm certainly sorry to hear it. Well, is there anything else you wished to discuss with me, Your Grace?"

Llauron turned back to the fire. “No, not specifically. I just thought I'd invite you to supper; it's been a long time since we've had a good chat. I suppose I just wanted to see what my old protege is up to."

As Rhapsody followed the young manservant away from the arena and into the part of the complex that housed the gladiatorial barracks, a shout went up behind them. A few seconds later a man in loose, rich robes of the same color that Treilus had been wearing dashed into the corridor, pushing past them hurriedly, a look of panic contorting his face. He shouted again. The servant pulled her to the wall as the man came to a halt a few feet in front of them.

He shouted once more, an,d the sound was answered by the noise of running footsteps. Two women and a man, dressed in various forms of the healers'

uniforms Rhapsody had seen since entering the complex, ran forward to meet him, stopping as he had, looking grave. They conferred quietly in the Sorbold tongue; Rhapsody caught a few words—Treilus—-fundament exploded—excrement, blood—before the group wheeled and hurried back past her and the manservant.

She pressed even closer to the wall to stay out of their way until they disappeared around the corner again.

A hollow numbness began to spread through her as she realized what was happening. May you be blessed with unstoppable diarrhea, she had said to Treilus.

It appeared that she had inadvertently called upon her abilities as a Namer; though she had not intended the insult literally, her unbreakable vow to the truth was being kept, intentionally or otherwise. Rhapsody shuddered, remembering her last words to him.

,' hope you die in pain for what you are doing. And I hope that I am able to help bring it about.

Ever since she had accidentally renamed Achmed and freed him from his demonic bondage she had been painfully aware of the power of her words. She had slipped this time, had given in to her anger. And now because of her petty insult a man was dying hideously. Even if he was a reprehensible man, the thought still made her stomach writhe.

The manservant waited until the noise of the group had been swallowed up by the vast corridors of the complex, then gestured toward the entryway into the barracks.

Rhapsody nodded, turning away to avoid the look of pity in his eyes, and followed him into the fighters' wing.

She kept her head low and her eyes down as she obediently walked down the hallway. This area of the complex was far more elegantly appointed than the caverns beneath the arena, with polished floors and doors bound in brass fittings.

The wood of the doors was thick and solid, but even so she could hear the occasional moan or scream of passion as she passed; it was a sound that made her gorge rise.

The manservant stopped before the door at the very end of the hallway, pointing to it to indicate this was where she was to go. She saw the look of sympathy in his eye change to dread, and gave him an appreciative smile. Then she shooed him away with her hand, nodding to signal she understood what she was to do.