Teehma glared at him. He had obviously touched upon a sore subject.
“That one there,” Lucio continued, undisturbed, “is Ester; she couldn’t ever go stealin’ ‘cuz of her eyes. See?” He waved a hand in front of her unresponsive eyes as she treated them to a curtsy. “And the li’l one there is Trint. He’s my right hand man.”
Trint surfaced from Ester’s thin skirts long enough to acknowledge Lucio’s compliment. It looked as if his hair had never been cut at all and though his eyes were not so round as Lucio’s, they expressed great fear. One poorly healed scar decorated his left cheek and his hands were covered with small cuts. Vancien guessed these marks had been obtained by his unfortunate profession.
“So that’s it.” Lucio finished. “Gorvy comes back every couple of nights or so to take me and Trint out. I expect he’ll come tonight, since he ain’t been in a while.”
Some more awkward silence. Then Ester went over to a small trunk in the corner and began to fumble around inside. Her long skirts caught on the hay as she moved. “Can I get you a drink?” she offered, her voice small and uncertain. “We don’t have much, but Trint can fetch you some water.”
Vancien was touched by the offer but before he could respond, Teehma jerked the rough cups out of the girl’s hands. “No need to be hospitable, Es,” she snapped. “We don’t even know these men. Who’s to say they won’t sell us into slavery?”
Trint, who had been shyly eying Chiyo’s sword, gasped at the word. He looked up at the half-crouched general. “Slav’ry? We don’t wanna be slaves!”
Chiyo dropped to his knee beside the boy to reassure him. “No, Trint. We will not make you slaves. We want to help you, to give you a home.” As he said this, he cast a dubious look at his partner.
Vancien glanced at the curtain. They were wasting time. “My friend is right. Lucio, you know we have no interest in selling you as slaves. We are here only to help, but we’re running out of time. I have a friend here in the city. He has agreed to give you a place to stay until he can find you good homes. He can feed you and give you a warm place to sleep. But you have to trust us.” He looked imploringly at Teehma. “I told you I would come back to help you. And I did.”
She met his look but did not say anything. Instead, she brushed her lank brown hair out of her eyes, rubbed her chapped hands, and began to pack their meager belongings. Soon she began to speak to the room in general. “Well, we’ve got to be sold into slavery at some point, don’t we? Might as well get it over with. No good staying here for Gorvy one more night.”
Trint heard the word again and burst into tears. “Slav’ry? But I want a home!”
Wishing there were a way he could shut that girl up, Vancien gently but firmly took the sobbing Trint to the corner of the room. As Chiyo rounded up the others, he slipped a cord of leather from around his neck; on it was a small metal ring with a bright chip of glass soldered onto it.
“Look at this ring, Trint,” he whispered, determined to get through to the terrified child. “Do you see it? Do you like it?”
Trint stopped sobbing long enough to nod.
“My brother found it in a dried up stream a long time ago. He gave it to me when I was your age, not long before. . .well, not long before I lost him. He told me that as long as I wore it, I should remember that Kynell was watching out for me. Do you believe in Kynell?”
By now the sobs had turned into exaggerated sniffles. He nodded again.
“Good.” Vancien took the leather with the ring on it and slipped it around Trint’s neck. “He’s watching over you now. Will you keep this for me?”
Trint rubbed a dirty finger over the glass and nodded a third time. Then he returned to Ester and whispered something into her ear. A moment later, Chiyo had them herded outside, directing them from the shadow of the city walls and towards a nicer area of town, not too far from the magnificent palace itself.
The orbs were setting as they stood outside of a slender, ornate door. Unaccustomed as they were to luxury of any sort, Teehma and Trint gawked at its delicate brass handles, intricate woodwork, and glimmering polished surface. It was carved with the most extraordinary animals: along the door’s broad border prowled menacing fennels, crouching among shadowed foliage and trees, on the top of which were perched grand birds with round beaks the length of Trint’s arm. Lizards—not Sentries, but funny, four-legged lizards—darted under the leaves out of the birds’ sight. In the main panel itself, which was barely any wider than the border, stood an erect, frowning creature with big hands, bushy eyebrows, and delicately carved fur. It glared at them, daring them to touch the polished bronze knocker, which was carved to represent a money pouch hanging from its sash.
Notwithstanding the door’s intimidating gaze, Vancien banged the knocker. “Now, remember what I told you,” he said to the children as he waited for a response. “You must be very respectful toward my friend. He’s not exactly like us. He’s more like a. . .”
The door swung open and a short, beady-eyed primate appeared, looking very offended.
“A monkey!” Trint shrieked.
“A what?” it shrieked back.
“Sirin!” Vancien interceded, before the little primate shut the door on them. “Sirin, these are the children I told you about.”
Sirin blinked his red eyes and jabbed his cane at Trint. When he wasn’t shrieking, his voice was very deep. “You told me they were well behaved! That little beast called me a monkey! I am a munkke-trophe, sir.” He stared hard at the boy, who ducked behind Ester. “
Not
a monkey.”
Chiyo brushed past the munkke-trophe into the house. “Our apologies, Sirin. They’ve been on the street for some time, so their manners may be a little rough.” He gestured for the children to follow them, which they did, staring in amazement at their new surroundings. Even Lucio, who took pride in his air of skepticism, was overwhelmed.
Munkke-trophes were known for their facility with business, and Sirin was no exception. His fluidity in many languages had allowed him to trade successfully throughout and even beyond Keroul. And like most munkke-trophes, he had a taste for the finer things in life, which included striated marble floors, Oragione cushions from Chiyo’s own land in the West, and glossy wicker furniture tailored to munkke-trophe specifications (about half what a human’s specifications would be). Despite the short chairs, the parlor they found themselves in had a grand feel: massive tapestries covered the walls, end-tables supported countless bits of fine ceramic, and in the corner, elaborate metal stairs spiraled up to rooms above.
Sirin bustled in behind them. “Come in, come in, if you must. I can see you felt no need to wash the bratlings before bringing them here.” He touched Teehma’s arm with a furry finger; the girl barely noticed, so taken aback was she by her surroundings. “Dirty as a creerat. Did you roll them in manure before they came?”
“That’s enough, Sirin.” Vancien responded. “I didn’t ask you to take them in so you could abuse them. They’ve had enough of that already.”
The munkke-trophe shrugged and pulled a velvet cord by the door. “No matter. My servants will give them a proper bath.” Sure enough, two human servants came in response to the bell; a boy and a girl, neither one much older than Teehma and both of Chiyo’s descent. To Vancien’s relief, they seemed healthy and content.
“Where did you get servants?”
Sirin watched as the two shuffled the nervous children up the stairs. “Where does anybody get servants? Those two bratlings are from a noble family in Ktai. Brother and sister, they are, and very well mannered. My compliments to your kind, general.”
Chiyo nodded. But Vancien was confused. “Your house servants are nobility?”
Hobbling over to a large cushion, Sirin eased himself down. “It’s an honored tradition, brat—I mean, Vancien. In more secure days, many of the nobility would send their children to be apprenticed in a trade. They learn humility through service, you see. Wouldn’t do to have the better classes thinking themselves better, as it were. Those two,” he waved a cane at the ceiling, “are learning how to barter in four different languages. And they’re learning how to draw a hot bath. So when they return to their families, they will have more than their ancestry to rely on.” He paused to favor Vancien with a glare from his red eyes. “But you have riled things up, bratling. Although I must say, when Corfe announced that you were dead, my little munkke-trophe heart gave a twang. Now that you’re alive, I realize that I should have left you in the desert where I found you! With Telenar gone, Relgaré dead, and the new king enthralled with that misfit, the nobility of other realms are nervous. They aren’t as eager to send their young ones to us. Indeed, I must return these two to Ktai this warm season.” He wistfully flexed his paw, an action that was becoming more painful with age. “I shall have to make sure these new bratlings learn how to mix my joint poultice.”
Vancien was beginning to wonder if they really had delivered the children into slavery, but Chiyo seemed content with the situation. “They will earn their keep, Sirin, don’t worry about that. Just see if you can find them permanent homes, as well. You can always get other servants.”
Sirin waved off his objections. “Fear not, General. I want nothing but to dispense with my new charges as soon as possible. Now it’s time for you two to depart. I have a tradesman from your old neighborhood, Vancien, coming to talk to me about smelling salts and fennel traps. The foolish man is quite taken with this Corfe upstart; it wouldn’t do to have you two seen by him. Give Telenar my regards, take care on the road, watch out for strangers, and don’t step in front of the big carriages.”
The interview was over. Half a moment later, they were outside, the highly polished door shut behind them. Vancien stood in the fading light, a little stunned.
“We didn’t even get to say good-bye to them.”
Chiyo said nothing. He was staring thoughtfully at the building’s second-story windows.
“Do you think we did the right thing?” Vancien persisted.
Chiyo shrugged, then turned away. “They will be fed, clothed, and kept warm. Sirin has a softer heart than he lets on. They will do well. Right now, I’m more concerned about us. Sirin was right: it’s time we should be leaving.”
CHAPTER SIX
Verial ran as if Sentries were chasing her. Her legs burned, her chest felt like it might explode, and her vision started to swim, but still she ran. As the night turned into morning, the prairie grass rushed by, occasionally tripping her. But she picked herself up and ran harder, though she herself hardly knew why her flight was so urgent.
Part of her just wanted to run, to stretch her legs, to feel the rain soaking her skin and the wind tossing her hair. Long ago, before Obsidian’s Advocates found her, she used to run for the sheer joy of it. She could outrun every boy in town, which was partly why she had felt so superior. Now, even those innocent memories hunted her down. It was her youthful arrogance, after all, that had encouraged her to view Grens as a challenge rather than a threat. All that was behind her now, of course. There were none of Zyreio’s advocates left to torment her. But their ghosts—as well as her own crimes committed under their influence—were as tangible as the sharp morning air.
She ran in the direction of the capital city, stopping only to rest and take food and shelter when needed. Two long weeks would pass before she made it to Lascombe. The woman who entered through the city gates was barely recognizable from the one who fled Telenar’s camp. Her clothes were torn, her feet were bruised and bleeding, her face was gaunt from cold and lack of food. But most unrecognizable was her countenance. Her old expression of resignation had been replaced by a look of ferocious independence. Feral abandon had taken the place of her usual restraint. No one would ever be her master again,
ever
. The woman who entered the city gates was determined not only to erase her past but to control her future.
Her first act of independence was to steal a knife. Some careless blacksmith had left it out on a window-sill, sharpened and ready for action. Her second, to steal food and warm clothes from a plump, unsuspecting shop mistress who earned Verial’s disapproval for humming cheerfully over her chores. Her third, to track down the one man whose existence was meaningful to her, so that she could see with her own feverish eyes that he had survived.
__________
Gair did not like staying indoors, especially in a great city like Lascombe. He would much rather wander the streets and take in all the sights that were so different than the Eastern Lands. Scarred though Lascombe had been by Relgaré’s wars, it was still better than living in the shadow of Donech. The citizenry, however, was becoming almost as unfriendly as the Easterners. Relgaren’s order to board the soldiers was putting the city under regrettable strain. He could see it in the resentful stares of the inhabitants and hear it in their whispered comments. Since Corfe had become Relgaren’s most prominent advisor and Gair himself was Corfe’s frequent companion, he received a hearty dose of hostility. After several hostile glances and one shameless attempt by a schoolboy to pin a dead moth to his prosthetic limb, he decided that he would get his fresh air from a palace turret instead of the city streets.
He was halfway up the spiral stairs on the east tower when a messenger hailed him from behind.
“My lord Gair! Here you are!”
“What is it?”