Warlords Rising (3 page)

Trev’nor gave a loud groan. “Oh man, I’m glad it’s not our
job. Can you imagine? Having to go to every warlord and getting permission to
work in his territory? There’s what, eight of them?”

“Five,” Nolan corrected. “Five that govern specific
sections. There’s no unifying government or leader, though, like there is in
Empire of Sol. It’s just those five contending with each other.”

“Five is not much better. Just getting permission from
one
person is usually a fight as they have this garbled understanding of what magic
can do. And for some reason they always have this idea in mind of what you need
to do.” Standing, he put his pack back on, adjusting the straps. “Never mind
how feasible that is. Sorry, Bec, but this class project I’ll pass on.”

She snorted. “Don’t blame you. Well, we didn’t really come up
here to fix the desert anyway. We came to find who’s been tampering with my
weather patterns.”

“Yes, we did,” Nolan agreed, relieved. “So? You detect
anything yet?”

“He or she is quiet at the moment. I don’t have anything to
go off of specifically. But I think they’re further north than here.” Past
experiences said so, at least. “For now, let’s walk.”

“Just curious,” Nolan had a funny expression on as he asked,
as if he were ready to start laughing, “but so far you haven’t mentioned a
thing about Tail. I mean, we left our meurittas behind on purpose because we
didn’t know how they’d fare on this trip. But what about Tail?”

The question was perfectly reasonable as her Jaunten
cat/familiar was intelligent enough to get out of the way when he needed to. He
was as smart as any person, in some ways smarter. “He’s at an age where it
takes constant pain reducing potions to keep him moving,” Becca responded, all
logic. “And he gets tired quickly.”

“Uh-huh.” Trev’nor didn’t buy this. “You know that he would
have argued with you about coming, don’t you.”

Becca grimaced. “You two are so lucky with your familiars,
you have no idea. A Jaunten familiar
knows
when you’re doing things
without permission. They’re the worst tattle-tales on the planet.”

Trev’nor laughed. “I bet. So do you have a plan on how to
soothe his ruffled fur when we get back home?”

“No, I do not,” Becca retorted primly. “But I’m open to
suggestions.”

They walked. And walked. Distance was very hard to judge in
the desert. Things that looked close were actually quite far. The only person
not fooled by this optical illusion was Trev’nor, of course, who could feel
quite well the distance in the ground.

Rurick was not quite what Trev’nor expected. No one really
chose to travel into Khobunter by choice, as it was well known to be chaotic
even in the best of times, so he had never heard a first person description of
the place. They just had maps and rumors to go off of. Still, for a
militaristic country he would have expected stouter walls, more fortifications,
something more fort-like. The walls were stout enough, but not very high, and
there was a light guard on the main gate they walked through. It was also very
strange being here as they were obviously the only foreigners passing through.
Most of the people here were dark skinned, black hair, black eyes. The three
teens stood out like sore thumbs.

Trev’nor looked at the other two and asked, “Divide and
conquer? Someone go after dragoos, someone go after food, someone else get
water?”

Nolan was tilting his head this way and that, almost as if
he were slowly shaking it. “Something’s very wrong in this place. The vibe I
feel is not a good one.”

When a Life Mage said something like that, a wise person
paid attention. Trev’nor looked around, paying better attention to the people,
and he had to admit that he didn’t like the attention they were getting. He saw
quite a few passerby stop and stare suspiciously before continuing on. These
people were not used to travelers, which was strange, as they were very near
the border. Still, they were fully trained mages, what could possibly pose a
danger to them here?

Becca rubbed her arms in an uneasy motion, her eyes darting
around. “I don’t like this place. Something stinks, I just can’t put my finger
on what.”

“In that case, let’s really divide and conquer,” Trev’nor
suggested. “Let’s get what we need and move on quickly.”

Nolan was slow to approve this plan. “Keep your weapons in
hand and stay alert. I’ll get the dragoos. Becca, water. Trev, food. But
nothing like cheese, it’ll spoil fast here.”

“Right.” Trev’nor used his nose to figure out where the
local market street was and went that direction. He kept the hat on his head
held low, trying to disguise his hair a little, and put his braid down the back
of his shirt, but it didn’t help that much. He was more tanned than the other
two, spending more of his time out of doors, but he still wasn’t anywhere near
the skin tone of the Khobuntian people.

Roughly two blocks down, he found the heart of the market.
He started with the first stall, taking a look at what they offered. Most of it
was fresh, which didn’t do him much good, as he needed travel food. Shaking his
head, he went to the next stall, then the next. He tried to keep an eye around
him at all times, but it was hard to do with this many people in such a narrow
space. Eventually he gave up on that idea and just kept a close eye on his
purse and made sure his pack was in front of him all of the time. A pickpocket
wouldn’t find him an easy mark.

Hmm. This stall sold dried fruit
of different sorts. Now, that would make a good traveling food and it would
give them a welcome break from jerky and bread.

He paused long enough to dig his purse out of his pack. When
he couldn’t immediately lay hands on it, he became worried and twisted it about
to get a hand more firmly inside. Nope, still no purse. Frowning, he quirked a
mental finger at the ground and created a mini-pedestal to set the bag on so he
could search it easier. It took some rummaging, but he found it at the bottom
of the bag and hauled it out with a victorious “Ha!” With money in hand
(hopefully they accepted foreign currency), he turned back to the stall,
letting the dirt settle back down into the road as he moved. Most Khobuntians
spoke Solian—it was an almost universal trade language north of Hain—so he
cleared his throat and tried that. “
What types of fruits are these? How much
for a bag of each?”

He never got an answer. In the next second someone grabbed
him roughly by the shoulder and spun him around. Trev’nor didn’t fight it,
instead flowing with it, and hit the person grabbing him with as much force as
he possibly could. His attacker folded over the fist in his gut and went down.
But it wasn’t just one man attacking—it was about six and they were all strong
fighters. Trev’nor dropped his pack, freeing up his arms, and lashed out in
every direction, trying to find himself some breathing room. He couldn’t put up
a wall in this location, too many people crowded around him, he’d hurt someone
by accident if he tried. He twisted about, trying to get a visual so he could
sink his attackers into the stone under their feet.

Something heavy dropped around his neck, and before he could
figure out what, something else hit him hard in the back of the head. A sharp,
lancing pain went through the back of his skull.

The world went black.

He woke up slowly, head throbbing, a terrible stench in his
nose. Groaning, he put a hand to his head. “What hit me?”

“A slaver, likely,” Becca responded quietly. “How are you
feeling, Trev?”

“Like a hammer was taken to my skull. Nol, could you—” he
broke off as he finally got his eyes open and the first sight of where he was
penetrated. All around him was grey. Or maybe it just looked like that in the
dim torchlight. He was in a cave-looking place of some sort, iron cages lined
up in tidy rows, with a good hundred people all crammed into them. Alarm shot
up his spine as he realized he was one of the people in those cages. “Becca.
Where are we?” the question came out more than a little panicked.

It was Nolan that answered. “In the slave pens of Rurick.”

Trev’nor had to turn his head slowly to keep it from
screaming at him, but he still shifted so that he was no longer leaning against
Becca’s lap and could face both of them. “We’re
where
?!” his voice rose
uncontrollably.

Someone else in the pen prodded him in the side with a foot
and hissed something in a language he couldn’t understand. Tone was enough for
Trev’nor to understand that it was a command to keep it down before he called
the attention of the guards.

Trev’nor studied the man with hysteria climbing in his
throat. He looked old, but that could have been because of the grime clinging
to his skin, deepening the wrinkles in his face and hands. His hair was kept
back in a messy knot at the back of his head, clothes obviously the wrong size
and not laundered anywhere in the past year. He was quite obviously a slave,
and a poorly kept one, at that.

Nolan reached out, gripping him by the arm, and grounded
Trev’nor a little. “Trev. Breathe.”

“I’m breathing. I’m just also hoping I’m dreaming.”

“Me too,” Becca sighed. “Really, how did this happen? We
knew the place had a bad vibe to it, but we were all on the lookout for
trouble, and they
still
got the drop on us.”

Nolan shook his head. “These men were professionals. And
they wouldn’t take chances with three mages. We’re too powerful for them to
face. They had to ambush us or risk losing us entirely.”

Tre’vnor started paying better attention and really looked
at the man. “He’s a wizard.”

The man had a bitter look to his face as he looked away, not
interested in their conversation.

“Untrained,” Nolan added on quietly. “I can see the raw
power in him, but at a guess I’d say he’d never had any sort of training. I
wonder if he speaks proper Khobuntish?”

“Do you?” Becca asked.

“Some. Let me try.” Nolan cleared his throat and carefully
spoke a question. The language had a certain rise and fall cadence to it that
was very alien to Trev’nor’s ear.

The man didn’t respond.

Nolan shrugged. “Either he didn’t understand me or he
doesn’t want to talk.”

Becca put on her most charming smile and scooted over
closer, ducking her head to catch the man’s eyes and drawing him back up again.
In Solish she said, “Sir? My name is Riicbeccaan. What’s yours?”

He eyed her dourly but finally pried open his mouth and
spoke in halting Solish, “Riicbeccaan. I thought you were Chahiran.” He cleared
his throat, a wet, hacking sound that spoke of an infection in his lungs. “I’m Orba.
I’d give up hope of getting free of this place, young Mages. I’ve been here
since birth. There won’t be a rescue.”

Trev’nor highly doubted that. It might take a few weeks for
people to figure out where they were, but there certainly would be a rescue,
and it might level the city. His family and mentors were not known for their
tolerance about this sort of thing.

Nolan gave him a smile as well. “Call me Nolan. This is
Trev’nor.”

Orba looked confused for a split second. “You’re not
Chahiran?”

“We are,” Trev’nor clarified. “I was just found by the
Tonkowacon as a baby and raised by them. So I carry their name. If you want my
Chahiran name, it’s Rhebentrev’noren.”

For a split second, Orba almost smiled. “Mouthful, that
one.”

“You think that’s bad? You should try my cousin’s wife’s
name. She’s Hainish so when she got married to Garth, her name became
Rhebenl-chattamoinitaan.”

Orba did smile at that one, although it was faint. “Sounds
like a disease.”

“Doesn’t it?” Trev’nor agreed. Wait, how had they ended up
talking about this, anyway? That wasn’t even what he needed to know. Granted,
it had seemed to draw the man briefly out of his shell. “Orba, what do you mean
by you’ve been here your entire life? And why were we taken?”

“Khobunter doesn’t recognize anyone with magic as citizens.
We’re slaves. Property. We fight for them, build for them, create for them. The
older slaves teach you a skill, whatever it is your magic is suited for, and
that’s what you do for the rest of your lives.”

Trev’nor darted a look at Nolan but the crown prince of
Chahir looked just as surprised by this as he was. So, this wasn’t an official
policy that Khobunter discussed with the other countries. It was a dirty little
secret that no one outside of the country knew. Well, actually, that made
sense. The Trasdee Evondit Orra would never have tolerated having magicians
kept as slaves. If they’d known about it, they would have marched on Khobunter
in force and taken the place by storm.

“But even travelers?” Nolan objected. “I can see why they
think they can get by with it if a person is born in Khobunter, but travelers
too?”

“Not many choose to travel here,” Orba responded, tired.
“Those that do are traders desperate to make a coin. And you three are too rich
of a prize for them to pass up, I guess. Resign yourselves. You won’t be going
back home.” He rolled over, leaning up against the bars and looking listlessly
out, signaling he was done talking.

Trev’nor looked at the other two with a growing sense of
frustration. “What do we do?”

Nolan pointed at the amulets hanging around his neck. “I
recognize these. They last twenty-four hours, sealing all magic, although
they’re made for wizards and witches.”

“Which is why they undoubtedly put five of them on us.”
Becca tried poking at one and got zapped for her efforts. She yanked her hand
back with a wince. “I can’t feel my magic core at all. You?”

Trev’nor shook his head, throat tight. Nolan did the same.

“I knew that they had slavery in Khobunter,” Nolan
whispered, voice barely audible. “But I had no idea some of them were
magicians. As far as I know, only Chahir and Hain really produce magicians.
Where did the bloodlines for this even come from?”

A good question that no one had an answer to.

Becca shook her head. “That we can figure out later. What we
need to ask is how do we get out of here? I’m not sitting still for the rest of
my life.”

“We have no access to magic or weapons,” Nolan responded
bleakly. “That’s going to make this harder.”