Warlords Rising (5 page)

They went to work the next morning.

The guards barely gave them time to eat before hauling them
out and into the city. Becca had hopes that she could work in the general area
of the boys but the hope quickly died when Trev’nor was again towed outside of
the city to work on the walls, Nolan was taken to some area of the city to heal
people, and she was taken to the highest point of Rurick—the government
building.

It was clear what the building was because of the huge
banners hanging on the walls and the people bustling in and out, all on
business. They had ‘government officials’ written all over them. The two guards
with her gave her no chance to slow down or ask any questions, just took her up
an outside staircase made of stone and directly to the roof.

Someone had assumed that in order to perform weather magic,
she must be at a high point, near the sky. This was far from true but she
wasn’t about to correct them. After two days of living in a hole, she was so
happy to see that blue expanse that she nearly cried. The slave magician in
charge of amulets had already taken off one of hers, giving her the freedom to
work her magic, and she was quite happy to do so. Becca’s routine of magic
working was a daily thing, sometimes three or four times a day. Not being able
to feel her own magic core had felt beyond strange.

The guards were literally within arm’s reach of her, not
varying their positions, and while having someone breathe on her while working
was hardly pleasant, Becca knew better than to protest. It would have only
earned her a cuff to the head.

One of them poked her hard in the back. “Work magic.”

She gave him a look that most girls aimed at slimy frogs.
“Be more specific. Rain? Do you want rain?”

The official from the first day sauntered up the staircase,
sounding off like a fog horn as he did so, “You said you could make it rain.
Why are you asking questions?”

Because she didn’t want to cause trouble and get hit for not
giving them what they wanted. If she could avoid injury, Becca was going to.
“How long do you want it to rain? I need more information before I can do
anything.”

He came within two feet of her and stared with a molten look
in his eyes, anger and disgust brewing on his face. “You do not ask questions.
You obey.”

Oh for the love of…was he a complete idiot? Becca had
suspected he was a half-wit, but this was more than she’d anticipated. Giving
up, she turned her attention the sky. If all they wanted was rain, without
caring when it came or how long it stayed, then rain she would give them until
they got sick of it and told her to make it stop.

It took a few minutes to find the right wind current, and
hook some moisture into the clouds, but she got a rainstorm formed and heading
for them.

The official stabbed a finger in her direction, nearly
vibrating with impatience. “You said you could make it rain!”

“The storm is coming,” she answered as neutrally as she
could. “I can’t make instant rain clouds in a moment’s notice.” Not with four
amulets on her, at least. “I have to find a weather current, tweak it so clouds
can form, then guide it here. That’s going to take time.”

He blinked and stared at her as if she had just spouted some
complex mathematic formula. Perhaps, for him, she had. Most people didn’t have
a good sense of how weather worked after all. After processing this for a long
moment, he settled on the one part he could understand. “How much time?”

Probably an hour. “Three hours to get it here and make sure
it doesn’t break up before it can arrive. If you want it to stay the whole
day?” He gave her a belligerent ‘of course I do’ look, so she continued, “Then
I need to stay up here a good portion of the day and divert any other wind
streams from taking off with it.” Not necessarily true, but the less time she
spent in the slave pens, the better.

“Then stay up here all day.”

With his orders given, she expected the official to leave,
but instead he eyed her up and down like a man would a prize mare. “I have
never heard of a Weather Mage before you.”

How to answer this? Becca didn’t think she should say
anything at all and stayed quiet.

“How many are in your family?” he demanded.

If he thought he could track down her family, he was sorely
mistaken. “I’m the only magician in my family. I was adopted.” Both true, if
very misleading.

This didn’t deter him like she thought it would. Instead he
gave a leer. “Then we need to make sure it doesn’t stay this way.”

What was he suggesting? Her head canted as she stared at
him, perplexed at his meaning.

“The Life Mage or Earth Mage, either will do. Get pregnant
by one of them.” The official turned to go, then paused to add, “Anyone will
do, if you don’t prefer them, but I want a child out of you by the end of the
year.”

Becca’s jaw dropped. What did he just say?!

As if he hadn’t just said anything spectacular, he returned
the way he had come, retreating back down the staircase. She watched him go,
certain that her ears had betrayed her. Either that or this was a nightmare. A
nightmare of nightmares.

“Work,” the guard to her right commanded brusquely.

Becca trained her eyes on the sky as if focusing, but in
truth, her mind whirled like a twister. Were slaves nothing better than dogs to
that man? Did he think he could just order them to breed when he wanted to?!
She tried to imagine having a child by either Trev’nor or Nolan and gagged.
They were brothers to her, not lovers. And she certainly couldn’t imagine doing
it with anyone else in the slave pens. Khobunter was an absolutely revolting
country.

It was so revolting that she nearly let her storm system
escape and had to track it down and pull it back into the right direction.

Rain. She would think about rain today. Rain and nothing
else.

Four days into staying in the slave pens, and they had the
routine down. A chamber pot was shoved into a corner of their cells every
morning and taken away again at night. They all did their best to give each
other what privacy they could, turning their backs so no one saw something, but
there wasn’t much dignity in such situations. Their meals were shoved in on
metal plates twice a day, usually something hard and of poor quality, and they
had to stand at the back of the cages when someone came to deliver the food and
take the plates away again.

Once a day were they told to come to the front of the cage,
and that was right before breakfast was served. Only then was a wizard of some
sort there to renew their amulets. He always put the same five types of amulets
on them, one on everyone else, and it was a quick on-and-off thing. He had this
down to a science after doing it so many years. Becca found being anywhere near
the man to be revolting but the one time that she had flinched from him, he’d
slapped her hard across the face, so she hadn’t dared to do anything again.

Orba was quick to grab them, yanking them this way and that,
for fear of them doing something that would get them all in trouble. He would
shush them if they tried to talk when the guards were in the pens with them.
Even if the guards were out of the pens, in the guardroom, he would only let
them talk in whispers.

Everyone grew tired after working full days in the hot
desert suns. The only relief came after Becca brought in the rains, but those
were sporadic, as they discovered it wasn’t a good idea to let it rain all of
the time after that first day. From then on, she was brought out in the
mornings to let it rain for a few hours, and then shoved back into the pens. It
was blissful outside, terrible inside, and she fell to talking to the people
around her to distract herself.

She had discovered a man in the adjacent cage more talkative
than the rest. Roskin was his name. He had only a bare grasp of Solish, but he
was willing to teach them Khobuntish, and between his lessons and Nolan’s, she
started to pick up the basics. It was similar enough to Solish that it didn’t
give her too much trouble. Well, the sentence structure and the basic syntax at
least.

Most of the slaves here had been slaves their entire lives.
Few had been captured and even the ones that were captured had been slaves for
years. They didn’t really talk to each other. There was little to talk about.
They slept, or stared listlessly toward the ground, or sometimes taught magical
techniques to each other. Becca listened in on these conversations and winced.
Even with her understanding only one word in five, it was obvious that they had
no concept of magical theory at all. It was just: do this, you get this result,
do this, and this will work. How had they not destroyed something or burned out
their magical cores already, that was her question.

Dinner arrived, and Becca was hungry enough to eat, even
though the food was just as unappetizing as usual. She ate every crumb then put
the plate back toward the front of the cage and retreated to her usual spot in
the back corner. It was nice here, as Nolan normally slept next to her, keeping
her warm, and Roskin sometimes talked to her. He was one of the few that still
had a sense of humor to him.

Roskin came back to his corner, sitting down facing her,
legs crossed comfortably. His hair stuck up in every direction after sleeping
on it but he didn’t have a mirror to tell him that and appearances didn’t
matter at all in the slave pens, so she didn’t point it out. “Hey, Becca. I was
wondering. Why does your friend keep his hair so long?”

“Trev?” At his nod, she struggled to phrase the answer. “Mages’
power in body. All body. Hair too. So more power if hair long.”

“But Nolan keeps his shorter.”

“I can’t stand long hair,” Nolan answered, eyes still closed
as he leaned against Becca’s side. “That’s why.”

“That explains it.”

Seeing that Roskin was in a talkative mood, she tried to get
a few answers to some questions. “Just wizards and witches here? No mages?”

“No, there’s mages too,” Roskin assured her.

Nolan didn’t sit up, but she felt him tense against her
shoulder, so he was obviously paying attention now. Trev’nor, too, had stopped
slouching and was looking at Roskin with keen interest.

“Really.” They’d suspected as much as the slimy official had
none of some types. Becca leaned forward, hands wrapping around the bars. “What
kinds?”

For her sake, Roskin spoke slow and pronounced clearly so
she could follow but even then she lost words here and there. “Hmm, we don’t
really know the types. Just heard that there was some. Before I was
throbough
here, I heard of a mage
ani
north that was being used
diesorl.
Rumor
said that the warlord
des
him because he kept any attacks from
ginhap
.”
Roskin shrugged, silently stating that was all he knew.

Frustrated, she glanced at Nolan. “He was being used as
what?”

“A soldier by a warlord,” Nolan filled in, frowning.

Was that what they were going to do with them, too? But if
they wanted them to fight, they’d have to take off a few amulets at least
first. Wouldn’t that give them the chance to escape? Or…no, they’d do something
to them first to make sure they wouldn’t fight back. Like the Star Order would
have done.

Becca sat back and leaned into Nolan. These people were as
evil as the Star Order ever was. Her doubts about being rescued from here grew.
Trev’nor still believed they would be rescued, but this world was huge, their
magic was sealed off and undetectable, and their families had no idea where
they had gone. It would take a miracle to find them.

Nolan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned against
her ear to whisper fiercely, “Don’t you dare give up. We
will
get out of
here. My word as a Von on that.”

She managed a wan smile and nodded as if she believed him.
Becca fervently wanted to but she had been in this situation before, or
something very like it. She knew better than the other two what ruthless men
would do. No, if they were going to leave this place, it would be under their
own power. Not someone else’s.