Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1) Read online

  Eldrin glanced down at the object of Meridon’s attention, feeling a twinge of guilt. He still wore the gray stone Meridon had given him in the Keep to protect him from command. Though his captors had taken all else, they had left that, almost as if they had not noticed it. That he still wore it was as strong a measure as anything of the spiritual uncertainties in his soul.

  Saeral had feared Raynen had given him something during their meeting in the palace, and Eldrin suspected this was the object of that fear. He would never forget the feeling of his own body doing the bidding of someone else, and he never wanted to experience it again. Perhaps this stone was a manifestation of evil-perhaps not. Perhaps Eidon found it offensive, but it had saved him where Eidon had not.

  The stock pens framed a semicircular yard presided over by a raised wooden platform at the far end. Here stood the auctioneer with the current object of bidding. The auction was proceeding slowly, interest at a low ebb. Indeed, as Eldrin watched from his place in the wings, most of the offerings generated few bids. Several brawny barbarians sparked the crowd’s interestmost of whom were Gamers-but it was only momentary, the bidders busy eating and talking among themselves.

  Then Meridon mounted the block, and a buzz swept the crowd. The auctioneer had not even finished his introductory utterance before someone shouted out an offer and the bidding erupted. From the first it was intense, almost frantic, men trying to outshout each other, goaded on by the rising bids.

  Renowned for their savagery and spectacle, the Esurhite Games pitted men against men and animal. It was said rhu’ema sponsored them and that dark magic was much a part of them. Few competitors survived for long, and Meridon, fit and athletic as he was, with that gold shield of magic glittering on his chest, was a perfect candidate.

  The bidding continued for some time before a sale resolved and Meridon was led away. The furor died at once, and by the time Eldrin stepped onto the block, the crowd had thinned considerably. He spotted his Thilosian prospect off to the right, surrounded by his entourage, looking more bored and resigned than ever.

  The auctioneer went through his introductory spiel, grabbing Eldrin’s hand and pointing to the scribing callus and then to his hair and eyes before falling into his repetitive request for bids. None came. Eldrin’s heart sank. He hadn’t considered the possibility no one would buy him. What would the slavers do then? Make a sailor of him? Sell him to the Qarkeshan government? To the mines?

  The auctioneer droned on, entering the cycle of intonation Eldrin had come to associate with the end of a bidding session. At the very last moment a harsh voice arose from left of the platform, stopping the flood tide of syllables. Eldrin, who had been watching the Thilosian in expectation, now turned in wary surprise. His knees almost deserted him when he saw who had bid-the hatchet-faced Esurhite Gamer who had earlier shown interest in him for his Kalladorne looks.

  The auctioneer started in with the new bid, while heads swiveled all across the gathering toward the bidder. The Esurhite’s two companions stared at him as if he were mad. The auctioneer cycled again into his ending, and now the Thilosian whom Eldrin had expected to bid in the first place called out an answer. Again the auctioneer cycled through his request for a higher bid. Again, at the very end, the Esurhite accommodated.

  His son spoke to him forcefully, frowning darkly. All around, the few Garners that remained now looked at Eldrin more closely, some laughing outright, others conferring hastily with their assistants before offering bids of their own. Looking annoyed, the Thilosian topped them all.

  By then the Esurhite’s companions, both afire with indignation, seemed to have convinced the man to desist, for though he was smiling with amusement, he did not outbid the merchant. The auctioneer rattled on, and the bid finally closed in the Thilosian’s favor.

  From what Eldrin could figure, he’d sold for less than a tenth of what Meridon had brought. He told himself it was insane to feel disappointment over that observation, but he did all the same. Even as a slave, it seemed, he was worthless.

  He was dragged off the block, freed of his collar, and given over to a burly, heavy-featured man he recognized as one of the Thilosian’s retainers. The man gripped his upper arm tightly, steering him alongside the crowd to the back where other men in the same uniform stood guard over a group of naked male slaves. All of them were dull-eyed barbarians, considerably haler and brawnier than Eldrin and probably meant for hard labor somewhere.

  It dawned on him then that things had worked out exactly as he’d anticipated. The Thilosian had bought him. Would he shortly be on the way to Thilos and his aunt Ana?

  No. To his bitter disappointment his new master’s retainers hustled him and the others into a cart and headed not toward the waterfront but up a long, switchbacking lane to the front gate of a hilltop villa overlooking the town.

  Only Eldrin and the tall Thilosian were let off, the latter immediately consigning him to one of the servants waiting at the gate. As the Thilosian disappeared into the villa, Eldrin was taken around to the back and handed off to a fat, sour-faced man in a linen tunic. Clearly displeased with his assignment, the man brought him to a small yard behind the kitchen and there, in full view of the workers going in and out, scrubbed him down like a pig for slaughter, taking no care whatever for his burned and tender skin. Still damp, he was given a short-sleeved tunic and belt to wear, then compelled under strict supervision to shave the stubbly beard from his jaw. A stout, granitefaced woman came out to trim his raggedly shorn hair into the neat bowlshaped style the others wore, and finally he was led into the villa itself to meet his new master.

  C H A P T E R

  11

  The Princess Carissa stood on the quarterdeck of her Thilosian merchantman, Windbird, straining for another glimpse of the departing shore party through the glut of vessels teeming in the Bay of Salama. The launch carrying Captain Kinlock and his twenty-five men had just vanished around the bow of a tubby Draesian fishing hulk, leaving her well and truly trapped on Windbird. At least until their return.

  The bitter frustration of it-to have come all this way and not be able to go ashore-boiled up in her again. Even if the decision to stay behind had been her own. Even if she knew full well it was for the best. As Kinlock had so patiently pointed out, she would be more hindrance than help-she didn’t speak the languages, her presence would discomfit the men he meant to see, and she was bound to draw unwanted attention both to herself and to Abramm, wherever he was. Furthermore, needing to protect her ashore, Kinlock would be unable to disperse his men, significantly reducing their search power.

  All were eminently reasonable objections … but she hated it anyway. A new burst of exasperation made her pound the railing with a fist and curse being born female.

  “Ever been to Qarkeshan before, milady?” First Mate Danarin came clumping up the companionway to join her, blinding in a lime green vest, yellow sash, and violet britches. The captain had left Windbird in the handsome Thilosian’s hands while he went ashore, another aspect of the situation that rankled. She neither liked nor trusted Danarin-he wore way too much jewelry, for one thing-and she found it especially irksome that her icy manner never fazed him. Even now the brown eyes met hers boldly and white teeth flashed in a confident grin.

  She returned her gaze to the harbor, scanning more intently than ever. “Never,” she said.

  They’d dropped anchor in the bay’s less populous northern half, cut off from the main spread of the city by a short finger of land looming off the starboard bow. Rocky quays and wooden piers jutted from its length, cluttered with moored vessels and bustling with activity. Large white buildings with red-tiled roofs reared beyond them-the many warehouses and shipping company offices that lined the waterfront. Where the stubby peninsula joined the mainland stood the tall gray walls that had once bounded Old Qarkeshan, long since outgrown. More white-and-red buildings interspersed with clumps of greenery swirled around them, then swept upward toward the high ridge that paralleled the bay.

>   “See that dome there?” Danarin said, gesturing past her to the massive gold-and-blue structure rising at the upper edge of the old section. “Used to be the Temple of Aggos. When the Thilosians invaded they converted it to their seat of government.”

  “The Sorvaissani’s palace?”

  “So they call it, but he doesn’t live there. Mostly it’s offices and archives, though that dome houses a huge stateroom. They’ve got business records that date back to the Cataclysm. That’s where we’ll find Prince Abramm, I wager.”

  She pointed her spyglass at the gleaming dome and its subordinate buildings, heart pounding in her throat.

  “Unfortunately that’ll make it harder to get him back. Qarkeshanian bureaucrats delight in twitting royalty. Makes ‘em feel important. Better if some waterfront warehouse merchant bought him. They don’t use as many slaves, but if the prince can do figures as well as write and speak Thilosian …”

  “He is good at figures,” Carissa said, sweeping the glass up the hills overlooking the bay to the villas perched atop them amidst buffers of greenery. Those white marble enclaves, every bit as grand as the Sorvaissani’s palace, would be other likely places to find a newly purchased slave.

  From the villas she scanned down to the beach left of the peninsula, site of Qarkeshan’s infamous and highly lucrative slave trade. Just now a good hundred or more bearded, naked men stood in ragged lines on the dirty sand, prospective buyers passing slowly among them. But after only a moment’s inspection, she lowered the telescope with shaking hands, her stomach suddenly churning. Abramm might have stood on that beach as recently as two days ago, stripped and chained like all the rest. The thought of her proper, sensitive, easily embarrassed little brother exposed and inspected like a common ox made her writhe with empathetic humiliation.

  Again that wild impatience surged up in her. She had thought the voyage here was agony, but it was nothing compared to this frustration of being forced to wait in idleness and speculation while others acted somewhere out of sight. Surely Kinlock was ashore by now. Perhaps even making contact with his friends. Perhaps at this very moment he was discovering Abramm in their possession and it would all end soon. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the friends knew nothing. Perhaps …

  She swallowed the rising emotion and wrenched herself back under control, lifting the scope to begin a deliberate search of the men on the beach, studying each tiny figure as carefully as she could.

  “He won’t be out there, milady,” Danarin said beside her. “It’s been two days at least since he arrived-probably more.”

  Gritting her teeth against the sharp remark that sprang to her tongue, she continued studying the men, searching out the blond heads among them and glad they were far away. “Do they bring them out there every day?”

  “Pretty much. Especially this time of year. They’ll auction them off this afternoon.”

  “What about the slaves no one buys?” She did not know if there were any, but it seemed a likely possibility.

  He shifted beside her, a whisper of fabric on fabric and a clink of gold chain. “Oh, they go out to the salt flats, I’d imagine. Or the galley ships.”

  She glanced aside at the five black, long-prowed galleys bobbing at anchor not a stone’s throw off the port bow. Narrower than Windbird across the beam, each sported a tall, curving stern with a red awning stretched across its quarterdeck. The foredeck stood bare to the sun, cargo lashed to the rails and down the middle of the main deck. Along the sides of the hull, she could see the slaves’ faces through the gaps from which the big oars protruded. With the latter now lifted just above the water and those long, pointed prows, the galleys looked like a flock of malevolent, winged sea serpents.

  She swallowed the hot lump of anxiety that had risen in her throat. Surely he wouldn’t be there. Anyone with eyes could see he’d never survive as a galley slave. But would he do any better in the salt flats?

  She swallowed again and returned to her study of the beach. We’ll just have to find him in time, that’s all.

  Oh, please let him be with the merchants. Or even the bureaucrats.

  A crewman approached to report the not unexpected disappearance of their stowaway, a boy they’d discovered some four days out of Springerlan. No doubt more than a few of the men on board had gotten their start at sea the same way. Abramm himself had attempted it once, shortly before he’d entered the Mataio, only to be thwarted by his bodyguard’s last-minute intervention.

  The odd thing about this stowaway was that for some reason he’d brought along his dog-a huge, grizzled bloodhound. Perhaps it was his only friend. She’d assumed the beast had been thrown overboard, but from what the crewman was saying to Danarin now, she guessed not.

  The man left with orders to call off the search, and Danarin sighed beside her. “He was probably in the longboat when it went ashore for supplies. Hiding under the tarp.” He shook his head. “I hate it when they get off free like this.”

  “You don’t think he paid for his passage, sir?”

  A caning and a few weeks’ hard work is nothing, milady. Certainly not enough to discourage others from seeking to do likewise. And if we don’t discourage them, they’ll be on us like a plague of rats.”

  He had braced both elbows on the quarterdeck railing and was looking up at Windbird’s three bared masts. He wore no blouse under the green vest, and though his muscular arms had, in their first week at sea, been ravaged by the sun, now they rippled coppery tan in the morning light. Gold armbands gleamed a warm accent, and an emerald stud glinted in his right ear. Tendrils of black hair blown free of his short seaman’s pigtail danced against the narrow beard that edged his jaw and mouth to undeniable advantage.

  For all she disliked him, there were times looking at him made her shiver with delight. The reaction annoyed her so deeply it usually sent her scurrying to the big stern cabin that served as her quarters, where she might take herself to task for her foolishness.

  The man had hired on the very morning Windbird had sailed from Springerlan, replacing his predecessor, who’d broken a leg in a barroom brawl the night before. That alone roused the suspicion he was the king’s man, but when she coupled it with the ease with which they’d slipped out of Springerlan and the absence of any subsequent pursuit, her suspicion became near certainty.

  Kinlock accused her of making sharks out of dolphins, since men came aboard under such circumstances all the time, but she didn’t care. She saw the way Danarin worked himself into the captain’s good graces. She noted his tactful manipulations and keen sensitivity to the reactions of others…. He’d be a marvel at court. Probably was, or Raynen wouldn’t have sent him. It gave her some small satisfaction to be alone among those he courted to realize it and resist. Even if some idiot part of her did insist on shivering when she looked at him.

  As if sensing that very shiver, he glanced at her now, his brown eyes laughing into her own. The smile broke across his tanned face, and she tore her gaze away, hot cheeked, railing at herself all over again. She felt some bit of satisfaction to see, out of the corner of her eye, his smile fade. He was still looking at her, however, and she was on the verge of sweeping off to her cabin when he spoke.

  “You are very brave, milady, for all you are a mystery. I do not know many women who would’ve dared what you’ve dared. Certainly not many Kiriathan women.”

  She flushed the more under his praise, telling herself he was only trying to manipulate her again and refusing to give any weight to the warm pleasure his words sent rushing through her. Shrugging, she said, “I was going to Thilos anyway.”

  “Thilos, not Qarkeshan. Northern women don’t come to Qarkeshan anymore. Too many have disappeared.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she said wryly, recalling the lengthy arguments she’d had with Cooper, her retainer, over the matter. Cooper stood behind her now, straddle-legged, armed, and alert. If she glanced at him, she would probably be rewarded with an infuriating look of smugness.

  “It’s said,�
� Danarin went on, “that many a black Brogai veil hides golden hair and blue eyes these days.”

  She snorted, as much for Cooper’s benefit as Danarin’s. “Rumors, sir. Nothing more.” She glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to frighten me, Master Danarin?”

  He drew back. “Why would I want to do that, milady?”

  A good question, sir. Perhaps because you wish to discourage me?”

  “Discourage you?” He smiled that bone-melting smile. “I doubt very much that I could. Perhaps I seek only to caution you.” He glanced over his shoulder at the nearby galleys, his meaning clear.

  The smile faded and he drew himself up straighter, frowning. “Well. Looks like our Esurhite neighbors are finally stirring.”

  Mahogany-skinned men in dark tunics had been lounging under the deck awning of the closest vessel for most of the morning. Now the emergence on deck of a man in a long purple tunic brought them standing to attention as he consulted with one of them. They seemed to be discussing Windbird, for they were clearly looking at her, the midday sunlight flashing off the gold in their ears. Now and again one would gesture in her direction, and finally the man in purple drew out a telescope and aimed it at Carissa.

  Startled by this blatant intrusion on her privacy, she fancied she could almost see the man’s eye through the dark circle of the lens. Then Danarin moved between them, blocking her view with his.

  “Perhaps you would care to retire to your cabin now, milady?”

  “Surely you don’t seriously-“

  “We do lack a full crew at present. He apparently does not.”

  “But he already knows I’m here, so what-“

  “We don’t know what he knows, milady. Or what he thinks.” He paused, dark eyes boring into her own. “Certainly the more opportunity he has to study you, the greater will be his temptation.” He paused again. “You are a very beautiful woman.”