Revenge (18 page)

Do not show them your powers,
Adongo cautioned.

Why don’t we just escape?

Lys told me it was important I get to Cipres with you. She cautioned that we must not draw undue attention to ourselves.

Yes, she always says that and so far I’ve never managed to obey that rule,
Tor answered ruefully as Adongo was led off.

He heard Adongo laugh inside his head and it eased his troubled spirit.

Beryd was looking at him. ‘What are you grinning about?’

‘Just recalling freedom and the last brothel I visited,’ Tor said, grabbing at the first excuse he could think of.

‘Well, if whoring’s on your mind, you’ll be pleased with this visitor,’ Beryd said, as Locky was shoved brutally into the tent. The boy landed on the floor
and immediately pulled himself into a crouched position, manacles and chains clanking as he did so. ‘Fix him up. Then you return outside.’

Tor nodded, eyes riveted on Locky, who refused to look at anyone.

‘Make it quick. My men will be back in a few minutes,’ the sailor ordered.

Locky was trembling. Tor could see livid bruises on his face.

‘Talk to me, Locky…please.’

The lad looked up, eyes blazing with hatred. ‘The first man who tried to touch me when I was seven, I killed. Now I’m going to kill Haryd.’

The venom in the statement was real. Tor believed every word. He reached once again for the arraq. There was nothing he could physically do to help, and he sensed that Locky would not permit anyone to help even if they could. He wanted to retain his anger. He could survive the hurt and humiliation if he kept his hatred strong.

‘Sip this. Two sips only.’

‘What is it?’

‘A rejuvenating potion. We march tomorrow for three days. It will keep you strong.’

He thought the lad might refuse so was relieved when Locky held out his hand. He took the first sip and looked suspiciously at Tor.

‘And another one,’ Tor encouraged.

‘Is Ryk all right?’ Locky asked, taking a second invigorating drop into his mouth. ‘Can I keep this?’

‘No,’ Tor admonished and was relieved to see
Locky’s mouth twitch with the rascal grin he remembered. ‘Ryk’s sleeping. He was knocked around a bit in the sea, but yes, he’ll be fine. I just hope he’ll be fit enough for tomorrow. How about you?’

The awkward moment had passed. Locky felt more at ease to talk now. He handed back the vial reluctantly.

‘Light! That stuff’s good. I feel as though I could march for a week.’

‘I’m glad. We must stick close now.’

‘Will they allow it?’

‘Yes. I’ve told them who you are. Quist’s name carries immense power. Even if they don’t believe me, they won’t risk it.’

‘Janus will be merciless,’ Locky said. ‘But they’re lucky they’ll have to deal with only him and not my sister.’

‘She will never know, Locky. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Not unless you’re prepared to get me drunk or give me the magic liquid again.’

Tor knew Locky would be all right. He was a tough lad and would take succour from his desire to avenge himself on these men. But now they must return to the other slaves.

As though their captor had read his thoughts, the tent flap was ripped back yet again. It was Haryd this time. ‘On your feet.’

Locky stood, eyes defiant. Tor willed him to offer respect, even if it was pretence.

‘Don’t look at me like that for too long, boy, unless you want your back to be even more sore than your arse. I can have it arranged through the courtesy of my whip here.’

Locky looked down. He said nothing.

‘Sir,’ Tor said, hating the humility he had to show, ‘your crew member Ryk will be fine by tomorrow. Could you allow him today to rest?’

‘Only him. You two, back outside.’

Tor pushed the Colours back, promising himself that one day he would see Locky settle with this man. For now, he must listen to Adongo and prepare for Cipres.

They had been marching for two days and most of a second night now, stopping only for a brief rest each evening. Their food ration was meagre but thankfully their captors left the prisoners much to themselves. They marched in a chain gang, supervised by men on horses and two wagons, one leading, the other bringing up the rear.

Tor did not mind the marching. It gave him time to himself. He kept open the mindlink with Adongo, though the chieftain spoke only when spoken to. He made no trivial conversation, which suited Tor. Locky was also silent, keeping his thoughts to himself, but he definitely looked brighter since the administering of the arraq and seemed glad to be on the move. None of the sailors had come near him since he had been given back to Tor. Nevertheless, Tor did not rate their chances
against the famous wrath of Janus Quist, even with this new respect.

As for Ryk, it was as though nothing had happened. He had awoken the following morning with no memory of the events immediately preceding the moment they had leapt from the ship. The boy did not speak of Blackhand’s punishment; he recalled nothing but the boiling sea and attributed his good fortune in being alive to the man he now knew as Torkyn Gynt, not Physic Petersyn. Despite Haryd’s orders, Ryk lavished attention on his saviour whenever the sailor’s eyes were averted. He was now cooking for the men and Tor was grateful for the extra meat and bread the boy managed to smuggle to them with their gruel. Tor asked him to look after Adongo too. It puzzled Ryk but he did as asked. Anything for Torkyn Gynt.

It was cold, though not bitterly so. Winter was just about upon the Exotic Isles. There was much excitement amongst the slaves over the raft crossing to the mainland, which took an entire day. The initial buzz died down though as the hours of being chained standing upright on the small craft took their toll. By sunrise on the fourth day, the slaves were standing on the jetty of the Cipres docks, awaiting transport to the market.

Haryd was happy. Today was the main slaving day and he intended to make quick sales, purchase berths for himself and his companions on an outgoing ship and be away from Cipres by nightfall. He was not taking any chances on the story that Locklyn Gylbyt was Quist’s brother-in-law.

Tor decided he must act soon to ensure Haryd did not escape his due. His powers must be revealed now, whether Adongo approved or not.

‘Locky, would you know where to find Quist?’ he whispered.

‘I’ve never been here before but I have directions from Eryn to the inn he favours in Cipres. However, I imagine the chains and manacles may give me away.’

Tor grimaced at his friend’s sarcasm. ‘Trust me and pay attention.’

He watched Haryd, who was busy giving orders. Even though the man was far away, Tor’s exceptional hearing picked up everything. The slaves were to be loaded onto carts and Haryd was currently negotiating with someone to provide them. Tor’s main concern was that Haryd was occupied. His henchmen paid scant attention to the slaves who had been made to sit together in a tight pack.

It was now or never. Tor weaved his Colours and watched the iron of Locky’s manacles melt away. Locky had not noticed; he too was engrossed in watching the haggling up front. So much for paying attention, Tor thought. He performed the same trick on the chains which held the lad’s wrists. The boy was free. Now they had to move carefully.

‘Locky,’ he whispered again.

‘Shhh,’ the boy hissed back. ‘I’m trying to hear what their plans are for us.’

Tor groaned. ‘I can hear every word. Would you like me to tell you that we’re to be loaded in carts shortly and taken to the western end of the main
market? Would you also like me to mention that your arms and legs are no longer chained?’

Locky’s head whipped down to look at his ankles and he pulled his hands in front of him. He was about to exclaim but Tor’s voice stopped him. ‘Not a word! Move slowly and use all your disappearing talents. Melt away and find me Janus Quist.’

Locky did not respond. His mouth was wide; his eyes too, with disbelief. Tor glanced towards Haryd and did not have to hear the conversation to know the men had struck a deal. The slaves would be loaded immediately.

‘Go!’ Tor said, softly yet urgently.

Locky’s eyes turned to him now. ‘Who are you?’

‘Your friend. Now go.’

He watched with relief as the young man flexed his fingers and toes, preparing to creep away. The order to stand was given and the men began struggling with their chains to get to their feet.

‘Good luck,’ Tor whispered and grinned at Locky, who was already disappearing between the tall bodies of the slaves towards the back of their column.

Adongo, Locky is free. Tell your people to keep it quiet.

He saw the man nod.
I will pass the word.

Tor was concerned that the other slaves might start to look around at Locky. He should not have worried. A hand reached for the empty chains on the ground. Its owner’s lips parted into a grin and Tor watched him pass the chains carefully back down the line. Someone at the back would get rid of them.

‘Good magic,’ the man said, struggling to speak with the little Tallinese he knew. He was pleased when Tor nodded and grinned back.

Then they were herded forward and loaded onto two carts. Haryd had already turned his back on the prisoners. Probably heading for an alehouse, Tor thought. That suited him. Beryd, Bluth and the two other men who had been left behind to escort the prisoners to the market were not sharp; hopefully they would not even notice Locky’s disappearance until they were actually there.

Tor’s luck held. The carts rumbled away from the busy jetty and began to bump their way through the docklands. He could see the main city not far away. Beautiful buildings of pastel-coloured stone were enhanced by the watery sunlight which heralded the end of Deadleaf and the commencement of winter. Even the houses which crowded up the hillsides were picture-pretty with their pale colours. Standing alone on a huge outcrop of rock was the palace of Cipres. It was a breathtakingly elegant building with a row of tall, pale minarets, all of different soft colours. Their curved roofs were patterned with gold which caused them to glint constantly. It was an incredibly feminine-looking palace. And why not? It was home to a Queen.

The marketplace was located at a distance from the beautiful city and it was only a few minutes before they turned into the main arena on the western fringe. It was a lively, colourful place, thriving with people calling out their wares, their prices, their
purchase desires. The carts rumbled on past into a secured area. Here the men were unloaded and told to sit in a group once again.

Tor wished Locky good speed and withdrew into himself to wait.

A few hours later, guards arrived, as did the Master of the Markets—a dumpy, overweight man known as ‘Master Lard’, a name which Tor considered most appropriate. Lard was not unkind though. He ordered the men’s wrist manacles to be removed and a pot of salve was passed around to ease the inevitable sores which the leg irons had caused. He spoke the pidgin language so the nomads could understand.

‘You have good fortune today. Each first day of the full moon, her majesty Queen Sylven visits the slave markets. It has been her tradition throughout her reign and she will be here later today. Her presence brings luck to the slaves. You will all find good homes today.’

Tor was surprised to see him smile kindly at the men.

The slaves murmured amongst themselves. Adongo still kept his peace.

Master Lard continued. ‘You are the first batch of slaves into the compound; the rest will be arriving during the morning. It will be far more crowded soon so make the best of this space.’ He chuckled but no
one joined him. ‘Each main slaving day—again, you men are fortunate in your timing—we hold a Grievance Council. It gives slaves the opportunity to air their complaints to our city fathers. Cipres has a code of conduct for caring for our slaves, which begins with the conditions of capture. The city fathers will hear all reasonable complaints and make a judgement, which will be final. I’m sorry, just being captured is not enough to warrant a hearing.’

He giggled but his attempt at humour was met with stony silence and he quickly hurried on. ‘Ahem…so, do we have any official grievances? Please raise your hands.’

Tor was unable to understand most of Lard’s speech but Adongo quickly summarised it for him. The chieftain raised his hand in the air and Tor followed suit.

‘Ah, right. Well, you men come over here. The rest of you, if you would please remove your garments. The buyers need to see all of what they’re purchasing. Ahem…warts and all.’

He giggled again and turned to Tor and Adongo, who were flanked by Bluth and Beryd. Tor could see Haryd making his way towards them.

‘And you are?’ Master Lard asked in Adongo’s own language.

‘I am Adongo of the Moruks.’

‘What is your grievance?’

‘My captor, Haryd, killed my wife and two children though I offered to surrender myself without a fight.’

‘Oh dear,’ Master Lard tsk-tsked to himself. ‘Well, that is indeed a gripe we must hear out. Yes, you may present to the city fathers. Please return to your place, remove your clothes and I will call you in due course. Thank you.’ He smiled anxiously as Adongo turned to rejoin the group.

‘My name is Torkyn Gynt,’ Tor said amiably, trying to put the nervous man at ease. ‘I am a physic from the Royal Court of Tallinor,’ he lied, ‘and I had paid transport on
The Wasp
, which sank during the great storm off the Exotic Isles. In saving myself and two others, I was captured by Haryd despite the fact that I was a guest on board his captain’s ship and had paid good coin for my passage.’

Lard frowned. This was a set of circumstances he had not come across before. ‘I see. And you say
The Wasp
sank?’

‘Yes, sir, to the best of my knowledge. The captain was already dead. All the crew, bar the one who survived with me, died in the storm.’ Tor stared into the little man’s face. ‘He was the cook,’ he lied. ‘An amazing young lad who works magic with food.’

‘Really?’ exclaimed Lard, impressed. ‘Well, I can’t think of anyone more important to survive a sinking ship,’ he said, rubbing his ample stomach. ‘The palace is seeking a new cook. What did you say his name was?’

‘Ryk. He is descended from the famous Savyls of Ildagarth. He even worked in The Tapestry kitchens there.’

‘Good grief, man, are you serious? Even we have heard of the great Savyl chefs of Ildagarth.’

‘I am serious, sir.’

‘Well, where is this cook of such impeccable bloodline?’

‘You must ask Haryd, sir,’ Tor said politely and pointed manacled hands towards the furious sailor approaching.

‘What happens here, Master Lard?’ Haryd bellowed.

Lard wobbled with fright. ‘Haryd, is it? Er, good. Um…this man here has brought grievance against you, as has Adongo of the Moruks. I deem both complaints be heard by the city fathers. You have no objection, I trust?’

‘None,’ growled Haryd, staring hard at Tor. The look was a threat.

One of Lard’s staff whispered into his master’s ear and Haryd took advantage of Lard’s attention being momentarily diverted. ‘Just remember the boys, Gynt,’ he said nastily.

‘Master Lard,’ Tor said.

The fat little man turned his attention back to them. ‘Er, yes?’

‘Didn’t you want to speak with Haryd about the young cook, Ryk Savyl?’

‘Yes, indeed. Sailor Haryd, would you be kind enough to have the lad brought to the palace immediately. We wish to discuss something with him.’

Haryd glared but nodded and ordered his men to make the arrangement straightaway.

‘Oh and Haryd…er, sir,’ Tor said politely. ‘I’m not sure which other boy you were talking about.’

Haryd sneered. ‘Quist’s make-believe stepson, of course. He’ll be sold in two shakes of a duck’s tail, Gynt.’

‘Not sure he’s available, sir.’ It was Tor’s turn to smirk. ‘May I be excused to undress, Master Lard?’

‘Indeed you may,’ the Master of the Market said, waving Tor away. ‘I shall call your name shortly but there is a change to today’s schedule and I must inform these men about it.’

Haryd strode along the rows of slaves, searching for Locky. His face was a picture of rage. ‘Where is he, Gynt?’ he howled.

Tor shrugged. All the other men kept their eyes downcast.

Haryd suddenly looked terrified. How could the lad have escaped? What if the story was true? He had already found out that Quist was in town, staying at his favourite haunt. Gynt looked confident. Perhaps there was some truth to the story. If so, he was in serious trouble. Thoughts of escape flashed across his mind; he could leave the slaves and the proceeds of his other precious cargo and preserve his life, for surely Quist would not spare it. Just as he was considering how he might quietly make his way out of the compound, trumpets sounded. He saw that extra guards had manned the gates and were standing to attention. No one would be allowed to enter or leave this area without official permission now. He was trapped. What was going on? Master Lard’s quavery voice enlightened him as he made a new announcement.

‘I have just been informed that Queen Sylven is making her visit to the slave market much earlier than planned this morning. Since the market does not officially open until midday, we have only you men to present to her. Security is high so please refrain from making any sudden moves or calling out. Such behaviour will not be tolerated near our Queen. You will all kneel and place your foreheads to the ground until further orders. The Queen’s carriage approaches. We are doubly honoured today by her majesty’s decision to hear grievances on behalf of the Council and make judgement. Now, please kneel and remain silent.’

The naked group of slaves did as instructed. Tor’s pale body stood out sharply amongst the swarthy skins of the Moruks. They remained with their heads to the ground for some time, hearing voices and the sounds of footsteps passing by—guards, no doubt. When they were finally bid to kneel upright again, they were confronted by a glorious carriage adorned with jewels, its sides covered with artful veils. They could not see beyond the billowing layers, though they guessed Queen Sylven sat behind them.