The Third Scroll (11 page)

“Where did he go?” Confusion widened her eyes when she realized Lord Gilrem no longer lay among the tangled covers.

I kept my head down. “He wished to leave.”

A brittle, hard silence followed, the room growing cold around us. I glanced up at her face, distorted by hatred and outrage.

“You let him go?” She closed the distance between us and slapped me across the face, then flew out the door, wailing.

Running would have done me no good, so I stayed in place until, in a few moments, Kumra rushed in with Keela on her heels. She glanced around the room as if not believing her daughter, then grabbed me by the hair.

“You stupid murna. You will regret your disobedience.” She spat the words into my face, the look of hatred that distorted her beautiful features identical to her daughter’s. They had never looked more alike than at that moment.

Pain spread through my scalp. I pressed my lips together.

She dragged me through the courtyard to the flogging post next to Servant House and tied me herself.

She screamed for a warrior, but suddenly none seemed to be in sight. So she tore the whip from its peg on the side of the post and shoved it into the hands of one of the male servants who came around at the commotion.

“Whip her!”

The first strike did not hurt at once. The pain was such a shock, a moment or two passed before my body caught up with it. But fast enough came the second and the third, and I felt the clothes rend first; then my skin split. My knees gave; only the rope held me up, tearing my shoulders.

And the whip kept coming.

Pain such as I had never felt before seared through my body. The courtyard swam before me. A few warriors gathered around, then more and more. I prayed to the spirits to allow me to faint. I thought of Igril’s brother who had been beaten to death at this same post and wondered how long he had been able to bear the pain.

As my eyes rolled back in my head, I reached for the sweet oblivion of death, welcoming it.

“Stop!” Kumra’s voice snapped from far away. “Cut her down. I want her conscious so she can fully appreciate the rest.”

The rope suddenly gave, and I fell to the ground, scraping my face, the gravel under the thin layer of snow cutting my lip. I did not feel cold. Flames danced on my back with unbearable heat.

I could neither move nor see.

“She was found in shame, no longer a maiden,” Kumra declared. “Any of you may have her as you please.”

I forced my eyes open a slit. The hem of her crimson gown swept by my face, swirling in the powdery snow as she walked away, her charms jingling.

“Cut off her hair. All of it,” she called back, probably to a servant woman. Then her hem disappeared.

I heard Onra’s voice, pleading with the warriors. “Give her to us.”

To my horror, she offered herself in exchange. I lay helpless, my lips unable to move to protest such sacrifice.

But she pleaded in vain. Rough hands lifted me up, and the warriors carried me away.

~~~***~~~

CHAPTER SEVEN

(Batumar, High Lord of the Kadar)

I had no strength left to care about what would happen to me next—the pain could scarcely grow worse. But the warriors did not hurt me. They cared for me as if I was one of their own, as I had cared for them in the past. They kept me safe at Warrior Hall, out of Kumra’s reach.

I remained with them day after day, Talmir bringing soups from the kitchen, made from tender kiltari liver and whuchu greens, and bread too, baked with spicy shugone nuts. Onra stayed with me whenever she could, and Lenya sent messages.

I healed fast, my mother’s spirit working within me, and by the next moon crossing, I stood ready.

I planned on sneaking away through the fields to the hills as soon as the sun set, to give myself as much time as I could before they discovered my absence in the morning. As much as the warriors liked me, they would have to report a runaway slave or pay the heavy price when accused of aiding my escape.

Only Onra and Talmir knew of my plan. I asked both to join me, but both chose to stay, Talmir for the sake of his family, Onra for the sake of her mother.

Talmir brought me a small bundle, shoes of tough leather strips that would stand up to the rocks of the hills, a flask for water, and food. He returned the length of cloth I had given him, clean and beautiful as ever, ready to provide me with my disguise.

I could scarcely believe that Kumra had not missed it yet. A whole winter had passed since I had owned anything other than my ill-fitting Kadar dress. I could not fathom a life of such abundance that someone would not miss a possession of such beauty for this many days.

I catalogued my supplies as I catalogued my injuries—both would greatly influence the outcome of my escape. Itchy and new, the skin on my back still pulled as I moved, but I could walk without much pain. And I had to walk only as far as the next port. I could finish healing on the ship.

But I would not sail home, not yet. I would journey to Karamur first to find my mother’s grave and to find out how she had died exactly. As great a healer as she had been, as strong as the spirit had worked within her, I could not imagine her succumbing to a simple traveling illness. Now that I knew the Kadar better, I suspected foul play.

Onra popped in to bring me a handful of healing herbs at the last moment. I was tying them into my bundle after we had said our last tearful goodbye, when suddenly the horn sounded at the War Gate.

My whole world stilled, then restarted again with a great rush. The few warriors in the Hall ran outside, and after a while I could make out some of the shouting in the courtyard, even through the sudden pounding in my ears.

“Lord Tahar returns!”

Fear locked my muscles in place until I realized I had nothing to worry about Lord Tahar’s feast. I was no longer considered a maiden.

Warrior Hall had large windows with wooden shutters, unlike the small holes high up the wall at Maiden Hall and Pleasure Hall. I rushed to an open window so I could see the servants in the courtyard, running back and forth between the kitchen and the Great Hall as they prepared for the feast. Tahar had not sent a runner. He was arriving in a rush, wholly unexpected.

His arrival turned out not to be the only one nor the biggest surprise of the day. Soon the horn sounded for the second time. Unfamiliar warriors marched into the courtyard. Their long swords hung from wide leather belts elaborately decorated with gold.

The Palace Guard.

Had Lord Gilrem returned for vengeance? Would he remember me kindly? If he set me free…

But even as I stood in the window, I knew he would not help me. He had refused his aid when his warriors were upon me. He had not taken me with him when he had walked through the War Gate, even as he knew I would receive the punishment for his leaving. He had not given me the crystals he had promised for his freedom, not that I had expected them. To Gilrem I was a lowly slave woman, beneath his notice.

A couple of the Palace Guards headed straight for Warrior Hall, so I grabbed my bundle and slipped out the back door, held my breath as I ran behind the warriors’ latrines, then kept my head down as I crossed the courtyard and hurried straight to the kitchen.

The weather had turned warmer in the past few days, the gift of Yullin, the servants said, but I was certain the favor came from the spirits. At least I would not freeze in the hills. As soon as night fell, I would slip away.

I found Talmir stuffing partridge with bits of bread and herbs, a whole row of them waiting for his attention. Steam rose from a pot nearby and filled the air with the scent of rosemary.

I pulled into a dark corner behind him. “I wish I had gone last night.”

He tied the bird’s legs with string and set it aside, then grabbed the next. “Wait until after the feast. There will be mead tonight enough, unmeasured, in honor of the High Lord Batumar. You can slip away while most of the warriors will be asleep.”

“The High Lord?” Unease settled into my limbs.

“He is preparing for the war, visiting the most important warlords of the land.”

I asked him again about the hill I had to scale, the villages, the harbor where I would have to find a ship willing to take me.

As I memorized every detail, a servant woman rushed by Talmir with a steaming pot of soup and scalded her wrist, crying out in pain. I rushed forward without thought.

Lenya stepped into the kitchen at the same time, two warriors behind her. The sad look on her face spoke to me before she ever opened her mouth.
I wish I had not found you.

“We have been looking for you all over. The High Lord asked for you,” she said aloud.

Run now!
a small voice urged in my head; then I looked at the warriors. They might have ignored Kumra for my sake, but they would not disobey an order from Lord Tahar and their High Lord.

I glanced over my shoulder at the dark corner where my bundle waited, ready for the journey. I would come back for it and leave this place no matter what I had to do. Talmir nodded as if reading my thoughts.

Kind spirits, do not desert me now.
I turned and followed Lenya, the warriors behind us, escorting us all the way to Maiden Hall’s door.

Only Kumra waited for us inside, the maidens probably at the feast already. Her hair more elaborate than ever, she wore a gown of flowing peach silk embroidered with gold thread, cuffs and hem covered with black pearls. But I could no longer find beauty in her, for I knew the darkness of her heart.

Her eyes settled on my long braid, uncut despite her order. Rage simmered in her eyes as she tossed a bundle of clean clothes at me, servant’s clothes but unsoiled and well-repaired. In silence, she watched me dress. Even when I turned, I felt her gaze on the skin of my back like I had felt the sting of the whip.

“You will come back to me. He will not keep you.” Her voice dripped with hatred. “And if he does, know this: he has killed every woman he had ever chosen. All his concubines are dead.”

A chill ran down my spine as I followed her through the small door to Pleasure Hall and to Tahar’s Great Hall from there, to Tahar’s table—the place I had sworn I would never stand as long as there remained breath within me. She bowed with grace, then backed away. I kept my eyes cast to the stone floor.

“Is she the healer your warriors spoke of?” an unfamiliar voice questioned.

“She is, my Lord,” Kumra said somewhere behind me.

“Tera.” The voice called my name.

Since he had named me, I could lift my head and look upon his face.

The High Lord’s dark gaze made me feel like he could see inside my heart. And not only see but take what he wanted.

He viewed me with mistrust and even displeasure, his eyes as black as obsidian, matching his heavy mane of hair. He bore little resemblance to his fair-faced younger brother. His rough-shaven face was as sharp-angled as cut rock. A hideous scar ran from the corner of his eye to his chin, unbalancing the line of his lips.

I gaped, for among my people I had scarcely seen any with such a deformity. The best of our healers could heal even the worst wounds without a scar.

I knew I was staring, but he did not even blink. He let me look my fill.

He was the most fearsome man I had ever seen, and at last I dropped my gaze, only to have it catch on his enormous frame. His shoulders stretched wider in his plain tunic than those of an average warrior in full battle armor. Power shimmered around him. When he spoke, the Great Hall listened, and all men within.

“A House is lucky to possess such a healer as she.”

Lord Tahar replied at once. “She is yours, my Lord, if you wish it.”

So even the Kadar, or at least some of them, had manners. Among the Shahala, when an esteemed guest praised something, a courteous host would offer it to him. A courteous guest would thank the host and protest, indeed refuse.

But polite manners ended with Lord Tahar’s offer, for the High Lord simply pointed behind him for me to sit.

I stumbled forward as I reached to my neck and held tight the empty phial of moonflower tears, as a child might reach for the familiar comfort of his birthing blanket.

At a feast, behind each warrior sat their concubines, but none sat behind Batumar. I sank onto one of the pillows, not too close but neither so far that I would give offense.

Kumra reclined gracefully behind Lord Tahar and shot me a look of cold fury, but I had bigger things than her to worry about. Had Tahar given me to the High Lord for the night or forever? Was I given as a healer or as a concubine?

I sat in the concubines’ place. Surely not a good sign.

Resentment welled inside me, at Lord Tahar who had kept me as a slave and now gave me away like a measure of wheat, anger at the spirits who had abandoned me once more. I looked at the High Lord who would either take my body tonight or my freedom forever, or likely both, without a thought to my own wishes.

I might have met him only that night, but I knew him all the same. He was a man who lived by his strength and probably despised compassion. He led his nation to war season after season. His people cared little about the ideals that were most important to mine. I had known his Palace Guard, and I had known his brother, and what I knew about them told me a lot about the High Lord. I had despised him before I had ever set eyes on him, and now that he owned me, I despised him more.

The servants served the feast, tray after tray brought to the High Lord’s table after the small offering on Rorin’s stone altar. A servant woman stepped forth to sing, her bittersweet song of home and returning bringing tears to my eyes.

When she retreated, the oldest of Lord Tahar’s captains rose from the table to entertain the High Lord with gory battle tales. He spent much time on bragging about the number of enemy killed and the fierceness of the Kadar.

His eyes sparkled with excitement, his arms moving at times to demonstrate a crucial bit of swordplay. He moved with the agility of a seasoned warrior, his body fit and trim, although he was probably a grandfather, his hair already graying. He sat amid applause when the story ended but rose again after some cajoling to tell another.