"I will be lenient this time, since you are new and we are not in public." Stepping back, he struck Alec hard across the back. It hurt like h.e.l.l, but didn't break the skin. Nine more blows followed, then Alec was grabbed by the hair and thrown back into the cell. He came down hard on the stone floor, banging his right elbow painfully and sc.r.a.ping the bandaged burn on his arm. The pain drove him back to his feet. He faced the doorway, braced to fight.

Yhakobin regarded him for a moment, then smiled. "Perhaps it's a good thing, this strong spirit of yours, though it will not make your life here an easy one."

"It's not my choice to be here, Ilban, Ilban," Alec snarled, shaking with anger.

"No, but it is your fate." With that, the door closed and the bar fell again.

Alec listened as the footsteps faded away. The stripes on his back stung like fire, but the pain cleared his head. He was acting foolishly, fighting when there was no hope of winning, and antagonizing the man who held his life in his hands. Yhakobin could have just as easily had them tear out his tongue. For some reason he'd refrained, but it would be foolish to push the man.

The cell was cold and dark. A tiny barred window set high in the wall across from the door let in a little torchlight-just enough to make out that the walls were smoothly plastered and whitewashed, and the floor was paved with bricks set in mortar.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw a pallet bed piled with folded quilts over in the far corner. A long robe had been laid out for him, too. He pulled it on, surprised at how soft and clean it was. The wool gave off a faint scent of lavender and cedar, as if it had been stored in a proper clothes chest. The plain quilts smelled like fresh air and sunlight. The pallet, too, was a thick, well-aired feather tick.

It was a relief to be dressed again. He wrapped himself in one of the quilts and circled the room, looking for anything he could use to his advantage. The walls were solid and gave back the dull report of stonework under his knuckles. The door was hinged on the outside, and there was no lock to pick, even if he'd had something to work with. Stymied for the moment, he sat down on the pallet with his sore back against the cold wall, and pulled more quilts over himself.

"I'm alive," he whispered, shivering from the pain now and feeling a little sick. "He's alive, too, and we're both on dry land again. We alive, too, and we're both on dry land again. We will will find each other." find each other."

All he had to do was bide his time and keep himself in one piece. Sooner or later, an opportunity would present itself.

CHAPTER 12 12.

Bargains in Flesh

CHARIS YHAKOBIN WAS not a man who took any particular pleasure in disciplining his slaves. He usually left that to someone else, but this young Alec was quite a special case, and he'd already decided that no one else was going to lay a hand on him. not a man who took any particular pleasure in disciplining his slaves. He usually left that to someone else, but this young Alec was quite a special case, and he'd already decided that no one else was going to lay a hand on him.

He climbed the stairs to the main level of the villa and crossed the central courtyard to find the Viresse khirnari waiting for him at a small wine table by the fountain pool. Ulan i Sathil was still wrapped in his cloak against the evening chill, with the hood thrown back. His white hair glimmered in the torchlight.

"You are satisfied with our bargain, Charis?" the khirnari asked in that cold, level voice of his.

"Most satisfied, though it's a pity the boy is a half-blood."

"But you can still make use of him?"

"Oh yes."

"And the other one?"

"You don't use his name, I notice. I haven't heard you speak of him directly once."

"He has no name. He is an outcast, and no concern of mine. I trust he will be dealt with appropriately?"

"I can a.s.sure you, he will never see Aurenen again, my friend."

"Yes, but will he suffer?"

"I have no doubt that he will, with his new master. And now, for my part." He took a leather folder of doc.u.ments from inside his coat and laid it before Ulan. "Emanc.i.p.ation papers for forty-two Viresse and Golinil clan members. They will be on your ship by dawn."

Ulan paused, hand poised over the folder. "You promised me forty-four."

"Two have since died. Their remains have been prepared. You can still return them to their families. I do apologize, but it happened before I could purchase them."

"Ransom," Ulan corrected. "They are ransomed. We 'faie do not involve ourselves in the buying and selling of flesh."

"Of course. I misspoke. Those whom I ransomed, as my part of our bargain, then."

"Thank you. And as to the other part of our bargain?"

"As soon as a rhekaro is perfected-if indeed it is possible-and properly a.s.sessed, one will be sent to you."

Ulan raised an eyebrow at that. "If? This is the first time you've shown any doubt."

"I hadn't seen him, much less tested him when we struck our bargain," Yhakobin reminded him. "I had only your word that he was of that bloodline at all. And the boy is half human, after all, and that's strong in him. I can only do so much." He paused and sipped his wine. "Tell me, Khirnari, are there truly none in Aurenen who know of this blood property? That seems so odd, given the length of 'faie memory."

"I knew nothing of it until you contacted me about all this. And if I knew nothing, then it is highly unlikely that anyone else does, with the possible exception of the rhui'auros at Sarikali."

"Ah, yes. Your mysterious, mystic priests. Are they the keepers of your people's secrets?"

The khirnari answered that with an enigmatic smile. "There are many stories about why Hazadriel gathered her followers and fled north, though no one knows the truth, or so the rhui'auros would tell you. But some say that she was gifted with a vision by the bash'wai bash'wai spirits who inhabit Sarikali." spirits who inhabit Sarikali."

"Mystics and ghosts! My, but you are a colorful people." Ulan's smile disappeared. He did not move, but the air around Yhakobin suddenly felt cold and dense. "I meant that as a compliment, of course."

"Of course." Ulan kept him pinned with his sharp-eyed gaze a moment longer, then looked down at his wine.

Yhakobin relaxed slightly as the atmosphere returned to normal. "So, I will endeavor to make the rhekaro rhekaro with what I have to work with, and then we shall see." with what I have to work with, and then we shall see."

"I should like to see your texts, which speak of this magic."

Yhakobin nearly refused; no alchemist shared his precious store of knowledge, and most certainly not with an outsider. And he did already have the young Hazadrielfaie in hand. All the same, Ulan i Sathil was too powerful a man to trifle with. "Very well. Please wait here while I retrieve it."

As he unlocked his workshop door, he glanced back suspiciously, but Ulan still sat at the wine table, gazing at the fountain or statuary now. After that little demonstration of displeasure, however, Yhakobin wondered if the man was somehow coercing him into revealing his precious texts. Safely inside, he went to one of the tables and placed a bit of sulfur in a crucible and poured a few drops of several tinctures over it, then drew the requisite symbols on the table. He lit the sulfur with a coal from the forge and watched the flame, which flared up yellow, then turned a deep green; Ulan was exercising no magic on him, or at least none he could identify.

Satisfied, he went to the small pavilion at the far end of the room and crawled inside to open the large casket hidden there. The lock opened at his touch, and he took out the lesser tome and carried it back to Ulan. He doubted the man, for all his apparent wisdom, knew how to read the Arcana.

"Here, Khirnari," he said, opening the book to a chapter marked with a black ribbon. Ulan took the tome and slowly followed the tiny characters with a finger, nodding slowly. "According to this, the longevity properties are not predictable."

"Most likely because of the differing distillation processes employed by the few alchemists who practiced this science. Each lineage has its own methodology, rather like the inherited magic of your people. And no one in those ancient times ever thought to use a half-blood, when the pure strains were so readily had."

"The history of your people's depredations on our sh.o.r.es is nothing to speak of lightly," Ulan said quietly, and the air grew a little heavy again.

"Of course not, Khirnari. I only meant to give you an explanation of why my endeavors in this matter may be unpredictable. But rest a.s.sured, the purification and decoction of blood strains is a great strength of mine. And at the risk of seeming arrogant, I daresay you will not find another alchemist who is more adept at the art than I."

"I do not doubt your expertise, Charis. If the process produces the elixir I hope for, then I will be pleased, of course. If it does something else, then you will of course share that knowledge."

"Of course. And regardless of the outcome, I will continue to keep our bargain. Any member of the Viresse clan I find in the markets or households of Plenimar will be purchased-ransomed, that is-and returned to you."

"And your traders will continue to have favored status in my ports, and in my fai'thast."

Ulan rose and bowed to him. "Good night, my friend, and good luck."

"Won't you stay the night with us, Khirnari? My wife has prepared a banquet in your honor."

The old Aurenfaie's hesitation would not have been apparent to a man less astute than Charis Yhakobin. "I will be most honored to dine with you, but these old bones of mine will sleep better rocked by the tide in an Aurenfaie berth. One of the many prices of age, my friend. One becomes overly attached to the familiar in small things."

"And great ones, as well." It was no secret that the pact between Skala and the Gedre khirnari had hurt more than Viresse's trade and shipping interests. It had hurt their pride. What Seregil i Korit's role had been in that was unclear, but Yhakobin had been more than happy to benefit from the rift. If not for Ulan's animosity toward the young Bokthersan, Yhakobin might never have gained the prize he now had safely locked away in his cellar.

He let his gaze wander to the dark, slender figure standing at a respectful distance in the shadows and gave a slight nod to show that all was well. Yhakobin was a wealthy man, and a powerful one, but merciful when it suited him. He could afford to be generous now, especially to one who had brought him his heart's greatest desire.

CHAPTER 13 13.

Ilban

FOR TWO DAYS Alec was left in peace, but he was clearly being punished; his gaolers brought him nothing but water. They didn't speak to him when they came with the pitcher, or to take away the pail, but no one abused him, either. He had no doubt, though, that he was being closely observed. Alec was left in peace, but he was clearly being punished; his gaolers brought him nothing but water. They didn't speak to him when they came with the pitcher, or to take away the pail, but no one abused him, either. He had no doubt, though, that he was being closely observed.

His belly ached and growled, but he'd known worse deprivations. By the second day he was a little light-headed, but the worst thing was the boredom. There was nothing to do but count the bricks in the floor and watch the patch of sunlight crawl across the wall. He'd tried to get up to the tiny window, but it was too high. Sitting in his nest of quilts, he spent hours listening intently, trying to imagine what lay beyond this room.

There were often footsteps in the corridor outside his door, and the m.u.f.fled sounds of conversation. He couldn't understand the words, but it sounded like servants' talk. Occasionally he made out Yhakobin's voice-a calm, even murmur that was always answered with respect.

Birdsong came in through his window, and the ordinary sounds of a household-footsteps, the clank of a pail, the sound of wood being split, the crowing of a rooster at daybreak, the occasional snuffle of a dog near his window, women's voices, and the occasional laughter of children.

Just after dark the second day, his keepers came in carrying a lamp and a chair. Alec remained on his pallet as they set these things against the wall by the door, then stepped back to let in their master.

Yhakobin sat down and motioned to Ahmol, who carried in a wooden bowl and a small brown loaf. Alec's mouth watered painfully as the smell of warm oat porridge drifted across to him. Instead of bringing them to Alec, however, Ahmol stayed by the door and looked to his master.

"How does this night find you, Alec?" Yhakobin asked, crossing his legs and smoothing the fabric of his dark robe over his knee.

The smell of the food made his traitorous stomach growl. "Well enough, Ilban," he replied, respectfully dropping his gaze.

"Hungry?"

"Yes, Ilban." There was no use denying it. He could see the game that was being played, but standing on pride and getting any weaker wasn't going to get him anywhere.

"You're more reasonable tonight. I'm glad."

"Hunger is a good teacher, Ilban."

Yhakobin nodded to Ahmol. The servant set the food down in front of Alec and went out, closing the door.

"Please, eat," Yhakobin said, as if Alec was a guest at his table. "I took my supper upstairs."

"Thank you, Ilban." Alec picked up the bowl and took a sip of the porridge. It was thin and milky, flavored with honey. He had to force himself to eat slowly so he wouldn't sick it back up. After a few sips he tore off a bit of the bread and used it as a sop. It was still warm from the oven.

He ate in silence, aware of the man's eyes on him, and the slight smile on his lips. Yhakobin had a sharp, intelligent face. The ink stains caught Alec's attention again; this man certainly had the look of someone more at ease with a pen than a sword.

He finished the porridge and set the bowl aside. "Your prison is better than some inns I've stayed at, Ilban."

"You are not in prison, Alec. This is where I put new slaves, especially excitable ones like yourself. A few days of peaceful rest to help you accept your new position."

"I'm glad you don't have your whip tonight, Ilban."

Yhakobin chuckled. "It's close by, I a.s.sure you. It's up to you whether I need it again. I am not the sort of master who delights in abusing his slaves for no reason."

Alec nodded and nibbled at another piece of bread.

"You may ask me questions."

Alec considered for a moment, then asked, "How do you know my name?"

"I've known about you for some time now. Plenimar has ears and eyes in Aurenen, as well as in Skala."

"Spies."

"Of course. And it was not difficult, with you and your companion making no secret of your mixed blood. Bragging about it, it seemed. Most unwise of you. Your people should have taught you better than that."

"My people?"

"The Hazadrielfaie."

Alec frowned and looked away. "They aren't my people. I never knew them."

"I see. Of course, you're not a pureblood. The color of your hair suggested it, and I've already verified the fact, back at the slave barns. That was a disappointment, but the strain is still very strong in you. So, you are the child of a runaway. Tell me, was it your mother, or your father?"

Alec kept silent, trying to comprehend what he was being told. This is why they'd been captured? It's my fault we're here? It's my fault we're here?

"Well, it's of no consequence for now," Yhakobin said, still watching him closely.

"What do you want from me...Ilban?"

"All in good time, Alec. Tell me, do you know what an alchemist is?"

"An alchemist?" Alec searched his memory. He'd heard the term once or twice around the Oreska House, and always in disparaging tones. "I once heard someone call it kitchen magic."

Yhakobin smiled at that. "No, Alec, alchemy is one of the highest Arts, the marriage of magic and natural science. It's far more powerful in its way than all that hand waving your Oreska wizards do, and nothing at all like necromancy."