Griffin's Shadow (31 page)

The slaver had been true to his word and had fed his captive well and prohibited his assistants from abusing Ashinji physically, although the two men had delighted in verbally baiting him at every opportunity. Ashinji had little trouble ignoring them, having mastered the art of shedding hurtful words years ago under the harsh tutelage of his brother.

As Marcus deftly maneuvered the wagon through the steady stream of traffic heading into the city, Ashinji observed everything around him with keen interest. He knew he could not escape—at least not any time soon—but he had faced his death and had survived, an outcome he had not expected. His survival ran counter to the prophecy of his dream, proving that the future remained fluid, and could be shaped by his own determination. If given the opportunity, he would attempt escape; therefore, he needed to commit to memory every detail he could of the way in and out of Darguinia.

The broad road upon which they traveled ran for a time through a sprawling shantytown. Everywhere he looked, Ashinji observed masses of humans shoving, walking, crawling, squatting, eating, selling, buying, sleeping, and dying.

Ashinji had always been aware on an intellectual level that the human race outnumbered the elven, but the reality of how much so now became shockingly, terrifyingly clear.

We elves are in serious trouble,
he thought.

Ashinji could only stare at the crowds and wonder how Alasiri would ever prevail over such odds.

As the wagon rolled on, the shacks and shelters of the shantytown gave way to small houses and businesses made of wood and brick. The dirt road turned into an avenue paved with a smooth hard surface Ashinji could not identify. When he dared to ask Asa, Marcus’ salt and pepper-haired assistant about it, the man answered “It’s concrete, ya stupid tink!”

The sun had crept past its zenith when the road finally passed the massive public buildings of the city center. Despite the fear that gnawed at his gut, Ashinji still felt impressed at the grand scale of everything. No elven scholar had ever denied the engineering and architectural abilities of the human race, and among all human peoples, the Soldarans were universally acknowledged as the best builders.

The Grand Arena hove into view like a mighty ship, its massive walls of white stone rising to dizzying heights, dwarfing the other structures around it. Marcus drove out onto a road encircling the huge round building and turned the horse’s head to the right, following the curve of the wall eastward. He began to whistle a cheerful tune.

No doubt he’s anticipating the profit he’ll make on me,
Ashinji thought.

After following the road for a short distance, Marcus drove the wagon through a set of tall stone gates. The words, “Grand Slave Market” written in High Soldaran script, decorated the plinth.

Ashinji watched in horrified fascination as they rolled past an auction in progress, one of several going on at once in various areas of the market. A young woman stood on a raised platform, naked except for the chains on her wrists and ankles, blank eyes staring through a curtain of tangled black hair. A crowd of men ringed the platform, all shouting and gesturing with their fingers. Another man, dressed in gold- trimmed robes, stood beside the girl, prodding her thighs with the butt of a leather whip. When the handler spun the girl around, bent her over and kicked her legs apart, Ashinji turned away in disgust.

The scene he had just witnessed, coupled with the noise and heat, left Ashinji shaking and nauseous. He leaned against the side of the wagon and struggled to breathe, a mere hairsbreadth from panic.

There’s no way I’ll let Marcus strip and parade me naked in front of a howling mob of humans. I’ll find a way to kill myself first!

The wagon stopped in front of a smaller, walled-off area. Marcus set the brake and jumped down from the driver’s seat. He scrambled onto the wagon bed and stood, hands on hips, looking down at Ashinji. “Your new life is about to begin, Ashinji,” he announced. “This is the exotics market. Mostly humans from faraway lands with different colored skins are sold here, but half-breeds and some non-humans end up here as well. You’ll be a special prize. Not too often a pureblooded elf ends up in your circumstances. The bidding should be spirited!” His eyebrows lifted in amusement.

Ashinji remained silent.

“First things first,” Marcus continued. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up.” He snapped his fingers and his assistants came to attention. “Take him to the wash yard. I’ll be along shortly,” he ordered.

Marcus’ assistants escorted Ashinji to an enclosed yard deep within the exotics market area. Stone troughs lined the walls on three sides. The cobble-paved yard sloped inward toward a large circular drain hole in the center. A crowd of people, some washing themselves, others being washed against their will with varying degrees of struggle, filled the space.

Asa grabbed a wooden bucket and filled it with water from one of the many small taps spouting from the walls over the troughs. “Don’t just stand there, Lacus you lazy dolt!” He glowered at Blond Bear. “Get his clothes off!”

Lacus stepped forward and Ashinji raised his hands. “I can undress and wash myself if you free my hands,” he said. Lacus looked at Asa, his broad face full of uncertainty.

Asa frowned, then said “Yeah, go ahead. Where can he run to, eh?”

Hands free, Ashinji peeled off his filthy clothes and dropped them into the trough. He looked at Asa. “Soap?” he asked, and the man went off to find some. While he waited, he unbraided his hair and raked his fingers through its greasy length, grimacing in disgust, acutely aware that others in the yard were beginning to take notice of him.

Asa returned and pressed an irregular yellow lump into Ashinji’s hand. Ashinji turned his back to the yard and began washing the two and a half weeks worth of accumulated grime from his hair and skin. When he had finished, his skin smarted from the harsh soap, but the sheer bliss of a clean body raised his spirits as much as they could be in this horrible place.

Lacus produced a clean tunic from the pack he carried slung over one broad shoulder. With a grateful sigh, Ashinji slipped the unbleached cotton over his still-wet body. He dunked his dusty sandals in the trough to rinse them and slipped them back on his feet, then fished the old tunic and breeches out of the murky water.

“Leave those,” Asa ordered, and Ashinji let the water-soaked garments slip out of his hand to land with a wet plop on the cobbles at his feet. “Hold out your hands,” Asa commanded and fastened the manacles back on Ashinji’s wrists.

As they left the wash yard, Ashinji glanced about and saw the many gazes turned on him.

Goddess, please! Help me get through this!
he prayed.
Help me survive
and get home to Jelena and our baby!

He looked at the sky and caught sight of a pair of white birds winging their way across the roofs of the market. They swerved and alighted onto the wash yard wall. Their bead-like eyes seemed to follow Ashinji as he passed below their perch.

Seeing the birds, he didn’t feel quite so afraid anymore.

Perhaps these birds are a sign from the One,
he thought.
I am Ashinji Sakehera, son of Sen and Amara, Lord and Lady of Kerala. Jelena Onjara Sakehera is my wife, and I am son-in-law to Keizo Onjara, King of Alasiri.

I am no slave!

He would hold these truths in his heart, and survive.

The Grieving Season

Winter tightened its grip on Alasiri. The trees had shed their leaves and stretched bare branches to the gray skies like bony hands grasping toward heaven. The flocks of migratory birds that had passed overhead in countless numbers throughout the late fall had vanished, fled south to their breeding grounds in the human lands. The summer-sleek hides of horses and cattle had grown rough and shaggy, and the sharp wind off the high Kesen Numai Mountains sang of the coming snow.

As the season deepened, so too, did Jelena’s grief. For a time, she withdrew completely from all life at court, sequestering herself in a small set of rooms near the Sakehera family quarters. Unable to bear Sadaiyo’s presence, Jelena had refused to return to the home of her in-laws, and so the king had given her a private flat of her own to live in, along with Eikko.

Keizo came to see her every day, as did Amara and Sen. She would sit with them for a time, but then beg them to leave her, so she could retreat to the haven of her bedroom to lie alone with her sorrow. Sonoe came as well, sometimes with Keizo, sometimes on her own. For reasons Jelena did not quite understand, only Sonoe seemed able to give her any comfort.

Sonoe had been there, standing with the king, when Sadaiyo delivered the news that ended life as Jelena had known it. During the few moments it had taken for Sadaiyo to speak, Jelena’s world had imploded, leaving her a widow and her unborn daughter fatherless. She could recall little of that terrible day, but one of the few memories that stood out had been the unexpected tenderness of Sonoe’s attentions.

Her father’s arms had cradled her in those first few hours of agony, but later, when she had begged to return to her room, his Companion had accompanied her and had stayed with her through the long, dark night. Jelena had found herself clinging to the older woman as she would to a sister, accepting the comfort Sonoe offered without question or hesitation. All the suspicions she had harbored against Sonoe vanished like dew at sunrise, and now, after so many weeks of closeness, she shared a bond with the flame-haired sorceress both deep and strong.

Sonoe now came to Jelena’s rooms each morning and saw to it that she got out of bed, went to the bath house, got dressed, and ate. If not for her friend’s persistence during those first few days, Jelena doubted if she would have had the strength to move at all.

With each passing day, the pain, though still intense, grew a little easier to bear. Slowly, Jelena learned to live with her grief.

This particular morning, Sonoe was late, and Eikko, perhaps not having the heart to disturb her, had left Jelena alone to linger awhile longer in bed. Thin, wintry sunshine spilled like ice water across the coverlets, and Jelena sighed in annoyance at herself for forgetting to remind Eikko to draw the curtains last night. The light made it impossible to sleep, as did the movements of her daughter.

Jelena tossed the covers aside and slid awkwardly out of bed. She drew a fur-lined robe over her nightgown, and with a hand pressed to her aching back, she shuffled over to the little water closet to relieve herself. That done, she settled into the window seat, pulling her robe close about her to ward off the chill that seeped through the glass. Her unborn daughter dealt her another kick to her ribs.

“Easy, easy, little one,” she whispered in Soldaran. “Why must you be so hard on your poor mam?” Jelena almost never spoke in her native tongue anymore, and at times, she missed the sound of it.

Where is Sonoe?

Jelena felt a twinge of worry. She looked out the window, letting her gaze wander over the rooftops glazed with frost. A flutter of black against the blue tiles caught her eye. A large raven had dropped from the sky to land on a dragon-headed rain spout directly across from her window. The bird looked as though it watched something below its perch. Jelena craned her neck to try to get a look at what the bird saw.

In a little courtyard below Jelena’s bedchamber, Sonoe and Princess Taya stood face to face in what seemed to be a tense confrontation. Even from so great a distance, Jelena could sense the animosity that crackled between the two mages like a lightning strike. Sonoe spoke and Taya reacted as if she had been struck. Both women threw up their hands simultaneously and each took a step back and away from the other. Jelena cried out in alarm.

From the other side of the bedchamber door, she heard Eikko call out, “Princess! My lady, are you ill?”

“I’m fine,” Jelena answered, tearing her gaze away from the stand-off below. She pushed herself up from the window seat and moved to open the door, but before she reached it, Eikko had bustled in.

The hikui girl scanned Jelena with a practiced eye. “You cried out, my lady, and it frightened me!” She looked both relieved and accusatory all at once.

“I was startled, that’s all, Eikko. I just saw my aunt and Sonoe down in the courtyard and they seemed to be having a nasty argument,” Jelena explained. She moved past Eikko into her sitting room.

“I’m sure they’ll settle it, Highness, one way or another. You shouldn’t let it worry you,” Eikko said, as she followed her mistress out of the bedroom. Jelena sat on the couch before the fireplace, and Eikko quickly moved to throw a fresh chunk of wood onto the glowing embers of last night’s fire.

But it does worry me
, Jelena thought, well aware of the bitter rivalry between her aunt and Sonoe, but still ignorant of its origins. Neither mage had offered an explanation, nor had either one asked her to make a choice between them.

One day, they might, and then what?

“Shall I bring you your tea, Highness?”

A soft rap upon the outer door interrupted Jelena’s reply. Eikko hurried over to admit a rather flustered Sonoe. The mage pulled off her green velvet cloak and dumped it into Eikko’s arms, then swept into the sitting room and dropped on the couch beside Jelena. She held herself stiffly upright, eyes closed, jaw locked tight. Her long, graceful fingers clinched into fists on her lap.