The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (2 page)

“Oh really?” he asked innocently. “What would that
be?”

She graced him with a rare smile, “Me.”

“Wake up.”

His first impression in the dim morning gloom was of
green eyes, sparkling as they somehow caught the first tentative light of dawn.
Catherine Sayer was staring intently at him, urgency in her features.
Something important was happening.

“She needs you.”

“Kate?” he asked, confused. How could she be here?
Kate was in Colne with her husband and teenage son.

“Wake up, Tyrion. You will want to hear this.”

It was Lyralliantha’s voice. His eyes opened once
more, to find silver hair and blue eyes waiting for him. He blinked,
struggling to separate his dreaming and waking thoughts from one another.
“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘you will want to hear this’. They have
brought in another from your village,” she told him.

A jolt of adrenaline brought him more fully awake.
“Who is they?”

“The Mordan. It was one of their wardens who found
her.”

His dream was still fresh, and it connected with her
words immediately. “Her?”
Surely Kate wouldn’t be so foolish as to come
here.
If she had come, if she had been claimed by another grove—the
consequences were too terrible to consider.

“A girl.”

“How old?”

She frowned. Lyralliantha wasn’t good at judging
human ages. She’Har children didn’t age. They were created in what would be a
fully adult form for a human, and they remained the same apparent age until the
day they were allowed to transition to their true adulthood. All that aside,
she hadn’t seen the child with her own eyes. “I was told she is young, but not
small, almost my height.”

That could indicate anything from twelve to twenty,
but it was almost certain the girl was a teenager. Whoever she was, she was
probably terrified. Memories of the wardens and their red whips flashed
through Tyrion’s mind. “I need to see her,” he said firmly. He was already
sitting up and struggling to get his trousers on.

“It will not be easy. They are unlikely to welcome
us.”

While the She’Har were particular about their
‘property rights’ when it came to humans, they usually weren’t overly territorial
unless there were special circumstances. Over the past fifteen years Tyrion
had been allowed to visit any of the human slave camps he wished, so long as he
behaved himself. It was even possible the Mordan might allow Lyralliantha to
buy the rights to their new find. “There’s something else isn’t there?”

“She is like you.”

“Wait…” He had assumed that someone from Colne had
foolishly come too close to the borders of the grove, but that didn’t make
sense. It was the Illeniel Grove that most closely approached Colne and the
valley it was located in. The girl wouldn’t have been taken by the Mordan in
that case, which meant that it had been a patrol. The patrols ignored the
people of the valley, unless they exhibited signs… “She’s a mage.”

Lyralliantha nodded.

“And she’s from Colne.”

“She’s a wildling, like you,” she confirmed.

The She’Har patrols were primarily to make sure that
the traits that they had imbued their children with, didn’t migrate into the small
remainder of the free human population. Their magical slave collars were
marvelously effective at preventing their human property from breeding without
permission, but it had happened in the past. When Tyrion had first been
captured, they had assumed he was the result of such an event. It was only
later that they had discovered that his ‘gift’ was the result of a purely
random mutation.

It was extremely unlikely that such a thing had
happened by chance.
Don’t think about it,
he told himself. “What about
Thillmarius?”

“What of him?”

Thillmarius was the only She’Har trainer he had any
real personal experience with. A child and lore-warden of the Prathion Grove,
Thillmarius had been the one originally entrusted with Tyrion’s care and
training. Thoughts of the torture he had endured made a cold sweat break out
whenever he thought of the black-skinned She’Har, but Thillmarius was his best
hope.

The Mordan would be highly protective of their new
find if the girl was a true wildling mage. Tyrion had upset the balance of
power within the She’Har groves after he had been found, allowing the Prathion
and Illeniel groves to gain greater status. His winning streak in the arena
had brought a large amount of ‘shuthsi’, a sort of currency, to the Illeniel
Grove, and Thillmarius had taken strategic advantage of his wins to improve the
standing of the Prathion Grove as well.

“He’s a trainer, and he’s helped us before. If anyone
could convince the Mordan trainer to let me see their new prize, it would be
him,” explained Tyrion.

After a somewhat hasty breakfast, the two of them went
to Ellentrea. It was the most likely place to find Thillmarius, who spent most
of his days training the Prathion slaves there. It took most of an hour to
reach it, but the Prathion lore-warden was easily found.

Thillmarius smiled at their approach, an expression
that never failed to chill Tyrion’s blood. It was part of the She’Har’s
continuing attempts to communicate more effectively with humans, but there was
no true feeling behind the smile. The Prathion trainer could kill or torture
as easily as heal one of his baratti, and none of it seemed to truly affect
him.

“I had a suspicion you might finally come to visit,”
said the She’Har, looking at them with golden eyes that perfectly matched his
shining hair.

“I’m surprised you haven’t already gone to see the new
arrival,” said Tyrion, keeping his tone cool. He had learned long ago that no
good came of becoming emotional while dealing with Thillmarius, or any other
She’Har for that matter.

“Actually, I would have sought you out first, if you
hadn’t come to find me. The Mordan are unlikely to welcome excessive interest
in their new prize, until they have had a chance to test her abilities for
themselves. “You will provide an excellent incentive for them to allow us into
Sabortrea.”

“Trading favors?”

Lyralliantha spoke then, “You understand our people
well, Tyrion.”

“What will they want?” asked Tyrion.

“Nothing more than a blood sample,” answered the
Prathion. “They will want to confirm your relation to the girl and see if
there are any pertinent genetic differences.”

Tyrion winced. “Then they already suspect she is my
daughter.”

Thillmarius smiled once more. “I doubt you are aware
of it, but the groves have been sending more frequent patrols since your arrival.
They all would like to obtain the same advantage that the Illeniels enjoyed for
so long.”

Tyrion had long ago told them that he had no
offspring, but he had known deep down that his lie was in vain.
I should
have known this would happen,
he thought.
I just didn’t want to face
the possibility.
Now the girl, whoever she might be, would suffer for his
refusal to face the inevitable. “What will they do with her?”

“You remember what it was like when you first came
here,” stated Thillmarius. “Sabortrea is much the same, and their methods are
nearly identical.”

***

The world below them was a vista dominated by the vast
forest that stretched away to the horizon in every direction. The trees
covered the world as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional
river, or in the distance, a range of mountains. The ride to Sabortrea was
several days on horseback, so Thillmarius had summoned a ‘dormon’, one of the
flying plant-like creatures that he had once previously used to show Tyrion the
remnant of an old human city.

The flight made a trip of days into a few meagre
hours. They had already passed the borders of the Mordan Grove and were now
descending toward an open area that represented Sabortrea and its arena.

Upon landing they were met by two wardens, humans with
the same hardened, indifferent faces that Tyrion had become accustomed to
during his time among the She’Har. Raised in the pits and trained to constant
violence, their hearts were stunted by cruelty and barely capable of the
subtler emotions. Standing between them was one of the Mordan She’Har,
recognizable by his light blue skin and ebon hair. The She’Har’s eyes were a
vivid blue, notably darker than the icy blue that the Illeniel She’Har
exhibited.

“Thillmarius,” said their greeter, inclining his head
toward the dark skinned She’Har who rode in front of Tyrion and Lyralliantha.
After a second he turned his eyes to Lyralliantha, skipping over Tyrion as an
object to be considered later. ‘People’ took precedence over animals.
“Lyralliantha, I see you brought your pet to visit our new prize.”

She nodded, responding to the greeting with one word,
“Dalleth.”

Tyrion knew her response had been for his benefit.
The Mordan She’Har might have taken offense if she had gone so far as to
formally introduce them, slaves didn’t merit such an honor. Instead, she had
answered with the newcomer’s name, knowing Tyrion’s quick ears would not fail
to take notice.

“Unfortunately, I am afraid you have wasted your time
coming here,” said Dalleth. “Our new baratt is still adjusting to her place
here. I feel it would interfere with her training to expose her to uncertain
influences at this juncture.” His eyes flicked toward Tyrion as he spoke.

Lyralliantha touched Thillmarius’ arm, a gesture
indicating he should speak on her behalf. They had agreed on her response
beforehand, but Thillmarius was a lore-warden as well as a respected trainer.
He would do the negotiating.

“I’m sure you are interested in your animal’s
lineage. Since she comes from the same region as Lyralliantha’s slave, you
must have your suspicions,” began the Prathion She’Har.

“The Illeniels have thus far refused to share the
information gleaned from Tyrion’s testing,” commented Dalleth. “Are you able
to offer something?”

Thillmarius glanced at Lyralliantha, waiting on her
nod before answering, “A sample of his blood, in return for a like sample…”

Lyralliantha coughed, interrupting Thillmarius. His
eyes met hers for a moment before continuing, “Correction, in return for
permission to allow her baratt to visit with yours for a short period of time.”

Dalleth snorted, “I thought you bargained for the
Illeniels, Thillmarius, but it sounds as if you represent the baratt.”

The Prathion showed no sign of offense, “You are
mistaken, Dalleth.”

“How so?”

“The wildlings are different from our domestic
baratti. Tyrion’s successes were a result of something beyond the normal
training regimen. We will learn more about your new animal by letting him
speak to her,” answered Thillmarius.

“That is of little concern to the Mordan Grove,”
answered the cerulean-skinned She’Har trainer.

Thillmarius lowered his head slightly, conceding the
point, “No, but what is of concern to your grove, is the fact that your new
animal may benefit greatly from even a brief interaction with Tyrion.”

Dalleth sighed, “I find that highly unlikely. I would
refuse your offer, but I will consult Gwaeri first. The lore-warden’s opinion
may differ from mine.”

That surprised Tyrion. Since the only trainer he had
had much experience with was Thillmarius, he had assumed that all She’Har
trainers were also lore-wardens. Obviously, that was not the case here.

Dalleth left, and they waited for more than an hour
before he returned. Tyrion was filled with a feeling of impatience, but he
kept it firmly under control. He had spent years imprisoned in a tiny room.
He had learned to wait, but he had never come to like it.

The Mordan She’Har returned alone. “Gwaeri’s thoughts
differed from my own. He has convinced me to accept your offer, though my own
preference would be to reject it.”

“Then we should discuss the details of our terms,”
offered Thillmarius.

The two She’Har trainers spoke at length before
eventually settling on the specifics. Tyrion would be allowed to spend twenty-four
hours with the Mordan Grove’s new slave in exchange for a sample of his blood.
Dalleth led them to the slave quarters within Sabortrea immediately after drawing
his precious sample.

As they walked, Tyrion scanned the dwellings around
them. The structure and layout of Sabortrea was very similar to Ellentrea, but
he couldn’t be sure which of the small huts contained his daughter.

No, that must be her.

They had gotten closer and he now sensed a dwelling
with a noticeably different occupant. A girl was within, and he could tell at
a glance that she must be at or near the age of fifteen. What really stood out
though, was her aythar. Unlike the other human slaves, hers was far brighter;
she shone in his magesight like a star among candles. Her strength was far
greater than anything he had seen before, among either the She’Har or their
human property.

And someone was in the small hut with her.

He could feel her pain well before they reached the
door, and his rage, long dormant over the past years, began to rise once again.