Wolfblade (5 page)

“I’ll make you so proud of me, Lernen,” she promised.

“I’m proud of you already, dearest.”

“How long will it be?”

“How long will what be?”

“How long will it be before I’m married?”

Lernen shrugged. “Not until you turn sixteen. In the spring, perhaps. Your intended is a devotee of Jelanna, so he may want to hold the wedding on her feast day. We haven’t got that far in the negotiations, in truth. And you’ll need to be trained first. I suppose I shall have to buy you a
court’esa
or two now.”

“Just you make sure you pick a good one,” Lirena advised with a grunt as she bent over to pick up another towel Marla had dropped.

Lernen smiled nervously. “It won’t be me who picks Marla’s first
court’esa
, Lirena. Gracious! What a terrifying thought. Anyway, it’s usually a female relative who accompanies a girl on her first trip to the slave markets.”

“Oh, Lernen!” Marla cried in alarm. “
Promise
me I don’t have to go shopping for a
court’esa
with Aunt Lydia!”

“Sounds like a grand idea to me,” Lirena grumbled. “At least you’d wind up with one that’s more than just a pretty face and a well-shaped backside.”

“If I let Lydia pick my first
court’esa
I’ll wind up with an old man who wants to teach me accounting!” Marla complained. “Anyway, who asked you for your opinion?” She turned to her brother and smiled sweetly. “Please, Lernen, promise me you’ll find someone else.”

Her brother shrugged helplessly. “I suppose. Although I’ve no idea who.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll think of someone.” She hugged him again and then laughed delightedly. “I’m so glad you sent for me. You will let me stay here in Greenharbour until I’m married, won’t you?” Lernen had seemed unwilling to commit himself on that point for days now. Marla thought it might be prudent to extract a definite promise while he was feeling so kindly disposed towards his sister.

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier, Marla? Our enemies are everywhere! Ronan Dell was murdered today. In broad daylight!”

“Yes, but you have lots of guards here in the palace. And the Sorcerers’ Collective is on our side, aren’t they?”

“Well, yes, of course, but—”

“Then I’m as safe as you are.
Please
let me stay.”

“We’ll see.”

Marla chose to take that as an answer in the affirmative.

“That’s settled, then,” she announced happily. “Now we can go to the ball!”

E
xhausted and fearful, Elezaar had to pound on the door of Venira’s Emporium for quite some time before anybody came to investigate. The façade of the slave emporium was impressive. Tall marble columns flanked the polished brass-sheathed doors. During the day, two slaves stood either side of the doors, ready to assist customers from their litters or coaches, but at this hour, they were long gone. The street was deserted and Elezaar’s voice was hoarse by the time the door was opened by another slave, who looked the dwarf up and down then smiled briefly when he recognised him.

“I thought your soul would be looking for its way to the underworld, by now, Fool.”

“It very nearly was. Dherin. Is Venira still here?”

“He’s still here,” the slave confirmed. “He was waiting for your brother to show up.”

“He’s not coming,” Elezaar informed him flatly. Dherin waited for Elezaar to elaborate, but when the dwarf offered no further explanation, he simply shrugged and stood back to let him enter. After he bolted the door, Dherin led the way through the dim halls and empty showrooms to the slaver’s private quarters out the back. Elezaar shuddered as he walked through the interlinked courtyards, wondering what had possessed him to come back here.

Protection
, he reminded himself.

But it was a very temporary sort of protection, Venira might sell him tomorrow to the enemies of Ronan Dell and all Elezaar would have achieved by coming here tonight was a stay of execution. But there was a chance, however slender, he might not.

And that was the risk, the gamble, Elezaar had taken.

It was well after dark before he was shown into the slaver’s presence.
Venira was a grossly fat man with an expansive belly, chins so numerous they looked like gills, and the garish bad taste of a self-made millionaire. He wore rings on every finger and the body-weight of a small child in gold chains around his neck. Too fat for trousers, he favoured long, tent-like robes of rich brocaded silk which were so hot he was followed everywhere by a slave with a large fan whose only function was to cool his master down. When Elezaar was admitted into his presence, the slaver was lying on a pile of overstuffed cushions on the floor, a low table laden with food before him, and the ever-present slave standing over his master wearing a bored expression as the fan moved through a slow arc, doing little to cool the humid air.

“I was expecting Crysander,” Venira announced, picking at the fruit bowl on the table. He popped a grape into his mouth, quite deliberately crushing it with his teeth to send a spray of juice across the landscape of his chins, before deigning to turn his gaze on the dwarf.

Elezaar shrugged, glancing around the room. It had changed little since the last time he stood here several months ago. That was just before he had been sold to Ronan Dell. “He was unavoidably detained,” he explained. “He sent me in his place.”

The fat slaver seemed unimpressed. “I could sell your brother a dozen times over for the number of offers I’ll get for you, Fool.”

“I can’t be held responsible for things beyond my control, Master Venira,” he shrugged with an ingenuous smile.

Venira picked up another grape and treated it to the same torment as the first one. “I hear there was trouble at Lord Ronan’s place today.”

“Really?”

“They say he’s dead.”

“What a shame.”

Venira studied Elezaar closely. “They say the assassins killed all the slaves in the house, too.”

“What a pity.”

Venira’s eyes narrowed. “Including your brother.”

“I’m heartbroken.”

“I can tell.” The slaver leaned back on his cushions. “Who did it?”

“Who did what?”

“Who murdered Ronan Dell?”

“I have no idea, Master Venira. Lord Ronan sent me on an errand early this morning and by the time I got back to the house they were all dead. Crysander had enough breath left in him to tell me to come here in his place. That’s all I know.”

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t know who killed them, Master Venira.”

“And even if you did, you’d never admit it.” The slaver smiled slyly. “You may prove to be worth more than I first thought, Fool. Perhaps I’ll hold
an auction for the last remaining survivor of the Dell massacre. I wonder what will bring the higher price? Your testimony or your silence?”

“I have nothing to tell, Master Venira. I saw nothing. I know nothing.”

“So you claim,” Venira scoffed. He shifted his bulk on the cushions and waved another slave forward. “Take him to the compound. See he’s fed, bathed and clothed appropriately. Get rid of that Dell collar he’s wearing and put a plain one on him. The little man may actually be worth something this time.”

“You got a fortune selling me to Ronan Dell the last time,” Elezaar pointed out.

“And you’d better be worth even more now, Fool. I’m sick of all the trouble you cause me.”

“Perhaps next time my master and his household are butchered, I could arrange to be one of the victims,” Elezaar suggested helpfully. “So you’re not put to any more trouble.”

“You do that,” the slaver agreed and then he waved his arm and Elezaar was taken away.

The slaves at Venira’s Emporium were not mistreated. Although left in no doubt about their status in life, Venira was too aware of the value of his merchandise to risk damage by beating or starving them. They were quite well catered for, in fact, one of the reasons Elezaar had decided to risk coming here. If this night was to be his last, at least he would spend it in relative comfort.

After his ablutions he ate a plain but nourishing meal of meat, cheese, bread and watered wine, and then he was led into the slave cells. Dherin locked Elezaar in a bare cell separated by bars from his neighbours. In the cell on his right was a handsome boy of about twenty with smooth olive skin and dark eyes who looked him over with interest.

“I’m Lorince,” the
court’esa
announced, walking to the bars to examine Elezaar more closely in the gloom. The only light in the cells was provided by a torch in the hall and its flickering light was mediocre at best.

“Elezaar,” the dwarf replied, offering the young man his hand through the bars. “You been here long?”

“A bit over a month. Venira says the market’s slow this time of year.”

“What brought you here?”

“Same old story,” Lorince shrugged. “I was the
court’esa
of the youngest daughter of Lord Caron’s House in Meortina. She got married. Her new husband only trusted his own slaves. Happens all the time.”

“Mine fell in love,” the slave in the cell on Elezaar’s left remarked. The young man was lying on his bunk, his hands folded behind his head. “It’s a real bitch when that happens. Nothing you can do about it, either.”

“You’re not from Greenharbour,” Elezaar remarked, looking at the lad’s pale skin. He was long-limbed and handsome, with dusky eyes and thick brown hair tied back in a leather thong. It was the fashion these days among the
court’esa
. Elezaar had never really warmed to it though. He found it much easier to keep his hair short.

“Bramster,” the young man confirmed. “It’s up in the mountains. In Elasapine Province. My name’s Darnel. You’re the Fool, aren’t you?”

“You’ve heard of me?” For a moment, Elezaar forgot his woes, rather flattered to think he might be famous.

“There aren’t too many Loronged
court’esa
like you, little man. What are you doing here?”

“My master was assassinated.”

Darnel smiled sympathetically. “Bitch when that happens, too.”

“It’s always the way, though, isn’t it?” Lorince pointed out unhappily. “Just when you think you’re settled, something happens and you’re right back where you started.”

“You have to find a reason to make them want you,” Elezaar said, clambering up onto the bunk. The mattress was filled with straw but it was clean and dry and he was exhausted from the events of the day. For this one night, he was safe. It might well be the last safe night Elezaar ever spent. It wouldn’t take them long to work out where he was. He knew that. And even if they didn’t figure it out for themselves, Venira was just as likely to announce he had a certain dwarf for sale. Right now, Elezaar was more valuable than he had ever been in his life before. Venira—a merchant, first and foremost—understood that. But it also meant the slaver would endeavour to keep Elezaar alive, simply because there was no profit to be made from his death.

Darnel smiled languidly. “Trust me, little man, I know how to make them want me.”

Elezaar shifted himself on the bunk and looked across the gloomy cell at the dark-haired
court’esa
. “It’s not about sex, Darnel. Any
court’esa
worth his collar knows how to make a man or a woman want them. It’s what they train us for. But to be safe,
really
safe, you need to be indispensable. That takes more than sex.”

“Were you indispensable?” Lorince asked.

“He wouldn’t be here if he was,” Darnel pointed out with a cynical laugh.

“I was working on it,” Elezaar sighed, settling back on the bunk. “I’d almost convinced my master that life without me was bound to be intolerable and then
wham
! Along come a whole bunch of assassins and ruin everything. Six months’ work down the drain and nothing to show for it.”

“You’re lucky you survived,” Lorince sympathised. “I’ve heard they often kill the house slaves during an assassination.”

“They do,” Elezaar agreed. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again abruptly when his vision filled with images of blood-splattered corpses, severed limbs and his brother Crys lying in the hall with a look of utter astonishment at his betrayal on his deathly white face.

“Next place they send me, I’m going to become so indispensable, they’ll never let me go,” Lorince announced, leaning against the cool bars.

Elezaar saw the faraway look of hope on the young man’s face and smiled. He’d been that naïve once. Secretly, he still was, in the depths of his soul. Somewhere deep inside Elezaar lingered the same hope—that he would be sold into a House where his talents would be recognised. Somewhere they wanted him for more than the entertainment value he offered. Only then was any
court’esa
truly safe from being sold over and over until they were beyond usefulness. Most wound up in the general slave markets, unwanted, worthless and just as likely to be sold as hunting bait for a jaded lord, or perhaps to a gaming house, to end up facing a rabid dog or some tormented bear for the entertainment of the patrons who wagered on how long it would take for him to die.

On the bright side
, Elezaar thought,
that’s not likely to be my fate. They’ll find me. Eventually. If not tomorrow, then the day after. And then they’ll kill me for what I know. Like they killed Crys. Quickly. Mercilessly. And painlessly
.