Late on the next afternoon I was summoned to the Gray House, trussed up like a fowl at a poulterer’s shop. Gerick was in the fencing yard, sparring with a young slave under the eye of a one-armed warrior. Vasrin Shaper! It was Vruskot.
Gerick halted the match when the slavehandler dragged me hobbling through the gate. “Ah, here is the slave I ordered.”
Before anyone could blink, a roaring Vruskot slammed me to the ground facedown with a bone-jarring thud, kicked me onto my back, and then fell on my belly like a collapsing tower, his knees gouging and squeezing the life out of me. As I spat out dirt and fought for breath, the sun glinted on the dagger in his hand. Twisting and wriggling, tossing my head from side to side, I tried to upend the brute before I lost an eye or worse.
“Warrior!” The world came to a stop at the command. Gerick stood calmly behind the maddened Zhid with the edge of his sword at Vruskot’s neck. “If you lower that blade the width of an eyelash, your head will follow it.”
Vruskot took a long time deciding. Foamy spittle dripped from his mouth, and his skin was redder than the afternoon desert.
“You will not damage this slave. I desire that both of you be my teachers, and if you dare trespass my instructions in this or any matter, I’ll shrivel your brain and draw it out through your nose. Do you understand me?”
Astonishing. The old Zhid slammed the dagger into its sheath and climbed off me. But the stubborn devil did manage to plant a foot in my gut and trigger my collar as he stood up. While I was occupied trying not to heave up my last three days’ graybread before the son I’d scarcely met, Gerick belted the Zhid with the back of his hand. From the sound of it, a surprisingly strong hand. “Do not test me, warrior.”
The slavehandler kicked me to get up. “Where shall I put the slave, young Lord? This one must be controlled and guarded at all times. You are aware that he has no compulsions of obedience? As he still fights wager matches and training bouts, the slavemaster won’t allow it.”
“Chain him to the wall. He can sit, but should be able to stand and demonstrate a move if I require it.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if Paulo had been deceived by this boy. His demeanor bore not the slightest trace of recognition or common purpose. I might have been a tree stump.
“I’ve informed the Wargreve Damon that you’re to be mine as long as I have use for you,” he said, adjusting his sword belt about his slim waist. “You will instruct me in sword work along with this warrior. You may speak at your will, until such time as I inform you otherwise or leave the training ground. Do you understand?”
I ducked my head. I never liked to push the talking.
“You will remain here day and night. I’ve taken a fancy to night practice, and don’t wish to wait for you to be summoned.”
“Is that wise, young Lord?” Vruskot’s hatred eroded his discipline. “Such dogs as this should be caged.”
“Do not question me, warrior.” Gerick’s glance could have frozen a volcano.
As the sun slid toward the horizon, Gerick resumed his practice with the sturdy young slave. Vruskot eyed me savagely as he drilled the two repeatedly on a complex move. His choice of lessons was unfortunate, for it was just the kind of unimaginative attack that had allowed me to defeat him. Only his own incredible strength and experience had made our match so long and difficult. If Gerick was playacting then he was doing it quite believably. I had best do the same.
“Exploiting the opponent’s weakness is not always the best attack, young Lord,” I said. “Not unless you are also calculating his strengths that balance it. No battle is so simple that a single maxim can carry it.”
Vruskot erupted, of course, but Gerick asserted his authority once again, and invited me to elaborate. For three hours we continued the lesson on attack strategies, becoming so involved that it was almost possible to forget our circumstances. He was so intelligent that he could understand my explanations as soon as I voiced them. And he could carry the implications far beyond the problem of the moment. I sensed his immense desire to be a master of the art. Swordplay was nothing I’d ever thought to teach a son of mine, but I treasured every moment of those three hours.
Vruskot seethed and blustered, but Gerick refused to dismiss him. “You are here to protect me, warrior, lest this Dar’Nethi filth make some attempt to harm me. I trust you to destroy him in such a case.”
The hour grew late. When the slavehandler came to retrieve Gerick’s sparring partner, Gerick told him to return later. But before too much more time had passed, the young slave began to stumble, and I suggested that Gerick would be better served to save him for the next day.
Gerick agreed and promptly ordered Vruskot to return the slave boy to the pen. “While you do that, I’ll secure this slave for the night,” he said.
Vruskot growled, but obeyed. As soon as he was gone, leaving only the two guards in the distant corners of the walled enclosure, Gerick knelt beside me. He linked my wrists together, shortened my ankle hobbles, and tightened the tether chains at wrist, neck, and ankle, securing me firmly to the wall. “I’ve found a way, but I can’t do it until tomorrow night,” he whispered.
“Any time is fine-” For the first time, I got a close look at his face. Spirits of night… He averted his face quickly, knowing that I saw. “How do they do it?” I said softly.
“That’s not your business. I just need to know what you plan to do if I should set you free. I don’t want you interfering with me.”
“Are there plans for you to see Seri… the lady?”
“Yes. They expect me to kill her.”
Dear gods. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there,” I said, struggling to stay rational. “Make sure Paulo is with me, too, and I’ll take us all out of Zhev’Na.”
“Every way out is controlled by the Lords. You’ve no chance whatsoever.”
“I know of a way. That’s why I was sent.”
He squinted at me, but it was very dark, and I didn’t think he could see very well. Just then, a gate squeaked and crashed shut again. When Vruskot strode from the stone arch into the yard, Gerick was leaning against the water barrel, casually taking a sip from the dipper. “I’ve tightened the slave’s bonds, warrior, but I want you to make sure of him. Instruct the Drudges to provide his normal food and drink, and do what you can to ensure he doesn’t foul the training ground.”
Vruskot bowed and did an excellent job of ensuring I could not move a finger’s breadth in any direction. On that long, cold night, I dreamed of my Avonar, of taking my son climbing to the snowy summit of Karylis and watching the light return to his terrible eyes.
Two Zhid stood at attention in the fencing yard throughout the next day. The Gray House was silent. No one entered the enclosure. I dozed fitfully in the wicked heat.
Sometime after nightfall, a quiet thud from the dark corner of the yard woke me with a start. One of the guards had slumped into a heap in the dirt. The second guard was in the process of toppling, even as I jerked upright.
“V’Saro”-the whispered call was from Gerick-“say something.”
“Anything in particular?” I matched his quiet tone.
The boy stepped hesitantly from the darkest shadows. “Again.”
“What’s the matter?”
He stepped slowly across the yard, only to stumble over the chains that attached my feet to the wall. Tightly bound as I was, I couldn’t catch him, but only squirm enough to cushion his fall and keep his face from hitting my knees. He ended up draped across my lap.
He wriggled backwards and got up to his knees. The Lords had been at him again. He was strung taut, quivering like a bowstring, and his eyes had terrible black centers, worse than before. His eyelids drooped heavily. I didn’t believe he could see anything at all.
“Take this,” he said, depositing in my hand a small, thick-walled ceramic cup-a crucible, filled with coarse gray powder. From a pocket in his tunic he pulled another crucible, slightly larger and lined with silver. “This won’t be pleasant, but you must be silent.”