Gabria and Kelene said nothing to his revelation. The same suspicion was brewing in both their minds that the counselor knew more about magic than how to form a simple sorcerer’s light, and they watched him quietly and waited for him to explain more.
Zukhara bounced the little light gently in his palm; then with a snap his fingers closed over the sphere and crushed it out. “I had thought to visit you these past few years to study sorcery with your clan students, but other matters kept me busy. Now there is little time left. I must control this power now, and for that I have brought you with me.” The charm cracked from his voice, turning his words hard and bare. He turned suddenly and pointed a finger at Kelene. “I want you to teach me how to use my power, how to control it, and how to turn it to my will.”
Kelene was so startled by his choice, she exclaimed without thinking, “Me? I’m no teacher. I’m a healer!”
“You know sorcery. It is enough to begin. Lady Gabria may watch and contribute if she wishes. We will start tomorrow.” He stood then and pulled Kelene to her feet. With deliberate care he slipped the gag back into her mouth and tied her wrists tightly together. His eyes glittered in the lamplight as he stared down at her angry face. His hands lingered on her arms for a moment longer than she thought utterly necessary before he lifted her back onto the bed. Kelene did not even try to sense his emotions but shut her mind and turned her head away for fear of what she might find.
Gabria was gagged and tied again and returned to her place beside Kelene. This time Zukhara did not bother to fasten their arms to their sides. He picked up the lamp and dishes. “Until morning,” he said pleasantly and climbed out, locking the door behind him.
His footsteps had barely passed away before Kelene pulled her bound wrists up and used her fingers to wrench the gag out of her mouth. “That—!” she spat furiously, too angry to think of a worthy epithet.
Gabria removed her gag, grateful for the small relief. “That man is crazier than a mad dog in the summer heat,” she observed dryly.
“Half-clan!” Kelene hissed. “Gods’ truth!” She lay beside her mother, trembling with rage. Although she could not bring herself to say anything to Gabria, she realized she was fuming not just because of Zukhara’s audacious kidnapping or his demand that they teach him sorcery, but also because of the brilliant look in his eyes when he pulled her up and the slow touch of his hands on her skin. It was enough to make her flesh crawl.
Gabria tilted her head toward Kelene. “You know,” she said slowly, “I would wager Nara that Zukhara was the one who killed the Shar-Yon.”
“I won’t take that wager,” Kelene answered. “Mother, we can t teach that viper sorcery. He is already a menace to the Turics and the clans!”
“No, we must not if we can help it.” She paused and thought of Athlone’s description of Bashan’s seared body. “But perhaps we should teach him the rudiments of control. Wild magic, in his hands, is more dangerous than a controlled spell.”
“What if he pushes me to teach him more?”
Gabria’s thin smile was lost in the darkness. “Then perhaps we should convince him that his abilities are not as strong as he hopes. If his spells were to go awry ...”
Kelene gave a dry chuckle. “You’re not suggesting disrupting his spells.”
“Nothing blatant. Just a nudge here and there to sour the effect.”
They fell silent, their thoughts heavy with their dangerous predicament. After a long, unhappy pause, Kelene whispered, “Should we try to escape him?”
“Would you leave Demira in his hands?” Gabria asked heavily, although they both knew the answer.
“No. So we deal with Zukhara until we can leave with the Hunnuli.”
“Or someone reaches us.”
Lying there in the darkness, tied hand and foot, far from home and desperately worried, Kelene felt very much the daughter in need of her mother’s reassurance. “Do you really think they would dare search for us here?”
In the darkness Gabria felt for her daughter’s bound hands and clasped them tightly in her own. “Athlone, Rafnir, or Sayyed will find a way. I know it.”
The certainty in those words was enough to satisfy Kelene and reinforce her own belief in her kin. Calmer now, she set her mind on her immediate problems of teaching sorcery to Zukhara and dealing with captivity.
Suddenly she gave a rueful laugh at herself. “Just before Gaalney came to Moy Tura,” she explained to her puzzled mother, “I was riding Demira above the city and feeling sorry for myself because things weren’t going my way.” She chuckled again and felt better for it. “Right now I would happily trade all of this to be back in that mere muddle. I promise, if we make it back to Moy Tura, I won’t feel sorry for myself again ... for at least another three or four years.”
Gabria laughed softly with her, and their tension eased enough to let them rest. They slept fitfully through the night, until Zukhara returned at dawn. The Turic brought food to his prisoners, allowed them to attend to their needs, and waited while they ate their morning meal. Gabria and Kelene watched him like a pair of hawks, but the man remained mute and did nothing to give the women any hope of escape. His movements were brusque yet meticulous, and his eyes burned unabated with their fierce zeal.
As soon as the captives finished eating, their hands were retied, and they were returned to the pallet. Instead of leaving right away, Zukhara stepped to the barrier and glanced over at the Hunnuli. Kelene craned her head around to see what he was doing, and her heart jumped in hope when Demira tossed her head. A hoof crashed against the wooden gate, but the two mares were so crowded, Kelene could not tell which one had kicked.
Zukhara did not flinch at the impact. He drew a glass flask from a pocket in his dark blue robe and uncorked it. A pungent, medicinal odor filled the interior of the wagon, alerting Kelene’s curiosity. She strained her neck to watch Zukhara pour some thick greenish liquid onto a cloth and rub it on Demira’s haunch. Nara was treated with the same liquid, and shortly after, the mares’ stall was silent again.
Kelene cursed under her breath. Whatever drug he was using to sedate the mares must be very potent to affect the big horses so quickly. The door slammed and locked behind the counselor, leaving the clanswomen in darkness again. Shortly thereafter they heard whips crack, voices shout, and animals call. There was a great deal of noise and some jerky starts as the baggage train sorted itself out; then the wagon bounced forward, once more under way.
The weather that day seemed sunnier, for the light shining through the chinks in the wagon’s walls was bright and full. Kelene watched one whip-thin beam move slowly across the wall and down to the floor in a course that indicated they were moving south, deeper into Turic territory.
In spite of their thirst and discomfort, evening came all too soon for Kelene and Gabria. The light dimmed and disappeared into twilight; the caravan reached its next stop along the Spice Road. Unbeknownst to them, Rafnir and Sayyed were eating their meal and talking to Turics not more than several hundred paces away.
No one came near the wagon for a long while, and the sounds of the camp dwindled to sleepy tranquility. They heard several sets of footsteps pacing past their prison, but not one person stopped to look in their wagon or check on their condition.
Kelene squirmed against the Hunnuli-hair ropes that held her fast. Her hands were swollen, red, and painful; her body ached from lying on a jolting board all day. She dreaded seeing Zukhara again, yet she reviled him with every scrap of her fury for not coming and getting this ordeal over. Her tongue had dried to thick leather, and her throat burned with thirst. “Where is he?” she ground out between clenched teeth.
She felt her emotions kindle the power of the Trymmian force in her bones and blood. It burned like a spark on touchwood, ready to ignite at her will.