Steal the Dragon Page 6

  Laeth nodded. "Especially if he's well enough born to receive an invitation here. Isslic's a common name; I can think of three or four men who answer to it."

  "If it is his real name at all," added Rialla with a shrug. "I did notice something that might be worth mentioning to Ren, although it's mostly speculation."

  "What is it?"

  "My former owner liked to travel to find the slaves he trained. He preferred to take them himself rather than wait until an untrained slave came to auction. He contended that most of them had already acquired too many bad habits by that time." Rialla could feel her face relaxing until there was no more emotion in it than in her voice. "So if he had, say, a slave from Southwood, he probably went to Southwood to get her."

  "Turn around, so I can get out of bed," ordered Laeth briskly.

  "Modesty?" she teased, feeling herself begin to relax for the first time since she'd heard her old master's voice in the cellar.

  "I thought to protect your sensibilities. If you want to see me unclothed, by all means watch," he retorted, "but I can't think without my boots on."

  Rialla laughed and faced the wall while he dressed.

  "So what you're saying," said Laeth finally, "is that if the girl you saw was from the East then the slave trainer went to the East to get her."

  Rialla nodded. "Yes." She paused and looked at Laeth, who was now fully dressed. "Did Ren tell you about what is happening in the East? That he thinks the leader of the Easterners is a magic user trained in the West?"

  Laeth nodded.

  "Though my master was a Darranian, he was also a trained mage." Briefly Rialla recalled the screams of her slain kinfolks. "I am no judge of such matters, but I was told that he'd trained with the last Archmage—certainly an indication that he had some ability. The slave who killed herself was from the East. She thought that she was going to serve the Voice of Altis."

  Rialla rose to her feet. Pacing restlessly around the room, she continued with the story that she had pieced together from the fragments of her dreams while she'd waited for Laeth to wake up. "She knew that such service would include concubinage, but she didn't realize that it would entail slavery in a foreign land. She believed that the man who enslaved her was the Voice of Altis."

  Laeth sat on the sofa that Rialla had abandoned, relaxing bonelessly on the hard cushioned seat. "You think that the man who used to own you is the Voice of Altis?''

  Rialla shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't have thought that he had the charisma for demagoguery. He was not the sort of man who could sway a crowd. Though his personal servants were obedient, I don't think that any of them were particularly loyal to him."

  "Magic?" questioned Laeth.

  Rialla shrugged. "You know as much as I do. I've heard rumors that the last ae'Magi had such a spell, but you know how that is. There are rumors about magicians and their spells all the time. What I know is that the slave was convinced that her master was the Voice of Altis."

  Laeth gave her a thoughtful look and then said, "You must have had quite a long conversation with this Eastern slave."

  "Actually," Rialla replied, with a tired smile, "she practically forced it down my throat while I was sleeping. She was an empath, too—maybe stronger than I was."

  "I thought that empaths were supposed to be rare," complained Laeth, throwing one hand across his brow in the best tradition of court theater.

  Rialla gave him a sympathetic look. "We are. She's the first one I've ever met." She walked to the shuttered windows, saying, "What surprised me most, I think, is that she died still believing the man who enslaved her was the Voice of Altis. I would think that an empath as strong as she was could have told that he was lying."

  "Is it significant that you and this Easterner are both empaths?" asked Laeth seriously.

  Rialla thought about his question before answering slowly, "I don't think so. I'm not sure that my master ever knew I was an empath. I tried to keep it hidden at first—then I lost most of my ability soon after he acquired me."

  She drew a deep breath and switched to the point that she had been aiming at. "Laeth, if he is the Voice of Altis, he has good reason to want to stop an alliance between Darran and Reth. He could do that by killing your brother."

  Laeth nodded. "I know. But it sounds as if he just arrived last night, after the attempt on Karsten."

  "If he's got the kind of connections that would get him invited here, he could have the influence necessary to arrange an attempt on Karsten." Recalling the poisoning attempt brought another memory to the surface; Rialla snapped her fingers. "I forgot to ask you last night, what do you know about Tris, the local healer?"

  "You mean besides the fact that he likes the Darranian aristocracy about as much as you do?" Laeth grinned at her but continued more soberly, "He showed up here sometime after I left. I never met him before last night, but I have heard a lot about him. If you believe even half of what he is credited with, he has the gods' own power over death. After the way he managed to keep Karsten alive, I might almost believe it."

  "He stopped me and offered to help us," said Rialla.

  "You didn't tell him about what we're doing here?" asked Laeth incredulously.

  She gave him an insulted look. "Of course not. He was waiting near the stairs to see how hard you hit me—at least I think that was what he was doing. When he saw that you hadn't done any damage at all, he got curious and started to ask questions. I told him who you were; he told me to ask him for help if we need it. I thought that you must know him for your name to spark such a response."

  Laeth frowned, then shook his head. "No. He didn't strike me as familiar when I saw him last night; I have a good memory for faces. He's supposed to be a relative of one of the villagers, but he certainly doesn't look Darranian."

  Rialla thought about her impression of the man. "I think he might be a mage as well. He acted rather oddly, as if he were working a spell."

  "First empaths and now mages," grumbled Laeth, without any true distress. He rubbed a thoughtful hand through his hair. "Where do you think that he fits into all of this?"

  She tilted her head in consideration. "I don't know, who can understand mages—or healers either for that matter? He wasn't faking his concern when he was checking my face for bruises. I can't see him poisoning Lord Karsten and then saving him at the last minute, unless he's trying to get something from Karsten. If that were the case, wouldn't he have been more courteous when he was here?" She sighed. "I doubt he is working against us, but I can't fathom why he would be supporting us— even if he knew what we're doing here.

  "Uh, Rialla, sweetheart," interjected Laeth mildly, with a twinkle in his eye. "Have you looked in a mirror recently?''

  Rialla snorted at him, much in the manner of her beloved horses. "He offered his help when he found out who you were. It had nothing to do with me."

  She opened the window shutters and said, "I'd better get down to the kitchens and bring up breakfast before it's all gone."

  She ducked into the small closet that served as a dressing room, grabbed a clean tunic and put it on, along with the blank face that went with it.

  The halls were quiet; most of the aristocracy had spent a late night dancing and wouldn't rise for a few more hours. They were more open while they slept, and Rialla caught a stray emotion here and there as she walked, far more than she usually could. Tension coiled in her, and she stopped in the empty corridor. Belatedly she realized that she'd been receiving scattered impressions since last night—as if the other empath's death had ripped apart some of the scarring that hindered her gifts.

  With skills grown rusty with disuse, Rialla managed to raise a shield in her mind against the fragments of emotions that touched her. She could remove the protection if she chose, and explore the talent that was returning to her—but she wasn't sure that she wanted to do so.

  She would never have thought she would be as frightened by the threat of her talent's return as she had been by its loss. Rialla swallowed and beg
an walking, maintaining her outward serenity with an effort.

  Rialla brought Laeth breakfast and helped him into the gaudy full court dress. When he left, she set about cleaning the suite. Keeping busy kept her from terrorizing herself with thoughts of her former master. Energetically she folded clothes and hunted out the dark corners that tended to collect shoes and miscellaneous small items, so they wouldn't be left behind when they packed.

  When she had done all she could do to their rooms, she sat cross-legged on the bed and dropped the barrier she'd imposed on her gift. With that done, she made herself relax and listen to the feelings passing invisibly through the stone and wood of the keep.

  Since she first realized that the old scars that had shielded her empathy had been disturbed, she had felt exposed and vulnerable. That could not be allowed. Sitting on Laeth's bed with her empathy working better than it had since she'd been enslaved, part of her waited for the return of the pain that had destroyed her ability. By the time she'd finished with the exercise, her tunic was soaked in sweat, and she stank like old fear.

  With disgust, she washed off with the water left in the basin by the bed and changed into a fresh tunic. She'd just pulled the end of the tunic over her hips when Laeth burst into the room to change for lunch.

  He took one look at her and said, "Are you all right?"

  Rialla nodded. Being Laeth, bless him, he didn't push her.

  She helped him don his riding jacket for the scheduled hunt. Darranians changed their clothes five or six times a day, and the riding jacket was particularly ridiculous. It was cut so close that Laeth couldn't put it on alone, and once on it restricted his mobility severely. Just the thing to wear while riding spirited horses through fields and over fences at high speeds.

  Laeth was so busy replying to her snide comments on Darranian fashions that he forgot his riding whip when he left the room, with an exaggerated swagger that left Rialla snickering. The whip wasn't necessary as far as the horse was concerned, but fashion dictated it be carried.

  Rather than make him come all the way back to the room, Rialla snatched it up and trotted down the stairs to the entrance hall, where the riders would all gather and talk before they got on the horses.

  Rialla kept her slave face on with an effort as she slid discreetly among the guests. She probably shouldn't have given Laeth such a bad time—most of the men were wearing coats that fit even tighter than Laeth's.

  It took her two trips through the crowded room before she heard his voice. She came upon him and slipped the whip quietly into his hand without interrupting his conversation.

  She was careful to keep her gaze down so she lacked warning when a familiar hand wrapped itself around the back of her neck and the voice of her former master said, "Where on earth did you manage to find this one, Laeth? I have been looking for her for years."

  A thumb under her chin forced her gaze from the floor. He was taller than Laeth and stockier, though even after seven years it was muscle that filled the burgundy jacket he wore. His hair was still dark brown and tied neatly in a queue. The only sign of the passing years was the silvering of his narrow mustache.

  "She was yours, Uncle?" Laeth's voice was carefully neutral, though Rialla couldn't see his face.

  Uncle! She remembered the affection in Laeth's voice when he spoke of his uncle, Lord Winterseine. It would seem that her former master had high connections indeed.

  Rialla kept her body relaxed, and focused her eyes somewhere past her old master's face. She took some comfort in knowing that her terror wouldn't be immediately obvious. His hand almost touched her tattooed cheek. The spymaster's mage had warned her that the illusion of the tattoo was visual only. If he slid his hand up farther he would be able to feel the scars.

  The slave trainer released her neck, sliding his hand intimately to her shoulder, and Rialla fought back a sigh of relief. "Yes," he said. "She was a dancer in a small establishment that I own in Kentar. I trained her myself. It's been six or seven years since she escaped." He smiled and his voice took on a softness that she knew too well. "I believe that she killed the guard when she did. It will be good to have her back. She is a very talented dancer."

  "Why, Uncle Iss, I didn't know you trained slaves." Laeth's tone bordered on insulting.

  "I train my own horses too," his uncle replied. "I find the ones that others train pick up bad habits. It will take time to retrain her."

  Laeth ran a hand casually down her back in a move as possessive as his uncle's hand on her shoulder. "I picked her up in the Alliance, near the sea, when I was guarding a merchant train across the wastes."

  There was just the right touch of amusement in Laeth's voice. It would seem obvious that he was more interested in the abhorrence his uncle would feel at having a member of his family acting in such a menial capacity than in any claim that his uncle would have on his slave.

  He continued in the same vein. "She was a gift for saving the merchant's son after he was bitten by a snake. I am afraid that I cannot return her to you. Uncle Iss—it has been longer than five years since you lost her, after all. I find I have grown," Laeth paused with a man-to-man look that conveyed a risque' meaning to his words, "fond of her attentions. She knows just how to please me." Laeth casually wrapped his hand around her neck, just as Isslic had. He pulled her away from Lord Winterseine's grip and twisted her casually around for a kiss.

  Rialla complied with Laeth's demands, but it was his sorrow at discovering that it was his uncle who had hurt her, not passion, that slipped through the fraying defenses of her empathy. When the kiss was over, Rialla glanced unobtrusively at her former master.

  Survival had forced her to read his face more easily than she could read a written page, and what she saw there worried her.

  Laeth's uncle smiled and said lightly, "Very well, Laeth, the consequences be on your head, though. Remember that she killed a guard when she escaped; keeping her might be dangerous."

  Laeth smiled back at his uncle and said, "She'll do me no harm, Uncle Iss. She knows that there are worse masters to have." He paused. The implication he'd just made might not have been intentional because he continued, "The merchant was free with his whip. If she isn't a good girl, I'll just send her back and she knows it."

  Winterseine had started to say something else when they were interrupted by a man who looked several years younger than Laeth. He was handsomer than either of the other men and taller, but he lacked their presence. His voice was a soft tenor when he spoke to Winterseine. "Tamas says that the rest of our party is here."

  Winterseine grunted, but Laeth stepped forward and reached for the younger man's hand and shook it warmly. "Terran, it's good to see you again. I see that Uncle Iss still has you organizing his travels."

  The young man laughed shyly and nodded his head. "I don't know what I'd do if we stayed in one residence more than a week or so—perhaps get a full night's sleep without worrying if some vital piece of luggage got left at the last rest stop." Then he ducked his head and added, "It's not that bad really; Father and I go mostly to the same places, so it's more like having many homes rather than none."

  Since no one was looking at her, Rialla examined Terran's face. She had forgotten about Winterseine's son: he had been as unobtrusive then as he appeared now.

  Winterseine laughed, though there was an edge to it, and patted his son on the shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without him. He makes all the travel arrangements and I just follow and enjoy the trip. Ah, it looks like people are starting to leave for the stables. Shall we join them?"

  Laeth turned Rialla around as if she were a child and patted her rump familiarly. "Go clean the room and see that you find the other green slipper for your dancing costume. I want you to wear it to dinner. Check under the bed; I might have thrown it there last night. I want you ready to join me at dinner tonight." Rialla walked away obediently, carefully controlling the instinctive urge to run.

  In Laeth's suite she stretched out on the bed and thought about W
interseine. It surprised her how angry Laeth had been. She would have been less surprised by an apologetic refusal to return her, though she found his unexpected defense warming. She closed her eyes and slept.

  The sounds of the hunting party's return awoke her, and she got up hastily and began to dress in the emerald-green dancing costume she'd purchased at Midge's before leaving Sianim.

  The green costume was surprisingly modest for being purchased from a brothel, quite suitable for a public dance. The veils covered her from hip to toe and from neck to wrist, almost concealing the skimpy top and bottom, allowing only faint glimpses of skin between the layers as Rialla moved.

  She braided her hair into a neat crown that anchored still more veils that covered her face and neck, leaving only her exotically pale midriff bare. The miniature gold bells that were scattered through the costume were its most unusual feature, and had been a lucky find at the bazaar in Sianim.

  She searched through her packs until she found a leather pouch containing the jewelry of a dancer. Viciously long, sharp, golden nails slipped over the ends of her fingers, held on by slender golden chains that attached to black leather wristbands. Similar gold chains dangled from black anklets. A much heavier chain wrapped around her waist and slid down until it rested on her hips.

  She put on the silk slippers that matched the rest of her costume. Normally a dancer performed barefoot; but feet were considered erotic and unacceptable for an audience that would include noblewomen. Lastly, she donned the heavy black cloak that covered most of her costume.

  Dressed, Rialla descended the stairs and walked out to the dining hall, where she'd been commanded to wait for Laeth. She stood quietly, head down, outwardly ignoring the looks that the servants gave her; hers was probably the first dancing costume they had ever seen. Slaves were expensive—only the very rich could afford them—and dancers were more expensive than most. Most dancers were owned by businessmen, who used them to bring in customers to their taverns and clubs; dancers owned for private use were rare.