Elvenbane (32 page)

That smile nearly dropped her to the platform; her heart stopped, and her breath seemed to freeze in her chest. It was the most sadistic smile she had ever seen.

It was the same smile he’d worn as his underlings beat poor Meg to death; every cry she’d made had caused a flicker of that smile to cross his face.

One by one the other bidders dropped out, and his smile broadened. Finally, there was silence in answer to his master’s final bid, and he grinned broadly.

“Going once!”

Shana closed her eyes, and tried to will herself to die, right there on the spot. I
can’t go to him, I can’t, he’ll do worse than kill me, I’d rather be dead
—

“Going twice!”

I’ll find a knife, a sliver of glass, a rock, something sharp, and I’ll kill myself, I will, I will
—

Then another voice rang out.

“Three hundred!”

Shana’s eyes flew open, and the crowd turned with a murmur, to see a sandy-haired human sitting inconspicuously in the upper tiers, standing up to indicate the bid was his.

A bid that topped the last by a hundred gold pieces.

The crowd noise rose to a hum. The auctioneer frowned. “I’ll have to verify you have that much, bondling,” he began—then the man moved further into the light, showing his livery. The auctioneer paled.

“Forgive me,” he babbled. “Lord Dyran’s man is welcome to make any bid he pleases.”

“And I bid three hundred,” the fellow said coldly.

The auctioneer, now sweating freely, turned to the cruel man’s elven master. “Lord Harrlyn?”

The elven lord looked up at the man in the top tier, and shrugged, his pale gold hair rippling with the movement. “Far be it from me or my Lord to deny Lord Dyran his pleasure. The prize is his.”

He sat down; the cruel man sat an instant later, his face gone cold and closed-in—but Shana got a glimpse of his eyes, and what she saw there was enough to make her vow never, ever to allow herself to fall into his hands.

“Going once?” The auctioneer paused, but no more eleventh-hour bids were forthcoming. “Going twice—going three times!
Sold
, to Lord Dyran’s man! And now, gentles and lords, a set of matched
twin
dancers, male and female! Just wait until you see these beauties perform!”

One of the bondlings came up onto the platform and guided her off; he snapped a cord onto her collar as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

That
shocked her awake.

She woke up even more when the bondling handed the cord to the man who had bought her in exchange for the heavy pouch he tossed carelessly at the young man. For the first time she got a good look at the man, and her heart sank.

He had a proud, haughty expression; his thick, sandy hair had streaks of gray in it and the lines in his squarish face matched that gray. But they were not lines that smiling had etched there; they were frown lines, and the crow’s feet around his opaque brown eyes made Shana think of an ill-tempered lizard.

His livery was richer than the elven lord’s; all of silks and velvets, gold and crimson, with real gems winking from his collar—

Like the collar she’d found, only not as pretty.

“Come along, girl.” A tug at her leash sent her stumbling forward a pace, stubbing her bare toe. The man lifted a lip in disdain, sneering at her and her clumsiness. “Why my Lord wants this thing, I’ll never know,” he said in a confiding voice to the young bondling. “She doesn’t seem very useful. But one doesn’t question one’s orders.”

The young man nodded warily and shoved Shana a little, in the direction she’d been tugged. “Go with him, girl,” he said harshly, as if he was glad to see the last of her. “You belong to Lord Dyran now.”

The man jerked at her leash a second time, then turned abruptly, and began striding down the hall that ran under the auctioneer’s platform. She hurried after to keep him from hauling her forward again. As they emerged into the main hallway, she rubbed her neck where the collar had chafed it, wondering if she hadn’t exchanged a bad fate for a worse one.

Dyran must be an elven lord so powerful the others wouldn’t bid against him. That meant his magic was much more powerful than theirs. What did he want with her?

He surely wanted the secret of the dragon-skin. And if his magic was that much better…

She began to shiver, although the man who held her leash took no notice of the fact. He simply kept walking, after a single backward glance at her.

They emerged from the door at the end of the hallway into sunlight.

Shana looked up at the sun, at the beautiful, blue, open sky above the buildings, at the freedom of the world she used to take for granted. She thought of all the times she’d spent out under that same sun and sky, times she hadn’t even considered her freedom, because it had been something she had taken for granted. Her heart and throat ached.

Keman
—
oh, Keman, what am I going to do
?

Without meaning to, she started to cry.

The man jerked hard on her leash, sending her stumbling forward, although she didn’t—quite—fall. She coughed and choked on the constrictions of the collar, and he grimaced angrily. “Come
on
girl, I haven’t got all day!” he snarled, and pulled her forward again. Then he set off at a pace that Shana’s shorter legs could hardly keep up with. She stumbled after him, blinded by tears, both hands holding her collar away from her throat, lest it choke her.

They crossed the empty courtyard quickly—so quickly that she had barely regained her balance by the time they reached the tunnel into the great city square outside. He didn’t stop for a moment; he just pulled her out through the tunnel and into the noise and chaos of the crowded, blindingly hot square in front of the city gates.

Once tangled in the crowd he could not move as quickly, which gave Shana a chance to breathe a little easier. He led her for a short space, until someone tried to shove between them, choking her, and threatening his hold on her leash. Then he grabbed hold of her elbow, and pulled her in front of him, to keep from getting separated by the crowd.

On the other side of the square, just inside the tunnel leading under the walls, there was a man waiting with two horses, both beasts bedecked with leather straps and some kind of pad on their backs. They made straight for him, and he waved once when his eyes met those of Shana’s captor.

She wondered why on earth the horses were tricked out that way—it would be awfully difficult to divest the beasts of their complicated trappings to eat them, though the harness might serve to keep them quiet while you killed them—

“Any trouble?” asked her captor, when they reached the man’s side, in a voice so low Shana was surprised the other man could hear him.

“Nothing yet,” the other fellow said, a thin man with dark hair falling over his eyes in a kind of shaggy forelock. He looked nervously over his shoulder. “But I was beginning to get worried.”

The other man’s frown deepened. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better. If
you’re
getting worried, I should be worried.” To Shana’s utter astonishment, the man dragged her over to the side of one of the horses, hoisted her up, and dumped her across the front of the pad.

What are they doing? They want me to
ride
a horse as if it was a grel? But
—

She struggled to get her leg over the horse’s neck and sit up, the way she’d ridden the grel, as the man put his foot into a socket on the side of the pad. He swung his own leg over the horse’s rump, so that she was sitting in front of him. He secured her leash to the front of the pad, then nodded to his sullen-eyed companion, and they sent the horses trotting down the echoing tunnel to the wide spaces beyond. Before long, they were so far from the city walls that the men atop them were scarcely more than specks. The city itself dwindled behind them quickly; the horses were much faster than Shana had guessed.

They rode in complete silence, except for the clopping of the horses’ hooves on the hard-packed road, for a long time. The sun had been overhead, about midday, when they left, and they didn’t stop even to rest until the sun was touching the horizon. In that time the land had changed from flat to hilly, and from fallow through cultivated and at last, to wooded. Deep woods, and wild-looking; Shana had the distinct impression that this was not a road often taken, an impression borne out by the fact that it dwindled to a mere thread of track between the trees.

Shana was in considerable pain by the time they stopped. Riding a horse was
not
like riding a grel; the only time a grel got out of an easy walk was when it was frightened. The only time the horses got
out
of a trot was when the men reined them in. And a trot, so she had learned, was easily the single most painful gait—at least for the rider—that a horse was capable of. Add to that the fact that she didn’t know how to ride a horse; every move she made to try to make her ride easier seemed to be the wrong one. She was constantly off-balance and bouncing, and her acute, muscle-cramping discomfort was enough to make her forget totally the fears of the morning.

The two men rode their horses off the main track, and onto a game trail that crossed it. They followed this even fainter path for some distance until it crossed a stream. There they stopped, and Shana waited in renewed fear—she had no idea what to expect, and that itself was frightening.

The silence in this forest was not as total as Shana first thought. Once the horses stopped moving, she heard little rustlings in the underbrush, and the movements of birds in the tree branches overhead. Different sounds from the dry, scrub-groves of the land around the Lair, and yet oddly the same.

Both men dismounted, their boots thudding dully onto the turf, and Shana’s captor indicated with a curt gesture that she should slide off as well. She didn’t even consider disobeying—after all, she had no idea how to control this beast she bestrode, and without him holding her on, she probably would have fallen off long ago.

She managed to get her aching leg over the horse’s neck, and slid down; it was a good thing that her captor was ready to catch her, because her knees simply would not hold her. She collapsed into his arms, her legs one long knot of cramped muscles. She bit her lip until the tears came, and willed them to relax.

He let her down onto the old leaves of last year’s autumn—and put his hands to her throat.

She squeaked in surprise, and sudden terror.

Before she had any notion of what he was about, he had unfastened her collar and thrown it, leash and all, into the woods, the expression on his face the same as someone who has just disposed of a viper.

And then, for the first time since the oasis, she could hear thoughts.
His
thoughts!

:Be easy, child. You’re with friends now. I’m sorry I had to be so unkind to you back there, but I dared not betray what I was with softness.:

“My name is Rennis Draythorn, child,” he said aloud. And as he spoke, his face underwent an abrupt transformation. His hair and build were still generally the same, but if Shana had not seen the change take place, she would never have known he was the same man who had won her at the auction.

It was as if his features blurred for a moment, and then cleared, rearranged. His face grew younger, his eyes turned green, and the tips of his ears lengthened and became slightly pointed. But the biggest change by far was in his appearance and in the clothing he wore. His expression softened and grew more cheerful, and the rich livery vanished altogether, being replaced with an ordinary, brownish shirt and trews, belted with a plain leather belt.

Altogether a completely different person. One whom she liked as much as she had disliked—and feared—the man who bought her.

“Wh-wh-what are you?” she stammered, her eyes round with amazement.

The
thud
and jingle of harness hitting the ground made her start and turn to look behind her, at the second man. “He’s a wizard, of course,” snapped his companion, pushing the harness over to one side with his foot. “Like I am. Like
you’ll
be, if you live that long.”

Shana looked closer, and saw that the other man’s features had undergone the same kind of changes that Rennis’s had, although his clothing remained the same. But then,
he
hadn’t worn livery.

Her erstwhile captor patted her awkwardly on the head. “It’s all right, child. You’re safe with us. We are always watching for halfbloods. We learned about you, and managed to find a way to buy you without raising suspicion.” Rennis smiled, after giving his fellow a sharp glance. “I wish we could have warned you that we were working to free you, but the slave-collars block our magic. If you ever go out in public as we do, we’ll give you a blank collar, one that looks like one of theirs, but has had the spells taken off. That way you can work a glamorie to look like a fullblood human, and be able to work as an agent for us. If that’s what you want to do, of course. After you learn to control your powers, what you do will be up to you. To tell the truth, there aren’t many who leave the Citadel.”

“Why did you help me?” she asked, thinking at the same time,
This is like a tale, it isn’t like real life. Rescues don’t come at the last minute out of nowhere. This shouldn’t be happening, it doesn’t make any sense. Am I asleep and dreaming
?

:-You’re not dreaming, child
,: Rennis said directly into her mind, just as Foster Mother used to.
:This is quite real. You aren’t the first wizardling we’ve bought at auction, and you won’t be the last. The only difference is that very few of the others cost as much as you did
!:

She blinked, now completely stunned. “But—”

“We only
just
managed to save you, you know,” he continued, ignoring her bewilderment. “There was a
real
emissary from Lord Dyran coming to buy you. We intercepted him at the inn; I wore his face and carried his gold—and he woke up just in time to hurry to the auction and discover you were gone. That was probably when he also learned that
his
pocket was much lighter. He’ll have a lot of explaining to do to his Lord.”