The Last Enchanter (24 page)

He faced the administrator, his hands still in position. “My name is Rylan, son of Brommel, the trader. We've come to discuss—”

“What you trade?” The administrator scowled at the visitors, its lipless mouth pinched, nostrils flared
in obvious contempt. Behind him, Marcus saw Xerxes alighting on the roof of one of the nearby buildings. The crow proceeded to preen his feathers, casting an occasional glance at the proceedings below.

“Oh no,” said Rylan. “I haven't come to trade today. My father will come soon, though, with fresh . . . uh,
goods
. These are my friends.”

Ignoring Rylan's response, the administrator stepped toward Lael and looked her over from head to toe. Marcus noticed that, for the first time since they'd left Dokur, Rylan looked nervous.

“Excuse me . . . er,” Rylan started.

“Tark,” said the Pey Wey as he continued to examine Lael.

“Rylan, what is he doing?” asked Lael nervously, not taking her eyes off the Pey Wey. Rylan continued addressing Tark instead.

“Yes, Tark. Well, you see, she isn't why we've come. She's with me.”

Rylan took Lael's arm and pulled her close to him.

“What you trade?” insisted Tark again.

“No trade,” said Rylan. He pointed at Marcus. “That one is here to find someone, to obtain information. Marcus, show him the key.”

Tark's eyes were on him now. Marcus pulled Zyll's key from his pouch and held it up for Tark to see. Tark came closer and sniffed at it. He tried to take it from Marcus, but Marcus held it against his chest.

“Trade this?” said Tark, exasperated. “This worth nothing. But
boy
. . . ”

Rylan spoke again in a hurried tone. “He seeks the key's maker, a locksmith or metal smith, perhaps.”

Tark looked again at Marcus, his eye slits narrowing to thin, black lines. One of the Pey Weys behind him stretched the rope taut between his hands. He started walking slowly around to Marcus's left. Marcus tried to keep him in view, but he couldn't face Tark and watch the other one, as well. He decided to focus on Tark.

“Why you want lockmaker?” said Tark angrily. “You lockmaker's friend?”

“I don't really know, actually,” answered Marcus. “I was hoping I could meet him. I want to ask him some questions.”

“No questions!” shouted Tark. “Only trade!”

“What is this all about, Rylan?” asked Lael. “What's this about trading?”

Rylan, confidant Rylan, actually hesitated. His eyes shifted nervously from Lael to the Pey Wey administrator and back again. “He wants you,” he explained.

“Me?” Lael gave a half laugh, but Rylan's expression was serious. “What for?”

“He thinks I'm here to sell your contract.”

A change came over Lael's face as the meaning of his words sank in. In that moment, Marcus saw the true depth of the pain she carried inside of her.

“You're a slave trader?” Lael could hardly get the words out.

Rylan shook his head. “Not slaves,” he said, “
dents
. Slavery is against the law. People who can't pay their debts sign contracts to work them off instead. It's voluntary. My
father collects the contracts and sells them to the highest bidder.”

“Your father, Brommel, is a collector?”

Lael's face went deathly pale, and Marcus was afraid she might faint. He knew that her mother had been taken by a debt collector years before, never to return.

“Lael, are you all right?” he asked her.

She seemed to be in a daze. “The woman in the marketplace told me Brommel could help me, but I didn't realize. . .” Her voice faded as she became lost in thought. Then all of sudden, Lael turned her eyes toward him, fear on her face.

“Marcus! Behind you!”

But it was too late. Before he could react, the rope slipped over his head and tightened against his arms and chest. In the next moment, his ankles were bound. He fell forward face-first on the hot ground. His vision blurred, but he saw the other Pey Weys wrenching the kicking-and-screaming Bryn from Rylan's back. At first, Lael tried to fight off the Pey Wey, but Rylan grabbed her arms and held her back.

At the same time, Xerxes swooped down from the building roof, cawing angrily as he beat his wings at the Pey Wey guards' heads. The guards swung their stubby arms at him in annoyance. One struck the bird, and Xerxes flew off again, his left wing drooping in pain.

“Xerxes!” Marcus shouted. He tried to free himself from his bonds, but the more he struggled, the more the ropes cut into his skin.

As the guards dragged Marcus and Bryn away, Marcus saw Rylan speaking heatedly with the administrator. Lael struggled in his grip, but Rylan held her tight and would not let her go. Had Rylan betrayed them? The thought made Marcus sick. He felt sicker still thinking that, if Clovis had been here with his menacing crossbow, the Pey Weys may not have had the courage to attack them. But Marcus couldn't worry about that now. He had to figure out how to get himself and Bryn free.

Sixty-five

J
ayson waited as the jailer unlocked Kaië's prison cell. The squeaky door emitted a loud, grating sound as it opened. Kaië sat on the floor in the far corner, her arms wrapped around her knees. A tin plate sat beside her. The bread on it had gone stale and the fruit brown. A rat scurried across the stone floor to taste the fruit. Snatching it between its teeth, it fled back into the shadows.

Kaië looked up as Jayson entered. A faint smile appeared on her dry lips. “Is it time?” she asked. “Have you come to say goodbye?”

Jayson knelt beside Kaië and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his shoulder as tears sprung from her eyes. She sobbed openly without shame.

“Hush,” Jayson whispered, stroking her hair. “I have
not come for goodbyes. We still have time. I will do what I can to see that you are freed. Are you well?”

Kaië's sobs calmed a little. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

Jayson nodded at the plate on the floor. “You're not eating.”

“I haven't got any appetite.”

Jayson went back to the door and rapped on it twice. When the guard came, he said, “Bring a fresh plate of food for the prisoner.”

The new plate appeared a few minutes later, handed through the door by the guard. When the door was again shut, Jayson returned to Kaië. He held out the fresh slice of bread. “It will do no good if you're too weak to defend yourself in court.”

Kaië accepted the bread from Jayson and took a bite. As he watched her, Jayson tried to restrain the anger and frustration that had been building up inside of him the past few days. He wanted to tear down these walls with his bare hands and take Kaië away.

“You shouldn't be here,” said Jayson. “Not you, Kaië. Not you.” He clenched his fist and pounded it against the wall. “Everyone I've ever loved has been taken from me,” he continued softly. “My father, Zyll, abandoned me and my mother because the law said it was wrong for them to be together. He left to protect us, but we suffered, anyway. My people were banished from their lands, and my mother died in a swamp. Then my son was torn from my arms and kept from me for fifteen years. Another son I
didn't even know about followed. And Ivanore. Oh, Ivanore.” He turned to face Kaië. Her shoulders hunched as if she carried a heavy weight.

“I lost her, too,” she said, crying again.

Jayson placed his hands on Kaië's cheeks. “Never again,” he told her, brushing a tear away with his thumb. “You will never lose anyone again, Kaië. I swear it.”

He kissed the top of her head and then reached for the plate. He picked up another slice of bread and held it out to her. Kaië took it and smiled at him gratefully.

The door to the cell opened abruptly as the head guard stepped in. “Chancellor Prost wants to see you,” he told Jayson.

Jayson was suspicious of any reason Prost would have for wanting to speak to him. He also wished to stay close to Kaië, at least as close as the law regarding visitors would allow. He might not be able to stay with her in her cell, but he would not leave the Fortress again until her trial. He would keep his word to her and to Marcus. He would watch over her and see to it that she got a fair and honest trial, but in truth, with Prost in charge, there was no telling how much control he had over Kaië's fate.

“What does he want?” asked Jayson, placing a hand on Kaië's shoulder to assure her that he would not be far away.

“I was told to take you immediately to the great room on the second floor and to hurry,” said the guard. “It seems you have a visitor.”

Sixty-six

A
re you sure you haven't been bribed? All this luxury. If you'd been bribed, I couldn't really blame you.”

Nathar turned as Jayson entered the great room flanked by two armed guards. Jayson's Agoran friend had traveled all the way from Taktani, the northern swamplands where the Agorans resided. Jayson approached him with open arms. They embraced and laughed.

“This really is amazing,” said Nathar, gesturing with his arms to take in the whole room. “Velvet upholstery, gilded picture frames, silk curtains. So this is what Fredric gained from all that Agoran blood? And I thought we had it good back in our grass huts and mosquito-infested swamps.”

It was clear to Jayson that though Nathar was pleased to see him, he was far from pleased at finding him in the Fortress surrounded by luxury.

“I've been staying in town,” said Jayson. “I'm here visiting a friend.”

“Really? And I thought you came to Dokur to demand our new king give us our land or we'd start a war. Well, our people are waiting, Jayson. The Agorans want an answer.”

“Don't the elders trust me?”

“The elders know Kelvin is your son but that you may not have as much influence over him as that sly chancellor of his.”

“Prost. You've met with him already, have you?”

“I called on him, but you arrived instead. It is clear that neither he nor Kelvin has any intention of honoring Fredric's decree. We are left with no choice but to take what is rightfully ours.”

“If you would only give me a little more time—”

“Time is the one thing I cannot give. Come,” said Nathar, stepping to the window. Jayson joined him, and together they gazed down on the outer court of the Fortress. Beyond it lay the edge of the plateau and the road leading down to the flat plains and sparse forests of Imaness's interior. The scene before them was dark except for the stars—not the stars in the sky, but the stars in the land below, hundreds of sparkling lights in the darkness.

“Do you see them?” asked Nathar. “Do you see the torches? Our people have already come from Taktani,
Jayson. They wait for your command either to settle the lands that are rightfully ours or to attack this city.”

Jayson looked out over the sea of lights in horror. The Agorans, who had fought so valiantly just months earlier to defend this very city from invasion, were now the invaders. He thought of the people of Dokur settling into their beds, completely unprepared for a surprise attack. He had seen the Agorans in battle and knew there would be no mercy for their enemy. The thought of it made Jayson shudder.

“Your problem is not with the people of Dokur. They are innocent. The decision was Kelvin's. Surely you wouldn't punish the people for their king's wrongdoing?”

“What is a king without his people?” replied Nathar. “Take away the people, the king is no longer a king! We will take everything from him, just as everything was once taken from us.”

Had he not tried hard enough to convince Kelvin? wondered Jayson. Had he again failed the Agorans? What was it Nathar said—that the Agorans waited for his command? For
Jayson's
command. They expected Jayson to lead them, and he would never lead them to battle again. Not against an innocent people. He had to find some way to delay what would surely become a massacre.

“I am to meet with Kelvin soon to discuss the decree,” Jayson began, hoping his lie was convincing. “He plans to present an offer to the Agorans.”

Nathar glared at Jayson suspiciously. “We want what Fredric promised. No less.”

“He understands that, but he is preparing for war and has had to consider his options. He will present a fair offer, I am certain.”

“When? The Agorans have waited long enough!”

“Just a few days more,” said Jayson. “I will hear from him by week's end. In the meantime, tell our people to be patient. As soon as I speak to Kelvin, I will deliver the message to them myself. Are we agreed?”

Nathar studied Jayson's face for a moment, as though searching for any hint of a lie. Jayson prayed he found none. Finally Nathar extended his hand to Jayson.

“Agreed,” he said. “But if Kelvin has not answered us by week's end, then war it will be.”

Sixty-seven

M
arcus guessed it was late at night by how sleepy he felt, but he could not find a position comfortable enough to fall asleep. He and Bryn had been thrown into a holding cell with three irregular stone walls and a panel of metal grating. It reeked of mildew and urine. Marcus covered his nose with his sleeve to keep out the smell but with little success. A pool of stagnant water occupied one corner, with an empty wooden bucket in the other. From the deep brown stains on it, Marcus guessed the bucket was for their personal use, and the thought of it made him want to retch.