The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (32 page)

“The
Narthani are going to take the entire island and absorb it into their empire.
The only way our family and clan will survive is to prove useful to them. It’s
even possible that if we impress them enough, we could end up in charge of
most, or even all, of Caedellium. But they have to believe they can rely on us.
What you did on this raid jeopardizes those chances. I don’t want to die
knowing our family and clan will disappear. I certainly can’t have an heir who
risks the future of the clan by acting stupidly. If it’s not you, remember I
have another son and many nephews.”

The
implied threat chilled Biltin to the bone. He knew his father and had no doubt
the threat was real.

Hetman
Moreland

Gynfor
Moreland rode at the head of three hundred riders into Anglin. They had passed
through the remainders of Lanwith and forged on without stopping to help with
the injured or put out fires still burning. The hetman was hoping to catch the
raiders before they destroyed Anglin or more of his province. They were late
again but found the local countryside had enough warning and time to gather men
at Anglin. After several attempts to force the town, the Eywellese had retired back
toward the border.

Hetman
Moreland seethed, as he led the Moreland pursuers to the Eywell-Moreland border,
the dust of the raiders still hanging in the air. They crossed the border and less
than a mile later ran into the first Eywellese sentries, who then retreated and
obviously sent word of the Moreland pursuers. When they crested a hill three
miles from the Parthmal, they could see what appeared to be many hundreds of
Eywellese and as many Narthani riders, along with more on foot, forming up and facing
them. Badly outnumbered and no longer on Moreland land, the Morelanders turned
back, Gynfor Moreland swearing he would have his revenge on both the Eywellese
and the Narthani.

Anarynd

Erdelin gave orders to his subordinates, and the Narthani started
the twenty-two-mile trip back to his headquarters in Hanslow. The wagons of
loot from the raid he had no plans for; his staff would see it was portioned
out to their troops in Eywell Province or sent on to Preddi City. For the
prisoners, there were different fates. Senior officers would have first choice,
then officials in charge of the Narthani troop brothels would choose enough of
the women to bring staffing to recommended levels and a few extras. There were
always those who never accepted their fates and fought to the death, committed
suicide, or just died. The extras would ensure that staffing levels stayed acceptable
for many months. By the time more women were needed, there might be supplies
from other clan provinces. The rest of the slaves would be sent on to Preddi
City to either be distributed where needed and useful within the Preddi
civilian occupied areas or be shipped back to Narthon.

As soon as they arrived in Hanslow, soldiers pulled the captives
from the wagons and herded them into a corral. Captain Tunak had underestimated.
There were more than two hundred Morelanders from the two sacked towns,
villages, and farms, all women and children.

The sight of the Moreland captives reminded Erdelin that he needed
a replacement woman. His latest slave had displeased him once too often with
her sullen moods. Moreover, he’d had her for eight months, and she hadn’t
gotten pregnant, meaning he wouldn’t have considered taking her with him when
he rotated back to Narthon. A sixday previously he’d had her taken, sobbing, by
one of his guards to a troop brothel. If she couldn’t serve him adequately, let
her see how it was to service fifteen to twenty men a day.

Erdelin strode quickly among the captives, ignoring children and
older women. No one in particular caught his fancy. Two of his officers pulled
out women. One of the officers was Captain Tunak. He was young for such a
privilege, but he performed well, given the situation he found himself in, and
Erdelin wanted Tunak and the other men to recognize his approval of the
captain’s performance.

Halfway around the corral, a woman caught Erdelin’s eye. She was
striking. Long blonde hair in disarray and hanging to her waist. He caught a
glimpse of blue eyes that otherwise stayed downcast, as appropriate for a
Narthani slave. The blonde color was found in the Caedelli, though rarely with
the Narthani. Tear tracks streaked her face, but she wasn’t crying or wailing
like many of the others. Erdelin took that to indicate a sterner mettle. He
pointed her out to the leader of the guards, who looped a noose over her head
and handed her off to one of Erdelin’s aides. He didn’t see her again until
reaching Hanslow and his villa. There, several staff members came running out.
A Narthani soldier took his horse, and Erdelin’s chief house slave led the
blonde woman into the house.

Anarynd couldn’t understand what the Narthani leader said to the
middle-aged slave who held the rope around her neck. After an exchange, the
slave led her into a room with basins, ewers, and cloths. The leader stood
watching her, while the older man hustled away, then returned shortly with two
slave women, one older with graying hair and the other younger. Both kept their
eyes downcast. The leader gave obvious instructions to the women, and the men
left, while the woman undressed Anarynd and cleaned her using warm water, bars
of soap, and cloths. When they finished, they wrapped a white cloth around her
and pulled her by her arms to a room where the leader sat at a desk, examining
papers. The three of them stood in front of his desk while he worked. After a
minute, he wrote something on a piece of paper, placed it to one side, and
looked up. He spoke to the younger woman, who then translated to Anarynd.

“You no longer have a name. You’ll be called ‘Slave.’ If you
please your new master, he may someday give you a name. He commands me to tell
you to do whatever you can to please him. Your previous life and name are gone
forever. Your only purpose is to please him, in bed or any other way he wants.”

The woman’s voice softened. “Do it, girl. No matter what it is,
it’ll be far better than being condemned to the brothels. If you please him
enough, he may even keep you when he goes back to Narthon. Forget about home.
It’s gone forever. Even if you escaped, would your family and clan take you
back? They took me in Preddi three years ago. It hasn’t been the life I wanted,
but it
is
life. If you want to survive and stay sane, do as I say.”

The woman squeezed Anarynd’s arm, gave her a sympathetic smile,
and then spoke to Erdelin. With a curt word, he dismissed the two women. The
man rose and walked to her. She trembled when he pulled the cloth from her,
then motioned her to the bed at the corner of the room. When she hesitated, he
slapped her smartly across one cheek—not enough to knock her down, but enough
to sting and obviously merely a warning. She put a hand to her face and walked
toward the bed.

As she passed him, he stroked her buttocks, then followed with his
hand on her back. She lay on the bed and tried to steel herself for what was to
come. She wasn’t a virgin, but her few experiences were furtive youth’s
experiments. Part of her wanted to scream and cry; another part wanted to fight;
another wondered whether she should or could take her own life. However, the
Word
forbade suicide. Could she endure what was to come, as the sympathetic
younger woman had advised?

What would Maera do? She would be strong, Anarynd knew. Maera
would do what she had to survive and would look for a chance to escape. She
imagined Maera hugging her and asking her to be brave.

She looked at the face of her new master, smiling with a
confidence that conveyed dominance over her. He pulled his robe over his head
and stood naked by the bed. His swarthy complexion and body hair gave him an
animal-like look.

Anarynd would spend many years trying to forget that night. It
wasn’t just that he hurt her, it was his laughter while doing it. Never saying
a word, just grunting and laughing as her face pressed against the hair on his
chest. When he finished, he left her on the bed, curled into a ball but not
crying, because she swore to herself she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Word
Reaches Maera

Maera
was annoyed that Ana’s latest letter was two sixdays overdue. Not that she blamed
Ana. The delivery of letters wasn’t on a reliable schedule, plus, Ana on
occasion forgot or delayed writing for a sixday—and on rarer occasions more
than one. Maera knew her own punctual writing reflected her orderliness, which
she didn’t expect of others, or so she told herself. Still, Maera
so
looked forward to the letters. The recent exchanges had increasingly focused on
Ana’s possible marriage and plans for Maera to come early to help with the
preparations and be with her friend. Fortunately, the wedding would be at the
groom’s family’s house, so Brym Moreland couldn’t stop Maera from attending.

By
the third sixday without a letter, Maera alternated between irritation and
concern. Her pregnancy only accentuated her worry. Her mother had warned her that
mood changes would come and go instantly, especially in the early months.
Maera’s concern changed to alarm when a letter from her father mentioned a fast
and hard-hitting Eywellese raid into Moreland Province. Especially hard hit
were the towns of Allensford and Lanwith. Her heart skipped a beat as she read
the locations. Ana’s family lived not far to the east of both towns. Surely,
the aftermath of the raid was interrupting letter movement, and Ana was fine .
. . wasn’t she?

That
evening Maera explained her worry to Yozef.

“I’m
sure she’s fine. It’s just the raid and letters stopping at the same time that
worries me.”

“Why
not write to your father and have him inquire to the Moreland hetman?”
suggested Yozef.

Maera
winced. “Gynfor Moreland and Father have never been on good terms. Gynfor hates
Father, and Father barely tolerates him at clan meetings. Father has so much to
worry about I don’t want to bother him, though he’d contact Gynfor if I asked.”

“That’s
part of his role as a father. Don’t worry. I’m writing a letter to him, so I’ll
just add concern about Anarynd and ask him myself. I also have several soap and
paper franchises in Moreland. I’ll write Factor Molin Gilmore, my agent in
Moreland, and ask him for any information.”

Maera
breathed easier and gave her husband a wan smile. “Thank you, Yozef. I’m sure
it’s nothing, though I’ll feel better having it confirmed.”

As
a result, Culich sent a semaphore message to Hetman Moreland, asking, as a
favor, if he would confirm the status of his distant relative Anarynd Moreland.
No answer came back for more than a sixday and then only a vague statement that
he would look into it when he found the time away from all of his other
pressing matters.

A
sixday later Yozef received a semaphore message from his factor in Moreland
City, the province’s capital. The factor had personally gone to Anarynd’s
family. The news the factor summarized in the semaphore message was followed up
with a detailed letter two days later. Yozef waited for the letter before talking
with Maera.

After
reading the letter, Yozef left the Bank of Abersford, where Cadwulf was giving
him a monthly verbal report, and went straight home. He dreaded relaying the
news, though he thought it best to let Maera know as soon as possible.

She
was standing on the veranda when he walked up to the house.

“You’re
home early,” she said questioningly. She had been working and resting at home
that day.

“Let’s
go inside,” he said grimly.

Maera’s
good mood vanished. He took her arm and guided her indoors. She looked at his
face for a hint of what was happening. They sat on a wide sofa-like piece of
furniture. He held her hands in his.

“I’m
afraid it’s not good news, Maera. I’ve heard from my factor in Moreland City.
He went to Anarynd’s family. Her father and others wouldn’t talk to him, but a
younger brother and an aunt confirmed that Anarynd had been in Lanwith when the
Eywellese raided it.”

Maera’s
grip on his hands tightened and she paled. “Is she . . . dead?”

“She’s
been missing since the raid. She was in the town with her aunt, a Tilda
Purcells-Moreland, sister of her mother. They went to do some shopping, some of
which was in preparation for Anarynd’s wedding. Neither of them has been seen
since, and their bodies weren’t identified. One survivor believes he saw a
young woman who looked like Anarynd being taken prisoner and put into a wagon.”

Maera
said nothing at first, then . . . , “Any possibility the reports are wrong?”

“It
doesn’t seem likely. The factor said Anarynd’s family is convinced she was
taken prisoner, and that from what he could find out in Lanwith, it makes it
seem likely to be true.”

Maera
again was quiet for several minutes.

“Maera,
I’m so sorry. I know how much Anarynd means to you.”

She
knew he was trying to be kind, but no . . . he didn’t know what Ana meant to her.
The only person she had ever truly felt she was just herself was with Anarynd .
. . until Yozef came along. A prisoner of the Eywellese or the Narthani? No, not
a prisoner. A
slave
, if all they’d heard was true. And for a young woman
who looked like Ana, there was only one use they’d have for her.