Warlords Rising (6 page)

Trev’nor carried on the conversation as if she hadn’t fallen
into abrupt silence. “Orba says they make magicians work, most don’t, just…” he
paused, visibly searching for the word. “Nolan, how do you say ‘sitting around
all day.’”

“
Jothanen da sou
,” Nolan supplied.

Rosking nodded understanding before explaining, “This is a
holding ground. We’re  here
giwai
until a slave caravan comes and buys
us. We’re only
giwai
here another few days before
ubury
comes for
us. I’d be
pahi
of here and get some sun.”

“Huh, is that so.”

Move? They were going to be moved? Becca’s heart sank at the
thought. If they were moved from place to place, that would mean possibly
splitting up the three of them. Standing alone against a whole country was not
a thought she liked. At all. No, she’d better go back to her first idea and get
free of here fast. Although she still had no idea how to get past the bars.
Waiting for the moment when they were taken out, with one amulet taken off, was
not a good idea. After two days of being outside, she realized that the place
was crawling with guards. She did not want to tackle them without Nolan and
Trev’nor at her back. Not on minimal magic power at least. Splitting up in this
place was a terrible idea and broke at least three of Shad’s rules.

Nolan leaned in again, whispering into her temple,
“Remember, Shad, Aletha, Garth, and Chatta are experts at finding hiding
magicians. They did it for nearly two years. Also, if nothing else, the
Gardeners cannot afford to lose you. They’ll go and tell someone where you are
if we can’t be found. As long as one of us is found, they can find all three of
us.”

It made sense, what he was saying. But still, if they wanted
to get out of here, she had the feeling they’d be better off doing it on their
own.

Not for the first time, Trev’nor blessed that he was an
Earth Mage.

It didn’t seem to matter where he went, people always needed
something fixed. Walls, buildings, wells, streets, there was always something
majorly broken in a city. Even a town as small as this was no exception. Garth
once told him that being an Earth Mage often opened windows where there were no
doors. He hadn’t really understood that until Rurick.

The guards treated every magician as if they were some sort
of subclass human, little better than an animal. The citizens of Rurick weren’t
much better. They certainly weren’t going to talk to Trev’nor, no matter how
charming he might be. Aletha had taught him that there was more than one way to
connect with people, and he used every trick she had taught him.

The first two days in Rurick, he was outside of the city and
repairing the wall. But eventually he had to move inside to work on the
interior of the wall. He couldn’t do it all at once. (Which wouldn’t have been
the case if he had his full power handy, but the guards weren’t about to
believe him on that.) That was when he was finally presented a window.

As Trev’nor walked through the streets, fixing the wall, he
would catch other things that were damaged. He would automatically stop to fix
those too. At first the guards poked him hard in the back, not understanding
what he was doing. When they did that, he would turn to them with a look of
absolute confusion plastered on his face and say, “But you want me to fix this
too, right?”

Having a slave that looked for work to do was inconceivable
to them. They really didn’t know how to react. But it was true that other
things aside from the wall needed fixing, and he was faster than conventional
methods, so they let him do so.

That was their mistake.

The people of Rurick got used to seeing him. He was
radically different in appearance from them—it sure wasn’t hard to find him in
a crowd—and the braver ones came to tentatively request his help. It had happened
twice yesterday. Trev’nor would bet his eye teeth that he would be swamped by
requests today, and the guards would likely let him, as the first section of wall
was mostly fixed now.

A woman that everyone called the Rikkana came with a young
man in tow. Trev’nor had met her twice before, as no one would approach him
without her at their side. She always spoke to the guards first, as protocol
likely demanded.

“The grill pits are splintering,” she informed them. “We
need this mage.”

Guard A (as Trev’nor thought of them) jerked his chin at the
young man standing behind her. “Noogre can’t fix them?”

“Beyond repair,” Noogre replied with a helpless spread of
the hands. “I’d have to rip them out entirely and fix them, and that would take
a solid week. At least. We don’t have enough food laid in for me to do that.”

Food was very dear to men that worked all day in the suns.
The guards immediately saw his point and gave Trev’nor a grunt that meant,
Let’s
go.

Trev’nor of course started walking, but he greeted them both
politely. “Rikkana, Master Noogre, glad you came to see me.”

Noogre blinked at him as if a dog had just started talking.
Only the Rikkana, an aged woman with silver hair and years of experience etched
into her face, wasn’t startled. Then again, he’d spoken to her twice yesterday
so of course it wouldn’t surprise her. “Why are you glad?”

“Because I like to eat.” He grinned at her, a boyishly
charming grin. “I’m still growing, y’know.”

If he had tried to speak to anyone else, it likely wouldn’t
have worked, as the guards would have shut him down. But this woman was highly
ranked in this society (somehow, he was still figuring out how) and if she
thought it was appropriate to talk to a slave, no one was going to argue with
her about it. “You do not mind the extra work?”

“I like to work. I was raised to work. If it’s work that
puts food in my belly, I’m all for it.”

This answer threw everyone listening. They didn’t know what
to make of it. Trev’nor wanted to shake them until they gained some sense. Of
course the magicians did exactly what they were told and nothing more. They had
been trained from birth to obey orders and nothing more. No one learned
initiative that way. They certainly didn’t gain a work ethic.

Was this whole country full of idiots? Corrupt idiots?

It took fifteen minutes to walk to where the firepits were.
Trev’nor counted every guard, noting their positions, as he moved. It had
slowly dawned on him that the guards had their own sections of the city they
were in charge of and they didn’t really communicate with each other until the
end of the day. Why they were organized so, he didn’t know, but he had a
feeling that they could really take advantage of this.

The pits were worse than he had imagined. They were nothing
elaborate—brick structures as long as two troughs with metal grills or spits
hanging over them. They were meant to roast a huge amount of meat at a time,
and from what Trev’nor had seen, it was likely these pits that provided meat
for both slaves and soldiers alike. The amount of meat that could be cooked at
once seemed about right, at least.

Trev’nor knelt down and examined it, looking at every angle,
and really spending more time on it than he needed to. This was a beautiful
opportunity to talk and get more information. “How often do you use these?”

The Rikkana, as usual, answered, “Twice a day.”

“Ah, makes sense.” Trev’nor leaned his head over to
investigate the interior of the open brick enclosure. “Some of these bricks are
cracked clean through. Let me fix those first, then I’ll worry about the thing
as a whole.”

Noogre stood nearby wringing his hands. “But you can fix it?
Soon?”

“Sure, sure.” Trev’nor sat back on his heels and blinked up
at him, shielding his eyes from the suns with a hand. “You need this soon?”

“I have to start the meat cooking in two hours.”

“Oh, I’ll be done by then,” Trev’nor assured him. No way was
he drawing out this show that long. “Go ahead and start prepping the meat.”

Relieved, Noogre bobbed his head and took off for the
nearest building, which Trev’nor assumed was the kitchen. It smelled like it,
anyway, as there was a pungent mix of spices wafting from that general
direction.

“I’m surprised this hasn’t already been fixed. It’s been
past the point of needing repair for a while now to get this bad.”

Guard B snorted. “Trexler doesn’t spend money on things like
this.”

Trev’nor found that reaction highly interesting. The man
sounded bitter about it.

“No, he’d rather nidh another campaign,” Guard A agreed,
sounding just as bitter but also resigned. “Why he keeps trying to win against
Riyu is pare me.”

“We should be more focused defending against the east instead
of the north,” Guard A agreed. “They attack us more often.”

As if spurred by this thought, Guard B prodded Trev’nor with
a flat palm—gently, for once, “Hey. You can improve the walls, can’t you? Make
them more abhe.”

It didn’t take a genius to know that last word was probably
something like ‘impenetrable.’ “Sure I can,” Trev’nor agreed amiably.

“That’s a great idea,” Guard A agreed, noticeably perking
up. “But you think it will kam if we suggest it?”

“No way, we’re just gaard. Rikkana,” his tone became very
respectful, “would you put in the suggestion for us?”

Was it Trev’nor’s imagination or did she glance his way
first? “I can. Perhaps we should ask how long this will take?”

“Depends on what you want me to do,” Trev’nor responded.
There, bricks were fixed. Now it was time to deal with the structure as a
whole, make it a little more fireproof. “I’ve seen one section of the wall for
myself. Is the whole wall built like that?”

“It is,” Guard A answered, seeming to forget temporarily
just who he was talking to, although he still spoke in the ruder, more casual
form of the language.

“How do you want me to improve on it?” Trev’nor asked.
“Thicker walls? I can draw up bedrock from the ground, reinforce them with
stronger stone.” He had to default to Solish to explain all of that, but no one
seemed to mind. They were instead excited about this new possibility as their
walls was made of the same material that their houses were. Trev’nor thought of
it as hardened sand dunes.

They drew him almost naturally into the conversation as they
discussed the best way to improve the walls. Trev’nor learned more about their
defenses in an hour’s conversation than he had in three days of observation.
Aletha was right: when in doubt, keep them talking.

He finished up with the fire pit, much to Noogre’s
excitement, then Trev’nor dutifully followed them through the town and to the
headquarters for Rurick. As a slave, he was not allowed to step inside and
speak to the commander, but he didn’t need to. Knowing the building’s location
was enough. The Rikkana went in with one of the guards to put in the request.
They were in and out in five minutes, which was probably all it had taken to
explain the idea and get a hearty approval.

Stepping back out, the Rikkana informed the waiting men, “It
has been approved. You start immediately.”

Guard B actually smiled, and before that moment, Trev’nor hadn’t
thought that possible.

A relaxed smile on his face, Trev’nor said, “Alright then.
Let’s go get bedrock. Where should I start?”

“Let’s do east section first,” Guard A suggested. “Thank
you, Rikkana.”

She inclined her head to them, the three men bowed
back—Trev’nor had quickly learned to treat the woman with full deference and
decorum—and then she left as quietly as she had come. Her work was done, after
all; she didn’t have to troop after them for the rest of the afternoon.

It took some skill and substitution, but Trev’nor kept his
guards talking as they exited the city and he farmed up some bedrock, and they
were happy to suggest improvements to him as he worked. They were also just as
happy to complain about their warlord. The more Trev’nor heard about him, the
more he realized that Rurick wasn’t an exception when it came to corruption and
callous treatment of human life. The whole province was this way.

And that thought made him boiling mad.

He didn’t let his anger show, but instead looked sympathetic
and lent a willing ear as they moaned and bickered about which place was the
worst one to serve in. He learned a great deal that afternoon and had every
intention of carrying every single word back to Nolan and Becca.

He stopped working when the light failed and they dragged
him back to his cell. After being in the suns a full day with little to drink
or eat, he was exhausted, and his plan to talk to his friends failed. After
eating dinner he fell fast asleep next to Nolan.

Ah well, morning would be soon enough.

By the tenth day, they stopped talking to each other except
to pass along information they had learned. Roskin would draw one of them out,
sometimes, having them tell stories about what life outside of Khobunter was
like. But in their own group, they didn’t say anything to each other.
Everything that could be said had been in the first three days. They silently
moved to accommodate each other, curling in close for warmth and comfort, but
they had become as silent and withdrawn as Orba. It was exhaustion that made
them act so, or so Trev’nor believed. After working a full day under the
blistering suns, he felt drained in more ways than one, and usually fell asleep
as soon as he had eaten.

Becca started having terrible dreams, memories of those days
when she had been only eight years old and abandoned by her parents to face the
Star Order Priests on her own. The cave she had found as shelter reminded her
of this place the pens were in. She woke up many a time with a silent scream in
her throat. Nolan or Trev’nor would grab her, hold on to her, until the dream
had left and the shaking had passed. Sometimes Nolan would even purr, like a
mother cat easing a baby kitten. But sleeping became an uncomfortable thing for
her and she avoided it as much as she could, just drowsing while sitting up,
avoiding true sleep altogether.