Battleslave Page 5

  They had found her. Now she had new problems. She had killed the duneserpent and fallen into a nest of adders.

  Chapter Six

  “Who are you?”

  “You aren’t wasting any time, are you?” Talitha had wondered why Juba allowed her to get cleaned up when she got back to the training pits a few hours ago. Her cuts were bandaged and lathered in wine and oil. She’d even been handed a clean tunic.

  She faced Prothero in a gallery in his stark palace beside a balcony overlooking the city. There were couches and chairs for lounging—not silk, but linen. They appeared comfortable enough. But from the uncreased cushions, Talitha had the impression he didn’t use them often, if ever.

  What a contrast the ensaak of Radir was to his soft, pale son. Talitha had spied Eulad slinking away just as she entered, glaring sulkily as the guards escorted her in.

  Instead, the battered old man stood beside a high table, peeling meat off a roasted lizard carcass with one hand and scrutinizing a counting log tablet with the other. All the while, he watched the battleslave in front of him.

  He was a strange man. More merchant than ensaak.

  “I don’t have time to waste,” the ensaak shot back. “Neither do you.” He pushed aside the roasted lizard. He’d barely picked at it. “I have an Ilian ensaak here for the first time in decades. He claims to want peace and I’m apt to give it to him.” The old man’s mustache twitched over his narrow upper lip. “But now he’s quite taken with you.”

  Of course he was.

  Talitha lifted her chain, channeling every last bit of courtly regality. “I don’t see why you needed to tell this to a battleslave.”

  Prothero’s dark eyes narrowed. His hand traced over the cuneiform marks on the wax tablet, silent and contemplative.

  “You aren’t surprised.”

  Talitha shrugged. She saw no way out. If she had the chance to get within arm’s reach of Naram before she died, that was all she could ask for.

  Prothero tilted his head back. Bareheaded and unadorned, he even looked like an ordinary merchant. “Of all the battleslaves I’ve bought in thirty years of the trade, you are by far the most troublesome.

  Talitha looked past him to the rolling slopes of the Sandsea, pale and untouched and unforgiving in the silver starlight.

  “You attacked the guards and killed a brusii. You were fed to the duneserpent and now you’ve killed that as well.” He shook his head. “Breida said you were a soldier. Is that true?”

  Talitha flicked her eyes back to Prothero. “All Ilians are soldiers.”

  “Exactly.” Prothero watched her silently, waiting.

  Talitha stared back. They stayed like that for a long pause, each waiting to see if the other would break first.

  Finally, the ensaak spoke. “Ensaak Naram is offering to buy your freedom. Do you realize that?”

  Talitha should have given away nothing, but she indulged in a laugh. “He’s not my ensaak.”

  “If you are Ilian, he actually is.” Prothero waited a moment.

  Talitha still didn’t respond.

  Prothero shoved aside the wax counting tablet to a pile at his left. “After the offerings to Nigna and Anakti have been made, we will sign a treaty. The boy-warlord wants only peace or so he says.”

  So perhaps Radir had a patron deity after all.

  It was custom in forging treaties to have three days of joint offerings to forge peace between the two patron gods of the cities. So long as there was peace between the city’s gods, it was believed there would be peace between their people.

  Talitha had to remind herself she no longer gave a damn about the gods, even for diplomatic uses. Not the ones besides her grandmother’s god. Ashek’s god.

  Her chest tightened unexpectedly. He had called her name and she had turned. That had given her away. It was because of him she’d been found.

  “Breida said you were a deserter. Is this true?”

  Talitha leveled a hard stare at the old man. “After a fashion.”

  Prothero tossed a hand in the air. “Some mysteries aren’t worth the prying.”

  “So I’m to be gifted to the ensaak, then?” It left a bad taste in her mouth to call him that, but one way or another, he would only be ensaak for a few more days.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a death sentence.” Talitha was blunt. She saw no point in being anything else at the moment.

  “Whatever quarrel lies between you is your problem. But you’ve killed every monster so far,” Prothero grunted. “Perhaps you’ll kill a third. If I’m lucky.”

  Talitha’s eyes narrowed. “You consider Naram a monster?”

  Prothero’s gruff face rarely gave anything away and now was no exception. “The boy has a madness in him. A danger. But you knew that. So long as he leaves my city and keeps his armies far away, we have no quarrel, but…” Prothero left that thought unfinished.

  He would not be grieved if the Ilian pretender was stabbed in the throat.

  Talitha couldn’t help but smile. She might be about to die, but she would take Naram with her. “You won’t be disappointed, Your Grace.”

  Talitha bowed. Not the subservient, groveling bow of a slave. It was the smooth bow from the waist, that of one ruler to another.

  When Talitha straightened, Prothero’s dark eyes had sparked with interest. For one moment, she thought he would say something or have her beaten, but he only grunted.

  “Guards!” the old ensaak shouted. “Take the slave back to the barracks.” Just like that, Prothero went back to his counting tablets. Old jackals didn’t get to be old jackals by accident.

  She looked up, a little surprised to recognize that same eunuch who had harassed her when she had first arrived. He made no acknowledgment now, not even looking her way.

  It was just as well.

  Prothero would never give her a weapon before she was handed over to Naram. He was too clever for that. But maybe, just maybe, she could arrange to not be searched beforehand. There were any number of banal objects lying around the barracks that could be fashioned into weapons in the next three days. Maybe a careless guard was willing to look the other way.

  Talitha retreated into thought as they marched back through the palace, across the streets, and back to the barracks several streets away, not paying attention until the sight of the grated barracks doors came into view. The eunuchs at her sides unlocked the grated entrance and herded her in.

  Talitha stepped inside the barracks. It would be her first night with the other battleslaves. So far she’d spent every night chained in the kitchens.

  The Ilian wandered silently into the rows of bunks, beds crammed on top of one another. Laughter, smoky light, and the smell of wine spilled from inside.

  Talitha rounded the corner just as a cheer went up from the other slaves.

  It wasn’t until Kiri’s slim arm was wrapped around her shoulders that she realized they were cheering her.

  “It’s the woman, myth, the legend!” Kiri cried, words slurring. “Pudmea of Ilios!”

  Another cheer went up.

  Talitha donned a polite smile. The battleslaves were properly drunk—just about every last one of them.

  Vek slumped against the floor with a wine skin, bandaged arm and ribs. The other of Prothero’s slaves who had fought that day were likewise bandaged, wounds cleaned with wine and oil just as Talitha’s had been.

  “Won’t you join us, hero?” Kiri slurred. “We’re drinking in your honor.”

  “If it isn’t the most beautiful and brazen Ilian who’s ever punched me!” Mila chuckled as she draped an arm around Talitha’s other shoulder. “Join us, hero! Tonight we drink with you!”

  Talitha imagined Naram’s face whitening and blood spattering as she stabbed his throat. His hands would clutch at her shoulders and his legs would buckle as he collapsed, gurgling red.

  Just the thought brought a smile to her face. “That’s worth drinking to.”

  Mila was all too happy to
shove a wine flask into her hand. “Drink, champion!”

  Unbidden, Talitha’s mind switched to Ashek. He had once handed her a flask, telling her to forget her sorrows.

  Just like that, Talitha wanted no company tonight. Ashek had betrayed her and somehow that stung more. Ashek she would kill last, after he had seen her bleed out Naram.

  She remembered his face when he had called her name today. He’d shouted because he had known she would turn. He had known she would look to him even if it exposed her.

  He knew how much power he had over her.

  Before Talitha died, she would see both him and Naram choking on their own blood. She would repay every pain and heartache and she would repay it tenfold.

  “You fought well, Ilian,” Mila grinned, her one good eye sparking with approval. “You should be proud.”

  Talitha nodded. “I appreciate it. But I already knew that.”

  Mila tossed her head back and laughed. “My head is still sore from your blows, Ilian. You fight like a woman with nothing to lose. Do you have nothing to lose?” Mila watched her closely. It occurred to Talitha that Mila wasn’t the only guard here, but she was the only one mixing with the slaves.

  Talitha took another gulp of wine. “I thought that was true this morning.”

  “And tonight?”

  “I realize there’s still business for me to finish.” Talitha hoped that didn’t give too much away. She knew she wasn’t long for these barracks one way or another. Naram might send assassins tonight. Or he might do the smart thing and wait a few days until gifts were exchanged between the ensaaks.

  “Someone to live for?” Mila pried. “Or something?”

  “Someone.”

  “A man?”

  Talitha smiled. At least Mila didn’t pretend to not be interested, the way dozens of men did the moment they feared rejection. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Ah, well.” Mila clapped Talitha on her shoulder. “You ever change your mind, I’ll be around.”

  Talitha laughed and sloshed her wineskin against Mila’s. “Glad to see you don’t still hate me.”

  “Oh I can hate you and still want the little wildcat that you are.” Mila laughed, her one eye bloodshot. “Three cheers for the Serpent Slayer!” she cried, shoving Talitha out in front of her. “The deadliest woman this side of the Sandsea!”

  Cheers went up from the whole of the barracks. Talitha’s slave name, Pudmea, was chanted for the better part of an hour. Whether the slaves were truly this impressed or if they simply had not had reason to celebrate in a long time, they couldn’t get enough of cheering and it seemed Prothero had indulged.

  The rest of the night slipped by. Toasts were made until no one knew what they were toasting or who their arms were around.

  Talitha lost Mila at some point and Kiri and all the battleslaves and guards she knew. She ended up on the floor beside one of the other men, watching drool drip onto his chest as he snored slumped against the wall.

  Talitha’s vision had blurred and she found it hard to see straight, but she was the last one awake. It wasn’t until she was sure the other battleslaves were passed out that she let the furious tears come.

  She had absolutely no one left in the world.

  Chapter Seven

  The next three days, Talitha watched and waited. She woke with the other slaves, ran through their morning routines, stayed in line and out of trouble, and listened like a thief for any word of the Ilian ensaak.

  If Naram had been seen talking with Prothero’s dancing girls, she wanted to know. If he had been asking to see Prothero’s water mines, she listened.

  Luckily, no one thought it odd that an Ilian wanted to hear.

  When no one was looking, she snapped a rib off a roasted boar and tucked it under her tunic. She stashed it in the folds of her sleeping mat during the day and sharpened it at night. By grating the edge along the stone wall, she slowly wore it down into a point.

  It was small enough and inconspicuous enough that she would be able to conceal it in her belt. When the time came, she would drive it through Naram’s throat.

  In the day, she stayed as close to Kiri and Vek as she could. It was exhausting to keep company, to never be alone. But when she was alone, her mind was free. And when her mind was free, it wandered to Ashek.

  At night, Talitha struggled to keep him out of her mind. Filing the boar’s rib became a necessary distraction as much as preparation.

  All the same, the Dunedrifter never quite left her thoughts. She kept seeing his wide-eyed shock when she had seen him, standing above the arena. The smell of him haunted her mind, the iron strength of his arms and his half-naked glory in the Ilian bathhouse. A part of her still wanted him.

  It only made her hate him more.

  It wasn’t enough that he had betrayed her and sided with the murderer of her entire family. Ashek had to make her feel these things for him, too.

  Talitha made sure not to offend Mila or any of the other guards again. She befriended Kiri best she could, though everyone seemed to know Talitha would not be long for the barracks.

  Talitha counted off the days as sacrifices of wild brusii and sand cats were made to Anakti. The second day, water was spilled onto golden idols in honor of Nigna. On the last day, joint offerings were planned.

  “Pudmea,” Kiri whispered.

  “What?” Talitha grunted. It was the night before the last day of offerings, late.

  In celebration, Prothero had granted all his servants free choice of his cellars. Even the battleslaves had been granted enough wine to drink themselves dead.

  Talitha had forgone most of it and gone to get some sleep early. She needed to be sharp and awake when they came to hand her over at dawn.

  “What?”

  “Mila says you’re to report to the armory at once.”

  Talitha’s eyes shot open. “Why?”

  “Prothero is waiting.”

  Talitha sat upright. “Prothero?” He hadn’t shown any interest in her since their conversation days ago. As far as she knew, he had forgotten about her existence.

  “That’s what Mila said.”

  “What is the ensaak doing in the slaves’ armory?”

  Kiri shrugged. “Just repeating instructions.” The stench of wine was already pungent on her breath. Talitha didn’t expect she would be much help beyond that.

  “Alright.” It wasn’t as if she could refuse. She didn’t think Kiri would lie and if Prothero wanted her, refusing would get her nothing but a beating.

  Talitha clambered to her feet, tucking away the sharpened rib under her sleeping mat. The wavering candles made it hard to see anything. Talitha had to find her way through the dark by touch. Unfortunately, the poor lighting in the barracks did little to stop the sounds.

  Already, the grunts and sighs of several battleslaves could be heard rustling through the barracks. There must be several of them bound to other mates, because there were no children in the barracks.

  It took Talitha a few wrong turns before she located the armory. The torches were burning low and an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.

  The armory sat in relative silence. The weapons were all locked behind grates at night. According to Kiri, ever since one of the battleslaves had broken in and stolen an ax to kill another slave in a fight over another man, precautions had been taken.

  Talitha frowned. The armory was empty.

  The hair on the back of Talitha’s neck and her arms stood on end. She glanced around.

  “Mila?”

  “Over here.”

  Gulping, Talitha took a left turn toward the guard’s voice. She hadn’t thought Mila the kind to try forcing or trapping her.

  “Behind the armor racks.”

  Talitha clenched her jaw, standing still. Prothero wasn’t here.

  “Come on,” Mila said, sounding impatient. “We’re waiting.”

  Talitha didn’t move. She had one more night. One more night until the treaty was finalized and she had her chanc
e for revenge.

  Once she got through tonight, it would all be over.

  “Pudmea!” Mila’s voice had none of that playfulness it had taken on in past days.

  Talitha couldn’t think of any reason the other woman would have to hold a grudge. They were long past the attack that first day. If she wasn’t trying to seduce Talitha, what was the meaning of this?

  Hands clenched into fists, Talitha took a step deeper into the armory. “What is it?”

  “You’re summoned.” Mila appeared around the corner, arms folded across her chest. “Here she is, my lord.”

  The figure that stepped around the corner was too broad to be Prothero. He moved smooth and quick, businesslike and on guard. Talitha knew him in an instant.

  “You son of a—” She lunged. Anger took over and all she could see was him. She was so distracted, she didn’t see the shape grab her from the side.

  Talitha had a rope around her neck in an instant. Then she was facedown on the ground with a knee in her back, cursing while her wrists were lashed together—but the noose came off her neck.

  “Payment for your trouble,” the man who wasn’t Prothero said. He handed Mila a box that jangled, rubies and pearls spilling out the corner. The side of the box was stamped with a “T”— it must be from the hill fortress, Tivosha. It seemed the Dunedrifters had managed to keep that treasure trove for themselves when they pledged their loyalty to Naram.

  “Where’s Ashek?” Talitha demanded. “If that son of a whore can’t even face me himself, he can—”

  “Easy.” Mila knelt in front of Talitha, her one good eye bloodshot in the dim light. “For what it’s worth, your lover paid a high price for you.”

  Talitha’s jaw dropped as several pairs of hands grabbed her from behind and dragged her upright. “What is this?”

  “Have faith.” Mila patted her cheek. “From what I gather, this gives you a better shot at living.”

  “What? How did you—?” Talitha looked past Mila to Emalek. “What is this?”

  Talitha looked over her shoulders to find Wasiri and Kurzik. Ashek’s men.

  Why were none of Naram’s Ilians here? Why was Ashek paying the price himself?