"But you used my blood for a spell, Ilban. I saw you."

"Blood can be a powerful element, Alec, no different than salt or sulfur or iron. The necromancers also make use of it, of course, but not at all in the manner of alchemists."

The food went heavy in Alec's belly. "You're going to kill me, and take my blood?"

"Kill you? What a shameful waste that would be! Whatever made you think of that?" He paused, then shook his head. "No, Alec, I would never kill you. I intend for you to live a long and comfortable life here with me. If you behave and do as I ask, that life can be very pleasant indeed."

Alec suddenly sensed an opportunity. Seregil had often praised his ability to look young and innocent. He played to that strength now as he widened his eyes and asked, "Then you really aren't going to kill me, Ilban? Or use me in your bed?"

"You have my word. Those are the furthest things from my mind. You know, not all Plenimarans are like those you've met on the battlefield. Our warriors are very fierce, but they are chosen for that, and trained to it. I've traveled a bit in your land and we ordinary folk are not so different from yours. You'll come to appreciate that in time. Get some rest, and after you've had another meal tomorrow, if if you behave, I'll take you out of here and begin to familiarize you with your new home." you behave, I'll take you out of here and begin to familiarize you with your new home."

"What will my duties be?" he asked, then quickly added, "Ilban." This was getting very tiresome.

"You strike me as an intelligent young man. Perhaps you can a.s.sist me in my work."

"In alchemy?"

"Yes. I believe you'll be a very great help in time."

Alec picked up his bowl and knelt to place it at Yhakobin's feet. "Thank you for the food, Ilban, and your kind words. I'm less fearful now, for hearing them."

Yhakobin cupped Alec's chin and raised his face to look him in the eye. "That's very nicely said, Alec. Of course, I don't believe a word of it, and that's your second mistake." He hooked a finger in the smooth metal collar and gave it a playful tug. "You will not get far with this around your neck, my coy little nightrunner. Even if you slice the brands from your skin-and you wouldn't be the first to do so." Giving him a final firm pat on the cheek, Yhakobin rose and went out. The guards collected the chair and lantern and locked Alec in again.

He groped his way back to his pallet and lay down, heart thudding dully in his chest.

Nightrunner. Where in Bilairy's name was the man getting his information? Where in Bilairy's name was the man getting his information?

CHAPTER 14 14.

The Power of Memory

HABA.

Still lost in darkness, Seregil dreamed of gentle hands easing his pain, soothing his skin.

Haba...

Cool fingers traced the planes of his face. Warm lips covered his. In vain he fought to open his eyes. A dream...only a dream.

He thought he was in his bed at Wheel Street. He turned his cheek to that touch...

Alec. Tali...

Fingers brushed his lips.

No, Haba.

No, of course not. Alec had never called him that...

Darkness claimed him, pulling him deeper.

Haba!

"You're still abed?" Mydri called through the tent flap. "Get up, Haba, you lazy thing. Father's waiting for you at the a.s.sembly."

Seregil curled deeper in his blankets, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to pretend he hadn't heard.

"Suit yourself, brat," his sister muttered, and strode off.

The air was already warm and filled with the drowsy buzz of cicadas. He could tell by the slant of tree shadows across the painted canvas that it was well past dawn. He threw back the blankets and sat up, knowing better than to keep his second sister waiting too long. Adzriel or Illina might shout for him, or come in and tickle him awake. Mydri was more likely to fetch him a nasty slap.

No breakfast again, he thought glumly, unless he could charm one of his aunts or cousins into giving him something behind his father's back. Or he could steal something from one of the other camps; that was a favorite game lately, among his friends. he thought glumly, unless he could charm one of his aunts or cousins into giving him something behind his father's back. Or he could steal something from one of the other camps; that was a favorite game lately, among his friends.

He pulled on his long white tunic and tried to brush out the wrinkles. One more thing for Mydri to scold him for. He stuck his tongue out at the thought and laced on his sandals, then made a hasty job of combing his long brown hair with his fingers. He took more care with the dark green sen'gai. When it was wrapped and twisted into a proper shape around his head, he paused a moment, then let the long ends fall over his left shoulder.

He pressed his fingers to his lips, cheeks going warm with the memory of last night's stolen kiss in the shadow of the forest. I have a lover. I have a lover.

Grinning, he lifted the ends of the sen'gai and let them fall down his back. They weren't really really lovers yet. And even if they were, Seregil certainly wouldn't give that fact away to his father by wearing his sen'gai tails over his shoulder like that. lovers yet. And even if they were, Seregil certainly wouldn't give that fact away to his father by wearing his sen'gai tails over his shoulder like that.

Ducking out through the low doorway, he buckled on his knife belt, cinching it tight around his slender waist. You've no more hips than a snake does You've no more hips than a snake does Auntie Alira was fond of pointing out. Auntie Alira was fond of pointing out.

She was the most likely prospect for breakfast. He was wondering if he had time to get to her tent before Mydri came looking for him again when Kheeta came barreling out from between the tents, the tails of his green sen'gai flying behind him.

"So there you are!" He came to a breathless halt and punched Seregil on the shoulder, then hooked an arm around his best friend's neck. "Your father's had us looking everywhere for you! He's already poured the morning blessing. He wasn't happy when you didn't show up."

Seregil shrugged as he wrapped an arm around his cousin's waist and set off for the council site. "He's always angry with me. At least now he has a good reason. I'll be your brother today. Will Mother feed me?"

"Not likely. And it's a good thing you're not my real brother. Father would take the switch to you!"

Seregil hugged Kheeta, glad of a moment's peace before having to face his father's unspoken disapproval. Again. As Korit i Meringil's only son, he was expected to make at least a token appearance at his father's side, though it was Adzriel, as the eldest, who served as her father's aide.

He sighed. "I wish we were really brothers."

People from outside their clan often mistook the two boys for twins. They were the same age, with the same lanky build-all arms and legs and restless energy-and with the same glints of copper in their dark hair. Kheeta and his family lived in the rambling clan house, too; he and Seregil had been cradle mates, and best friends since they could crawl to find each other.

Some of their other friends-clan mates and boys and girls they'd made friends with here at the summer a.s.sembly-joined them as they hurried to the open pavilion where the khirnari and elders were already gathered.

They sat on carpets and cushions spread on the gra.s.s, sipping tea as the endless arguments began for another day. Seregil wondered why so many of the other khirnari were against his father's plan, but beyond that, he didn't much care.

His father glanced up at him over the heads of the crowd, frowned, then ignored him.

"That's what I thought!" Seregil muttered under his breath, though he kept his expression respectful as he bowed, knowing others were watching.

Someone always seemed to be watching him, Korit i Meringil's useless youngest child. He did his best to ignore the sharp looks he was getting from some of the adults, resisting the urge to cross his eyes and stick out his tongue at them. Even Adzriel wouldn't let him get away with that.

He stood respectfully until his father waved a hand in curt, silent dismissal. As he turned to go, he caught someone else staring at him from across the pavilion, and his heart skipped a giddy beat.

Ilar was leaning on a tent pole, looking bored. The third son of one of the minor eastern clans, he had few real responsibilities. Even though he was older than Seregil and his friends-almost man grown, really-he still found plenty of time to slip away with them, fishing, swimming, and telling stories.

Seregil paused and gave him a hopeful look. Ilar smiled and shook his head, but his gaze never left Seregil. The boy could feel it like heat on his skin as he reluctantly turned away.

He forced himself to walk calmly from the pavilion, for the benefit of anyone staring at his back. The minute he was outside, however, he grabbed Kheeta and broke into a run, leading the others off for another delicious day of freedom. The broad river plain and surrounding forest were theirs to roam.

Really, it hadn't been a bad summer, overall.

Years away, leagues away, Seregil moaned softly in his sleep and faint spots of color rose in his pale cheeks. In the dream, Ilar came to find him, and he thrilled to the touch of those strong, gentle fingers against his cheek.

CHAPTER 15 15.

Tricky Business

ALEC REMAINED CONFINED in the little cellar room for four more days. Ahmol brought him water for washing, took away the chamber pot, and tended the healing skin on Alec's wrists. Alec tried to speak with him, but either the man didn't understand or was under orders not to talk to him. in the little cellar room for four more days. Ahmol brought him water for washing, took away the chamber pot, and tended the healing skin on Alec's wrists. Alec tried to speak with him, but either the man didn't understand or was under orders not to talk to him.

It might have seemed his new master had forgotten about him, if not for the fact that each morning Ahmol also brought him a new book to read, along with his food. They were written in Skalan, mostly collections of ancient ballads and courtly romances. The tomes were finely bound and well cared for. He tried to read them, hoping to pa.s.s the time more quickly, but his mind often wandered, worrying about Seregil, and the driving need to find some way to escape. So far nothing had presented itself. The grate over the tiny window was solidly mortared, and too small to get out of, anyway. Apart from trying to smother someone with the feather tick or strangle him with a quilt, there was nothing in the way of a weapon to be had, and Yhakobin was always well attended by burly servants. As the alchemist had pointed out, he wasn't the first slave to be held here. And, of course, Yhakobin knew what he was.

The food was ample now, but plain. Each morning he received a generous portion of the same thin, sweet oat porridge and some fresh bread. The midday meal and supper consisted of more bread, an apple or some grapes, boiled vegetables, and thick lentil porridge flavored with onions and bay. It was filling, but he soon longed for a bit of meat and cheese. But meal after meal, he wasn't given so much as a sausage.

All in all, it was a most baffling sort of captivity.

As he finished with breakfast on the fourth day, the men who'd dragged him here from the slave market appeared at the door. One of them held a st.u.r.dy chain and lock in his hands, the sort one tethered a dog with. Both had thick wooden truncheons hanging at their belts.

The one with the chain motioned for Alec to come to him.

Alec eyed the chain with distaste, but complied. At least he'd get out of this d.a.m.ned room. He stood still, hands at his sides, and let them lock the chain to his collar. The other man thrust a sc.r.a.p of white cloth into his hands.

Alec unfolded it and saw that it was a sort of handkerchief, with white ribbons sewn to two corners. The guard glowered expectantly at him, then s.n.a.t.c.hed it back and tied it over Alec's face as a veil, just like the one all the 'faie he'd seen so far had worn. The man adjusted it with a few rough tugs, so that it covered Alec's face completely below the eyes, then gave the chain a jerk and led him out.

Alec wondered if all slaves had to cover their faces like this, or just the 'faie.

He took careful stock of his surroundings as they pa.s.sed along the brick corridors. It was quite a labyrinth. His guards led him in the opposite direction from the way he'd been brought in, and this time they pa.s.sed open wine cellars and storerooms. After three turns, he was led up another narrow stair. At the top lay a proper pa.s.sageway. There were rushes underfoot, and as they pa.s.sed more open doorways Alec caught glimpses of fine rooms decorated with frescoes and mosaics of fish and wild animals.

They emerged at last into a large courtyard with a black-and-white mosaic floor. A long, rectangular pool lay at its center, with sparkling fountains down the center and statuary on both sides. The house had two stories, and formed a square around this courtyard. At the far end was a large archway, and what appeared to be gardens.

Rooms on the ground floor opened into the courtyard; on the upper, there was a pillared gallery, lined with doors and windows. Under different circ.u.mstances, he'd have found it a beautiful, peaceful place.

As they walked past the pool, he glanced through a very wide doorway and saw a large room furnished with a heavy dining table with gilded feet shaped like bulls' hooves. There was a large bowl of flowers on a stand beside it, and the walls were painted with scenes of groves and harvests. At the far end of the room, an enticing open archway overlooked a wooded hillside. In the far distance, he could see the dark curve of the sea against the horizon.

Even this tiny bit of new knowledge gave him hope. If he could get to the coast, he could steal a boat. His handler gave the chain a jerk as Alec paused, trying to gauge the distance and obstacles.

As they continued on toward the far archway he caught a glimpse into a room where a dark-haired n.o.blewoman sat beside a fire with an embroidery hoop. He heard a child's voice and looked up to see two young, black-haired children on the gallery with a veiled woman. Her eyes were grey: another 'faie, perhaps, and certainly a slave. She looked away quickly, whispering to her charges.

As they neared the archway at the back of the courtyard, Alec caught the scent of meat cooking, so rich and strong that he paused again, savoring it. This time his handler cuffed him on the side of the head and nearly yanked him off his feet by the chain.

They pa.s.sed under the arch and down a short flight of marble stairs into a smaller courtyard. This one was planted with trees and herbs, all ripe or gone brown with frost. On the far side stood a long stone cottage decorated in the same style as the villa. The courtyard wall to the left of it featured a large, elaborately carved fountain niche.

Lots of handholds there, thought Alec. thought Alec.

To his right he saw the entrance to yet another walled courtyard, where a large central fountain tinkled and splashed in a broad white basin.

His guards hurried him across to the cottage and knocked at the door. Ahmol let them in.

There were no windows; instead, skylights let in the morning sun, illuminating a large workshop that reminded Alec at once of Thero's rooms at the Oreska House. It even smelled just as bad as they sometimes did when the wizard made fire chips: a mix of hot copper, sulfur, and s.h.i.t that made his eyes smart.

The center of the room was dominated by a cylindrical brick furnace, which the Oreska wizards called an athanor. It was about four feet tall, with small windows near the top, through which the flames showed like a pair of flickering yellow eyes. A big-bellied gla.s.s retort sealed with a clay plug sat atop it. Inside, something that looked like dull green mud bubbled and roiled.

At the left end of the room, furthest from the door, stood a miniature pavilion painted with rings of symbols he'd never seen before. The right-hand wall was dominated by a brick forge. An array of iron tongs and tools hung from hooks next to it, and baskets full of rough stones and thin rods of different metals were lined up underneath these. Small ingots of gold and silver lay in neat stacks on a shelf. Several small anvils took up a bench in the corner. A much larger one stood between the forge and the athanor.

The remaining walls were lined with bookcases, workbenches, tall cabinets, and polished chests with small, carefully labeled drawers. One table held a collection of gla.s.s vessels on iron stands. Some of these were very like ones he'd seen Nysander and Thero use. A large gla.s.s distillation vessel was currently bubbling on a tripod over a brazier, half-full of a thick blue liquid. A long snout arched from the top of the vessel, guiding drops of condensed steam into a white crucible.

The largest apparatus was comprised of a pear-shaped clay vessel sitting on a heavy wrought-iron tripod. A crazy array of thin, curly copper tubes stuck up from the lid like a madwoman's hair. Some kind of distillery, he supposed.

Overhead, hundreds of colorful cloth bags and strings of desiccated animals hung from the ceiling beams. There were frogs, rats, birds, lizards, squirrels, rabbits, and even a few fingerling dragons among the latter, he saw with a shudder of revulsion. a.s.sorted skins and bones took up table s.p.a.ce near an inner door, which, like the little tent, was covered with strange symbols.

Alec rubbed his smarting eyes. There were other, more familiar instruments scattered about: a set of bra.s.s s.e.xtants, a large bra.s.s astrolabe, chisels, saws.

One of his guards pulled him over to the large anvil and secured the end of his chain to a heavy ring on its base. Giving it a good shake to show Alec how strong the lock was, they left him there and went out, leaving the door to the garden slightly ajar.

When Alec was certain they were gone, he went back to his appraisal of the room. Those metal rods could probably be used as weapons, and where there was an anvil, there must be hammers. If he could just smash off the lock before anyone came back- The chain was about only an arm span long, though, and try as he might, there was nothing within reach. The anvil was far too heavy to drag. Still listening intently, he got down on his hands and knees, looking for something, anything that he could use on the lock.

The floor was made of wide, bare planks, and he ran his fingers along each crevice as far as he could reach, hoping to find a loose nail. He'd nearly given up hope when one fingertip snagged on something sharp. He picked frantically at it, peeling a fingernail back in the process, but at last pried out a thin metal needle file as long as his hand.

Thank the Lightbearer! He crouched by the lock at the anvil and inspected the keyhole. It was large enough. This could work! He crouched by the lock at the anvil and inspected the keyhole. It was large enough. This could work!

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then set to work. He examined the padlock closely, looking for any sign of wards or traps. Among those he'd been made to practice on, some had holes where spring-primed needles could jab out, coated with some nasty poison. He saw no signs of those, though, and set about probing delicately into the works with the sharp tip of the file.

The lock was large and heavy, but of a simple design-probably no more than three tumblers to shift. The file was a crude pick, but it was enough. One after the other, the tumblers clicked back. Alec pulled the hasp loose and unhooked the end of the chain.

The sudden sound of clapping startled him so badly he dropped the lock and the file. Yhakobin stood in the open doorway, applauding him. Alec hadn't heard him approach. The alchemist was dressed in a long, embroidered robe today, and had the short horseman's crop tucked under one arm.