*
About halfway down Krieger’s Path through the cliffs, Sean regretted buying a slave.
What had come over him when he purchased these clothes and goods? Once he sat upon his new horse and led his slave onward, Sean wondered where exactly his head had gone while in Yohag. He didn’t really think through his decision to come to Dearen as a suitor: he just acted. It was as if a spell had come over him. And there hadn’t even been any drugs in his system!
So now he had this fancy new outfit, a pesky horse, and—worst of all—a mysterious riding companion. Who was this boy and where had he come from? Sean never even bothered to ask. He simply bought a slave because most Chiefs had at least one of those, and he chose the young fellow based on his hygiene and decent looks, for the point was to make a good appearance.
The young man was probably seventeen years old. He had long black hair, soft white skin, and eyes as blue as an ocean. He was very thin, probably from poverty, but he had a hardness about him, as if his limbs were made of iron. He said not a word, which pleased Sean at first. But after half a day of riding in silence, Sean began to feel the slave’s eyes boring into him from behind, like a dagger prodding his skull. Whenever Sean glanced back, the slave looked away, feigning innocence. It grew uncomfortable, to say the least.
Sean had never bought a slave before. He didn’t know how to treat one or train one. He didn’t even know how much he should talk to it. So he did nothing at all, except focus on controlling his new steed and grumble at himself for acting so hastily.
That night, they chose a mossy escarpment to make their camp. Sean realized belatedly that he should have bought grains for the horses to eat while in Yohag. Too late for that now, so he spent the last hour of sunlight scaling the rocks and gathering scrub for the beasts to eat. He had nearly finished when he realized he did not have to do all the work himself.
“You,” he called to the slave. “Gather some greens for your own horse.”
The boy glared at him a moment, as if to make a point. Then he stood up and obeyed.
Sean sat on the rocks and ate dried meat as he watched the sun sink beyond the green hills of Dearen. He had looked upon Dearen before, but even so, he could not help but be awed by its beauty. The flowing landscape, ever-covered by the silvery Haze and its glittering safra, seemed like something out of a dream or a painting. It did not seem as if it was real. Sean removed the lenses from his eyes so that he might gaze upon it more clearly, and its dazzling brilliance nearly overwhelmed him. He saw foaming white waterfalls, gardens of fruits and flowers, fields of the most luscious green grass. Far to the north, he glimpsed the Dearen palace itself, shimmering with jewels, glass, and metalwork. One section of the palace differed completely from the next, as if various buildings from all across the world had been thrown into one spot. Very little matched and it should have been ugly, based on any artistic standards. And yet it looked magnificent.
Reluctantly he put the lenses back in his eyes and made his bed for the night. The Merchant had given him several pairs of lenses, but he feared losing any of them. After all, he needed to get used to wearing them all the time. He waited for his slave to return, and then he went to sleep.
He awoke to a blade against his throat.
The slave would have killed him on the spot if he’d gotten his way. But Sean’s body had reacted to the boy’s presence long before he became conscious of it. He felt the breeze of the boy’s movement and the jerk against his side as the slave stole his knife. His arms reached up before his eyes opened. He grabbed the hand holding the knife and twisted.
The slave screamed as his wrist cracked.
Sean grabbed the slave’s shirt with one hand and his arm with the other; a firm yank brought the boy flying over him. Sean flung him to the rocks on his back, then climbed on top of him. He pulled the knife from the boy’s twitching fingertips and prepared to dispatch him.
The blade had already nicked the skin of the slave’s neck by the time Sean stopped himself. He took a deep breath and pulled the knife back slightly.
“What’s your name, then?” said Sean.
The slave trembled violently beneath him. His blue eyes were like two gaping holes of fear, and he seemed to have trouble breathing.
Sean gave him another yank. “Your name.”
“G-Gregor!” squeaked the slave at last.
“Gregor.” Sean looked up at the sad state of their camp. In the dim light of morning, he could already surmise what had happened: the boy woke up at the crack of dawn and decided to run away. Before he went, of course, he rummaged through Sean’s bags for goods to steal. When he realized how much money Sean possessed, he must have considered it too risky to just take it all and run away. So he figured he would have to kill Sean first. “Well, Gregor,” he said uncertainly. “You shouldn’t do things like this. Do you know why, Gregor? Because I might kill you.”
The slave whimpered.
“On accident, I mean. I might kill you on accident.”
A stream of tears flowed from Gregor’s eyes. His body wracked with tremors. Sean finally released him and drew back.
“Are you all right?”
The slave cradled his hand to his chest, jerking with a stifled sob. Sean remembered the cracking sound the wrist had made when he twisted it.
“I’m sorry. Is your wrist broken?”
Gregor tried to move it and cried out again.
“I’m very sorry about that. Really. Just keep it still, and when we get near some trees, I’ll make a splint for it. You understand?”
The slave just gritted his teeth and stared forward in a daze.
Not sure what else to do, Sean cleaned up their camp and readied their horses. He glanced down at Dearen and watched how the golden hues of sunlight made the Haze roll with waves of yellow. He felt as if he could jump from the cliff and into a fluffy cushion of mist. No doubt people had tried such a thing before in their desperation to reach the sweet valley of Dearen. They probably breathed just enough safra on their way down that they died believing it was worth it.
Today, Sean and his companion would probably ride low enough to start breathing the Haze. Sean wondered how it might feel. But he knew better than to risk finding out.
He searched his bag for the Discipline potion, then injected it into his bloodstream. Soon he ceased worrying about why he had made the choices he had, and thought only about how to deal with them. The slave may be troublesome now, but once they rode together into the Haze of Dearen, Gregor would feel better.
Sean helped the slave onto his horse, then they continued together down the long rocky path.
By midday, they had descended into the misty Haze of Dearen. Sean watched Gregor curiously to see how this affected him. The slave grew more and more relaxed; he ceased to wince and clutch his wounded hand, instead letting it rest at his side. Rays of sunshine sliced through the fog and splashed their faces with warmth. Safra glittered in the dew and a whimsical smile fell on Gregor’s face.
Sean decided this was a good time to ask the slave a few more questions. As their horses jumped and plodded over rocks and steep slopes, Sean pulled their steeds close together.
“So,” said Sean, “where did you grow up?”
The slave regarded his master with gentle disinterest. Unaffected by the safra himself, Sean could hardly believe what a difference it made to this boy’s demeanor. “I don’t know. Some town.”
“Some town?” Sean clucked to his horse as they made their way over a sharp crag. “You don’t even know the name?”
“No, sir.” Gregor reached out and stroked his horse’s mane idly. “It was far east, on the Outlands of Vikand. We were a tribe. We moved from one patch of gray soil to the next—wherever there was still food to be gathered. But eventually another tribe conquered ours. Chief Hara made me a slave. And so I have been, ever since.”
“Ever since?” Sean looked him over again. “You don’t look accustomed to hard labor.”
> Gregor’s face drooped slightly, despite the safra he breathed. “I’ve escaped many times. I was on the run for several years, living as a thief, before authorities caught me again, and took me to Yohag.”
“I see.” Sean nodded as he considered this. “A thief. This could be useful.”
“Eh?”
“What I mean is that you must have skill if you managed to live as a thief for several years. Running from the khan’s justice is not easy.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true, sir.”
The rocks beneath their horses’ hooves tapered down to smaller and smaller pieces, the shallow scree slope of rocks transforming into soft red soil. The Shadowed Woods marked the base of the cliffs beneath them, a dark pool of shadows amidst a bright green landscape. They would have to pass through a gate before they entered, but after that, they would officially be in Dearen.
Sean slowed the pace of their horses.
“Gregor,” he said after a moment, “you need not run away from me.”
The slave said nothing.
“I will protect you, feed you, and clothe you. You must do what I say without question, but I will rarely ask much of you. I will give you what freedom I can, though that is a hard thing to measure. I do command this of you: that you be on your best behavior when we meet other nobles and politicians, which we will. And if you do anything to cross me again, whether in my presence or without my knowing, I will find out and I will kill you. Do you understand?”
Gregor bowed his head.
They reached the gates into Dearen, which were guarded by plump soldiers with tigers on leashes. Sean’s horse snorted anxiously in the presence of the jungle cats—some of which roamed freely—but Sean rubbed its neck and shushed it. He watched the majestic felines prowl in and out of the woods, their black stripes merging seamlessly with the shadows and mist. The lazy warriors of Dearen did not deserve such mighty companions, and Sean found it hard to believe that these cats would do their bidding. But their presence served its purpose well enough, for Sean did not care to try his luck against them.
Fortunately, entering the country required little effort. The guards wrote the visitors’ names, description, and purpose in a large crinkled book. Then the guards gave them passes which would remain valid within Dearen for thirty days. After this, the pass would expire unless a local reeve granted renewal. If they stayed with an expired pass they would be subject to eviction and they would never be allowed re-entry.
“Thirty days?” Gregor sighed as they passed through the gates into the Shadowed Woods. “I think I want to stay here forever.”
“I wouldn’t worry. Did you see how unorganized those guards were? How could they ever keep track of who gets evicted, who can’t come back, or who didn’t leave only yesterday with those big sagging books of theirs?”
Gregor’s voice became grave. “Because bad things happen to those who tempt their fate in Dearen. Don’t you know that?”
Sean had heard such ghost stories before. People who defied the laws of Dearen, even if they weren’t immediately caught, eventually vanished from the face of the earth, and no one knew what became of them.
Nevertheless, Sean shook his head and said, “I still wouldn’t worry.” Even with the anti-safra in his system, Sean appreciated the unusual calmness of this strange and mystical place. His logical thoughts, which were all he could experience at present, took next to no effort at all. “I sense that whatever one desires in this place, it will be easy to obtain.”
He thought of his father and wondered what in Dearen could have possibly led to his downfall.
7
Eleanor’s Ultimatum