Yserria raised her sword toward the woman. “I have won her seat in challenge. I am now Third Echelon, and I am here to hold you accountable.”
Orina’s eyes widened. “Deshari said nothing of a challenge for her seat. She said the challenge was for a claim on a foreigner.”
Yserria grinned. “Then, she lied. She tried to take my man, and I challenged her for her seat in return. That is irrelevant, though, as it has no bearing on your actions.”
Orina straightened. “Her forces were split, and there was unrest in her camp. I would have been remiss not to take advantage of the situation.”
“I do not believe you were unaware of the challenge for her seat. It was no secret. You thought to destroy us both and claim the echelon.”
A scream emanated from the tent, and a woman came running out, nearly colliding with Orina. Orina turned and screamed at her retainers. “You were supposed to keep her quiet, you idiots!”
“She kidnapped me!” screamed Deshari. “In the middle of a challenge. It is not permitted! The challenge is void.”
Yserria said, “No, Deshari. I completed the challenge. I prevailed against her forces—both units, whereas your champion fell.”
Deshari’s face paled. “Ifigen is dead?” She looked at Orina in horror. “You said nothing! You would not even permit me to mourn my consort?”
Yserria said, “You plotted against me, Deshari, and Orina plotted against you. Now, I will take both your echelons.” Yserria met Deshari’s stricken gaze and said, “You nipped at the wolf’s heels, and the wolf bit back.”
Orina glanced around as if searching for something—or someone. “I need a champion,” she shouted. She looked to one of her sodden men who had been lucky enough to survive the flood. He was a hard-looking man with scars across his bare chest. He shook his head. She looked to another, and he too refused. She called out, “Whosoever serves as my champion will become first consort to the echelon.” No one stepped forward.
Yserria sheathed her sword. “You have failed to produce a champion. Your seat is forfeit.”
“On behalf of what house do you claim the echelons?” said the man with the scars.
Yserria paused. She could not claim the echelons under House Rey or the power would go to her aunt. She had to claim them for herself.
“What is it?” Malcius whispered.
“They wish to know the name of my house.”
He stared at her for a moment and then said, “Palis.”
She glanced at him to see if he was serious. He motioned for her to proceed. She looked at him again, uncertainly, then turned back to the crowd, “I claim the Third and Fourth Echelons under House Palis.”
Chapter 18
Tam and Uthey, together, followed the rest of the prisoners through the passage. It was the first daylight he had seen in over a week after being held in the dark cell of the cave near the docks. A few times a day, a guard would walk past their cell carrying a torch. Twice each day, someone opened their cell to toss in food, which was already rancid half the time, and a couple of buckets of putrid water. That was all the light they had seen. In those brief moments, Tam had estimated about thirty people shared his cell. Sometimes he heard them whispering or crying in the dark, but most kept quiet. Sometimes they stood, and sometimes they sat, but they never moved about. Their bodies had been forsaken to the darkness, their minds trapped within the confines of their imaginations. Tam had wondered if he would ever see the sun again.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the brightness. The sharp pain behind his eyeballs nearly dropped him to his knees. He stumbled on the sandy path, but Uthey pulled him to his feet—not out of kindness or concern. The slavers had few rules: 1) do as they say, or you will be tortured or killed; and 2) whatever happens to your partner, happens to you. Uthey was looking out for his own neck. Tam flinched when a rock collided with his temple. He blinked up toward the top of the passage. The walls were made of posts as thick as his arm, tied together with rope and covered in canvas. A walkway had been constructed along the top on the other side, and guards paced back and forth watching their progress. Filthy children laughed as they threw rocks and dirt clods at the prisoners from above.
Tam searched the figures around him as he dragged his feet through the sand. He recognized many of the prisoners as those who had been trapped in the ship’s hull with him, but there were also others. It was not surprising that many faces were missing. A handful had died before they had even reached port. Several others had died in the cell. He had been forced to sleep next to a corpse for two days before the guards finally came for the bodies. What had made it all the worse was that he had spoken to the woman. He had assured her that they would find a way out of the mess. He supposed she had found a way out.
A sharp pain shot through his head, and stars swam before his eyes. Sometimes he envied the dead.
“What is wrong with you,” whispered Uthey.
“I have a hole in my mind,” he mumbled.
“You mean in your head. It’s called your nose, and you’re bleeding from it.”
Tam wiped his nose. Considering the amount of pain, he was surprised there was so little blood. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing Uthey to pull him along, and concentrated on his breathing. He blocked out the sounds as best he could, and the pain began to subside. It struck again when he opened his eyes, but it was not as strong as before.
As they neared what he thought to be the end of the passage, they were suddenly assailed with streams of cold water. Guards and a few water mages stood atop the wall tossing buckets or casting streams over their heads. Tam shivered but was grateful to get rid of the filth. The water stopped too quickly, though, and he realized that he was still covered in filth, only now it was wet filth. They marched forward again, the passage opening into an appalling market. Instead of carts and stalls filled with goods and food, row upon row of cages filled with men, women, and even children lined the paths. Some of the cages contained dogs or more exotic species. Merchants, traders, and other wealthy sorts strolled down the rows, taking notes and asking questions of the slavers. As Tam and Uthey were shoved into a cage, he realized that these people saw no difference between the prisoners and the animals.
“What happens now?” he said.
“Now, they will wait for someone to buy us,” said Uthey. “If we’re lucky, we’ll go to a plantation. We don’t want to end up on a ship or in the mines.”
“I don’t intend to be a slave for the rest of my life. We need to escape.”
“How do you propose we do that?”
“I can pick the lock on the cage. We can open some of the other cages to create a distraction. If we make it to the docks, we can stow away on a merchant ship or steal some clothes and pretend to be sailors.”
“And what about these,” said Uthey as he lifted the chain attached to their necks.
Tam eyed Uthey’s collar. “Do you think they’re enchanted?”
Uthey narrowed his eyes as he looked at Tam’s. “Don’t see any runes. They’ve got a place for a key.”
“I might be able to pick those, too,” said Tam. “I’ll need a couple of pins. Something thin and sharp but strong.”
They searched the cage for anything of use. The sides and top had bars made of thick iron. The ground was sandy, but more bars lay only a few inches deep. Tam was glad a roof lay over the bars, even it was made of old, rotting boards. One of the slavers walked up and smacked a cane against the bars, eliciting a jarring ring that smacked Tam right behind the eyes.
The slaver said, “Kunduta bundunana. Niheshet kwafugarana.”
Tam looked to Uthey, who shrugged and said, “I don’t speak Verrili.”
The slaver said in Gendishen, “You need not bother. You cannot escape.”