The Silent Tempest (Book 2), Page 2

  “How old?”

  She frowned. Lyralliantha wasn’t good at judging human ages. She’Har children didn’t age. They were created in what would be a fully adult form for a human, and they remained the same apparent age until the day they were allowed to transition to their true adulthood. All that aside, she hadn’t seen the child with her own eyes. “I was told she is young, but not small, almost my height.”

  That could indicate anything from twelve to twenty, but it was almost certain the girl was a teenager. Whoever she was, she was probably terrified. Memories of the wardens and their red whips flashed through Tyrion’s mind. “I need to see her,” he said firmly. He was already sitting up and struggling to get his trousers on.

  “It will not be easy. They are unlikely to welcome us.”

  While the She’Har were particular about their ‘property rights’ when it came to humans, they usually weren’t overly territorial unless there were special circumstances. Over the past fifteen years Tyrion had been allowed to visit any of the human slave camps he wished, so long as he behaved himself. It was even possible the Mordan might allow Lyralliantha to buy the rights to their new find. “There’s something else isn’t there?”

  “She is like you.”

  “Wait…” He had assumed that someone from Colne had foolishly come too close to the borders of the grove, but that didn’t make sense. It was the Illeniel Grove that most closely approached Colne and the valley it was located in. The girl wouldn’t have been taken by the Mordan in that case, which meant that it had been a patrol. The patrols ignored the people of the valley, unless they exhibited signs… “She’s a mage.”

  Lyralliantha nodded.

  “And she’s from Colne.”

  “She’s a wildling, like you,” she confirmed.

  The She’Har patrols were primarily to make sure that the traits that they had imbued their children with, didn’t migrate into the small remainder of the free human population. Their magical slave collars were marvelously effective at preventing their human property from breeding without permission, but it had happened in the past. When Tyrion had first been captured, they had assumed he was the result of such an event. It was only later that they had discovered that his ‘gift’ was the result of a purely random mutation.

  It was extremely unlikely that such a thing had happened by chance. Don’t think about it, he told himself. “What about Thillmarius?”

  “What of him?”

  Thillmarius was the only She’Har trainer he had any real personal experience with. A child and lore-warden of the Prathion Grove, Thillmarius had been the one originally entrusted with Tyrion’s care and training. Thoughts of the torture he had endured made a cold sweat break out whenever he thought of the black-skinned She’Har, but Thillmarius was his best hope.

  The Mordan would be highly protective of their new find if the girl was a true wildling mage. Tyrion had upset the balance of power within the She’Har groves after he had been found, allowing the Prathion and Illeniel groves to gain greater status. His winning streak in the arena had brought a large amount of ‘shuthsi’, a sort of currency, to the Illeniel Grove, and Thillmarius had taken strategic advantage of his wins to improve the standing of the Prathion Grove as well.

  “He’s a trainer, and he’s helped us before. If anyone could convince the Mordan trainer to let me see their new prize, it would be him,” explained Tyrion.

  After a somewhat hasty breakfast, the two of them went to Ellentrea. It was the most likely place to find Thillmarius, who spent most of his days training the Prathion slaves there. It took most of an hour to reach it, but the Prathion lore-warden was easily found.

  Thillmarius smiled at their approach, an expression that never failed to chill Tyrion’s blood. It was part of the She’Har’s continuing attempts to communicate more effectively with humans, but there was no true feeling behind the smile. The Prathion trainer could kill or torture as easily as heal one of his baratti, and none of it seemed to truly affect him.

  “I had a suspicion you might finally come to visit,” said the She’Har, looking at them with golden eyes that perfectly matched his shining hair.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t already gone to see the new arrival,” said Tyrion, keeping his tone cool. He had learned long ago that no good came of becoming emotional while dealing with Thillmarius, or any other She’Har for that matter.

  “Actually, I would have sought you out first, if you hadn’t come to find me. The Mordan are unlikely to welcome excessive interest in their new prize, until they have had a chance to test her abilities for themselves. “You will provide an excellent incentive for them to allow us into Sabortrea.”

  “Trading favors?”

  Lyralliantha spoke then, “You understand our people well, Tyrion.”

  “What will they want?” asked Tyrion.

  “Nothing more than a blood sample,” answered the Prathion. “They will want to confirm your relation to the girl and see if there are any pertinent genetic differences.”

  Tyrion winced. “Then they already suspect she is my daughter.”

  Thillmarius smiled once more. “I doubt you are aware of it, but the groves have been sending more frequent patrols since your arrival. They all would like to obtain the same advantage that the Illeniels enjoyed for so long.”

  Tyrion had long ago told them that he had no offspring, but he had known deep down that his lie was in vain. I should have known this would happen, he thought. I just didn’t want to face the possibility. Now the girl, whoever she might be, would suffer for his refusal to face the inevitable. “What will they do with her?”

  “You remember what it was like when you first came here,” stated Thillmarius. “Sabortrea is much the same, and their methods are nearly identical.”

  ***

  The world below them was a vista dominated by the vast forest that stretched away to the horizon in every direction. The trees covered the world as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional river, or in the distance, a range of mountains. The ride to Sabortrea was several days on horseback, so Thillmarius had summoned a ‘dormon’, one of the flying plant-like creatures that he had once previously used to show Tyrion the remnant of an old human city.

  The flight made a trip of days into a few meagre hours. They had already passed the borders of the Mordan Grove and were now descending toward an open area that represented Sabortrea and its arena.

  Upon landing they were met by two wardens, humans with the same hardened, indifferent faces that Tyrion had become accustomed to during his time among the She’Har. Raised in the pits and trained to constant violence, their hearts were stunted by cruelty and barely capable of the subtler emotions. Standing between them was one of the Mordan She’Har, recognizable by his light blue skin and ebon hair. The She’Har’s eyes were a vivid blue, notably darker than the icy blue that the Illeniel She’Har exhibited.

  “Thillmarius,” said their greeter, inclining his head toward the dark skinned She’Har who rode in front of Tyrion and Lyralliantha. After a second he turned his eyes to Lyralliantha, skipping over Tyrion as an object to be considered later. ‘People’ took precedence over animals. “Lyralliantha, I see you brought your pet to visit our new prize.”

  She nodded, responding to the greeting with one word, “Dalleth.”

  Tyrion knew her response had been for his benefit. The Mordan She’Har might have taken offense if she had gone so far as to formally introduce them, slaves didn’t merit such an honor. Instead, she had answered with the newcomer’s name, knowing Tyrion’s quick ears would not fail to take notice.

  “Unfortunately, I am afraid you have wasted your time coming here,” said Dalleth. “Our new baratt is still adjusting to her place here. I feel it would interfere with her training to expose her to uncertain influences at this juncture.” His eyes flicked toward Tyrion as he spoke.

  Lyralliantha touched Thillmarius’ arm, a gesture indicating he should speak on her behalf. They had agree
d on her response beforehand, but Thillmarius was a lore-warden as well as a respected trainer. He would do the negotiating.

  “I’m sure you are interested in your animal’s lineage. Since she comes from the same region as Lyralliantha’s slave, you must have your suspicions,” began the Prathion She’Har.

  “The Illeniels have thus far refused to share the information gleaned from Tyrion’s testing,” commented Dalleth. “Are you able to offer something?”

  Thillmarius glanced at Lyralliantha, waiting on her nod before answering, “A sample of his blood, in return for a like sample…”

  Lyralliantha coughed, interrupting Thillmarius. His eyes met hers for a moment before continuing, “Correction, in return for permission to allow her baratt to visit with yours for a short period of time.”

  Dalleth snorted, “I thought you bargained for the Illeniels, Thillmarius, but it sounds as if you represent the baratt.”

  The Prathion showed no sign of offense, “You are mistaken, Dalleth.”

  “How so?”

  “The wildlings are different from our domestic baratti. Tyrion’s successes were a result of something beyond the normal training regimen. We will learn more about your new animal by letting him speak to her,” answered Thillmarius.

  “That is of little concern to the Mordan Grove,” answered the cerulean-skinned She’Har trainer.

  Thillmarius lowered his head slightly, conceding the point, “No, but what is of concern to your grove, is the fact that your new animal may benefit greatly from even a brief interaction with Tyrion.”

  Dalleth sighed, “I find that highly unlikely. I would refuse your offer, but I will consult Gwaeri first. The lore-warden’s opinion may differ from mine.”

  That surprised Tyrion. Since the only trainer he had had much experience with was Thillmarius, he had assumed that all She’Har trainers were also lore-wardens. Obviously, that was not the case here.

  Dalleth left, and they waited for more than an hour before he returned. Tyrion was filled with a feeling of impatience, but he kept it firmly under control. He had spent years imprisoned in a tiny room. He had learned to wait, but he had never come to like it.

  The Mordan She’Har returned alone. “Gwaeri’s thoughts differed from my own. He has convinced me to accept your offer, though my own preference would be to reject it.”

  “Then we should discuss the details of our terms,” offered Thillmarius.

  The two She’Har trainers spoke at length before eventually settling on the specifics. Tyrion would be allowed to spend twenty-four hours with the Mordan Grove’s new slave in exchange for a sample of his blood. Dalleth led them to the slave quarters within Sabortrea immediately after drawing his precious sample.

  As they walked, Tyrion scanned the dwellings around them. The structure and layout of Sabortrea was very similar to Ellentrea, but he couldn’t be sure which of the small huts contained his daughter.

  No, that must be her.

  They had gotten closer and he now sensed a dwelling with a noticeably different occupant. A girl was within, and he could tell at a glance that she must be at or near the age of fifteen. What really stood out though, was her aythar. Unlike the other human slaves, hers was far brighter; she shone in his magesight like a star among candles. Her strength was far greater than anything he had seen before, among either the She’Har or their human property.

  And someone was in the small hut with her.

  He could feel her pain well before they reached the door, and his rage, long dormant over the past years, began to rise once again.

  Lyralliantha’s hand was on his arm. “Remember, this is not our place. I cannot shield you if you make a mistake here.”

  His eyes were stony, staring ahead as he responded. “I know.”

  Dalleth watched him, a faint smile on his lips. At his touch, the living wood of the doorway drew apart. “You may enter.”

  Tyrion stepped inside without hesitation, although he could sense Lyralliantha’s hand behind him. She had tried to catch his arm again, to urge caution. Within, his eyes saw what his other senses had already shown him. A man in brown leathers stood over the girl, the red whip so often used by the wardens in his hand.

  The girl at his feet was young, her body still soft and her features still rounded with the fat that gradually disappears in adulthood. She was naked, like all slaves of the She’Har, and her skin was marked with dirt and bruises. Dried blood stained her thigh.

  His eyes took these things in instantly, with a clarity wrought from adrenaline. The red whip was descending toward her, and he reached out, catching it with his left hand, feeling the old, familiar agony as it wrapped itself around his wrist.

  A shield would have saved him from the pain, but to raise one in the presence of the She’Har was a declaration of hostility. Instead, he caught it without protection, gritting his teeth while the magic of the whip sent fire through his nerves and tore at his sanity.

  It was something he would never have dreamed of before. His first year among the She’Har had instilled a fear of the red whips that went so deep as to be engraved in his soul, but that was the fear of another man. He wasn’t Daniel Tennick anymore. He was Tyrion, and his anger, like a silent tempest, had scoured his soul clean of its old frailties.

  “We need to step outside,” he told the warden, his lips twitching involuntarily as he spoke.

  The warden’s eyes widened as he stared at the man holding the other end of his whip. The pain should have sent him to the ground, screaming and twitching, but rather than collapsing, Tyrion continued to hold it, a grimace on his face and sweat forming on his brow.

  “Tyrion no!” barked Lyralliantha. She knew him well enough to see that he was almost beyond reason now.

  The warden’s eyes flicked to the doorway, noting the presence of the three She’Har, including his own master, Dalleth. They returned to Tyrion’s face, and then he released his will, letting the red whip vanish. “My lord,” he said, dipping his head in deference to the She’Har.

  “Outside,” repeated Tyrion slowly.

  The girl watched them in confusion, not knowing any of them. She hadn’t seen Tyrion since she was a small child, and it was highly unlikely she would recognize him. She scrambled back from them across the dirt floor, pressing her back against the far wall.

  “If he damages my property, there will be consequences,” said Dalleth coolly, speaking to Thillmarius and Lyralliantha.

  Tyrion glanced at Lyralliantha, noting the fear in her eyes. It was not something he had ever seen before. She’s afraid of losing me. He knew his next actions would likely result in a swift demise, but he no longer cared.

  “Actually,” said Thillmarius, his voice sudden and unexpected, “I have an idea. Would you consider selling me a couple of your wardens, Dalleth? I promise you’ll find it entertaining.”

  Chapter 3

  The evening air was cool as he stepped into the arena. He felt it more acutely now, since he had been forced to remove his clothing and leathers. It had been many years since the last time he had crossed into such a space.

  “What are those strange markings?” asked Dalleth from behind him. The question, naturally enough, was addressed toward Lyralliantha rather than her slave. The Mordan She’Har was puzzled by the tattoos that covered Tyrion’s body. Most of them had been added in the years since he had been released from the arena.

  “A new magic, but I doubt we will get to see it,” she answered smoothly.

  “Why is that?” said Dalleth.

  “This fight won’t require it.” She glanced down at the girl standing in front of her. The young human was trembling, which was understandable considering the cold air, but Lyralliantha could also sense her fear. In the human tongue she added, “Relax child, no further harm will come to you today.”

  Dalleth coughed, then commented to her in Erollith, “Child? The rumors must be true.”

  Lyralliantha raised a brow in an unspoken question.

  “That
you’ve gone soft on the baratti,” he stated.

  Thillmarius broke in, “The Illeniels have never been in favor of keeping the baratti as slaves.”

  “Yet she keeps one,” noted Dalleth. “He is more of a pet to you, though, isn’t he? Or do you have more perverse ‘emotional’ ties?”

  She ignored the question. “They are about to begin.” Touching the girl’s shoulder she added in Barion, “Pay attention, child, you may learn something that will help you survive.”

  Tyrion was staring across the field, watching the two men who had just entered from the other side. One was the warden he had just met, the other was new to him. As far as he knew they were both Mordan, meaning they would be able to teleport. It was a troublesome talent, and one that made it hard to predict where they would be from moment to moment.

  In the past he had dealt with that problem by turning large regions of the arena into an uninhabitable hell, either with wind or fire. It was a brute force approach that would end the match too soon, however. Now that he was in the arena once more, he found himself not wanting to end it too quickly.

  The two wardens across from him stepped apart from each other, exchanging a few quiet words. Then, the first one raised his voice, “No shield, Tyrion?” The Mordan vanished after his first words, reappearing twenty feet closer before vanishing again. He was advancing toward Tyrion by teleporting unpredictably, always closer but never following a straight line. The second warden remained where he had entered the arena.

  “It wouldn’t be interesting if you didn’t have a chance,” answered Tyrion. As soon as he spoke, the second warden vanished.

  It was an old tactic. The one who was advancing was meant to hold his attention, while the second would appear behind him at the moment he seemed most distracted.

  The second warden appeared and then flew backward, struck by a wave of pure force so powerful that his shield collapsed. The man’s body hit the outer barrier that surrounded the arena with lethal speed. He was dead before he finished falling to the ground.

  Tyrion hadn’t even turned. Still watching the first warden he cursed, “Damn. I had hoped this would last a little longer.” Focusing his will on his hand, he batted aside the deadly lance that the first warden had sent surging toward his midsection. His return attack blasted the warden’s shield with a powerful strike calculated to almost overwhelm his foe’s defense, without actually doing so.