The Unsound Prince Page 19

  Ochren let them sleep until the sun was just over the horizon. The company ate the last of the provisions they’d brought from Shaker’s Hope, and there was a little cold meat left over from Shyleen's hunting expeditions.

  Colma brought Mudge his food, and the prince took it with a nod. When Colma first appointed himself to look after Mudge, it hadn't seemed right, but Colma insisted that it made him feel more useful. In the end Mudge had accepted that.

  It was something he had learned from being around his father. People had a wide range of talents and skills, and it was up to them what they offered. The web of feelings that created relationships was a complex one, and it was not up to him to say what someone should offer.

  Mudge made the most of the meal. From now on the ‘slaves’ would be lucky to get grains softened with cold water twice a day, and they would have to prepare it themselves. Senovila would buy something similar to animal feed when they got to Jik. It was standard slave fare.

  Shortly thereafter they were angling down the gentle slope toward the salt plain. The new 'slaves' were suitably dishevelled, and tied by short leather cords from wrist to wrist. With their backs bent in submission, they almost looked the part.

  Senovila and Arnima drove the cart, while Ochren marched his charges alongside. He prodded them along with a hunter’s whip that more than tripled his reach. They’d been warned that there would be times he would have to act the part, and the whip would be used.

  The cart ambled into the salt town just before midday. The travellers had been on the salt plain since mid-morning, and the combination of sun above and reflection below had been hard on all of them. Closer to Jik the long rows of stockpiled salt had cut back the glare, and they’d been thankful for that.

  The new ‘slaves’ tried to get a feel for the town with occasional sidelong glances. Mostly they just shambled along, looking down. There were low, flat mounds on either side of the ruts in the street of solid salt. Occasional entrances dove down into the salt plain on either side. It was all very odd.

  Senovila shouted something in Xaanian to Ochren, who pushed the slaves roughly toward a sign that said ‘stables’ on their left. They trudged down a ramp that led into a large underground structure. Despite his cowed posture, Mudge caught glimpses of the surroundings.

  Long chambers, three paces wide, had been dug out of the salt. They had been connected to form an underground labyrinth. Poles had been laid over the chambers and topped with rushes, before being overlaid with salt. He guessed it made the stables cooler, and used the minimum of building materials. Everything the town used would have to be brought in a considerable distance.

  Ochren started to speak in his broken Xaanian to the stable hand, a slight boy of around twelve years of age, but the stable owner appeared and pushed the boy aside. He grimaced when he saw the weeping discolouration on the wretches lashed to each other behind Ochren

  "Take your slaves to the salt workings,” he growled, "and stop wasting my time. They've got doss houses for them there.”

  "I'm taking this lot back to Xaan," retorted Ochren, "and don't worry, I'll pay twice the standard rate for two of your stalls.

  “Come on now, what's it to be,” he snorted, when the man hesitated. “Do you want our business or not?"

  He stared at the stable owner belligerently, and eventually the man dropped his eyes.

  "All right then," conceded the owner. "Just the one night, like you said to the boy."

  He looked at the slaves suspiciously, noticing the absence of salt sores and the colour still present in the ragged clothing. These people hadn't been outside working in the bright sun that faded clothes so quickly.

  "Kitchen duty," said Ochren harshly, guessing what was troubling the owner.

  "One comes out in a rash and then they’ve all got it," he said in disgust. "The supervisors made one hells of a stink about it. Now I've got to take them all to Xaan for treatment."

  Ochren figured there had to be kitchens somewhere, serving up slops for the salt workers. He just hoped the stable owner wouldn’t ask him questions about it. He leaned conspiratorially toward the other man.

  "Should just take them into the mountains and cut their throats, eh? Got to feed them while they’re off work, and the apothecarists know how to charge for medicines. Too damn right!”

  The stable owner nodded his approval. Ochren had taken him for a cruel and self-centred man, and the words played to those qualities in him.

  Ochren led the slaves into the chamber the stable boss indicated, and tied off the leather cords to wooden fittings in the wall. He wondered why they weren’t made of a more permanent material. Then he figured metal bolts wouldn't last long in salt.

  A quick check of the other chambers told him the stables were empty. He knew that was likely to change when travellers arrived at the end of the day.

  He told his slave charges to get some rest until the midday heat was over, and pointed to the rough straw along one side of the chamber. He made his voice hard, sour with life, but he winked when his face was hidden from the stable owner. Then he climbed up the ramp to find Senovila and Arnima.

  The stable owner yelled something at the boy, who took a wooden bucket over to a barrel of water near the entrance. He was filling it when two hunters came down the ramp. They lodged their horses in chambers further along the corridor. When they’d sorted out a deal with the owner and climbed back up the ramp, the stables were quiet again.

  "Hey, kid," whispered Bear to the boy, when he brought the bucket to them. "Where does Jik get its water from? There's none in the middle of the desert.”

  The boy looked fearfully along the main corridor, but the owner was nowhere to be seen.

  “Big aqueduct," he whispered. "Comes all the way from reservoirs in the mountains behind Xianak. It's covered with stone slabs in the desert to stop it drying out."

  Bear was struggling to keep up with the boy in his poor Xaanian. Ochren had tried to teach him the language, and it was a requirement for Senior Rangers to know at least one other tongue. Unfortunately there had been little time to study with all his other training, and having to keep his Ranger identity secret in Shaker’s Hope.

  “Hey, thanks,” said Bear warmly. He turned to take a ladle of water that Shyleen was passing along the line.

  The boy smiled, uplifted by what was perhaps his first civil conversation in months. He hurried off to clean out stalls down the corridor.

  “Strange little tyke,” said Bear thoughtfully. He was sipping the water slowly, so his stomach didn’t rebel after the hot, dry morning. He checked the corridor to make sure no one could hear them speaking in the Karnatic tongue.

  “Yeah, but what’s he doing here?’ chipped in Liam softly. He'd been surprised by the boy’s upright bearing, though he hadn’t understood the conversation with Bear.

  Bear said he hadn’t asked him how he got to the stables. Then he went on to explain the aqueduct to the others.

  “That boy’s not used to work,” said Mareet quietly. “Did you see his hands, soft and slender, and no callouses. Look at the cords on his ankles to limit his steps, someone doesn't want him to get far if he tries to escape.”

  "Not that he’d have much of a chance," added Mudge. "This must be the perfect place to imprison somebody, in the middle of a dry salt lake."

  “Well, he does seem a bit out of place here,” concluded Liam.

  By late afternoon, most of them had managed to doze off on the straw. Then there was a commotion from down the corridor, and a tremendous crash. The Rangers were on their feet almost before their eyes opened. It was a survival reflex that had been hammered into them during training.

  The travellers crowded to the front of the chamber, as far as the leather cords would allow. They watched as the stable boy tried to lead a stallion along the main corridor toward the ramp. The stable owner appeared from somewhere and ripped the lines out of the boy's hand. A quick glance showed him the boy had placed the bit badly in the horse’s mo
uth.

  He surveyed the broken stable door and the other horse that had been in the chamber. It was disappearing up a ramp onto the street. Then he grabbed the boy firmly by the shoulder, forestalling any attempt at escape.

  “My father is Usef Bey!" squealed the boy, fearing the thrashing that was to come. "You wouldn't treat me like this if my father was here!"

  The owner hitched the horse to the nearest wooden fitting. Then he backhanded the boy viciously, knocking him to the ground.

  "Your father's dead, boy," he hissed as he hauled him to his feet. Then he raised his fist to hit him again.

  Bear’s iron grip stopped his fist as effectively as if it had been nailed to the wall. The owner looked behind him, and saw Bear at the end of the line of slaves. The leather cord that had tied him to the wall was dangling uselessly from his wrist.

  The owner snarled and let go of the boy. He pulled a dagger from inside his jerkin before slicing at Bear’s hand. Bear let go at the last moment.

  The owner froze as he felt the prick of sharp steel at the base of his throat.

  “I'll discipline my slaves, if you don't mind," said Senovila coolly, pushing the tip of the dagger a little deeper to emphasise the point.

  The owner pulled his head back, away from the dagger point, and raised his hands in surrender. Senovila took some money from inside his cloth belt and poked it into one of the man's pockets.

  "Triple rates, can't say fairer than that, can I," he said. Then he took his dagger away from the man's throat. The owner scowled at Bear before returning his own dagger to his jerkin.

  Ochren stepped forward from behind Senovila and slashed Bear across the neck with his hunter’s whip. He opened up a cut that immediately began to bleed. Then he pushed the slaves roughly back to their chamber and re-fastened the leather cord.

  Ochren was standing guard over the slaves when Senovila and Arnima led the cart down the ramp and lodged it in the chamber next door. The items they had bought were lashed across the tray. Senovila unloaded a sack of mixed grains, mostly horse oats and flax seed. Then he set a few handfuls to soak in cold water.

  When he was sure there was no one around, Ochren hurried over to Bear. Shyleen had already wiped away the blood. Arnima was preparing a paste that would close it off, and stop the bleeding.

  “You all right, boy?” said Ochren quietly, concerned for his son. Before he could tell Bear he’d been forced to strike him to make it realistic, Bear held up his hand.

  “I let us all down, sensa,” he said. He was referring to a senior Ranger, or Ranger in charge.

  “I let my own feelings of outrage became more important than our mission. What is my sense of right and wrong against the future of the Karnatic League, and a worthwhile future for all our families?”

  Ochren sat back on his heels. Bear had chosen to make this a Ranger matter, rather than a family one, and he was right to do so. Ochren smiled. He had been about to let his feelings for his son take precedence over their mission, a similar mistake.

  “Understood,” he said briskly, standing up. He touched his fingers together for a moment to make the shape of an arrowhead. In Ranger sign language it meant the team was unbroken, perfectly functional. Bear nodded once to acknowledge the symbol.

  Mudge understood something too. His father had tried to train him to see his feelings were only part of a larger picture, and that was making sense now. He wished he’d trained harder, and been better at it.

  Ochren let them sleep for a few hours, and woke them late in the afternoon. It was still early for other travellers to arrive at the stables. Checking that the corridor was clear, he outlined a change of plan.

  "I was thinking to stay here overnight," he said to the others quietly. "That way Senovila, Arnima and I could listen to the street talk, and find out what life is like in Xaan these days. It's always a good idea to get as much local information as possible, so we can blend in when we get to Xianak.

  "But I don’t think the stable owner is keeping quiet about us. Word will be spreading, and someone might get suspicious. I think we should leave as soon as it gets dark. Senovila has asked about the way to Xianak, and the road starts at the end of the street."

  "What about the boy?" said Bear. He was loathe to see the boy continue to be so badly treated by the stable owner.

  Senovila cleared his throat and looked thoughtful.

  "There was a Xandar Usef in Xaan when I lived there," he said hesitantly. "He was about my age, or a bit younger. We all thought he’d make a good governor one day.

  "Since then I've heard bits of news about a Usef Bey, governor of one of the outer provinces. It sounds like the same man.”

  Senovila sighed deeply.

  "That was before the purges by Ottar Bey. Xaan lost most of its best leaders while the black king was rising to power. It's quite possible this boy is Usef Bey’s son. Once the council bodyguard got rid of the governor himself, the rest of the family would be sold as slaves. They wouldn't be considered a political threat."

  "The boy's not our problem," said Ochren bluntly. "We can't reduce our own chances of success by helping him in some way, even though he's in a heartbreaking situation here."

  "You may be right," said Mudge thoughtfully, "but I don't think we're looking far enough ahead.”

  The others looked at him, so he outlined what he was thinking.

  “Who’s going to replace the Xaanian Council when we've destroyed Ottar Bey's hold on power? There’s going to be a power vacuum when we remove the evil that put him there.”

  Though he spoke positively, none of them knew if they would ever get that far. As far as Mudge was concerned, it was one day at a time.

  “Who better to give the people of Xaan new heart and a new direction,” he said at last, “than the son of a respected governor from the times before?"

  Ochren looked at him with new respect. It was a point of view worthy of his father. No, it was worthy of any great leader. It seemed the boy was growing into his own destiny, despite his youthfulness. Still, how did they know this hobbled slave boy was the son of Xandar Usef?

  "Leave that to me," said Bear quietly when it was brought up.

  From there they worked out the details of their night time departure, followed by a cold meal of the mixed grains Senovila had purchased earlier.

  "How long do we have to put up with this stuff?" growled Bear. Nonetheless, he pushed another spoonful of the shapeless, colourless, tasteless gruel into his mouth. They were going to need it.

  The others smiled. It wasn't that bad, and it was nourishing.

  Senovila and Ochren checked and double checked the cart and the equipment the travellers were carrying, while the others dozed through the late afternoon. Then they stored everything back on the cart.

  “The boy’s story checks out,” whispered Bear later, when darkness had fallen. The town had soon settled down for the night, and it was safe to leave. Ochren freed them of the leather thongs tying them to the walls, and Shyleen checked that nothing was moving in the stables.

  They were ready to leave Jik.

  "His name is Onjed Usef,” said Bear. “He talks about living in a big house in the country, with servants. Then some people came and took him and his family away. The intruders wore black. They didn't say anything, just bound and gagged the family and threw them in carts.

  "He was split from the rest of his family, and held in a big city for a long time. Weeks if not months. Then he was put in a wagon and brought to Jik. He thinks he's been here almost a year now."

  "It fits," said Senovila. "The bodyguard for the Xaanian Council wear black, and that sounds like one of their operations. The timing is right too. Ottar Bey has been First Elect for less then a year, and the purges leading up to his election took place just before that."

  "So, do we take him with us or not?" demanded Bear tersely. It was clear that the decision mattered to him. The others looked toward Mudge. This was a political decision, and he was the prince. It was up to him.


  Mudge wondered if this sort of responsibility would ever feel natural, but he didn't have time to think about his own problems right now.

  He nodded. "We take him," he said firmly.

  FIFTEEN

  The moon was a pale crescent in the western sky. It was about to follow the sun below the horizon. The cart creaked and swayed in the night, and the steady plodding of the horses was the only sound accompanying its wayward rhythms. Temperatures continued to fall on the dry lake bed, but there was no wind.

  The boy they had rescued finally fell silent, which pleased Senovila no end.

  Once he discovered only two of his rescuers spoke Xaanian fluently, Onjed had attached himself to Senovila like a hunting hawk to its master. Brief forays away always ended in a return to the old smith’s side.

  He thought Arnima might have been a better subject for the boy's devotions, but Senovila realised he'd been made some sort of substitute father. It was almost certain that Usef Bey was dead now, and Senovila didn’t have the heart to discourage the boy.

  The first part of their journey, clearing Jik, had been the hardest. They had pulled the cart themselves, avoiding the ruts and easing it along as quietly as they could. They had also muffled the horse's hooves. Without the weight of the cart the horses placed their feet much more quietly.

  At last Ochren had considered them far enough away from the salt-mining town to harness the horses once more. From then on Onjed had been barely able to contain his joy at his new freedom.

  Mudge walked on the other side of the horses to Senovila. Both of them were alert for traffic coming the other way, though it was unlikely. Senovila passed him the reins, and Mudge walked steadily on, keeping an eye on the horses' progress. No one was riding on the cart. They needed to walk to keep the cold at bay.

  The road was hard to see, a mere scratch in the vastness of the flat plain, but the salt seemed to gather and strengthen the pale light from the declining moon. It made the way forward easier to follow.