Chunk 10
I'm still catching up -- less than a thousand words behind pace now, yay. :) In case the counter-widget is still sluggish, I'm up to 17,421.



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Luka moved forward into the doorway as far as he could without touching Roscha. He was conscious of every draft on his bare skin, of every eye they'd passed, but he was doing his best to put his personal shame aside and concentrate on more immediate matters. Right now that was finding Tochi, if he'd understood Roscha correctly. If he hadn't been lying again for his own purposes.

He looked over Roscha's shoulder into the small room, but the only person inside was another foreigner, a younger man with around twenty-five years, with curly hair like Roscha's but a dark gold instead of black.

What he didn't see was Tochi, or anyone else for that matter.

The younger man said, "Wait, what?"

Luka realized that Roscha'd been speaking Ruvori at about the same time Roscha did; he threw his hands up in frustration and babbled something -- presumably the same questions -- in Pilen.

The young man shook his head at Roscha, looking both sad and angry, and said something back. He made a quick, angry gesture at a spot on the stone floor. Luka pushed past Roscha to look, ignoring his nakedness in his need for information. The patch of floor looked freshly scrubbed, but whoever'd cleaned it hadn't done a good job; the quick cleaning had left remnants of blood in the cracks between the stones.

Luka's stomach lurched and a clear picture flashed into his mind of the same priests going into that room and this boy -- hardly older than Tochi himself -- not being fast enough, or strong enough, or clever enough to stop them. Or just not having the rank to enforce his will, as Roscha did. Whatever it'd been, though, they were too late.

They were still babbling back and forth and Luka didn't care to strain to listen, when it would only give him a few words here and there anyway.

Roscha turned and slammed his fist into the wall, then jerked it back with a curse. Luckily there'd been a thickly-woven woolen hanging on the wall, but there was still stone under it and the fool would be fortunate if he hadn't broken something in his hand.

Luka felt the same impulse, but he controlled it. He wanted to smash something, but he didn't. He wanted to strangle Roscha and be done with it, but he didn't do that either.

His heart had been slashed and battered and jerked a dozen different ways. He'd wanted to kill someone and wanted to die and wanted to do both. Now he just wanted nothing. He was exhausted -- not in his body but in his soul -- and wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest, or better yet to lie down and sleep. Sleeping forever sounded like the most desirable thing in the world. He couldn't think any longer and could hardly even feel anything.

Then Roscha grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "It wasn't Tochi! That bastard Yarro got him first before Bayon could just to spite me, but he might've done us a favor. Come on!"

And they were off again, running through the corridors. Luka tried to stir up hope in his heart once more, but there didn't seem to be any there to find.



Chapter Four

Duke Yarro's rooms were back near Arden's own -- clearly the better wing of the palace, where those of higher rank had been put -- but at least he knew how to get back this time. He counted doors and pounded on the fourth. He was about to just barge in when a slave opened the door.

"Where's Yarro?" Arden took a step forward, then another, forcing the slave to back up and let him in. He did so without complaining, and Arden quickly saw why.

The room was a mess of scattered clothing and small items, and a pair of half-packed wicker boxes.

The slave said, "I'm sorry, Master--" but Arden cut him off.

"He's leaving? When?"

"He's gone, Master. I'm sorry." The slave bowed low, his shoulders bent and tense as though bracing for a blow. "He took only a saddlebag and ordered that the rest of his things be brought after him."

"Did he take his slave with him? The new one, the one he got in the victory ritual?"

"Yes, Master." The slave nodded eagerly, seeming happy to be able to answer in the affirmative. "He took only that one. He left me behind to see to his things."

Arden eyed the slave up and down. He seemed to be in good health and reasonably content. He wasn't cringing and had only a couple of old bruises. "You belong to Yarro?"

The slave bowed again and said, "Yes, Master."

That was... actually good news. Arden had first assumed the slave belonged to Pormano, or to one of his staff commanders, assigned to serve the guests and tend to the conquered palace. If he belonged to Yarro, though, that said something about how Yarro handled his slaves. If he trusted this one to pack his belongings and travel home with him, however far that was, then that meant he had some assurance that the fellow wouldn't steal it all and run in the opposite direction. Yarro might be a crown-polishing ass but he wasn't such a fool as to trust a beaten, resentful slave with his property unsupervised.

He was also smart enough to leave the palace as soon as he had his new slave. His habit of encroaching upon his betters might well have earned him some gossip about what was coming, and he'd been smart enough to act upon it. Yarro might be a repulsive suck-up but he wasn't stupid.

This slave seemed dutiful and trustworthy, and anyone with any sense treated such a slave well. Arden had no delusions that Tochi would be similarly dutiful, but if Yarro didn't make a habit of brutalizing his slaves for the sport of it, Arden had hope that they could still find Tochi alive and reasonably sound.

He turned and left, hauling Luka along by one arm. His own room was just a few doors down and he was determined to follow Yarro as quickly as possible.

Luka came along without protest, which was worrying but Arden didn't have time to poke him about it just then. While they walked, he said, "Yarro took Tochi and left before the priests got to him. He's still alive, and we're going to go after him. Yarro's an ass and it'll probably cost me half the treasury to buy Tochi back, but I'll try. At any rate, it looks like Yarro's smart enough to protect his property so he'll likely be fine."

Arden hauled Luka into his room and made a quick survey. He started stripping off his borrowed finery; he'd leave it in the room and let the palace slaves sort out what went where. He tapped Luka on the shoulder, then pointed to a wooden chest. "Find yourself something to wear in there, then go find a slave and arrange for two travelling packs. I'll get money and we'll find second-hand clothing easily enough in this city, but we need to leave as quickly as we can."

He eyed Luka, then reached up with his uninjured hand and tipped the man's chin down, forcing him to look at him. "If you have any thoughts of being stubborn, remember we're going after Tochi. I liked the boy too, but this is mainly for you. If you slack off just to spite me, Yarro will have that much more of a start on us."

Luka glared down at him, then gave him a sharp nod and went to root through the chest.

Good enough. Arden finished stripping and tossed everything on the bed, then pushed in next to Luka and started grabbing clothing out of the chest. "Hurry up, anything will do for now."

Luka snarled something and jerked on a pair of breeches. He was moving faster, though, and that was good enough.



The feast had quieted down noticeably by the time the two of them rode out with packs full of travel food, the clothes on their backs and a purse full of silver drawn from Pormano's steward. The man had whined about expenses but Arden was an imperial prince. Even if he hadn't been, as an army spy -- or rather, a courier, which was how most folk knew him -- he was empowered to draw reasonable amounts for expenses, since most of his official duties involved travelling.

Arden had made sure Luka got the slightly more sluggish-looking of the two horses. He still didn't trust the man, although he'd been subdued enough since they'd left Bayon. That could just be shock, though. Arden had seen it in other men who'd been through other wars. It was useful enough for now -- better to have to prod him now and then than to have to tie him to his horse and watch him all the time -- but it could break at any moment.

He hoped that no matter what else happened, Luka would want to find Tochi, and that that'd keep him cooperative no matter what his mood. Luka didn't know Yarro, didn't know where the man lived or where they were going, so he was dependent on Arden if he ever wanted to see the boy again. Arden was counting on that to keep him docile. Relatively docile.

Arden had asked around while Luka was seeing to their provisions, and he'd found that Yarro had also demanded an extra horse. He'd arrived riding one of his own, with his slave on a donkey. He'd put Tochi on a horse, though, which meant he intended to go faster than a donkey was capable of -- hoping to outrun the priests, no doubt.

Taking a boat would've been faster yet, at least for the first part of the journey, but he hadn't so Arden and Luka were following, riding slowly through the raucous, revelling city toward the south gate.

The looting had blocked a number of streets, as had the drunken celebrations. They couldn't move any faster than a walk, and there were times when they'd have been able to slip by on foot but had to turn back because of the horses, which was particularly frustrating. Eventually they found themselves riding along the south wall, down a familiar street

Arden thought for a moment, then leaned near to Luka and asked, "If you like, we can stop at your house and see if there's anything left you might want to have." He kept his voice low and neutral; seeing the place torn up, especially if any bodies remained, would likely be painful for Luka, and the man was already in an odd state.

Luka glared at him, then glanced over his shoulder at the familiar gate and nodded. They dismounted and led their horses into the courtyard.

There were a few bodies crumpled near the walls, probably hauled over to get them out of the way. Some bulky items of furniture had been discarded with them, and between that and the high walls, the pale moonlight left them in shapeless shadow, nearly unidentifiable if one didn't look too carefully.

Luka sucked in a breath, then looked away and headed inside.

Arden followed him but didn't touch anything. There didn't seem to be much left, but he heard some low rustling and a muttered curse from the bedroom he'd spent two nights in. Luka was on his knees near the hearth and appeared to be trying to pry up one of the bricks with his bare fingers. Arden left him to it and slipped into the bedroom.

A scruffy-looking man, a common soldier by his dress and equipment, was rooting through a chest in a corner. Some clothing had been tossed onto the bed, along with a few ornaments and a small clay icon of some sort.

The man snarled over his shoulder, "I got here first, boy, so move on!"

Arden smirked at the man's back. "Maybe you'd care to sell a few things? Easier than rooting through the trash."

The man gave him a wary look, then a greedy smile. "Depends what you want. There ain't much, but it's in decent shape."

"What've you found?" Arden asked. He figured that if nothing else, the clothes would fit Luka and be familiar.

"Clothes and trinkets," the soldier said. "And these. Too damn long an' too light for their length -- figures the Ruvori don't know how to make a decent sword, that's why they lost -- but I figure they'd make nice trophies. You want one of 'em?"

Luka's swords! Arden stifled a grin and said, "You're right, they're not very well designed, but they'd look well on my wall. I'd want the set, though -- one on either side of the fireplace would look good in my hall back home."

"Well...." The man bit his lip, obviously trying to look doubtful and canny. "I'd really like ta have one for myself, but if you'd insist on the pair, I could let you have 'em for twelve lunars."

Arden rolled his eyes, secure in the knowledge that the soldier wouldn't be able to see him in the dark. Luka's swords were worth at least three hundred, but this ignorant lout could only imagine using one of them the way he used his own short sword, stabbing from behind a shield. From that angle, of course they were rubbish.

He said, "That's high," and frowned. "How about if you throw in the clothes, then? I'll give you twelve for all those clothes on the bed, plus the swords. You can keep the trinkets, peddle them to someone else."

"Done!" The soldier tossed the swords onto the bed and held out his hand.

Arden opened his pouch and counted out twelve silver coins. "There you go. Enough to drink on and likely rent someone's new slave woman for the night."

"Right you are," said the man. He pocketed his bounty, coins and trinkets both, with a huge grin and tossed Arden a salute before swaggering out in search of wine and a woman.