Mage Slave
Page 49
Then he ate it quickly and licked the bowl dry. He was alone; no one but Mara knew he was a prince here, if she was even alive. He would do what he pleased.
When he had finished eating, he slowly laid himself back down and stared up at the top of the tent. Where was she? What if something had happened? What if she was—
The wind whipped savagely, disturbing the sides of the tent and threatening collapse. A savage pain stabbed behind his eyes.
He couldn’t think of it. He couldn’t think of her until he knew exactly what was going on.
Footsteps approached. Perhaps this Regin had arrived.
Sure enough, a figure leaned in. “Mind if I join you?” came the old man’s voice.
Aven grunted, then croaked out with a dry, unused voice, “Please do.”
Regin crawled in and sat, legs crossed, near Aven’s feet, closing the tent flap carefully behind him. He held a skin and two round-bottom mugs, and he seemed completely at home in the tiny tent, as if it were just the right size for him and several more people.
“I brought you some water,” Regin said.
Aven struggled to sit up again, albeit with somewhat less difficulty and fewer spinning stars this time. By the time he’d righted himself, Regin had poured some water and handed it to him carefully. Then the old man poured some for himself.
“That was a good thing you did back there,” Regin said, voice soft.
Aven slurped up the whole cup and held it out for more. “The least we could do,” he grunted.
“You may have felt that responsibility, but it was not you who put the arrow to his chest.” The cup was refilled and in Aven’s hand again. Regin’s voice sounded like it spoke for the ages, having pondered every subject deeply. “I said you would have water, rest, food, and safety, and I swear to you that you have it, at least until you are recovered. We can’t afford a run-in with the Devoted any more than you can, but we are glad to give you asylum. It is also the least we could do in return. A life is worth far more than that.” Regin smiled, a twinkle in his eye.
“Thank you,” Aven replied, bowing his head with the sincerity and formality of an ambassador accepting a very generous treaty. “The boy lives?”
“He is the very one who came to fetch me.”
“Good,” Aven said. “We will not overstay our welcome, I assure you. How long have I been out? And where is—my—” He stumbled. She wouldn’t want him to reveal her name, and he wasn’t at all prepared with a fake one or how to dance around the subject delicately. And what could he possibly call her? Please, sir, I’m concerned about the health of my kidnapper, is she safe just next door? I do hope so!
“About two days. She’s in the next tent. Not awake yet, though. I expect she might have another day or so before she wakes up.”
A cold chill ran through him. This was it, he realized. He should leave. He should run. She’d kidnapped him from his home and was taking him to gods-only-knew where. This was the best chance he was likely to get to run away.
But then again, he could hardly sit up. And beyond all that, he knew it was ridiculous to think he would go. He didn’t want to escape her. He was far more concerned that she be all right. He was an idiot, clearly.
“More stew?” Regin asked.
Aven nodded, a little dazed at the feelings swirling through him, how intensely he wanted to stay with his captor. He needed to see that fiery hair at least one more time. He needed to tell her how amazing she’d been to watch, how a boy was alive now because of her, how much he loved her for that.
How much he loved her, period.
Ah, hell. He might as well admit it to himself. He was hopelessly and stupidly in love with her, and it wasn’t going away. What would his parents think if they knew? What an impossible match. What an unlikely queen. But even as he knew how much some might hate the idea of a foreigner or an obvious mage—and there were probably other reasons, for she was probably a commoner, too—he could also see what a queen she could be…
They’d probably never have to overcome those obstacles because they were already up to their necks in worse ones. He should just shut up and keep the dreaming in check until it was at least the slightest bit within reach.
Suddenly, he realized Regin was quietly watching him eat his stew, occasionally glancing at the way the swirling air around Aven disturbed the tent. He wondered what Regin might think of his little quirk. Did he recognize it as magic as well? Not that they really needed to hide that from him at this point. He thought back. When Regin had run into them in the forest, he’d immediately called them out as mages. How had he known? A good guess, or was it more?
“Are you a mage?” Aven asked abruptly.
Regin hardly reacted or moved, just a slight smile curving his wizened old mouth. “Of a sort, yes. But not of your sorts.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I do have the gift. I know a trick here and there. Keep the fruit fresher longer, make the buds bloom a little sooner, make the leaves open in the sunshine. But they’re only tricks. Not your sorts.”
“What do you mean by our sorts?”
Regin smiled broadly. “Oh, you know, the talented sort. Well, and she’s a mage slave. I’m a rare freemage, like you.”
Aven stopped mid-spoonful. Could this man tell him what he needed to know? “A mage slave?”
Regin frowned. “You travel with one, and you don’t know?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like that. Like there’s more involved than riding horses or something.”
“Isn’t there?”
“No!”
“Well, that’s more unusual than encountering a mage slave riding around in Akaria to begin with!” Regin let out a deep chuckle. Aven glared at him. “Oh, calm yourself, son. I mean nothing personal. But really, you don’t know what a mage slave is?”
“Well… no. I’ve gathered she’s from Kavanar. She doesn’t look the slightest bit enslaved, if you ask me.”
“She won’t tell you more?”
“She doesn’t seem to be able to. She says she can’t. Perhaps she just doesn’t want to. I can’t blame her—you saw what happens when people know… more than you might like.”
“Point taken. Well, you know what the Old Ones did, of course, that led to the Dark Days. The king of Kavanar was not forgiving. In line with their sins, all mages would pay. Since those days, all their kin have been enslaved. Many Devoted Knights, the really pious ones, do not kill. They capture mages and take them there to be slaves.”
When he had finished eating, he slowly laid himself back down and stared up at the top of the tent. Where was she? What if something had happened? What if she was—
The wind whipped savagely, disturbing the sides of the tent and threatening collapse. A savage pain stabbed behind his eyes.
He couldn’t think of it. He couldn’t think of her until he knew exactly what was going on.
Footsteps approached. Perhaps this Regin had arrived.
Sure enough, a figure leaned in. “Mind if I join you?” came the old man’s voice.
Aven grunted, then croaked out with a dry, unused voice, “Please do.”
Regin crawled in and sat, legs crossed, near Aven’s feet, closing the tent flap carefully behind him. He held a skin and two round-bottom mugs, and he seemed completely at home in the tiny tent, as if it were just the right size for him and several more people.
“I brought you some water,” Regin said.
Aven struggled to sit up again, albeit with somewhat less difficulty and fewer spinning stars this time. By the time he’d righted himself, Regin had poured some water and handed it to him carefully. Then the old man poured some for himself.
“That was a good thing you did back there,” Regin said, voice soft.
Aven slurped up the whole cup and held it out for more. “The least we could do,” he grunted.
“You may have felt that responsibility, but it was not you who put the arrow to his chest.” The cup was refilled and in Aven’s hand again. Regin’s voice sounded like it spoke for the ages, having pondered every subject deeply. “I said you would have water, rest, food, and safety, and I swear to you that you have it, at least until you are recovered. We can’t afford a run-in with the Devoted any more than you can, but we are glad to give you asylum. It is also the least we could do in return. A life is worth far more than that.” Regin smiled, a twinkle in his eye.
“Thank you,” Aven replied, bowing his head with the sincerity and formality of an ambassador accepting a very generous treaty. “The boy lives?”
“He is the very one who came to fetch me.”
“Good,” Aven said. “We will not overstay our welcome, I assure you. How long have I been out? And where is—my—” He stumbled. She wouldn’t want him to reveal her name, and he wasn’t at all prepared with a fake one or how to dance around the subject delicately. And what could he possibly call her? Please, sir, I’m concerned about the health of my kidnapper, is she safe just next door? I do hope so!
“About two days. She’s in the next tent. Not awake yet, though. I expect she might have another day or so before she wakes up.”
A cold chill ran through him. This was it, he realized. He should leave. He should run. She’d kidnapped him from his home and was taking him to gods-only-knew where. This was the best chance he was likely to get to run away.
But then again, he could hardly sit up. And beyond all that, he knew it was ridiculous to think he would go. He didn’t want to escape her. He was far more concerned that she be all right. He was an idiot, clearly.
“More stew?” Regin asked.
Aven nodded, a little dazed at the feelings swirling through him, how intensely he wanted to stay with his captor. He needed to see that fiery hair at least one more time. He needed to tell her how amazing she’d been to watch, how a boy was alive now because of her, how much he loved her for that.
How much he loved her, period.
Ah, hell. He might as well admit it to himself. He was hopelessly and stupidly in love with her, and it wasn’t going away. What would his parents think if they knew? What an impossible match. What an unlikely queen. But even as he knew how much some might hate the idea of a foreigner or an obvious mage—and there were probably other reasons, for she was probably a commoner, too—he could also see what a queen she could be…
They’d probably never have to overcome those obstacles because they were already up to their necks in worse ones. He should just shut up and keep the dreaming in check until it was at least the slightest bit within reach.
Suddenly, he realized Regin was quietly watching him eat his stew, occasionally glancing at the way the swirling air around Aven disturbed the tent. He wondered what Regin might think of his little quirk. Did he recognize it as magic as well? Not that they really needed to hide that from him at this point. He thought back. When Regin had run into them in the forest, he’d immediately called them out as mages. How had he known? A good guess, or was it more?
“Are you a mage?” Aven asked abruptly.
Regin hardly reacted or moved, just a slight smile curving his wizened old mouth. “Of a sort, yes. But not of your sorts.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I do have the gift. I know a trick here and there. Keep the fruit fresher longer, make the buds bloom a little sooner, make the leaves open in the sunshine. But they’re only tricks. Not your sorts.”
“What do you mean by our sorts?”
Regin smiled broadly. “Oh, you know, the talented sort. Well, and she’s a mage slave. I’m a rare freemage, like you.”
Aven stopped mid-spoonful. Could this man tell him what he needed to know? “A mage slave?”
Regin frowned. “You travel with one, and you don’t know?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like that. Like there’s more involved than riding horses or something.”
“Isn’t there?”
“No!”
“Well, that’s more unusual than encountering a mage slave riding around in Akaria to begin with!” Regin let out a deep chuckle. Aven glared at him. “Oh, calm yourself, son. I mean nothing personal. But really, you don’t know what a mage slave is?”
“Well… no. I’ve gathered she’s from Kavanar. She doesn’t look the slightest bit enslaved, if you ask me.”
“She won’t tell you more?”
“She doesn’t seem to be able to. She says she can’t. Perhaps she just doesn’t want to. I can’t blame her—you saw what happens when people know… more than you might like.”
“Point taken. Well, you know what the Old Ones did, of course, that led to the Dark Days. The king of Kavanar was not forgiving. In line with their sins, all mages would pay. Since those days, all their kin have been enslaved. Many Devoted Knights, the really pious ones, do not kill. They capture mages and take them there to be slaves.”
