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By the time the rider pulled him off of the saddle and dropped him on a barren patch of ground, Dasen was delirious. He fell to his side and retched, but he’d lost his stomach’s paltry contents long ago. Moaning and writhing in the dirt like a worm, he squinted up at the rider framed by the sun on the other side of a rail fence. The man was smiling. He reached down with the butt of his spear, patted Dasen on the back, and said some words that sounded as if they were meant to be encouraging. Then he wheeled his mount around and rode away, chatting amiably with the rider who had carried Teth.
Ordeal finally over, Dasen took a number of deep breaths and tried to recover. Hands numb and still bound behind his back, there was little he could do for his myriad miseries. He closed his eyes against the pounding of his head, but that only seemed to start the world bouncing all over again. He dared not sit for the burning of his rear where he had been spanked. And his guts ached with every breath. In all, he was not sure the riders had been merciful in not trampling him into the road.
Recognizing a groaning on his other side, he turned his head and saw Teth a few feet away. She was doubled up, knees pressed to her chest, looking every bit as bad as he felt. She caught his eye. Her face turned firm, fear clear in her eyes. “I’m a boy,” she whispered. “Your male cousin, do you understand?”
Dasen nodded, then stopped as the motion nearly made him retch. “Any idea where we are?” he asked.
“In a pen. Probably in the invaders’ camp. We were riding for a long time, going east, I think. We may even be outside Thoren. Can you get your hands free?” Teth squirmed, obviously testing her own bonds.
“I can’t even feel my hands, let alone move them.”
“Well we’ll never get out of here like this.” Teth grunted as she pulled on the bindings.
“Don’t bother, you’ll just hurt yourself,” a new voice said. It was casual, almost friendly, and spoke in the Imperial tongue. A shadow followed the words, landing over both of their eyes as a tall figure positioned himself above them. “Hold still a minute, and I’ll cut you loose.” The figure, a sun-smeared shadow from their perspective, bent. The blade of a short knife shimmered as he pulled it from his belt and brought it around. Dasen’s heart leapt as the knife disappeared behind him. But after a bit of painful tugging, his hands were free.
He brought them to his chest and tried to rub some feeling back into them. His teeth clenched as the blood returned, bringing pins and needles with it.
“Who are you?” Teth snapped behind him. He heard her scuttle away from the figure. Dasen had no such ambitions. He slowly brought himself up to sitting, trying to find a comfortably way to sit on his tender rump.
“Ral Pasdner,” the figure answered Teth immediately with no indication of taking offense at her tone. “You could say I’m the top layer of dirt around here. Even if I’m on top, I get stepped on just the same. You, my new friends, are, for better or worse, several layers farther down.”
“Where are we?” Teth’s tone had not modulated to match Ral’s friendly banter.
“You are in a sheep pen. Rolling in the dirt like a pig.” Ral knelt to their level, exiting the sun so that they could finally see him. He was a young man, maybe a year or two older than Dasen and Teth. He was ragged, dirt smeared, and shaggy as if he had not bathed, shaved, or combed his hair in weeks. A closer look revealed that his tattered shirt and worn pants had once been fine. Those clothes hung off of him like a scarecrow, but Dasen could only imagine that such fine clothes had also been properly tailored – Ral had lost a great deal of weight. “And that’s about as high as you’re going to get,” Ral continued. “The Darthur at least think before they kill pigs. With you . . . .” He paused and looked quickly to the side, like a rabbit having heard a snapping twig.
Dasen followed his eyes but didn’t make it to the source of his anxiety. The pen that housed them was situated on a slight rise, allowing him to see past the split rails through a number of two-story structures beyond an expanse of green pasture to the towers, the three walls, the countless building, the wide grey river. “We’re in Wilmont,” he said softly.
Ral’s eyes popped back to Dasen. “Right you are. Not that it matters one whit. We might as well be on the moon, and the sooner you get your heads around that, the better. Now, I’ve introduced myself, so what are your names, or did the Darthur jar the manners out of you?”
Before Dasen could hope to answer, Teth spoke. “My name is Kevin Muldon, and this is my slow, but older, brother Wil.”
Ral looked at Teth then started to laugh. It was a low, cautious laugh, and he watched the surrounding buildings furtively with each guffaw, but he seemed unable to contain it. When his laughter had been reduced to chuckles, he shook his finger in her face. “That is truly bad luck. Of all the names to choose. I just saw Wil Muldon a few minutes ago. He was chopping wood, and you don’t even look like him. As for Kevin, he died a week ago.” He had one more laugh, wiped a tear from his eye, and turned back to them. “If you want to lie, you should just make up a name. Otherwise, there’s always someone who can reveal the truth.”
Dasen barely noticed a word Ral said after the mention of Wil, and especially Kevin. His thoughts went instantly to Mr. Muldon looking for his sons. Obviously, he’d never found them, and now at least one of them was gone for good. The sadness of it doubled the ache in his already throbbing guts.
“We are all in the same mess here,” Ral said. “The Darthur don’t like any of us any more than another. They don’t care what you did before you were caught. Even if they did, no one but Ipid speaks their language, so I couldn’t tell on you even if I wanted to or they cared to know. Take me. My father ran thirty different caravans through the forests. He was one of the wealthiest men in the Kingdoms, and these brutes treat me like any commoner. On the same note, they treat any commoner like the son of one of the Kingdoms’ wealthiest men.”
Ral paused and thought about what he had said, checking the accuracy of the scrambled logic. Dasen had been dying to interrupt and didn’t miss his chance. “Did you say, Ipid? As in Lord Ipid Ronigan?”
“Shhhhh!” Ral nearly grabbed Dasen’s mouth as he searched their surroundings. “Never use his title. He’s very firm about that.”
“But he’s my father,” Dasen blurted only to hear Teth exhale sharply beside him.
“What?” Ral asked. “What are you trying to say, that you’re Dasen Ronigan?” He seemed to consider this claim only slightly more credible than the first. He looked Dasen over from head to toe, frowning the entire time. “I guess you fit the description, but where’s your wife? Ipid said you’d just left your joining ceremony.”
Dasen could practically feel Teth’s heart racing, her eyes boring into him from the side. “Ironically enough,” he said, “we left her with the Muldon’s. We stayed with them right after their sons were taken. This,” he motioned to Teth, “is my valet . . . Peter Harbisher. We’ve been running from the invaders since just outside Randor’s Pass. We were trying to make it to Thoren, but a patrol caught us earlier today.” He ended by extending his hand to Ral.
Ral looked at his hand suspiciously then shrugged and shook it warily. “Well, I guess we’ll find out the truth soon enough. Ipid was here yesterday and asked about you. He didn’t say anything about a valet, but he can clear it up when he gets back from the city. In the meantime, the Darthur don’t care who you are. Get that through your head. They don’t care that you’re rich. They don’t care that your father is their leader’s favorite. They’ll kill you as soon as look at you, so your best defense is to not have any of them look at you. Got it?”
Dasen nodded solemnly. The last two weeks had already rid him of any sense of grandeur he might have harbored, and he certainly had no intention of making himself known to the invaders, or Darthur as they must be called. But he was desperate to know more about his father. A
translator? A favorite of the invaders’ leader? Getting back from the city? The questions piled up in his mind, fighting to be the first out.
“So what exactly is going on here?” Teth asked before Dasen could manage to order his thoughts.
“Well, that seems kind of obvious,” Ral returned with sudden distaste. “You have been captured by the Darthur – invaders from across the Clouded Range if you’re that far behind. This is where they keep boys about your age. We look after the camp, cook the meals, gather wood, and any other task they want us to do.”
Ral's mood seemed to deteriorate further after that. He shot them each a distasteful look. “Speaking of which, there's still a lot of work to be done before we sleep tonight, and I've already spent too much time with you two. Ipid left me in charge, so you two do whatever I say, got it? If there’s any complaining, lazing, or whining, you don’t eat. And don’t think you get any special privileges because of your father. Remember what I said. The Darthur don’t care who you are, and neither do I.”
He hit Dasen with an odious look that set him back. He wanted to assure Ral that he had no aspirations to his post, but Ral spoke over him as he drew the breath. “I’ll show you around the camp and get you started, but before we leave this pen there are a few things you need to know: Do not speak if any of the Darthur are around no matter what they do. Do not ever look them in the eye. Do not let them see you lazing about. Even if there is nothing to do, find something to make yourself look busy, even if you’re sleeping, even if you’re pissing, make yourself look busy. Do not ever, ever, ever, for any reason, touch their weapons or horses. And do not even think about running off. At the least, any of those will earn you a beating. At the worst, they’ll land your head on the ground several feet from the remainder of your body. Understand?”
Dasen and Teth both nodded.
“Good, then follow me, and keep your yaps shut.”
Chapter 37