“Lead the way,” Tel Hesani said, then fell in behind Jebel. The pair ran along after the panting Um Rashrasha, Tel Hesani listening for sounds of pursuit.
Khubtha took a right turn, then a left. They panted down a long, wide street, then came to an even broader one, where the market had been that morning. The snow was churned up, as Khubtha had said it would be. At Tel Hesani’s command they slowed to a walk, so their strides matched the rest of the marks. They spread out, Khubtha left, Jebel right, Tel Hesani in the middle. At the end of the street was a road. The snow wasn’t as disturbed there, but there were enough prints to mask their own. Halfway down, Khubtha made another turn, then stopped at an old house whose roof had fallen in.
“How about this?” Khubtha asked.
Tel Hesani frowned. “It’s close to where we’ve come from.”
“They’ll expect us to run far before we stop,” said Khubtha. “I’ve seen dozens of men try to escape, but only a few ever made it out of Disi. The trick is to get off the streets as soon as you can. Hide, wait for night, give yourself time to form a plan. We’re exposed at the moment. Somebody will see us. Alarms will be raised.”
That made sense, so Tel Hesani told Jebel to slip into the house, past the broken front door. Jebel didn’t want to box himself in, but he deferred to Tel Hesani. Khubtha went next, Tel Hesani last, after checking the street one final time to make sure nobody had seen them.
It was dark inside, and cold. Moss grew on the walls. There were frozen puddles of water. The fugitives moved to one of the rear rooms, where the windows were boarded over, and lay down. All three were puffing and shivering. Jebel was dressed warmly, but Tel Hesani and Khubtha were clad in rags.
Once they got their breath back—although Khubtha still wheezed, as he always did—Tel Hesani smiled weakly at Jebel. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you either,” Jebel laughed, feeling a strange surge of friendship for the slave. “I was sure they’d stick you down a mine.”
“They were going to,” Tel Hesani said. “But the slavers who Bush and Blair sold me to gambled when they came here, and lost heavily. They had to sell me to pay off their debts. The man who bought me is a trader. He meant to auction me in a big market they hold in Disi at the start of the year, when the wealthiest miners gather and pay the highest prices. He rented me out in the meantime. That’s how I ended up working on the streets.”
Tel Hesani asked about Jebel’s adventures, and Jebel spent a few minutes filling him in on his recent, grisly past. Tel Hesani listened quietly, watching the boy’s face as he described his graverobbing duties, noting the different tone in his voice. Jebel sounded less arrogant than when Tel Hesani had last seen him. Back then the boy had thought himself the hero of Makhras, but he had learned some humility since their paths diverged. That surprised Tel Hesani, who had deemed Jebel incapable of change.
When Jebel finished, it was Khubtha’s turn. He didn’t have much to say. “You know most of my story,” he told Tel Hesani. “I’m a slave with weak lungs. When I found myself free on the street, my first instinct was to stay there and let myself be chained again—that would have been the safest option. Then I thought, if Tel Hesani has the courage to escape, why not me too? So I ran.”
“It’s dangerous,” Tel Hesani noted. “If you’d stayed, you wouldn’t have been punished. You might even have been rewarded for not running. But from what I’ve gathered of the laws here, any slave who tries to escape is executed if recaptured.”
“Yes. The only way—” Khubtha stopped himself and coughed. “Yes,” he said again when he got his breath back. “If the Um Saga catch us, they’ll kill us.”
“But you ran anyway,” Tel Hesani said.
Khubtha nodded. “With my lungs, I wouldn’t have survived much longer on the streets. It’s not too bad in summer, but the snows would have been the death of me. I figured, if I’m going to die whether I stay or run, why not die running?”
Tel Hesani squeezed Khubtha’s bony arm. “They took a lot from you when they enslaved you, but not your courage.”
Khubtha blushed. “Let’s get some rest,” he muttered.
Leaning against one of the drier walls, Khubtha closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself. Tel Hesani did the same. Jebel was about to lean back when he looked at his clothes and paused. He didn’t need so many layers. If he gave his cloak to Tel Hesani and Khubtha to share, all three of them would be moderately warm.
Jebel opened his mouth to make the offer… then closed it. The older men were slaves. He would need their help if he was to make it out of this hellish country, but they weren’t his equals. The gods cursed those who tried to help the weak, and the last thing Jebel wanted was to get on the wrong side of the gods. It didn’t feel right keeping the cloak to himself, but he knew that any Um Aineh who showed pity to a slave would be scorned by his people back home.
Khubtha caught Jebel’s eye as the boy settled back and pulled the cloak tighter around himself. The Um Rashrasha stared longingly at the cloak, and there was an unvoiced plea in his expression. Jebel flushed, feeling an unavoidable pang of guilt, but he said nothing, only turned his head away so that he would not have to look at the slave. He would rather offend Khubtha than the gods.
When darkness fell, Tel Hesani rose and went to study the street. “I don’t see anyone,” he reported back. “I think it’s safe to leave.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” Khubtha wheezed. “We should stay here for a few nights. They’ll expect us to run. If we wait, we might outfox them.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Tel Hesani said.
“They’d have searched this house by now if they were going to,” Khubtha argued. “Nobody will look for us here. We’re safe.”
“What can we eat?” asked Jebel.
“We don’t have to eat,” Khubtha said. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone a few days without food. We can wait for a storm, then slip away.”
“That’s a good point,” Tel Hesani reflected. “The sky’s clear. If we leave now, we’ll be exposed. Good thinking, Khubtha.”
The Um Rashrasha chuckled. “You have lots of time to think when you’re shoveling snow. Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch in case anyone comes sniffing around.”
Jebel didn’t think he could sleep, what with the cold and threat of recapture. But he saw Tel Hesani drop off after a few minutes, and as he watched the slow, steady rise and fall of the slave’s chest, he felt his own eyelids drooping, and he joined the Um Kheshabah in the land of dreams soon after.
Jebel was roughly kicked awake. A foot connected with his jaw and sent his head snapping back. As he jolted out of sleep, somebody pinned him to the floor. He cried for help, but then he saw the Um Kheshabah, arms bound, surrounded by three men. His heart sank, and he looked for Khubtha, wondering why he hadn’t warned them. That question was soon answered when he spotted Khubtha standing nearby, wrapped in a rug, smiling.
“Traitor!” Jebel screamed.
Tel Hesani stopped struggling and stared at Khubtha. “You betrayed us?”
“I had to,” said Khubtha. He didn’t sound ashamed.
“Why?” Tel Hesani asked as soldiers jerked him to his feet. “They won’t free you. Um Saga never free slaves. And they execute all who try to escape.”
“No,” Khubtha said. “The Um Saga waive the death penalty if an escaped slave turns in another. They’ll take me off the streets and put me to work in a factory. I’ll live longer. Maybe I’ll find a woman, have children….” He shrugged.
“But they’ll kill us!” Jebel roared.
“So what?” sneered Khubtha. “You’d have done the same thing if you’d been a bit smarter. I feel bad about Tel Hesani—he’s an honorable man—but you deserve all this and more. You Um Aineh only think of yourselves. Did you offer to share your warm clothes with us?” He ripped Jebel’s cloak away and draped it around Tel Hesani’s shoulders. The Um Kheshabah did
n’t react. He was staring at the ground, making his peace with God.
“All right,” one of the soldiers said, binding Jebel’s hands. “Take them away.”
“Where?” Jebel asked sickly.
“The Uneishu,” Khubtha answered with grim satisfaction. “That’s the Disi court. It’s always open for business. Justice works quickly and surely here in Abu Saga. You’ll be tried, found guilty, and executed within the next hour.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Uneishu was a large circular building with a domed roof. It had been home to the city’s governers for more than two hundred years. The Um Saga were a violent, abrasive race. Internal conflict was rife, and the Uneishu stayed open all hours, its judges working in rotation to sort through the dozens of cases that were brought before them in the space of an average day.
The Uneishu was divided into a series of rooms of various sizes. Jebel and Tel Hesani were marched to a large room in the middle of the building, where slave-related matters were dealt with.
The captured fugitives were placed with a group of ten slaves. Their owners were engaged in an argument in front of a podium. An elderly judge was listening with a bored expression. A handful of traders and slavers stood or sat nearby, following the case. Often, if an argument couldn’t be settled, the slaves were sold off and the profits split between the two parties. The gathered gentlemen were in search of a bargain.
Jebel felt numb. He couldn’t believe that he was about to die. And executed too—what an irony! He had fled from home to chase his dream of becoming executioner, and now he was going to die by the blade of an axe.
Tel Hesani was praying. He asked God to forgive him any outstanding sins. He prayed for the safety of his family and even put in a good word for Jebel, though the boy wasn’t high on his list of priorities. He hoped, most of all, that it would be a quick, painless death.
As Tel Hesani prayed, a strange-looking pair slipped into the room and sidled up behind the slavers and traders. Bush and Blair had heard about the capture and had come to see Jebel and Tel Hesani beheaded.
“Let us pray most fervently for a rusty blade,” Blair muttered.
“And a feeble executioner who needs five or six chops to finish the job,” Bush snarled, then frowned. “The three-strikes rule doesn’t apply here, does it?”
“No,” Blair said. “Their executioners are not as skilled as the Um Aineh’s, so they let them hack away as many times as they need.”
“Good,” said Bush sourly. They were both bitter, not just at the loss of their slave but because, as Jebel’s owners, they had been forced to pay towards his recapture.
The case before the judge was decided—a split ruling, slaves to be auctioned off immediately. The slavers and traders bid on the group, and the highest bidder made off with them, delighted with his purchase.
Jebel and Tel Hesani were led up next.
“Escaped slaves,” the soldier with them grunted.
“Did they injure anyone?” the judge asked.
“Broke one of my men’s legs.”
“Does he want them tortured?” Death was the punishment for escape, but any other crimes committed by the slaves had to be dealt with first.
“No,” the soldier said. Actually, the man with the broken leg did wish to see them suffer, but he wasn’t present, and the arresting officer couldn’t care less—he only wanted to get home to bed.
“Have the costs of pursuit and capture been settled?” asked the judge.
“Yes.” The soldier nodded at Bush and Blair. “The younger slave belonged to them. They covered half. I know who the other one belonged to, and he’s good for the money. I’ll collect it tomorrow.”
The judge fixed his gaze on Jebel and Tel Hesani. “We don’t tolerate your kind here,” he growled. “Slaves are property, and we expect property to remain where we place it. You will be taken to the room adjacent to this and hanged until dead.”
“Hanged?” Bush yelped. When the judge glared at him, Bush bowed obediently. “Forgive the interruption, your worship, but we were told that their heads were to be chopped off.”
“Our executioner hurt his back riding,” the judge explained. “Hanging is easier, and the result’s the same, so—”
“Again, I beg your forgiveness,” Bush cut in, “but we were charged the cost of a professional executioner. If you’re just going to stick ropes around their necks, I imagine the sums involved will be considerably less.”
“Very well,” said the judge irritably. “You can arrange a partial refund with my clerk. I’ll leave you to argue the price with him and the arresting officer.”
The soldier groaned and rolled his eyes. Bush smiled, bowed again, and sat down.
“Now,” the judge said, waving at Jebel and Tel Hesani, “it only remains—”
“A moment,” somebody murmured, and the judge fell silent. A broad, squat man stepped forward from where he had been standing in the shadows by the doorway. He was an Um Saga, but he looked different from most of his race. He had shaven his head and beard, and there were red streaks under his eyes, as if he’d wept tears of blood. He gripped a thick walking stick adorned with a baby vulture’s skull. He wore a thin robe, cut away at the shoulders to reveal his arms. He wasn’t wearing shoes.
The man circled Jebel and Tel Hesani, studying them with small, dark eyes. He paid close attention to the mark on Tel Hesani’s face and Jebel’s tattoo, clearly visible now that his cloak had been taken from him. There was something strange about the man’s head, but it took Jebel a while to realize that the lower, fleshy lobes of both his ears had been cut off, as had the flesh at the sides of his nostrils.
The soldier guarding Jebel and Tel Hesani nervously stepped away from the mysterious man. Even the judge looked uneasy. Nothing was said while he circled the slaves. When he was satisfied, he turned towards the judge.
“I want them.”
The judge cleared his throat. “Qasr Bint… I appreciate your position, but these are condemned men. May I suggest the ten who have just been—”
“I want only two,” Qasr Bint said quietly.
“We can cull a couple from the group,” the judge said. “Or from tomorrow’s stock if those tonight were not to your—”
“I want these two,” Qasr Bint insisted.
The judge hesitated. The long-established law for slaves who tried to escape was clear, but so was the more recent law passed by the high lord regarding men like Qasr Bint. He didn’t know which he should be seen to support.
As the judge deliberated, Qasr Bint smiled thinly. “I offer no reprieve, merely a delay. These two have sinned and must be punished. They will die at my hand, I assure you, maybe a week from now, maybe a year. But they will be executed. Of course, if you wish to discuss it with the high lord first, I would be more than happy to summon him here.”
“There’s no need to disturb him at this hour,” the judge scowled, deciding that it would be wiser to obey the wishes of a current high lord than those of his long-dead peers. “Very well. They’re yours. But if you set them free, you will be asked by this court to account for your actions.”
“I will set them free only when I take a knife to their throats,” Qasr Bint said. Then he sliced through the prisoners’ bonds, sheathed his blade, pointed to the exit, and led them past an astonished Bush and Blair and out of the Uneishu. Though life was unexpectedly theirs again, neither Jebel nor Tel Hesani felt much relief, and both wondered if they might have been better off if they had been left inside to dangle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Qasr Bint walked slowly and stiffly. He never once glanced back at Jebel and Tel Hesani, but neither thought for a moment of trying to escape—they sensed that he would turn on them instantly if they did, and crack their heads open with his walking stick.
There weren’t many people on the streets at that time of night, but the few who were abroad scattered when they saw Qasr Bint striding towards them. They vanished into their homes, inns or deserte
d buildings—whatever was nearest.
Qasr Bint headed north to the outskirts of Disi, to a small camp of tents arranged in a triangle. A few dozen people squatted within the triangle, muttering prayers, facing the apex, where the tallest tent stood. All had shaven themselves bald like Qasr Bint and were dressed in similar robes. Most scratched at their flesh with long, jagged fingernails. Blood from their wounds trickled into the snow, and small crimson pools had formed around many.
Qasr Bint stood at the rear of the group, looking on with a thin smile. Then he clapped loudly and bellowed, “Enough! Sleep now. We leave in the morning.”
The people rose and made for their tents. When they were all inside, Qasr Bint advanced to the tall tent. He stopped short of it, then drew back the flap of a tent to his left. A bony, wide-eyed, bloodstained woman looked out, her face alight. “Is it time, master?” she asked in a reedy, trembling voice.
“Not yet, daughter,” Qasr Bint said. “I’ve brought back two new converts. Will you guard them for me?”
The woman looked disappointed, but she nodded and said, “Of course.”
Qasr Bint trained his gaze on Jebel and Tel Hesani. “You will sleep here. We’ll break camp early. When we stop in the evening, come to me and I will tell you of your new, wonderful purpose in life.”
He slipped inside the tall tent and closed the flap. Jebel and Tel Hesani glanced at each other. Nobody but the woman appeared to be watching. The opportunity to escape seemed too good to be true. But both felt that they were being secretly observed and any attempt to escape would be harshly cut short.
They entered the tent and lay on bare earth next to the woman. Without a word, Jebel and Tel Hesani stretched out and lay in the darkness, uncovered by blankets, eyes open, ill at ease, and entirely unsure of what the morning would bring.
As Jebel tried in vain to fall asleep, he became aware of a small clicking noise. He turned and looked at the woman. Her robe was raised above her knees and she was scratching at a wound on her thigh. She had worked her way through to the bone and was picking at it with her nails.