Leslie Moore - Griffin's Shadow

“Do you believe what your priests teach you about my people?” Ashinji asked.

“I thought I did,” Thessalina replied, and then she left.

Ashinji rolled onto his side and let his mind slip back into blankness, too exhausted to think about the meaning behind Thessalina’s final words.

“This is the prime specimen you told me about? My lady Thessalina, with all due respect…he looks terrible!”

“That may be so, but he’s young and strong. He’ll heal.”

Ashinji woke with a start from a crazy dream in which a huge, black, four-legged beast with the upper torso of a man screamed at him to watch his back. He moaned aloud at the shock of pain that coursed from his shoulder down through his arm. He tried to flex his fingers but his hand had grown too swollen to close.

“Ah, he’s awake. You say he speaks Soldaran?”

“Fluently.”

“And how do you say his name again?”

“Ash-een-gee.”

“You must be Marcus,” Ashinji murmured through dry, cracked lips. “My new owner.”

He opened his eyes to see a tall, powerfully built man stooping over him. A thick head of curly black hair and a full beard framed the man’s broad face.

“That’s right, Ash…Ashinji. Lady Thessalina has told me a few things about you.” He shot Thessalina an exasperated look. “She didn’t tell me you looked like shit, though!”

“Do we have a deal or not Marcus? I can always sell him to Celene, you know.” Thessalina planted her hands on her hips, impatience evident in every line of her body.

“Temper, temper, my lady. Let’s not be too hasty, now. I said I was interested and I still am, but in light of his, ah, condition, I’m going to have to reduce my offer. Cost of nursing him back to health…the risk I take that he might die of that wound…well, you understand.”

“I understand that you’ll make a handsome profit on him when you re-sell him in Darguinia!” Thessalina’s dark eyes flashed.

“Yes, well. I won’t make anything if he dies. I’ll give you twenty imperials.”

Ashinji wondered how much twenty imperials would purchase-a good warhorse, perhaps, or a decent suit of armor? He found it a very curious experience to be haggled over.

Thessalina frowned. “An elderly house slave might be worth only twenty. He’s a trained fighter. I know for certain you’ll get at least fifty for him, maybe more. I want forty or I’m sending for Celene.”

Marcus chuckled appreciatively. “You’ve missed your calling, my lady. You were born to be a trader. Take thirty five and we’ll shake on it.” He held out a beefy hand. Thessalina extended hers and they shook.

Marcus hunkered down beside Ashinji and fixed him with a penetrating stare. His brown eyes, much to Ashinji’s surprise, held no contempt. “I’ve never had any ill feelings toward your kind,” the slaver began. “So, you’ll not get any special abuse from me. Matter of fact, I believe in treating my stock well, keeping them fit and healthy. I don’t make any money on sick slaves. You’re in no condition to try anything foolish, like an escape attempt, so I won’t bother to warn you against it.” Marcus stood up as far as the low ceiling would allow. He turned toward Thessalina. “I’ll come and collect him first thing tomorrow morning.” Thessalina nodded curtly and followed the slaver out of the enclosure, leaving Ashinji alone with his thoughts.

The dream that had haunted him-of fire and pursuit and a face he knew he should recognize but couldn’t-it had all come to pass in a few terrible, life-altering moments. The image of Sadaiyo turning his back and riding away to abandon him to death would be burned into his mind’s eye forever.

Later that evening, Trip brought him a bowl of soup and a cup of beer, but Ashinji felt too sick to eat. He knew his body needed nourishment in order to heal, but the smell of the food twisted his gut into knots. He begged Trip to take it away, and with a disinterested shrug, the guard complied.

Later still, the surgeon appeared like a blood-spattered apparition, waking Ashinji from a restless doze. He bent down and pressed his blade-thin nose against the bandages that swaddled Ashinji’s shoulder, then raised Ashinji’s arm and ran his fingers over the swollen flesh.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Too much swelling. Not a good sign,” he said. He laid a hand against Ashinji’s forehead. “Fever as well. But the wound has no odor. Puzzling. Perhaps it’s due to your inhuman constitution. I have no experience treating your kind, so I don’t know what to expect.” He clicked his tongue again. “Willow bark, golden seal, and feverfew, I think. Yes, hopefully, they’ll do the trick. I’ll send one of my assistants with a draught.” He turned to go, then paused and said “I suppose you’re in a lot of pain. I’ll send some poppy juice as well.”

Ashinji shook his head. “No. No poppy juice.” The drug would take away his pain, but it would also cloud his mind more than the pain already did. He couldn’t afford to have his thoughts impaired any further.

“Suit yourself, then,” the surgeon growled.

After he departed, Ashinji wondered if he had imagined the blood upon the man’s apron.

“Hey, tink…wake up.”

Ashinji felt the sharp prod of a booted toe in his ribs. He rolled over to see Trip standing over him, hands on hips, his body silhouetted against the bright sunlight pouring into the enclosure.

Blinking against the glare, Ashinji sat up and rubbed his face with his uninjured hand. He made a mental assessment of the state of his body, and realized with relief that the surgeon’s draught had been effective. The swelling in his arm had noticeably decreased and he found that he could now move the fingers of his left hand. A tiny spark of hope kindled in his breast. Perhaps he would escape death awhile longer.

“Gods, you smell strange, tink,” Trip commented. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“I need to…to…” Ashinji began, but the guard finished his sentence.

“Take a piss, sure. ‘Course you do. I’ll take you to the latrines.” He stepped back and waited.

It seemed as if every bone and muscle in his body hurt, and as Ashinji struggled to his feet, he wondered how he would find the strength to make it all the way to Darguinia. He swayed, weak as a newborn lamb, and would have fallen had not Trip lunged forward to catch him.

“Here, lean on me,” the guard muttered, and swung Ashinji’s right arm over his shoulder.

After two days in the relative dimness of his makeshift prison cell, the sunlight outside seemed painfully bright, momentarily dazzling Ashinji’s eyes. He allowed Trip to lead him to the latrine pits, where he had no choice but to relieve himself before a curious crowd of onlookers. Hot with shame and fury, he stumbled away on Trip’s arm, the catcalls and hoots of derision like the lash of a whip upon his bare back.

Marcus was waiting for him, along with Thessalina, when he returned.

“Hmm. I think he looks a little better,” the slaver commented.

“The surgeon will be here shortly to change his bandages and then you can take him,” Thessalina replied. She stepped closer to Ashinji and looked into his eyes. “My army attacked your forces again, last night under cover of darkness, but your general was ready for us. Once again, I had to call a retreat.” She searched Ashinji’s face for his reaction.

“My brother is a capable commander,” he replied.

Thessalina’s eyes widened with surprise. “Your brother commands the elven forces? Perhaps I was too hasty in selling you to Marcus here,” she said. “Your brother, no doubt, would have paid me a handsome ransom for your return… much more than I’m getting from this old fox!” Marcus snorted and rolled his eyes.