Leslie Moore - Griffin's Shadow

Ashinji studied Mistress de Guera’s face but her visage remained smooth, almost expressionless. Tentatively, he reached out with his mind to brush the surface of her consciousness and encountered only calm anticipation.

“If you choose to live in my house, you’ll be allowed to come and go as you please,” the mistress continued. “I’ll dress you in clothes befitting your position, and you’ll dine at my table. You’ll share my bed as well.” She arose, cat-like, from the bench and stood over Ashinji. Gently, she began to caress the top of his head, running her fingers through his tangled hair.

“I can make your life here very easy, beautiful one,” she whispered.

“Jelena, my wife, is my soul-mate, Mistress,” Ashinji answered. “I could never bring myself to betray her, not even to save myself pain and hardship… I must choose to be a fighter.”

Mistress De Guera continued to stroke Ashinji’s hair for few more heartbeats. “Very well,” she sighed, then stepped back and regarded him with disappointment. “I can’t say I’m surprised, though I did hope… I can keep you in my house by force, but I won’t. I’d rather you come to me willingly. Corvin!” she called out. The senior manservant appeared. “Is Aruk-cho here yet?” she asked.

“He’s waiting outside the gate, Mistress,” Corvin answered.

“Give Ashinji here over to him.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Corvin stepped forward and grabbed the back of Ashinji’s tunic. He gave it a sharp tug. “On your feet, slave,” he ordered.

Fighting a surge of anger, Ashinji complied.

“Ashinji, look at me,” Mistress de Guera commanded and he raised his eyes to meet hers. “My offer remains open. Should you change your mind, just get word to me.” She waved her hand and Corvin gave his back a firm shove, propelling him toward the entrance to the house.

Ashinji exited, blinking, into the heat and heavy fragrance of the garden. A bee darted past his ear and he swung reflexively, hitting himself in the face with the chain that bound his wrists together. Cursing, he rubbed his jaw.

Corvin guffawed. “I hope you swing a sword better than you do a chain, tink!”

“I would not come within striking distance of me when next I hold a weapon, if I were you, human,” Ashinji responded in a low voice. Corvin sniffed, but held his tongue.

They approached the gate and Corvin stepped in front of Ashinji to push it open. “Aruk-cho!” he called out. “The Mistress has got fresh meat for you!”

Ashinji stepped through the gate onto the hot sand of the yard. Something large and dark stood beyond.

Ashinji gaped in astonishment.

An akuta!

Ashinji had first learned about the race of horse people from an old book in his father’s library, but until now, he believed they had died out many years ago. In the ancient past, the akuta had been staunch allies of the elves.

Built like a man from his torso upward, with powerfully muscled arms and broad shoulders, the akuta stood at least a head taller than Ashinji. Just below his waist, where the hips and legs of an elven man would have been, the four-legged body of a horse began. His hide glistened like black satin in the sun. A thick mane of black hair sprouted from his head and cascaded over his shoulders to brush his withers.

A heavy leather harness crisscrossed his upper body and attached to a thick, metal-studded belt encircling his man’s waist. Leather guards covered both forearms. An enormous, curved sword hung at his side.

The akuta’s fathomless black eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Ashinji.

“My heart grieves to see you here, friend,” he rumbled in a voice like distant thunder.

“I had no idea any of the akuta still lived,” Ashinji replied. “Are there many more of you?” He stared in awe at the creature, remembering his dream of several weeks ago.

“We are far fewer in number these days, but we hold our own, much like our old friends the elves do. I am Aruk-cho of the Wakani Clan.”

“I am Ashinji Sakehera.”

“I will see to Ashinji now, Corvin. You may go.” Corvin’s chin shot up and a look of offense twisted his plain features. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stamped back through the gate, disappearing into the garden.

Aruk-cho produced a set of keys from a pouch on his belt and unlocked the manacles on Ashinji’s wrists. Sighing with relief, Ashinji massaged where the metal had chafed his skin.

“Follow me,” the akuta directed as he headed off across the yard toward a long, low building, the manacles swinging from his hand.

“How did you end up here, Aruk-cho?” Ashinji inquired. He had to scramble to keep up with the akuta’s long, rolling stride.

“I was a slave like you, once. I made the mistake of going up against the chieftain of my tribe. I lost, and so found myself in bondage, sold to the Soldarans. That was many years ago.”

“Are you a gladiator?”

“I was, but I earned my freedom. Now, I run this yard for Mistress de Guera, and, occasionally, I fight for prize money. Everything will be explained to you soon.” He paused in front of an open doorway. “Here is where you will sleep.” The akuta had to duck in order to pass through the door. Ashinji followed and found himself in a long barracks. A scarred wooden table filled the center of the space, and an empty fireplace gaped like an open mouth in the wall opposite the door. Shelves lined the walls at the back, each just long and deep enough to hold one body. The sound of snoring filled the hot, still air.

Aruk-cho stamped one massive hoof upon the hard-packed clay floor.

“Up…Up with you!” he bellowed. “Rest time’s over!” He turned to Ashinji. “Everyone in this room is new, like you. Most were brought over from the market just yesterday.” The sleepers began to stir from their shelves, muttering and sniffling. “All of you, out in the yard, now,” Aruk-cho ordered, pointing through the open barracks door. “The mistress will be along shortly to address you.”

Ashinji followed Aruk-cho back out into the shimmering heat of the yard, then stood and watched as his fellow neophyte slaves emerged from the barracks. He counted ten others, all young and apparently fit. Six of them Ashinji recognized as native Soldarans by their skin color and facial features. He knew the rest were human, but of types he had never before seen.

Two of the men had skins the color of a bay horse, with broad, flat noses and hair that hung in long ropes to their waists. Another had skin the color of honey, with narrow, dark eyes and jet-black hair gathered in a topknot at the crown of his head. Ashinji found the last man the most curious of all, for as far as he could tell, this human had no body hair-he even lacked eyebrows-and his pale skin had been seared red by the relentless southern sun. By the way he squinted and hunched his shoulders, Ashinji could tell the direct sunlight pained him much more than it did the others.

Aruk-cho had gone into the barracks directly across the yard and had re-emerged leading a straggling procession of female slaves. He ordered them to form up into rows behind the men. All six of them were Soldarans.

“Hey, you!” a voice hissed to Ashinji’s right. He swiveled his head to see one of the Soldaran males, a boy just coming into manhood, sidle up to stand beside him. “Can you understand me?” the boy asked.

“I can. What is it you want?”

“You’re an elf,” the boy stated.

Ashinji sighed. “Yes,” he answered.

“My ma was half-elf! See? I got pointy ears.” The boy pushed his ruddy brown hair away from the side of his head to display bluntly tapered ears. He grinned. “My ma named me Seijon, after her pa. What’s your name?”