Leslie Moore - Griffin's Shadow

They sat in silence for a time.

Gran finally spoke. “You’ll find that life here isn’t so bad, as long as you follow the rules. Mistress de Guera takes good care of all of us. I, myself, have special privileges. The mistress allows me to come and go as I please. I’ll bring you special treats from the market now and then!”

“How can life as a slave be anything but bad?” Ashinji did nothing to hide the bitterness and anger in his voice. “My wife must surely believe I’m dead by now. She faces the birth of our child without me by her side. My brother…” He stopped himself before spitting out the angry words that burned his tongue, and glanced at Gran. Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. “What hurts the most is the realization that my child and I might never know each other.”

Gran leaned forward and placed both hands on Ashinji’s shoulders. “Hold on to that anger, young Ashinji! It will keep you alive… that, and the hope of returning home to your family some day.”

“Two years is a long time.”

“I know, but I’ll help you, and so will Aruk-cho. Though his first loyalty is to the mistress, he is a good man, and you can trust him to be fair. The other trainers, well, they are all human. Thank the One that Aruk-cho is in charge.”

“Mistress de Guera offered to take me as her concubine,” Ashinji revealed. He laughed ruefully. “I turned her down. Perhaps that wasn’t such a smart move.”

“The mistress has an eye for beautiful young men, and it’s a fact that humans find us especially attractive, even while they revile us for being without souls.”

“Jelena has told me much about the religion of the Soldarans. It’s at the heart of their hatred for us, this idea that we have no souls. It makes us inferior beings in their eyes.”

“Not inferior, no. They view us as tainted with evil, and therefore capable of tainting any Soldaran who comes in contact with us. It’s all very contradictory, you see. The average Soldaran will dutifully spout all of the racist nonsense he or she has been taught in church when asked about elvenkind, and yet, if they thought they could get away with it, many would gladly couple with us.”

“Hmm,” Ashinji nodded, then a thought struck him. He leaned forward, excited. “Gran, you said you were a sorceress once, a very powerful one, yes?”

“Yes,” Gran replied cautiously.

“Then that means you are skilled at mindspeech. I’ve heard that trained mages can communicate with each other by mindspeech over great distances. Gran, can you contact my mother and let her know I’m alive?”

Ashinji felt the tiny spark of hope that had flared to life within him die when Gran sorrowfully shook her head.

“Mindspeech works best over short distances. The farther apart two people are, the harder it becomes. It’s true that trained mages can communicate with one another, even when separated by great distances, but in order to accomplish this, an amplifier of some kind must be used. Otherwise, it’s impossible.” Her pale eyes brimmed with regret. “I haven’t the necessary tools or materials to construct an amplifier. I’m sorry, Ashinji.”

Ashinji lowered his head to hide the bitter disappointment on his face. “I had hoped…” His voice trailed off and he covered his smarting eyes with his hands.

“I know…I know,” Gran murmured.

“ Gran !” A female voice, full of pain, cried out from the interior of the barracks.

Gran slowly rose to her feet. “That’ll be Vasta. Sounds like the poppy juice is wearing off. She took a nasty sword cut to her forearm in the Arena yesterday. Very deep. The healer spent a long time stitching it up.” She sighed and brushed back a stray lock of silver blond hair. “I serve as the yard medic for the women, among my other duties. Simple things, mostly, like tending wounds and dispensing medicines the healers have left. But I’d best go in now. We’ll talk more later.”

Ashinji stood and as he turned to go, Gran called out to him. “Look after Seijon. He’s a good boy, really, who just needs a decent role model. The humans fill his head with nothing but nonsense about our people. Your presence will help counter a lot of it.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Ashinji promised.

Later that day as the westering sun bathed the yard with ruddy light, Ashinji, along with the other newcomers, received a wooden practice sword and paired up with a veteran so the trainers could assess the skills of each new slave.

Ashinji’s sparring partner threw down a casual insult by way of introduction then sprang to the attack. Ashinji countered each blow with ease, and in a matter of moments, he knew all he needed to about his opponent’s style. He hung back on the defensive, letting the larger, heavier human tire himself. Then, when he had wearied of the game, he disarmed the man with a deft maneuver. The human cursed as his sword went spinning out of his hand.

Ashinji had to restrain himself from whacking the man across the top of his shaven head. Instead, he dropped his guard and stepped back, inhaling a little more deeply to catch his breath.

“Aruk-cho said you were a professional soldier,” the trainer who’d been observing the sparring remarked. A tall, lanky, hard-bitten man with a weathered face and big hands, he sauntered forward, a lopsided grin distorting his already uneven features. He hawked and spat on the sand at Ashinji’s feet. “You’re good, tink. The best I’ve seen in a long time. It pains me to admit it, but ‘tis so. From now on, you’re swordmaster to the newbies.”

“C’mon, Joktan, you can’t be serious!” Ashinji’s erstwhile sparring partner protested. “You know I’m supposed to get that job!”

“Shut yer hole, Leal!” Joktan growled. “I am and it’s done, so deal with it!” The two men glared at each other for several tense heartbeats.

“You promised me,” Leal muttered, backing down. He shot a venomous look at Ashinji, who met his furious eyes without flinching.

“I do not want the job. Give it to him,” Ashinji said, keeping his gaze firmly affixed on Leal’s face.

“You think I’d let you off the hook so easily, tink? Forget about it! The job’s yours. Neither of you has got any say in this.”

Ashinji swiveled his head slowly to face Joktan. He stared at the trainer for a moment, then said, “My name is Ashinji.” He pronounced each word with deliberate force, saving special emphasis for his own name. “Not… tink !” Anger propelled the slur from his mouth like a projectile.

“Yeah, sure, whatever…” Joktan sniffed. “As long as you teach the rest of these sorry shitballs how to handle a sword, I’ll call you ‘sweetheart’ if you like.” Raucous laughter erupted among the other slaves. Only Leal remained grim-faced and silent.

I’ve made a dangerous enemy, Ashinji thought, a nd I’ve only just arrived!

Joktan clapped his hands and the laughter ceased. “That’s all for today,” he announced. “Veterans, Aruk-cho has posted tomorrow’s matches on the board. Two points melees and one lethal. Check before you go to bed, idiots! Newbies, report to the infirmary before dinner, so you can all get your fine new marks. The mark of de Guera means a lot in this town! You should all be proud to bear it.” He paused, as if trying to remember something important, then exclaimed, “Shit! Almost forgot! It’s the last Torsday of the month tomorrow. You all know what that means!”

“Yeah, it means we all get laid!” a male voice called out.

“You wish you were gettin’ some!” a female voice responded.

More laughter.

Ashinji sighed and looked over his shoulder, searching for Seijon. He spotted the boy at the back of the crowd, jumping up and down in an effort to see over the taller bodies blocking his view. Seijon must have seen him at the same moment, for his face broke into a huge grin and he waved.