Douglas Niles - Winterheim

Strongwind heard water pouring in another room as the command was obeyed. He shook his head-lice? On the King of Guilderglow? Anything was possible, he conceded, as Tildy took his hand and tugged him toward the adjacent room.

Besides, a bath didn’t sound bad … not bad at all.

“Grimwie?”

He hated it when she called him that, but he was too comfortable, too satisfied to raise an objection. Instead he merely sighed and settled more deeply into the pile of furs that was Thraid’s mattress.

“I saw you brought a slave back on Goldwing . Didn’t you?”

“Mmpphh” he said.

“He looked like a good one, I thought, not like so many of these humans, dirty and scrawny and all. He looked strong, and he was tall … like you wouldn’t be ashamed for people to see him, say, in your house. I was wondering something.”

Another sigh. The king hoped she was about done talking-he really wanted to sleep.

“Grimwie, my king?” She kept going. Her hands were moving now, another unwelcome distraction.

“What is it, my cuddle?” He tried to sound patient, lacking the energy to endure one of her pouts. “What is it that you were wondering?”

“Well, you know that my house slave, Wandcourt, is getting old. Why, he and Brinda tell me that their children have had children somewhere back around the Moongarden. Perhaps you noticed when you followed him-he’s not as spry as he used to be. I think he would sleep half the day away if I didn’t invent things for him to do, so I thought I should have a younger slave, one to help Wandcourt with the chores … someone who is a little more capable, who is strong and would look acceptable in my livery.”

“You want the human I brought back from Dracoheim?” Grimwar was immediately unhappy with the idea, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. “I don’t think he’s right for a house slave, my sweet. He was a wild man, attacked a whole company of my guards, killed more than a few. No, he’s quite dangerous-too dangerous for a house slave. Maybe the Seagate crew for him. With a back like that, he could do the pulling of two men.”

The king was lying. In fact, he had considered the prisoner for a slave in his own house-there was a presence and dignity about the fellow that seemed beyond the typical human. Of course, the King of the Highlanders would have to face a different fate soon enough. Stariz had made her intentions clear regarding his death at the Autumnblight feast, and-since she had the clear will of Gonnas on her side-the king was not prepared to dispute her on that matter. Until then, however …

“Well, after he’s tamed, I mean,” Thraid pressed. “In fact, I could help tame him. Certainly Wandcourt and Brinda would be a good influence-they’re about as perfect as slaves can be.”

“I thought you told me they were getting too old,” the king retorted.

“Well, besides that. I mean, they’ve always been loyal. And discreet-you know how important that is! This new slave would be just perfect. I got a good look at him that night when you had him paraded off the ship.”

Grimwar reflected, remembering the argument that had erupted between Stariz and himself when they had discussed the slave’s fate. He knew that she sorely wanted to kill him to slake her craving for vengeance over the disaster at Dracoheim. This prisoner was the only tangible remnant of those reckless saboteurs. Certainly he was doomed, eventually … but maybe there was some way the king could get some use out of him before he was killed.

Indeed, what better way to keep him out of the way and to gain Thraid’s gratitude than to temporarily give him to his mistress? It would make Thraid happy, and that always led to pleasant consequences. Indeed, her playful fingers were no longer annoying him.

“All right, Cuddle,” he said breezily. “I will send him to you, and you can look him over. Then you can decide if you really want him.”

“Oh, Grimwie, thank you!” she declared, rolling over to give him a kiss on his jowly cheek.

“Enough talk,” he said, reaching for her with both arms. “Time for me to get what I really want.”

“Can I have a little privacy?” Strongwind asked, longingly eyeing the stone bathtub filled with steaming water. The lice he hadn’t even noticed before were now starting itch, and he was ready, even anxious, to disrobe, soak, and clean up.

“Privacy? You’re a slave!” Tildy Trew snorted indignantly. “It won’t be anything I haven’t seen before. You think I don’t know my way around with the lads?” she asked, glaring at him with her fists planted on her pleasantly rounded hips. “It’s my job to see that you get cleaned up proper-I should think you’d show a little more gratitude. Take those bruises, now!”

“What?”

She was pointing at his wrists, where the shackles had enclosed him, and he grimaced to see the purple-yellow marks that extended halfway up his arms. “That’s where I was chained!” he growled.

“Of course,” she said, “and an unsightly blotch you’ve got from it. Now, if you’ll let me take care of you, I’ll see them salved and slimed so that you’ll be whole again before you know it.”

Strongwind tried to decide what to do. He had never had another human being speak to him like this-although he had to admit that Moreen had come close on a few occasions-and he felt his temper rising. Tildy Trew was trying to take care of him, under awkward conditions imposed by their mutual enslavement, and he could not lose sight of the fact that he had many real and dangerous enemies here. It did not make sense to add to the list of his foes one who might otherwise be neutral.

He sighed in resignation and shrugged out of his clothes, turning his back to her and slipping into the tub as quickly as possible. Unfortuately, the water was so hot that a very gradual immersion was all he could manage.

Acutely aware of his undignified position, he turned his head to find Tildy examining him with sparkling eyes and a wide grin. That was all it took-ignoring the near scalding heat of the bath, he slid over the edge of the stone tub and sank into the water up to his chin.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Comb a few tangles out of that beard, trim the hair a bit, and you might have some promise. We’ll have to deal with those bruises, though-an ugly lot on your back, as well.”

“That’s where they had me strapped over the bench,” Strongwind informed her, trying to sound haughty but far, far too comfortable to pull it off.

“It looks as if you’ve already felt the lash a few times,” she remarked, her tone softer and sadder than before. “What did you do to bring that on yourself?”

“I bloodied the nose of an ogre who tried to push me around,” he replied, with some measure of pride.

She clucked in what sounded like sincere concern. “Best you learn to let them do that when the brutes are of a mind to. Otherwise, you won’t last long around here.”

“I don’t know if I want to last,” he answered sourly. “Tell me, what about all these slaves? It seems to me that we humans outnumber the ogres here in Winterheim.”

“Oh, we do … by at least two to one in Highlanders alone. There are hundreds of Arktos here as well,” Tildy said, “maybe more.”

“Has there ever been talk of … well, of revolt?”

There was a long silence, and Strongwind finally looked up. He was startled to see Tildy’s pert face white with anger, her lips compressed into a thin line. She shook off the hand that he placed on her arm.

“Don’t even think about that!” she hissed, looking around frantically. Strongwind had been careful to speak when they couldn’t be overheard, so he was taken aback by her reaction.

“Why not?” he demanded softly, meeting her eyes with his own scowl. “Has every memory of freedom been driven out of you people?”