Shadows Return

forget your place, Haba. And don’t forget your bargain.”
    “I won’t, Master.” The thick pile of the carpet got into his mouth and he coughed.
    Ilar gave him a last light kick in the head and swept out, slamming the door after him.
    “Ingrate,” Seregil muttered, wiping his mouth. In spite of the indignity, it had been a good evening’s work. It didn’t sound like Ilar would be leaving the house anytime soon.

CHAPTER 36
    Nightrunning

    RHANIA CAME TO Seregil’s door again that night.
    “Have you thought more about what we spoke of?” he asked, cheek pressed to the door.
    “Yes. Do you really think it possible?”
    “Get me out of this room and I’ll prove it to you.”
    “And you would take me with you?”
    “Yes.”
    “You give your word?”
    “By the honor of Bôkthersa, I swear it. But we’ll need a few things. Weapons, clothing, food. Can you put your hands on those?”
    “Yes!”
    “Don’t do it all at once. Someone might notice. Just a bit at a time, and hide them somewhere you can get to quickly at night.”
    “I understand.”
    “Now, how are you going to get me out of this room?”
    There was a long silence. “Let me think on that. I will find a way.”
    Once again, he heard no sound of her leaving. That might be a good sign. She was brave and quiet, and must have a steady nerve to come to him like this. He might actually be able to keep his promise to her.
             
    Rhania stole to his door almost every night, whispering to him about what supplies she’d been able to cache, and telling him of any glimpse she’d had of Alec. It seemed he was still being kept in the outbuilding and was sometimes allowed to walk in the garden with Ilar. As far as she could tell, they’d become friends.
    That news was like a knife in Seregil’s gut.
             
    Ilar visited Seregil every day, and his visits grew longer. It was clear he delighted in having Seregil under his sway and making him do all sorts of menial tasks.
    Seregil played the perfect body servant, letting Ilar believe that he was becoming resigned to his fate. Day by day Ilar grew a little more at ease with him, a bit more open.
    Today, after some subtle prompting while massaging Ilar’s feet, Seregil had gotten him to talk about some of his former masters and what he’d suffered at their hands. As Seregil listened, he found himself caught between pity and disgust. His expression must have betrayed him, though; Ilar had suddenly kicked him away and stormed out without a word.
    Seregil sat up and staunched his bloody nose with the bottom of his robe. For once, he didn’t hold it against Ilar, when his own collection of wounds had been gotten as a free man, doing his chosen work. Not that it made him hate Ilar any less, of course.
    That would be weakness.
    Lying in bed that night, though, he spent a long time trying to chase away the images Ilar had summoned in his mind. But they followed him into his dreams, and he was glad to be woken sometime later by the familiar sound of soft, persistent scratching on his door.
    He walked over and pressed his ear to the wood. “Yes?” He was always careful not to use her name, or sound as if he were expecting anyone, in case it did turn out to be someone less friendly.
    Tonight his answer was the sound of a key in the lock. A cloaked figure slipped inside, armed with a large carving knife. Seregil jumped back quickly, braced for an attack. Rhania pushed back her hood and removed her veil.
    She wasn’t young but was quite beautiful under the tracery of Khatme clan markings. Seregil read them quickly: she was a person of middle standing, without magic. There were large holes in her ears where the clan jewelry had been stripped from her. One earlobe had been torn and healed badly.
    “Here, take these!” She reached under her cloak and handed him a wadded tunic. Inside he found a belt, some ragged trousers, his worn old poniard, and Alec’s boot dagger with the black-and-silver handle.
    “Where did you get these?”
    “Ilban Yhakobin had them displayed in the library downstairs, as trophies. The slavers include belongings in the price of the sale.”
    “That’s all there was? No swords, or a bow?”
    “There was nothing else.”
    “Damn.” Seregil’s uncle had made his sword for him. Alec’s—together with the Black Radly bow—had been gifts from Seregil. “I wasn’t expecting you to act so soon. Has something happened?”
    “The master visited my bed