White Road

bowl to his lips and drank.
    “Slowly now,” Ulan told him with a smile. “I don’t want you spoiling my fine carpet.”
    He watched Ilar finish the broth, and when it appeared that he wasn’t going to be sick, he poured him a little more diluted brandy and put the cup in his hands. “Are you warm enough? You’re still shivering.”
    “Warm … no, I’ll never be warm. The stars were so cold …” A tear spilled down one dirty cheek, leaving behind a trail. “I was lost … alone. All alone …” He grew more agitated. “They’d see the mark! And the collar … And my brand! The slave takers …”
    “You’re safe from them here, my poor friend. We will take care of you from now on. No one else needs to know you’re here.” He leaned forward and took Ilar’s hand. “I think you’ve suffered quite enough for your crimes.”
    The empty cup tumbled to the carpet as Ilar covered his face, sobbing hoarsely. It was a calculated risk to take the man in, but Ulan doubted anyone would recognize this wretched creature as the dashing young man who’d disappeared so long ago.
    “I was alone,” Ilar whimpered. His mind was badly unhinged, but this was different from the fear and despair shown by most rescued slaves.
    Ulan leaned forward to squeeze the weeping man’s shoulder. “You just need rest and good food. And a bath, of course. Shall we go now?”
    Ilar recoiled in terror, as if Ulan’s touch had burned him. “No! I can’t. No one can see … Please, don’t let anyone
see
!”
    “Very well. I’ll have a tub brought to your room, and some proper clothing. You can wash yourself and dress without anyone seeing you. Come now, there’s a guest chamber just down the hall, and quite near my own room, should you need me.”
    Ulan rose and took Ilar’s hand to help him up. Cloak and sleeve fell back from the thin arm, and Ulan saw four long, scabbed scratches on the underside of the forearm, but no brand. Ulan had seen Yhakobin’s mark on his arm many times. There would be another on the back of Ilar’s left calf, as well. Or should be. But the skin of his forearm was unblemished above the scratches.
    Ilar managed to stay on his feet as Ulan helped him to the guest chamber, and waited with him until the tub was prepared. The servants brought soap and healing oils and scented the water properly when the bath was ready.
    “There now,” Ulan told him, motioning the others out. “One servant will wait outside, should you have any difficulty, but no one will come in unless you call. Just let him know through the door when you’re ready to see me again.”
    Trembling in his rags, Ilar mumbled, “You are very kind.”
    “You are an Aurënfaie in need, Ilar. I won’t turn my back on you.”
    “But you left me there.” He sounded more like a lost childthan a man betrayed. “You ransomed so many others, but you left me in slavery.”
    Ulan sighed. “Your master treated you well, and held you in high regard. Look at yourself, Ilar. I don’t mean to be cruel, but where can you turn, so scarred and broken that you can’t even bathe properly for fear of someone seeing the marks of slavery on your body? I’ve seen too many returned slaves kill themselves. Truly, I trusted your master to take better care of you.”
    Ilar shivered and mumbled something Ulan didn’t quite catch.
    “Bathe and rest, Ilar. You are safe here.” Ulan could feel the sudden tightening in his chest again. “Go on. I’ll come see you in a little while.”
    Ulan controlled his breathing by will alone until he was safely behind the closed door of the next room. Then, collapsing into a chair, he pressed his handkerchief to his lips as he began to cough. It was no ordinary cough, this one. When the fit came upon him, it felt like an eagle tearing at his lungs. No one knew the severity of his condition except his personal healer, and she was sworn to silence. No one must know. As the coughing eased at last, he tasted blood. He spat into the linen handkerchief and saw with dread but no surprise that it was stained faintly pink.
    He rested his head against the back of the chair and tried to relax as the pain slowly subsided. When he could stand again, he went to the wall adjoining Ilar’s chamber and moved a small tapestry aside to uncover the peephole there.
    Ilar paced for a while, shivering and muttering to himself too softly for Ulan to hear. Finally he stopped with his back to Ulan and let the cloak fall, then pulled the