“-but I’ve brought someone as might be able to help.”
“What possible help-?”
“V’Saro”-he was quite emphatic about the name, sharpening my attention-“this person wallowing in the muck here beside me is the new Prince of Avonar, the young Lord Gerick.” He turned to the dark shape behind him. “This here is V’Saro. You saw him fight the other day. I think you ought to set him free so he can help us.”
Disbelieving, I pressed close to the bars and strained to see into the darkness. The boy held his face away, but his profile was clear. It didn’t seem possible. “Paulo, are you all right?” I whispered. “He hasn’t-”
“He knows about Seri and says he can get her out of Zhev’Na. But he says he won’t come. I told him that he don’t have to do everything by himself, and that he has to get away from here, too. Tell him, V’Saro. Maybe he’ll hear it from you.”
“Seri would most certainly agree. She’d say you should be taken out first.”
“She would be wrong.” Gerick’s voice was glacial.
“So can you do it?” Paulo whispered to Gerick.
“Do what?”
“Set V’Saro free. Undo the magic. The collar. Let him loose so he can help us get her.”
“I don’t know. I suppose I could get him out of the pen… to come and teach me. But the collar… I don’t know. If you want your talents…” He didn’t seem interested. But he hadn’t closed the door, either. As long as he’d agree to do it, the less interested the better. I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to know who I was.
“Swordplay won’t win this battle,” I said. “We need sorcery of a particular kind that I am able to provide. Though I’ve begun to think Paulo is the only true sorcerer here.”
Gerick snorted at that. “He talks to horses. And gets people to say things they never meant to say.”
“So can you do it?” said Paulo.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“You won’t be long in your thinkin‘?” said Paulo.
“I can’t. There’s only four days. Then I won’t be able to help you any more.”
“All right, then.” Paulo touched his hand to the bars of my cage, and the boys slipped away.
Four days… earth and sky… If Gerick could unseal the collar, and if I had not forgotten what I was about-a nagging uncertainty that haunted my nights-I could take us out of Ce Uroth. The Lords could ensure that any portal to Avonar was under their control, but I knew another way out that they could not touch. It was just that my gut heaved at the thought…
The proper course would be to abandon Seri. The safety of the Bridge and two worlds was my first responsibility, and that meant that Gerick was far more important than my wife. Yet, as I lay in the straw, staring into the dark sky as it yielded to a dead gray, the more certain I became that we could not leave her behind. Some care for Seri had brought Gerick to this point. Who was to say that the act of saving her life might not be his salvation?
Late on the next afternoon I was summoned to the Gray House, trussed up like a fowl at a poulterer’s shop. Gerick was in the fencing yard, sparring with a young slave under the eye of a one-armed warrior. Vasrin Shaper! It was Vruskot.
Gerick halted the match when the slavehandler dragged me hobbling through the gate. “Ah, here is the slave I ordered.”
Before anyone could blink, a roaring Vruskot slammed me to the ground facedown with a bone-jarring thud, kicked me onto my back, and then fell on my belly like a collapsing tower, his knees gouging and squeezing the life out of me. As I spat out dirt and fought for breath, the sun glinted on the dagger in his hand. Twisting and wriggling, tossing my head from side to side, I tried to upend the brute before I lost an eye or worse.
“Warrior!” The world came to a stop at the command. Gerick stood calmly behind the maddened Zhid with the edge of his sword at Vruskot’s neck. “If you lower that blade the width of an eyelash, your head will follow it.”
Vruskot took a long time deciding. Foamy spittle dripped from his mouth, and his skin was redder than the afternoon desert.
“You will not damage this slave. I desire that both of you be my teachers, and if you dare trespass my instructions in this or any matter, I’ll shrivel your brain and draw it out through your nose. Do you understand me?”
Astonishing. The old Zhid slammed the dagger into its sheath and climbed off me. But the stubborn devil did manage to plant a foot in my gut and trigger my collar as he stood up. While I was occupied trying not to heave up my last three days’ graybread before the son I’d scarcely met, Gerick belted the Zhid with the back of his hand. From the sound of it, a surprisingly strong hand. “Do not test me, warrior.”
The slavehandler kicked me to get up. “Where shall I put the slave, young Lord? This one must be controlled and guarded at all times. You are aware that he has no compulsions of obedience? As he still fights wager matches and training bouts, the slavemaster won’t allow it.”
“Chain him to the wall. He can sit, but should be able to stand and demonstrate a move if I require it.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if Paulo had been deceived by this boy. His demeanor bore not the slightest trace of recognition or common purpose. I might have been a tree stump.
“I’ve informed the Wargreve Damon that you’re to be mine as long as I have use for you,” he said, adjusting his sword belt about his slim waist. “You will instruct me in sword work along with this warrior. You may speak at your will, until such time as I inform you otherwise or leave the training ground. Do you understand?”
I ducked my head. I never liked to push the talking.
“You will remain here day and night. I’ve taken a fancy to night practice, and don’t wish to wait for you to be summoned.”
“Is that wise, young Lord?” Vruskot’s hatred eroded his discipline. “Such dogs as this should be caged.”
“Do not question me, warrior.” Gerick’s glance could have frozen a volcano.
As the sun slid toward the horizon, Gerick resumed his practice with the sturdy young slave. Vruskot eyed me savagely as he drilled the two repeatedly on a complex move. His choice of lessons was unfortunate, for it was just the kind of unimaginative attack that had allowed me to defeat him. Only his own incredible strength and experience had made our match so long and difficult. If Gerick was playacting then he was doing it quite believably. I had best do the same.
“Exploiting the opponent’s weakness is not always the best attack, young Lord,” I said. “Not unless you are also calculating his strengths that balance it. No battle is so simple that a single maxim can carry it.”
Vruskot erupted, of course, but Gerick asserted his authority once again, and invited me to elaborate. For three hours we continued the lesson on attack strategies, becoming so involved that it was almost possible to forget our circumstances. He was so intelligent that he could understand my explanations as soon as I voiced them. And he could carry the implications far beyond the problem of the moment. I sensed his immense desire to be a master of the art. Swordplay was nothing I’d ever thought to teach a son of mine, but I treasured every moment of those three hours.