“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?”
He was surprised again when her eyes abruptly swam with tears. Strongwind waited for her to regain her composure.
“I don’t want to make you cry,” he said finally. “I just got here. I don’t understand this place, not at all, but I thought that I understood Highlanders, and the Arktos as well. I would expect them to be working against their captors!”
When she looked at him, her eyes were dry and her tone level but serious. “It’s the queen!” she said. “She has ways of knowing when someone is planning trouble. There was a man, Redd Dearman, who tried to incite a little resistance a few years back. He was discreet about it and careful-but they came for him in the night. He perished on the altar at Autumnblight, but not before the queen made an example of him that every slave in Winterheim would remember. Even the children-the little ones-were forced to come and watch!”
“I would think that’s all the more reason to revolt,” Strongwind said. “How can people live under such tyranny and cruelty?”
“We make do,” Tildy said, looking at him earnestly. “There are some who would make trouble-like Black Mike, who works in the royal kitchen. I have heard of him, and that means others have, too. It will only be a matter of time before the queen’s attention falls upon him. More’s the pity.”
“Who is this Black Mike? How is he making trouble?” The Highlander king asked, trying to disguise the eagerness in his voice.
“Quietly, so far,” Tildy said. “I shouldn’t even tell you-but he is trying to recruit slaves, men and women for a secret purpose. I don’t know what size group he has formed, but I know that the danger to him and to many others is real.” She took Strongwind’s brawny forearms in her small hands. “Tell me that you’ll stay away, that you won’t give the queen any excuse to single you out.”
“Hmmpf, I’ve always been good at taking care of myself-”