Territory Slaves

Chapter Seven - Princes

Rylam and a small escort greeted them when they landed on Sundera. Kinnet scrutinized him. The images Mijre had of him showed his narrow build and short stature, though a little taller than his uncle. They also showed dark blond hair and a glimpse of pale blue/gray eyes. But they failed to show the animation in those eyes, or the impression of the unaffected prince he projected. She tried to see behind his cool composure to find the nervousness he must have felt, but the facade was flawless. His greeting was the perfect combination of acknowledging the seriousness of the visit and assuring them of their welcome in his home.

After introducing his advisor, Teli, and the head of his uncle’s security, Iler, who had come as Prince Tyr’s witness, and the near-ritual pleasantries, Rylam said, “I’m not sure of the time at Duarya and Railu Station, but this is dinnertime for us. Would you care to join us?”

“Of course, your lordship.” Kinnet gestured for two of the Baceti security to accompany them.

Rylam turned to the remaining security, addressing them as guests instead of background scenery. “If you would like, my staff will be taking their dinner in the dining hall. They will take care of you.”

A slave from Rylam’s escort bowed briefly to them and led them away.

Rylam led them through the estate, which echoed his uncle’s except for lighter wood trims and colors, and Rylam’s corridors and connecting walkways were enclosed. The altitude and the region’s weather would make having open sections of the estate impractical.

The dining room was more intimate than the formal dining rooms usually used for guests, giving the meal a pleasant, welcoming atmosphere. During the meal, Rylam studiously avoided the topics which had to be weighing on his mind. He engaged Sesul in a discussion of the particulars of flying, while Teli and Kinnet spoke of similarities between the forests and mountains of Sundera and Matujen. She also learned more about Sundera’s revival.

Teli spoke of settling in communities instead of living in small bands as nomads, so the Territories wouldn’t find them in conveniently large groups to retrieve for the slave markets. He spoke with pride of regaining lost arts, culture, traditions. He spoke of Rylam with a devotion that made Kinnet uneasy, because it echoed her own devotion to a far different kind of mistress.

Mijre had ownership of her soul, not just her body.

At first, Kinnet wanted to keep her loved ones safe. During her rapid rise in Baceti’s power structure, though, she became aware of Mijre’s one woman battle to keep Safar closed to slavers. She saw Mijre use diplomacy and every one of her unpleasant arsenal of manipulative tricks and outright threats to swing votes to her side.

Fortunately, the arrival of dessert broke the train of her thoughts. The slaves serving them could have been any Territory slaves. They served with the same unobtrusiveness of well-trained slaves across the Territories, but these slaves were also Sunderan. Sunderans tended to be tall and broad with ruddy complexions and medium brown to auburn hair. She’d seen several Sunderan slaves at Rylam’s estate. She knew Rylam hadn’t made any of the remaining population into slaves. Kinnet wondered how much time and money Rylam spent retrieving what he could of Sundera’s lost population. As she watched, Rylam caught a slave’s eyes, nodded and smiled in thanks. She wondered if that was a Sundeht trait or just Rylam.

After the meal, Rylam dismissed the slaves. He also dismissed Teli, who appeared somewhat surprised and curious. He didn’t know, she realized.

They adjourned to a small parlor for drinks. An old-fashioned tradition, and one Kinnet immediately considered reviving back at the station as she sank into a pile of cushions and sipped a hot, sweet tea. Rylam served the drinks himself. He poured a hard liquor for himself.

“I’ve been told Councilman Baceti has offered safety for Sundera’s populace,” he said when they had settled.

“Yes, in return for Sundeht support, your lordship.”

He finished his glass with a fair amount of speed and refilled it. “What, exactly, is her definition of ‘safety’?”

“No enslavement, no population relocation, no major upheavals. My mistress doesn’t see much need for major changes in Sundera.”

He watched her face closely, probably trying to determine if she could be trusted. She couldn’t, but she wasn’t lying either. Finally, his gaze dropped to his glass. He rolled the contents thoughtfully. With a nod, mostly to himself Kinnet thought, he broached the topic of torture.

“I assume you want to attend to the purpose of your visit soon?” he asked, his earlier easy manner subdued.

Sesul replied, “Tomorrow. Before midday meal. Do you have a private location?”

Iler, who had silently watched them with a too-neutral expression throughout dinner, gave Sesul a sharp look at his commanding tone. He obviously cared for Rylam’s well-being. His expression said he would have stopped the torture if he could, though as Tyr’s head of security, he should have been enforcing the agreement, not glowering about it.

This could be used against his employer, if the need arose. Mijre would want to know.

Rylam simply nodded again. “There are guest houses on the estate. Usually, guests stay at the estate unless they are staying for a long time, or we have too many guests to accommodate, but I don’t think your staying in one will arouse suspicions.” He returned Sesul’s direct look with one of his own. “No one from Sundera knows of this. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

Sesul’s gaze traveled Rylam’s trim frame. Kinnet could see him judging strength of body and character. If Rylam couldn’t seem normal afterwards, he wouldn’t be able to keep the secret. “That won’t be a problem,” Sesul determined.

“Will I need to heal?” Sesul tilted his head, obviously not intending to detail his plans. Rylam added, “I need to know if I have to reschedule anything.”

“Don’t schedule anything for tomorrow. I believe that will suffice. If you have a personal slave who helps with dressing and bathing, he or she will see evidence. On the other hand, if you don’t have help, you may wish you did tomorrow.”

Rylam arched an eyebrow. “I prefer dressing and bathing myself . . .”

“If the prince requires aid,” Iler interjected, sharply, “I’ll do it.”

They fell into a tense silence. Even Rylam’s almost inexhaustible diligence as a host waned under the strain. Kinnet decided to put them all out of their misery. “I know it’s still early here, but it’s fairly late by Railu standards. I believe we’ll retire.”

Rylam tapped a small screen imbedded in the table next to him. A moment later, a slave entered and bowed. “Please show my guests to the guest house by the southeast garden.” He politely rose as they did.

At the door, Kinnet glanced back and saw him reaching for the liquor. She let the door close for a moment after Sesul stepped through with the slave. “Don’t drink any more tonight or tomorrow.”

He looked like he might object, but he set the liquor bottle back on the table with the slightest tremor in his hand. She remembered Jahhan’s terrorized eyes and flayed body in the tank, and tried not feel such a pang for a man who was to receive a mere fraction of that pain.

She failed. Mijre always did say she had a soft spot for the vulnerable.

***
Rylam’s guests arrived for breakfast before he had the opportunity to send a slave to invite them. He had the unsettling feeling Sesul wanted to make sure he ate breakfast and Kinnet wanted to make sure he didn’t drink. His stomach certainly wasn’t sure of the situation, but he got the meal down, and managed to be pleasant to guests and staff. Even the guests playing pre-torture nursemaids.

He didn’t know whether to feel heartened, or to throw them out of the main house.

Sesul excused himself soon enough to return to the guest house. Rylam shuddered to think of what he needed to do there. He managed to get Kinnet out of his hair by sending her on a tour of the gardens. The suggestion sparked an expression of pleasure from her, the first truly open expression he’d seen. He’d caught mention of the gardens on Railu Station in her conversation with Teli, so the idea had been a safe bet.

Intending to use work as a distraction, he went to his study, but he found himself staring through the window at the village when Kinnet and Sesul returned for him. He followed them silently to the guest house, already feeling as if his body had been taken out of his sovereignty.

He noted the security stationed around the guest house. Fortunately, they wouldn’t arouse suspicion. He told his staff he was meeting with the Baceti ambassadors regarding the issue of Sundeht support, which was true. Negotiations often had strict security.

They led him to a sparsely furnished back room. Rylam believed it was intended to be a storage area for long-term guests. The room only held a small table and a bench. Imitating a particular Sunderan style, beams in the ceiling and supporting columns had been left exposed. Sesul had made use of one of the beams to install a cable.

Iler and two of the Baceti security followed them into the room. Iler stood by the door, his expression even stonier than usual. Rylam didn’t bother bringing any security other than Iler. He didn’t want any of his security to know what happened here and they couldn’t have protected him from Mijre’s people if they meant him lasting harm anyway.

Kinnet glanced around the room and spoke quietly with the Baceti security. They slipped out. Five minutes later, they returned with a cushioned chaise. As they struggled to maneuver the thing into the room, he turned his face away to hide his annoyance. He hadn’t really pegged her as the type that needed pampering.

All too soon, they got the chaise through the door.

When they looked to Sesul for their next task, he nodded towards Rylam. Rylam didn’t back away as Baceti security approached him and he didn’t struggle as they removed his jacket, vest and shirt, though he clenched his fists with the effort of staying still. They draped his clothes over the arm of the chaise neatly. Rylam couldn’t help but think of his people losing the clothes off their backs literally and permanently, clothes which would be replaced by slave uniforms.

He remained still when Sesul slipped a vitals sensor on his arm and locked cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Sesul attached his wrists to each other and hooked them to the cable. He locked the ankle cuffs to a short cable attached to an eyebolt in the floor.

A small motor fastened to the beam raised the cable until his arms were pulled tight over his head, and continued to rise. When the motor stopped, both cables were pulled taut and his feet didn’t touch the ground. Rylam clenched teeth against the increasing strain in his shoulders.

Sesul’s hands touched his sides from behind and he jerked in surprise, causing spasms of pain in his shoulders. Sesul’s hands slid along Rylam’s waistband until they reached his buckle and Sesul’s arms were wrapped around him. He slowly undid Rylam’s buckle and the buttons on his pants, then slipped his fingers into the waistband of his undershorts, and pulled them down until they dropped to his ankles.

Rylam waited for what would come next, every muscle taut with tension. The Baceti security made themselves into shadows in the recesses of the room. Kinnet and Sesul spoke for a few moments over the screen showing Rylam’s vitals. Kinnet nodded to Iler and left. Sesul picked up the screen and followed her. Rylam released a slow breath and the muscles not straining to bear his weight relaxed slowly. He knew they’d return, but he was relieved they were gone for the moment.

They stayed gone, but Rylam still suffered. Each moment increased the strain in his arms and shoulders. He panted in short, pained breaths. Sweat trickled down his face and torso due to the effort placed on his arms and the heat in the room, which was quickly becoming unbearable.

After awhile, Rylam would have traded a beating for relief from his position. Yet, the torturer still didn’t return. He futilely tried to change his weight distribution, knowing it wouldn’t work, but unable to stop trying. His panting breaths turned into gasps.

Time crawled by. He felt ready to start yelling for the torturer when he finally returned. For a brief moment, he hoped Sesul had come to end the pain, until he caught sight of Kinnet’s grim face.

With every appearance of ease, Sesul removed his wrap and tunic. Kinnet handed him some kind of flexible stick that looked substantial. Rylam closed his eyes as Sesul moved behind him. He guessed many men tried not to cry out while Sesul beat them. He also guessed most of them failed. He succeeded for several blows, but as Sesul moved from his shoulders down to his thighs, then back up, each penetrating blow built on the pain and each jolt of that pain caused him to wrench protesting muscles.

The blows stopped, the sudden lack of them as surprising as the first blow had been. He nearly moaned in relief, but Sesul moved in front of him. Realizing the ordeal wasn’t over, Rylam began to struggle. His mind tried to tell his body to stop straining already sore muscles, but his body pulled uselessly against the cuffs holding him.

Now facing Sesul, Rylam could clearly see his tormentor’s face. Sesul showed no emotion as he struck him. Rylam ceased the pretense of control. Sesul beat his chest and thighs with cold precision. Finally, after an eternity of agony, he stopped and set the implement on the table.

Sesul detached the ankle cuffs. Rylam was lowered until his feet were flat on the ground. He had a moment to catch his breath and the security moved forward to help ensure his balance, then the line lowered his wrists beneath his shoulders. The aching pain in his shoulders sharpened to a stabbing pain before easing slowly.

Rylam checked Kinnet’s face. She looked relieved. He slumped against the security in relief. The security eased him onto the chaise he now understood that Kinnet had provided for him.

“Satisfied?” Kinnet asked Iler quietly.

Iler looked anything except “satisfied”, but he just nodded.

The Baceti left him alone with Iler, to Rylam’s relief. One of the security returned with water and painkillers, then informed him they had a medic on the security transport who wanted to check him over after he felt rested enough to walk that far. Rylam nodded wearily. He really just wanted out of Baceti hands, but a medical scan was too prudent to refuse, unless he wanted to have his people do a scan, which he didn’t.

Iler hovered. He never would have thought Iler would hover.

“I’ll be fine.” Sesul had done an impressively small amount of damage. The instrument he’d chosen could have caused broken ribs and internal injuries, and that was before taking into account Sesul’s enhanced strength. But he breathed easily and the pain didn’t seem to go deeper than his muscles.

“Have you made a decision, my lord?” Iler asked after giving the painkillers time to work.

Rylam nodded. “I want my uncle to support Mijre.”

“I’ll make my report to Prince Tyr. Then, well, if you would permit, I’d like to return.”

“My uncle surely needs . . .”

“I meant I’d like to return indefinitely.”

Rylam understood finally. Iler meant to leave a highly enviable position as chief of security for the head of the Sundeht family for whatever Rylam could offer him before Mijre staked her claim on him. The earnestness on Iler’s normally hard face was overwhelming after the grueling, demeaning morning. He could only nod. He felt guilty for letting Iler throw away a career and stealing a valuable man from his uncle, but he needed someone like Iler.

“If my uncle will allow it, try to retain an official position on his staff. We wouldn’t want Mijre to try to lay claim to you too.” With Iler’s years of experience at his disposal, his plans for the Sunderans could be viable. “To be honest, I have need of you. I’ve been trying to reach old friends and a few cousins, to gain support. But no one wants to or can afford to get between Ardres and Baceti. If Baceti wins, I have no choice but to accept whatever she’s planned for me. I can’t even hide. But Pietsi is another matter entirely. If he wins, every Sunderan is at risk. Hell, every Sunderan is screwed. But we can prepare ourselves for the worst. I have a plan.”

***
Rylam glared at the tea on his desk. After declaring he’d suffer no worse than bruises, the medic had reiterated Kinnet’s instruction not to drink due to the lingering painkillers in his system. He very much wanted a drink.

“How are you feeling, your lordship?” Kinnet asked respectfully.

“I ache, but nothing more. Regardless, that was an effective demonstration. Very effective,” Rylam admitted, “and I’ve made my decision. Iler will take the message to my uncle that I wish Sundeht Province to support Baceti Territory’s claim to Sundera.”

Whatever his uncle had intended, he was more determined than ever. The thought of being at Mijre’s mercy filled him with cold dread. He knew Sesul was capable of worse than he’d experienced, but he could not let his people get sold off. He always treated the people under his authority as fairly as he could. He knew many princes did not. Too many of them would consider what he suffered today merely a warm-up for punishment, without the niceties of a chaise and pain killers after the ordeal.

He never should have tried to leave. While he understood his uncle’s attempt to keep him from becoming a hostage to both Mijre and Pietsi, he was needed in Sundera.

Kinnet didn’t seem surprised by his choice. “My mistress will be pleased to hear your decision.”

She produced two slide documents defining the terms of the agreement. Rylam took his time reading over them. He wasn’t very worried about a hidden agenda in the agreement, or that Mijre wouldn’t fulfill her part. A reputation for breaking contracts could be lethal in the Territories.

The only surprise was Mijre’s intention to grant the Sundera residents Baceti citizenship. They would have more protection than he ever could provide. For once, Mijre’s fierce reputation comforted him. He supposed he should have guessed. Mijre made the Nalari residents citizens fairly soon after she acquired the continent. He signed both slides and authorized them with his personal code.

As Kinnet accepted one of the slides, her expression turned apologetic. “My mistress has ordered a contingent of Baceti security to remain on Sundera to provide protection for you in addition to the fighters already over Sundera.”

Rylam sighed. “Of course.”

She smiled sympathetically. “Don’t worry. They’re experts at staying out of the way. If you have nothing more you’d like to discuss with us, I believe Sesul and I will return to Baceti, your lordship.”

Yes, please.

***
After Ardres’s messenger left, Delosa considered the ramifications of his news, and of his increasingly beneficial alliance. Despite the unwelcome nature of the news from Sundera, Delosa at least had learned of Rylam’s decision the same time as Mijre instead of months later. Or worse, right before the Council meeting. Ardres had proven himself a useful ally on many levels. Delosa, like many princes and Councilmen, had once written off Ardres as a man too self-indulgent to be threatening or useful.

The latest development was still a bad blow. If he got his hands on Rylam, the man would regret his choice. He’d condemned himself. Mijre wasn’t known for her kindness to princes whose provinces she’d claimed and he wouldn’t show Rylam any mercy now. He didn’t have torturers other than his interrogators, who he’d never insult by using them merely for his satisfaction. Torture as entertainment baffled him. Slaves were far more useful in service capacities, but he could probably borrow one or two of Ardres’s best. He added Rylam to the short list of people he would enjoy watching suffer.

Delosa studied the screens in front of him. Considering contingency plans. Each screen showed a different view of Railu Station—security arrangements, defensive weapons, typical fighter numbers. He skipped over the layout of Mijre’s over-indulged slaves’ quarters. Ardres was seeing to them. He just took one nervous look at the black space of the protected room deep in Mijre’s quarters. Not even Ardres’s impressively highly-placed source could get them information about that room. Pietsi wondered if she killed the people who built it. And who did the maintenance?

Still, she had to get there for it to do her any good. They had no intention of letting her get that far.

His door alarm sounded, and identified one of Delosa’s slaves. He granted the slave access.

“My lord.” The slave bowed deeply until Delosa acknowledge him. Then he shifted from one foot to another in a rare show of emotion. “My lord, the station defenses detected fighters approaching. They claim to be defectors from Ardres Territory.”

“Dismissed.” The slave left quickly.

Delosa contacted the station defenses chief and told him to allow the fighters through if they provided the proper code that he had added to the system himself.

Then he smiled. The first of several additions to his fleet had arrived.

***