15
Adongo of the Moruks

The cold of the ocean angrily drank them up. Ryk clung tightly to Tor’s neck and Tor was aware of Locky holding just as tightly to his arm and thrashing alongside him. Tor had lost all sense of direction in the foaming, gulping frenzy. The Colours felt hot and bright within; they urged him to draw on them to lift himself out of the depths. But he was confused. Which way was up? Worse, the face of Goth kept swirling in front of him. He was swallowing salty water now; and if he was, it meant Ryk and Locky were doing the same. His only hope was that Goth was dying along with them, somewhere in the ocean’s cold depths.

Tor. It was the voice of a friend.

I must be sleeping if I can talk to you, Lys.

Not sleeping, drowning.

Maybe drowning would be a good thing.

No, Tor. Use your power now and save yourselves…all of you.

For what, Lys? he said, sinking further.

There is no time for this, Tor. Call on the Colours.

Why? he demanded.

Your children have been found. They come to you. She closed the link and left him.

The mention of Gidyon and Lauryn snapped him back to his fragile life. He turned; could see Locky’s eyes wide with panic, his mouth opening and closing as he used the last of his breath. Ryk must be dead, he thought, suddenly filled with despair. The boy was no longer gripping his neck as before. He summoned the Colours. In a moment they were breaking the water’s surface; gasping great breaths, sucking life back into their chests and coughing out the salty death which had almost consumed them.

The Wasp was nowhere to be seen. Either they had been dragged far from it or it had sunk. The sea boiled around them but the Colours kept the trio safely cocooned.

Tor looked wildly around, still dragging in air and wondering if his chest might burst from the effort. He noticed some craggy rocks through the darkness. Land! They could probably reach it if he guided them closer. No time to think. He cast his mind towards the shore and willed them to safety.

He clambered wearily onto a ledge and dragged Locky with him. Ryk was slumped against his chest, unconscious. Looking around, Tor realised they must have reached an island for there was land stretching out beyond the ledge. Buoyed by this discovery, and the desire to see his children again, he pulled Locky to his feet and together, carrying Ryk between them, they limped towards the security of a sandbank. There they rolled onto the scraggy grass and sheltered in its natural dip. It offered some small but welcome protection from the howling wind.

It could still only be mid-morning yet the colour of the sky made it seem like evening. The storm would rage for a while yet, Tor could tell. He pushed the boys into the ditch and checked on Ryk; he was breathing, but raggedly.

Tor stood to get a better idea of the countryside around them. In the distance, he could just make out some kind of camp. He knew they could not make it there now. It would have to wait until his companions were stronger, and then perhaps they could approach the camp for help. Tor had to admit that he felt exhausted himself; it would do him good to rest awhile too.

He turned back towards the sea for one last look to where The Wasp had presumably sunk. Scanning the horizon, he noticed a small piece of wreckage in the angry sea, not far from the beach below. There was a dark figure clinging to it. Goth, curse him!

The so-called priest waved desperately. Tor could not hear what the man was calling out but guessed he would be begging for help. I will not save you, Goth, he thought. And I will not dirty my hands with your blood. The elements will take your life for me.

The piece of wood was swirling madly in the waves now. It was hard to fathom how Goth could hold on.

‘Farewell, Goth,’ Tor yelled.

The wind ripped his words away and threw them elsewhere. The man slumped and Tor watched the miniature raft being sucked hungrily back out to sea and then down the length of the beach. He watched until it was no more than a speck and he prayed that it might be the end of the man he hated most in this world.

With Goth in a watery grave, Alyssa would at last be free. With this hopeful thought, Tor slumped down beside his companions, exhausted.

He awoke with a start, not immediately aware that he had slept. He felt groggy and shook his head, as if to clear the mist from it. The storm had died around them, leaving just the angry wind and the rain, which had soaked them to their skins. When he tried to wipe the salt from his stinging eyes, he realised he was shackled.

His senses back on alert, Tor looked around. There were several other men chained up in the rain; they were swarthy and dark-eyed with angular faces and long limbs. He guessed they were of the nomadic people from the Exotic Isles, those Eryn had mentioned. They murmured amongst themselves in a language he did not understand. No one spoke to him, even when they realised he was conscious. Tor pulled himself to his knees and considered using his powers to free himself. Then he remembered Locky and Ryk. He should sit tight and wait to see if they were still close by.

He scanned the surroundings. From what he could tell, he seemed to be a long way from the sandbank where they had sought shelter the previous day. He had obviously been carried here and began to assume that he must have been drugged. It would explain his grogginess on waking; how else could they have moved him without him waking? He could remember nothing.

It was nearing dawn when someone finally came. The man kicked awake those few who were still sleeping and motioned for them all to stand. Tor did as he was told, having noticed the ugly whip curled menacingly in the man’s hand. More men arrived. They looked like sailors. The fellow in charge addressed the prisoners in pidgin; Tor concentrated hard and managed to grasp at a few words. He need not have troubled himself. The man switched to Tallinese and introduced himself as Haryd, the first mate to Captain Blackhand.

‘You, tall man, you took the wrong wave. You are now a slave and will act accordingly. Your name?’

There was no point in lying. ‘Torkyn Gynt.’

‘From?’

‘Tal.’

The man laughed. ‘We’ve never caught us an educated city man before. You will make me a big profit, Gynt. What are you doing here?’

‘Surviving,’ Tor answered and saw the whip twitch in Haryd’s grip.

‘No smart talk, Gynt. We punish slaves with fast mouths. You just answer my questions. I own you.’

Tor held his tongue.

‘Which ship?’ Haryd demanded.

‘The Wasp. She sank in the storm.’

His captors looked shocked.

‘You were on board?’ Haryd said loudly, walking closer now.

‘I and my two companions, yes.’

‘What about Captain Blackhand?’

Tor was careful. ‘Dead. Killed by his own hand.’

‘You lie,’ screamed the first mate. ‘Blackhand, suicide? I don’t think so.’

‘I was there. It was not suicide; it was an accident.’ Tor could almost taste the heavy silence around him now as all the men listened. Even the other slaves had stopped their shuffling. ‘He was in the throes of his favourite sport of chopping off someone’s hand, one of his crew. The storm was gathering and an unexpected wave buffeted the ship…it was the one that broke her, I think. He must have slipped because the axe ended up in his own chest. The last I saw of him, his guts were sprawled the full breadth of the sinking Wasp.’

Tor enjoyed the horrified look on his captors’ faces as he crafted his tale.

Haryd managed to hold his nerves steady. ‘What about the others?’

‘All dead I would think,’ Tor answered. ‘Lightning struck the mast and set fire to the ship. It sank within minutes. I jumped with three others; two survived with me. I can vouch for no others.’

‘What were you doing on The Wasp?’

‘I had paid my passage to Cipres. May I ask where my two friends are?’

‘One is dying, if not dead already; he happens to be a member of our crew. The older one is pretty enough that, in the absence of any whores, he will serve my men just fine.’

Tor felt his anger rise. ‘I asked where they were. I am a physic, I can save the lad. As for Locklyn Gylbyt, it may interest you to learn that he is the brother-in-law of one Janus Quist, who I’m sure will be delighted to enter into discourse with you on how to treat his relatives.’

Tor should have seen it coming. He had not only spoken to the man in a contemptuous tone again but he had terrified him with the mention of Quist. Haryd’s whip slashed across his torso and the pain of its bite into his wet flesh sent him back to the muddy ground. The lash came again, its sting flashing across his back now. The pain was immense.

He heard Haryd spit at him. ‘You will never speak to me like that again, Gynt. From now on, if I address you, you will reply with your eyes cast downwards. You are a slave. You have conjured a fine story to save your skin but it won’t work, Gynt. You will be sold at Cipres in a few days, along with your arsesore companion. Now get up and heal the skinny lad because I need his services. And you are welcome to put a salve on the backside of your friend. I require him for sale, but I also need him healed and tight for my men for the next two nights at least.’

He saved some face with the last comment and the sailors laughed. Just as Tor was ready to wipe the smiles from their mouths, he heard a voice like velvet in his head. It reminded him of the day he had seen the girl, Marya, bridled and Merkhud had spoken into his mind for the first time.

Do not show yourself yet. It is not wise.

The Colours faded and Tor looked around him suspiciously.

Who speaks? he threw out.

I. Two men to your left.

Haryd was barking orders to his men and one of them hauled Tor to his feet. He took the chance to seek the owner of this smooth voice. A tall man was staring at him intently, the whites of his eyes glistening in his dark face in the dim light. He nodded slowly.

Who are you? Tor whispered as he was dragged away.

I am Adongo of the Moruks.

Tor was shocked. Paladin? He was pushed into a tent.

The Fifth. We shall speak later. The link snapped shut.

Ryk was sprawled on the ground in a corner of the tent, shivering with a high fever. Tor pushed away the revelation of Adongo, though his mind swam with its meaning. He asked that his shackles be removed.

‘You do anything stupid, slave, and we’ll slash the boy’s throat,’ growled one of his captors. He motioned for the other to free Tor. ‘And I don’t mean this one. I mean our whore,’ he added and grinned nastily close to Tor’s face.

It would be so easy, Tor thought to himself as he searched the shallow eyes. But killing was not his intent. He had always promised himself he would not use his powers to bring death…but that had become unavoidable recently. He could still see the blood pumping from the massive wound in Blackhand’s chest. And it would be easy to kill this man too; to kill all of them. But Adongo had warned him not to show himself yet. He would wait and learn more from the Paladin.

‘Thank you,’ he replied, not feeling polite.

The boy was burning up. He would die before the day had reached full sunlight, Tor was sure of it.

‘My bag. Do you remember there being a bag with me when you found me? A leather sack?’

The man looked at him dumbly. Tor tried again.

‘It was strapped around me when I swam ashore. Dark brown. It must have been found with me.’

The man said nothing but a slight tilt of his chin sent the other fellow scurrying out. He returned not long afterwards with Tor’s bag. Relief washed over him but he said nothing, just took the bag from the sailor. Tor did not need the satchel; he had just remembered it and wanted the security of knowing he had it safely back in his keep. He pretended to rummage through it. Perhaps there was something in there which could help. The contents were such an odd assortment.

He deliberately muttered aloud. ‘No, not here as I thought. Has anything been taken from here?’

Both men shook their heads.

‘Well, what I need is not here,’ he lied. Adding an edge of frustration he said, ‘Could I have some damp linens at least?’

The second sailor disappeared again. The other picked his nose, entirely uninterested.

Tor laid his hands on Ryk and summoned the Colours. He had to make it look as though he was testing the boy’s temperature. It was easy to wield his power to force the fever down but he could sense much more damage; something more sinister. In his fear, Ryk had fled deep within himself. Just the shell remained; his terrified spirit was hidden away and slowly dying.

Tor thought quickly, recalling information he had read in Merkhud’s books. Before he could act, he must get rid of these men.

He addressed them. ‘The boy is dying of a disease I’ve encountered only twice before. It is especially nasty.’

Both men took a step back.

‘I’m going to need some help,’ Tor added, sounding matter of fact.

‘Not from me you don’t,’ one said. The other shook his head.

‘Well, he’ll die then. Haryd said I must save him.’

‘You said he’s dying anyway,’ grumbled the more senior sailor.

‘Yes, that’s true. But I can probably save him, though it will take several hours and some help.’

Neither man moved. He played his card.

‘All right. Fetch me one of the slaves from outside. Not just any one. The tall one, two to the left of where I was chained. I need someone strong. He also looks dumb and won’t ask too many questions.’ Tor smiled as though sharing a private joke.

The sailors fell for it. The senior one even winked at him. ‘Watch him, Bluth,’ he said, leaving to find the slave.

Adongo of the Moruks was led into the tent looking surprised.

Tor sliced open a link. Just play along. It amazed him that they could understand one another when they spoke different languages. He wondered also why he was able to link with the Moruk when he was unable to do so with Saxon.

Happy to, Adongo’s smooth, deep voice replied.

‘I won’t be removing his shackles,’ the sailor said loudly, shoving Adongo towards Tor and Ryk.

‘I understand. It won’t be necessary anyway,’ Tor said. ‘However, if you value your life, I would recommend you don’t tarry. If this boy so much as sneezes on you or even near you, you could suffer a similar fate.’

The man looked horrified.

‘I am hardly likely to escape, but you can chain me to that tent pole if you want,’ Tor said.

‘How come you won’t get sick then?’

‘Because I have been exposed to this before and I did not become unwell. I must be safe from this disease. Many people are but we don’t understand why. You may also be immune, but then again you may not be so fortunate. Take your chance, Beryd…is that your name?’

The senior man nodded. But he was persistent; he gestured towards the slave. Tor picked up on his thought and answered the question before it was asked. ‘And I’m presuming that he just doesn’t matter.’

Beryd grimaced. ‘Yes, he does. He is leader of his tribe. He will fetch a good price at Cipres.’

Tor needed to get him out of the tent. ‘Well, leave us both shackled and remain outside. I’ll call you once the fever breaks. When that happens, we will all be safe,’ he lied again. Beryd clearly needed pushing. ‘Or you can take your chance. Victims eventually bleed to death from the nostrils, eyes, ears, cock, arse.’

The colour paled from Beryd’s face and he yelled out an order to his mate. Tor and Adongo were quickly shackled to the post; Adongo remained manacled but Tor’s hands were left free, although the chains on his legs were so short his captors knew he could not reach beyond the round tent.

‘We’ll be outside,’ Beryd said, covering his mouth and nose.

Tor nodded and busied himself with showing Adongo how to press the damp linens to Ryk’s body.

To their unbelievable good fortune, Ryk stirred at this moment and gave a half sneeze before sliding back into his feverish stupor.

Beryd and Bluth fled.

Thank you for coming, Tor said.

I’m not sure I had any choice.

No, I mean for re-emerging.

So do I, the man said evenly, though I am not your bonded Paladin.

I realise this. Do you know who is?

I’ll know when I meet them, he said cryptically.

Has Lys given you a name?

Only that the person is young, Adongo said, avoiding the question.

Tor noticed the man’s deliberate vagueness. He would not push it. They could discover more about each other later.

Do you know who I am? Tor asked, hating the pomposity of the question.

You are the One.

I prefer you did not think of me that way.

We all have our part to play. I am Paladin. You are He.

Tor sighed. It was useless arguing the point further. Adongo, why did you warn me to hide my powers?

The man grinned. These sailing men are scared of enchantments. They kill anyone whom they suspect of aiming magic at them. My race call it ‘fra-fra’—these men are scared of our beliefs, our culture, our magicks.

And in Cipres?

I have never been there, Adongo said, looking at his chains.

Of course, I’m sorry. Where did they capture you?

Many leagues away. We are a nomadic people but the pirates know our traditional routes. They come with fire and arrows and slaughter our brangos, burn our tents. They killed my woman…my twin daughters. He smiled sadly at Tor. But they cannot kill my memory of them.

Tor had nothing to say which could offer any comfort. Adongo’s dignity reminded him of Cloot. The chieftain noticed his companion’s awkwardness.

You did not bring this grief upon me, and if it had not happened, I would not be able to fulfil my destiny as Paladin. I accept my lot.

You shouldn’t have to. Tor’s bright blue eyes blazed his anger. At that instant, he could have throttled Lys and her brutal manipulations.

The man shrugged. Our life as Paladin is all about sacrifice. As I said, I don’t believe I have a choice. Their deaths were swift. They felt nothing. Only I felt pain and I am grateful for that mercy. But let us not dwell on it. Please…the child, he pointed to Ryk.

He is remote from us, Tor answered, embarrassed by his own relief at moving on from Adongo’s suffering. Ryk is in shock. I sense he’s still with us but he will die if he does not return to his senses quickly. The fever I can stop but I have to find Ryk’s spirit and bring him back to himself.

The man nodded. What can we do?

It’s dangerous. I don’t even know if it’s possible. I want us to link and then you must anchor me to that link inside you. I shall send myself into Ryk and see if I can find him.

Adongo’s eyes widened with surprise. It is not a reasonable plan.

Tor grinned. Why did everyone always hate his plans? It’s the only one I’ve got.

The swarthy man shook his head. Too dangerous. I cannot.

Are you frightened?

Not for me, he said abruptly. For you. I am not permitted to allow such risk.

Then I shall have to take the risk without you, Adongo. Pity, I could use your strength. This was unfair of Tor and he knew it but he had no choice. Ryk must live. Just keep an eye on the guards for me then.

Adongo stretched out his hand to hold Tor’s arm. Wait. I will help.

The Moruk would never know how grateful Tor felt at that moment for he really had no idea of how to carry out this complex task. Wasting no time, he locked onto the link and cleared his mind.

The man twitched a grim smile. Tor looked at him questioningly.

This reminds me of when we did battle with Orlac, Adongo said, kneeling beside Ryk. We would hold each other’s minds as safely as we could, like this, and still our combined strength was not enough.

It was a chilling statement.

Tor laid his hands on Ryk once again, summoned the Colours and felt himself disappear.

He found Ryk cringing. The boy screamed out when he felt someone so near. Adongo too heard the shriek and strengthened his hold on Tor via the link. He resisted the urge to peek towards the tent flap; he would hear the sailors before they entered.

Hush, Ryk, Tor soothed. It is only I.

The lad was confused and his terror stopped him being able to sort out his thoughts or even realise that Tor was there with him…inside.

You must follow me now, Ryk.

I’m frightened. He’ll chop my hand off and feed me to the giant eels.

Ryk. Tor’s voice was firm.

Yes?

It was only a whisper. He pushed on. Captain Blackhand is dead. The Wasp is sunk. And you are lost. If you follow me now, I can take you back to where we need to be. Do you understand?

The lengthy pause troubled Tor. He wondered how long Adongo could keep him safe like this.

Ryk, do you hear me?

He’s dead? We’re not drowned?

We’re alive. In a spot of bother, but we can handle it. First, we need to be together…and awake. Will you follow me? I promise I will not allow anyone to harm you.

What about the bother?

So he was paying attention. Good lad. I could use your help with it, to be honest.

Ryk allowed Tor to take his hand and lead him back to consciousness. As Tor re-entered his own body, Adongo’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the tent flap. Haryd came striding in, his henchmen following.

Adongo was still holding a damp linen and had the presence of mind to dutifully hold it out to Tor, who was breathing hard as he recollected himself.

Take it…Go through the motions, Adongo hissed across the link.

Tor sighed, stretched his back as though he had been on bended knees over the child for too long and casually looked up as Haryd arrived. He laid the towel on Ryk’s forehead. He felt dizzy with the effort of appearing normal.

‘Why do you need this slave?’ Haryd barked.

Tor shot a look at Ryk and noticed his face was twitching and his eyes were fluttering behind their lids. The boy was back. He was asleep but safe and healing. Now, he must deal with the angry sailor. He stood with effort, careful to keep his eyes lowered as instructed and also mindful of showing Haryd that he was still chained.

Adongo remained still and silent on his knees.

‘I have given the child a sleeping draught which will help lower his fever, sir. I believe, with some care, he will pull through for you.’

‘So, we’ve learned some humility have we, mighty physic?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Tor mumbled, wanting to unleash the Colours which were still sparking inside him.

‘But you didn’t answer my question, slave.’

Tor had to think what it was. He needed rest.

Explain what I am doing here, Adongo hissed.

Tor grasped at various thoughts which drifted across his mind. ‘Sir, I told your men that Ryk here is extremely ill with a disease which could be fatal to others. My apologies, I was wrong. He does, however, need to be kept moving constantly through this night or he will succumb. I am hoping that between the Moruk and myself we can keep him on his feet and not trouble your men…sir.’ His eyes flicked to Haryd and back to the ground.

‘I can’t imagine why you’d care about my men’s sleep, Gynt, but you are right about the fact that I don’t care about you, this Moruk here, or this child. However, if he can be saved, he may turn out to be useful. So continue. Tomorrow we march.’

He turned to leave, his whip twitching. ‘Oh, and Gynt—I won’t be needing the whore tonight. I’m tired. He will be brought here for you to attend to.’ Haryd smirked.

‘Thank you, sir,’ was all Tor could bring himself to say as they left.

He must have collapsed, for he felt himself being shaken. It was actually the noise of the chains clanking together which caught his attention, then everything else began to fall back into place and he found himself looking into the concerned face of Adongo.

What happened? he asked.

I know not. You are weakened by the boy’s healing, I imagine.

Ryk. How is he? Tor held his own head as he moved into a sitting position, cautiously for fear of the dizziness.

See for yourself, Adongo suggested.

Tor looked over into the corner and saw Ryk curled up in a natural state of deep sleep.

He even spoke. Said to thank you for finding him, for bringing him back.

I’m surprised he could remember anything, Tor replied, closing his eyes again.

He may not recall any of it when he wakes truly. But he will be fine. There is no fever. His colour is normal. If he is permitted to sleep today he should be recovered in time for the march, Adongo confirmed.

Ah, the march. How long will it take?

I would guess three days.

Adongo, are you able to reach my sack?

The Moruk passed the bag to Tor, who still felt too queasy to move. He remembered seeing a small vial in it when he first looked at the contents on the day he left the Heartwood.

He opened his eyes to slits and searched for the small glass tube. His fingers found it; he desperately hoped it contained what he suspected it may. Pulling out the cork stopper he smelled the liquid and was instantly reminded of the dingy room at The Empty Goblet where he had once performed an amazing healing on a man who was now a falcon.

‘Cloot,’ he whispered sadly. ‘Where are you?’

Tor sipped the clear liquid and the arraq slipped down his throat. Its effect was immediate; suddenly Tor felt as though he had slept for days. Strength returned to his body and his head cleared. He sipped again, remembering what Dr Freyberg had said about not taking too much at once. After a final slow sip, he returned the vial to the sack.

That is some potion, Adongo commented, amused and impressed.

A simply berry, tiny and rare, Tor said, recalling Freyberg’s description. They bloom only during Thaw and for a short season. The raw berries are poisonous—just a few drops of the juice can paralyse and a berry or two can kill—but if you boil them down to a syrup, you get this revitalising liquor. I am amazed that the same vial I was given many years ago, and had forgotten about, is now to be found in this sack. Tor shook his head with wonder. The Heartwood provides.

He changed the subject. Adongo, how is it we can use the link? he said, standing and stretching, amazed at his own fresh vigour.

The Moruk considered this for a moment. Though I was the Fifth to fall, I was the first to be recruited to the Paladin. I believe I opened the original mindlink between us when we were assembled. Perhaps this was a special quality given to me, which may be why I can link with you.

Tor nodded. It seemed feasible. One day we will return to the Heartwood and you will be able to talk with all of your Paladin companions. It is the most magical of places.

Adongo’s face lit up with a smile. I shall look forward to returning there with you, Tor.

They had no time to enjoy this thought. Footsteps warned them before the flap of the tent was ripped back. It was Beryd.

‘Is it safe?’ he barked.

‘I think so,’ Tor said, pretending not to be sure.

‘The Moruk must be returned,’ he said, striding in with two others. He addressed Adongo in the pidgin language Tor had heard earlier and the chieftain quietly stood for his chains to be removed from the central post.

Do not show them your powers, Adongo cautioned.

Why don’t we just escape?

Lys told me it was important I get to Cipres with you. She cautioned that we must not draw undue attention to ourselves.

Yes, she always says that and so far I’ve never managed to obey that rule, Tor answered ruefully as Adongo was led off.

He heard Adongo laugh inside his head and it eased his troubled spirit.

Beryd was looking at him. ‘What are you grinning about?’

‘Just recalling freedom and the last brothel I visited,’ Tor said, grabbing at the first excuse he could think of.

‘Well, if whoring’s on your mind, you’ll be pleased with this visitor,’ Beryd said, as Locky was shoved brutally into the tent. The boy landed on the floor and immediately pulled himself into a crouched position, manacles and chains clanking as he did so. ‘Fix him up. Then you return outside.’

Tor nodded, eyes riveted on Locky, who refused to look at anyone.

‘Make it quick. My men will be back in a few minutes,’ the sailor ordered.

Locky was trembling. Tor could see livid bruises on his face.

‘Talk to me, Locky…please.’

The lad looked up, eyes blazing with hatred. ‘The first man who tried to touch me when I was seven, I killed. Now I’m going to kill Haryd.’

The venom in the statement was real. Tor believed every word. He reached once again for the arraq. There was nothing he could physically do to help, and he sensed that Locky would not permit anyone to help even if they could. He wanted to retain his anger. He could survive the hurt and humiliation if he kept his hatred strong.

‘Sip this. Two sips only.’

‘What is it?’

‘A rejuvenating potion. We march tomorrow for three days. It will keep you strong.’

He thought the lad might refuse so was relieved when Locky held out his hand. He took the first sip and looked suspiciously at Tor.

‘And another one,’ Tor encouraged.

‘Is Ryk all right?’ Locky asked, taking a second invigorating drop into his mouth. ‘Can I keep this?’

‘No,’ Tor admonished and was relieved to see Locky’s mouth twitch with the rascal grin he remembered. ‘Ryk’s sleeping. He was knocked around a bit in the sea, but yes, he’ll be fine. I just hope he’ll be fit enough for tomorrow. How about you?’

The awkward moment had passed. Locky felt more at ease to talk now. He handed back the vial reluctantly.

‘Light! That stuff’s good. I feel as though I could march for a week.’

‘I’m glad. We must stick close now.’

‘Will they allow it?’

‘Yes. I’ve told them who you are. Quist’s name carries immense power. Even if they don’t believe me, they won’t risk it.’

‘Janus will be merciless,’ Locky said. ‘But they’re lucky they’ll have to deal with only him and not my sister.’

‘She will never know, Locky. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Not unless you’re prepared to get me drunk or give me the magic liquid again.’

Tor knew Locky would be all right. He was a tough lad and would take succour from his desire to avenge himself on these men. But now they must return to the other slaves.

As though their captor had read his thoughts, the tent flap was ripped back yet again. It was Haryd this time. ‘On your feet.’

Locky stood, eyes defiant. Tor willed him to offer respect, even if it was pretence.

‘Don’t look at me like that for too long, boy, unless you want your back to be even more sore than your arse. I can have it arranged through the courtesy of my whip here.’

Locky looked down. He said nothing.

‘Sir,’ Tor said, hating the humility he had to show, ‘your crew member Ryk will be fine by tomorrow. Could you allow him today to rest?’

‘Only him. You two, back outside.’

Tor pushed the Colours back, promising himself that one day he would see Locky settle with this man. For now, he must listen to Adongo and prepare for Cipres.