Lord of Avalon (11 page)

Symal’s barred carriage carried her through the forbidding
gates of Goren that afternoon. She gripped the bars with manacled hands and
stared, mute, as tears flowed from her eyes. She doubted she’d ever see the
Acolyte again and if she did, he would be repelled that she had been used so
brutally. Would he take revenge on his father for her? She doubted it. He’d be
angry, yes, but would soon learn to accept his princess. Before the
ryne
was out, she’d be a distant memory to him.

The carriage halted in front of the doors to the decrepit
stone building that housed the slave pens. To Symal, it was a prison. Except
what happened there would probably be worse.

Two guards stepped up and unlocked the rear door and
motioned her out. She struggled out as best she could with her fetters, trying
to cover her nakedness. They laughed at her. One reached in and stroked an
exposed breast and laughed again when she tried to pull away. “Don’t worry,
little pet, soon you’ll learn to love the touch of a mighty Warrior.”

They hauled her inside. When the large wooden door closed
behind her, it was as if her hope had been trapped on the other side.

Symal’s feet barely touched the ground as they hurried her
along the corridor, ignoring her whimpers. They came to a double-door and
knocked.

“Enter,” came a muffled voice and the guards took her
inside.

Symal was dragged before a desk, where a troll-like man sat,
dressed in dirty Damon robes. He looked more like a Laborer to her. His face
seemed scrunched up as if he had been damaged at birth. His dark hair thinned
at the top of his head, giving him a tangle of unruly locks.

“What have we here?” He asked the guards.

“Slave Symal, a gift from High Acolyte Kendam, Lord Dyman,”
intoned one of the guards, handing him a piece of parchment.

Dyman took it and read carefully, moving his lips. He looked
up and smiled evilly at the trembling girl. “Well, it seems you’ve angered
Kendam himself. Not wise, my child. Not wise at all.”

“I didn’t—”

“SHUT UP!” He thundered. “Slaves don’t speak! At least, they
learn not to if they want to avoid trouble. Do you want trouble?”

Symal miserably shook her head.

“Good! You can learn, then. Perhaps you’ll make a good
breeder after all.”

“But I’m only seventeen!” she blurted, only to be silenced a
moment later when Dyman slapped her hard across the face.

“You must be mistaking us for one of those other slave
pens,” he said. “We don’t follow such rules here.” He turned to the guards.
“Take her away. There’s a Warrior breeding coming up this very sun. Ten lashes
should cure her of her insolence. Then put her among the breeders.”

* * * * *

Acolyte Lepdar paced the corridor outside Kendam’s office,
angry at being kept waiting. If he were Raparn the priest wouldn’t keep him out
here like a dog!

Finally, the door opened and the Acolyte was motioned inside
by Mipola, one of Kendam’s advisors.

“Well? Did you read it?” The Acolyte had no time for
niceties.

Kendam stood, the old document in hand. “This is
interesting, yes. But I’m not sure it applies here or if it’s still in force.
I’ll have to ask High Lord Bandar about it.”

“Not sure it applies!? It’s a perfect match! And I’m assured
it has not been repealed. I’m sure
my father
will approve,” he said,
stressing his lineage.

“Perhaps. But you must understand, these things have to be
handled delicately. What if Syran doesn’t agree? Or Princess Wenelle? We have
to send messengers to Farzan—or better yet, diplomats, to make sure no one is
offended.” Even as he spoke, Kendam knew that messengers were already on their
way to assure the princess that the marriage would take place as planned.

“But Wenelle has a man she wants, just as I have a girl I
want. This is a perfect solution! And it’s written by High Priest Nidlet
himself!”

“Yes, of course. And we’ll pay close attention to it, never
fear. I promise you, good sire, that we will send couriers to Farzan in the
morrow,” he lied. “Like I said, we must proceed cautiously.”

“Fine. But in the meantime, I want to see Symal.”

Kendam looked away, his lips pursed. “That’s not possible
right now, I’m afraid. She’s being kept in a safe place until we can sort this
all out.”

“Where? Prison?”

“Oh, my no! She’s being kept safe, you have my word,” he
smiled convincingly. “Your father felt it was best until we can figure out the
proper course of action.”

Lepdar couldn’t stand to be in the same room with Kendam
another moment. He felt he might explode and do something rash. “We’ll see what
my father has to say about this,” he said, and stalked out.

* * * * *

The high priest watched him go, then signaled the guard.
“Did you deliver the slut?”

“Yes, my lord.” The guard bowed.

“What did Dyman tell you about her fate?”

“That she was to be bred to a Warrior very soon.”

Kendam smiled slowly, then closed his eyes, imagining the
girl’s terror. Soon she wouldn’t be fit for an Acolyte or anyone else! When the
Acolyte found out, he could just claim a miscommunication with the guards.
Maybe one would have to executed, just to be safe. Kendam opened his eyes and
stared at the guard.
Perhaps this one.

The Acolyte was the wild card. But how much protesting could
he do? After all, she wouldn’t be killed! Just slightly damaged. He laughed
soundlessly. Let the Acolyte decide if he wanted his precious girl after she’d
been with a Warrior!

Kendam held the paper to the candlelight and studied it,
looking for a flaw in the argument. Finally, he shook his head, then held the
dry parchment over the flame.

It burned quickly.

* * * * *

High Priest Bandar scratched the dry pen on the parchment
and winced.
Damn these quill pens!
He reinked it and started again,
letting the pure thoughts of Rand flow through him and onto this paper.

A commotion outside broke his concentration. The door
thunked open. His second son strode in, clearly angry, followed by a Cabal
guard. The guard tried to apologize for the interruption, but Bandar waved him
away.

“Father! You must tell me where Symal is! I have to see her!
We’ve found a solution to our problem!” The Acolyte’s words came out in a rush.

Bandar held up a reassuring hand. “Hold on, my young
Acolyte.” He spoke as if Lepdar was still a child. “Calm down. Now tell me why
you felt it was necessary to interrupt my religious writings.”

Bander watched the flash of anger cross his son’s face. “I
must see Symal!,” he cried out, his emotions bubbling over. “I’m worried about
her! Where have you taken her?”

“I don’t know. I let Kendam handle that. He thought it would
be best if I stayed out of it.”

“Stayed out of it! Why?”

“For appearance’s sake. It wouldn’t look right if the High
Priest gave preferential treatment to a subject because she’s involved with my
son!”

“But where is she? I demand to see her! You must order
Kendam to tell me where she is!”

“Why? We need time to sort this all out.”

“I’ve found a solution already! My scribe uncovered a
proclamation by High Priest Nidlet himself! It says the princess and I can be
married in name only, and live separate lives!”

“What? What? I know nothing of this.”

“It’s old, father. More than seventy
rynes
!” Quickly,
he explained it as best he could.

Bandar stared at the wall, considering what his son had told
him. He recalled Raparn’s similar protests about love versus duty before he
married Princess Tymir. There had been nothing anyone could do—they had to make
peace with the princess’s father. Raparn had reluctantly agreed, but in the
rynes
since, he’d never completely forgiven his father.

Now Bandar had a chance to make it right with Lepdar. But
what would Raparn say? He’d be angry he didn’t have this opportunity. Would he
claim it now? Would that ruin the pact? Still, Lepdar wasn’t the heir. Perhaps
it was not as critical he be married in the same way his brother had been.

Bandar shook his head. “I don’t know, my son. I’d have to
see this document and have my counsel study it.”

Lepdar nodded eagerly. “I left it with Kendam. Come, father,
I’ll show it to you now!”

Bandar had to admit he was curious. He glanced back at his
half-completed document. The glow of Rand had faded for the moment.

“Very well, Lepdar.” He rose. “Let’s see what your scribe
has uncovered.”

Symal hung from the post, her hands tied above her, and
tried to squirm away from the blows. The guard, a middle-aged warrior with a
nasty battle scar on his cheek that ran through one eye, reared back and struck
her again with the whip, causing her to cry out and writhe in pain.

“Please,” she begged. “Please stop!”

The guard ignored her. He had been ordered to give this girl
ten lashes and ten it was going to be. Personally, he thought she was getting
off easy. He’d given recalcitrant breeders up to twenty-five lashes at a time.
He struck her again, counting to himself:
That’s seven…

The guard heard the door open and turned, startled to see
Dyson walk in. “My lord,” he bowed slightly, then turned back to his task.

“Wait.”

The word stopped the guard in his tracks. The slave pen
owner approached the girl, eyeing her carefully.

Dyson, though he tried not to show it to the one-eyed guard,
was worried. This girl had been placed in his care by High Priest Kendam
himself. Kendam had ordered him to “soften up” the slut, then send her into the
breeding chambers with the other Warrior slaves.

Now, seeing her sagging from her chains, her back marked
with oozing red welts, Dyson thought this might have gone too far. Rarely was a
breeder beaten, then sent immediately to the chambers. They usually need a sun
or two to recover. Having this whore on her back while a foul-smelling Warrior
rutted with her would be sufficient punishment for whatever she’d done to
offend Kendam—it wouldn’t do to have her faint from the pain of her wounds in the
midst of the activity.

“That’s enough. This girl is too soft,” he said by way of
explanation to the guard. “She’s never felt the kiss of the lash before this
sun. I fear if you give her the full measure, she might be too damaged to enjoy
the breeding experience.”

The guard shrugged and turned away. He did not appear to
care one way or another.

Symal, only semi-conscious, felt enormous relief at this
news. She almost wanted to thank this evil man for sparing her. Almost. Deeper
in her mind, she wanted revenge. She wanted Lepdar to ride to her rescue and
drive his sword into this fat bastard’s stomach.

But where was her Acolyte? Had he abandoned her?

“Get her ready for the chambers,” Dyson barked.

* * * * *

Kendam wasn’t worried when he saw the Acolyte and his father
enter. Bandar had made his feelings clear on the issue and had left the details
to him. Now they just had to assuage Lepdar, convince him to do what had to be
done for the good of the priestdom. Lepdar would have to learn that lesson,
sooner or later.

“Ah, my priest,” he greeted his leader as one would an old
friend. “I see you met with Acolyte Lepdar. I trust you were able to convince
him of the wisdom of your decisions.”

Bandar looked uncomfortable. “Um, yes, Priest Kendam, my son
is aware of his duty. However, this ancient document he claims to have seen
causes me some concern. Lepdar said it was scrolled by High Priest Nidlet
himself! I thought I’d better have a look. As you know, I’m a student of his
works.”

Kendam blanched for a moment, then recovered.
“Unfortunately, it was a forgery, my priest. It didn’t seem like Nidlet’s
writing style at all. Nor do I believe that he would ever pen such a
blasphemy.”

He turned to the angry Acolyte. “Forgive me, my young
priest. I didn’t want to tell you until you talked to your father.”

“No!” Lepdar said. “My scribe—the scribe—said it was real.
He said he got it from High Priest Bandar himself!”

“And he didn’t return it?” Kendam jumped on the attack.
“That violates so many church edicts, I can’t begin to tell you how much
trouble this scribe is in. Who is he?”

Lepdar paled. “Um, he’s, er…” He knew he was trapped. If the
document
was
a forgery, or if Rydah was found guilty of hoarding church
relics, the Acolyte had to distance himself from the scribe. “Lord Rydah,” he
blurted.

“Yes, I believe he’s one of mine,” Bandar admitted.
“Third-tier, isn’t he? Son of that ne’er-do-well, Fyrad.”

“Ahh,” said Kendam, smiling, as if that explained
everything.

“Enough!” Lepdar shouted. He put his hand on his sword. “I
demand to know where Symal is being held. I will take personal charge of her
while we sort out the authenticity of this document.”

Kendam looked at Bandar and raised an eyebrow as if to say,
You
can’t control your children?

Bandar cleared his throat. “I’m familiar with Nidlet’s
writing. Let me see the document and we might be able to resolve this at once.”

Kendam paled as his mind searched about for an answer.
Finding no lie that would suffice, he was forced to tell his version of the
truth. “My priest, having determined the document was blasphemous, I destroyed
it.”

“WHAT!?” Lepdar pulled his sword and placed the tip against
Kendam’s neck. “I’ll kill you for this!”

Kendam’s guards stepped forward, not sure what to do. Both
hands reached for the hilts of their swords.

“YOU’LL DO NO SUCH THING!” Bandar roared, stepping in and
grabbing his son’s arm. “Put down your sword at once or I’ll have the guards
disarm you!”

Lepdar wouldn’t budge. His eyes bored into Kendam’s. “Go
ahead, father. By the time they pull me off, Kendam’s head will be off his
shoulders—unless he tells me where she is!”

Kendam, quite at ease with political intrigue and
double-dealing, was completely unfamiliar with sudden violence. “Goren,” he
squeaked, his round eyes focused on the tip of the sword. “She’s at Goren.”

With a move too quick to register, Lepdar stepped in close,
placing his forearm hard against Kendam’s throat, cutting off his oxygen. “You
sent her to a slave pen?” He said with quiet incredulity.

Kendam’s eyes cast wildly about for rescue. No one moved.

Lepdar’s voiced deepened with menace. “Hear this, my priest:
If she tells me she’s been mistreated in any way, I’ll be back for your head.”
He pushed himself away, leaving Kendam sucking air.

“Lepdar!” Bandar shouted, to no avail. The Acolyte had
already swept out of the room.