As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, he found he could make out a thin sliver of light far overhead that was mostly likely a hatchway. Squinting, he made out the heavy staples his chains were secured to, and then, further away, the shapes of others bound as he was.

“Ah- ek!” It was impossible to speak properly around the branks. “Ar-ek? ’ere are you?”

Suddenly the darkness was filled with frantic voices, all of them as garbled as his own, and none of them Alec’s.

Exhausted and sick, he lay still, trying to ignore the terrible discomfort, and the stink of his own vomit pooled near his head.

Over the rush of the waves against the hull, he could make out the thump of bare feet on the deck overhead, and voices. When he finally made out a few words, his heart sank even lower. They were speaking Zengati.

So, he was on a slave ship, and Alec wasn’t with him.

Seregil clenched his teeth against the iron plate, using the shivery pain to fight down a burst of panic. He couldn’t afford any distractions. He tried to tell himself that Alec could have escaped, but memories of the ambush in the forest won out. Whoever his captors were, they had killed anyone they didn’t mean to take.

And Alec wasn’t here.

Panic won, and he thrashed in impotent rage, until he was bloody and too weak to move.

For the first time in a very long time, he was helpless.

CHAPTER 9 Hobbled

ALEC WAS DEEP under dark water, unable to breathe. He could see a light glimmering far overhead, and he tried desperately to swim up to it, but his body was heavy and his arms didn’t work right. An undersea swell tugged at him and filled his ears with its soft roar. The more he struggled, the more he sank. Giving up, he used the last of the air in his bursting lungs to cry out for Seregil-

The unpleasant scrape of metal against his teeth brought Alec out of one nightmare and into a new one. The sound of the sea was still in his ears, and the world was still moving, but daylight smarted his eyes. He was in a cramped, plank-walled room. A tiny window showed only a square of blue sky and a few white seagulls. Even without that, he could tell by the rolling motion of the room that he was aboard a ship under full sail.

How in the name of Bilairy had he gotten on a ship?

Badly disoriented, he looked down to find that his wrists were locked in wide metal bands, and a long bar was fastened between them to keep his hands apart. One end of a heavy chain was fastened to the middle of the spanner, and the other to a heavy metal staple in the wall. His fingers found metal straps between his eyes and around his head.

Someone had put him in branks, like the one Thero had worn when they were captives together on that Plenimaran ship. The same sort of wide, silvery bands of metal encased his wrists. Someone had mistaken him for a wizard and taken serious precautions.

Otherwise, he’d been made comfortable. He lay on a narrow bunk, warmly swathed in blankets. His clothing was gone, he noted uneasily, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed.

For now. Mardus and his necromancers had taken good care of Alec, too, as long it had suited them. How in hell had he come to be in the same damn situation twice?

He closed his eyes. He remembered the ambush, and something black and horrible rushing at him, surrounding him with numbing cold and a breathtaking stench. And Seregil yelling…

Panic rose again, stronger this time, as it sank in that he was alone.

He slid off the bunk and staggered unsteadily toward the window, but the chain wasn’t long enough. He could get off the bed to stand, but no further. He climbed back onto the bunk and stood up on it to give him a different view out the window.

There wasn’t much to see-just some taut ropes and a section of rail, and beyond that, open sea. He couldn’t find the sun to judge the hour.

A chill, salt-laden draft caressed his skin, bringing gooseflesh out on his arms. He sat down and awkwardly dragged a blanket up over his knees with one hand.

The bunk was built into the wall-just bare boards under a thin mattress stuffed with wool. There was nothing loose lying about except two small wooden buckets on a shelf at the end of the bed. The empty one stank of piss, and was clearly meant for a chamber pot. The other held water. He leaned over and sniffed it suspiciously, but it seemed clean. Thirst overrode caution and he sucked up what he could, trying to wash the metallic taste from his mouth. Resuming his vigil, he tried to ignore the fear blossoming in his belly.

Where is Seregil? The thought throbbed in his mind like a heartbeat.

He could hear sailors talking somewhere nearby but couldn’t make out their words over the sound of the wind and waves.

Finally, two men passed close by the window and Alec caught a glimpse of dark skin, long black curly beards, and a flash of distinctive striped clothing.

Zengati.

He slid down the wall and rested his useless hands on his knees, heart pounding as he realized how bad the situation really was.

He was still brooding on that when he heard the scrape of a bar being lifted outside his door. Defenseless, he stayed where he was, his only protection the blanket pulled tightly around him.

The door opened just wide enough for a young boy to slip through, then shut behind him, and Alec heard the bar slam down again. His visitor, barefoot, and dressed in a long, belted shirt, was carrying a large wooden bowl. He eyed Alec for a moment, then quickly set the bowl down on the floor just within reach and scuttled back and banged on the door.

“Wait! Tell me where my friend is,” Alec begged, or tried to. The words came out hopelessly mangled around the mouth plate.

The boy called out loudly in his own language to whoever was waiting outside. Alec didn’t speak Zengati, but it was clear that he was scared of Alec, and none too pleased with his duty. As soon as the door opened, the boy dashed out.

Alec leaned over the edge of the bunk to inspect the bowl, which held some sort of bland, grey broth. He left it alone, drank more water, then settled cross-legged, back to the wall, watching the door and window. He pulled at the branks, but only managed to hurt his mouth. The wristbands were no better, smooth and seamless, sealed with magic.

Plenimaran magic, on a Zengati slaver’s ship. He couldn’t think of a worse combination.

Time crawled by and the light began to fade. Judging by the way the shadows moved across the floor, he guessed they were sailing north. North from Gedre lay Skala or Plenimar. Alec had no illusions about where they were headed.

Darkness fell and no one came, not even the boy. Huddled in his blankets, Alec kept watch on the door, sick with worry for Seregil.

He must have dozed off, for he was completely unprepared when the door suddenly banged open and the cabin filled with people. Dark, bearded faces loomed over him and hard, hurtful hands held him down. Someone held a lantern aloft. Someone else grabbed the bar between his hands and wrenched it out sideways, so that his right hand was over the edge of the bed. An order was barked and some of the men fell back, giving place to a heavyset man wielding a small branding iron. Hands tightened on Alec’s chest and legs and shoulders as the bastard grabbed Alec’s wrist and pressed the iron to the inside of his forearm.

Alec screamed and swore and struggled as the smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils, but to no avail. Flipping him over, they branded him on the back of the left calf, too.

It was over quickly, and they left him alone again, but that was little consolation. The pain of the burns was agony, and with his hands shackled like this, it was impossible to find a way to lie that didn’t cause more pain.