The ship was a large one, long and lean, and there were dozens of sailors and armed men milling around. No one spared him a glance as he was carried past. Beyond the rail, he could see a waterfront teeming with people.

There was some sort of holdup at the head of the gangway, and he looked around wildly, realizing how futile his hope of escape had been.

At first glance, Riga was no different than any seaport city. The shadows were growing long, and there were lanterns lit along the streets. Tall warehouses lined the shore, and between them he got a glimpse of a large city that spread as far as he could see. Beyond that, in the distance, were white, rolling hills dotted with bits of dark green. It reminded him of Gedre.

On deck, a hatch had been thrown back and filthy, naked people were being led up. The smell was so bad that he retched around the mouth plate of the branks.

The miserable slaves were staggering in chains and, as Alec watched, two sailors came up carrying a limp body by the arms and legs. The man was filthier than all the others-emaciated and bloody, too-but Alec still recognized him.

“’eregil!” he shouted, thrashing in his captors’ grip and cursing the branks that gagged him. “’eregil! ’eregil!”

He was terrified at first that Seregil was dead. The man was deathly pale under the filth, and his eyes were sunk deeply in dark, bruised-looking sockets. But as soon as the sailors stretched him on the deck, Alec saw him make a feeble effort to curl into a ball. The heavy metal bars fastened between his hands and feet were too much for him. As Alec watched, he went limp, only the whites of his eyes showing under half-open lids. Alec had never seen his talimenios so weak.

But he’s alive and he’s here!

Before he could tell anything more of Seregil’s condition, Alec’s handlers hoisted him higher and carried him down the gangway. Helpless he might be, but he was no longer without hope.

The last thing he saw before the deck rose out of view was the nameless Aurënfaie slave kneeling beside Seregil.

Help him, please! Alec silently begged, as he was carried ashore.

Alec?

Seregil was only dimly aware that the motion around him had changed. Then he was in sunlight, too painfully bright even through his eyelids. A fresh, cold wind cut through the stink he’d thought endless. Had he been asleep? Had he dreamed Alec’s voice, calling to him?

It hurt too much to stay here, though, and he let himself sink back into the welcoming blackness.

Consciousness flirted with him, and he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming the sound of voices, coming to him faintly, as if from a great distance.

“I told you to hold him, not kill him!”

Seregil knew that voice from somewhere.

“We didn’t know…”

He was too far gone to register what language was being spoken; he only knew that he understood it.

“Useless! He’s dying!”

Who’s dying? Not me, friend! Not until…

Alec’s captors carried him down a long stone quay and into a market square. If he’d had any doubts about slavery here, they were put to rest now. There were iron cages full of naked men, women, and children, and beyond that, a raised platform where more people stood chained to posts in front of a crowd.

“Maker, save me,” Alec whispered.

The sailors tightened their grip on him and bore him down a paved street between the warehouses.

The chill air was dry and full of dust. The street was crowded even at this hour and, for the first time in days, he was painfully aware of his nakedness. Old women and young girls laughed and pointed, calling out in their own language. Alec’s command of Plenimaran was far from perfect, but their jeering tone was enough. Still possessed of a deep-bred northern modesty despite all his time with Seregil, he burned with shame.

And he guessed there was worse to come. They were in sight of more auction blocks now, then among them. On one platform a fair-haired young woman was on display, with her hands tied behind her to keep her from covering any part of herself. Their eyes met in a moment of shared anguish. On the next block, two little boys stood weeping and clinging to each other as the auctioneer harangued the crowd. A blind fiddler stood on a street corner, playing a bright jig.

A sudden turn in the street spared Alec any more such sights, but it had been enough. Angry tears blurred his vision as he screamed and struggled, helpless to stop, as his captors hurried him into a long, low building.

It was like a barn inside, and lined with stall-like cages. They put him in one of these, laying him down carefully on a thick bed of straw and slamming the iron door shut behind them.

The place was brightly lit. Alec pushed himself up on his hands and looked around. The walls of his little cell were made of heavy boards, so he could only see out the front. Across the room, most of the cages held one or more captives.

Still hampered by the iron bar between his hands and the ropes cutting into his legs, he crawled to the back corner of his cage and covered himself in the straw as best he could. His heart was pounding, the sound of his own blood loud in his ears as he fought a renewed rush of panic. He had no tools, and there were people everywhere, talking or haggling loudly in languages he could not understand. He wished now he’d let Seregil teach him Plenimaran. After his last experience, he’d wanted nothing to do with this country, not even its language. Now he kicked himself for his stubbornness.

How long until someone dragged him back out to the blocks and put him on display? How would he know what was going on?

It was a busy place, this slave barn, not unlike a horse dealer’s market. People of all sorts strolled up and down the line of cages, laughing and chatting together as they inspected the merchandise. Many stopped to look at Alec, but none came in after him. There were a number of Zengati about in their salt-stained boots and striped tunics. Most, however, had the look of nobles or merchants, and dressed more in the Skalan fashion. Alec studied them all carefully. Aside from Duke Mardus and his necromancer, the only Plenimarans he’d had any experience with were their marines, and they were a cruel, hard-bitten lot. By comparison, these people looked like any ordinary market crowd, except for the goods in which they were trading.

An elegantly dressed young woman paused to stare at him, attended by several servants and friends. Her bodice was more modestly cut than that favored by Skalan women of fashion, but she had brilliant feathers and jewels in her upswept hair. Her face was covered in some sort of white powder and her lips were painted dark red. The unnatural cast of it, and the appraising look in her hard, dark eyes, made Alec nervous. She gestured at him, then moved on, casting back some remark that set her companions laughing and pointing.

Alec guessed she must be one of the courtesans the veiled man had mentioned. What little he’d ever heard about proper Plenimaran women was that they were kept at home and closely guarded.

I’ll be damned if I end up the toy of some whore!

He tried to ignore the crowd after that, until a few ruffians crowded up to the bars and threw pebbles at him until he looked up. They were dressed like butchers, in leather aprons streaked with dried blood, and had curved knives and oddly made pincers dangling from their wide leather belts. One of them caught Alec staring and cupped his groin through his apron, making an unmistakable slicing motion with his other hand.

A distinguished-looking Plenimaran man spoke sharply to them and shooed them off. He was past his prime, but not old. He wore a black velvet surcoat with silver chains and wide cuffs of lace, a number of gold rings and a jeweled chain.