The gigantic pacemaster was already on his feet, waving a hammer and coming toward Tristan. Finding the large key in the center of the ring, Tristan shoved it into the padlock lying on the deck and turned it.

Nothing happened.

A quick glance told him that the pacemaster was nearly upon him. Again he turned the key in the rusty lock. The lock sprung open.

As fast as he could Tristan pulled his chain free, which allowed him to move his feet. But his wrists and ankles were still shackled together, and there was no time to pick up a weapon. The pacemaster, hammer raised, was looming over him.

As the great hammer came down, Tristan slipped to the right, dodging the heavy blow. Then he slid back in, placed his hands together, and swung them around, slamming his wrist shackles into the slaver's right cheek and eye. Blood sprayed, and the slaver crashed to the deck atop the other one's body.

Praying that the same key would unlock his shackles, Tristan shoved it into the lock binding his feet together and turned it. This time the lock sprang open immediately. The same proved true for his wrist shackles. Smiling, he turned and passed the key to the man seated behind him. There were tears in the fellow's eyes. Tristan started to speak, but suddenly realized that words were not necessary.

Reaching beneath the body of the first slaver, Tristan recovered the thing's short sword. He darted for the stairway, then stopped and purposely slowed his breathing.

Picking up the gold medallion that hung around his neck, he gazed at it for a precious, dangerous moment and thought of all his loved ones. Then he dropped the medallion back to his chest, raised the cool blade of the sword vertically to his forehead, and closed his eyes.

From the way the hull of the ship had been impacted and the sounds of battle coming from the deck above, no one had to tell him that they were being boarded.

Holding his sword before him, Tristan ran up the stairway and into the light.

CHAPTER

Twenty-two

S erena felt like an outcast as she looked down at the sumptuous plate of food. She sat alone at a dining table that was very well appointed, complete with candlesticks and wine. She was dressed in yet another lovely gown picked out for her by Janus.

Starving, clothed in rags, her fellow slaves stared out at her from their bondage. It made her nervous, fearful for her safety every time she finished such a meal and the demonslavers put her back into confinement with the others. Two slavers armed with swords sat nearby, watching carefully.

Although hungry, she didn't really want to eat, for it seemed so cruel to the others. But Wulfgar had told her she must do so when she could, and over the course of the last week she had come to trust his judgment. So she tentatively took her first bite of the delicious veal, trying as best she could to ignore the ravenous, envious glares of her fellow captives as they watched from inside the barred cages.

This bizarre, unexplained treatment of her had been Janus' doing; she was sure of it. Janus was apparently not willing to honor Wulfgar's request to feed her more without twisting it into something evil. Shaking her head, she thought of the insane, sadistic nature of her predicament. She felt naked and alone as she sat there with her fancy meal, and suddenly she realized that the only time she was ever at ease was when she was with Wulfgar, in his quarters.

She gazed around the great hall. It was without doubt the largest room she had ever seen, constructed of smooth, beige marble; lit by numerous, open skylights; and otherwise quite stark. All that the chamber contained were the many large cages holding the other R'talis slaves.

She had never been in a position to count the cages, but assumed their number to be in excess of one hundred. Each of the glimmering, silver coops stood alone, separated from the others by several meters. The cages contained people, cots for sleeping, and buckets used for waste. The buckets were not emptied often enough, and they filled the chamber with their stink.

None of the captives knew why they had been brought here, or what their eventual fate might be. Even Serena-the only one allowed out of here, had not been able to figure out the answers to those questions.

She had so far made four more trips to see Wulfgar, each time at his request. She enjoyed visiting him, and found herself growing to like him more and more. He had a strong, understated quality that always made her feel safe, even in this horrific place. Sometimes she wished she could simply stay there with him, but she doubted that Janus would ever grant such a request. He wouldn't want to give up the pleasure of seeing her squirm as she ate in front of the others, and watching them suffer as she was forced to eat the delicacies provided only to her.

Just then a door opened in the far wall and Janus sauntered in, the twin iron spheres on his belt clinking together as he walked. Serena cringed as he sat down in the chair opposite her and poured himself a glass of wine. Then he placed his legs on the table, crossed one over the other, and leaned back. The painted red mask contorted as he smiled.

Looking down at her plate, he feigned an expression of disappointment. "You really must eat something, my dear," he said unctuously. "Or, if you prefer, I could have something else brought in." He raised his eyes to her with a menacing, almost envious stare. "After all, nothing is too good for Wulfgar's whore."

Laying down her fork, Serena glared back at him. "I'm not his whore," she said softly. "We care for each other. Something I doubt you could ever understand."

Janus placed his free hand sarcastically over his heart. "I'm touched; I really am," he sneered. "In any event, he asks for you again. You must be very good at what you do. Perhaps if Wulfgar tires of you, I might take a turn…"

Serena remained silent, filled with hatred.

Standing, Janus picked up a fork and casually stabbed it into a slice of Serena's veal. Then he walked over to the nearest cage and waved it back and forth in the air, sending its enticing aroma toward the slaves. Like starving animals, they pushed to the front of the cage, and hands and arms stretched pleadingly out from between the bars. Turning back to her, Janus smiled.

"Food," he mused. "Simple, everyday food. Curious, isn't it? To assume power one need not torture, or even kill. One need only withhold simple sustenance, to suddenly become a king among men. Such an interesting, simple, elegant form of punishment and reward, wouldn't you agree? There really is no equal."

Tears welled up in Serena's eyes. Although she knew that none of this was her fault, she couldn't help feeling as if she were to blame.

"Stop it!" she begged. "Isn't it bad enough that you force me to eat this way before them? Must you add to that torture? How can you be so cruel?"

"Cruel?" Janus asked. He seemed genuinely perplexed. "You find this cruel? This is not cruel, my dear. This is merely… theater. But what is happening to the other slaves-those branded Talis-now that could truly be defined as cruel. Those poor bastards have simply become a means to an end."

Serena was about to ask him what he meant by that, but she stopped herself. Not only did she doubt that he would tell her, but she also wasn't sure she could bear hearing the answer. She lowered her face and placed her hands on her lap.

Janus smiled again, and waved the piece of meat higher. "You!" he shouted out to a tall man in front. "Show me how far you can reach! Perhaps you will be rewarded!"

The slave eagerly stretched one arm out, his fingers waggling desperately. Janus walked up to him and carefully placed the veal on the floor, several inches past the end of the man's reach-just close enough to tempt, and just far enough away to make touching it impossible. Then, apparently satisfied, he walked back to the table. Serena buried her face in her hands.