Immediately, the warrior-girl sprang up, casting round for something to use as a weapon, but

three men burst out of the trees and knocked her flat before she had a chance.

"Run!" Yelena screamed, fighting like a wild cat with the man who grappled for her arms.

Terrified, Tashi fled. The river was swifter here, channelled between two high banks. Water

foamed around rocks. She had nowhere to go but along the river's edge, crashing through

bushes, stumbling over stones, her breath tearing at her lungs in harsh gasps. Feet pounded

behind her. Men cursed as the brambles snatched at their hands and legs, but Tashi was

unaware of the scratches. The ground rose under her feet; she ran up the incline and emerged

into the open, finding herself right on the very edge of a curving river bluff. The brown water

flowed rapidly some ten feet below. Her two pursuers divided to approach her from either side,

like dogs rounding up a stubborn sheep. The biggest one, who had a shock of matted black hair

and a gap-toothed grin, held out his hand and beckoned her.

"That's right, sweetheart. Nowhere to run now. Come along and you'll not get hurt. We don't

mark the pretty ones, do we, Garth?"

"No, Mol, we don't. Treat them fine, we do." The

276

266

smaller man, no more than a boy really, slipped a rope from his belt and made a loop.

Tashi took a step closer to the edge. They stopped moving.

"That'll do you no good, girl. The river'll mash you up and spit you out drowned dead," Mol said.

"But with us, we'll find you a nice kind master who'll look after you. You'll live very comfortably--

better than most."

Tashi called silently on the Goddess. I can't get taken now -- I'll never reach my people in time to

save Gerfal, she pleaded.

Then don't get taken, came the answer.

There was no choice. She knew what she had to do, but she wasn't sure if her faith was strong

enough to believe she could.

"As the Goddess wills," Tashi muttered, knowing there was only one way to find out.

She slowly raised her hands. The men relaxed, thinking she was about to come to them.

"All right, I surrender," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Ram."

Giving up her life to the Mother, Tashi turned and jumped. She heard a snatch of a cry behind

her, but then she plunged into the water and went down, whirled away on the current.

277

Ramil fought on until he saw Yelena hustled into the camp, a knife at her throat. Her attacker

had a black

267

eye, but he'd managed to rope her wrists. The leader of the slaving party whistled and the other

men fell back.

"Now, my friends, you have a choice. If you fight on, I'll have to kill this girl.

Surrender your weapons and we'll treat you all fairly."

Melletin was the first to drop his sword. Ramil followed and Gordoc let his hands fall to his sides.

"Excellent. A slave that sees reason is worth his weight in gold." The leader turned to the man still holding Yelena. "Where are the others?"

"Gone after the other one."

"You two, round up the horses. Kinto, shackle our newest acquisitions."

Ramil watched the path from the river with sick apprehension. He barely noticed the iron collar

being bolted to his neck and manacles clamped to his wrists.

Finally, two men emerged from the bushes. They were alone.

278

"Where is she?" barked the leader.

"She jumped," Mol said with a shrug. "Straight into the river and never came up again. Rather die than be a slave, even though I told her we'd treat her nice."

Ramil felt something snap inside him. It was as if all the strength had gone from his body. He

collapsed to his knees, empty.

The southerner sighed with regret. "Well, you can't catch them all. Never mind. Let's get these

back to the barn. We deserve a drink. I'm paying!"

The slavers cheered and herded their captives onto the cart. Five horses followed in a string.

Thunder had

268

not been caught; last seen streaking away to the south, sparks flying from his hooves on the

flinty ground.

No one dared say anything to Ramil. Gordoc was moaning softly to himself, clenching and

unclenching his hands. Melletin hugged Yelena, who was weeping on his shoulder.

Disaster had come upon them so quickly. One moment he had been joking about the future and

cooking Tashi's supper, the next he was a slave and she was . . . Ramil could only think of what

the man had said. She would rather die than be a slave. Yes, that was Tashi: the proud princess,

unbroken to the last, his darling, brave girl.

279

And she might still be alive.

This thought was a torment because it allowed him a bitter hope. If it was true, then she was

alone somewhere out there, without him. How long would she survive?

He dug his nails into his palm, drawing blood. He was hurting so much inside he had to make his

body suffer. If he hadn't been shackled, he would have hurled himself from the wagon. A big

hand clamped down on his wrist, chain rattling.

"Don't," Gordoc said. "She wouldn't want it."

Ramil turned and buried his face in the giant's shoulder, his body racked with dry sobs.

The next few days passed in a dark blur for Ramil. He was aware of little but his grief as the

chained slaves

269

marched north in the wake of the slaver's wagon. Gordoc switched his protection from the

missing Tashi to the immediate needs of Ramil, making sure he drank and ate, keeping him on

his feet when he sank with despair.

Weak slaves met with no mercy. The whip saw to the slow ones; the knife to the feeble. The

slavers were in a hurry to make it to the market in Tigral by the turn of the month so kept up a

punishing pace.

Yelena had been separated from the men and now rode with the other female slaves in the

wagon. The slavers were keen that the women arrived looking presentable, as premiums were

paid for healthy house girls.

280

Appearance for the men was less important as most were destined for the mines. A few whip

strokes would make no difference in price. Strength was the main quality prized and the slavers

had high hopes for the big man they had captured, sure he would break all records this year

when put to auction.

They reached Tigral at the end of the second nightmarish week. Ramil barely stirred himself to

look up at the walled garden city rising out of the coastal plain. The Inland Sea curled around the

rose-colored stone of the walls, ships at anchor in the ports. Fergox's palace stood in the center

on the top of an artificial mound, the work of previous generations of slaves. It was painted gold

and twinkled in the sunlight--a palace built primarily for pleasure rather than defense. His wives

lodged here, each with her own pavilion and garden. Lemon and orange trees shaded the broad

270

avenues of the rich men's houses. Cherry trees bloomed exuberantly in the courts of the Great

Temple, white petals falling in drifts, covering the bloody gutters that trickled in constant

sacrifice to Holin.

The slaves only glimpsed this other world before they were ushered to the holding pens down

by the port. The women were escorted to a shed but the men were held in the open. The cages

were already full of captives and space was bitterly contested but somehow no one saw fit to

challenge Gordoc for his corner, allowing Ramil and Melletin to sit unmolested at his side. The