Ramil was thinking fast. He now had a new advantage he hadn't anticipated, thanks to Yelena's

swift action to take the merchants hostage. He

approached the pen where they were being held. His merchant-mistress spat at his feet. Ramil

ignored her, looking for someone who showed more presence of mind.

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"Is anyone here fit to deal with me?" he asked in his most regal tone.

"Fit to deal with slave trash?" howled the old woman, her priceless silk dress now smeared with dirt. "I think not."

Ramil gave her a humorless smile. "Dark Prince, I think you'll find is a more accurate term,

madam. But, ladies and gentlemen, I haven't got all day. Who shall speak on your behalf?"

The merchants exchanged a few shifty glances, then a man wearing the chain of a city guild

leader stepped forward.

"I will treat with you," he said stiffly. "Know now, slave, that if you surrender, I will see that you are dealt a merciful death. Your allies will be spared but returned to their masters for

punishment."

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"That is very generous of you," Ramil replied with an ironic bow. "But I think you do not understand your position. I am the one offering you mercy. Send a message to your houses that

we will accept a ransom of a hundred thousand heralds for each of you. If the city guard try to

attack us, then sadly you will be executed before they can reach you."

"You would not dare!" exclaimed the guild leader.

"Me? No. I have no taste for taking lives. But if I see the troops coming for you, I will not stand between you and your old slaves. If you were merciful masters, then maybe you have nothing to

fear; if not, then ..." He left the sentence hanging, letting them imagine what their people would do to them.

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The guild leader struggled with his outrage for a moment but then jerked his head in a nod. "We

will send the message. But I cannot be answerable for the reply."

"And I cannot be answerable for the slaves you have nurtured in your households. We are well

matched."

Ramil strutted away, pretending more confidence than he felt. He had no intention of allowing

even these people to be cut down in cold blood.

However, he saw no advantage in letting the old masters know this; they deserved to sweat a

little.

"Now, where are my commanders?" Ramil asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as

he rejoined Gordoc. The big man was outside, surrounded by a dozen men and women, backs

straight and eyes aglow with a combative light for the first time since they had been taken into

slavery. It took Ramil a second to realize something: he was actually enjoying himself.

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Chapter 17

Zeliph lost patience with his silent guest after two days. He was eager to settle the matter of the

horse's ownership so he could claim it for himself.

Thunder was the kind of mount a rider in the Horse Followers would sell all he possessed to

own. Ignoring his wife's protests that the girl was still unwell, he marched into her chamber and

dragged Tashi from the bed. He brought her, still trailing her sheet, into the main part of the tent

in front of a meeting of tribesmen. She was clad in one of the men's shirts, from which she had

refused to be parted to put on more suitable women's robes, and her legs were visibly trembling

with weakness.

"As headman, I ask the tribe to give me the blue roan as a prize," declared Zeliph. "This girl says the horse is not hers and she is clearly not fit to own it any more than the clothes she wears.

Therefore the stallion should go to me as I caught him on our pastures and brought him here."

He sat down as if the matter was done with. Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the swish

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of fly whisks as the men brushed the buzzing nuisances away.

"But what of the pale girl: what will you do with her?" asked an old man seated near Tashi.

Zeliph shrugged and gave a languid wave to the door. "She can come or go as she wishes. She is

touched in the head and talks nothing but nonsense when she talks at all. She is of no account."

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"But where am I to go if you take my horse?" Tashi asked, her voice so quiet it was barely

audible.

The old man cupped his ear. "There, Zeliph, she's clever enough to understand that you're taking

from her. Are you sure she's touched?"

"What does it matter? She's a stranger and a woman--she's nothing to us.

She can walk home if she must, unless one of you wants to offer her a place in your tent. I've had

enough of her in mine."

"I'll offer her a place if your hospitality is so deficient," said a new voice in the entrance. The men looked up and hurriedly rose to their feet, bowing low.

Zeliph's face wrinkled in a worried frown as the newcomer swept in to take a seat next to him.

The visitor was an old man with white curly hair and ebony skin, at least six feet, broad-

shouldered and still strong despite his years. On his right index finger he wore a gold ring shaped

like a running horse.

"Umni Zaradan, you are welcome to my tent," Zeliph said, bowing again.

"But this stranger is not," the man replied, his eyes fixed on Tashi, "even though she brings word of my

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grandson, Ramil ac Burinholt? Why did you not send for me when she first mentioned his

name?"

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"A wild claim, sir," blustered Zeliph. "How can this . . . this pale westerner know anything of him? She probably just heard the rumors and spun her story accordingly."

Tashi returned the gaze of the man who claimed to be Ramil's grandfather.

She had no need to be convinced of his identity because the family likeness was strong. He was

much darker than his daughter's son, but they shared the same brown eyes and stubborn chin.

"Tell us how you know Ramil, child," the man said in a kindly tone, "and let us see if you are a liar as Zeliph claims."

Tashi wrapped the sheet around herself protectively. "I'm betrothed to your grandson, sir."

He raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"I am the Fourth Crown Princess of the Blue Crescent Islands. Ours was a marriage alliance but

it... er .. . went rather off course." Tashi thought that this was probably an understatement. "We were abducted by Fergox

Spearthrower but managed to escape at Midwinter. We were travelling to my home with some

companions but it all went wrong again." She stopped. The hostility in the room was palpable.

She could not continue so painful a subject if they were just going to pour scorn on her,

trampling on her already bruised feelings.

"I believe you are from the Crescent Islands--your hair at least says this is so," Zaradan said coldly. "But if you travelled with my grandson, where is he and why

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do you have his horse and"--he gestured to the shirt-- "what look to be his clothes?"

"Ramil and our friends were taken by slavers on the road near the river," she explained.

Zaradan's eyes narrowed. "But you escaped?"

She nodded, looking down. He had put his finger on the guilt she felt at having survived.

Zeliph sensed that Zaradan's suspicions were roused and hurried to widen the breach between

the tribe and the stranger. "How can a defenseless girl escape when a fighter like Ramil ac