Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [79]
Seregil closed his eyes, feeling more desperate than ever. They were killing Alec, and for what? He’d never heard the word “rhekaro” and had no idea what it meant, except that it was probably whatever unclean thing was moving about under the dirt, fed with his talimenios’s blood. Given the presence of the nobleman here, this wasn’t just some minor experiment and yet the bastard spoke as calmly of it as Nysander might of some interesting spell he was working on.
“Do you know yet if the rhekaro will yield what you hope, Master?”
The alchemist chuckled at that. “Are you really in such a hurry to leave me?” When Ilar said nothing the man patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Something has quickened, and I will keep my word. If all goes as we hope, I will emancipate you.”
Ilar stroked Seregil’s hair. “And this one will truly be mine, Master?”
“Yes, though why you should want such a wild and dangerous creature as that is beyond me, especially one that has betrayed you in the past.”
“I look forward to breaking him, Master.”
Seregil bit the inside of his lip. Oh, I will kill you slowly!
“Hmm. You know, Khenir, some wild things are meant to be tamed, rather than broken.”
The alchemist wrapped a bandage around Seregil’s wrist, then sniffed the blood in the bowl and dipped his finger in it. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, like he was testing silk, then the smear burst into a bright blue flame. “Yes, that’s good strong western blood in those veins. A Bôkthersan, you say? They make very strong dra’gorgos, I hear. I know of several necromancers who’d pay well for a flask of this. You might make a bit of a profit on him that way, until he’s manageable. I will give you letters of introduction.”
“Of course. You are the kindest of masters, and the greatest of alchemists.”
So I was right! thought Seregil. That explained the tidy workshop. He’d always understood them to be benign, like wizards, but what he’d seen in that cellar spoke of darker workings. He hoped Ilar and his master would speak more of Alec and whatever this rhekaros thing was, but it seemed they were done with him for now. The alchemist looked down at him for a moment with something like pity in his dark eyes. Seregil marked him for death, too.
“In the meantime, I think I will try a few experiments of my own with this.” He set the bowl aside and covered it with a white cloth.
“Of course, Master. He is yours, to do with as you please.”
For now, thought Seregil, sensing something other than abject respect in Ilar’s voice again. Perhaps the deal between them wasn’t such a sure thing, after all.
“If I may, Master, might I have some more of the rosefish elixir? It’s a very great help in handling him.”
The alchemist took a small flask from a shelf and handed it to Ilar. “Mind you don’t use too much on him. Only in small doses is it safe. I do hope you will remember what you have learned here in my house. In the end it is only kindness that wins them over—though a firm hand is necessary, as well.”
Ilar bowed deeply. “In you, I have had the best of teachers, Master.”
“Perhaps. But remember, too, that some can never be broken, and sadly, they must be put down to preserve the public safety. The penalties for harboring a dangerous slave are severe, and more so for freedmen.”
“I will be careful, Master. Thank you for your concern. Martis, Kheron, bring him back to his chamber. I will be there in a moment.”
Seregil’s keepers had names, now, though he had no idea who was who.
The elixir was wearing off. He had strength enough now to twist in their grip, looking for Ilar, who was following close behind. “What is he doing to Alec?” Seregil wanted to ask what a rhekaro was, but that would tip his hand.
“A great work. He is creating something beautiful and useful from that half-breed of yours. You should be proud.”
“Liar!”
Ilar smiled. “Not this time, dear Haba.”
They carried Seregil back to his cell under the house and deposited him on the pile of quilts.
Ilar had them unhook the chain from Seregil’s collar,