The White Road - Lynn Flewelling [113]
Instead, Ulan's men had found him dying in a ditch. He still carried that coldness, that fear, deep in the core of his soul, and nothing could ever take it away. Except, perhaps, to find Seregil and beg for ... He still could not decide what it was he wanted, but the hunger was eating away at his mind. The thought of being alone in the world again froze him with terror.
The White Seal made port at Riga in fair weather, but Ilar felt sick. Hiding in the cabin, he peered out the porthole as the cargo was unloaded at one of the many quays. A land breeze brought him the scent of the city--the smoke and reek of it--and he thought he could even smell the sweat and despair of the slave markets. It was something he knew all too well. Only when Ulan came looking for him was he able to leave the cabin. Ilar was dressed in Aurenfaie style, and a Viresse sen'gai covered his cropped hair, but he also wore a lace-edged slave veil tied securely to hide all of his face below his eyes.
Emerging into the sunlight, trying to ignore the stares of the crew and other passengers, he took the old man's arm as if to steady him, but in truth it was the only way he could walk down the gangplank without his own legs giving way under him. He had no brand, no collar! What if someone discovered that?
Ulan gave him an understanding smile and patted his hand. "Steady now, dear fellow, there's nothing to fear. No one will dare touch me in this city, or trouble anyone wearing the sen'gai of my clan--at least not in daylight. You are a freedman under my protection here."
His words were little comfort as they set off into the city in a hired carriage. An armed escort rode behind them, led by a hard-eyed captain named Urien. Even wearing the colors of Viresse, Ulan practiced caution, not trusting the Plenimarans, despite the trade agreement that allowed him and his ships to come into Plenimaran harbors.
"I have a small but very secure house down that way," Ulan told him, pointing down a street that ran along the harbor's edge. "I daresay we shall end up there shortly. I doubt the good lady will tolerate our presence for long."
At the slave market, an auction was in progress on the very platform where Ilar had once been sold, and it was being overseen by the same lean, hatchet-faced dealer who'd sold him. Everywhere he looked, he saw misery and the dealers in flesh.
Ulan took his hand again and murmured, "Never again, my friend."
Ilar had some respite from fear when they left the city, but terror began anew as they finally neared the outskirts of Yhakobin's estate. By the time they drove down the tree-lined lane and through the gates, he was trembling uncontrollably and blinking back tears. If Ilbana recognized him, even Ulan would not be able to save him.
"Calm yourself," Ulan said sternly.
When the carriage came to a halt, it took all his tattered will to get out. He'd never imagined being here again, walking up these white marble steps between the tall red pillars that flanked the ornate double doors of the entrance.
Servants Ilar recognized met them and escorted them into the black-and-white paved courtyard. One of them was Ahmol, who had been Ilban's assistant. Ilar nearly fainted when the man gave him a sharp look, but Ahmol showed no sign that he recognized him.
The front courtyard looked just the same--the long fountain pool surrounded with statues, the shaded portico, and, at the far end, the archway through which lay his dead master's workshop. Ilbana Meran and her two young children--little master Osri and his younger sister, Amela--met them there, and Ilar was introduced as a newly ransomed slave. To Ilar's relief, she hardly spared him a glance. Master Osri stared at him for a moment, though, and Ilar's heart turned over in his breast; the child was spoiled and spiteful, and had always