The White Road - Lynn Flewelling [27]
Ilar managed to stay on his feet as Ulan helped him to the guest chamber, and waited with him until the tub was prepared. The servants brought soap and healing oils and scented the water properly when the bath was ready.
"There now," Ulan told him, motioning the others out. "One servant will wait outside, should you have any difficulty, but no one will come in unless you call. Just let him know through the door when you're ready to see me again."
Trembling in his rags, Ilar mumbled, "You are very kind."
"You are an Aurenfaie in need, Ilar. I won't turn my back on you."
"But you left me there." He sounded more like a lost child than a man betrayed. "You ransomed so many others, but you left me in slavery."
Ulan sighed. "Your master treated you well, and held you in high regard. Look at yourself, Ilar. I don't mean to be cruel, but where can you turn, so scarred and broken that you can't even bathe properly for fear of someone seeing the marks of slavery on your body? I've seen too many returned slaves kill themselves. Truly, I trusted your master to take better care of you."
Ilar shivered and mumbled something Ulan didn't quite catch.
"Bathe and rest, Ilar. You are safe here." Ulan could feel the sudden tightening in his chest again. "Go on. I'll come see you in a little while."
Ulan controlled his breathing by will alone until he was safely behind the closed door of the next room. Then, collapsing into a chair, he pressed his handkerchief to his lips as he began to cough. It was no ordinary cough, this one. When the fit came upon him, it felt like an eagle tearing at his lungs. No one knew the severity of his condition except his personal healer, and she was sworn to silence. No one must know. As the coughing eased at last, he tasted blood. He spat into the linen handkerchief and saw with dread but no surprise that it was stained faintly pink.
He rested his head against the back of the chair and tried to relax as the pain slowly subsided. When he could stand again, he went to the wall adjoining Ilar's chamber and moved a small tapestry aside to uncover the peephole there.
Ilar paced for a while, shivering and muttering to himself too softly for Ulan to hear. Finally he stopped with his back to Ulan and let the cloak fall, then pulled the tunic over his head.
The reason for Ilar's plea for privacy was immediately apparent; the scars of severe floggings covered the back of his emaciated body from neck to knees, and quite a number of them were recent enough to still be scabbed over in places. Ulan had never known Charis to treat his slaves cruelly, and certainly not Ilar, whom he'd valued above all the others, and even spoke of freeing someday. No, something had happened--something to do with Ilar's escape, no doubt.
The brand on Ilar's calf was missing, too, just like the one on his forearm. While that would make keeping him a bit easier, it begged the question of how the marks had disappeared.
Perhaps some sort of obscuration spell? he wondered, though he'd heard nothing of Seregil or the other one having any particular skill of that nature.
If he could only find them, he'd have an answer to that.
Ilar turned around by the tub, reaching for a sponge on the bath tray.
Aura's Light! Ulan stared, deeply shocked. Charis had never mentioned that Ilar had been castrated; Ulan had always had the impression that he was a kind master. Then again, the scars that remained were old ones, and Ilar's manner toward his master had been respectful, not fearful. No, one of Ilar's previous, less gentle masters had done this to him some time ago.
Ilar lowered himself unsteadily into the tub and began to cry again. Satisfied for now, Ulan let the tapestry fall back and returned to his study. His evening dose from the healer had been left for him there. The herbal potion still helped to ease the pain, but