Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [96]
With a sigh, Bronwyn capitulated. “I was taken south on a ship after the raid on my village. I was, maybe, three or four at the time.”
“Stones,” he muttered. The thought of a child, any child, being submitted to the terror of a sea voyage set Ebenezer’s blood simmering with rage. Which, in his opinion, was a big improvement over a churning belly. Danged if he shouldn’t a-got riled up early on in this voyage, and stayed that way. “Hard thing, especially on a kid that age,” he said darkly.
“It was.” She fell silent for a moment. “I never actually saw the sea.”
Ebenezer’s gaze dipped down to the endless silvery waves. He gulped and yanked his attention back up to the billowing clouds that dotted the sky. “No loss there.”
“There’s bad, and there’s worse,” Bronwyn pointed out. “At least this trip, I have a choice. On my first voyage I was kept in the hold, along with maybe a dozen or so other prisoners.”
Imprisonment. The dwarf didn’t quite manage to suppress a shudder. “That’s worse,” he admitted.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Ebenezer caught Bronwyn looking in the direction of his belt, and tracked her gaze down to his “wine skin.” He had replaced it in Skull-port. The Burning Troll, whatever its other shortcomings as a tavern might be, kept dwarven spirits in stock. He untied the string that held the skin to his belt and handed it to Bronwyn. She uncorked it and took a long, fortifying swig. To Ebenezer’s surprise, she swallowed the strong spirits- known among dwarves as “molten mithral”-without a cough or a sputter. He didn’t know a human who could do that, leastwise, not without practice. Maybe, he mused, she had had more than a little experience with dwarves and their ways. Later he’d probably be tempted to ponder on that a mite.
Bronwyn corked the skin and handed it back with a nod of thanks. “For some reason, I was the only prisoner not chained. They treated me well enough, I suppose. I had enough food, a blanket, and a corner of my own to sleep in, and even a couple of toys. The others were destined for slavery-they spoke of it, wept over it. I don’t think I was. Not at first.”
“What happened?” the dwarf prompted.
“There was a storm,” she said shortly. “A terrible storm that tossed the ship around like a leaf. The mast snapped, and some of the planking tore loose. The hold took on water.”
She shuddered from the memory. “I climbed as high as I could onto a pile of crates. Everyone else was chained. I could do nothing but watch as they drowned, slowly, screaming and cursing like creatures damned to the Abyss.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper, husky with the remembered horror.
“Hard thing on a kid,” the dwarf repeated.
“Nothing else in the hold survived except me-and a few rats. They could climb, too, and they found any footing they could. By the time the water rose to my chin, there weren’t many places left for them to perch.”
Ebenezer suspected what was coming, and muttered a heartfelt oath. He stopped himself, just barely, from reaching for her hand.
“Two of the rats climbed onto my head. They fought each other for the right to be there. Nothing I could do would dislodge them.” She smiled faintly. “When my hair is wet, and parted just so, you can still see the scars.”
She drew in a long, ragged breath. “The sea calmed suddenly. I learned later that we had been caught in the wake of a waterspout, thrown off course and into the path of some Nelanther pirates. Without the mast, the ship could neither fight nor flee. Most of the crew were killed. The pirates seized the valuables and took all the survivors to be sold as slaves. It was night then,” she added, “and there was no moon. That’s why I never once saw the sea.”
Ebenezer sat bolt upright. “So you ended up a slave after all?”
“That’s right. This time, I was chained. The rest of the trip is a blur. I vaguely remember the marketplace, and standing on the block while people gawked and poked. I was sold. There is a dark cloud over