As they settled in, a barmaid appeared before them. She was young and pale and wore a bonnet to cover her thin, stringy, dark hair. In a quiet voice, she asked, “What can I get for you?”
“We want hot food,” Tcharron answered abruptly and abrasively without looking at the girl.
Faymia looked at the servant and noticed her frailty, her worn hands, and the dark circles under her eyes. She was moved with pity and said, “I apologize for our companion’s rudeness. What are you serving during this time of day?”
Without making eye contact with anyone at the table, the barmaid answered, “We have lamb stew warming.”
With a kind smile, Faymia replied, “Excellent. We’ll have four lamb stews and some bread if it’s fresh.”
Without saying anything, the young girl nodded and walked across the room toward the kitchen. As Faymia watched her, she felt a tear pool in the corner of her eye. She clenched her fist and looked across at Tcharron. Barely restraining her emotions, she chided, “We don’t treat others that way.”
With eyes bulging as if the woman had said something utterly ridiculous, the slaver began, “But she’s just a—”
Raising her voice slightly, Faymia interrupted, repeating herself, “We don’t treat others that way!”
Tcharron bit the inside of his cheek as he glared at the woman. Inhaling deeply, then exhaling, he answered in a sarcastic tone, “As you wish. Do I have your permission to order some ale when she returns?”
“If you do it nicely,” she answered, still looking rather stern.
It wasn’t long after that the barmaid returned with four bowls of stew and some cold bread. As they sat eating the semi-adequate meal, they discussed their plans for retrieving the whereabouts of Maren from Ocmallum.
“Do you think he will willingly give us the information?” Dulnear asked.
“I highly doubt that,” Tcharron answered. “Even if he knows that her life-rights were obtained illegally, it’s likely he would try to keep them.”
Soaking his bread in his stew, Son held an indignant stare. “Why?” he demanded.
“Because a man like Ocmallum doesn’t make mistakes, and neither do his associates. If he ran you over with his carriage he would blame you, and probably have you flogged for it,” the man answered.
Faymia seethed at the thought of such an evil man. “Then what do you propose we do?” she asked.
“Our best bet is to let me go to the castle alone. I can bring it up in conversation with him and we’ll see if he’s willing to tell me,” Tcharron suggested.
“Alone?” Son protested. “How do we know you won’t just stay in there and turn on us?”
The slaver smirked, “You don’t, kid. You’ll just have to take me at my word.”
“Okay,” Dulnear broke in. “And what if your plan fails?”
Tcharron folded his hands and stared at them for a moment. Then he answered, “Ocmallum does not appreciate uninvited guests, so there is that chance. If my plan fails, then I guess we’ll do it your way.”
The man from the north leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Fair,” he said. “Tell me about the estate.”
The slaver’s smug demeanor began to crack as he described the property. “There is only forest surrounding the estate,” he explained. “But a wall defends it. There is only one gate, and it is guarded by archers. The castle is vast and cornered by turrets. Ocmallum rarely leaves the northwest turret, as it gives him the greatest view of the road leading in. He is terribly paranoid and is usually well-guarded.”
An uneasy feeling began to creep up Faymia’s neck as she heard the estate’s description. “What do you mean by well-guarded?” she asked.
“He has a small army of slaves, soldiers, and warriors alike. If your plan is to storm in there, then you would do well to make other plans.”
Dulnear leaned in and asked, “Does he sleep in the northwest turret?”
“Yes, he uses it as his office and his bedchamber. Everything his needs is delivered to him there.”
“Why have a castle if you’re just going to stay in one room?” Son mused.
“Like I said, he has a small army living there,” Tcharron said. “Listen, I’m not exaggerating when I say that your chances of getting to him are very slim to non-existent. For years, unhappy family members and their hired mercenaries have tried to reach Ocmallum to get him to release loved ones. Their dead bodies are left hanging along the outside wall as a warning to others.”
“We will do what we must,” Dulnear stated. “Dead bodies do not frighten me.”
Faymia nodded her head in agreement, but she was deeply afraid. Reaching under the table, she hid her hands, hoping no one could see them tremble.
Maren had no idea where she was. The interior of the city was a labyrinth of narrow, winding alleys that occasionally opened up to access the backs of shops, offices, and dwellings. Many of them looked so similar that she couldn’t tell if she was passing the same doors or just ones that looked the same. The gray sky gave little sense of direction and seemed so far away, blocked by the gigantic, drab stone buildings. Her only hope was to keep moving forward, hoping that one of the alleys would eventually intersect with a city street and she would be able to find her bearings. Adding to her predicament, she knew that Kugun was in pursuit, and stopping to catch her breath was not an option.
“Ye can’t run forever!” the man’s voice called out, echoing off the walls. He wasn’t moving very fast. He didn’t seem to have the need. He knew the alleys well, and only needed to listen for her footsteps as she ran from hiding place to hiding place.
Maren nervously massaged her ear as she ran into an access area and hid behind a stack of crates outside a shop’s rear entrance. She couldn’t run inside and ask for help because Kugun owned her and she would just be returned
