Suddenly appearing next to the boy was Sevuss. His gray-and-ginger hair was out of place and his clothing looked hastily thrown on. Putting his arm around the boy, he said, “Well done, son. You’ve caught a runaway!”
Micah beamed and replied, “Thank you, Father. I’m sure Mister Kugun will be glad we caught her.”
Maren had difficulty processing what she had just seen. The feeling of betrayal was like a dagger to her back, and she struggled to speak. “Kugun is dead,” she muttered.
“What?!” Sevuss barked. “What do you mean?”
“He d-died,” the girl stuttered.
The man stared stony-faced at the girl. Then, a wiry smile crept over his face. “I get to sell you again!” he declared. “That will make up for that stupid mule running off!”
Maren shuddered at the thought of being sold again. She wrapped her arms around her knees and began to gently rock back and forth. Finally, the last part of the man’s statement dawned on her. “Mule? Do you mean Earl?”
“Yes, Earl, you dullard!” Micah broke in. “He was supposed to be mine, but he ran away days after you signed him over to us.”
Maren reached for her ear and began to squeeze it as she continued to rock. Though words flew through her mind like autumn leaves on a windy day, she couldn’t speak a single one of them.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, little girl,” Sevuss announced. “There’s a whole party of buyers coming in the morning. Before they get here, I’m going to brand you like I should have branded that donkey. If you try running from them, there’ll be nowhere to hide. No one is going to help a branded slave. You’ll wear that scar for life!”
“Father, can I watch?” Micah asked.
Maren couldn’t hear the man’s answer. The thoughts continued to swirl in her head and she swayed forward and back, occasionally snatching a random word or two to whisper to herself in an attempt to bring some sort of comfort from the agony that awaited her the next day.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ocmallum
Dulnear stared up at the courtyard wall that ran along the back side of Ocmallum’s estate. There were torches placed along the top of the wall, but the darkness seemed to crowd out the scant light they provided. “Still only three guards along the wall,” he said in a half-whisper. “I should be able to dispense with them with little effort.”
“How will you get up there?” Faymia asked.
The man from the north squinted and pointed toward the barely lit barrier. “I shall climb up the east wall, close to the turret. The merlons are well spaced, and it is darkest there. I noticed that the guard patrolling that place does not like to go too far into the darkness.” He then quietly marched toward the wall with Faymia and Son in tow.
“What will you do once you’re inside?” Son asked.
“Tcharron said that there are three doorways that provide entry into the hallway which leads to the staircase up to Ocmallum’s chamber,” Dulnear began as he recalled the slaver’s description. “I only need to make it across the courtyard and into the northwest door. Once I am there, I need only to defeat his guards and demand the location of Sevuss’s camp.”
“But you don’t know what’s inside the courtyard,” Faymia said. “There could be an army waiting in there.”
The man from the north took a deep breath and paused for a moment. He knew she was right, but was willing to risk much to bring Maren home. “I will be very careful,” he assured her. Half-smiling, he added, “I promise not to try to fight them all.”
Once positioned in front of the darkest span of the east wall, the warrior waited for the guard to be at a good distance before tossing his hook up to the battlement. Giving it a quick tug, he and the two others pressed themselves tightly against the wall and waited for the guard to make his round toward them, and back toward the south wall again. Once the path was clear, he ascended quickly but awkwardly to the top and crouched unseen in the blackness. Oh, to have two hands again, he mused.
From his position, he could see fires burning and men crowded around them. The warm, orange light danced across them and it was difficult to tell whether they were soldiers, servants, or something else. However, once inside, he would only be a short distance from the doorway leading to Ocmallum’s room.
Securing a second rope to a merlon, Dulnear descended into the courtyard, keeping to the darkness. From his new vantage point, he could see that most of the men carried weapons. Quickly assessing the mob, he noticed fighters from at least five different parts of Aun, and some he didn’t recognize. They were drinking, telling stories, and some were tossing daggers at something that looked like a straw man secured to a beam. Looking closer, he realized that they were having target practice with the body of Tcharron. His nostrils flared and he suppressed a growl as indignation stirred itself within him.
The man from the north hunched down and crept along the eastern wall, doing his best to stay to the backs of the men in the courtyard. Reaching the door closest to the staircase leading to Ocmallum’s chamber, he checked the latch and discovered that it was not locked. That was too easy, he thought to himself as he slipped inside.
It was strangely black inside the hall. Dulnear’s thoughts raced as he wondered why a corner of the castle that was perpetually occupied would be so dark. He felt around for the stairs leading to his prey and found a heavy, polished handrail that curved upward around a spiral staircase. It is here, he thought, and the fine hairs along the back of his
