were encased in manacles as well. Was she also chained to the floor? If not, she’d have the capability of movement, however restricted it might be, and a length of chain stretched between two wrists could make quite an effective weapon if employed properly. She attempted to sit up. The throbbing in her skull grew more intense, and a wave of weakness overcame her. She started to collapse, but instead of falling to the floor, she slumped back against a wall that she hadn’t realized was there and managed to remain sitting.
She remained still to conserve her strength and breathed deeply and evenly. After a time, the pain in her head lessened until it became manageable, though it didn’t go away entirely. Her tears dried and she opened her eyes once more. The light was dim, but it was enough for her to make out the shadowy forms of a dozen people or more sitting on the floor around her. Though she couldn’t discern their individual features, she could tell by their sizes and shapes that they were a mix of men and women, adults, youth, and children. She had no doubt they were all wearing manacles and chains just as she was.
Makala was still dressed, though her crossbow had been taken from her or perhaps was lost somewhere along the way. The various smaller weapons she kept concealed on her person were gone as well. Though she’d been trained to kill a target with her bare hands as easily as she could with a weapon, she still felt naked, far more so than if she had been undressed.
She was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but what good were such fighting techniques when she could barely move?
“Poor girl. The raiders handled you pretty rough, did they?”
Makala was startled by the voice, and she turned toward it too fast, causing her head to throb anew. The voice was that of an elderly woman, but all Makala could see was a blurry outline of her form. Makala squinted, but her eyes refused to focus.
Knowledge can just be as powerful a weapon as any made of steel. Sometimes more so.
Emon’s advice again, and again Makala decided to heed it. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice coming out as a dry croak.
“You’re aboard one of the Black Fleet ships,” the old woman said. “I believe this one’s called Nightwind, though I don’t know for certain. I overheard a couple of raiders call her by that name, but my hearing isn’t what it used to be, so perhaps I’m mistaken.”
Black Fleet? Raiders? The words sounded familiar, but…
With a rush, Makala’s memories returned. Port Verge, Diran, Ghaji, Yvka, the raiders, and Onkar, who, it seemed, was a vampire. Obviously she’d been rendered unconscious and brought to the hold of this ship and put in manacles, along with the rest of the captives, but for what purpose? To be made a slave? She thought once more of Onkar’s glistening fangs and another more terrible possibility occurred to her. Maybe she, along with the others around her, were meant to be food.
Her vision had cleared to the point where she could make out the old woman’s features. She wore a simple white blouse, brown skirt, and a knit shawl over her shoulders. She had a lean face, wrinkled, but not overly so, along with curly white hair. Her eyes seemed to be yellowish, but Makala was certain that had to be a trick of the light or perhaps her own still-addled mind. The woman also had a pair of what looked like gray sideburns running down to the edge of her jaw. There was something about those eyes and sideburns that seemed significant to Makala, but she couldn’t think what it might be at the moment. Besides, she wanted to know about Diran and the others.
“Have you seen my companions? Were they captured, too?” Makala gave the old woman a quick description of Diran, Ghaji, and Yvka.
The old woman thought for a moment before answering. “I was conscious when the raiders brought me aboard, though I’m not sure I count that as a blessing. I don’t recall seeing any of your friends as the raiders packed us into the hold. It’s possible that they’re being held on one of the other two ships, but I have no way of knowing.”
So there was no guarantee that Diran and others had escaped the Black Fleet raiders, but then again, there was no indication that they’d been captured either. Until she had any evidence to the contrary, she would assume they were still free.
“Tell me, grandmother, what’s your name?” Makala asked.
“Zabeth. I work-worked-as a fish packer in one of the prince’s own warehouses. After the fish were filleted and smoked, it was my job to pack them in salt so they would be ready to travel. I had finished my work for the evening and was on my way home when the raiders struck.” Zabeth’s voice became low and dangerous. It was nearly a growl as she said, “When I was younger, they’d never have taken me alive. I’d have clawed their stinking guts out with my bare hands!”
Makala was taken aback by the woman’s sudden burst of anger, but then she realized-the fuzzy sideburns, the yellow eyes… Zabeth was a shifter. An elderly one, but a shifter nevertheless. Makala wasn’t all that comfortable around shifters. One never knew when the bestial aspect of their heritage would come to the fore, as witness Zabeth’s sudden outburst, but Zabeth had shown Makala kindness as she’d struggled to regain consciousness, and Makala decided to trust the elderly woman, for now, at least.
“So how does it look?” Makala asked.
Zabeth gave Makala a puzzled frown. “Excuse me?”
“Our situation,” Makala said. “How many of us are there? How many raiders? Are all of us shackled hand and foot? Is there a ladder or a set of stairs that will allow us to climb out of the hold? I assume they keep the hatch locked, but then again, they might not, not if they expect these shackles to keep us from trying anything.”
“Trying anything?” Zabeth said. “Like what?”
Makala couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Like an escape, for pity’s sake!”
“Escape?” Zabeth sounded both surprised and amused. “You must be joking! That, or your brains were scrambled when the raiders hit you on the head. There’s no way we can escape. We’re chained, and from the smell of blood in the air, I can tell many of us are wounded, and many more are afraid. Even if we somehow could get out of our shackles and reach the upper deck, we have no weapons and we’re on the water, so there’s nowhere to flee. Whether you like it or not, dear, and believe me, I don’t, there’s little we can do until we reach whatever destination the raiders have in store for us. Perhaps then an opportunity for escape shall present itself…” Her voice grew softer. “Perhaps.”
Makala realized that she still wasn’t thinking straight. Just because Zabeth was a shifter didn’t mean she was a warrior. The elderly shifter’s assessment of their situation struck Makala as right on the mark. There really wasn’t anything they could do right now, save perhaps rest, heal, and regain their strength while they waited for the Black Fleet to make port. Wherever they were going, since they traveled within the belly of an elemental galleon, they should get there soon enough.
“Maybe you’re right,” Makala said. “I should rest.”
“I’ll do the same,” Zabeth said with obvious approval. The old woman settled back against the wall of the hold, folded her hands over her stomach and closed her eyes.
Makala did likewise, and if she hadn’t been a prisoner chained in darkness, she might’ve found the gentle vibrations in the wood she lay against soothing. Before too long Zabeth was snoring softly, but despite what she’d told Zabeth, Makala refused to sleep.
It was as Emon always said. When you can’t do anything else, you can still think.
As the raider vessel Nightwind glided swiftly across the Lhazaar Sea to wherever it was bound, Makala thought. She thought through different escape scenarios and their various permutations so that if and when an opportunity presented itself at last, she would be ready.
Mostly she thought about Diran.
CHAPTER
“I don’t suppose that one of your priestly abilities allows you to locate sailing vessels?”
Diran’s eyes were closed and his arms crossed over his chest, but Ghaji knew he wasn’t sleeping. Without
