Under the Crimson Sun

Jago’s voice came next. “Perhaps he won’t want to leave.”

“I was not under the impression that he would be given a choice.”

“No,” Jago said in response to Feena’s harsh words, “the choice is ours. If we choose to trade your mul for our slave-”

“He’s not your slave, he’s mine.”

“So you insist.”

Gan could hear three sets of footfalls: Jago and the nasty woman who spoke with Feena’s voice were two, with the third likely being one of the guards.

Sure enough, it was the latter who barked at him. “Stand away from the door.”

It was turning into a very odd hallucination.

And then he hallucinated Feena’s voice in his head. Play along, Gan. My name is Wimma Anspah, and Fehrd was my husband, and we owned you and Rol.

When the door opened, Gan saw his sister wearing the most ridiculous outfit he’d ever seen, and realized that it was no hallucination. His sister had come to rescue him. Untrained as she was, there weren’t many people that Feena could simply project thoughts into without burning their brain out, but the blood tie with Gan made it possible for her to do so.

His first thought was, Rol’s not here-the Imperial Guard took him-

We know, Feena assured him.

And there’s something wrong with him.

Aloud, he said, “You know, I was just sitting here wondering how this day could possibly get worse, and then you go and find me.” He gave Feena-or rather, “Wimma”; obviously she was supposed to be from Raam, based on the absurd outfit-a derisive look.

“It wasn’t difficult, Gan,” Feena said with a vicious smile. “I simply followed the cloud of stupidity that hangs over your head. You thought that my husband’s death would allow you to escape your rightful bondage.”

“There’s nothing ‘rightful’ about being bonded to you and that bastard of a husband of yours.” Gan tried to channel all his self-loathing into bile directed at Feena. He just hoped she’d forgive him-then rejected the notion as ludicrous, since she was the one who wanted him to behave like this.

The good news, of course, was that if Feena was there playing dress-up, it meant that all of the Serthlara Emporium was there as well. It was the first thing to go right in Gan’s entire life since he lost the frolik game, and it killed him that it wasn’t going to go quite according to plan thanks to the Imperial Guard’s apparent interest in Rol.

“Just me now, thanks to you getting the bastard killed.” Feena then turned to Jago. “Very well, I’m satisfied that you have Storvis, at least. I’ll take up retrieving Mandred with the king.”

Jago laughed at that. “Good luck with that.”

“We’ll meet tomorrow to make the exchange.”

The guard slammed the door, leaving Gan to wonder what he was being exchanged for.

Feena continued to hold “Wimma Anspah’s” vicious smile during her entire walk down Obsidian Way toward the Slave Gate and the emporium’s carriage, currently parked at the Three Brothers Stable just outside Urik’s walls near the City of the Dead, Urik’s cemetery.

Only when she passed the City of the Dead-a place she had truly feared she would find Rol and Gan-with its forbidding, rusted iron fence topped with lions’ head posts, did she put her own face back on.

The stable was located just past the boneyard. Feena had thought it an odd location for a stable, but it was near the crossroads where the four thoroughfares that went through Urik all met. Besides, the cemetery’s caretaker was one of the Three Brothers.

As she climbed into the back, Feena said without preamble, “We have a problem.”

Since they were running a game, and since there really wasn’t anywhere in Urik for them to set up shop as merchants, the members of the emporium had to continue to live out of the carriage even after arriving at the city-state. You never knew when running a game who might be needed, so anyone who wasn’t in play had to stay out of sight.

When Feena arrived, they were all sitting in a circle in the center section of the carriage-the only spot that had anything like proper floor space-eating. On either side were the shelves, all tightly packed with the emporium’s merchandise (on the left) and everyone’s personal belongings (on the right), with hammocks for everyone hanging from the roof over the shelves.

Zabaj handed her some jerky as she entered, and she swallowed it hungrily. The sort of role playing that the game required often made her hungry.

“What’s the problem?” Karalith asked before gulping down some water.

Quickly, Feena outlined the situation. She finished by saying, “Gan’s fine, at least. A bit cut and bruised, but that’s to be expected.”

“Whatever your brother’s failings,” Tricht’tha said, “he brawls well. In fact, that arena may be the best place for him.”

“Not as a slave,” Feena said tightly, using some of Wimma’s iron on the thri-kreen.

Komir spoke up before Tricht’tha retorted. “In any case, we need to make this exchange, and then bring down the arena.”

Tricht’tha chittered a curse in Chachik. “What? Why are we doing anything to the arena? The Pit is one of the most beloved arenas in Athas.”

“Because,” Karalith said, “we want the Pit’s owners to be out of business for two reasons. One, they kidnapped our friends.”

“And two,” Komir added, “it looks like we need to game the king once we’ve gamed the arena, and in order to do that, we need the arena to be bereft of ownership.”

Tricht’tha rubbed her arms together. “That doesn’t make sense. If something happens to the owners, the arena becomes property of the state.”

“Yes,” Feena said, “and then the state finds someone to administer it for them.”

Komir and Karalith both smiled. “That’s where we come in.”

“What does that give us?” Tricht’tha asked agitatedly.

“A place from which we can take Rol,” Komir said, rubbing his bald crown. “Right now, he’s a prisoner of the templars. There’s no way we can get him out of there-but if we can talk the king into releasing him back to the arena, and we own the arena, then we’re free to take him along with us at our leisure.”

Only then did Serthlara speak up. “There’s a problem with your plan.”

Feena already knew what it was, but Karalith and Komir looked confused. “What do you mean, Father?” the latter asked.

Staring right at her lover, Feena said, “Zabaj.”

The mul had been sitting silently during the entire exchange, staring daggers at Feena. “You did this without asking me.”

“I had no choice, Zabaj, you know that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” Karalith said, “she didn’t. We thought the provenance claiming ownership of Rol and Gan was sufficient, but we didn’t know that Rol had become their star attraction, or that Rol had been taken. She needed to come up with another solution fast, and offering to trade you was her best bet. Besides,” and she cast a glance at Komir, “her brother needs her.”

Zabaj ignored Karalith and continued to look at Feena. She stared right back. She couldn’t project her thoughts to Zabaj the way she could to Gan, but she was able to project her emotions onto him, and she let him know psionically just how important it was to her.

But she could also feel Zabaj’s emotions, and the mul had very strong feelings on that particular matter.

“I swore I wouldn’t fight in the arena again.”

“That’s not true.” Feena refused to turn away from her lover’s gaze-which was good, as accusing him of