grew taller, his lean arms and legs taking on muscle. His chest became broader, his abdominal muscles more defined. When he was finished, he looked like a human male in his mid-twenties, with shoulder-length black hair, and a lean, almost wolfish face, with a penetrating intelligence in his gaze.
Diran couldn't believe it; the slave-trader wasn't human at all but rather a changeling!
Women in the crowd-and some of the men-let out appreciative whistles.
'Spare us the parlor tricks, Rawiri!' a voice called out. 'Do you really expect us to believe you know what the boy will grow up to look like?'
The changeling turned to face the challenger. 'You must be a first-timer-and a latecomer to boot.' Though Rawiri appeared different-Am I really going to look like that someday? Diran thought-his voice remained unchanged. 'This is the fourth time tonight that I've done this. I could defend my methods, but there are many buyers present this evening who have been valued customers of mine for years. They can speak to the accuracy of my predictions as well as I, if not better.'
People spoke up from within the darkness that hid them from Diran's view.
'It's true!'
'The changeling has a gift for it!'
'I've been buying from him for the last twenty years, and he's never wrong!'
Rawiri bowed in appreciation of his audience's support. He straightened and said, 'If you have no further objections, I will continue.'
The challenger, whether convinced or merely silenced by the crowd's support of Rawiri, said nothing.
'Very good. Now, who wants to start the bidding at one hundred gold?'
People in the crowd began to call out offers. The changeling remained in Diran's form-or rather, his extrapolation of Diran's adult form-during the bidding, perhaps as a reminder to the audience of what they were buying. In the cage, Diran had heard some of the older children talk about what uses they might be put to after they were sold. Physical labor was the least of it. They might be put to work in brothels or used as pleasure-toys by their new owners. They might be sold to wizards for experimentation or to dark priests for sacrifice. There was even talk that they might be sold as food for those with very particular tastes. Whichever one of these awful fates might be his, Diran was determined to avoid it.
He'd done more during his time imprisoned with the other children besides listen to their dire predictions for the future. He'd worked slowly and methodically on loosening the leather thongs that bound his wrists and ankles, stretching, twisting, pulling, all the while feeling the leather chafe his skin raw. When the pain became too much to bear, he switched to gnawing on the thongs binding his wrists. When the pain become tolerable again, he returned to stretching and pulling. His plan was simple: when an opportunity came along, he'd break free of the weakened thongs around his wrists, then use his hands to pull off the loosened restraints around his ankles. After that, he'd run as fast and far as he could.
He'd been lucky so far. Neither the half-elf nor the changeling had noticed what he'd done, but Diran knew his luck wasn't going to hold out for much longer. If he was going to escape, he'd have to do it now, before he was bought and his new owner decided to inspect his purchase.
Diran rolled his eyes upward and allowed his body to go limp, not a difficult accomplishment given that he'd had nothing to eat or drink for several days. As he fell toward the platform's surface, he pulled his wrists away from each other, and the leather thongs tore like wet vellum. He hit the platform, reached down to his ankles, and yanked the loosened thongs over his bare feet. The leather straps were still tight enough to take skin with them as they came off, but Diran didn't care, didn't even feel it. All that mattered was he'd made his opportunity, and he knew he had only seconds to take advantage of it.
He jumped to his feet and scanned the darkness beyond the platform, hoping to detect some indication of a doorway or opening through which the crowd had entered the auction chamber. He saw no sign of a door in the chamber's gloom, though, and decided he had no choice but to rush into the crowd, shove his way through as best he could, and hope that he stumbled across a way out of this nightmarish place. Before he could take a step toward freedom, he felt a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder.
'Not so fast, my spirited young-' Rawiri was interrupted by Diran ramming the heel of his hand into the changeling's throat. The slave-trader's voice cut off with a wet glurk, and he staggered back, releasing his hold on Diran.
Diran didn't hesitate. He ran to the edge of the platform and leaped… right into the waiting arms of the half- elf. The changeling's partner enfolded Diran in a crushing bear-hug, pinning his arms to his sides so that he was unable to strike the slaver. Diran tried kicking, thrashing, biting, but the half-elf had seen what the boy had done to his partner and was careful to avoid Diran's attacks. Diran was considering trying to tear out the half-elf's jugular, but the man-as if reading Diran's mind or perhaps simply divining his intent from his gaze-pulled back his head and slammed his forehead into Diran's. Bright light flashed behind the boy's eyes and a roaring noise not unlike churning ocean waves sounded in his ears. Diran fell limp in the half-elf's arms, and the man carried him back to the platform and tossed him onto it none too gently. Diran hit the wood with a dull thump and lay there, struggling to hold onto consciousness, fighting to roll over onto his hands and knees so that he might make another grab for freedom, futile as it might be.
'How much for the boy?'
A man stepped out of the gloom and up to the edge of the platform. Diran looked at him, but his vision was blurry and all he could make out were the man's eyes: cold, sharp, gaze penetrating. They were predator's eyes, wolf's eyes.
Rawiri had reassumed the shape of a brown-haired human male once more, but when he answered, his voice was a raspy whisper. 'This brat's not for sale.' The changeling bared teeth that would've been at home in the mouth of a shark. 'I intend to keep this one for myself.'
From the tight fury in the slaver's voice, Diran didn't think the changeling planned to keep him as a servant.
Through eyes still blurry, Diran saw a flash of motion and heard a muffled clank-clink as an object landed on the platform only a few inches from where he lay. Coins, Diran realized, in a leather purse.
'If that's not enough to make you change your mind, I have more,' said the man standing at the edge of the platform. His words were neutral enough, but his tone said that the amount had damned well better be sufficient.
Rawiri knelt to pick up the purse. He looked inside and grinned.
'That will do fine, Master Cathmore. Quite fine, indeed.' The slave-trader tossed the purse to his half-elf partner, and the man snatched it out of the air as if he feared it might vanish if he didn't get a firm grip on it fast enough. 'Mark my words: that boy is going to be nothing but trouble.'
Diran's vision had cleared to the point where he could make out the feral smile of his new owner.
'I'm counting on it.'
'… hear me, Diran?'
'Hmm?' The priest looked at Yvka as if just realizing she was present. 'Sorry. I was just thinking about the first time I met Cathmore. My parents were fishers, and one day out on the Lhazaar, we were attacked by raiders. They killed my mother and father, but they let me live, not because they couldn't bring themselves to slay a child, but because they could make a profit on me. They sold me to a slaver who specialized in procuring children, and I ended up for sale in a secret slave market in Karrnath. It was Cathmore who bought me.'
'What did Cathmore want with you?' Tresslar asked.
'Aldarik Cathmore is an assassin. He's also Emon Gorsedd's half-brother. They were partners-or at least, they were back then. Cathmore's job was to find new students for Emon's academy in Atur. Quite often these students were purchased from slavers, but sometimes they were simply abducted or in rare cases adopted after one of Emon's operatives killed the rest of their family. Cathmore did more than just find students for Emon, though. He also taught the new recruits, introducing them to life in the Brotherhood of the Blade.'
'Then what's he doing in the Principalities?' Ghaji asked.
For that was the news that Yvka had come to deliver: the Shadow Network had learned that a man called Aldarik Cathmore had passed through Perhata several weeks ago, accompanied by an orc and a kalashtar. They'd purchased numerous supplies in Perhata, and the orc still made an occasional supply run, but as for Cathmore, no one-not a single operative in the entire Network-had any inkling of why the man was in the area or what he was doing.
