There was a snap and a sudden burning pain in his ear. Teldin’s back arched with a jerk, only to have the umber hulks slam him down again. The neogi rose back up, its mouth bloodied and a piece of Teldin’s ear dangling between its jaws. “Cloak is where?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Teldin screamed, his face contorted in pain. The lordservants yanked at his arms, reviving the shearing agony. The dimly lit room started to go gray, swirling into oblivion.
“Overmaster, my meat maim not!” shrilled M’phei’s voice. “Meat must be whole or your errors I report. Work meat must do. No broken bones, no torn limbs.”
“No broken bones,' the overmaster sullenly agreed, “yet.”
For Teldin, the speakers were growing distant and faint and the pain grew less and less. He only vaguely heard the overmaster’s voice, filled with disgust. “It talks not yet. Lordservants, fill meat with pain, but mutilate body not.”
There was a strange clicking and buzzing voice as one of the umber hulks replied. “Yes, little master. Your slaves do as little master commands.” With the words came a searing pain, then darkness and nothing.
It was later. How much later, Teldin did not know, for time had been replaced by a wheel of pain and numbness. There were centuries where the lordservants towered over him, clicking their mandibles as they pulled and twisted Teldin’s inert body. The centuries were broken by hours when the overmaster appeared to ask Teldin a single question in its stilted tongue: “Cloak is where?” Sometimes Teldin thought of answering, just to end the pain, but each time something else in him stopped the answer from coming.
The farmer struggled to hold the cloak at bay, keep it from doing anything. Teldin knew that if he slipped and let the cape make the slightest sign, everything was lost, his life and possibly even his world. So far the human had managed to deny the overmaster his prize, but each refusal brought another century of pain, followed by the oblivion of unconsciousness.
At one point, the farmer dimly feared all his resistance was for nothing. The umber hulks, searching for some new torment, noticed the thin cord and silver clasps, all that showed of the cloak the neogi sought, around Teldin’s neck. Fearful that the lordservants would try to remove it and discover his secret, he feebly tried to raise an arm to push them off, but the best he could manage was a weak wave of one hand. Arrogantly, one of the creatures batted his hand with a wave of its own claw, ending the attempt. The farmer’s hand burned from the savage blow.
For all his pain, luck had not abandoned Teldin. The clasp was small compared to the umber hulks’ grotesque claws, and they were unable to work the silver buckle. Neither could they slip their talons between the chain and his neck, except perhaps by gouging Teldin’s throat. Under orders not to mutilate or kill, the umber hulks gave it up and returned to the better understood agonies of their trade. It was then that finally, blissfully, Teldin passed out and remained unconscious.
From this moment of non time Teldin slowly awoke and recovered. He still lay on the table, stained with his own blood. A lantern in one corner cast a dim light over the slaughterhouse. To the captive’s numb surprise, his torturers were gone; indeed the room, or as much as the farmer could see of it, was deserted. They had left him alone and unbound, but it mattered little, since Teldin barely had the strength to roll his head from side to side.
Finally tiring of staring at the tongue-and-grooved ceiling planks’ knots and whorls, Teldin began to take inventory of himself. His chest was crossed with thin lines of dried blood and raw patches caused during the flood. More blood caked his hair and clotted around his bitten ear, muffling his hearing on the left side. The lordservants had done their work well, mangling, twisting, and pulling every joint in his body. Still, he had all his limbs and, in accordance with the neogi’s orders, none seemed broken or even dislocated. Every inch felt bruised, and his face, especially, was puffy from beatings.
“I must be a handsome fellow,” Teldin croaked, his throat parched. “It’s time to go,” he told Gomja’s image, standing over him. Astonished, he blinked, and the giff was gone, replaced by Amdar, as unsmiling as ever. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing tight,” the old man’s ghost preached. As quickly as it had appeared, Amdar’s face disappeared into the planking above.
With excruciating effort, enough to force tears to his eyes, the farmer swung off the edge of the table and stood unsteadily on his feet. He clutching the table for support, then ventured with jerky steps across the room. Slowly and painstakingly, the human tottered toward the door.
Incomprehensibly, the portal swung open as he neared it, and there, blocking his path, was a party of umber hulks and neogi. Teldin’s mind was too numb to be surprised, and he could not read the malevolent expressions on the neogi’s faces. In the forefront, though safely behind the lordservants, were the golden-tattooed overmaster and M’phei. The overmaster’s small claws snapped in triumph.
“There,” the neogi gloatingly hissed. “You see, unharmed human meat is. Warned you were,
“True, meat lives,” the other neogi sourly conceded, “but tell you nothing it has. Useless meat will be with more persuasion.'
“No longer important that is.” The overmaster signaled an umber hulk to seize Teldin. The beast ducked through the small door and easily caught the exhausted farmer in its grasp. “To
M’phei’s eight clawed feet rattled on the metallic floor in anger. “No! This you do not. My capture human meat was. My slave it is!” The neogi made a snapping lunge for the overmaster. One of the lordservants seized the enraged M’Phei and restrained it.
The golden neogi ignored the outburst. “Overmaster I am and feeding
“Expose you I will, overmaster!” the other hissed.
Hoisted up by its lordservant, the overmaster smiled evilly. “You will not. Against your overmaster witnesses have heard you speak. Revolt of my
M’phei paled, its tattoos gaining an ashy gray color. Futilely, the neogi tried another tack. “Cloak-”
“Revealed will be, if cloak human meat has,” the overmaster hissed softly so that Teldin, as groggy as he was, had to strain to hear the words. “Cloak protect meat it will, certain I am. Cloakmaster it will let die not and then know I will.”
M’phei looked hungrily toward Teldin. “Eating this one I hoped,” it said plaintively.
“Other meat will be. Rich in meat this world is,” the overmaster curtly announced. “With me to feeding you come-as my guest.” There was no warmth in the overmaster’s voice, only the cold calculation of keeping an enemy close in its sight. Teldin, still listening, doubted these creatures knew any love or charity. “Time it is. Lordservant-to the pit.”
The overmaster’s umber hulk carried the neogi through the ship’s corridors. Teldin’s guard pushed the staggering human along behind, while M’phei brought up the rear. This time the route was well lighted, which the yeoman could only assume was to honor the overmaster. The group went down a deck, other neogi gradually falling in behind. Teldin noticed a few non-neogi cowering in the corners as the overmaster went past. These were a smattering of humans, gnomes, and elves, watching from the shadows with a haunted look in their eyes. Teldin could clearly see the elaborate tattoo each bore on his shoulder, marking the poor soul as neogi property.
Finally the group reached an improvised pen in the middle of the cargo hold. It was enclosed by solid walls mote than fifteen feet high, which were braced with a motley assembly of beams, as if to hold back some great pressure. A narrow gallery circled the top of the walls and was reached by reinforced stairs.
“Wait,” the overmaster ordered the prisoner’s guard. The umber hulk clicked its huge pincers in understanding. While Teldin stood on the deck, slowly trying to regain his strength, the lordservants hoisted their neogi masters up to the balcony, since it was clear that the small catwalk would never support the huge slaves.
The balcony quickly became clustered with neogi, their bodies tattooed in a variety of ways and colors. Here the overmaster was clearly supreme, the other neogi keeping a respectful distance from where it stood. Only M’phei
