Shadows Return by Lynn Flewelling

him.
    “’eregil!” he shouted, thrashing in his captors’ grip and cursing the branks that gagged him.
    “’eregil! ’eregil!”
    He was terrified at first that Seregil was dead. The man was deathly pale under the filth, and his eyes were sunk deeply in dark, bruised-looking sockets. But as soon as the sailors stretched him on the deck, Alec saw him make a feeble effort to curl into a ball. The heavy metal bars fastened between his hands and feet were too much for him. As Alec watched, he went limp, only the whites of his eyes showing under half-open lids. Alec had never seen his talimenios so weak.
    But he’s alive and he’s here!
    Before he could tell anything more of Seregil’s condition, Alec’s handlers hoisted him higher and carried him down the gangway. Helpless he might be, but he was no longer without hope.
    The last thing he saw before the deck rose out of view was the nameless Aurлnfaie slave kneeling beside Seregil.
    Help him, please! Alec silently begged, as he was carried ashore.
     
    Alec?
    Seregil was only dimly aware that the motion around him had changed. Then he was in sunlight, too painfully bright even through his eyelids. A fresh, cold wind cut through the stink he’d thought endless. Had he been asleep? Had he dreamed Alec’s voice, calling to him?
    It hurt too much to stay here, though, and he let himself sink back into the welcoming blackness.
    Consciousness flirted with him, and he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming the sound of voices, coming to him faintly, as if from a great distance.
    “I told you to hold him, not kill him!”
    Seregil knew that voice from somewhere.
    “We didn’t know…”
    He was too far gone to register what language was being spoken; he only knew that he understood it.
    “Useless! He’s dying!”
    Who’s dying? Not me, friend! Not until…
    Alec’s captors carried him down a long stone quay and into a market square. If he’d had any doubts about slavery here, they were put to rest now. There were iron cages full of naked men, women, and children, and beyond that, a raised platform where more people stood chained to posts in front of a crowd.
    “Maker, save me,” Alec whispered.
    The sailors tightened their grip on him and bore him down a paved street between the warehouses.
    The chill air was dry and full of dust. The street was crowded even at this hour and, for the first time in days, he was painfully aware of his nakedness. Old women and young girls laughed and pointed, calling out in their own language. Alec’s command of Plenimaran was far from perfect, but their jeering tone was enough. Still possessed of a deep-bred northern modesty despite all his time with Seregil, he burned with shame.
    And he guessed there was worse to come. They were in sight of more auction blocks now, then among them. On one platform a fair-haired young woman was on display, with her hands tied behind her to keep her from covering any part of herself. Their eyes met in a moment of shared anguish. On the next block, two little boys stood weeping and clinging to each other as the auctioneer harangued the crowd. A blind fiddler stood on a street corner, playing a bright jig.
    A sudden turn in the street spared Alec any more such sights, but it had been enough. Angry tears blurred his vision as he screamed and struggled, helpless to stop, as his captors hurried him into a long, low building.
    It was like a barn inside, and lined with stall-like cages. They put him in one of these, laying him down carefully on a thick bed of straw and slamming the iron door shut behind them.
    The place was brightly lit. Alec pushed himself up on his hands and looked around. The walls of his little cell were made of heavy boards, so he could only see out the front. Across the room, most of the cages held one or more captives.
    Still hampered by the iron bar between his hands and the ropes cutting into his legs, he crawled to the back corner of his cage and covered himself in the straw