The Ambassador's Mission: Book One of th - By Trudi Canavan Page 0,100

the cart neared, the slaves stopped to watch for a moment, before continuing with whatever duties they were performing.

“Through here,” Tyvara said, pointing to an archway. He directed the cart into a small courtyard. A large slave wearing the headband of a slave master emerged from a doorway and waved at Lorkin to stop.

They pulled up. Conscious of the slave master’s stare, Lorkin kept his gaze lowered. Two more slaves stepped out and moved to the horse’s head.

“Haven’t seen you two before,” the man observed.

Tyvara nodded. “I’m Vara. This is Ork. He’s new.”

“Bit skinny for a delivery slave.”

“He’ll put on muscle with a bit of work.”

The man nodded. “And why are you here?”

“Got to show him the way.” She sounded smug. “Nobody else free.”

“Hmph.” The slave master beckoned and turned away. “The master wants the cart filled now, so you can leave at first light. We don’t get fed until it’s done.”

Tyvara glanced at Lorkin, then shrugged. “Come on then, Ork.”

They both climbed off the cart. One of the estate’s slaves picked up the reins while another began to undo the harness. Lorkin followed Tyvara into a large wooden room. The smell of reber wool filled the air, heavy and sweet.

“This is the load.” The slave master waved at a pile of fleece bundles wrapped in oil cloth that looked twice the size of what the cart should hold. He looked from Lorkin to Tyvara. “You know how to load up a cart?”

“I’ve watched it plenty of times,” Tyvara said. She began describing the order and arrangement. The man nodded and grunted approval. “You’ve got the gist. I’ll check when I get back. If it’s wrong,” he frowned at Lorkin meaningfully, “you’ll have to unpack and repack it right, and that means you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for a feed.”

“Right,” Tyvara said. She looked at Lorkin. “Time to learn something new.”

Lorkin was glad that the slave master didn’t hang around to watch, but there were plenty of other slaves coming and going, some pausing to look at him and Tyvara. Thankfully, she did seem to know about packing carts, and had him wedge them together in a self-supporting arrangement. But there were a lot of bundles, and he’d had little sleep during the last few nights. Though he had healed away his weariness each time it started to impede him, it was coming back faster each time.

The bundles were all the same, yet somehow they grew heavier as he worked. He had to toss the last of them up to Tyvara, who was balancing at the top of the pile in the cart. Then he heard footsteps right behind him, jumped in surprise and threw one badly. Tyvara’s hands slipped and it dropped, bouncing off the side of the cart. Lorkin stepped backwards to catch it but instead stepped on something.

“Fool!” a familiar voice bellowed. A hand came out of nowhere and whacked Lorkin’s head, setting his ears ringing. He pressed a hand to his head and scrambled away. Figuring it would be more slave-like to stay crouched on the ground than to stand up, he hunched his back and waited.

“Don’t sit there and sulk. Pick it up and finish the job,” the slave master ordered.

Lorkin got to his feet and, bent double and avoiding looking at the man, ran to the last bundle and picked it up. He looked up at Tyvara. She was frowning with worry, but held out her hands to show she was ready. He tossed it and sighed with relief as she caught it and efficiently pressed it into place.

The slave master, apparently having forgiven Lorkin’s trampling of him, pressed ropes into his hands and helped them bind the piles of fleeces securely to the cart. When they were done he nodded in approval.

“I’ll send the kitchen boy out with food and blankets. You can sleep in the store. Be ready to leave early.”

And with that he turned and stalked away. As Lorkin watched the man leave, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. He resisted the temptation to look for the source. The courtyard was no longer lit by the glow of the late afternoon sky, and the shadows under the verandas were almost impenetrable. Pretending to examine his hands in the fading light, Lorkin looked beyond them and made out a female figure standing within a doorway. She was watching him and Tyvara with narrowed eyes.

“Ork,” Tyvara called. He turned to look at her. She was standing beside the