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wares reached his ears. Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine that this was an outing to market. He could see his mother’s pursed lips and his father’s sardonic grin as the maker of candles sidled along his rickety counter. He could hear the bickering that signaled the beginning of an eventual exchange of money; hear his father snort in amusement at the claim that the candles were made from only the finest animal fats; and hear his mother mutter under her breath.
    Honestly, Clav, you encourage that man.
    Yes. He’s got a good way with words, that one.
    And his mother would glance sideways at his father and roll her eyes in mock disgust . Darin—come here; we’ll lose you in the crowd otherwise.
    We’ll lose you.
    A tug at his wrists made him open his eyes. Chains.
    Mother . Her face wavered before him, her fine, thin jaw clenched in anger, as it had been the last time he’d seen her.
    Father . His face joined his mother’s. His jaw, also gently pointed, was not caught in the same expression, and Darin thought he imagined just a hint of resigned amusement there. The eyes, brown and half-open, looked from his wife to his son before he gave a shrug of gray-covered shoulders.
    Mari, remember what you were like at his age.
    I do. And that’s why I want to avoid this all.
    Mother. Father. I’m sorry. Where are you?
    The line began to move forward, and Darin was pulled along. He couldn’t see where his feet were going. Everything was too blurred.
    For the first time in four weeks, he cried.
     
    A large, grand building loomed beyond the center of the market. Large, cut stone bricks covered the walls, leaving room for tall, thin windows with real glass. Even in the city proper, Darin had rarely seen glass. And there were certainly no structures as grand as this overshadowing the smaller stalls. He heard the muted gasp from behind him, and knew from it that Kerren thought the same.

    They continued to stare at it as it grew nearer and impossibly larger.
    “Here.”
    He glanced quickly to the side and saw that the Swords were directing them toward the wide, large staircase. Passersby moved to its gilded rails to gawk at them as they passed. One finely dressed man reached out to touch someone, and the Swords stepped briskly in his way.
    “Not yet,” he was told. “But a quarter of them will be sold by House Damion on the morrow.”
    “Damion?” the man asked. “Victory then?”
    The Swords’s smile was all the reply necessary.
    “Well then, perhaps I shall see the lot. They’ll make a fine memento of the occasion.” He sighed, lips turning down in the slightest of frowns. “I assume the price—”
    “Will be commensurate, yes.”
    “I see.” The man nodded briefly, and the Swords dragged the slaves into the auction house.
    From the entrance they were led past a wide, open space, which had a low, marble platform in its center. They went into one of several narrow corridors. The stone caught the sound of their flagging footsteps and echoed them dully.
    They came at last to a wide set of wooden double doors.
    “In here,” the Sword at the lead said, although by this time it was hardly necessary. The doors swung smoothly open; it was obvious that they were well oiled and often used.
    “Parget!”
    “Coming, coming.” A tall, thin man appeared at the door.
    “Ah!” His harassed expression faded into a delighted smile.
    “You’ve brought them, then.” He gave a low bow. “I assure you, captain, that House Damion has made a wise choice in its representative. I’ve only just heard of our victory in the north, and I assure you that I’ve already several interested clients who would—”
    “Save it for the block, Parget.”
    “Of course, sir. Of course.” He stepped out of the doorway and clapped his hands loudly. Four men came rushing out. “Take these away, Lanos. Prepare to have them cleaned and groomed.”
    “Sir.” One man bowed and turned to the Sword. A glint of metal caught the scant