Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Tamora Pierce. The rest came from my warped and sadistic mind. evil laugh

Chapter 13 – Old Ghosts

Once again, Numair found it impossible to keep his mind on the negotiations. Ozorne had failed to show up and the Carthaki nobles were behaving like spoiled children. More than once Numair saw Alanna roll her eyes in disgust and even the normally unshakable Duke Gareth looked like he was on the edge of yelling.

Numair's mind wandered back to the conversations in Lindhall's Office. He didn't know how it was possible and yet it seemed right that the Graveyard Hag must have something to do with this mess. The Graveyard Hag was a minor goddess throughout most of the mortal world, but legend said she had more powers here in Carthak. She was a strange goddess, as well. While most goddesses were beautiful and eternally young, the Hag had a handful of teeth and was a wrinkled old woman. Her idols were always accompanied by rats (which gave most people the shivers) and hyenas. Hyenas. Numair's most recent nightmare swamped through his thoughts. He could see the splintering sanity and the lost mind that was the essence of his Magelet. No, not mine. What is wrong with me?

Of all the things he found beautiful about Daine, it was her mind that attracted him the most. There were times when Daine's self-effacing humor would lead her to call herself dumb. Numair could remember correcting her curtly on many occasions for those kinds of comments. She learned very, very quickly and she asked intelligent questions that always got to the heart of the matter. He could remember how quickly she learned anatomy of various animal species. Most of his students would say that anatomy was the most difficult subject of all. True, Daine didn't have the best vocabulary and she didn't read as voraciously as he did, but then most people considered that weird. Daine did have a common sense approach to life that Numair admired greatly. And she was honest and forthright with everyone. Those are all admirable traits. Numair couldn't imagine the loss of that beautiful mind.

Madness is one of those afflictions that scared Numair the most. He knew it was possible for a human to be there physically, without the capacity to function normally. But it seemed like such a cruel trick for the gods to play. He was certain that he would rather die than live such an empty life. If the message he was supposed to get was that Daine was in danger of losing her sanity if Ozorne took her, then he was sufficiently afraid.

Madness. How strange that his return to Carthak should come down to this. It was the infliction of madness that had driven a permanent wedge between himself and Ozorne. Back when their friendship had started to disintegrate, he saw a side of Ozorne that was beyond his ability to forgive. If he closed his eyes he could still hear the mind-screaming, still smell the stench of burned flesh, and still see the tortured slave as her mind collapsed.

He had been in the library at the university, absorbed in a large book about translating spells from ancient languages. He had known that Ozorne was conducting an "experiment" for a couple of weeks. He had felt a little left out and had moped about earning the consternation of most of his teachers. Even Lindhall Reed had voiced displeasure at his behavior. So when Ozorne ran in and told him he wanted to show him something, Arram had been ecstatic. He forgot the book in his hands and followed without question.

He followed Ozorne through a passage beneath Ozorne's suite and into an area he had only seen once before. Ozorne called it his "laboratory". Arram had been laughing – laughing like a child, unaware of the harsh reality he would soon come to know. But when Ozorne opened the door, it was as if the air had been sucked from his lungs. There was a waif of a slave girl – perhaps twelve years old – strapped to a pallet on the floor. She turned a bloodied face to him and there was desperation in her face.

"Okay, so if you look with your magic, you'll see that she has the Gift," the 19-year old Ozorne said. Arram had already noticed that. It was raw power. She had not been taught to meditate or focus at all. "That is why these are here," Ozorne continued with a sweeping gesture toward the seven hematite stones on the floor surrounding the girl. They were cancelling any magic that might escape. She was a prisoner in more ways than one.

"But you can't just…" Arram began.

Ozorne laughed. "Don't worry. She's a mute. No one will hear."

That had actually been the last thing he was worried about. Arram wanted someone to hear – to stop this. He stood frozen. He watched Ozorne, his friend, approach the girl and rub his hands together in anticipation. His mind seemed to lock in place too, trying to resolve the paradox of seeing his friend as a monster for the first time. He could have done something. Certainly, his Gift was greater than Ozorne's. He had kept that a secret at Lindhall Reed's suggestion. If there was ever a time to reveal the secret, that was it. But he didn't. He watched Ozorne approach the girl and drain her Gift, pulling it into himself. And then he watched the madness descend upon her. The Gift had been permanently removed from her, and its absence caused insanity as her fractured mind released its power. He saw the whole thing and he did nothing. He even stood there while Ozorne continued to pull from her life essence, charing her flesh and making her mind scream loud enough that he could hear her pain before she collapsed in death.

Arram followed Ozorne back to his suite, listening to this monster who used to be his friend laugh about his boosted energy. The spell only worked on the untrained, but Ozorne had plenty of slaves and there were bound to be some with the Gift. The thought of that horror taking place over and over was beyond devastating. Worse, this sadistic beast was to be his sovereign. Arram, realizing he still held the library book, made an excuse about needing to take it back. And outside the palace he vomited and sobbed like a child. That was where Lindhall Reed had found him nearly an hour later, still in a state of shock.

Lindhall had listened to the story and comforted Arram. He forgave Arram for what Arram could not forgive himself. Though they could do nothing for the girl, they could keep it from happening to other slaves. From that point on, they had worked to get slaves out of the country. The priority was on those with the Gift, of course, as they were in the most danger. They worked for a year before Ozorne became suspicious of Arram and locked him away. Arram had not given up Lindhall and their other associates. That was why he had been sentenced to death. He most certainly would have died, had he not escaped.

Somehow, Lindhall had managed to continue the work all of this time without being detected. Numair still sent him money and maintained contact with the associates in Tyra who accepted the refugees.

Now, Numair wondered if the nightmare was just his mind revisiting the child he had let Ozorne violate. He realized he was shaking about the same time that Alanna did. She covered his large hand with her smaller one and mouthed the words, "Are you okay?"

He nodded and leaned in to whisper, "Don't worry, Alanna. I'm just being haunted by old ghosts."

She searched his eyes sympathetically. Suddenly both of them realized that the arguing around them had grown louder. Duke Etiakret, head of the Carthaki negotiators was swearing loudly.

Duke Gareth calmly said, "Really, I think you are being quite unreasonable. Though Tortall's King and Queen would be willing to buy some silk, dyes and glass from Carthak, we have commitments to others we trade with. We cannot limit our purchases to those products made in Carthak. We will not go back on our word to Tyra and Galla. Both of those countries negotiated trade agreements with us. Tyra, as you know, produces fine silks and dyes. And Galla is known for its glass. These agreements…."

He stopped talking abruptly when Etiakret cursed and stormed from the room.

Alanna leaned in and whispered, "When my children threw tantrums like that, I spanked them."

Numair struggled not to laugh.

The door flew open again and Etiakret had returned for one more shot, "And we will not be turning over Lord Krenia to be judged by the likes of you." He left shouting more expletives.

An angry whisper, much like the buzzing of bees, grew within the Tortallan delegation. Krenia was one of the pirates charged with raiding Tortall. During the prior day's negotiations, this had been easily agreed upon. Now it was being taken off the table. Gareth rose and bowed to the other Carthaki delegates. "It seems we have reached an impasse today. I hope that we will overcome it tomorrow. However, tempers are taxed and we think it wise to halt for now. Do you agree?"

The Carthakis never really answered, but they couldn't continue legally without either Ozorne or Etiakret present. It had been a politically tactful offer by Gareth to request the break. He had put it on himself, which made it possible for the Carthakis to open without apology the next day. Numair nodded to Gareth, amazed at his negotiating skills.

"I'm glad he's in charge," Numair whispered to Alanna. "My best diplomatic urgings had something to with throwing fire at their breeches." Alanna laughed heartily.