Dragon Bones (Hurog #1)(12)

"I am a slave," he said. "Your slave, Master, bound to your ring. Soul slave to you. Whatever you ask of me, I will do if I am able - and I have much power."

I thought of what that would have meant to some of the more disreputable of my ancestors. He was a pretty boy, like my brother. Poor slave.

"If I were to ask you to sit where you are without moving, what would happen?" I asked.

"I sit here without moving," he said with bleak truthfulness, "until you die or tell me differently. I must do whatever you tell me." There was tension in his body, though if he'd been here all this time, he should know that I didn't torment people in my power. But, I supposed, that like Stygian...Pansy, it would take him time to learn.

"When you said that you were the keep, did you mean that literally? Or that you are tied to it by magic?"

"I don't think there is much of a difference," he said, examining his hands.

"Do you know what's going on in the keep?"

The boy tilted his head, his eyes looking at something other than what was before them. "In the great hall, the fire is banked for the night. There's a rat sniffing in the corner for food. Your uncle is standing before the fireplace, hands behind his back, rocking a little on his heels - "

"Enough," I said. "Can you look more than one place at a time?"

"No more than you can look at the far wall and behind you at the same time."

"Can you hear as well?"

"Yes."

I rubbed my pant legs. I could work with Pansy's fears because I understood him. I won over Penrod by the same means. I needed to understand Oreg as well as I understood the mistreated horse. "Does it hurt you when the keep is damaged?"

"No," he said, then continued almost reluctantly, "I can feel it, but it doesn't hurt."

"Do you occupy the whole of the keep, or just the older parts?"

"The whole keep, and that which belongs to it. The curtain walls, the stables, the smithy - the sewers, even."

"If you are the keep, how is it that you still have a body?" I asked, tipping my head at his human body.

"It amused my father."

I thought about what he'd said for a while. "If the keep is damaged, it does not hurt you. Does it hurt you when your body is hurt?"

"Yes," he whispered, tensing.

Well, if I'd spent the last fifteen years as my father's slave, I'd have whispered an answer, too. From all accounts, my grandfather had been worse. Deliberately, I yawned. It was late, I needed to sleep.

"My father never mentioned you at all."

"Strategically speaking, it is better if I am secret from your enemies - a harmless ghost that wanders the halls." He hesitated, then ventured, "I prefer to keep my presence quiet. I don't like people very much."

Nor would I, I thought, after so many years of serving Hurogs.

"Right." I said. "Here are my orders for now. Continue your protection of my sister. I'd like to meet you here each night when I am alone. Other than that, do as you will."

"Do you want me to protect you, too?"

I grinned. Powerful he might be, I was willing to accept his word on that, but he was half my weight. "I've had years to learn to do that. If I can't, well, then I'm not fit to be Hurogmeten, am I?"

"There are those who say you aren't fit anyway," he said, a challenge in his voice.

I couldn't decide if he was testing my temper or if he still half believed my act. Maybe he knew the truth better than I did. Abruptly, I felt tired.

"Yes. Well, now. I'd be sad if they thought me competent after all the effort I put into shoving my stupidity down my father's throat. I can hardly hold that against them, can I?"

He laughed, though I thought it was because he believed it necessary rather than because my words actually amused him. He was silent for a while then asked, "Why are you pretending to be stupid?" He hesitated and said tentatively, "I always wondered about that. It seemed so odd that you would spend all those hours in the library. But then you would read and read but never seemed to understand what it was you were reading." As he spoke, he bounced off the bed and strode oh so casually out of my reach.

"Thought I might be looking at the pictures or the pretty inks?" I asked, amused.

"What happened when your father hit you that time? If it wasn't brain damage? And even an idiot listening to you now could see that your brain is fine." He grinned shyly, a boy venturing an opinion or a slave flattering the master, but he'd put furniture between his body and me.

Like Pansy, I thought, he'd learn that I wouldn't harm him. Besides, I'd pried into his private pain; it was only fair to give him the same opportunity. "It damaged something," I said. "I couldn't speak at all." I remembered how terrifying it had been to have thoughts that wouldn't turn into words.

"You weren't just frightened?" asked Oreg.

Looking at him, I could see he knew what it was to be so frightened he couldn't speak. Pity choked my reply. "No."

"You couldn't walk, either," he said speculatively.

I nodded. "Or stand or anything else." It had taken Stala and me years to strengthen my left side until I was as fast with my left hand as I was with my right. Sometimes I dreamt that the strange, overpowering numbness had overtaken my left arm again.