The Hidden Fire (Book 2) by James R. Sanford Page B

island.  They
seemed to be cooking beneath a thatched awning stretched across a clump of
trees.  He tried to imagined what this place looked like in the dry season, the
waters pulled back, the river narrow, the islands only shallow knolls.
    They
stopped in front of some stick and mud huts — two short ones and a long one
that was much like the one in Kyric’s dream — but it turned out to be the
barracks of the machete men, not the slave house.  Above the odor of fish guts
and urine, the place had another stink.  A putrid smell, as if it were all
rotting away.
    Thurlun
turned to his men.  “Guppy, find a needle and sew up Harlon’s shoulder. 
Tebble, take a couple of slaves and bury Marto, but not too close to camp.  Do
it right and bury him deep, but do it quick — we only have a couple of hours of
daylight.  And be careful with the slaves.  I have damn too few as it is.”
    He
handed Aiyan’s sword to the last one.  “Ral, you stay here.”
    He
hooked his oversized pistols into some cording on his vest and set two stools
beneath a tall canopy tree.  Another crude platform had been built about
halfway to the top, and slinging his musket, Pacey climbed up to take his place
there.  Ral tied Kyric and Lerica to a nearby post and stood guard over them. 
Aiyan was set on one stool and Thurlun sat on the other, taking a long drink
from a wine skin.
    He
looked at Aiyan.  “Well?”
    “We
had arranged to sail to Baskillia with this trader captain.  He had told us
that he needed to deliver some cargo to a coffee plantation before we sailed
east.  When we got there, the plantation owner had some important friends who
demanded passage to Ularra, and he started waving papers at the captain and
using words like contract and lawsuit.  So the captain says he has to take
them, and that he has to dump us here for a week or two to make room for them.”
    “So
you decided to take a stroll in the jungle?”
    “The
plantation owner — “ Aiyan began.
    “What
is his name?” demanded Thurlun.
    “Dorigano.”
    Thurlun
nodded.  He had already known the name.
    “Dorigano,”
Aiyan continued, “wasn’t very hospitable, and we were getting bored, so I asked
his native overseer about the hunting around here.  He says forget hunting — that
there’s this magnificent ruined city out in the jungle.  He didn’t tell me
there was a lake around it.”
    “There’s
a land bridge on the other side,” Thurlun said.  “Probably underwater right
now.  No need to bother with it.  The Baskillians picked it clean a long time
ago.”
    He
stood and paced a circle around Aiyan.  It was clear to Kyric that he was a man
used to getting the lie.
    “I
notice that you haven’t any camping gear.”
    “We
weren’t planning to spend the night.  The overseer made it seem like it was
only a couple of miles away.  We were speaking in Cor’el, and I guess I
misunderstood.”
    Thurlun
placed one foot on the stool and leaned against his knee.  “Your story’s plausible,
if not very likely.  If you’re telling the truth, I know that Dorigano won’t
come looking for you.  Hell, he and his boys have never gone more than a
hundred paces into the jungle.  What do you think the trader captain will do if
he comes back and you’re not there?”
    “He
already has my money.  He’ll just sail on to Baskillia without us.”
    Kyric
looked at Lerica.  Aiyan was trying to convince this man that no one in the
world would come looking for them.  Her eyes were wide and dark and he felt he
could read her thoughts there.  She understood.  She wouldn’t give it away.
    “So
what’s going on here?” Aiyan asked casually, gazing out at the camp.  “I know
that you’re not simply fishing.”
    “But
we are,” said Thurlun with a smile.  “We are fishing.  Wait till you hear this,
Candy.  There’s this type of ray that breeds only in these rivers.”
    “The
angel ray?”
    “Yes. 
Do you know why they call them that?  They