Bones of the Empire by Jim Galford

edges of his vision.
    “Do not move or this will be worse,” warned a man sitting beside Raeln. When Raeln looked up at him, his eyes went straight to the black tattoos around the man’s eyes. Panicking, Raeln tried to stand, but the man put a firm hand on his chest, holding him down. “I had hoped to have this done before you woke,” he said, frowning. “Calm yourself, beast. The pain will get worse before it gets better. Much worse.”
    Raeln could hardly breathe, trying to scream for help at the same time as he fought to stand. With the stone still in his stomach, it was all he could do to choke down small gasps of air. Before he could sit up, a woman and another man came to his other side. One grabbed his shoulders as the other moved down and grabbed his ankles. In his weakened state, he could not break their grip on him.
    “I am sorry, but we have to do this,” explained the original man, and Raeln realized he was applying pressure to Raeln’s stomach as he used some form of tool to grab at the stone deep in the wound.
    Raeln fought against the hold the Turessians had on him, but he was far too weak. They held him tightly as the man twisted the stone in his belly and adjusted his grip. With an agonizing tug against his insides, the Turessian ripped the stone free. Pain washed out Raeln’s vision, and his attempts to scream took the last of his breath away. Slowly, he felt himself sinking again, thinking he would never wake.
    Sometime later, the world seemed to lighten, and Raeln opened his eyes to find he lay in another hut like the last one. This time there was little furniture around him and the old woman who had held his shoulders down now sat beside him, her worried expression creasing the tattoos on her face. Thin white hair lay over her shoulder, swept away from the shaved sides of her scalp. When he looked up at her, she smirked and sighed.
    “We had thought we lost you, despite our efforts. Do you know where you are?”
    “Captive,” he managed to croak out.
    “Yes, after a fashion. Can you tell me what the last thing you remember was?”
    Raeln groaned and closed his eyes. “Liris and the others beat us down so you could catch us. Doesn’t matter after that.”
    “Liris?” the woman asked, frowning. “Could you draw her markings? I don’t know her.”
    “No. All of the markings look the same to me.”
    The Turessian woman chuckled and nodded. “I thought not. I am sorry for asking. I hadn’t thought about the fact that you can’t read. I sometimes forget and think you are people.”
    Raeln snarled at her, though she kept smiling at him, undaunted. She did not seem to recognize she had insulted him. “I can read and write. My sister was a wizard. I received the best education our parents could give us.”
    “A southern wizard? I doubt she could read more than a few words herself. I apologize, I know education is not the focus of your people. I do not mean to criticize. We get few uneducated barbarians out this way, unless they intend to invade. Were you trying to invade?”
    “No, we were trying to sneak in. Doesn’t matter now. Finish killing me and be done with it.”
    The woman laughed, reached down to Raeln’s stomach, and lifted a blood-soaked rag from his skin. When he looked down at it, he saw there was little more than a small cut remaining of his wound. It had been tended to expertly.
    “We will not kill you, beast,” the woman told him, switching the rag for a clean one. “I am Preserver Yiral. Do they name your people or shall I call you by your breed?”
    “Raeln of Hyeth.”
    “Very good, Raeln. We will continue to tend to your wounds until you are able to work. Your companions are nearly healed and will be put to tasks within the day. I have firm hopes for your capabilities. We have few strong slave-caste left after the purging. You will be worth quite a lot to the clan, assuming we can keep you alive. Infection is difficult to heal if it is deep