Transformation Read Online Free

trying not to give the appearance of interest. The Baron was the only one of my masters who had permitted me to hear anything of the world beyond uninformed slave-house gossip. It had been a small pleasure in a life with few of them, and I had regretted losing it more than almost anything when he put me up for sale.
    “You worry too much, Dmitri,” said the Prince. “You’ve been on the borders too long, and you’re still upset with Father for giving away the city you took from the Basranni. Learn to enjoy yourself again. Even in this ice pocket to which my father consigns us, there are distractions aplenty. You’ve not been hunting with me in six years, and still owe me a new bow from the last time.”
    “You worry too little, Zander. You are Ivan’s only son, the future Emperor of a thousand cities. It’s time you worked at it. These Khelid ...”
    “... could not defeat so much as a single Derzhi legion with their finest troops. They ran away, Dmitri, and hid for twenty years. They were so afraid of us, they came back groveling for peace. Who cares what they do with Karn’Hegeth? Who cares what they do with their magicians? Might as well worry about their jugglers or acrobats. Actually ...” The Prince poked at the other man who sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. “... I’ve decided to hire a few of their magicians for my dakrah feast. I’ve heard they’re astoundingly good.”
    “You must do no such thing. The anointing of the Derzhi Crown Prince on the day of his majority is not a spectacle for foreigners. No outsider should even be in the city on that day. And if their magicians are a part of their religion as they claim, then why would they hire them out for entertainments? I’d like to send all of them packing with their books and crystals shoved up their asses.”
    My shriveled Ezzarian soul could not hear such frivolous talk of true power without a twinge of anxiety. “Magic” was the common term for the illusions, sleight of hand, and smatterings of spell-weaving used for entertainment and mystification. Sorcery was altogether different. True power could alter the workings of nature and could be used for purposes most men and women could not imagine. I had heard enough of the Khelid to believe they knew something of sorcery. The Derzhi played with things they did not understand. There were mysteries ... dangers ... in the world ... I closed my eyes and slammed shut the doors of knowledge and memory, the doors locked and barred on the day the Derzhi had stolen my freedom and the Rites of Balthar had stripped me of true power.
    Lord Dmitri must have sensed my uneasiness, for he seemed to notice me for the first time. He reached for my arm and twisted it almost to breaking behind my back.
    “You understand the penalties for sly, sneaking slaves who so much as think about the private conversations of their masters?”
    “Yes, my lord,” I squeezed out. I had seen such penalties early on in my captivity and had needed nothing further to persuade me to keep my counsel. I could forget as easily as I could sleep.
    “Get out,” said the Prince, his cheerful manner clouded. “Tell Durgan to put you back where you were.”
    I touched my head to the floor again and returned to the slave house, informing Durgan that I was to go back underground. The Derzhi enjoyed seeing slaves carry the messages for our punishments. They would have had us lash ourselves if they thought it possible we would do it to their satisfaction.
    In the dark, cold days before Aleksander called for me again, between my long hours of sleeping and the three minutes a day I was fully occupied by a cup of gruel, a hard lump of bread, or a chunk of rancid meat wild dogs would disdain, I did some thinking about the Khelid. My previous master, the Baron, was the most traditional of Derzhi, and mistrusted any foreigner that had not been conquered by force of arms. Even Ezzarians were more palatable to him than the Khelid. We had