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s more like some heavy vine
made of leather, and he took the time and care to caress my cheek with
it. Syrin demonstrated to me what a Guildmaster of the Slavers can
do with such a weapon.
He beat my back and legs, leaving dark red stripes that turned
black on my white hide. The whip was too heavy to crack, it did not
warn me of its approach no matter the vast strength Syrin put behind
it. I was determined not to cry out, counting the strokes, but it was
hopeless. Syrin crisscrossed the lashes, layering pain upon pain,
never too much at once to inure me to it. I grunted and bit my lip
after twenty, uttered cries after thirty, and bawled like a child
through the final ten; dancing and dangling until Syrin stopped at
fifty.
Syrin took me down and lay me on my stomach in his wagon for the
day's travel, secured as before. The pain sharpened with each rock
the wagon struck. My every heartbeat forced blood through the crushed
places and jolted me painfully awake; I could not sleep to avoid the
pain. It took me an hour before I could manage a stony silence during
Syrin's drive.
Evening came and we continued to travel, for the mountains were
near. Syrin left the road, uncovering a secret trail large enough t
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