Pug glanced around the busy city square, attempting to sort out the impressions that had been coming without cease since entering the outer precinct of the city. Everywhere people hurried about their business. A short distance from the temples, they had passed through a market, not unlike those in Kingdom cities, but larger. The noise of hawkers and buyers, the smells, the heat, all reminded him of home in an odd way.
When Hokanu’s party neared, commoners would step out of the way, for the guards at the head of the procession would call out “Shinzawai! Shinzawai!” letting everyone know a noble approached. Only once did the party give way in the city; a group of red-clad men, robed in cloaks of scarlet feathers. The one that Pug took to be a high priest wore a mask of wood fashioned to resemble a red skull, while the others had red painted faces. They blew reed whistles, and people scattered to clear their line of march. One of the soldiers made a sign of protection, and later Pug learned these men were the priests of Turakamu, the eater of hearts, brother to the goddess Sibi, she who was death.
Pug turned to a nearby guard and motioned for permission to speak. The guard nodded once, and Pug said, “Master, what god resides here?” as he pointed to the temple where Hokanu prayed.
“Ignorant barbarian,” answered the soldier in a friendly manner, “the gods do not abide in these halls, but in the Upper and Lower Heavens. This temple is for men to make their devotions. Here my lord’s son makes an offering and petitions to Chochocan, the good god of the Upper Heaven and his servant, Tomachaca, the god of peace, for good fortune for the Shinzawai.”
When Hokanu returned, they started off again. They made their way through the city, Pug still studying the people they passed. The press was incredible, and Pug wondered how they managed to stand it. Like farmers in a city for the first time, Pug and Laurie kept gawking at the wonders of Jamar. Even the supposedly worldly troubadour would exclaim about this sight or that. Soon the guards were chuckling over the barbarians’ obvious delight at the most mundane things.
Every building they passed was fashioned from wood and a translucent material, clothlike but rigid. A few, like the temples, were constructed with stone, but what was most remarkable was that every building they passed, from temple to worker’s hut, was painted white, except for bordering beams and door frames, which were polished deep brown. Every open surface was decorated with colorful paintings. Animals, landscapes, deities, and battle scenes abounded. Everywhere was a not of color to confound the eye.
To the north of the temples, across from one of the parks and facing a wide boulevard, stood a single building, set apart by open lawns bordered with hedges. Two guards, dressed in armor and helm similar to those of their own guards, stood watch at the door. They saluted Hokanu when he approached.
Without a word their other guards marched around the side of the house, leaving the slaves with the young officer. He signaled, and one of the door guards slid the large cloth-covered door aside. They entered an open hallway leading back, with doors on each side. Hokanu marched them to a rear door, which a house slave opened for them.
Pug and Laurie then discovered the house was fashioned like a square, with a large garden in the center, accessible from all sides. Near a bubbling pool sat an older man, dressed in a plain but rich-looking dark blue robe. He was consulting a scroll. He looked up when the three entered, and rose to greet Hokanu.
The young man removed his helm and then came to attention Pug and Laurie stood slightly behind and said nothing. The man nodded, and Hokanu approached. They embraced, and the older man said, “My son, it is good to see you again. How were things at the camp?”
Hokanu made his report on the camp, briefly and to the point, leaving out nothing of importance. He then told of the actions taken to remedy the situation. “So the new overseer will see that the slaves have ample food and rest. He should increase production soon.”
His father nodded. “I think you have acted wisely, my son. We shall have to send another in a few months’ time to gauge progress, but things could not become any worse than they were. The Warlord demands higher production, and we border on falling into his bad graces.”
He seemed to notice the slaves for the first time. “These?” was all he said, pointing at Laurie and Pug.
“They are unusual. I was thinking of our talk on the night before my brother went to the north. They may prove valuable.”
“Have you spoken of this to anyone?” Firm lines set around his grey eyes. Even though much shorter, he somehow reminded Pug of Lord Borric.
“No, my father. Only those who took council that night—”
The lord of the house cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Save your remarks for later. ‘Trust no secrets to a city.’ Inform Septiem. We close the house and leave for our estates in the morning.”
Hokanu bowed slightly, then turned to leave. “Hokanu.” His father’s voice stopped him. “You have done well.” Pride plainly showing on his face, the young man left the garden.
The lord of the house sat again upon a bench of carved stone, next to a small fountain, and regarded the two slaves. “What are you called?”
“Pug, master.”
“Laurie, master.”
He seemed to derive some sort of insight from these simple statements. “Through that door,” he said, pointing to the left, “is the way to the cookhouse. My hadonra is called Septiem. He will see to your care. Go now.”
They bowed and left the garden. As they made their way through the house, Pug nearly knocked over a young girl coming around a corner. She was dressed in a slave’s robe and carried a large bundle of washing. It went flying across the hall.
“Oh!” she cried. “I’ve just now washed these. Now I’ll have to do them over.” Pug quickly bent to help her pick them up. She was tall for a Tsurani, nearly Pug’s height, and well proportioned. Her brown hair was tied back, and her brown eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. Pug stopped gathering the clothing and stared at her in open admiration. She hesitated under his scrutiny, then quickly picked up the rest of the clothes and hurried off. Laurie watched her trim figure retreat, tan legs shown to good advantage by the short slave’s robe.
Laurie slapped Pug’s shoulder. “Ha! I told you things would be looking up.”
They left the house and approached the cookhouse, where the smell of hot food set their appetites on edge. “I think you’ve made an impression on that girl, Pug.”
Pug had never had much experience with women and felt his ears start to burn. At the slave camp much of the talk was about women, and this, more than anything else, had kept him feeling like a boy. He turned to see if Laurie was having sport with him, then saw the blond singer looking behind him. He followed Laurie’s gaze and caught a glimpse of a shyly smiling face pull back from a window in the house.
The next day the household of the Shinzawai Family was in an uproar Slaves and servants hurried every which way making ready for the journey to the north. Pug and Laurie were left to themselves, as there was no one among the household staff free enough to assign them tasks. They sat in the shade of a large willowhke tree, enjoying the novelty of free time as they observed the furor.
“These people are crazy, Pug. I’ve seen less preparation for caravans. It looks as if they plan on taking everything with them.”
“Maybe they are. These people no longer surprise me.” Pug stood, leaning against the bole. “I’ve seen things that defy logic.”
“True enough. But when you’ve seen as many different lands as I have, you learn that the more things look different, the more they are the same.”
“What do you mean?”
Laurie rose and leaned on the other side of the tree. In low tones he said, “I’m not sure, but something is afoot, and we play a part, be sure. If we keep sharp, we may be able to turn it to our advantage. Always remember that. Should a man want something from you, you can always make a bargain, no matter what the apparent differences in your stations.”
“Of course. Give him what he wants, a
nd he’ll let you live.”
“You’re too young to be so cynical,” Laurie countered, with mirth sparkling in his eyes. “Tell you what. You leave the world-weary pose to old travelers such as myself, and I’ll make sure that you don’t miss a single opportunity.”
Pug snorted. “What opportunity?”
“Well, for one thing,” Laurie said, pointing behind Pug, “that little girl you nearly knocked over yesterday is appearing to have some difficulty in lifting those boxes.” Pug, glancing back, saw the laundry girl struggling to stack several large crates ready to be loaded into wagons. “I think she might appreciate a little help, don’t you think?”
Pug’s confusion was evident on his face. “What . . . ?”
Laurie gave him a gentle push. “Off with you, dolt. A little help now, later . . . who knows?”
Pug stumbled. “Later?”
“Gods!” laughed Laurie, fetching Pug a playful kick in the rump.
The troubadour’s humor was infectious, and Pug was smiling as he approached the girl. She was trying to lift a large wooden crate atop another. Pug took it from her. “Here, I can do that.”
She stepped away, uncertain. “It’s not heavy. It’s just too high for me.” She looked everywhere but at Pug.
Pug lifted the crate easily and placed it on top of the others, favoring his tender hand only a little. “There you are,” he said, trying to sound casual.
The girl brushed back a stray wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You’re a barbarian, aren’t you?” She spoke hesitantly.
Pug flinched. “You call us that. I like to think I’m as civilized as the next man.”
She blushed. “I didn’t mean any offense. My people are called barbarians also. Anyone who’s not a Tsurani is called that. I meant you’re from that other world.”
Pug nodded. “What’s your name?”
She said, “Katala,” then in a rush, “What is your name?”
“Pug.”
She smiled. “That’s a strange name. Pug.” She seemed to like the sound of it.
Just then the hadonra, Septiem, an old but erect man with the bearing of a retired general, came around the house. “You two!” he snapped. “There’s work to do! Don’t stand there.”
Katala ran back into the house, and Pug was left hesitating before the yellow-robed estate manager. “You! What’s your name?”
“Pug, sir.”
“I see that you and your blond giant friend have been given nothing to do. I’ll have to remedy that. Call him over.”
Pug sighed. So much for their free time. He waved for Laurie to come over, and they were put to work loading wagons.
TWENTY - Estate
The weather had turned cooler during the last three weeks.
Still it hinted at the summer’s heat. The winter season in this land, if a season it properly was, lasted a mere six weeks, with brief cold rains out of the north. The trees held most of their bluish green leaves, and there was nothing to mark the passing of fall. In the four years Pug had abided in Tsuranuanni, there were none of the familiar signs that marked the passing seasons: no bird migrations, frost in the mornings, rains that froze, snow, or blooming of wild flowers. This land seemed eternally set in the soft amber of summer.
For the first few days of the journey, they had followed the highway from Jamar, northward to the city of Sulan-qu. The river Gagajin had carried a ceaseless clutter of boats and barges, while the highway was equally jammed with caravans, farmers’ carts, and nobles riding in litters.
The Lord of the Shinzawai had departed the first day by boat for the Holy City, to attend the High Council. The household followed at a more leisurely pace. Hokanu paused outside the city of Sulan-qu long enough to pay a social call upon the Lady of the Acoma, and Pug and Laurie found the opportunity to gossip with another Midkemian slave, recently captured. The news of the war was disheartening. No change since the last they had heard, the stalemate continued.
At the Holy City, the Lord of the Shinzawai joined his son and the retinue on its journey to the Shinzawai estates, outside the City of Silmani. From then, the trek northward had been uneventful.
The Shinzawai caravan was approaching the boundaries of the family’s northern estates Pug and Laurie had little to do along the way except occasional chores: dumping the cook pots, cleaning up needra droppings, loading and unloading supplies. Now they were riding on the back of a wagon, feet dangling over the rear. Laurie bit into a ripe jomach fruit, something like a large green pomegranate with the flesh of a watermelon. Spitting out seeds, he said, “How’s the hand?”
Pug studied his right hand, examining the red puckered scar that ran across the palm “It’s still stiff. I expect it’s as healed as it will ever be.”
Laurie took a look. “Don’t think you’ll ever carry a sword again.” He grinned.
Pug laughed “I doubt you will either. I somehow don’t think they’ll be finding a place for you in the Imperial Horse Lance.”
Laurie spat a burst of seeds, bouncing them off the nose of the needra who pulled the wagon behind them. The six-legged beast snorted, and the driver waved his steering stick angrily at them. “Except for the fact that the Emperor doesn’t have any lancers, due to the fact that he also doesn’t have any horses, I can’t think of a finer choice.”
Pug laughed derisively.
“I’ll have you know, fella-me-lad,” said Laurie in aristocratic tones, “that we troubadours are often beset by a less savory sort of customer, brigands and cutthroats seeking our hard-earned wages—scant though they may be. If one doesn’t develop the ability to defend oneself, one doesn’t stay in business, if you catch my meaning.”
Pug smiled. He knew that a troubadour was nearly sacrosanct in a town, for should he be harmed or robbed, word would spread, and no other would ever come there again. But on the road it was a different matter. He had no doubt of Laurie’s ability to take care of himself, but wasn’t about to let him use that pompous tone and sit without a rejoinder. As he was about to speak, though, he was cut off by shouts coming from the front of the caravan. Guards came rushing forward, and Laurie turned to his shorter companion. “What do you suppose that is all about?”
Not waiting for an answer, he jumped down and ran forward. Pug followed. As they reached the head of the caravan, behind the Lord of the Shinzawai’s litter, they could see shapes advancing up the road toward them. Laurie grabbed Pug’s sleeve. “Riders!”
Pug could scarcely believe his eyes, for indeed it appeared that riders were approaching along the road from the Shinzawai manor. As they got closer, he could see that, rather than riders, there was one horseman and three cho-ja, all three a rich dark blue color.
The rider, a young brown-haired Tsurani, taller than most, dismounted. His movement was clumsy, and Laurie observed, “They will never pose any military threat if that’s the best seat they can keep. Look, there is no saddle, nor bridle, only a rude hackamore fashioned from leather straps. And the poor horse looks like it hasn’t been properly groomed for a month.”
The curtain of the litter was pulled back as the rider approached. The slaves put the litter down, and the Lord of the Shinzawai got out. Hokanu had reached his father’s side, from his place among the guards at the rear of the caravan, and was embracing the rider, exchanging greetings. The rider then embraced the Lord of the Shinzawai Pug and Laurie could hear the rider say, “Father! It is good to see you.”
The Shinzawai lord said, “Kasumi! It is good to see my firstborn son. When did you return?”
“Less than a week ago. I would have come to Jamar, but I heard that you were due here, so I waited.”
“I am glad. Who are these with you?” He indicated the creatures.
“This,” he said, pointing to the foremost, “is Strike Leader X’calak, back from fighting the short ones under the mountains on Midkemia.”
The creature stepped forward and raised his right hand—very humanlike—in salute, and in a high, piping voice said
, “Hail, Kamatsu, Lord of the Shinzawai. Honors to your house.”
The Lord of the Shinzawai bowed slightly from the waist “Greetings, X’calak. Honors to your hive. The cho-ja are always welcome guests.”
The creature stepped back and waited. The lord turned to look at the horse. “What is this upon which you sit, my son?”
“A horse, Father. A creature the barbarians ride into battle. I’ve told you of them before. It is a truly marvelous creature. On its back I can run faster than the swiftest cho-ja runner.”
“How do you stay on?”
The older Shinzawai son laughed. “With great difficulty, I’m afraid. The barbarians have tricks to it I have yet to learn.”
Hokanu smiled. “Perhaps we can arrange for lessons.”
Kasumi slapped him playfully on the back. “I have asked several barbarians, but unfortunately they were all dead.”
“I have two here who are not.”
Kasumi looked past his brother and saw Laurie, standing a full head taller than the other slaves who had gathered around. “So I see. Well, we must ask him. Father, with your permission, I will ride back to the house and have all made ready for your homecoming.”
Kamatsu embraced his son and agreed. The older son grabbed a handful of mane, and with an athletic leap, remounted. With a wave, he rode off.
Pug and Laurie quickly returned to their places on the wagon. Laurie asked, “Have you seen the like of those things before?”
Pug nodded. “Yes. The Tsurani call them the cho-ja. They live in large hive mounds, like ants. The Tsurani slaves I spoke with in the camp tell me they have been around as long as can be remembered. They are loyal to the Empire, though I seem to remember someone saying that each hive has its own queen.”
Laurie peered around the front of the wagon, hanging on with one hand. “I wouldn’t like to face one on foot. Look at the way they run.”
Pug said nothing. The older Shinzawai son’s remark about the short ones under the mountain brought back old memories. If Tomas is alive, he thought, he is a man now. If he is alive.
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