The Three Lands Omnibus (2011 Edition)

by Dusk Peterson

  He turned then, as though he had finished speaking to me, and strode over to the leather-bound books that lined the whole of one wall. He stared at them for a moment, as though reaching into them for inspiration. When he turned and spoke to me again, it was in a voice so soft that I could not tell whether he was being very gentle or very vicious.

  "Henry tells me that you are the hardest-working and most meticulous slave he has ever supervised in his years with me," said Lord Carle. "This matches my own impression of your work. I also know that you are discreet and keep your observations to yourself, a quality that is hard to find in slaves. For this reason, I have discussed with Henry the possibility of sending you to work in my country home, which is lightly manned, as I have no family and rarely visit the house. Since few servants work there, you would be given greater independence in carrying out your duties."

  He paused. He was just out of reach of my gaze, and so my eyes wandered toward him in an effort to see his face. Then I caught myself and stared intently at the wall once more.

  "Tonight's episode," said Lord Carle, his voice rising, "confirms the conclusion I had already reached, which is that you are ill-suited for independent duties. To be allowed independence, a servant must have respect for his master, and you have no respect for your superiors at all. Indeed, so deep is your insolence that I am beginning to wonder whether you even respected your Koretian superiors before coming here. So, much as I would like to banish your troublesome presence and rid myself of the Koretian blood-fly I was foolish enough to take into my care, it is my duty to keep you here at the palace. It is my obligation, as your master, to teach you your own duty, which is to behave in a civilized Emorian manner. I have told you before: If you want to plot in your mind the murder of the Chara or the watering of my wine, I will not interfere with that. But while you are under my care, you will keep those schemes deep inside you and never allow them to be witnessed by me or anyone else. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Lord Carle." My reply did not come out with cutting defiance as it usually did, but dully, as though the blade of my voice had been blunted by a heavy stone.

  "If you understand, then by all the laws of the Chara, you will—"

  He stopped abruptly at the sound of a knock. The door opened a crack, and I saw the Chara's son peering in.

  "Welcome, Lord Peter," said Lord Carle, his voice instantly mild. "May I help you with something?"

  I was still gazing rigidly at the wall, but I could see Peter looking between me and the council lord. "I did not mean to disturb you, Lord Carle. I can come at another time."

  "I am your father's servant and will one day be yours; I always have time to speak with the Chara's son." Lord Carle glanced at me. "We will finish this conversation later, Andrew. Return to your quarters now."

  I gave him the bow my duty required, and then turned to leave the room. My eyes were lowered, so I could not see the Chara's son, but I felt him brush by me as we passed in the doorway.

  As the door closed, I stopped and let my gaze rise again. As a senior council lord, Lord Carle had several chambers in his quarters, all connected by the passageway in which I stood. To the right of me, the dark passage led north and then east to the palace corridor door, but I my gaze strayed toward the other end of the passage, to a window hidden in half-shadows from the passage lamplight. I walked forward until I was standing in front of the window; then I pulled back the shutters.

  A frosty breeze swirled in. This night was midwinter's eve, though the weather had been so mild this year that the first snowfall had not yet arrived. The moon lay below the edge of the world, and the city beneath was as dark as though the night sky had fallen atop it like a blanket. Its stars were the torches that still burned through the night, most of them coming from the soldiers who were patrolling the streets. A subtle scent wafted in on the breeze: the smell of the grape vines clutching the palace walls for warmth. These were the same grapes that were harvested to make the Emorian wine I had watered that night.

  I leaned against the stone passage wall, hugging my arms to my chest in order to protect myself against the cold. My eyes were not on the city below, nor on the countryside beyond, but on the border mountains, black against the black sky, still free of the snow that would block its passes in a short time. Somewhere over those mountains was the Jackal . . . but despite my words to Patrick, it had been many months since I had ended my futile prayers to the god.

  I do not know whether minutes passed or hours. But presently, standing with my shoulder against the chilly stones, I felt a presence, as though a warm breeze had made its way over the mountains from Koretia. I turned my head and saw the Chara's son.

  He was watching me. As I sighted him he took a step backwards, as though he had wandered into the midst of a secret and sacred ceremony. Then, when I did not speak, he said, "I didn't mean to disturb you. I was wondering what you were looking at, and couldn't see without coming near you, because the window is so small."

  His voice was as quiet as moonlight, and his look was so respectful that I forgot to whom I was speaking and said, "All of the windows here are small."

  He came forward then and stood beside me, looking out at the mountains. I moved as far as possible to the right to make way for him.

  He asked, "Are the windows larger in Koretia?"

  "They are much larger," I said, still caught in the spell of his quietness. "Koretians sit in their windows and look at the view outside. I suppose that the windows have to be larger because of the heat."

  His eyes still fixed on the mountains, Peter stepped forward and leaned his elbows on the windowsill, and then placed his chin atop his clasped hands. "I've only been to Koretia once. My father thinks it's too dangerous for me to visit there again. Some of the council lords have taken me with them on visits to Marcadia and Arpesh. But one day, when I become Chara, I'll have to stay in the palace all of the time unless war occurs. I'll never be able to leave here, and that makes this place seem like a prison to me sometimes."

  Something about the pain in his voice drew me closer, until I found I was standing next to him at the window, my arm brushing his. "But you'll be the Chara, and even if you can't leave here, you'll be able to do whatever you like."

  "Will I? My father can't do as he likes. He says that he wishes to spend time with me, but most days he's in the Court of Judgment or the Map Room or the Council Chamber. From dawn until bed he is kept busy upholding the laws of Emor, and he can't do anything that would interfere with his duties."

  I was silent for a moment, struggling to hold back the disrespectful words that were welling up in me, but I lost the battle. "I was watching you this evening, and you reminded me of a Koretian slave."

  The Chara's son looked over at me. His face displayed only curiosity. "I thought you didn't have slaves in Koretia."

  "We did in the days before the Chara took control. An old Koretian story says that the masters could see when their slaves were angry and hurt, and this enraged the masters, who punished the slaves repeatedly as a result. Finally the slaves begged to be allowed to wear masks so that their true thoughts would remain hidden from their masters. I don't know whether this story is true, but the slaves in Koretia certainly wore masks – and that's why you reminded me of them, because it seemed to me as though you were wearing a mask tonight, showing everyone only what you wanted them to see."

  I was breathless by the end of my bold speech, dizzy from lack of air or lack of fear. Peter put his chin back down on his knuckles and said, "That's what it felt like just now, listening to Lord Carle explain to me the proper way in which to manage servants. I've no doubt that he told me much that will be useful to me when I come to power. But something about the way he spoke of his slaves angered me so much that all I could think was that I mustn't let him know what I was truly thinking. And so I kept nodding as though I agreed, and I think he was pleased with our talk."

  "That's the best way to deal with Lord Carle," I said, as though the Chara's son wer
e a fellow slave who needed my advice.

  "I'll remember that." He was silent for a long while, and I had begun to wonder whether he wanted me to leave when he asked suddenly, "Have we met before? I felt sure that we had when I saw you earlier. I suppose I must have seen you around the palace, but . . ." His voice trailed off.

  "It was in the cave."

  Even as I spoke, I knew that he would not be able to remember an encounter that had meant so much to me but so little to him. And indeed, for a moment he neither spoke nor moved, so that I began to prepare a longer explanation. Then, with a motion as quick as though his life depended on it, he took hold of my arm and swung me round to face him. This time I took care to lower my eyes, though I could sense him scanning my face.

  At last he emitted a slow sigh and released my arm. "Yes, your eyes are what I remembered," he said. "You were the one who ran away."

  Something made me say, "It wasn't me who threw the dagger after that. My friend John and I had come across your hiding place by accident."

  "Was there another boy there? I didn't see him." He was silent again, and I kept my gaze fastened on a rose-gold brooch pinning closed the neck-flap of his tunic. I had not noticed it before, but I knew that his father must have given it to him, for it portrayed the royal emblem, which can only be worn by the Chara and his heir. When the Chara's son spoke again, his voice was more hesitant than before, as though he was saying something he did not expect me to understand. "I told everybody that I ran after you that day because I didn't want you to reveal our hiding place. But really, the reason was that, when I saw you, I had a strong feeling that the two of us should talk."

  My eyes rose then, compelled not by my own will nor even by the words of the Chara's son, but by the same voice deep inside me that had commanded me to stay and look at the boy in the cave. For a long moment we stared at each other.

  It was Peter who broke away his gaze and turned back to look out the window, saying, "This is a beautiful view. But why are you standing here in Lord Carle's quarters, where he might find you? And isn't it a late hour to be watching?"

  "There are no windows in the slave-quarters," I replied, "and I'm not eager to go to my bed." I paused, and then added, "I have bad dreams on many nights, and I cry out. That wakes the other slaves, and they complain to Lord Carle's free-servant, who tells Lord Carle, and then I'm punished."

  The Chara's son murmured, "He ought to give you your own room." He caught the look in my eye, and a smile curled up slowly from one side of his face. "Yes, I can just see how he'd react if I told him that. 'Lord Carle, you punish your slave because he has nightmares. Would it not be better to give him his own chamber?' Should I go ask him that now?"

  "I would be happy to answer any questions the Chara's son has."

  The voice was not mine. For a moment we froze, and I saw the three of us clearly. Lord Carle, standing so close to us that I would have sighted him long before, but for the fact that my eyes were fixed on those of the Chara's son. Peter, his smile on the edge of fading as a barrier slammed down upon his face. And myself, not as quick as Peter to react, discovering what I had not realized while he was speaking: for the first time since I came to Emor, I was smiling.

  The Chara's son turned, as smoothly as though he had practiced this move on many occasions, and said in a composed and formal voice, "I am sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Carle. I fear I have also been disturbing your slave, whom I waylaid to learn whether he could give me information on Koretia, as my father wishes me to learn more about that land. I suppose that I ought to have listened closely to what you were telling me just now about not striking up idle conversations with slaves."

  Lord Carle's eyes lingered on me, and it seemed to me, for some odd reason, that he appeared more disappointed than angry. Then his gaze slid over to Peter, and I saw that he was looking at the emblem brooch, as though he were contemplating the Chara's duties. He bowed his head toward Peter. "I am sure that the Chara's son has done nothing wrong tonight. I look forward to continuing our conversation again some other time."

  The Chara's son acknowledged Lord Carle's bow. Then, without looking my way, he walked away.

  Lord Carle waited until he was gone before striking me to the ground.

  My head, which had felt dizzy before, grew even lighter from the pain. I stayed where I was, my hand touching the warm blood on my cheek, unwilling to rise only to be struck down once more.

  "You never learn," Lord Carle said with dangerous quietness. "I tell you to respect your masters, and the next time we meet, you are chatting with the Chara's son. It is obvious that you have the brains of a Koretian sand-beetle and that I am wasting my breath in using words on you. From now on you will stay in the slave-quarters and do work there. You will not come out of that basement until you have learned how to be obedient to your superiors. That will keep you out of trouble and will prevent you from spending half your time daydreaming in front of windows. Now get out of my sight before I lose my temper with you."

  I left his quarters. Then I left the palace.

  o—o—o

  I had not even reached the city gates by the time the soldiers found me. What I remember clearest after that is standing in front of Lord Carle and telling him, in a voice so numb as to be matter-of-fact, exactly what I would do to him if I were holding a free-man's weapon. He heard me out, smiling the whole time. Then, with a voice as courteous as though he were a trader making a fair bargain, he explained to me exactly what he was going to do to me, and explained further that he would continue doing it until I apologized to him and promised to behave like an Emorian. And I listened without feeling, my face in a mask and my heart in a mask, knowing only that Lord Carle had placed me under the high doom.

  Memory is merciful; I have forgotten the rest.

  o—o—o

  "There. You see what I mean."

  The boy's voice broke like an unwelcome shaft of light into my darkness. I was dimly aware that I was lying naked on the cold stone floor of a room with no windows and no lights.

  The darkness suited me. I had taken my night sky of blackness, bare even of stars, and wrapped it around me as a shield from the outside world. That world was nothing to me now but pain.

  I felt the voice fall upon me like a whip, and I instinctively gathered the darkness closer, seeking to bury myself in some corner of it which was so secret that I would never have to emerge again. Then something about the anger in that voice spoke to the pain I felt, and I opened my eyes.

  They were standing in the open doorway, silhouetted against the torchlight beyond: a boy and a man, both cloaked against the chill of the basement. This much I saw before the darkness drifted over me again. But the cruel light of their voices continued.

  "Lord Carle has a heavy hand," said the man. "But if you have learned anything from your lessons by now, it should be that the Chara does not have the power to change everything in this land to his liking. My subjects have the right to discipline their own slaves in whatever manner they wish."

  "This is not discipline; it is murder. You heard Henry say that Lord Carle has ordered that the beatings continue."

  "Henry also said that Lord Carle has ordered the punishment to stop the moment that the slave apologizes. The slave has not spoken since the punishment began three nights ago. If he dies, it will not be from murder but from suicide."

  "Lord Carle wants him to say that he will behave like an Emorian. How can he act like an Emorian when he is Koretian? You said yourself that it would be foolish for the Chara to treat his subjects in the dominions as though they were not alien in thoughts and customs. That is what Lord Carle is trying to do – he is seeking to make his slave into what the slave cannot be."

  "Lord Carle may be in error, but it is his right to choose the punishment. The slave tried to escape his master, and disobedience is the gravest crime that any slave can commit."

  "But it is my fault that it happened!" The boy's voice was rising in an unaccustomed passion. "He tried
to escape because Lord Carle struck him down after I had spoken to him – I saw it happen. If anyone is punished, it should be me."

  "You have received your punishment here by seeing the price of your mistake. If the slave dies, it will be as much your fault as Lord Carle's."

  There was a long silence, and I began to wonder, in the security of my darkness, whether I would no longer be disturbed by the harsh light of their voices. Then the man's voice came again, more quietly. "I say this, not because I enjoy seeing you hurt, but as needful discipline. If the slave dies because of what you did, it will mean the death of only one boy, but some day you will have placed under your care thousands of men and women. This incident may teach you to avoid impulsive actions toward others, and to act only in the formal manner of the Chara."