“You can’t read?” Talis was taken aback.
“Not much. Just enough to write m’name and to puzzle out a map.” She gave Talis a quick, shrewd glance. “Readin’s for officers,” she repeated.
That evening, after she and Eregard finished their “lesson,” Talis went down to the banks of the Bar River to bathe.
When she returned, feeling considerably fresher, she found Eregard reading some of the pamphlets Castio had given her.
She stopped in her tracks, then forced herself to relax. Even if Eregard were to tell what he’d read, no slave could bear witness against a free person. Talis pulled a towel from her bag in the wagon bed and began drying her long black hair.
“What do you think?” she asked when Eregard looked up.
Something flashed in his eyes, and his tone, when he finally answered, was cool to the point of impudence. “Honestly? I think there’s a monstrous inconsistency inherent in people who talk about fighting for freedom also owning other human beings, just as they’d own swine, or cattle.”
Talis was taken aback. “How dare—” she began, then broke off as Eregard stepped away from her, his shoulders hunched in expectation of a blow.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” he said quickly.
Talis took a deep breath. “Stop cringing,” she ordered crossly. “I’m not going to hit you. I’m just not used to slaves that were born to freedom.”
“Goddess willing, I won’t die a slave,” Eregard said softly.
Talis thought about the brave words in Castio’s pamphlets.
She’d had slaves all her life. Everyone she knew owned them. Could it be true that freedom should be for everyone, slave and freeman alike? They said that there were no slaves on Pela, that Agivir’s great-grandsire had freed them.
Eregard was watching her, his eyes intent. “Ah,” he said, softly. “Mistress Talis is thinking a new thought. I can tell by her expression.”
Talis felt herself blush, and that angered her. “You’re being impertinent. If I were any other owner—”
“If you’d been on that ship instead of me, our positions might be reversed,” Eregard said, not troubling to hide his anger. “Ever think of that? Can you imagine what it’s like to be free one minute, then find yourself a slave the next?”
Talis had never thought of that before, either. She’d been speaking to slaves all her life, but this was the first time she’d had an actual conversation with one. Giving orders, yes.
Handing out extra rations for the holy days, yes. Visiting the sick, admiring a new baby, yes and yes … all those things she had done, but it wasn’t the same as actually talking to a slave like a … like another person. Especially a male slave.
She stared at Eregard. I own this man, she thought. If I ordered it, he would be hanged—whether or not he’d committed any crime or offense. Can it be right for one person to have that power over another? “That is a frightening thought,” she said slowly.
“Of course it is,” Eregard said. “Because it makes you think of me as a man, not as something you own. You don’t want to think of me as a man. I get the impression you don’t like men.”
“I hate them,” Talis said, surprised into telling the truth.
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted her can-dor. Who did this slave think he was?
He nodded, smiling faintly, not at all surprised by her
words. Talis fought the urge to hit him. “Watch your tongue!
If it weren’t for me, you’d have been hung. I was the one convinced my father to give you to me, so I could sell you. That way you may not be free, but at least you’ll be alive!”
He laughed, and the sound was ugly and full of pain and frustration. “Ah … so my children’s children’s children will be free?”
Talis stared at him, hearing the hurt in his voice, and her anger ebbed. He sounds like me when I talk to Dad. She knew what it was like to yearn to be free. She’d just never realized that slaves felt the same way. For the first time, she looked at this man that she owned and saw him as though he were a person. Not a male, not a slave, just someone who knew what it was to be hurt, and to long for freedom.
“What do you mean?” she asked quietly.
He looked back down at the page, and she knew he was regretting those words as much as she’d regretted her revela-tion a moment ago. “Nothing. Just a quote from a song.
Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Mistress Talis.”
“A song?” Talis sat down beside him. “Slaves have songs, I’ve heard them singing. Is this a slave song?”
“One of the ones we never let the masters hear,” Eregard said. “We never sing the real words except when we are together, and no freeman is near.”
Talis was intrigued. “Sing it to me.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I saved your life,” she pointed out.
He tugged at the iron collar around his neck, gestured at his clothes, his bare feet, and then turned out his pockets to make the point there was nothing in them. “You call this living?”
She was surprised into a laugh. “You are a clever one.”
She remembered her father once saying, Beware of clever slaves. They can be dangerous.
“Court jester, in retirement, at your service, my lady,” he said, and gave a mocking bow.
Talis stood up. “Let’s walk together.” She headed for a deer trail leading down to the creek.
Eregard followed her down to the stream bed, where they began picking their way along the water’s edge. They walked for several minutes. The forest was dense here, the trees so old that there was little growth beneath them. This far north, spring was not as far along as it had been in North Amis. The trees still bore new leaves, some still partially curled, of a green so vivid it nearly hurt the eyes.
“All right,” Talis said when they had walked for some distance. She sat down on a fallen tree trunk that spanned the stream and looked up at the slave expectantly. “Sing me the song. I swear on my mother’s life no ill will come to you for singing it—not to you, nor to any other slave.”
Eregard regarded her for a long moment, then shrugged.
“Very well.”
His speaking voice was soft, rather hesitant, so Talis was surprised that his singing voice was a strong, resonant baritone.
“Take my water, take my sky
Take my air and watch me die
Work me till I work no more, till death gives me relief
Take my children, take my wife
Take my body, take my life
It doesn’t mean that I’m a slave, it means that you’re a thief.
Break my back and break my head
Make blood and tears to shed
I still choose within my mind if still a slave I be
Break my heart and burn my bed
We’re all slave to something, but a slave can still live free
And you’ll never touch the free part of me
You’ll never touch the free part of me.
Kill my choice of wrong or right
Kill me if I stand and fight
Each slave holds a piece of freedom that the masters never see
It all comes from having might
It all ends one coming night
When the pieces come together, and we’ll see that we are free
And you’ll never touch the free part of me
You’ll never touch the free part of me.”
Eregard drew a long breath and sang the last line, and there was a ringing note in his trained voice that made Talis’s heart leap.
“And my children’s children’s children will be free!”
Talis sat there, stirred by the longing, the feeling in his voice, and the haunting sadness of the song. Eregard stood looking at her, his face flushed, his eyes bright with defiance.
She couldn’t think what to say, and the only thing she could do was get to her feet and head back to the campsite. She felt as though he had
opened up the top of her head and poured in a jumble of new ideas … ideas that were as sharp and uncomfortable as pins and needles. The new ideas were jab-bing away at all her old assumptions, the preconceptions she’d grown up with—the safe, accepted notions that made up life as she knew it.
She did not speak on the way back to camp, only trudged along.
That night, clouds hung heavy and thunder rumbled to the north, from the direction of the mountains. Instead of chaining Eregard to the tree, Talis tossed the slave an extra blanket and pointed to the wagon. “It’s going to rain. You’ll sleep between us tonight, beneath the wagon bed. If you snore, I’ll kick you.”
He smiled. “I’d far rather be kicked than soaked. Thank you, mistress.”
Talis didn’t reply, only turned away to arrange her own bedroll.
As the rain pattered down, she lay awake, thinking. What did Rufen Castio think of people who owned slaves? Unlike most freemen, who kept a slave to act as a combination groom/valet, Castio did not own any. Talis had an uneasy suspicion that Castio did not approve of owning slaves.
She turned over in her bedroll, punched the rolled-up bundle of her cloak that served as a pillow. What if Castio told me it was the right thing to do to free Eregard? But if I free him, I won’t be able to sell him, and then I’ll have nothing except the clothes on my back.
And Bayberry. She didn’t think her father would mind if she kept her horse. For a moment she thought about the bank draft her father had entrusted to her. But no, that money was for the farm supplies. They were depending on her. Even if she didn’t go home, she had to make sure those supplies reached Woodhaven. Clo could be trusted, she was sure of that now.
Perhaps I should sell the horse and free the man. But she couldn’t sell Bayberry! She’d raised him from a foal, broken him to saddle, trained him herself. If she were going to serve the Cause full time, she’d need a good horse.
All right, I’ll have to sell Eregard, but I’ll try to arrange a private sale so I can make sure his new owner will treat him well. I owe him that, she decided. And after Eregard’s sold, I’ll never own another slave, I swear it to the Goddess …
Talis sighed, thinking that life, once so simple, had now grown hideously complicated. Who would ever have thought she’d wind up in debt to a slave? But she did owe him. She owed him for teaching her about tactics, and for helping her realize that slaves were people. Valuable lessons. She thought of his education, his trained singing voice. He’s so well-educated. His family must be of gentle blood, to be able to afford to send a son for so much schooling.
For just a moment she found herself thinking about the “title” Trevenio had given him. Prince of Dung … She grinned sourly. Maybe he really is a prince. That’s just the way my luck runs.
Sparks of Rebellion
Three more days travel brought them over Timberhawk Pass and then down into the valley where Q’Kal lay. As they drove into the outskirts of the city, Eregard realized he was gaping about him like some bumpkin who had never seen one before. Q’Kal was large, but barely half the size of Minoma on Pela.
After driving through the city gates, he kept a sharp lookout for landmarks. The royal governor had a town house here in Q’Kal, and, with Springfest coming up soon, there was a good chance he would be occupying it now. Prince Eregard had met Governor Laurenz several years ago at a state dinner at the palace. Eregard knew he looked vastly different from the perfumed and silken-clad young man Laurenz had met that night, but he was fairly sure that if he could manage to see the man, he could convince him of his trule identity in short order. No slave would have any way of knowing the identity of Laurenz’s Pelanese mistress and the name of the Governor’s natural son.
Only problem was, he’d have to wait to make his escape until just before Audience Day. Once each week, the Governor held a public audience, and, supposedly, no freeman was refused entrance. Freeman … I’ll have to get rid of this collar somehow.
He had managed to steal a file from the farm’s toolshed before they left, but he knew he’d need many uninterrupted hours to file through the heavy iron. Eregard had tested the file in secret, on a horseshoe, and now had a rough idea of how long it would take to file through his collar in two places. Six hours … more likely eight. And I should shave and trim my hair so I’ll look more like myself.
As the wagon bounced along over the rutted road, he glanced over at Talis Aloro, who was once more riding sidesaddle, as befit the proper daughter of a wealthy farmer.
She was a superb rider, managing the big gelding with a skill Eregard envied.
Some might have called her pretty, with her long, thick black hair, green eyes, and her rounded, ruddy cheeks. But compared to Ulandra, she seemed … overblown. Like one of those big, gaudy roses compared to the delicacy of a pale, perfect orchid, he thought. Despite his disparaging thought, he couldn’t help noticing the way her breasts moved beneath the snug fit of her riding jacket. Still … nice tits, he thought.
Bet they’re firm. Wonder why I never noticed them before?
Eregard pondered that for a moment, then realized that slaves did not allow themselves to ogle their pretty owners.
A male slave who stared too boldly or lasciviously at a lady would be punished if anyone noticed. The prospect of freedom in just a few days time had gone to his head like a potent draught.
One of the first things Talis did when they reached the marketplace was to check when the next big slave auction was to be held. She was visibly disappointed to discover that she’d missed one just that morning, and they’d have to wait over in the city for a handful of days until the next.
Eregard was relieved. Talis had grown careless about chaining him, where a new owner would be extra vigilant with any newly acquired slave.
Leaving Clo to arrange lodgings for them, Talis went off
to negotiate a portion of the bank draft her father had given her. Eregard, ever the dutiful slave, followed her on foot, jogging behind her horse, keeping his eyes open. As they turned onto a large thoroughfare in the most affluent section of the city, he spotted a large, stately residence that had to be the Governor’s town house. Nothing else even came close to it in size or elegance.
Good, Eregard, thought, jogging along. Just past the intersection of Matalino Avenue and Boulevard of Hope. He leaped nimbly over a huge, steaming pile of oxen dung. I couldn’t have run half this far last year, he realized.
When Talis reached the Bank of Q’Kal, she slid off her horse, leaving Eregard to hold Bayberry outside the building. “You don’t want me to come in?” he asked, wondering if there might be someone inside the imposing financial structure that would recognize him.
“No,” she said. “I’ll be only a minute. Just stay right here.”
With a swish of her plum-colored riding skirt, she headed up the steps and into the building. Eregard stood there, holding Bayberry, absently stroking the gelding’s nose. It was strange, after all these months in the wilderness, to be back in a bustling city. Q’Kal was the biggest city in Kata.
After a short while, Talis emerged from the bank, and they headed back for their rendezvous with Clo. The mercenary had found them reasonable lodgings in an area of the town that was marginally respectable. Eregard carried the women’s belongings into the rooms and discovered that he would be sleeping on a trundle bed in Clo’s room. “I don’t mind, miss, and it’ll save on the money your father gave you.
He doesn’t snore, and by this time, he knows better than to mess with me,” Clo said, flexing the muscles in her arms.
Eregard was in full agreement with her. He wouldn’t have tackled Clo in a fight without a brace of pistols to hand, he thought, wryly. Talis, either, for that matter.
After the women had washed off the travel dust, they went down to the stables to check on the horses. Eregard kept his ears open as they moved through the tavern, realizing that, ironically, he was now in the perfect place to fulfill the request his father had made of him. And this iron collar m
akes me all but invisible, he thought. People talk in front of slaves, because we don’t count.
“Talis, I’ve found something to do this afternoon that you might be interested in,” Clo said as she sat cleaning the harness. Eregard was brushing the wagon horses, while Talis groomed Bayberry.
“What’s that?” Talis asked as her brush glided smoothly over the gelding’s sleek rump.
“There’s a young warrior in town, been giving lessons in hand-to-hand,” Clo reported. “They say he’s quite something to see, and learn from. Want to go by and watch one of the sessions?”
“I’m always ready to learn more fighting skills,” Talis said. “I’d like to go. When is it?”
“This afternoon, in a warehouse by the docks.”
“Good. We’ll have a bit of dinner before we go, then.”
Eregard wasn’t finished mucking the stalls, so they left him there and went into the tavern. It was the first time he’d been in a town unsupervised, and for a moment he was tempted to bolt. But his hands continued their automatic motions with brush and currycomb and he shook his head. No. I have to plan this, and plan well. If I ran now, they’d catch me. Broad daylight, with this iron collar? Suicide.
He was under no illusions as to his fate if he attempted to run away. They’d hang him, with Talis’s blessing this time.
When Eregard finished grooming the team, he took a moment to strip off his shirt and wash himself in the horse trough. It felt good to be clean, though there was enough of a breeze to make him shiver.
When he went inside to find Clo and Talis, he was rewarded with a hunk of bread, some smoked mutton and dried fruit, and a tankard of sour tasting wine. He gulped the food and drink thirstily, then waited in the courtyard for the women to appear. Let her think she can trust you completely: be a good, loyal slave now.
Talis and Clo wore trousers when they came downstairs.
Eregard followed them at the proper, respectful distance as they headed toward the docks. Q’Kal was a harbor town, and as they walked, Eregard caught the scent of the sea. It stirred him, made him feel more alive than he’d felt in months. It smelled like freedom, like Pela … like home. Be patient …
Storms of Destiny Page 24