“Form?”
“A tradition. The heir to the throne is always elected, except when there is no clear successor. It is considered the best way to stem civil war, for the ruling of the congress is final.” He explained how the Prince of Krondor had deferred to his nephew, and how the congress had acquiesced to his wishes “How is it with the Empire?”
Kasumi thought, then said, “Perhaps not so different. Each emperor is the elect of the gods, but from what you have told me he is unlike your King. He rules in the Holy City, but his leadership is spiritual. He protects us from the wrath of the gods.”
Laurie asked, “Who then rules?”
They reached the shed, and Kasumi took the saddle and bridle off the horse and began rubbing him down. “Here it is different from your land.” He seemed to have difficulty with the language and shifted into Tsurarri. “A Ruling Lord of a family is the absolute authority upon his estate. Each family belongs to a clan, and the most influential lord in the clan is Warchief. Within that clan, each other lord of a family holds certain powers depending upon influence. The Shinzawai belong to the Kanazawai Clan. We are the second most powerful family in that clan next to the Keda. My father in his youth was commander of the clan armies, a Warchief, what you would call a general. The position of families shifts from generation to generation, so that it is unlikely I will reach so exalted a position.
“The leading lords of each clan sit in the High Council. They advise the Warlord. He rules in the name of the Emperor, though the Emperor could overrule him.”
“Does the Emperor in fact ever overrule the Warlord?” asked Laurie.
“Never.”
“How is the Warlord chosen?” asked Pug.
“It is difficult to explain. When the old Warlord dies, the clans meet. It is a large gathering of lords, for not only the council comes, but also the heads of every family. They meet and plot, and sometimes blood feuds develop, but in the end a new Warlord is elected.”
Pug brushed back the hair from his eyes. “Then what is to keep the Warlord’s clan from claiming the office, if they are the most powerful?”
Kasumi looked troubled. “It is not an easy thing to explain. Perhaps you would have to be Tsurani to understand. There are laws, but more important, there are customs. No matter how powerful a clan becomes, or a family within it, only the lord of one of five families may be elected Warlord. They are the Keda, Tonmargu, Minwanabi, Oaxatucan, and the Xacatecas. So there are only five lords who may be considered. This Warlord is an Oaxatucan, so the light of the Kanazawai clan burns dimly. His clan, the Omechan, is in ascension now. Only the Minwanabi rival them, and for the present they are allied in the war effort. That is the way of it.”
Laurie shook his head “This family and clan business makes our own politics seem simple.”
Kasumi laughed. “That is not politics. Politics is the province of the parties.”
“Parties?” asked Laurie, obviously getting lost in the conversation.
“There are many parties. The Blue Wheel, the Golden Flower, the Jade Eye, the Party for Progress, the War Party, and others. Families may belong to different parties, each trying to further their own needs. Sometimes families from the same clan will belong to different parties. Sometimes they switch alliances to suit their needs for the moment. Other times they may support two parties at once, or none.”
“It seems a most unstable government,” remarked Laurie.
Kasumi laughed. “It has lasted for over two thousand years. We have an old saying: ‘In the High Council, there is no brother.’ Remember that and you may understand.”
Pug weighed his next question carefully. “Master, in all this you have not mentioned the Great Ones. Why is that?”
Kasumi stopped rubbing down the horse and looked at Pug for a moment, then resumed his ministrations. “They have nothing to do with politics. They are outside the law and have no clan.” He paused again. “Why do you ask?”
“It is only that they seem to command a great amount of respect, and since one has called here so recently, I thought you could enlighten me.”
“They are given respect because the fate of the Empire is at all times in their hands. It is a grave responsibility. They renounce all their ties, and few have personal lives beyond their community of magicians. Those with families live apart, and their children are sent to live with their former families when they come of age. It is a difficult thing. They make many sacrifices.”
Pug watched Kasumi closely. He seemed somehow troubled by what he was saying. “The Great One who came to see my father was, when a boy, a member of this family. He was my uncle. It is difficult for us now, for he must observe the formalities and cannot claim kinship. It would be better if he stayed away, I think.” The last was spoken softly.
“Why is that, master?” Laurie asked, in hushed tones.
“Because it is hard for Hokanu. Before he became my brother, he was that Great One’s son.”
They finished caring for the horse and left the shack. Bethel ran ahead, for she knew it was close to feeding time. As they passed the kennel, Rachmad called her over, and she joined the other dogs.
The entire way there was no conversation, and Kasumi entered his room with no further remark for either of the Midkemians. Pug sat on his pallet, waiting for the call for dinner, and thought about what he had learned. For all their strange ways, the Tsurani were much like other men. He found this somehow both comforting and troublesome.
Two weeks later, Pug was faced with another problem to mull over. Katala had been making it obvious she was less than pleased with Pug’s lack of attention. In little ways at first, then with more blatant signs, she had tried to spark his interest. Finally things had come to a head when he had run into her behind the cook shed earlier that afternoon.
Laurie and Kasumi were trying to build a small lute, with the aid of a Shinzawai woodcrafter Kasumi had expressed interest in the music of the troubadour and, the last few days, had watched closely while Laurie argued with the artisan over the selection of proper grains, the way to cut the wood, and the manner of fashioning the instrument. He was perplexed about whether or not needra gut would make suitable strings, and a thousand other details. Pug had found all this less than engrossing, and after a few days had found every excuse to wander off. The smell of curing wood reminded him too much of cutting trees in the swamp for him to enjoy being around the resin pots in the wood-carver’s shed.
This afternoon he had been lying in the shade of the cook shed when Katala came around the corner. His stomach constricted at the sight of her. He thought her very attractive, but each time he had tried to speak to her, he found he couldn’t think of anything to say. He would simply make a few inane remarks, become embarrassed, then hurry off. Lately he had taken to saying nothing. As she had approached this afternoon, he had smiled noncommittally, and she started to walk past. Suddenly she had turned and looked as if near to tears.
“What is the matter with me? Am I so ugly that you can’t stand the sight of me?”
Pug had sat speechless, his mouth open She had stood for a moment, then kicked him in the leg “Stupid barbarian,” she had sniffed, then run off.
Now he sat in his room, feeling confused and uneasy over this afternoon’s encounter Laurie was carving pegs for his lute. Finally he put knife and wood aside and said, “What’s troubling you, Pug? You look as if they’re promoting you to slave master and sending you back to the swamp.”
Pug lay back on his pallet, staring at the ceiling. “It’s Katala.”
“Oh,” Laurie said.
“What do you mean, ‘Oh’?”
“Nothing, except that Almorella tells me the girl has been impossible for the last two weeks, and you look about as bright as a poleaxed steer these days. What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. She’s just . . . she’s just . . . She kicked me today.”
Laurie threw back his head and laughed. “Why in the name of heaven did she do that?”
“I don’t know. She just kicked me.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Ha!” Laurie exploded with mirth. “That’s the trouble, Pug. There is only one thing I know of that a woman hates more than a man she doesn’t like paying her too much attention—and that’s lack of attention from a man she does like.”
Pug looked despondent. “I thought it was something like that.”
Surprise registered on Laurie’s face. “What is it? Don’t you like her?”
Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, Pug said, “It’s not that. I like her. She’s very pretty and seems nice enough. It’s just that . . .”
“What?”
Pug glanced sharply over at his friend, to see if he was being mocked. Laurie was smiling, but in a friendly, reassuring way. Pug continued. “It’s just . . . there’s someone else.”
Laurie’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut “Who? Except for Almorella, Katala’s the prettiest wench I’ve seen on this gods-forsaken world.” He sighed. “In honesty, she’s prettier than Almorella, though only a little. Besides, I’ve not seen you ever speak to another woman, and I’d have noticed you skulking off with anyone.”
Pug shook his head and looked down. “No, Laurie. I mean back home.”
Laurie’s mouth popped open again, then he fell over backward and groaned. “ ‘Back home!’ What am I to do with this child? He’s bereft of all wit!” He pulled himself up on an elbow and said, “Can this be Pug speaking? The lad who counsels me to put the past behind? The one who insists that dwelling on how things were at home leads only to a quick death?”
Pug ignored the sting of the questions. “This is different.”
“How is it different? By Ruthia—who in her more tender moments protects fools, drunks, and minstrels—how can you tell me this is different? Do you imagine for a moment you have one hope in ten times ten thousand of ever seeing this girl again, whoever she is?”
“I know, but thinking of Carline has kept me from losing my mind more times . . .” He sighed loudly. “We all need one dream, Laurie.”
Laurie studied his young friend for a quiet moment. “Yes, Pug, we all need one dream. Still,” he added brightly, “a dream is one thing, a living, breathing, warm woman is another.” Seeing Pug become irritated at the remark, he switched topics. “Who is Carline, Pug?”
“My lord Borric’s daughter.”
Laurie’s eyes grew round. “Princess Carline?” Pug nodded. Laurie’s voice showed amusement. “The most eligible noble daughter in the Western Realm after the daughter of the Prince of Krondor? There are sides to you I never would have thought possible! Tell me about her.”
Pug began to speak slowly at first, telling of his boyhood infatuation for her, then of how their relationship developed. Laurie remained silent, putting aside questions, letting Pug relieve himself of the pent-up emotions of years. Finally Pug said, “Perhaps that’s what bothers me so much about Katala. In certain ways Katala’s like Carline. They’ve both got strong wills and make their moods known.”
Laurie nodded, not saying anything. Pug lapsed into silence, then after a moment said, “When I was at Crydee, I thought for a time I was in love with Carline. But I don’t know. Is that strange?”
Laurie shook his head. “No, Pug. There are many ways to love someone. Sometimes we want love so much, we’re not too choosy about who we love. Other times we make love such a pure and noble thing, no poor human can ever meet our vision. But for the most part, love is a recognition, an opportunity to say, There is something about you I cherish.’ It doesn’t entail marriage, or even physical love. There’s love of parents, love of city or nation, love of life, and love of people. All different, all love. But tell me, do you find your feelings for Katala much as they were for Carline?”
Pug shrugged and smiled. “No, they’re not, not quite the same. With Carline, I felt as if I had to keep her away, you know, at arm’s length. Sort of keeping control of what went on, I think.”
Laurie probed lightly. “And Katala?”
Pug shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s different. I don’t feel as if I have to keep her under control. It’s more as if there are things I want to tell her, but I don’t know how. Like the way I got all jammed up inside when she smiled at me the first time. I could talk to Carline, when she kept quiet and let me. Katala keeps quiet, but I don’t know what to say.” He paused a moment, then made a sound that was half sigh, half groan. “Just thinking about Katala makes me hurt, Laurie.”
Laurie lay back, a friendly chuckle escaping his lips. “Aye, it’s well I’ve known that ache. And I must admit your taste runs to interesting women. From what I can see, Katala’s a prize. And the Princess Carline . . .”
A little snappishly, Pug said, “I’ll make a point of introducing you when we get back.”
Laurie ignored the tone “I’ll hold you to that. Look, all I mean is it seems you’ve developed an excellent knack for finding worthwhile women.” A little sadly, he said, “I wish I could claim as much. My life has been mostly caught up with tavern wenches, farmers’ daughters, and common street whores. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Laurie,” said Pug. Laurie sat up and looked at his friend. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know what to do.”
Laurie studied Pug a moment, then comprehension dawned and he threw back his head, laughing. He could see Pug’s anger rising and put his hands up in supplication. “I’m sorry, Pug. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It was just not what I expected to hear.”
Somewhat placated, Pug said, “I was young when I was captured, less than sixteen years of age. I was never of a size like the other boys, so the girls didn’t pay much attention to me, until Carline, I mean, and after I became a squire, they were afraid to talk to me. After that . . . Damn it all, Laurie. I’ve been in the swamps for four years. What chance have I had to know a woman?”
Laurie sat quietly for a moment, and the tension left the room. “Pug, I never would have imagined, but as you said, when have you had the time?”
“Laurie, what am I to do?”
“What would you like to do?” Laurie looked at Pug, his expression showing concern.
“I would like to . . . go to her. I think. I don’t know.”
Laurie rubbed his chin. “Look, Pug, I never thought I’d have this sort of talk with anyone besides a son someday if I ever have one. I wasn’t meaning to make sport of you. You just caught me off guard.” He looked away, gathering his thoughts, then said, “My father threw me out when I was just shy twelve years old; I was the oldest boy, and he had seven other mouths to feed. And I was never much for farming. A neighbor boy and I walked to Tyr-Sog and spent a year living on the streets. He joined a mercenary band as a cook’s monkey and later became a soldier. I hooked up with a traveling troupe of musicians. I apprenticed to a jongleur from whom I learned the songs, sagas, and ballads, and I traveled.
“I came quickly to my growth, a man at thirteen. There was a woman in the troupe, a widow of a singer, traveling with her brothers and cousins. She was just past twenty, but seemed very old to me then. She was the one who introduced me to the games of men and women.” He stopped for a moment, reliving memories long forgotten.
Laurie smiled. “It was over fifteen years ago, Pug. But I can still see her face. We were both a little lost. It was never a planned thing. It just happened one afternoon on the road.
“She was . . . kind.” He looked at Pug. “She knew I was scared, despite my bravado.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “I can still see the sun in the trees behind her face, and the smell of her mingled with the scent of wildflowers.” Opening his eyes he said, “We spent the next two years together, while I learned to sing. Then I left the troupe.”
“What happened?” Pug asked, for this was a new story to him. Laurie had never spoken of his youth before.
“She married again. He was a good man, an innkeeper on the road from Malac’s Cross to Du
rrony’s Vale. His wife had died the year before of fever, leaving him with two small sons. She tried to explain things to me, but I wouldn’t listen. What did I know? I was not quite sixteen, and the world was a simple place.”
Pug nodded. “I know what you mean.”
Laurie said, “Look, what I’m trying to say is that I understand the problem. I can explain how things work . . .”
Pug said, “I know that. I wasn’t raised by monks.”
“But you don’t know how things work.”
Pug nodded as they both laughed. “I think you should just go to the girl and make your feelings known,” said Laurie.
“Just talk to her?”
“Of course. Love is like a lot of things, it is always best done with the head. Save mindless efforts for mindless things Now go.”
“Now?” Pug looked panic-stricken.
“You can’t start any sooner, right?”
Pug nodded and without a word left. He walked down the dark and quiet corridors, outside to the slave quarters, and found his way to her door. He raised his hand to knock on the door frame, then stopped. He stood quietly for a moment trying to make up his mind what to do, when the door slid open. Almorella stood in the doorway, clutching her robe about her, her hair disheveled. “Oh,” she whispered, “I thought it was Laurie. Wait a moment.” She disappeared into the room, then shortly reappeared with a bundle of things in her arms. She patted Pug’s arm and set off in the direction of his and Laurie’s room.
Pug stood at the door, then slowly entered. He could see Katala lying under a blanket on her pallet. He stepped over to where she lay and squatted next to her. He touched her shoulder and softly spoke her name. She came awake and sat up suddenly, gathered her blanket around her, and said, “What are you doing here?”
“I . . . I wanted to talk to you.” Once started, the words came out in a tumbling rush. “I am sorry if I’ve done anything to make you angry with me. Or haven’t done anything. I mean, Laurie said that if you don’t do something when someone expects you to, that’s as bad as paying too much attention. I’m not sure, you see.” She covered her mouth to hide a giggle, for she could see his distress in spite of the gloom. “What I mean . . . what I mean is I’m sorry. Sorry for what I’ve done. Or didn’t do . . .”
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