Pawn (The Pawn Series Book 1)

by Robin Roseau

  Pawn

  The Pawn Series Book 1

  Robin Roseau

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Family

  Trade

  Three Questions

  Travels

  Promises Made

  Overwhelming

  Capital

  Part Two

  Horse Shark

  Uproar

  Responsibilities

  Assistant

  Antidiplomat

  Subterfuge

  Race Day

  Ten and Eight

  Petulance

  Cool Down

  Suitors

  Lost Children

  Wine Merchant

  Larien Of Alteara

  Choices

  Parting

  Others

  The Unexpected

  Morning Madness

  About the Author

  Prologue

  I'm no one's pawn. Not with my skills. I may outwardly kneel in allegiance, but when I do, it is by my choice, and only my choice. In more private settings, well, in the words of my people, "She carries the spear from that hut."

  It's never meant as a compliment.

  No, I'm no one's pawn.

  Not anymore.

  Family

  It was my fourteenth summer. The Arrlotta do not track birthdays like the people of Framara do. But the Arrlotta have children in the late autumn, and I was a late child by Arrlottan standards. And so during my fourteenth summer, I would have been a half-year short of ten and four years old, as the Framarans might count.

  We were a nomadic people, traveling The Hippa -- the high desert steppes extending two thousand miles, all the way from the Balen Sea in the far southwest to the Mortead Sea to the far northeast. I suppose I should choose my words carefully. The Arrlotta called our desert steppes The Hippa, but the peoples of Framara know the land as Garneer. And so that is the name I should use, although it was The Hippa to me for the first thirteen and a half years of my life. I do not know what the Arrlotta called the Mortead Sea, because my tribe never traveled so far to the distant north, past the driest of these dry lands. I never learned the name we would have used. And so I use the Framaran name.

  But both the Arrlotta and the Framarans use the same name for the Balen Sea, and so I am safe to use a name of comfort. I have since learned the Balan Sea is not a sea at all, but a great ocean. At not yet ten and four years, the distinction would have been lost on me, but it will become important in my later years.

  But I have digressed. The Arrlotta -- which in the language of my birth simply means The Horse People -- were a nomadic people, traveling Garneer (although in my head I always say The Hippa) in small family units. We rode our small desert horses in a circular migration driven by the seasons and the search for water, food, and occasionally plunder. Our homes we carried with us, one large hut per clan, constructed of intricately arranged poles and sticks, circular with a rounded roof and a center hole to allow the cooking smoke to escape.

  I was a member of the Three Cats Tribe. We were led by my father's father, and it was well understood my uncle -- my father's half-brother -- would become our clan chief when finally my grandfather joined our ancestors. There were seventeen of us in my clan. My grandfather shared his bed mat with his two wives. The senior wife was my uncle's mother, and the junior wife my father's mother. I knew from stories my father had two sisters, but they were traded for my aunt and my own mother. My uncle had one wife, and they had four children. My eldest cousin had a wife and daughter, now in her second summer.

  My mother was my father's second wife, his first dying before Grandfather traded for my mother. I had two half-siblings: an older brother and sister. My brother was nearly ready for a wife of his own, and so if we did not take one in a raid somewhere, grandfather would most likely trade my sister for my brother's wife.

  Life on the steppes is no easy place to be a girl.

  No one knew that better than my mother. Mama was not of the Arrlotta. She was from a land far, far away, so far the Arrlotta had no name for the place or her people. Not that it mattered; mother was forbidden to speak of her life before becoming my father's wife. Indeed, if she so much as spoke a single word in her native language, she would be beaten without mercy. That was a mistake I only saw her make once.

  Such was life on the steppes for a woman of the Arrlotta.

  At the time, it seemed of no never mind that my mother was not originally of the Arrlotta, and thus I was only half desert bred. Like my mother, I was perhaps somewhat slight for the difficult life we led, but not so small as to be entirely unusual. So no, it was of no notice at all that I was only half desert bred. But in later years, like many things, that distinction would become important, far more important.

  The individual tribes of the Arrlotta were solitary groups, avoiding most contact with the other tribes. We were a sparse people to begin with, the steppes a difficult place to live. And even if we were friends with another tribe, friends today could be raiders tomorrow.

  Such was life on the steppes for the people of the Arrlotta.

  But from time to time we did gather. It had happened twice in my younger years, the last time only two years previously. If it was unusual that the tribes were to gather again in my fourteenth summer, no one said so to me.

  The first I knew about it was when my grandfather led our tribe over a grassy rise, coming to a stop at the top. My uncle rode up on Grandfather's left, and my father rode up on his right. The rest of us came to a stop arrayed in a semi-circle behind them. I watched my father at first, but then I looked ahead to see why we had stopped.

  Spread before us perhaps a half-mile away were the huts of many clans. As was the Arrlottan way, the huts were arranged in a great circle. The first tribe to arrive would have erected their hut. The second tribe would take a place opposite the first, defining the size of the circle. The next two tribes would take corresponding places, forming the corners of a square. And then each successive tribe would pick another place, refining the square into a circle. As more and more tribes arrived, the distance between huts would grow closer and closer together.

  But the Arrlotta were not numerous, and the circle was large, and so there was always room for one more hut.

  This time, however, things were different. The Arrlottan huts were arranged in their traditional circle. But to the west, separated from our huts by a distance comparable to the size of the circle itself, was a collection of wagons, haphazardly arranged. The wagons were not arranged in a circle. Indeed, they formed no particular shape that I could discern. I stared at them. I wasn't the only one.

  I leaned over to my sister. "What are those?"

  In my advanced years of thirteen and a half, I had never seen a wagon. I had never seen a wheel of any sort.

  She leaned back. "Hush."

  "But who are they?"

  I didn't even try to duck as she reach over and hit the back of my head. "I told you to hush."

  I would realize years later, thinking back on that moment, she didn't answer not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't know any more than I did.

  We paused several more minutes longer. And then, without a word, my grandfather leaned forward in his saddle, a signal to his horse to begin moving forward. The rest of us followed behind him in single file. As the youngest girl of the tribe old enough to ride her own horse, I was last. I thought nothing of it, for this was as it had always been, and I assumed it would always be. Not even my little cousin would ride behind me, as she was of my uncle's eldest son's line, and thus she had greater status than I did.

  Grandfather led us in a path around the great circle of huts, approaching our pl
ace from outside the circle. We came to a stop, and at his signal, all dismounted. From there, we all knew our duties. Some of us began to erect the hut. Others collected water or foraged for fuel for the fire. Along with one of my cousins, I tended to the horses. I was good with horses. All the Arrlotta were good with horses, but for my age, I was far better than most. When I spoke to them, it was almost as if they understood. Even Grandfather's cantankerous mount, Beast, behaved when I tended to him.

  While the rest of us saw to our tasks, Grandfather and Uncle made their way amongst the other huts in the camp, greeting the other clan leaders. I could see them here and there as I tended to the horses.

  There was, of course, no end of duties. I tended to the horses, gathered fresh bedding and arranged it underneath the blankets, helped prepare dinner and helped to clean afterwards. As I was every night, I was exhausted.

  But it was also exciting to be surrounded by so many people. And I still hadn't heard about the wagons -- a word I hadn't even learned yet. And so when there was a bonfire for the assembled clans, we all gathered.

  In celebration of the gathering, Grandfather allowed all of us, except the baby, of course, a mug of his grall. Grall is the alcoholic drink of the high steppes, harsh on the tongue and even harsher on the throat. I'd had it before, although not often, and I couldn't say I enjoyed it. But I was told to take a mug, and so I took a mug. I then did my best to emulate my older sister, drinking it quickly and refilling my mug with water.

  After that, the clan leaders talked, and the occasional second, such as my uncle. The rest of us listened. Or in my case, I tried to listen, but between the long day and the grall, I quickly fell asleep.

  * * * *

  I woke early. We woke early every morning, and this morning was no different. And, like every morning, I did my chores before breakfast. And then there were more chores.

  It was mid-morning when I noticed a hush come over our great camp. I looked up and saw strangers passing through the circle of huts.

  Strangers?

  They were women and a few men, oddly dressed in brightly colored fabrics I had never seen before. They carried weapons, most of them swords, which were quite unlike the spears of the Arrlotta. But the weapons were all sheathed, and they came with open hands and smiles.

  But it wasn't just their clothing and weapons that set them apart from the Arrlotta. Oh no, that was the least of it.

  First it was their appearance. The Arrlotta are of dark hair, dark eyes, and skin weathered into dark leather by the sun and wind. An Arrlotta face is round.

  The strangers were virtually the opposite. They were all of far fairer complexion, and their hair was quite varied. I saw blond hair, brown hair, and even two with vibrant, wild red hair. And where our faces were round, theirs were longer. I was reminded somewhat of a horse. To me, the appearance was strange.

  I mentally compared them to my mother's appearance. Like the Arrlotta, mother's hair -- and my own -- was black. But -- unlike the other Arrlotta -- Mama kept her hair short. My father cut it himself, and mine too, although not my sister's. He was not very careful when he cut our hair, either, bending us over a log and chopping it short with a large knife. The stranger's hair was long, as long as my sister's, but I was reminded of my mother nevertheless.

  Mother did not at all have a round face, but nor did she have the face of these strangers. Hers was thinner, with a small nose, delicate cheekbones, and a narrow chin. I'd heard Father call her ugly once or twice, but I thought she was beautiful.

  And so I knew these people were not Arrlotta, but I didn't think these were my mother's people, either.

  Aside from their appearance, which was the most immediate difference between us, there was an even greater difference. When the group of strangers came to a stop, they first looked around, and then one called out in words I didn't understand.

  And it was a woman.

  Trade

  The Arrlotta gathered in a set of concentric semi-circles about the strangers. The innermost place was taken by the clan chiefs, my grandfather amongst them. Behind them were the remaining men, including most of the boys older than me. Then in a final formation were the rest of us: the women, the young boys, the girls. I craned my neck, trying to see what was happening. We were all quiet, trying to listen.

  Through all the people, I could barely see the strangers. I leaned to my sister. "What did she say?"

  In response, my sister hit me. "Hush."

  But then the men parted, and my grandfather strode through their ranks, looking for something. Or someone, it turned out. He spotted my mother, strode up to her, and roughly clasped her by the arm. I watched as Grandfather dragged Mama between the assembled Arrlotta. He pushed her, and she fell to the ground between the clan leaders and the strangers.

  Such was the life for a woman of the Arrlotta, especially for my mother, who was not loved.

  "What did she say?" one of the other clan chiefs roughly asked. But he pitched his voice for all of us to hear.

  My mother responded, but it was said in the tone of a woman of Arrlotta -- quietly, no louder than necessary for the clan chief to hear her.

  "Then ask her to say it again," the chief said. "And speak up so everyone can hear you, stupid woman."

  And that was when my Mama spoke words in a language that wasn't Arrlottan. At hearing her words, the assembled people shifted on their feet, and a gap formed. I could see the strange woman, and she was looking down at mother and frowning, her lips pressed tightly together.

  Mother spoke for some time, and when the other woman replied, she spoke loudly, clearly, and very slowly. Not that it mattered. I didn't understand a single word.

  "What did she say?"

  "She asks who speaks for the Arrlottan today."

  "It took so many words for this?" the clan chief asked.

  "I first asked her to speak carefully so that I could understand her," Mama said. "I have not spoken Framaran for a very long time, and it is not my birth language."

  "But you understand her?"

  "Yes," Mama said. "She makes herself understood."

  "Ask her why her clan chief insults me by sending a woman to speak."

  I watched the stranger. Her lips tightened again when Mama spoke. Then Mama translated the stranger's words. "She says today you speak with her. She wishes to know if the offer is ready."

  "Yes," the clan chief said. "Bring them."

  The other chiefs turned to face the other men, speaking quietly. Some of those men turned away, hurrying to their individual camps. There was quiet muttering amongst some of the Arrlottans, but the strangers waited dispassionately. It took a few minutes, but then the men who had left began to return, each pulling four of our horses. As they arrived, they formed two lines beginning at the ends of our semi-circle and extending past the strangers, a man with four horses, a man with four horses, another man with four horses, one after another.

  The woman who had been speaking nodded to the other strangers, and four of them backed away then turned, two in each direction. They began with the closest horses and examined them carefully, one after another. The woman turned to Mama and spoke. Mama translated.

  "She says if any of the horses are not satisfactory, they will be replaced by two horses of their choice."

  Mama earned a crack about the head for that, and the clan chief said, "All our horses are far better than satisfactory, and it is an insult to suggest less. Tell her that."

  The woman, hearing the translation, spoke to Mama, but it was done quietly, and Mama only shook her said, saying nothing in response. Apparently she wasn't going to apologize for insulting our horses.

  I would have been beaten bloody if I had ever suggested our horses were anything short of perfect.

  The four strangers finished their study of our horses and returned to the woman's side, whispering quietly. She nodded. Mama translated her words. "This portion of our agreement appears satisfactory. And the remainder?"

  The clan chief tu
rned to the other clan chiefs, speaking too quietly to hear. Then many -- although not all of them -- turned towards the rest of us. I watched my grandfather step past my father and uncle, his eyes settling first on my sister, then on me. He stepped forward, grabbing my sister by the arm. And then he reached with his other large, meaty hand, settling it around my arm. He turned back, dragging us with him, and we hurried to follow.

  I didn't know what was going on. From her expression, I didn't think my sister did, either.

  But soon there were ten girls, the youngest perhaps in her ninth winter, and my sister the oldest, all of us standing in a row.

  The woman stepped forward. She moved to stand in front of the first girl in line, examining her carefully. Then she moved down the line, one girl at a time, looking at each of us. When she got to me, as curious as I was, I kept my eyes down. She stood in front of me for perhaps ten or fifteen seconds before moving on.

  When she was done looking at the last of the girls, she moved back up the line. She pulled the smallest girl forward and asked a question. "How old is this one?" Mama translated.

  From somewhere behind me a woman spoke up. "She is in her tenth summer."

  The woman nodded and moved to the other girl, also younger than I was. "And this one?"

  "She is in her ninth summer."

  The woman looked up and down the line, her eyes settling on me. A moment later I found myself pulled forward. The woman spoke. Mama didn't translate but instead simply replied in the same language. I presume she told the woman I was in my fourteenth year.

  The woman nodded, studied me a moment longer, then pushed me back into line beside the other girls. She turned to the two littlest girls, and I wondered if they were the ones who were selected. Instead Mama translated. "These are too young."

  Their clan chiefs stepped forward and pulled the girls back through the lines, shoving them towards their mothers.

  The woman spoke further. "They must be prepared properly. They are dirty and smell of horse and sweat. We have water, a tub, and soap. They must be clean. And we have different clothing for them. We will send everything. Our captain will return this afternoon to finalize our agreement."