Magician (49 page)

Roland emerged from the doorway in the
floor. The last two years had added to his growth, and now he stood
as tall as Arutha. He was still thin, but his boyish features were
resolving into those of a man.

He bowed and said, “Highness.”

Carline acknowledged the greeting with
a nod and gestured that Lady Glynis should leave them alone. Glynis
fled down the stairway into the tower.

Softly Carline said, “You did not
ride to the beach with Lyam?”

“No, Highness.”

“You spoke with him before he
left?”

Roland turned his gaze to the far
horizon. “Yes, Highness, though I must confess to a foul humor
at his going.”

Carline nodded understanding. “Because
you have to stay.”

He spoke with bitterness, “Yes,
Highness.”

Carline said gently, “Why so
formal, Roland?”

Roland looked at the Princess,
seventeen years old just this last Midsummer’s Day. No longer a
petulant little girl given to outbursts of temper, she was changing
into a beautiful young woman of thoughtful introspection. Few in the
castle were unaware of the many nights’ sobbing that issued
from Carline’s suite after news of Pug had reached the castle.
After nearly a week of solitude, Carline had emerged a changed
person, more subdued, less willful. There was little outward to show
how Carline felt, but Roland knew she carried a scar.

After a moment of silence, Roland said,
“Highness, when . . .” He halted, then said, “It is
of no consequence.”

Carline placed her hand upon his arm.
“Roland, whatever else, we have always been friends.”

“It pleases me to think that is
true.”

“Then tell me, why has a wall
grown between us?”

Roland sighed, and there was none of
his usual roguish humor in his answer. “If there has, Carline,
it is not of my fashioning.”

A spark of the girl’s former self
sprang into being, and with a temperamental edge to her voice she
said, “Am I, then, the architect of this estrangement?”

Anger erupted in Roland’s voice.
“Aye, Carline!” He ran his hand through his wavy brown
hair and said, “Do you remember the day I fought with Pug? The
very day before he left.”

At the mention of Pug’s name she
tensed. Stiffly she said, “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, it was a silly thing, a
boys’ thing, that fight. I told him should he ever cause you
any hurt, I’d thrash him. Did he tell you that?”

Moisture came unbidden to her eyes.
Softly she said, “No, he never mentioned it.”

Roland looked at the beautiful face he
had loved for years and said, “At least then I knew my rival.”
He lowered his voice, the anger slipping away. “I like to think
then, near the end, he and I were fast friends. Still, I vowed I’d
never stop my attempts to change your heart.”

Shivering, Carline drew her cloak about
her, though the day was not that cool She felt conflicting emotions
within, confusing emotions. Trembling, she said, “Why did you
stop, Roland?”

Sudden harsh anger burst within Roland.
For the first time he lost his mask of wit and manners before the
Princess. “Because I can’t contend with a memory,
Carline.” Her eyes opened wide, and tears welled up and ran
down her cheeks. “Another man of flesh I can face, but this
shade from the past I cannot grapple with.” Hot anger exploded
into words “He’s dead, Carline. I wish it were not so; he
was my friend and I miss him, but I’ve let him go. Pug is dead.
Until you grant that this is true, you are living with a false hope.”

She put her hand to her mouth, palm
outward, her eyes regarding him in wordless denial. Abruptly she
turned and fled down the stairs.

Alone, Roland leaned his elbows on the
cold stones of the tower wall. Holding his head in his hands, he
said, “Oh, what a fool I have become!”

“Patrol!” shouted the guard
from the wall of the castle. Arutha and Roland turned from where they
watched soldiers giving instructions to levies from the outlying
villages.

They reached the gate, and the patrol
came riding slowly in, a dozen dirty, weary riders, with Martin
Longbow and two other trackers walking beside. Arutha greeted the
Huntmaster and then said, “What have you there?”

He indicated the three men in short
grey robes who stood between the line of horsemen. “Prisoners,
Highness,” answered the hunter, leaning on his bow.

Arutha dismissed the tired riders as
other guards came to take position around the prisoners. Arutha
walked to where they waited, and when he came within touching
distance, all three fell to their knees, putting their foreheads to
the dirt.

Arutha raised his eyebrows in surprise
at the display. “I have never seen such as these.”

Longbow nodded in agreement. “They
wear no armor, and they didn’t give fight or run when we found
them in the woods. They did as you see now, only then they babbled
like fishwives.”

Arutha said to Roland, “Fetch
Father Tully. He may be able to make something of their tongue.”
Roland hurried off to find the priest. Longbow dismissed his two
trackers, who headed for the kitchen. A guard was dispatched to find
Swordmaster Fannon and inform him of the captives.

A few minutes later Roland returned
with Father Tully. The old priest of Astalon was dressed in a deep
blue, nearly black, robe, and upon catching a glimpse of him, the
three prisoners set up a babble of whispers. When Tully glanced in
their direction, they fell completely silent. Arutha looked at
Longbow in surprise.

Tully said, “What have we here?”

“Prisoners,” said Arutha.
“As you are the only man here to have had some dealings with
their language, I thought you might get something out of them.”

“I remember little from my mind
contact with the Tsurani Xomich, but I can try.” The priest
spoke a few halting words, which resulted in a confusion as all three
prisoners spoke at once. The centermost snapped at his companions,
who fell silent. He was short, as were the others, but powerfully
built. His hair was brown, and his skin swarthy, but his eyes were a
startling green. He spoke slowly to Tully, his manner somehow less
deferential than his companions’.

Tully shook his head. “I can’t
be certain, but I think he wishes to know if I am a Great One of this
world.”

“Great One?” asked Arutha.

“The dying soldier was in awe of
the man aboard ship he called ‘Great One.’ I think it was
a title rather than a specific individual. Perhaps Kulgan was correct
in his suspicion these people hold their magicians or priests in
awe.”

“Who are these men?” asked
the Prince.

Tully spoke to them again in halting
words. The man in the center spoke slowly, but after a moment Tully
cut him off with a wave of his hand. To Arutha he said, “These
are slaves.”

“Slaves?” Until now there
had been no contact with any Tsurani except warriors. It was
something of a revelation to find they practiced slavery. While not
unknown in the Kingdom, slavery was not widespread and was limited to
convicted felons. Along the Far Coast, it was nearly nonexistent.
Arutha found the idea strange and repugnant. Men might be born to low
station, but even the lowliest serf had rights the nobility were
obligated to respect and protect. Slaves were property. With a sudden
disgust, Arutha said, “Tell them to get up, for mercy’s
sake.”

Tully spoke and the men slowly rose,
the two on the flanks looking about like frightened children. The
other stood calmly, eyes only slightly downcast. Again Tully
questioned the man, finding his understanding of their language
returning.

The centermost man spoke at length, and
when he was done Tully said, “They were assigned to work in the
enclaves near the river. They say their camp was overrun by the
forest people—he refers to the elves, I think—and the
short ones.”

“Dwarves, no doubt,” added
Longbow with a grin.

Tully threw him a withering look. The
rangy forester simply continued to smile. Martin was one of the few
young men of the castle never intimidated by the old cleric, even
before becoming one of the Duke’s staff.

“As I was saying,”
continued the priest, “the elves and dwarves overran their
camp. They fled, fearing they would be killed. They wandered in the
woods for days until the patrol picked them up this morning.”

Arutha said, “This fellow in the
center seems a bit different from the others. Ask why this is so.”

Tully spoke slowly to the man, who
answered with little inflection in his tones. When he was done, Tully
spoke with some surprise “He says his name is Tchakachakalla.
He was once a Tsurani officer!”

Arutha said, “This may prove most
fortunate. If he’ll cooperate, we may finally learn some things
about the enemy.”

Swordmaster Fannon appeared from the
keep and hurried to where Arutha was questioning the prisoners. The
commander of the Crydee garrison said, “What have you here?”

Arutha explained as much as he knew
about the prisoners, and when he was finished, Fannon said, “Good,
continue with the questioning.”

Arutha said to Tully, “Ask him
how he came to be a slave.”

Without sign of embarrassment,
Tchakachakalla told his story. When he was done, Tully stood shaking
his head. “He was a Strike Leader. It may take some time to
puzzle out what his rank was equivalent to in our armies, but I
gather he was at least a Knight-Lieutenant. He says his men broke in
one of the early battles and his ‘house’ lost much honor.
He wasn’t given permission to take his own life by someone he
calls the Warchief. Instead he was made a slave to expiate the shame
of his command.”

Roland whistled low. “His men
fled and he was held responsible.”

Longbow said, “There’s been
more than one earl who’s bollixed a command and found himself
ordered by his Duke to serve with one of the Border Barons along the
Northern Marches.”

Tully shot Martin and Roland a black
look. “If you are finished?” He addressed Arutha and
Fannon: “From what he said, it is clear he was stripped of
everything. He may prove of use to us.”

Fannon said, “This may be some
trick I don’t like his looks.”

The man’s head came up, and he
fixed Fannon with a narrow gaze Martin’s mouth fell open. “By
Kilian! I think he understands what you said.”

Fannon stood directly before
Tchakachakalla “Do you understand me?”

“Little, master.” His
accent was thick, and he spoke with a slow singsong tone alien to the
King’s Tongue. “Many Kingdom slaves on Kelewan. Know
little King’s Tongue.”

Fannon said, “Why didn’t
you speak before?”

Again without any show of emotion, he
answered, “Not ordered Slave obey. Not . . .” He turned
to Tully and spoke a few words.

Tully said, “He says it isn’t
a slave’s place to show initiative.”

Arutha said, “Tully, do you think
he can be trusted?”

“I don’t know. His story is
strange, but they are a strange people by our standards. My mind
contact with the dying soldier showed me much I still don’t
understand.” Tully spoke to the man.

To Arutha the Tsurani said,
“Tchakachakalla tell.” Fighting for words, he said, “I
Wedewayo. My house, family. My clan Hunzan Old, much honor. Now
slave. No house, no clan, no Tsuranuanni. No honor Slave obey.”

Arutha said, “I think I
understand If you go back to the Tsurani, what would happen to you?”

Tchakachakalla said, “Be slave,
maybe. Be killed, maybe. All same.”

“And if you stay here?”

“Be slave, be killed?” He
shrugged, showing little concern.

Arutha said, slowly, “We keep no
slaves. What would you do if we set you free?”

A flicker of some emotion passed over
the slave’s face, and he turned to Tully and spoke rapidly.
Tully translated. “He says such a thing is not possible on his
world. He asks if you can do such a thing.”

Arutha nodded. Tchakachakalla pointed
to his companions. “They work. They always slaves.”

“And you?” said Arutha.

Tchakachakalla looked hard at the
Prince and spoke to Tully, never taking his eyes from Arutha. Tully
said, “He’s recounting his lineage. He says he is
Tchakachakalla, Strike Leader of the Wedewayo, of the Hunzan Clan.
His father was a Force Leader, and his great-grandfather Warchief of
the Hunzan Clan. He has fought honorably, and only once has he failed
in his duty. Now he is only a slave, with no family, no clan, no
nation, and no honor. He asks if you mean to give him back his
honor.”

Arutha said, “If the Tsurani
come, what will you do?”

Tchakachakalla indicated his
companions. “These men slaves Tsurani come, they do nothing.
Wait. Go with . . .” He and Tully exchanged brief remarks and
Tully supplied him with the word he wished.” victors. They go
with victors.” He looked at Arutha, and his eyes came alive
“You make Tchakachakalla free Tchakachakalla be your man, lord.
Your honor is Tchakachakalla’s honor. Give life if you say.
Fight Tsurani if you say.”

Fannon spoke. “Likely story that.
More’s the odds he’s a spy.”

The barrel-chested Tsurani looked hard
at Fannon, then with a sudden motion stepped before the Swordmaster,
and before anyone could react, pulled Fannon’s knife from his
belt.

Longbow had his own knife out an
instant later, as Arutha’s sword was clearing its scabbard.
Roland and the other soldiers were only a moment behind. The Tsurani
made no threatening gesture, but simply flipped the knife, reversing
it and handing it to Fannon hilt first. “Master think
Tchakachakalla enemy? Master kill. Give warrior’s death, return
honor.”

Arutha returned his sword to his
scabbard and took the knife from Tchakachakalla’s hand.
Returning the knife to Fannon, he said, “No, we will not kill
you.” To Tully he said, “I think this man may prove
useful. For now, my inclination is to believe him.”