Storms of Destiny (32 page)

“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.

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 makes
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 …

soon!

As they neared the docks, Clo spotted a couple of mercenaries she knew, and hailed them. They, too, were headed for the demonstration, so Talis and Clo followed them. They reached the quays with their vessels tied up at the docks with great hawsers, and headed for one of the warehouses.

The warehouse had bales and barrels of cargo stacked at one end, but the other was open, and was being used as an impromptu arena. Eregard followed Clo and Talis in as they jostled for a good place to watch what was happening. There were perhaps a score of onlookers. In the middle of a roped-off space, two men stood facing each other.

One was a giant, a huge, burly fellow who must have weighed nearly twice what Eregard did. Though stocky and barrel-chested, his weight did not come from fat, but from muscle. Eregard was reminded, suddenly and painfully, of his brother Adranan, though this man looked nothing like him. He was older, in the late prime of his life, and he was obviously an experienced tavern brawler. Both arms bulged with muscle, and the garish tattoos made them seem even bigger. He was stripped to the waist, and the shafts of sunlight from the tall, narrow window-openings gleamed off his bald head and his chest.

Eregard eyed him, thinking he wouldn’t want to face such a man even armed with a pistol.
A cannon, perhaps,
he concluded ruefully.

The man facing the giant was young. He was of medium height, slender and wiry, and had dark brown hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He wore loose pants and a sleeveless tunic. His arms were well-muscled, but half the size of the bald giant’s, and his feet were bare.

The slender young man made a salute to his opponent, and they began to circle each other. The big man’s boots made thumping noises on the wooden floor. The youth moved as silently as a prowling house cat.

With a loud bellow, the giant rushed the youth. Eregard could hardly bear to look—he braced himself to see the young man demolished with one blow. He was completely un-prepared for what happened. In a blur of motion, the youth turned, twisted, pivoted on one foot, and the two bodies intersected for just a brief second. Then the giant was flying through the air. He landed, rolled over, and lay still, his wind knocked out.