The Redemption of Althalus (76 page)

“Thanks for reminding me,” Albron said in a flat tone.

“Don’t mention it, mighty Chief.” Althalus was chuckling as he left the room.

“The Perquaines are basically an outgrowth of the Treboreans,” Dweia told Althalus and the others that evening in the tower. “The Osthos sent ships to the west to establish new colonies and open new land for farming early in the eighth millennium, and the Kanthons went overland to set up
their
colonies. The more-or-less perpetual war between Kanthon and Osthos didn’t really mean all that much to the Perquaines, so they stayed clear of it and concentrated on tending their crops and getting rich. The turmoil in Treborea relaxed certain social restrictions, so the Treborean peasantry has quite a bit more freedom than the peasants of Perquaine do. The Perquaine peasantry aren’t
quite
serfs, but they come very close.”

“What’s a serf, Emmy?” Gher asked in a puzzled tone.

“They’re chattel, Gher—a part of the land itself. When someone buys a tract of land in a country where serfdom’s a part of the social structure, he comes into possession of the people who live there as well.”

“They’re slaves, then?” Eliar asked.

“Not quite,” Dweia replied. “They’re part of the land, that’s all. A serf’s slightly better off than a slave, but not very much.”

“I certainly wouldn’t put up with something like
that,
” Gher said. “I’d be across the mountains before anybody knew that I’d left.”

“That
does
happen every so often,” Dweia agreed.

“Is it all one country?” Sergeant Khalor asked. “Or are there all those baronies and duchies and the like? What I’m getting at is whether or not there’s a central government.”

“In theory, Maghu’s the capital city,” she replied, “but nobody pays very much attention to that. Most of the power in Perquaine lies in the hands of the clergy.”

“Yes,” Bheid agreed, “and the clergy of Perquaine’s the worst of the lot. The Brown Robes are dominant there, and the Brown Robe order is far more interested in wealth and privilege than it is in the well-being of the lower classes. The Black Robes—my order—have a presence there, and so do the White Robes, but we’re fairly minimal in the overall social structure. Over the centuries the three orders have developed a sort of tacit agreement that we won’t poach on each other’s territory.”

“I visited a thieves’ tavern in Maghu a while back,” Althalus told them, “and the thieves there were discussing the situation in southern Perquaine. Evidently, Ghend’s taking advantage of the plight of the Perquaine peasantry. There’s a group of self-ordained priests in the seacoast cities preaching revolution and stirring up the peasants.”

“Self-ordained?” Bheid asked sharply.

“The thieves were fairly certain that these troublemakers weren’t really priests. They wear scarlet robes, and they deliver sermons about social justice, greedy aristocrats, and corrupt clergy. Unfortunately, most of what they’re saying is true—particularly in Perquaine. The peasants
aren’t
treated very well, and the Brown Robe priests
do
support the aristocracy in grinding the poor.”

Bheid scoffed, “There’s no such thing as a Red Robe order.”

“Oh, yes there is, Brother Bheid,” Dweia disagreed. “The priests of Nekweros wear scarlet robes. My brother’s always been fond of bright colors.”

“Are you saying that the peasants of Perquaine are being converted to the worship of the Demon Daeva?”

“Probably not,” she replied with a shrug. “Not yet, at least. That might be the ultimate goal, but for right now the Red Robes in southern Perquaine seem to be concentrating on social change. There are many injustices in a system based on an aristocracy—probably because aristocrats view the peasants as subhuman. Revolutions have broken out many times in the past, and they’ve never really worked, largely because the leaders of those revolutions were only interested in gaining the positions and privileges of the nobles they denounce. The only thing a revolution ever really changes is the terminology.”

Althalus considered it. “Who’s the headman of the Brown Robes, Bheid?” he asked.

“Exarch Aleikon,” Bheid told him. “The Brown Robes’ main temple used to be in Deika over in Equero, but after the fall of the Deikan Empire, they set up shop in Maghu. Their temple’s quite splendid.”

“Thank you,” Dweia said with a faint smile.

“I’m not sure I follow you,” Bheid confessed with a puzzled look.

“It’s
my
temple, Bheid. The Brown Robes usurped it a few thousand years ago.”

“I hadn’t heard about that,” Bheid admitted.

“The Brown Robes don’t like to admit it. The notion of a Goddess seems to upset them, for some reason.”

“Are things really
that
bad for the peasants?” Sergeant Khalor asked. “There are always malcontents who spend their time grumbling, but that’s usually brought on by greed and envy.”

“The window’s right there, Sergeant,” Dweia told him. “Go look for yourself.”

“I think maybe I will,” Khalor replied. “I’d like to know what we’re
really
up against.”

The vista beyond the south window blurred and gradually grew lighter to reveal a wintry field overlooking a grey, angry sea. “Southern Perquaine,” Dweia identified the location, “not far from the seaport at Egni.”

“Why is it still daytime there when it’s nighttime here?” Gher asked curiously.

“We’re farther north,” Dweia replied.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” the boy asked.

“Althalus can explain it,” she told him with a faint smile.

“You’re wrong, Em,” Althalus disagreed. “I can tell him that it happens every year, but I still don’t know exactly why.”

“I explained it all to you a long time ago, pet.”

“I know. I still don’t understand, though.”

“You
told
me that you did.”

He shrugged. “I lied. It was easier than listening to you explain it for the third time.”

“I’m ashamed of you,” she chided.

“It seems to be late afternoon,” Sergeant Khalor observed, squinting at the western horizon. “What are those peasants doing out in the fields in the winter?”

“Nothing very meaningful,” Dweia replied. “The nobleman who owns that field likes to keep his peasants busy, that’s all.”

The peasants were garbed in burlap rags tied together with bits of string, and they were gaunt and dirty. They were hacking wearily at the frozen earth with crude mattocks under the watchful eye of a mounted overseer with a grim face and a whip.

Then a richly dressed nobleman rode up to the overseer. “Is that as far as they’ve gotten today?” he demanded.

“The ground’s frozen, my Lord,” the overseer explained. “This is just a waste of time, you know.”

“Their time is
mine,
” the nobleman declared. “If I order them to dig, they’ll dig. They don’t need to know why.”

“I understand that, my Lord,” the overseer replied, “but it might help if
I
knew why.”

“There are agitators out there, Alkos,” the noble said. “We’re going to keep our peasants so busy that they don’t have time to listen to speeches.”

“Ah,” the overseer said. “I guess that makes sense. You’re going to have to feed them a little more, though. I’ve had a dozen of them collapse today.”

“Nonsense.” The nobleman snorted. “They’re playacting. That’s what your whip’s for, Alkos. Keep them moving until dark. Then let them go eat. Tell them to come back at first light tomorrow.”

“My Lord,” the overseer objected, “they don’t
have
anything to eat. Most of them are eating grass.”

“That’s what cattle do, Alkos. Stay on top of them. I have to get back to my manor house. It’s almost suppertime, and I’m absolutely famished.”

You just made that up, didn’t you, Em?
Althalus silently accused.

No, pet,
she replied sadly.
I didn’t have to. It’s really happening—and it
gets worse.

———

The region beyond the window blurred again, and Althalus and the others found themselves looking into an opulent room where a pouchy-eyed nobleman was lounging on a padded bench, absently toying with a gilt-handled dagger.

There was a knock at the door, and a burly soldier entered. “He said ‘no,’ my Lord,” the soldier reported.

“What do you mean,
‘no’
?” the nobleman exclaimed.

“He’s very stubborn, my Lord, and he seems to be very attached to his daughter.”

“Kill him, then! I want that girl here in my chamber before nightfall!”

“The High Sheriff says we can’t kill the peasants anymore, my Lord,” the soldier said. “Those troublemaker priests grab up every incidental killing and use it to keep the rest of the peasants stirred up.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

“I know, but the High Sheriff will be pounding on your door before morning if I kill that stubborn old fool.” Then the soldier’s eyes narrowed. “There’s another way, my Lord,” he said. “The girl’s father’s a cripple. A plow horse kicked him and broke his leg last year. He can’t work, and he’s got eight other children besides that pretty daughter.”

“So?”

“Why don’t I just tell him that you’ll evict him from that stick-and-wattle hut of his unless he hands his daughter over to you? It’s winter now, and his whole family will starve—or freeze to death—without shelter or food. I think he’ll come around.”

“Brilliant!” The nobleman smirked. “Go ahead, Sergeant. Tell him to start packing. If his daughter isn’t here by nightfall, he leaves at first light tomorrow.”

“Can you find the door to that place, Eliar?” Sergeant Khalor asked bleakly.

“Almost immediately, my Sergeant,” Eliar replied in a steely voice. “Should I bring my sword?”

“Probably so, yes.”

“Not now, gentlemen,” Dweia told them. “We haven’t quite finished yet.”

The window moved once again, and Althalus and the others found themselves looking into yet another house. A lean, hard-faced nobleman was seated at a table covered with documents, and he was conferring with a brown-robed priest. “I’ve been through these a dozen times, Brother Sawel,” the nobleman declared, “and I can’t find any way around the problem. The tradition seems to be locked in stone. I
want
that well, but it has belonged to the people of that village for a thousand years. I have hundreds of acres I could plant if I had access to that water.”

“Calm yourself, my Lord Baron,” the priest replied. “If you can’t find a document that suits your purposes, we’ll just have to put one together.”

“Would it stand up in court?”

“Of course it will, my Lord. My Scopas will be presiding, and he owes me several favors. When I present him my ‘startling new discovery,’ he’ll make his ruling. The village—and its well—will pass into your hands, and the authorities will send the villagers packing. Then you can tear down their houses—or use them for cattle barns if you want.”

“Can we actually get away with that, Brother Sawel?” the Baron asked dubiously.

The priest shrugged. “Who’s going to stop us, my Lord?” he asked. “The aristocracy controls the land, and the Church controls the courts. Between us, we can do just about anything we want to do.”

“Well, Sergeant?” Dweia asked the hard-faced Arum soldier. “Does that answer your question?”

“Pretty much, ma’am, yes,” Khalor replied, “but it raises another one. Why are we getting involved in this? From what I’ve just seen, I’d say that a rebellion’s long overdue. Why don’t we just seal the borders of Perquaine and let the peasantry run all over the top of the nobility and the priesthood?”

“Because the wrong people are leading the rebellion.”

“So we’re going to just walk in and steal it out from under them?” Gher suggested.

“Approximately, yes.”

“If we’re going to steal their revolution, wouldn’t it be sort of useful to look in on the people who are stirring it up?” Khalor suggested. “Now that Pekhal and Gelta have been eliminated, somebody else is in charge, and getting to know the enemy’s fairly important.”

“Good point, Sergeant,” Dweia agreed. “Let’s nose around just a bit, shall we?”

———

Althalus stepped back just a bit and sent a probing thought at Bheid. The young priest’s mind was a mass of conflicting emotions. His grief and guilt were still there, of course, but a seething rage had begun to grow just below the surface. The obvious injustices of Perquaine society were beginning to intrude upon Bheid’s self-loathing.

It’s a start, pet,
Dweia’s voice murmured.
Don’t push him just yet. I
think he’s starting to come around on his own.

You’ve been exaggerating a few things, haven’t you, Em?
Althalus suggested.

A little, yes,
she admitted.
The thoughts of most of the people we’ve been
watching aren’t quite as blatant as what we saw and heard, so they probably
wouldn’t come right out and say them aloud.

You’re cheating again, Em.

I know,
she admitted,
but if that’s all it takes to bring Bheid around, it’s
acceptable.

Your sense of morality’s very flexible, I’ve noticed.

What a shocking thing to suggest. Watch Bheid very closely, pet. He’s about
to see and hear a few things that might just put his feet back on the ground.

The blur beyond the south window shifted and came into focus again, and Althalus and the others found themselves looking into the ruins of a long-abandoned house on a hilltop overlooking the sea far to the south. There was a tent inside the tumbled ruins and a small, well-concealed fire. Argan, the yellow-haired former priest, stood near the fire irritably kicking at a pile of tumbled building blocks.

A harsh voice came out of the darkness. “You’ll wear out your shoes doing that.”

“Where have you been?” Argan demanded as the grizzled Koman came into the firelight.

“Looking around,” Koman replied. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?’’

“Did you find anything?”

“Nobody’s invaded yet, if that’s what’s got you so worried. I don’t think they fully understand what you’re doing, Argan. I couldn’t find Althalus, but that’s not unusual. He’s probably hiding out in that castle at the End of the World, and that place is out of my reach. Have you heard from Ghend?”