Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts

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СКАЧАТЬ way – slave had forced her to examine long-held beliefs and set certain ‘truths’ aside. For the balance of the previous night and most of the day Mara had sorted out impressions, emotions, and thoughts. Twice she had been so irritated by this necessity she had been tempted to send soldiers to have the man beaten or even killed, but she recognized that the impulse stemmed from her personal frustration and resolved not to blame the messenger for the message. And the lesson was clear: things are not as they appear to be.

      For some peculiar reason she wished to play this man in an intimate version of the Great Game. The challenge had been made the moment he had forced her to submit to his rules. Very well, she thought, as she regarded him, you have made the rules, but you will still lose. She didn’t understand why it was important to vanquish this slave, but her intent to do so matched her desire to see the Minwanabi ground into the dust. Kevin must come to be her subject in every way, giving her the same unquestioning obedience as every other member of her household.

      Kevin had been in her presence for nearly ten minutes, silently waiting as she finished reading reports. Reaching for her opening gambit, she said, ‘Would you care for something to drink? The interrogation may prove long.’ He weighed her words well enough to know she did not offer conciliation, then shook his head. After another silence, she asked, ‘On your world is it possible for a slave to go free?’

      Kevin’s mouth crooked in irony. His fingers flicked, and fringes scattered in a snap of pent-up frustration. ‘Not in the Kingdom, for only criminals with life punishment are sold as slaves. But in Kesh and Queg, a slave who pleases his master may earn freedom as a reward. Or he may escape and make his way across the borders. It happens.’

      Mara watched his hands. Flick, flick, one finger after another lashed the fringes; his emotions could be read like a scroll. Distracted by his openness, the Lady struggled to pursue her line of thought, to explore her improbable supposition one step further.

      ‘And once across the borders, such a runaway might accumulate wealth and live in honour among other men?’

      ‘Yes.’ Kevin thumped his palms on his knees and leaned back at his ease on one elbow, ready to add more, but Mara cut him off.

      ‘Then you believe that if you were to find a way back across the rift to your own world, you would be able to regain your position, your honour, and your title?’

      ‘Lady,’ said Kevin with a patronizing smile, ‘not only would I reclaim my former position, I would have won distinction, for contriving escape from my enemies, to once again take the field to oppose them, and to give hope to future captives that they might also find freedom. It is the duty of a captured … soldier to escape, in my nation.’

      Mara’s brows rose. Again she was forced to re-examine her concepts of honour, loyalty, and where one’s best interests lay. The barbarian’s words made sense, in an oddly disquieting way. These people were not intractable, or stupid, but acting within a strange culture’s tenets; she grappled with the concept stubbornly. If, within Kevin’s society, his defiance was seen as heroic, his behaviour made a perverted sort of sense. Leading by example was a familiar Tsurani ideal. But to endure humiliation … degradation … so that one could someday return and again contest with the enemy … Her head swam from ideas that, until now, she had held to be profoundly conflicting.

      She took a moment to sip at cool fruit juices. Dangerously fascinated, like a child shown forbidden rites in a back temple chamber, Mara considered facts sharp-edged as swords: in Midkemia, honourable men did not harm women, and honour did not die with captivity. Slaves could become other than slaves. What, then, did the gods decree for men who lost their souls while still alive? What station could negate honour in a worse way than slavery? Within the framework of this man’s culture, honour was gained by upholding their odd codes, and rank was seen as a situation rather than a life. Kevin behaved like a free man because he didn’t think of himself as a slave but, rather, as a captive. Mara rearranged her robes, hiding turmoil brought on by ‘logic’ that bordered heresy on Kelewan.

      These barbarians were more dangerous than even Arakasi had imagined, for they assumed things as foregone conclusions that could turn Tsurani society on its head. Mara earnestly believed it would be safer for her people if she had her barbarians all executed. But sooner or later someone would exploit these perilous ideas, and it would be foolish to let the opportunity fall to an enemy. Mara tossed off her disquiet in a raw attempt at humour. ‘From what you have said about women being sacrosanct, then your Lords’ wives must make the decisions. True?’

      Kevin had followed her every move as she smoothed her silks. Drawn to the visible cleft between Mara’s breasts, he tore his eyes away regretfully and laughed. ‘In part, they do, my Lady. But never openly, and not according to law. Most of their influence is practised in the bedchamber.’ He sighed, as if remembering something dear to him, and his sight lingered over the exposed bosom above her robe and the long length of leg that extended below the hem.

      Mara’s eyebrows rose. Aware enough of nuance to blush, she reflexively drew her legs under her and closed the top of her scanty robe. For an awkward moment she found herself looking at anything else in the room but the nearly nude slave. Enough! she scolded herself. In a culture where nakedness was commonplace, why was she suddenly discomforted?

      Irked at her mistake, she stared directly into Kevin’s eyes. Whatever this man might think, he was still her property; she could order him to his death or her bed with equal disregard for consequences, for he was but a thing. Then she caught herself and questioned why her mind turned to the bedchamber. Struck by her unexpected angry reaction at such foolishness, she took a deep breath and turned the discussion away from things remotely personal. Soon she was lost in an in-depth exploration of Lords and Ladies and their responsibilities in the lands beyond the rift. As on the night before, one subject led to another series of questions and answers, with Mara providing Kevin with the words he needed to flesh out his description of his nation, the Kingdom of the Isles.

      A quick man, he needed scant tutelage. Mara was impressed by his ability to discourse on many topics. The room dimmed as the lamp burned low; Mara was too distracted to call in a servant to trim the wick. The moon rose beyond the open screen, casting a copper-gold glow across the floor and throwing all else into shadow. The flame burned lower still. Mara lay back on her cushions, tense and not ready for sleep. Beneath her fascination with Kevin’s world, anger still smouldered. The memory of his physical touch – the first man’s upon her skin since her husband’s death – occasionally threatened to disrupt her concentration. It took all her will at such instants to stay focused upon whatever topic the barbarian was addressing.

      Kevin finished describing the powers of a noble called a baron, and paused to take a drink. Lamplight gleamed upon his skin. Above the rim of his cup his eyes followed her body’s contours through the thin silk robe.

      Unreasoning distaste stirred through Mara, and her cheeks flushed. Picking up her fan, she kept her face expressionless as she cooled herself. Bitterly she understood that new information could only temporarily divert her from her inner turmoil.

      The intelligence brought in by Arakasi had unsettled rather than reassured, and the fact her enemies offered no immediate threat to counter left her uncertain which flank to guard. Her resources were thin, too few men guarding too broad a front, while she tried to arrive at a useful strategy. She found herself fretting endlessly over what she could most afford to lose, this warehouse or that remote farm. The daring victory she had won over Jingu had not blinded her to reality. The Acoma were still vulnerable. She might have gained prestige, but the number of soldiers in her garrisons had not changed. When enemies chose to move against her in force, a wrong guess would be dangerous, even fatal.

      Kevin’s culture offered strange concepts, like a salve against fear’s constant ache. It occurred to Mara that she must keep the barbarian СКАЧАТЬ