‘Not quite eternity, Sparhawk,’ the little girl corrected, ‘– though it’s probably going to seem that way to them.’
‘That’s cruel.’
‘No, Sparhawk. It’s justice. These people richly deserve each other. I only want to be sure that they have a long time to enjoy each others’ company.’
‘What’s your feeling about a breath of fresh air?’ Stragen asked, leaning over Sparhawk’s shoulder.
‘It’s raining out there.’
‘I don’t think you’ll melt.’
‘Maybe it’s not a bad idea at that.’ Sparhawk rose to his feet and carried his sleeping daughter back into the sitting room and the divan where Mmrr drowsed, purring absently and kneading one of the cushions with her needle-sharp claws. He covered them both and followed Stragen into the corridor. ‘Are you feeling restless?’ he asked the Thalesian.
‘No, revolted. I’ve known some of the worst people in the world, my friend, and I’m no angel myself, but this little family –’ He shuddered. ‘Did you happen to lay in a store of poison while you were in Rendor?’
‘I don’t approve of poison.’
‘A bit short-sighted there, old boy. Poison’s a tidy way to deal with intolerable people.’
‘Annias felt much the same way, as I recall.’
‘I’d forgotten about that,’ Stragen admitted. ‘I imagine that prejudiced you slightly against a very practical solution to a sticky problem. Something really ought to be done about these monsters, though.’
‘It’s already been taken care of.’
‘Oh? How?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
They stepped out onto the wide veranda that ran across the back of the house and stood leaning on the railing looking out into the muddy back yard.
‘It doesn’t show any signs of letting up, does it?’ Stragen said. ‘How long can it continue at this time of year?’
‘You’ll have to ask Khalad. He’s the expert on the weather.’
‘My Lords?’
Stragen and Sparhawk turned.
It was Elron, the baron’s poetic brother-in-law. ‘I came to assure you that my sister and I aren’t responsible for Kotyk and his relatives,’ he said.
‘We were fairly sure that was the case, Elron,’ Stragen murmured.
‘All they had in the world was Kotyk’s title. Their father gambled away their inheritance. It sickens me to have that clutch of out-at-the-elbows aristocrats lording it over us the way they do.’
‘We’ve heard some rumours,’ Stragen smoothly changed the subject. ‘Some people in Esos were telling us that there was unrest among the serfs. We got some garbled account of a fellow called “Sabre” and another named Ayachin. We couldn’t make any sense out of it.’
Elron looked around in an over-dramatically conspiratorial fashion. ‘It is not wise to mention those names here in Astel, Milord Stragen,’ he said in a hoarse whisper that probably could have been heard across the yard. ‘The Tamuls have ears everywhere.’
‘The serfs are unhappy with the Tamuls?’ Stragen asked with some surprise. ‘I’d have thought that they wouldn’t have had so far to look for someone to hate.’
‘The serfs are superstitious animals, Milord,’ Elron sneered. ‘They can be led anywhere with a combination of religion, folklore and strong drink. The real movement is directed at the yellow devils.’ Elron’s eyes narrowed. ‘The honour of Astel demands that the Tamul yoke be thrown off. That’s the real goal of the movement. Sabre is a patriot, a mysterious figure who appears out of the night to inspire the men of Astel to rise up and smash the oppressor’s chains. He’s always masked, you know.’
‘I hadn’t heard that.’
‘Oh, yes. It’s necessary, of course. Actually, he’s a well-known personage who very carefully conceals his real identity and opinions. By day he’s an idle member of the gentry, but at night, he’s a masked firebrand, igniting the patriotism of his countrymen.’
‘You have certain opinions, I gather,’ Stragen assumed.
Elron’s expression grew cautious. ‘I’m only a poet, Milord Stragen,’ he said deprecatingly. ‘My interest is in the drama of the situation – for the purposes of my art, you understand.’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘Where does this Ayachin come in?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘As I understand it, he’s been dead for quite some time now.’
‘There are strange things afoot in Astel, Sir Sparhawk.’ Elron assured him. ‘Things which have lain locked in the blood of all true Astels for generations. We know in our hearts that Ayachin is not dead. He can never die – not so long as tyranny is alive.’
‘Just as a practical consideration, Elron,’ Stragen said in his most urbane manner, ‘this movement seems to rely rather heavily on the serfs for manpower. What’s in it for them? Why should men who are bound to the soil have any concern at all about who runs the government?’
‘They’re sheep. They’ll stampede in any direction you want them to. All you have to do is murmur the word “emancipation” and they’d follow you into the mouth of hell.’
‘Then Sabre has no intention of actually freeing them?’
Elron laughed. ‘My dear fellow, why would any reasonable man want to do that? What’s the point of liberating cattle?’ He looked around furtively. ‘I must return before I’m missed. Kotyk hates me, and he’d like nothing better than the chance to denounce me to the authorities. I’m obliged to smile and be polite to him and those two overfed sows he calls his sisters. I keep my own counsel, gentlemen, but when the day of our liberation comes, there will be changes here – as God is my judge. Social change is sometimes violent, and I can almost guarantee that Kotyk and his sisters will not live to see the dawn of the new day.’ His eyes narrowed with a kind of self-important secretiveness. ‘But I speak too much. I keep my own counsel, gentlemen. I keep my own counsel.’ He swirled his black cloak around him and crept back into the house, his head high and his expression resolute.
‘Fascinating young fellow,’ Stragen observed. ‘He makes my rapier itch for some reason.’
Sparhawk grunted his agreement and looked up at the rainy night. ‘I hope this blows over by morning,’ he said. ‘I’d really like to get out of this sewer.’
Chapter 11 (#ulink_01ea16c3-25e6-5937-a4e0-14f7166dec8c)
The following morning dawned blustery and unpromising. Sparhawk and his companions ate a hasty breakfast and made ready to depart. The baron and his family were not awake as yet, and none of his guests were in any mood for extended farewells. They rode out about an hour after sunrise and turned northeasterly on the Darsas road, moving at a distance-consuming canter. Although none of them mentioned it, they all wanted to get well out of the range of any possible pursuit before their hosts awakened.
About mid-morning, they reached the white stone pillar that marked the eastern border of the baron’s estate and breathed a collective sigh of relief. The column slowed to a walk, and Sparhawk and the other knights dropped back to ride alongside the carriage.
Ehlana’s maid, Alean, was crying, and the queen and Baroness Melidere were trying to comfort her. ‘She’s a very gentle child,’ Melidere explained to Sparhawk. ‘The horror of that sorry household has moved her to tears.’
‘Did someone back there say something to you he shouldn’t have?’ Kalten asked the sobbing girl, his tone hard. Kalten’s attitude toward Alean was strange. Once he had been persuaded not to press his attentions on her, he had become rather fiercely protective. ‘If anybody insulted you, I’ll go back and teach him better manners.’
‘No, my Lord,’ the girl replied disconsolately. ‘It was nothing like that. It’s just that they’re all trapped in that awful place. They hate each other, but they’ll have to spend the rest of their lives together, and they’ll go on cutting little pieces out of each other until they’re all dead.’
‘Someone once told me that there’s a certain kind of justice at work in situations like that,’ Sparhawk observed, not looking at his daughter. ‘All right then, we all had the chance to talk with the members of our host’s family individually. Did anyone pick up anything useful?’
‘The serfs are right on the verge of open rebellion, my Lord,’ Khalad said. ‘I sort of drifted around the stable and other outbuildings and talked with them. The baroness’ father was a kindly master, I guess, and the serfs loved him. After he died, though, Kotyk started to show his real nature. He’s a brutal sort of man, and he’s very fond of using the knout.’
‘What’s a knout?’ Talen asked.
‘It’s a sort of scourge,’ his half-brother replied bleakly.
