Land of the Burning Sands (5 page)

Gereint carefully tied the line he’d made to the hook. Tested his knot. Glanced up. “You could have left me there.” He touched the brand on his face. “It would only have been the death of a murderer or rapist.”

Amnachudran shrugged. “You were face down. I didn’t see the brand at once. By the time I did see it, I knew you might live. Once I knew that, I couldn’t leave you.” He didn’t ask,
Are you glad or sorry I saved your life?
But his eyes posed that question.

Gereint stared back at him for a moment in silence. He said at last, “That desert is not the place I would choose to leave my bones.” Gathering up his line and hook, he went down to the river.

By full dark, the soup was boiling and two small fish were grilling over coals.

“I didn’t think you’d catch any,” Amnachudran admitted, turning one of the fish with a pair of twigs.

“I was lucky.”

“That was a good hook. Nor would I have thought you could make decent line out of that cord.”

“It’s a knack.” Gereint turned the other fish.

“You’re a maker.”

And Amnachudran was far too perceptive, and far too difficult to lie to. It hadn’t been a question. Gereint said merely, not looking up, “It makes me a valuable slave, yes.”

There was a pause. Then Amnachudran began uncomfortably, “How many…? That is, how many men…?”

This time, Gereint did glance up. “How many masters have I had? Is that what you would ask? Five, in all. Each worse than the last.”

“Your family…” Amnachudran hesitated. “They couldn’t protect you?”

“Protect a murderer?” Gereint asked bitterly. The older man looked down. Gereint, observing the flinch, paused, lowered his voice. “You could be the last of my masters. You saved my life: You might save it again in a different way…”

“Stop asking me for that,” Amnachudran ordered in a low voice.

“You can’t command my tongue,” Gereint reminded him, waited a beat, and added, “Of course, you
could
order me to kneel and hold still, then beat me unconscious. Or at least until your arm was too tired to lift. You haven’t got a whip, but”—he gestured at the woods around them—“there’s plenty of springy wood. That would probably work. Shall I cut you a—”

“Be quiet!” Amnachudran commanded him, his tone much sharper.

“If you don’t wish to own a
geas
slave, you could simply tell me to walk away—”

“You
want
me to lose my temper,” Amnachudran said suddenly.

Gereint stopped.

The other man studied him. “Of course you do. Because you want to know what I’ll do if I’m angry. You need to find out how far you can push me—and what will happen if you push me too far.”

Gereint didn’t try to deny this. He’d never had a master more intelligent than he was. It occurred to him now that Amnachudran might be the first.

For a long moment, the other man only continued to look at him. His plain, round face was difficult to read. He said at last, “Gereint. Get up.”

Gereint got to his feet.

“Walk that way”—Amnachudran pointed into the woods—“fifty paces. Sit down with your back to the fire. Stay there till I call you. Go.”

Gereint turned immediately and walked into the woods. Carefully, because it was dark under the trees. And chilly. He counted off fifty paces, found a rock, sat down. Wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. His imagination populated the darkness with wolves. Griffins—no, griffins would, like the one they’d seen, have headed for the desert as dusk fell. If it
had
been headed back to the desert. But surely it had been.

Dragons, then. Did dragons hunt by night? Would fire keep a dragon away or draw it? He knew there was almost no chance of dragons this far south, but he nevertheless half believed he heard some vast creature shift its weight away off in the dark.

Probably there was a better chance of wolves. Fire would definitely keep wolves away. Though not from fifty paces behind him. He tried to think about poetry instead of wolves. Gestechan Wanastich’s measured cadences came to mind, unfortunately. Fire and the dark and women weeping: not what he wanted in his mind at this moment. And hadn’t Wanastich actually written something about wolves? Ah, yes: the part of the Teranbichken epic with the snow and the black trees and the wolves’ eyes glowing in a circle… Imagination was a curse, Gereint decided, and closed his own eyes. He knew perfectly well there were no wolves.

He wished he’d had a chance to eat that fish. He might have picked up a blanket, at least, if he’d been quick. Amnachudran might have let him keep it. He wondered whether the man meant to leave him out here all night. Probably not. Maybe. The command had been
sit.
Gereint would not be able to lie down. Though he probably would not have found a dry spot to stretch out, if he was going to be left out here all night, he was going to regret his inability to try.

Behind him, Amnachudran shouted his name.

Gereint jumped to his feet and, despite the darkness, walked back to the fire much more quickly than he had left it. Once he stepped out into the light, the idea of wolves seemed ridiculous. He walked more slowly back to the fire and stopped, facing his master.

“Well?” asked Amnachudran, looking shrewdly up at him.

Gereint dropped at once to his knees. “Pardon my insolent tongue, master—sorry. Forgive me, sir. I won’t—”

“Stop it!” Amnachudran stopped, took a breath, and continued more mildly: “I don’t want you to, um. Grovel. What I was asking for was simply your
opinion
.”

Taken aback—again!—Gereint asked cautiously, “May I get up?”

“Yes!” Amnachudran gestured toward the blanket on the other side of the fire. “Sit down, get warm, eat your fish. Tell me, are you going to stop prodding me for a reaction? Are you satisfied?”

Gereint settled by the fire, poked at the fish. Ate a bite. Amnachudran had boned the fish for him and had a mug of hot tea waiting along with the beef broth. Gereint had more than half expected his master to call him back to the fire. But this additional small kindness was so far outside anything he had expected that he did not even know what to feel about it.

He looked up, met the other man’s eyes. “You asked for my opinion and whether I’m satisfied. Very well. You certainly haven’t lost your temper. I’m satisfied you won’t, or not easily. Or did you wish my opinion about the punishment itself? Very well: It was effective. I don’t want you to do that again, for all you avoided brutality very neatly. Thank you for calling me back to the fire.”

“What you said. About being made to kneel while someone beat you unconscious. Someone did that to you?”

Amnachudran might be a clever man. A perceptive man. But judging by his tone on that question, he was in some ways surprisingly innocent. Gereint controlled an impulse to laugh. He answered, with considerable restraint, “Oh, yes.”

Amnachudran looked revolted. “I’d thought… You’re right that I don’t want a
geas
slave. Now less than ever. I’d thought, once we get back to my home, I might find out your old master’s name, send you—”

Cold struck through Gereint’s body like death. There could not be many
geas
-bound men of his size and general description. Even if he refused to give Amnachudran his old master’s name, the man could easily find it out. He put the mug of tea down, stood up, came back around the fire to where Amnachudran sat, and knelt. Put his palms flat on the ground. Bent to touch his forehead to the earth.

“Gereint—”

“I know you don’t want me to grovel.” Gereint straightened his back, looking the other man deliberately in the face. “My most recent master, now. He likes a man to grovel. I’m sure he was very angry when he realized he would have to leave me behind. He would be very grateful to you if you returned me to him. He’s a powerful man; his patronage could probably be useful to you. Me… he would expect me to plead for mercy. He would expect me to eat the dirt in front of his boots. I would do that for you, except you wouldn’t like it. If you were searching for an effective threat, you’ve found one. Don’t send me back to him. Please, don’t. Just tell me to walk—”

“Away into the mountains, I know—”

“—back to Melentser. I would rather that than go back into that man’s house.”

There was a pause.

“What did he do to you?” Amnachudran asked, his tone hushed.

Gereint said gently, “Eben Amnachudran. You’re a decent man. You don’t want to know.”

This time the pause was longer.

Gereint bowed his head, drew a slow breath, let it out. He didn’t get to his feet, but said instead, “I know you won’t free me. You’ve made that clear. I won’t ask again. I’ll ask this instead: What can I do to persuade you to keep me yourself? Not sell me, nor give me away, nor above all send me back to my old master?”

Amnachudran stared at him.

“You were right, of course: I have been pushing at you. I’ll stop. I’ll be respectful—I
can
be respectful. I’ll call you by name, if you prefer. I won’t grovel, since you don’t like that. You can treat me as a hired man rather than a slave, if you wish. I can play that role. I can play any role that pleases you. You were right: I’m a maker. I could be useful to you—”

“Stop!” said Amnachudran, rather desperately.

Gereint shut his mouth. Rested his hands on his thighs, deliberately open and easy. Waited.

“What was it that you
did
?”

Gereint flinched, he hoped not noticeably. He began to speak, hesitated. Said at last, “If I tell you again I did nothing, you’ll think I’m lying and be angry. I don’t want that.”

“Just tell me the truth!”

“You’re waiting for me to lie to you. Are you so certain you would recognize truth, when you’re listening for lies?”

Silence. Finally, Amnachudran made a disgusted gesture. “Eat your supper. Go to sleep. I’ll think about your request… later. When we’ve gotten to my house.”

The
geas
could compel Gereint to eat the rest of the fish and drink the tea. But even the
geas
couldn’t force him to sleep, though it could make him lie quietly with his eyes closed.

* * *

The morning came watery and pale through the mist that rose from the river and the damp woods. There had been no sign of wolves or griffins or dragons. Or if there had been, it must have been in the small hours near dawn, when Gereint had finally slept a little.

Amnachudran had coaxed the fire back to life and made tea. He glanced up as Gereint got to his feet. “There’s plenty of cracker. I’m sorry there’s not time for you to catch more fish. But we should be home by evening.”

Home
. His, of course. Did he mean that it would be Gereint’s home as well? Probably not. Gereint didn’t ask. He went down to the river and washed his face and hands. Came back and began to roll up the blankets and stow away the little pot and other things. Ate a piece of cracker. Drank the tea. He couldn’t tell what Amnachudran was thinking. If he was thinking about anything other than his home.

“I know you’re much stronger than I am. But I think I could carry—” Amnachudran began.

“No, sir. That’s not necessary. Just carry the packs,” Gereint said. But respectfully. He inspected the straps on the saddlebags and spent a few minutes lengthening some and shortening the others. “We’re crossing the river, are we? How waterproof are these bags? I brought some tallow candles. If you have a little oil, I can probably improve them.”

“Thank you, Gereint. Yes. When we stop.”

Gereint nodded, slung the straps over his shoulders, and straightened. The bags seemed to have grown heavier. He didn’t let himself groan, but only glanced politely at the other man, waiting for him to lead the way.

The sun came out. The mist lifted. The river dashed cheerfully down the hill beside them. There was even a deer trail to follow. All in all, a pleasant morning. Gereint only wished he was alone, less burdened, and heading the other way.

On the other hand… on the other hand, he could be in Breidechboden. In Perech Fellesteden’s house. Compared to that, Amnachudran’s house, whatever it was like, would surely prove a perfect haven. Probably the man hadn’t yet decided whether to grant Gereint’s plea. Gereint glanced at him, a cautious sidelong glance. He did not want to annoy him. But he did not seem easy to annoy… Gereint asked, “Is it Tashen? Where your house is?”

“Near Tashen,” Amnachudran agreed. “My house is out in the country, between the mountains and the city. Near the river, in fact. After the ford, we’ll turn almost due east, walk fewer than ten miles. My house is at the base of some low hills, where a stream comes down year-round. It’s easy country there, open and level, good for orchards and wheat and pasture. The apples are just beginning to ripen now. My wife loves apples; she’s collected dozens of varieties…”

Gereint made an interested sound, listening with half an ear to descriptions of orchards and gardens and the new pond they’d just built and stocked with fish. Amnachudran was clearly wealthier than Gereint had guessed. And there was a wife. Gereint wondered whether she would object to the presence of a
geas
-bound servant. Would it be possible to win her over, make himself so immediately useful that she would object if her husband wanted to get rid of him?