Magician (61 page)

Chogana’s old face split in a
grin, revealing teeth stained brown by years of chewing tateen nuts.
The mildly narcotic nut—easily found in the swamp—did not
reduce efficiency but made the work seem less harsh. Pug had avoided
the habit, for no reasons he could voice, as had most of the
Midkemians. It seemed somehow to signify a final surrender of will.

Chogana stared at the camp, his eyes
narrowed to slits by the harsh light. It stood empty, except for the
young lord’s bodyguard and the cook’s crew. In the
distance the sounds of the work crew echoed through the trees.

“When I was a boy, on my father’s
farm in Szetac,” began Chogana, “it was discovered I had
a talent. I was investigated and found lacking.” The meaning of
that last statement was lost on Pug, but he didn’t interrupt.
“So I became a farmer like my father. But my talent was there.
Sometimes I see things, Pug, things within men. As I grew, word of my
talent spread, and people, mostly poor people, would come and ask for
my advice. As a young man I was arrogant and charged much, telling of
what I saw. When I was older, I was humble and took whatever was
offered, but still I told what I saw. Either way, people left angry.
Do you know why?” he asked with a chuckle. Pug shook his head.
“Because they didn’t come to hear the truth, they came to
hear what they wanted to hear.”

Pug shared Chogana’s laugh. “So
I pretended the talent went away, and after a time people stopped
coming to my farm. But the talent never went away, Pug, and I still
can see things, sometimes. I have seen something in you, and I would
tell you before you leave forever. I will die in this camp, but you
have a different fate before you. Will you listen?” Pug said he
would, and Chogana said, “Within you there is a trapped power.
What it is and what it means, I do not know.”

Knowing the strange Tsurani attitude
toward magicians, Pug felt sudden panic at the possibility someone
might have sensed his former calling. To most he was just another
slave in the camp, and to a few, a former squire.

Chogana continued, speaking with his
eyes closed. “I dreamed about you, Pug. I saw you upon a tower,
and you faced a fearsome foe.” He opened his eyes. “I do
not know what the dream may mean, but this you must know. Before you
mount that tower to face your foe, you must seek your wal; it is that
secret center of your being, the perfect place of peace within. Once
you reside there, you are safe from all harm. Your flesh may suffer,
even die, but within your wal you will endure in peace. Seek hard,
Pug, for few men find their wal.”

Chogana stood. “You will leave
soon. Come, we must wake Laurie.”

As they walked to the hut entrance, Pug
said, “Chogana, thank you. But one thing: you spoke of a foe
upon the tower. Could you mark him?”

Chogana laughed and bobbed his head up
and down. “Oh yes, I saw him.” He continued to chuckle as
he climbed the steps to the hut. “He is the foe to be feared
most by any man.” Narrow eyes regarded Pug. “He was you.”

Pug and Laurie sat on the steps of the
temple, with six Tsurani guards lounging around. The guards had been
civil—barely—for the entire journey. The travel had been
tiring, if not difficult. With no horses, nor anything to substitute
for them, every Tsurani not riding in a needra cart moved by power of
shanks’ mare, their own or others. Nobles were carried up and
down the wide boulevards on litters borne on the backs of puffing,
sweating slaves.

Pug and Laurie had been given the
short, plain grey robes of slaves. Their loincloths, adequate in the
swamps, were deemed unsightly for travel among Tsurani citizens. The
Tsurani put some store upon modesty—if not as much as people in
the Kingdom did.

They had come up the road along the
coast of the great body of water called Battle Bay. Pug had thought
that if it was a bay, it was larger than anything so named in
Midkemia, for even from the high cliffs overlooking it, the other
side could not be seen. After several days’ travel they had
entered cultivated pastureland and soon after could see the opposite
shore closing in rapidly. Another few days on the road, and they had
come to the city of Jamar.

Pug and Laurie watched the passing
traffic, while Hokanu made an offering at the temple. The Tsurani
seemed mad for colors. Here even the lowliest worker was likely to be
dressed in a brightly colored short robe. Those with wealth could be
seen in more flamboyant dress, covered with intricately executed
designs. Only slaves lacked colorful dress.

Everywhere around the city, people
thronged: farmers, traders, workers, and travelers. Lines of needras
plodded by, pulling wagons filled with produce and goods. The sheer
numbers of people overwhelmed Pug and Laurie, for the Tsurani seemed
like ants scurrying about as if the commerce of the Empire could not
wait upon the comfort of its citizens. Many who passed stopped to
stare at the Midkemians, whom they regarded as giant barbarians.
Their own height topped out at about five feet six inches, and even
Pug was considered tall, having come to his full growth at five feet
eight. For their part, the Midkemians had come to refer to the
Tsurani as runts.

Pug and Laurie looked about. They
waited in the center of the city, where the great temples were. Ten
pyramids sat amid a series of parks differing in size. All were
richly appointed with murals, both tiled and painted. From where they
were, the young men could see three of the parks. Each was terraced,
with miniature watercourses winding through, complete with tiny
waterfalls. Dwarf trees, as well as large shade trees, dotted the
grass-covered grounds of the parks Strolling musicians played flutes
and strange stringed instruments, producing alien, polytonal music,
entertaining those who rested in the parks or passed by.

Laurie listened with rapt attention.
“Listen to those halftones! And those diminished minors!”
He sighed and looked down at the ground, his manner somber. “It’s
alien, but it’s music.” He looked at Pug, and the usual
humor was missing from his voice. “If I could only play again.”
He glanced at the distant musicians. “I could even develop a
taste for Tsurani music.” Pug left him alone with his longings.

Pug glanced around the busy city
square, attempting to sort out the impressions that had been coming
without cease since entering the outer precinct of the city.
Everywhere people hurried about their business. A short distance from
the temples, they had passed through a market, not unlike those in
Kingdom cities, but larger. The noise of hawkers and buyers, the
smells, the heat, all reminded him of home in an odd way.

When Hokanu’s party neared,
commoners would step out of the way, for the guards at the head of
the procession would call out “Shinzawai! Shinzawai!”
letting everyone know a noble approached. Only once did the party
give way in the city; a group of red-clad men, robed in cloaks of
scarlet feathers. The one that Pug took to be a high priest wore a
mask of wood fashioned to resemble a red skull, while the others had
red painted faces. They blew reed whistles, and people scattered to
clear their line of march. One of the soldiers made a sign of
protection, and later Pug learned these men were the priests of
Turakamu, the eater of hearts, brother to the goddess Sibi, she who
was death.

Pug turned to a nearby guard and
motioned for permission to speak. The guard nodded once, and Pug
said, “Master, what god resides here?” as he pointed to
the temple where Hokanu prayed.

“Ignorant barbarian,”
answered the soldier in a friendly manner, “the gods do not
abide in these halls, but in the Upper and Lower Heavens. This temple
is for men to make their devotions. Here my lord’s son makes an
offering and petitions to Chochocan, the good god of the Upper Heaven
and his servant, Tomachaca, the god of peace, for good fortune for
the Shinzawai.”

When Hokanu returned, they started off
again. They made their way through the city, Pug still studying the
people they passed. The press was incredible, and Pug wondered how
they managed to stand it. Like farmers in a city for the first time,
Pug and Laurie kept gawking at the wonders of Jamar. Even the
supposedly worldly troubadour would exclaim about this sight or that.
Soon the guards were chuckling over the barbarians’ obvious
delight at the most mundane things.

Every building they passed was
fashioned from wood and a translucent material, clothlike but rigid.
A few, like the temples, were constructed with stone, but what was
most remarkable was that every building they passed, from temple to
worker’s hut, was painted white, except for bordering beams and
door frames, which were polished deep brown. Every open surface was
decorated with colorful paintings. Animals, landscapes, deities, and
battle scenes abounded. Everywhere was a not of color to confound the
eye.

To the north of the temples, across
from one of the parks and facing a wide boulevard, stood a single
building, set apart by open lawns bordered with hedges. Two guards,
dressed in armor and helm similar to those of their own guards, stood
watch at the door. They saluted Hokanu when he approached.

Without a word their other guards
marched around the side of the house, leaving the slaves with the
young officer. He signaled, and one of the door guards slid the large
cloth-covered door aside. They entered an open hallway leading back,
with doors on each side. Hokanu marched them to a rear door, which a
house slave opened for them.

Pug and Laurie then discovered the
house was fashioned like a square, with a large garden in the center,
accessible from all sides. Near a bubbling pool sat an older man,
dressed in a plain but rich-looking dark blue robe. He was consulting
a scroll. He looked up when the three entered, and rose to greet
Hokanu.

The young man removed his helm and then
came to attention Pug and Laurie stood slightly behind and said
nothing. The man nodded, and Hokanu approached. They embraced, and
the older man said, “My son, it is good to see you again. How
were things at the camp?”

Hokanu made his report on the camp,
briefly and to the point, leaving out nothing of importance. He then
told of the actions taken to remedy the situation. “So the new
overseer will see that the slaves have ample food and rest. He should
increase production soon.”

His father nodded. “I think you
have acted wisely, my son. We shall have to send another in a few
months’ time to gauge progress, but things could not become any
worse than they were. The Warlord demands higher production, and we
border on falling into his bad graces.”

He seemed to notice the slaves for the
first time. “These?” was all he said, pointing at Laurie
and Pug.

“They are unusual. I was thinking
of our talk on the night before my brother went to the north. They
may prove valuable.”

“Have you spoken of this to
anyone?” Firm lines set around his grey eyes. Even though much
shorter, he somehow reminded Pug of Lord Borric.

“No, my father. Only those who
took council that night—”

The lord of the house cut him off with
a wave of the hand. “Save your remarks for later. ‘Trust
no secrets to a city.’ Inform Septiem. We close the house and
leave for our estates in the morning.”

Hokanu bowed slightly, then turned to
leave. “Hokanu.” His father’s voice stopped him.
“You have done well.” Pride plainly showing on his face,
the young man left the garden.

The lord of the house sat again upon a
bench of carved stone, next to a small fountain, and regarded the two
slaves. “What are you called?”

“Pug, master.”

“Laurie, master.”

He seemed to derive some sort of
insight from these simple statements. “Through that door,”
he said, pointing to the left, “is the way to the cookhouse. My
hadonra is called Septiem. He will see to your care. Go now.”

They bowed and left the garden. As they
made their way through the house, Pug nearly knocked over a young
girl coming around a corner. She was dressed in a slave’s robe
and carried a large bundle of washing. It went flying across the
hall.

“Oh!” she cried. “I’ve
just now washed these. Now I’ll have to do them over.”
Pug quickly bent to help her pick them up. She was tall for a
Tsurani, nearly Pug’s height, and well proportioned. Her brown
hair was tied back, and her brown eyes were framed by long, dark
lashes. Pug stopped gathering the clothing and stared at her in open
admiration. She hesitated under his scrutiny, then quickly picked up
the rest of the clothes and hurried off. Laurie watched her trim
figure retreat, tan legs shown to good advantage by the short slave’s
robe.

Laurie slapped Pug’s shoulder.
“Ha! I told you things would be looking up.”

They left the house and approached the
cookhouse, where the smell of hot food set their appetites on edge.
“I think you’ve made an impression on that girl, Pug.”

Pug had never had much experience with
women and felt his ears start to burn. At the slave camp much of the
talk was about women, and this, more than anything else, had kept him
feeling like a boy. He turned to see if Laurie was having sport with
him, then saw the blond singer looking behind him. He followed
Laurie’s gaze and caught a glimpse of a shyly smiling face pull
back from a window in the house.

The next day the household of the
Shinzawai Family was in an uproar Slaves and servants hurried every
which way making ready for the journey to the north. Pug and Laurie
were left to themselves, as there was no one among the household
staff free enough to assign them tasks. They sat in the shade of a
large willowhke tree, enjoying the novelty of free time as they
observed the furor.

“These people are crazy, Pug.
I’ve seen less preparation for caravans. It looks as if they
plan on taking everything with them.”