Magician (62 page)

“Maybe they are. These people no
longer surprise me.” Pug stood, leaning against the bole. “I’ve
seen things that defy logic.”

“True enough. But when you’ve
seen as many different lands as I have, you learn that the more
things look different, the more they are the same.”

“What do you mean?”

Laurie rose and leaned on the other
side of the tree. In low tones he said, “I’m not sure,
but something is afoot, and we play a part, be sure. If we keep
sharp, we may be able to turn it to our advantage. Always remember
that. Should a man want something from you, you can always make a
bargain, no matter what the apparent differences in your stations.”

“Of course. Give him what he
wants, and he’ll let you live.”

“You’re too young to be so
cynical,” Laurie countered, with mirth sparkling in his eyes.
“Tell you what. You leave the world-weary pose to old travelers
such as myself, and I’ll make sure that you don’t miss a
single opportunity.”

Pug snorted. “What opportunity?”

“Well, for one thing,”
Laurie said, pointing behind Pug, “that little girl you nearly
knocked over yesterday is appearing to have some difficulty in
lifting those boxes.” Pug, glancing back, saw the laundry girl
struggling to stack several large crates ready to be loaded into
wagons. “I think she might appreciate a little help, don’t
you think?”

Pug’s confusion was evident on
his face. “What . . . ?”

Laurie gave him a gentle push. “Off
with you, dolt. A little help now, later . . . who knows?”

Pug stumbled. “Later?”

“Gods!” laughed Laurie,
fetching Pug a playful kick in the rump.

The troubadour’s humor was
infectious, and Pug was smiling as he approached the girl. She was
trying to lift a large wooden crate atop another. Pug took it from
her. “Here, I can do that.”

She stepped away, uncertain. “It’s
not heavy. It’s just too high for me.” She looked
everywhere but at Pug.

Pug lifted the crate easily and placed
it on top of the others, favoring his tender hand only a little.
“There you are,” he said, trying to sound casual.

The girl brushed back a stray wisp of
hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You’re a barbarian,
aren’t you?” She spoke hesitantly.

Pug flinched. “You call us that.
I like to think I’m as civilized as the next man.”

She blushed. “I didn’t mean
any offense. My people are called barbarians also. Anyone who’s
not a Tsurani is called that. I meant you’re from that other
world.”

Pug nodded. “What’s your
name?”

She said, “Katala,” then in
a rush, “What is your name?”

“Pug.”

She smiled. “That’s a
strange name. Pug.” She seemed to like the sound of it.

Just then the hadonra, Septiem, an old
but erect man with the bearing of a retired general, came around the
house. “You two!” he snapped. “There’s work
to do! Don’t stand there.”

Katala ran back into the house, and Pug
was left hesitating before the yellow-robed estate manager. “You!
What’s your name?”

“Pug, sir.”

“I see that you and your blond
giant friend have been given nothing to do. I’ll have to remedy
that. Call him over.”

Pug sighed. So much for their free
time. He waved for Laurie to come over, and they were put to work
loading wagons.

T
he
weather had turned cooler during the last three weeks.

Still it hinted at the summer’s
heat. The winter season in this land, if a season it properly was,
lasted a mere six weeks, with brief cold rains out of the north. The
trees held most of their bluish green leaves, and there was nothing
to mark the passing of fall. In the four years Pug had abided in
Tsuranuanni, there were none of the familiar signs that marked the
passing seasons: no bird migrations, frost in the mornings, rains
that froze, snow, or blooming of wild flowers. This land seemed
eternally set in the soft amber of summer.

For the first few days of the journey,
they had followed the highway from Jamar, northward to the city of
Sulan-qu. The river Gagajin had carried a ceaseless clutter of boats
and barges, while the highway was equally jammed with caravans,
farmers’ carts, and nobles riding in litters.

The Lord of the Shinzawai had departed
the first day by boat for the Holy City, to attend the High Council.
The household followed at a more leisurely pace. Hokanu paused
outside the city of Sulan-qu long enough to pay a social call upon
the Lady of the Acoma, and Pug and Laurie found the opportunity to
gossip with another Midkemian slave, recently captured. The news of
the war was disheartening. No change since the last they had heard,
the stalemate continued.

At the Holy City, the Lord of the
Shinzawai joined his son and the retinue on its journey to the
Shinzawai estates, outside the City of Silmani. From then, the trek
northward had been uneventful.

The Shinzawai caravan was approaching
the boundaries of the family’s northern estates Pug and Laurie
had little to do along the way except occasional chores: dumping the
cook pots, cleaning up needra droppings, loading and unloading
supplies. Now they were riding on the back of a wagon, feet dangling
over the rear. Laurie bit into a ripe jomach fruit, something like a
large green pomegranate with the flesh of a watermelon. Spitting out
seeds, he said, “How’s the hand?”

Pug studied his right hand, examining
the red puckered scar that ran across the palm “It’s
still stiff. I expect it’s as healed as it will ever be.”

Laurie took a look. “Don’t
think you’ll ever carry a sword again.” He grinned.

Pug laughed “I doubt you will
either. I somehow don’t think they’ll be finding a place
for you in the Imperial Horse Lance.”

Laurie spat a burst of seeds, bouncing
them off the nose of the needra who pulled the wagon behind them. The
six-legged beast snorted, and the driver waved his steering stick
angrily at them. “Except for the fact that the Emperor doesn’t
have any lancers, due to the fact that he also doesn’t have any
horses, I can’t think of a finer choice.”

Pug laughed derisively.

“I’ll have you know,
fella-me-lad,” said Laurie in aristocratic tones, “that
we troubadours are often beset by a less savory sort of customer,
brigands and cutthroats seeking our hard-earned wages—scant
though they may be. If one doesn’t develop the ability to
defend oneself, one doesn’t stay in business, if you catch my
meaning.”

Pug smiled. He knew that a troubadour
was nearly sacrosanct in a town, for should he be harmed or robbed,
word would spread, and no other would ever come there again. But on
the road it was a different matter. He had no doubt of Laurie’s
ability to take care of himself, but wasn’t about to let him
use that pompous tone and sit without a rejoinder. As he was about to
speak, though, he was cut off by shouts coming from the front of the
caravan. Guards came rushing forward, and Laurie turned to his
shorter companion. “What do you suppose that is all about?”

Not waiting for an answer, he jumped
down and ran forward. Pug followed. As they reached the head of the
caravan, behind the Lord of the Shinzawai’s litter, they could
see shapes advancing up the road toward them. Laurie grabbed Pug’s
sleeve. “Riders!”

Pug could scarcely believe his eyes,
for indeed it appeared that riders were approaching along the road
from the Shinzawai manor. As they got closer, he could see that,
rather than riders, there was one horseman and three cho-ja, all
three a rich dark blue color.

The rider, a young brown-haired
Tsurani, taller than most, dismounted. His movement was clumsy, and
Laurie observed, “They will never pose any military threat if
that’s the best seat they can keep. Look, there is no saddle,
nor bridle, only a rude hackamore fashioned from leather straps. And
the poor horse looks like it hasn’t been properly groomed for a
month.”

The curtain of the litter was pulled
back as the rider approached. The slaves put the litter down, and the
Lord of the Shinzawai got out. Hokanu had reached his father’s
side, from his place among the guards at the rear of the caravan, and
was embracing the rider, exchanging greetings. The rider then
embraced the Lord of the Shinzawai Pug and Laurie could hear the
rider say, “Father! It is good to see you.”

The Shinzawai lord said, “Kasumi!
It is good to see my firstborn son. When did you return?”

“Less than a week ago. I would
have come to Jamar, but I heard that you were due here, so I waited.”

“I am glad. Who are these with
you?” He indicated the creatures.

“This,” he said, pointing
to the foremost, “is Strike Leader X’calak, back from
fighting the short ones under the mountains on Midkemia.”

The creature stepped forward and raised
his right hand—very humanlike—in salute, and in a high,
piping voice said, “Hail, Kamatsu, Lord of the Shinzawai.
Honors to your house.”

The Lord of the Shinzawai bowed
slightly from the waist “Greetings, X’calak. Honors to
your hive. The cho-ja are always welcome guests.”

The creature stepped back and waited.
The lord turned to look at the horse. “What is this upon which
you sit, my son?”

“A horse, Father. A creature the
barbarians ride into battle. I’ve told you of them before. It
is a truly marvelous creature. On its back I can run faster than the
swiftest cho-ja runner.”

“How do you stay on?”

The older Shinzawai son laughed. “With
great difficulty, I’m afraid. The barbarians have tricks to it
I have yet to learn.”

Hokanu smiled. “Perhaps we can
arrange for lessons.”

Kasumi slapped him playfully on the
back. “I have asked several barbarians, but unfortunately they
were all dead.”

“I have two here who are not.”

Kasumi looked past his brother and saw
Laurie, standing a full head taller than the other slaves who had
gathered around. “So I see. Well, we must ask him. Father, with
your permission, I will ride back to the house and have all made
ready for your homecoming.”

Kamatsu embraced his son and agreed.
The older son grabbed a handful of mane, and with an athletic leap,
remounted. With a wave, he rode off.

Pug and Laurie quickly returned to
their places on the wagon. Laurie asked, “Have you seen the
like of those things before?”

Pug nodded. “Yes. The Tsurani
call them the cho-ja. They live in large hive mounds, like ants. The
Tsurani slaves I spoke with in the camp tell me they have been around
as long as can be remembered. They are loyal to the Empire, though I
seem to remember someone saying that each hive has its own queen.”

Laurie peered around the front of the
wagon, hanging on with one hand. “I wouldn’t like to face
one on foot. Look at the way they run.”

Pug said nothing. The older Shinzawai
son’s remark about the short ones under the mountain brought
back old memories. If Tomas is alive, he thought, he is a man now. If
he is alive.

The Shinzawai manor was huge. It was
easily the biggest single building —short of temples and
palaces—that Pug had seen. It sat atop a hill, commanding a
view of the countryside for miles. The house was square, like the one
in Jamar, but several times the size. The town house could easily
have fit inside this one’s central garden. Behind it were the
outbuildings, cookhouse, and slave quarters.

Pug craned his neck to take in the
garden, for they were walking quickly through, and there was little
time to absorb all of it. The hadonra, Septiem, scolded him. “Don’t
tarry.”

Pug quickened his step and fell in
beside Laurie. Still, on a brief viewing, the garden was impressive.
Several shade trees had been planted beside three pools that sat in
the midst of miniature trees and flowering plants. Stone benches had
been placed for contemplative rest, and paths of fine pebble gravel
wandered throughout. Around this tiny park the building rose, three
stories tall. The top two stones had balconies, and several
staircases rose to connect them. Servants could be seen hurrying
along the upper levels, but there appeared to be no one else in the
garden, or at least that portion they had crossed.

They reached a sliding door, and
Septiem turned to face them. In stern tones he said, “You two
barbarians will watch your manners before the lords of this house, or
by the gods, I’ll have every inch of skin off your backs. Now
make sure you do all that I’ve told you, or you’ll wish
that Master Hokanu had left you to rot in the swamps.”

He slid the door to one side and
announced the slaves. The command for them to enter was given, and
Septiem shooed them inside.

They found themselves in a colorfully
lit room, the light coming through the large translucent door covered
with a painting. On the walls hung carvings, tapestries, and
paintings, all done in fine style, small and delicate. The floor was
covered, in Tsurani fashion, with a thick pile of cushions. Upon a
large cushion Kamatsu, Lord of the Shinzawai, sat; across from him
were his two sons. All were dressed in the short robes of expensive
fabric and cut they used when off duty. Pug and Laurie stood with
their eyes downcast until they were spoken to.

Hokanu spoke first. “The blond
giant is called Loh-’re, and the more normal-sized one is
Poog.”

Laurie started to open his mouth, but a
quick elbow from Pug silenced him before he could speak.

The older son noticed the exchange, and
said, “You would speak?”

Laurie looked up, then quickly down
again. The instructions had been clear: not to speak until commanded
to Laurie wasn’t sure the question was a command.

The lord of the house said, “Speak.”

Laurie looked at Kasumi. “I am
Laurie, master. Lor-ee. And my friend is Pug, not Poog.”

Hokanu looked taken aback at being
corrected, but the older brother nodded and pronounced the names
several times over, until he spoke them correctly. He then said,
“Have you ridden horses?”