Storms of Destiny (30 page)

“Stay out of this,” Talis ordered, not taking her eyes off the overseer. “You’re a dead man,” she told Trevenio. “No.

Correction. A dead
pig.
”

“Mistress Talis, no!” The Prince of Dung tried to get between her and her prey. Talis brushed him aside as though he were a gnat and moved in on Trevenio. The man’s lips were split and a cut below his eyebrow bled freely. He gagged, then spat out a tooth. With one part of her mind she realized that she had won, she had hurt him, and badly, but that was not enough. Trevenio was still alive, still moving—and that would not do.

Talis aimed a kick at his chest, but he saw it coming and grabbed her foot, heaving upward. She fell, and the back of her head thudded painfully against the soggy ground. Rolling away, she managed to break free, and came up on her hands and one knee, poised to spring. Trevenio came after her.

Talis kicked him in the gut, but the blow did not land true.

He staggered, but stayed on his feet. And then, suddenly, there was the gleam of metal in his hand. He had drawn his knife from its sheath.

Talis slapped her hand down to her side, but her knife was gone—knocked free during the fall. She backed away from Trevenio, who was moving toward her, his mashed lips and crimsoned teeth bared in a hideous grin. “Now, you die, bitch. But we’ll have some fun before that, won’t we?”

He swiped at her with the knife, not a serious attack, playing cat and mouse. Talis ducked, then kicked at his kneecap. She missed, but managed to slam her forearm against his knife hand. Hot pain slashed her arm, but the knife went flying.

She ignored the blood soaking her sleeve as she advanced on the overseer again. Now there was fear in Trevenio’s eyes.
Good.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Talis glimpsed movement. Eregard left the ground, springing toward Trevenio with a shout that caused the man to half turn. The slave crashed against the overseer, knocking him down with the force of his charge.

Talis stood there, watching Eregard pull back, get to his knees, then stumble to his feet, backing away. He stared at the man on the ground, plainly horrified. Talis looked down, realizing that Trevenio lay motionless.
Why doesn’t the pig
move?
she wondered as she walked over to him.
Move, you
damned coward, so I can kill you!

The overseer lay sprawled in the mud, face slack, eyes staring up at the sky, unseeing. For a moment Talis didn’t understand what had happened, then saw the mud-smeared spade Eregard had dropped. It lay there, digging edge upward, and the back of Trevenio’s head rested on the steel.

Blood had trickled over the muddy blade. Talis knelt down and peered sideways at the spade. The point was buried deeply in the back of the man’s skull.

She looked up at the two slaves. “He’s dead,” she said, her voice sounding as though it came from far away.

Eregard went even paler. “Dear Goddess,” he whispered.

“What have I done?”

Talis pushed herself to her feet, and only now did she feel the aches and pains from the fight. Her slashed forearm burned. She clasped it tightly with her other hand, trying to stanch the bleeding. “Why did you have to interfere?” she demanded angrily. “I was handling him. I didn’t need any help.”

“I … I was afraid you’d kill him, or he’d kill you,” Eregard stammered. “But now,
I
killed him. They’ll hang me.”

“Nonsense,” Talis snapped. The rush of anger was abating, leaving her light-headed and shaking, but rational once more. “His death was an accident.”

He looked at her, and she had never seen such fear in a man’s eyes. “If I were free, it would be an accident,” he whispered. “But I’m not free. I’m a slave. Soon I’ll be a dead slave.”

“The law is clear,” Gerdal said heavily. “The slave killed a free man, an overseer. He must hang.” He paced around his

office, hands behind his back, shaking his head. “There is nothing else to be done.”

Talis took a deep breath and counted to twenty. Slowly, deliberately, she sat down on a hassock, striving for calm.
I
can’t afford to lose my temper.

“Father,” she said, keeping her voice level, “This is not a case of murder. There was no deliberate attack. What Eregard did was an accident.” She held up her bandaged hand and forearm. “Trevenio pulled a knife on me, remember?

Eregard was trying to defend me.”

“You explained that already,” Gerdal said. “And I understand that it really isn’t fair to hang the slave for what happened. But I can’t keep a slave here at Woodhaven who has caused the death of an overseer, no matter how it happened.

It might give the other slaves ideas.”

Talis had heard these arguments all her life. All of the estate owners had heard tales of slaves rising against their masters. Murder, looting, rape … when slaves revolted, no one was safe. She even agreed with her father, in principle.

But this case was different.

“All right,” she said, keeping her voice smooth and reasonable, “I understand how it might not be a good idea to keep the slave here. It could give the others ideas, I agree. But I don’t think he should be put to death. It wouldn’t be right.”

Her father gave her an exasperated glance.

“I know, I know, he’s just a slave. But,” she said, thinking fast, “sign him over to me, Father. When I go north to buy supplies, I’ll sell him and buy a replacement. That way we won’t do the wrong thing by killing him, and yet the other slaves won’t have him around to give them ideas.”

Gerdal considered that for a moment. “Very well, daughter,” he said. “Make sure you get a decent price for him.” He walked over to his big oak desk, opened one of the bottom drawers, took out a file and began thumbing through it.

“Hmmmm …” He removed a sheet of paper, scribbled for a moment, then blotted the ink carefully and handed the page to his daughter. “Here … I’ve transferred his ownership to you, Talis. Best if you don’t sell him around here. The story is bound to have spread by now.”

Talis saw her chance and seized it. “I was thinking of going farther north, to Q’Kal,” she said. “It’s such a big market town, all the caravans stop there. Goods are priced more competitively.”

Gerdal thought for a moment. “It’s several extra days travel. You’ll need a guardian.”

“I can take care of myself,” Talis said.

“It doesn’t look right for a young girl of marriageable age to be traveling with just a male slave to accompany her,”

Gerdal pointed out. “Your mother would never forgive me.”

Talis started to say more, then thought better of it. She nodded instead, not raising her eyes from the slave’s transfer of ownership.

“Daughter,” Gerdal said hesitantly, “just one more thing …”

“Yes, Father?”

“Why were you and Trevenio fighting? Did he … did he try to take liberties?”

Talis was tempted to just say yes and let him think that.

After all, it was true, in a manner of speaking.
No,
she thought.
I’m not going to lie to protect my vermin of an uncle.
“He asked me to marry him,” she said, her voice harsh with remembered anger. “He told me that I would be lucky to get him, since I’m ruined.”

“Ruined?” Her father was taken aback. “What did he mean by—” He broke off, realization dawning on his features.

“Uncle Jasti told him, Father,” Talis said, feeling a mean enjoyment at Gerdal’s expression. “I’m a slut. He’s told
everyone
about me.”

“He … he …” Her father was sputtering now.

“And what are you going to do about it, Father?” Talis did not try to gentle the edge in her voice. She was shaking with anger. “I’ll tell you what you’ll do—
nothing
. Just like before. Well, you do what you have to, and I’ll do what I must.

I’ll say no more to anyone about this, but
you
will never mention the word marriage to me again. Never.”

Her father looked at her. “But, Talis, Havier Carino doesn’t know. He told me he wants to—”

Without waiting for him to finish, Talis turned and strode out of the room. There was nothing more to say.

Gerdal hired a retired female mercenary named Clo to accompany Talis on her trip north. Clo was a short, stocky woman in her early forties with cropped graying hair, broad, freckled features, and keen blue eyes. She liked to sing as she rode, and told Talis several jokes that would have made Evonly faint dead away if she had heard them. Talis had heard worse, while working for Castio in the taverns, but she was careful at first to stick to her role as a gently raised daughter of a gentleman farmer. She wanted to take the woman’s measure, to see if she dared be honest with her, because she could tell that Clo could teach her a great deal about how a woman could become a better fighter.

The three set out early on the second morning after Trevenio’s death. Clo drove the farm wagon with the goods they hoped to sell in Q’Kal, and Eregard rode beside her on the seat. Talis rode Bayberry, seated sidesaddle like a proper lady, though she had brought her regular saddle in the back of the wagon, and planned to use it when they were at least a day’s journey from North Amis. She didn’t want to risk running into people she knew while wearing trousers and riding astride.

They made steady progress that day, good enough so that Talis decided to make camp well before sunset. She hobbled the wagon team and Bayberry to graze, while Clo fixed up their beds beneath the wagon. “I’ll start the fire,” Clo said.

“And then I’ll do the cooking.”

“We’ll share the chores,” Talis said. “I was raised on a farm, remember? I’m no city girl. I know how to cook over an open fire.”

“All right,” Clo said, and her smile told Talis that she’d done something very right. “I’ll cook tonight, you cook tomorrow night. The slave cleans up. Fair?”

“Fair enough,” Talis agreed.

Reaching into the wagon bed, she took out a couple of blankets and headed over to a nearby tree. After dropping them at its foot, she went back to the wagon and took out a chain and a lock. Eregard, who was sitting on the wagon, bare feet dangling, gave her a quick glance, then looked away. “I gather that’s where I’ll be tonight, mistress?”

Talis nodded. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take any chances. I had enough trouble convincing my father to sell you, rather than hang you. If you ran away, he’d not be pleased.”
And
besides, you’re my property now,
she thought.
The money I’ll
get for you will be enough to keep me for a while, if I decide
not to go back home.

In fact, she was seriously considering not returning home.

She could just send the wagon and the money for the sold crops back with Clo. The thought of her mother’s distress caused her a pang, but what was there for her back there?

Only her father trying to push her into marriage, and Uncle Jasti’s vile lies.

The slave nodded. “Yes, Mistress Aloro. Is there anything I can do before supper?”

Talis nodded. “Rub down the horses, then give them each a measure of grain.”

As soon as Eregard left, Talis reached into her bag and took out one of Castio’s books—
The Art of Modern Warfare
by General Serio Beldani. As the smell of wood smoke and then the enticing smell of frying bacon and corn mush filled the air, she read on, puzzling over some of the words, wishing the book had diagrams. It was difficult to visualize General Beldani’s battle plans.

As she sat there—her small cache of books, pamphlets, and broadsides beside her—Talis sensed movement and looked up. The slave, Eregard, stood there, looking at the book she was reading. “Good old General Beldani,” he said, then looked disconcerted, as though he hadn’t meant to speak aloud. “Excuse me, mistress,” he said hastily. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Talis looked at him. “You’ve read this book?”

“Uh …” he hesitated. “Mistress, it’s forbidden for slaves to read, unless the master commands it.”

“I am not going to punish you,” Talis said. “Just tell me the truth.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, mistress, I read it.”

“Did you understand it?”

“Yes, mistress.” He looked panicky. “I did. But, mistress, I wasn’t born a slave.”

“So I gather,” Talis said. “Well, if you understood what General Beldani was talking about in this chapter, when he discusses the effective deployment of cavalry, could you explain it to me?”

Eregard blinked at her, and hesitated.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “It will be our secret.”

He glanced over at Clo, who was busily cooking, then shrugged. “As you say, mistress,” he said. “Now, when the general discusses cavalry deployments against superior infantry forces, he mentions several classic tactical situations.

Imagine this is the opposing infantry, here …” Picking up a stick, he began sketching in the dirt.

Talis watched, fascinated, as Eregard sketched and explained the military tactics the general was discussing in his book. They were still hard at work when Clo called them to supper.

Talis ate fried cornmeal mush, bacon, eggs, and dried fruit. Eregard, as was proper, waited until they were done and Clo beckoned him forward, then they both piled the remains of their supper onto his plate.

Instead of digging into the food with his fingers, the way slaves usually did, Eregard hesitated, placed his plate on one of the rocks beside the impromptu fireplace Clo had rigged, then went off to the nearby stream. Talis saw him kneel and wash his hands. He came back to retrieve his plate, and on impulse Talis held out a fork. “Here. Thank you for the lesson. Those diagrams helped.”

He took the fork, bobbed a quick bow at her, then went off to sit on the tailgate of the wagon while he ate. Clo eyed Talis speculatively. “Something going on, Miss Aloro?”

Talis smiled. “We’re going to be together for quite a while, Clo. Please, call me Talis.”

The mercenary’s eyebrows lifted, then she nodded her cropped head. “All right, Talis. Something going on?”

“That slave, Eregard,” Talis said thoughtfully, leaning her elbows on her knees, and idly pitching a wisp of straw that had caught in her tunic into the fire. “I believe he must have been born of gentle blood. He can read, and he understands military tactics.”