The Storm Witch (20 page)

“All the way from here to the city,” Dhulyn said. “All the land is owned?”

“Whatever isn’t part of House or Holding belongs to the Tarxin, Light of the Sun, of course.”

“Of course.” Dhulyn tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice. Technically, the whole of any country belonged to the ruler, Tarxin, or Galan, or King. But in practice, very few rulers tried to enforce their control over vast regions of empty land. Apparently, the Tarxin of the Mortaxa felt differently.

Loraxin Feld came out himself to bid her a formal farewell.

More likely to make sure I’m really going,
she thought. The man was still white around the eyes from the “accident” of the day before. Dhulyn had let him know that under no circumstances was he to accompany her to her audience with the Tarxin.

“Remm Shalyn tells me you are ready to leave us, Tara Paledyn.” Loraxin licked his lips.

When Dhulyn did no more than incline her head, the man swallowed and looked ill. “Let there be shade on your journey and cool water, and may you arrive in good health.” The words were barely whispered.

Dhulyn decided to take pity on the man. “I will give the Tarxin your best wishes, and tell him that you have treated me well.” Her voice must have carried some sincerity at least, for Loraxin began to look less as though he would lose his breakfast. “These servants,” she added, “they are mine?”

The man turned so pale as to show a tinge of green. “Of course, Tara Paledyn, of course.”

Lucky I don’t ask for the rest of them,
she thought, smiling her wolf’s smile.

Despite the delays, they still had most of the morning ahead of them when they finally set out. Their general heading was northeast, away from where Dhulyn had come out of the water, but toward, as Remm Shalyn explained it, the shoreline of another sea. It was clear, however, when she questioned him more closely, that he had very little idea of the oceans that surrounded the land, and how they connected. The land, on the other hand, he knew well.

“We’ll be until midafternoon walking through the plains that surround House Feld, and then we’ll see the Arxden Forest in front of us. Feld maintains a guesthouse there just as the trees begin where we should spend the night.” Remm eyed the servants with them. “It’ll take us most of the day tomorrow, maybe longer, to get through the forest.”

“It seems a hot place to find a forest.”

“Trees more than you can number, taller than buildings, what else would you call it? These are all old growth trees, preserved for the production of fressian moss, from which House Feld derives most of its income, as you may imagine.”

Dhulyn nodded without saying anything more. She had more experience than many with the properties of the expensive drugs made from fressian moss.

“Tell me what I can expect at the court of the Tarxin. The ruler himself, of course . . .”

“And Tar Xerwin, the only surviving heir. The last Tarxina, the third wife, died a year ago, trying to produce a son of her own, it’s been said, and the Tarxin, Light of the Sun, hasn’t remarried . . . yet. But rumors have it that his health’s beginning to fail. It was Tar Xerwin who was betrothed last year, not his father.”

Dhulyn smiled. Wherever he got it from, Remm’s irreverent attitude was a relief compared to the constant bowing and fussing of the others. He seemed even more relaxed now that he was working for her, and readier to talk.

How and what do I pay him,
she wondered.

“Tara Xendra, she’s the third wife’s daughter. Rumor has it that, since her accident six months ago, she’s become a Holy Woman, or a Weather Mage—though who knows really. Some say
she’s
the one behind the discovery of the lodestone, but I don’t see how
that
could be. Maybe she’s Marked and they’re just trying to keep her out of the Sanctuary. No official announcement’s been made in any case. But you’ll probably have the most to do with the Council of Houses, and the Priests of the Slain God.”

Dhulyn nodded, but her thoughts had run down another path. So it was the Tarxin’s own daughter, Xendra, who was the Storm Witch. That would make a hard job even harder.

“The Marked live in Sanctuaries?” she had the presence of mind to ask when she realized Remm had stopped speaking.

“How else could we be sure their talents are kept available for all and are being used wisely?” Remm gave her a wide-eyed innocent look and Dhulyn found herself smiling before she remembered she had nothing to smile about.

“And the Slain God?” she said.

Remm Shalyn became instantly serious and moved closer to her, lowering his voice. “As a Hand of the Slain God, you’re obviously not a heretic yourself, Dhulyn Wolfshead. Heresy is technically legal, but unbelievers generally find themselves losing status. Most guards and the military and the Tarxin, Light of the Sun, follow the Slain One. We go to him when we die, ready to rise with him when the need comes. Some say the Nomad crisis will cause him to rise, but I say they should stop smoking fresa.”

But Dhulyn had already relaxed. “We call him the Sleeping God,” she said. “Soldiers and Mercenary Brothers follow him in Boravia as well. You mentioned the military—what of them?”

“The Battle Wings are stationed at outposts along the frontiers, with two training camps in the east. The Tarxin is the official Commander, but it’s been Tar Xerwin’s responsibility since he came to manhood. He’s very popular with the men, so it’s said, but they can’t come closer than ten days’ march of Ketxan City, so much good that would do him if he fell out with his father.”

“No military in the capital itself, then?”

“The Light of the Sun’s personal guard is the only official armed force in the City. The Houses have guards and escorts, naturally, but there are strict limits as to how many, and how they can be armed.”

Shortly past midday, with the Arxden Forest in sight, Dhulyn called a halt for food. An outcropping of rock was tall enough to give them shade, and there were several boulders of a convenient size for sitting. Once she’d chosen the spot, however, she found she had to allow the servants to set up her own seat first, with Remm allowed—somewhat grudgingly, it seemed—to sit near her. No other seats were prepared, and at first it seemed the servants intended to stand for the whole time. When she couldn’t persuade either the women or the two men to sit down with her, Dhulyn finally ordered them to sit apart in another section of shade to get at least some rest while they enjoyed their own meal. Even then there was some shuffling of feet and uncertain glances from the young page.

“If you don’t rest, you won’t be able to help me later on,” Dhulyn pointed out finally. That did the trick, and she was able to sit down comfortably and drink her juice mixed with wine and eat smoked duck legs.

“What about a leasr House, like Loraxin Feld?” she said, after washing down the first of the duck. “Would he have a seat on the Council?”

Remm snorted, speaking around a mouthful of duck. “Not likely. Even though it’s called the Council of Houses, it’s really limited to the Great Houses, and they are very watchful over who belongs. Under them would be the lesser Houses, then least, the plain landowners, merchants, and so on—and it’s not always easy to tell which is which. Loraxin Feld, for example, his family started out as merchants. They’ve only been a House for five or six generations, and believe me, no one forgets it. Finally, there are the tradesmen, usually family connections of a least House or landowner, or soldiers such as myself.”

“And then, below everyone else, the slaves.” He nodded.

“Speaking of which, what is the process for freeing them?” she asked.

Remm paused, a dried date stuffed with cheese halfway to his mouth. “Freeing them?”

“Yes, what documents do I need, what clerk do I bribe. You know, the process by which I can free these people, for example?” She gestured with her free hand to the other patch of shade.

“You want to free them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dhulyn studied Remm Shalyn’s face. He watched her with a measured expression. “I disapprove of the practice of slavery,” she said finally.

To her surprise, Remm burst out laughing, slapping his knee with the hand that didn’t have a wine cup in it. “You remind me of my great-aunt Tella. Married above herself and made up for it by having just that prim way of speaking. ‘I disapprove.’ ” He laughed again.

Dhulyn lifted one eyebrow. No one had ever called her prim before. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Remm leaned forward, elbows on knees, turning the empty cup around in his fingers. Dhulyn waited. She knew a man thinking when she saw one. And she’d wager her second-best sword she knew what he was thinking about. Trust her, or not? Nothing she could say would help him decide. He’d have to come to his own conclusion, based on whatever he already knew about her.

“It’s highly illegal to help a slave to his freedom. Or her freedom, for that matter.” Remm stopped turning the cup, but he did not look up. “The penalty for doing so is—”

“Let me guess, slavery.” At least he looked at her then, if only fleet ingly. “There are no freedmen, then, in Mortaxa?”

“
Freed
men? Who would feed them? How could they live?”

“Having prepared me with this warning, what is your true answer?”

“There are those who feel as you do. They . . .” Remm looked directly at her, grinning. “They disapprove of the practice. There is a group. Runaways are helped. Some go by sea—though none of those by my hands, mine all go by land. There are lands to the south, beyond the mountains, where men can live free.” He shrugged. “It’s said Tar Xerwin’s latest campaigns have been to the foothills, trying to find the source of the help that’s been coming to the slaves.”

Dhulyn eyed him carefully. “That’s what
you’re
doing, hiring out to these Houses, here in the outlands, helping slaves escape.”

He shrugged again, grinning at her.

“My arrival, my taking you away, must be upsetting your plans.”

Remm straightened, looking around at the plate of food, and offering Dhulyn the last stuffed date. “We can’t free slaves everywhere we go, or it would be noticed. I don’t mind going somewhere I haven’t been before. I can renew old acquaintances, perhaps make some new ones.”

“And you have a way to recognize one another.” She waved the food away.

“We do.” Remm popped the date into his mouth and chewed. Slowly.

And he obviously was not going to tell her anything more. Dhulyn began to laugh—only to stop short, her breath stopping in her throat. How could she be laughing? Only hours ago, it had seemed impossible that she would ever laugh again.

She nodded once more in the direction of the other patch of shade, where the servants—no, the slaves—waited for her to finish her lunch. “And these? How badly are they
really
needed to maintain my status?”

“We could manage,” Remm said. “A Paledyn, with one sword servant—but not everyone wishes to be freed. And they
all
must agree.”

Dhulyn shook her head. “Don’t tell me you didn’t give that careful thought when you were picking out which ones would come with us. When would it have to be done?”

“Tomorrow. There are ways out of the fressian forest. We can arrange it tonight.”

Xerwin found it harder than he’d expected to find Kendraxa. He’d been able to establish pretty quickly through his own servants that the woman was still in the House, but her exact whereabouts had not been so easy to pinpoint. It was not until the next afternoon that the Royal House Steward himself brought Xerwin the information that Kendraxa was now to be found in the Tarxina’s apartments, empty since the death of the Tarxin’s last wife. Xerwin had not been in his stepmother’s rooms since the woman’s death the year before. He found Kendraxa at a northern window, embroidering a red headdress with golden thread.

“Please, do not trouble yourself,” he said as the woman hastened to rise to her feet as he entered the room. When had she become so old? He’d always thought of Kendraxa as no older than his stepmother had been, perhaps ten years older than himself. Today she looked thinner, more tired, and with more lines around her eyes than she should have. He took the seat across from her, noting that even when she was alone in the apartments, Kendraxa had taken the lesser chair.

“Are you comfortable here? You’ve been so long with my sister.”

“I am. I thank you, Tar Xerwin. You won’t remember, no reason you should, but I lived in these rooms with the Tarxina before the Tara Xendra was born, so they’re familiar to me, you might say.” Still, there was something subdued in her tone.

Now that it came to the moment, Xerwin hesitated. How could he ask what he’d come to ask?

“I don’t think my father has ever punished Xendra this way before,” he said finally, trying to keep his smile sympathetic. “Though it’s hard to say which of you would feel the more deprived.”