19 - Gender Politics and Other Misconceptions of the Ruling Class

Pelensgrad’s Square, Nearing Lunch

"You let them go!" Sir Grey growled at Corwin, who hung upside down on a wall in the village square. The three others who had searched the basket weaver's shop were dangling next to him. Their throats had been slit, and blood was still oozing onto the cobblestone below. Peasants had gathered to watch the rare time when soldiers were the ones getting gutted.

"Like I told you before, it wasn't them. Only people who looked like them. It was uncanny," Corwin pleaded.

"Did you not think about the simple truth that we are hunting a sorceress?! She bewitched you!"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but isn't that the point of magic? So, we don't know we've been had?"

"That's why we have a warlock!" Sir Grey yelled.

The figure in the black cloak nodded. Underneath the hood was a woman with brown hair and a demon tattoo across half her face. Her eyes were cold, and she seemed to stare right through Corwin. Even though there was a good chance he was about to join his parents, siblings, and cousins in the afterlife, it was easier to face the wrath of Sir Grey than look at her. Warlocks were fabled to be the masters of all elements, not just one like most wizards.

Corwin had been battered by his superior officers his entire career. He couldn't imagine why he thought being employed by one of the nobles would be anything different. The illusion that they were somehow elevated beyond him was shattered. Now, the best he could hope for was survival.

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"Begging another pardon, sir, but isn't she a witch? While I'm sure she could stand up to any sorcerer and has an intimidating demon tattoo, scares the daylights out of me, but aren't warlocks men?" Corwin asked. His mouth betrayed his will to survive. He wasn't quite sure why he'd poke at the bear, or in this case, the man with the pointy sword, but he did it anyway.

"Are you suggesting that warlocks need to use gender normative—" Sir Grey growled, as he pressed his sword against the throat of Corwin.

"No! No! A warlock can be female. Nothing wrong with that. A witch can be male. Or even non-binary!"

"Why then did you insist that she had to be a man? Her pronouns are announced properly at every social occasion. The crier says, 'Lady Mordock, of Fuego Clan, she/her' just as they would belt out for me, 'Sir Grey, Steward to Traldalorian Throne, Keeper of the Shield of Faith, Protector of the Empire, he/him'."

"I haven't been to any social occasions yet. I only started this job yesterday, but I'm learning a lot already! There must be a lot of hard-working women warlocks. Do you suppose they get the same pay as a man?"

"What are you talking about?! Of course, they do. The thought of paying a woman less for doing the same work as a man hurts my soul."

"Mine too, sir. I think we agree. I just don't have breeding like you, sir. A commoner like myself doesn't meet many folks at your level, sir."

"You have such humble beginnings, and I have a soft spot for the common man of Traldalor." Sir Grey pulled his sword back. "Let this be a lesson to you, for I will only say it once. Traldalorians pride themselves on not supporting patriarchal social structures that favor one gender over another. Nor do we oppress any sexual orientation. Now, tell the men to kill everyone they see who is a dwarf, elf, halfling, or any other nonhuman scum. We will sort out the bodies later. Now go!"

Sir Grey cut the rope holding Corwin to the wall. After hitting the ground, the squire sat up and felt his neck; it was a minor miracle that his head was still attached. The squire bowed while he backed away. "Yes, yes. Very good, sir!"

Once Corwin was out of reach of his master's blade, he ran.

Sir Grey turned to Lady Mordock and chuckled. "Women can't be warlocks. Can you believe that?"

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