Chapter Forty-Six

There was something satisfying about pain, at least in certain contexts. Or so Skana thought as the bruise formed on her body. The tip of her sword was at Micah’s neck, his head tilted back, he stared at her, not with the anger she expected. Nor with the fear that was natural when a sword was at someone’s throat and so was understandable. Instead, it was something closer to respect on his face. He was breathing hard, but his hands still glowed with mana when Speranzi clapped her hands to call an end to the match.

“Not bad.” He admitted as Skana relaxed and put away her sword. “I’ve never fought a sword dancer before. You hop around like a frog on hot rocks.”

Skana was not the only one to laugh as mild foot stomping from among the other warriors off the Black Quivers acknowledged the quality of the match. “Thanks, Micah. It’s something that suits me pretty well. I’m not as strong as her,” she inclined her head toward Speranzi, “but I’m graceful, have a lot of stamina, and even Bodger said I had a good eye for exact strikes, even if I’m not that good out of sword reach. And honestly, I’ve never seen a mage who could fight up close.”

“That’s her doing.” Micah said, inclining his head toward Speranzi’s back as she picked out the next two combatants. “Fists don’t need mana.” He said and chuckled as he quoted their commander.

It was surprisingly good natured, in Ahmarantha’s view. Accustomed to stern faced humans who smiled little to each other and never to him, this band of armored nightmares were somehow able to brawl and kick and practice killing each other, then the winner would help the loser rise and they would laugh over broken teeth and bruises while a healing caster rid them of their injuries.

It was a strange thing to see people laughing and joking in such circumstances, and close by, his human master seemed to detect his discomfort in the way Ahmarantha shuffled his feet while he stared into the circle of combatants.

‘They are an energetic lot, aren’t they?’ Corwin asked himself rhetorically, most of them he knew by face if not by name after so many journeys back and forth, and much as he viewed Speranzi as a niece, these were like long time retainers, trusted aides. If not comrades, they were at least on favorable terms. He held his hands behind his back until he felt Ahmarantha’s discomfort grow and reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder. He leaned over slightly as the slender elf boy stiffened a little, then whispered, “Don’t be frightened. This is just how they are. They mean no harm, I promise you.”

Behind him, the elves were watching with something other than anxiety, as he glanced at them now and then, it took time for Corwin to work out what it was. And as usual, his lifetime of trading served him well. The way they leaned forward would have suggested that they were spectating the matches.

But the way he saw the slight widening of the whites of their eyes was closer to greed. While the way they held their hands on the sides of the wagon, fingers tight against the brown wood and each other, if it were that alone, he would have thought they were experiencing fear.

Fear however, was not what it was.

Corwin recalled the faces of small children whose hands grasped for candy that parents or servants carried them away from when they saw other children being indulged. He recalled how he played to people’s emotions when they saw somebody buy something that they could not. ‘I got a lot of letters of credit out of those people.’ He recalled with almost smug satisfaction when he identified the emotion.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Envy.

Speranzi and her band were strong, fit, and by most standards, well off at the very least, well fed, well dressed, and all walked with shoulders back, eyes forward. Proud, strong, and to a common slave… rich. They got in each other’s faces, they laughed and mocked one another, no hint of fear was to be had even when they held weapons at the ready as if they intended murder.

To the elven slaves? ‘Even their camaraderie is a point of envy. Give a slave a honeycake and he’ll sell out his oldest friend’s gossip to a master or an overseer. Even their own children can’t be completely trusted… to have come so far, this group must have been exceptional, and seeing Speranzi and her soldiers must be like looking at paradise itself.’

All they could do for the rest of the day was stew in their envy, and watch as the elite company went through mock duels and drills that included shooting arrows at targets along the shore, making wagers in copper coins or beer rations, making music on their short breaks…

And in Skana’s case? Dancing.

Speranzi watched, seated on the chain which swayed back and forth in the breeze. Her feet pressed flat on the surface of the barge, she pushed and pulled her body on the chain. Gently rocking, in her grip was a mug of ale, her daily ration for the trip and one of the things she always negotiated as a benefit to herself and her soldiers.

She watched as Skana danced, arms and legs moving with the perfect precision that came with a lifetime of experience, and she watched the soldiers who clapped and stamped their feet along with the music of a fife and a lute one of the other warriors carried with them amidst their scant personal effects.

With nobody looking her way, and the warm sun on her shoulder and in her straw-colored hair, it was a rare moment of peace. She looked away, watching the water that splashed against the side of the boat. Her soldiers had a faint odor of sweat about them now, ‘Nothing a quick dip in the water won’t cure.’ She thought with a little smirk that none of them saw.

With the land far away and nothing bigger than a small boat belonging to a rare fisher sharing the current with them, it was the very picture of ideal. ‘If I ever retire, this is the kind of place I’d like. Something on the water, where I can watch the ripples and feel the sun, and nothing and nobody will bother me for the rest of my days, maybe watch my soldiers… they’re as close to children as I’ll ever have, train the next generation. That would be nice.’

It was enough to bring out a rare smile that lasted for quite some time, even if nobody saw it, and her heart was left warm right up until it was time to sleep that night.

Not that she slept a great deal. As she lay down on her bedroll amidst the snoring ranks of her soldiers and stared up at the night sky with its endless twinkling stars above while the barge bobbed up and down beneath her, all she really felt was a vague sense of unease.

‘He’s exaggerating.’ Speranzi told herself. The words of Corwin came back to her again. ‘It is a dark place, a cruel place. If you believe the gods favor humanity when you arrive, when you leave you will be either a monster, or you will believe that, no more.’

The fact that the elven slaves currently in his service were fearful of returning there, and feared a brutal punishment that far exceeded what was done even for murder was a clear argument that Corwin was right.

‘But even so,’ she told herself, ‘I only need to let the temples know, it’s a holy city with ties to the Divine Kingdom, I’m sure their priesthood has simply removed themselves from the affairs of men. If I tell them what is going on outside, they’ll remember their views to be great stewards of the world and stop whatever cruelty is being done in the name of the gods.’

Despite her reassurances, it did not let her sleep any better, which was why Speranzi was the first to catch sight of the city walls.

All she could whisper was, ‘We are truly chosen of the gods…’ when the spectacle came into view.