into the Astel marshes in the south of the kingdom. He’d made secret
alliances with patriots in Edam, and there was a huge army lining the
southern fringe of the marshes. Serfs who lived in the region guided
Ayachin’s armies through the bogs and quicksand, but the Eosians tried to
just bull their way through, and most of them drowned, pulled under by all
that muck. The few who reached the far side were slaughtered by the
combined forces of Ayachin and his Edomish allies. He was a great national
hero for a time, of course, till the nobles who had been outraged because
he’d armed the serfs conspired against him, and he was eventually murdered.
‘
‘why do these stories always have to end that way?’ Talen complained. ‘Our
young friend here is a literary critic,’ Stragen said. ‘He wants his
stories to all have happy endings.’ The ancient history is all well and
good,’ Djukta growled, ‘but the point of all this is that Ayachin’s
returned – or so the serfs say.’
‘It’s a part of the folk-lore of Astel,’ Akros said. ‘Serfs
used to tell each other that someday a great crisis would arise, and that
Ayachin would rise from the grave to lead them again.’
Stragen sighed. ‘Can’t anyone come up with a new story?’
‘What’s that?’ Djukta asked him.
‘Nothing, really. There’s a similar story making the rounds in Eosia. Why
would this concern us if we decided to go into business around here?’
‘Part of that folk-lore Akros was telling’ you about is something that
makes everybody’s blood run cold. The serfs believe that when Ayachin
returns, he’s going to emancipate them. Now there’s a hot-head out there
stirring them up. We don’t know his real name, but the serfs call him
‘Sabre’. He’s going around telling them that he’s actually seen Ayachin.
The serfs are secretly gathering weapons – or making them. They sneak out
into the forests at night to listen to this ‘Sabre’ make speeches. You
should probably know that they’re out there, since it might be dangerous if
you happened upon them unexpectedly.’ Djukta scratched at his shaggy beard.
‘I don’t normally feel this way, but I wish the government would catch this
Sabre fellow and hang him or something. He’s got the serfs all worked up
about throwing off the oppressors, and he’s not too specific about which
oppressors he means. He could be talking about the Tamuls, but many of his
followers think he’s talking about the upper classes. Restless serfs are
dangerous serfs. Nobody knows how many of them there really are, and if
they begin to get wild ideas about equality and justice, God only knows
where it might end.’
Chapter 10
%’We’d go a long way toward understanding the situation if we could
pinpoint just exactly what he is after, Emban added. ‘Opportunity,’ Ulath
suggested. ‘if everything’s all settled and the wealth and power have all
been distrib- uted, there’s nothing left for the people coming up the
ladder. The only way they can get their share is to turn everything upside
down and shake it a few times.’
‘That is a brutal political theory, Sir Ulath,’ Oscagne said
disapprovingly. ‘It’s a brutal world, your Excellency,’ Ulath shrugged.
‘i’d have to disagree,’ Bevier stubbornly asserted. ‘Go right ahead, my
young friend,’ Ulath smiled. ‘I don’t mind all that much when people
disagree with me.’
‘There is such a thing as genuine political progress. The people’s lot is
much better now than it was five hundred years ago.’
‘Granted, but what’s it going to be like next year?’
Ulath leaned back in his saddle, his blue eyes speculative. ‘Ambitious
people need followers, and the best way to get people to follow you is to
promise them that you’re going to correct everything that’s wrong with the
world. The promises are all very stirring, but only babies expect leaders
to actually keep them.’
‘You’re a cynic, Ulath.’
‘I think that’s the word people use, yes.
The weather grew increasingly threatening as the morning progressed. A
thick bank of purplish cloud marched steadily in from the west, and there
were flickers of lightning along the horizon. ‘It’s going to rain, isn’t
it?’ Tynian asked Khalad. Khalad looked pointedly toward the cloud-bank.
‘That’s a fairly safe bet, Sir Knight,’ the young man replied. ‘How long
until we start to get wet?’
‘An hour or so – unless the wind picks up.’
‘What do you think, Sparhawk?’ Tynian asked. ‘Should we look for some kind
of shelter?’ There was a far-off rumble of thunder from the west. ‘I think
that answers that question,’ Sparhawk decided. ‘Men dressed in steel don’t
have any business being out in a thunderstorm.’
‘Good point,’ Tynian agreed. He looked around. ‘The next question is
where? I don’t see any woods around.’ we might have to set up the tents.’
That’s awfully tedious, Sparhawk.’
‘So’s being fried in your armour if you get struck by lightning.’ kring
came riding back toward the main column with a small, two-wheeled carriage
following him. The man in the cariage was blond, plump and soft-looking. He
wore clothing cut in a style which had gone out of fashion in the west
forty years ago. ‘This is the landowner Kotyk,’ the Domi said to Sparhawk.
‘He calls himself a baron. He wanted to meet you.’
‘I am overwhelmed to meet the stalwarts of the church, Sir Knights,’ the
plump man gushed. we are honoured, Baron Kotyk,’ Sparhawk replied,
inclining his head politely. ‘My manor house is nearby,’ Kotyk rushed on,
‘and I do’ foresee unpleasant weather on the horizon. Might I offer my poor
hospitality?’
‘As I’ve told you so many times in the past, Sparhawk,’ Bevier said
mildly, ‘you have but to put your trust in God. He will provide.’ Kotyk
looked puzzled. ‘A somewhat feeble attempt at humour, my Lord,’ Sparhawk
explained. ‘My companions and I were just discussing our need for shelter.
Your most generous offer solves a rather vexing problem for us.’ Sparhawk
was not familiar with local customs, but the Baron’s ornate speech hinted
at a somewhat stiff formality. ‘I note that you have ladies in your
company,’ Kotyk observed, looking toward the carriage in which Ehlana rode.
‘Their comfort must be our first concern. We can become better acquainted
once we are safely under my roof.’
‘We shall be guided by you, my Lord,’ Sparhawk
agreed. ‘I pray you, lead us whither you will, and I shall inform the
ladies of this fortuitous encounter.’ If Kotyk wanted formal, Sparhawk
would give him formal. He wheeled Faran and rode back along the column.
‘Who’s the fat fellow in the carriage, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana asked. ‘Speak not
disparagingly of our host, light of my life.’
‘Aren’t you feeli’ng well?’
‘The fat fellow has just offered us shelter from that thunderstorm
snapping at our heels. Treat him with gratitude if not respect.’
‘What a nice man.’
‘It might not be a bad idea for us to sort of keep your identity to
ourselves. We don’t know exactly what we’re walking into. Why don’t I just
introduce you as an aristocrat of some kind, and -‘
‘A Margravine, I think,’ she improvised. ‘Margravine Ehlana of Cardos.’
‘Why Cardos?’
‘It’s a nice district with mountains and a beautiful coastline. Absolutely
perfect climate and industrious, law-abiding people.’
‘You’re not trying to sell it to him, Ehlana.’ But I need to know the
pertinent details so that I can gush suitably.’ Sparhawk sighed. ‘All
right, my Lady, practise gushing then, and come up with suitable stories
for the others.’ He looked at Emban. ‘Are your morals flexible enough to
stand a bit of falsehood, your Grace?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘That depends on
what you want me to lie about, Sparhawk.’
‘It won’t exactly be a lie, your Grace,’ Sparhawk smiled. ‘if we demote my
wife, you’ll be the ranking member of our party. The presence of Ambassador
Oscagne here suggests a high-level visit of some sort. I’ll just tell Baron
Kotyk that you’re the Archprelate’s personal emissary to the Imperial
court, and that the Knights are your escort instead of the Queen’s.’ That
doesn’t stretch my conscience too far,’ Emban grinned. ‘Go ahead, Sparhawk.
You lie, and I’ll swear to it. Say whatever you have to. That storm is
coming this way very fast.’ Talen,’ Sparhawk said to the boy, who was
riding beside the carriage, ‘sort of move up and down the column and let
the knights know what we’re doing. A . misplaced ‘your Majesty” or two
could expose us all as frauds.’
‘
‘your husband shows some promise, Margravine Ehlana,’ Stragen noted. ‘Give
me some time to train him a bit, ‘and I’ll make an excellent swindler of
him. His instincts are good, but his technique’s a little shaky.’
‘Baron Kotyk’s manor house was a palatial residence in a park-like
setting, and there was a fair-sized village at the foot of the hill upon
which it stood. There were a number of large out-buildings standing to the
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