Empire of Avarice (38 page)

Curious faces turned their way as they rode slowly down
the street, abreast of each other, the pack animals obediently following at the
end of ropes. Lalaas stopped and looked to his right. A man was standing by the
entrance to his hut, dressed in woollen clothes and holding a staff. He was
older than most of the others and around his neck wore a metal plate. Lalaas
knew what this was. In Kastania every village elder carried this as a mark of
his or her status. This posed a question in Lalaas’ mind; were these people
Kastanian or were they Valchians who had copied a tradition from over the
border?

“Hail,” Lalaas said, raising his palm. “We seek shelter
and a place to sleep the night.”

“Hail,” the elder replied, stepping forward. “Kastanian,
eh? Glad you’re not Bragalese or Valchian raiders. Makes a change to have our
own people pass through here.”

Amne and Lalaas exchanged looks of relief. This would
make things easier. “We’re on our way to Mazag. We got separated from our
friends and are a little lost. We would appreciate shelter and food for the
night.”

“That we have. You’re both welcome. Lovely woman you
have there.”

Lalaas glanced at Amne and smiled. “We’re cousins. I’m
grateful for your hospitality. Where can we rest these animals?”

The elder pointed at a barn behind a house to the left. “That’s
the village barn. Pop them in there. You’ll have to check they’re alright; we
haven’t got anyone skilled with equines. We’ve only got bovines and wool
beasts, and porcines but they’re not in there, of course.”

Lalaas nodded. “Can my cousin get out of this rain right
now? I’ll take care of the animals.”

The elder extended his hand, indicating his own home. “I
live alone these days; my wife died two years ago. My home is yours for the
night.”

Amne jumped off her beast and gratefully allowed herself
to be led into the house while Lalaas took the animals to the barn and
unsaddled them, checked for feed, and found some lying around, and then stowed
the saddles and packs in a corner away from the animals. By the time he’d done
all that night had fallen and he stumbled awkwardly through the mud and rain to
the house and let himself in.

Amne and the elder were sitting by an open fire and
talking. Amne was wrapped in a thick cloak and her dress was hanging from a
length of rope suspended in turn from two hooks set in the ceiling close to the
fire. “Wondered where you’d got to,” Amne smiled, her cheeks red. The fire was
warming her up nicely.

“Took a bit of time settling the animals. That fire
looks inviting.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t got a spare cloak for you,” the
elder apologised.

Lalaas waved the words aside. “It’s not a problem. I’ll
sit here and dry myself. Excuse me while I get out of this shirt and jacket.” He
peeled off his sodden clothes to reveal his muscled torso, and a few scars. Amne’s
eyes widened and she looked away self-consciously. The elder, a white-haired
man with a kindly face and gentle blue eyes, introduced himself as Markel. Lalaas
sat on the earthen floor by the fire, in the middle of the other two who were
seated on roughly carved stools, and introduced himself to Markel.

Markel nodded towards Amne. “I’ve told Amne here already
how we came to be here; the war in Bragal drove us over the river four years
ago. The Bragalese were systematically wiping out all non-Bragal villages and
we knew we had to leave. So we took the decision to come here. This is nobody’s
land and we’ve settled here and made this wood our own. We get visits every so
often by people fleeing the war or riders saying they represent this warlord or
that warlord, and we always pay a tithe to keep them off our backs.”

“We must reward you for your kindness,” Amne said.

“Oh, we don’t look to be paid for basic courtesy; it’s a
shame others don’t feel the same way,” Markel added wistfully. “We’re
self-sufficient here, we lack nothing we need. Coins mean nothing to us.”

“What about the slavers?” Lalaas asked. “The slave trade
operates here still, so I’m told.”

“Oh, yes, that.” Markel snorted. “They don’t come here. Or
at least, not to stay. They do pass through on occasions but we stay out of
their way and they’re always full with slaves. The war in Bragal had given them
plenty of trade, and to be honest it’s affected the price. The cost of a slave
has fallen in the last couple of years and now they’re hardly making ends meet
there’s so many on the market.”

“I’m glad,” Amne said, “it’s a dreadful business, it
ought to be stopped.”

Markel shrugged. “That would take a lot of effort from
someone, and nobody owns this place.”

Lalaas was about to say something but he decided to keep
his own counsel. There was something not quite right about it all and he needed
to think about what had been said and what he’d seen. Amne though wasn’t finished
with the subject quite yet. “Well somebody should! If there was a ruler here
they’d stop this practice, wouldn’t they?”

Markel nodded. “But who’d bother? This place is wild;
untamed. We’re happy here, paying our protection tithe and not being bothered
by anyone. No taxes, no laws, no rules. It’s a nice change from what we’ve
known before!”

“Well, someone should!” Amne looked at Lalaas. “What do
you think?”

Lalaas pursed his lips. “Only Mazag and the empire could
possibly make the effort, and Kastania is too beset by its own worries at
present to look here. I’d think Mazag might try, if they thought nobody else
would be worried about it.”

Markel waved a hand. “I’m getting a little too old to be
worrying about that sort of thing; if Mazag did take over they’d be too busy
with the building up of the province with their lands across the mountains to
worry about our little community here.”

“Possibly,” Lalaas conceded, “but they would send
soldiers down here to garrison their new frontier with the empire; you’re only
half a day’s ride from the border here. I suspect they may turn your community
into the local defence headquarters.”

Leaving Markel to worry about that, Lalaas declared he
was tired and needed to turn it in for the night. He took his clothes from the
improvised clothes line and found them to still be damp but passable. The old
villager showed them a room they could share and left them to it. Amne brought
her clothes to the room and looked for a place to hang them. There was precious
little for her to hang them from except an old chair, so she used the back of
that. There was a single bed, roughly cut and clearly made by one of the
villagers, with a straw mattress and pillows and an eiderdown stuffed with
feathers. A single candle flickered on a poor side table by the bed.

“Oh,” Amne said, realising that they were meant to share
the bed.

“You sleep in there, Amne,” Lalaas said, surprising her
with his familiarity. She was about to correct him when she caught sight of him
furiously motioning that Markel may be listening at the door.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Lalaas. Where are you going to
sleep?”

“That chair looks comfortable,” Lalaas said loudly, then
he crept softly to the door and listened. After a few moments he heard the
tread of footsteps and was satisfied Markel was returning to the living room. He
looked round the room. One window, looking out over the rear of the house onto
the animal pens, and beyond that the woods. He checked it and found there was a
latch he could undo and open the window inwards. It was big enough to squeeze
through.

“What are you doing?” Amne whispered, intrigued.

“We’re going to have to leave fairly soon,” Lalaas
whispered softly back, almost into her ear. “We’re in danger.”

Amne looked at him in surprise, her expression half seen
in the candle light. “What do you mean?”

“Markel and these villagers are involved in the slave
trade in some manner.”

“What?” Amne almost forgot to whisper. “What makes you
think that?”

“Markel’s lying. He speaks of slavers and their slaves
passing through this village, yet that track we followed shows no sign of heavy
use – no equine tracks, just a few footprints. If it were used that heavily it
would show signs of wear. Outside the village, there’s little sign of that.”

“The track could have recovered since it was last used.”

Lalaas shook his head. “And Markel says the slave trade
has become flooded with the war. I’ve seen this war and there’s no slave trade.
Prisoners on the imperial side were always taken to the mines of Turslenka;
Bragalese rebels always executed theirs. Nobody did any deal with Valchian
slavers, so that’s lie number two.”

“So why would he lie?” Amne looked frightened.

“To make us think we’re safe; I think he and his
villagers have bought themselves immunity from the slavers in return for
supplying them with slaves whenever anyone passes through here. From what I
know of the slave trade most of their supply comes from further west and north.
Yes, there are some from Kastania, but not in sufficient numbers to make much
difference, and then they’re mostly transported by ship. The imperial forces
would never permit the passage of slaves across their lands.”

“And quite right too!” Amne said in a furious whisper. “So
what do we do?”

“We’re on the wrong side of the village to get to our
equipment. It’s over the other side. I suspect Markel’s gone to alert his
fellow slavers. They’ll take our equines and equipment and take us prisoner and
transport us to Bukrat in the morning.”

“Are you sure, Lalaas?” Amne breathed, now very scared.

“Almost certain. What is clear is we can’t stay here
tonight. I’m afraid we’ll have to take our chances outside. My weapons are in
the barn too and I’ll need them.”

“What are you going to do?”

Lalaas took hold of her by the shoulders and stared
intently into her eyes. “I’m going to go get them; you’re going to have to stay
here and wait for me.”

“No!” Amne objected, “I’m coming with you!”

“I will be faster and it’ll be less likely that I’m seen
if I’m alone – and there may be violence. I will have to be sure whoever I’m
face to face with out there in the dark and rain is an enemy.”

“But I’ll be alone – what if they come for me?” Amne
took hold of Lalaas’ damp jacket and looked intently at him. “Please take me –
I’m ordering you to!”

“No,” Lalaas sternly whispered, taking her hands in his.
“I won’t be long. Wait here for me. I’ll ride round to this side into the woods
and come for you. If anyone tries to break in, leave by the window and wait out
in the woods.” He firmly pulled her hands from his clothing and took the chair,
passing Amne her clothes. He wedged the chair against the door under the
handle. “This’ll stop them for a few moments, giving you time to climb out.

“Please,” Amne pleaded, clutching her clothes to
herself.

“Amne, I really need to hurry and I may encounter people
who may try to use force to stop me. I don’t want you getting hurt in what
would be the resulting fight. For my sake, and yours, stay here until I return.
I shan’t be long, I promise.”

“You don’t want me with you, isn’t that it?” Amne spat hoarsely.

“Not for this particular piece of probably nasty work,
no. Otherwise yes. Now get dressed and wait.”

Amne looked at him angrily, and with fear as well. Lalaas
sighed. He gently placed his hands against her face. “I’ll be back, I promise. I
made a vow to your father never to let you down, and I’ll keep that promise.”

Amne looked away and Lalaas made his way to the window. He
pulled it open and looked unenthusiastically out into the gently falling rain. At
least it wasn’t driving rain, that would have made it very uncomfortable. He
clambered out and landed in some nettles, growing thickly underneath the
window. The land rose immediately beyond the back of the house and a pen for
porcines stood a few paces away. The smell of their ordure reached him and he
could make out a dark shape at the end of the pen, probably their shelter. He
made his way quickly around this and into the woods, then turned left and
skirted the edge of the trees, keeping the few lights of the village in sight,
then almost stumbling down onto the track as it suddenly appeared in front of
him.

Crossing it in two strides he made another quarter
circle, the rain pattering down onto his head directly or dripping from the
leaves, and headed for the huge looming black shape of the barn.

He came on it from the woods rather than from the
village as he’d done before, and he could hear voices. Torches were being held,
he could see, and he crept up to the opening and peered in. Five people were
there, holding a meeting. All were men. One was Markel, the other four much
younger, fitter, stronger and armed with clubs and sticks.

“The girl will fetch a high price,” Markel was saying,
“and we’ll be well rewarded for handing her over. She’s quite a pretty thing
and educated.”

“Then they’ll need to break her in; educated people take
a bit more effort to make them obedient,” one of the others rumbled.

“You haven’t seen her,” Markel countered. “Beauty is
valued; she has it. Mark my words, she’ll fetch us a nice reward.”

“And the man?” a third asked.

“Knock him out; he’s trouble,” Markel said harshly. “He
looks pretty fit and his right arm’s much more developed than his left. He uses
a weapon.”