‘How could I?’ Killop said. ‘She was alive when I was captured, but I’ve not seen her since.’
Laodoc nodded.
‘Simi,’ Killop said. ‘What about you? You’ve never spoken of any family.’
She glanced away, while Laodoc flushed.
‘What is it?’ Killop asked. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, broken by Laodoc.
‘You can tell him.’
Simiona raised her head, but remained silent, her eyes unsure.
‘Go on,’ the old man said.
‘In Rahain,’ she said, ‘slave children are not brought up by their families. It doesn’t matter if their parents were slaves, or if a peasant family is selling one of their unwanted babies. The child is taken away and raised with other slaves. I remember living in a big house, in the cellar, with dozens of other children.’ She went quiet, paling at the memory.
‘What was it like?’ Killop said.
‘Please, Killop,’ she said, tears forming in her eyes. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
He sat back, his heart breaking for her. He glanced over at Laodoc, and saw the old man cringing with shame.
‘And what do you think of this… system?’ Killop asked him, as Simiona wept.
Laodoc glowered. ‘I don’t think that you are in any position to lecture me on my culture’s traditions.’
‘I wasn’t lecturing you,’ Killop said. ‘Just asking a question. Interesting that you called it a tradition. Isn’t that the word used to justify doing something that otherwise makes no rational sense?’
‘You think quoting my own words back at me is so very clever, don’t you?’
‘You’re changing the subject,’ Killop said. ‘I asked you for your thoughts on the bringing up of slave children.’
‘The rules are in place for a reason,’ Laodoc spat, his tongue flickering. ‘Remove one of them, and the whole structure of society would fall apart.’
‘And that excuses such cruelty?’ Killop said. ‘It makes me sick.’
‘She’s a possession!’ Laodoc shouted. ‘I own her! I do not have to justify anything, especially to another slave.’
‘A possession?’ Killop said. ‘What, like a gaien? Or a pig?’
Laodoc stood, his face convulsed with rage.
‘You can call her a possession,’ Killop said, ‘but I know the truth. You love Simiona like she was your daughter.’ He heard her gasp, and Laodoc’s expression changed from rage to surprise. ‘You wish she was your daughter.’
The old Rahain fell back into his chair, and put his head in his hands.
Killop looked at Simiona. The young slave woman was staring at Laodoc, pity and sadness etched on her face. She got up and went over to him, laying a hand on the old man’s shoulder.
‘What are the rules for freeing slaves?’ Killop asked. ‘There must be some mechanism.’
Laodoc didn’t answer.
‘It only applies,’ Simiona said, ‘to those who were not born into slavery. They can sometimes revert to their previous, free state, if someone pays off their bondage.’
‘Sorry to hear it, Simi,’ he said, ‘but does that mean I can be freed?’
She shook her head. ‘The Kellach are a special case. You’re all owned by the government, and are not allowed to be bought privately. Our master holds only your requisition papers.’
‘Simi?’ Laodoc said. ‘Would you please help me get to bed?’
‘Of course, master,’ she said, holding out her hand. Laodoc took it, and he pulled himself to his feet.
‘Good night, my boy,’ the old man slurred.
‘Good night, Laodoc.’
He watched as Simiona guided Laodoc from the room. He put down his wineglass, and picked up the brandy. He shook his head as he thought of the old Rahain. He was a good man at heart, but so blinded by the arrogant assumptions by which the Rahain elite lived their lives. It was so obvious to Killop that slavery was wrong, and yet it must seem obvious to Laodoc that it was a necessary part of society.
Killop poured himself a large brandy, and drained the glass.
He wondered if he could somehow engineer bringing Kallie and Bridget up to the cottage. It was the best possibility of escape that he could see, the only one in fact, that he had seen.
Killop looked at the door.
He could just get up, and walk out into the blizzard. He could pack a bag, and take a few of the fine kitchen knives that lay on the drying rack by the sink. A little bit of snow didn’t bother him. He could be free in five minutes.
‘That’s him asleep,’ he heard Simiona say, as she came back in. She caught his expression.
‘Thinking of running?’ she said, picking up her wineglass.
‘Don’t you?’
She laughed as if he were joking. ‘In this weather?’
‘You’d be all right in a heavy coat,’ he said. ‘I’d look after you. We take the food, and some clothes, we could be gone in moments.’
She sat, her expression dropping. She looked scared.
‘Please, Killop,’ she said. ‘Don’t say such things. I cannot hope, do you understand? I cannot allow myself to hope. It would break me.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes, while Killop began feeling the effects of the brandy. May as well get thoroughly drunk, he thought, pouring himself another measure.
‘I couldn’t run away,’ he said. ‘Not without Kallie and Bridget.’
‘It’s nice to see you and Kallie happy again,’ she said, sipping her wine.
He smiled, thinking about Kallie. She had been improving over the thirds, though she was still depressed and withdrawn at times, and her hatred of the Rahain hadn’t dimmed.
‘No more dreams of Daphne?’ Simiona asked.
‘One or two,’ he shrugged. ‘Don’t tell Kallie, though.’
‘I won’t,’ Simiona said. She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘It might be a mistake to tell you this, but I’ve seen her recently.’
‘Who? Daphne?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I spotted her a few nights ago, in the cavern where we live. I was going up to speak to her, but she’d vanished by the time I’d walked over.’
‘What was she doing?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It looked like she was watching the mansion.’
Killop didn’t know how he felt. Did he want to see her again, after all the trouble it had caused five thirds before? He had been lying to Simiona earlier. He had dreamed about Daphne countless times since meeting her. He gave his days to Kallie, but his nights belonged to the Holdings woman.
‘Have you heard the latest about the Kellach terrorist?’ Simiona said, interrupting his thoughts.
‘No,’ he said, draining another glass, his head swimming.
‘She’s been running rings around Laodoc’s son,’ she grinned. ‘There’s still not a single mine open, and she brought down an entire supply convoy, sent it falling from the sky, on fire, into the ocean.’
‘Sounds like you admire her.’
‘I think she’s wonderful,’ she replied. ‘Finally someone is standing up to the idiots in charge of this country. She is a hero, noble and honourable.’
‘Honourable?’ he slurred. ‘It’s clear you’ve never met my sister…’
Simiona opened her mouth in shock.
‘I knew you were keeping something from me!’ she cried, as his heart sank. ‘She’s your sister, Killop! The fire mage is your sister!’
He shook his head, cursing under his breath.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, looking at him with a new kind of respect. ‘I swear on my life that I’ll never betray this to anyone, not Laodoc, not anyone.’
He prayed to Pyre that she was telling the truth.
Chapter 17
Rendered
Rahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 23rd Day, Last Third Winter 504
‘Fellow councillors,’ Ziane said, his low voice booming out across the chamber. ‘The issue
before us is clear. A third of a million migrants are squatting on our doorstep, founding a new settlement, or more accurately, a slum, a pit of mud and squalor, and filth, all within a few days’ march of our fair and ancient cities. They are polluting the Vaharin River, and blocking the Tahrana Valley. Are we to just sit here, and allow them to swarm over our land like locusts, while we prevaricate, wring our hands, and do nothing?’
The Conservative paused, as his colleagues in the war coalition shouted ‘No!’.
‘Our Liberal cousins over there,’ Ziane pointed at the benches where Laodoc sat, ‘tell us that we should appease this horde of interlopers, trade with them, and, in fact, although they hesitate to say it out loud, allow them to settle in our Republic! What, I ask you, will the other peoples of this continent think when they hear of this capitulation, this craven weakness? Will they respect us? Will they fear us, as they should? No, they will laugh at us! Blockade the Rakanese, I say, continue to cut them off entirely until they either leave, or starve.’
The chamber echoed with roars of approval as the old politician sat, his colleagues slapping his back.
Several councillors stood, Laodoc among them, trying to catch the lord speaker’s eye.
The nod went to a Patriot called Kaeotip, the replacement for the councillor who had died in his bath the previous autumn. Laodoc sat again.
‘My esteemed fellow councillor speaks wisely,’ she began, ‘but, in my view, does not go nearly far enough. If we merely continue to blockade the amphibians’ camp, as he suggests, then there is a high chance they will revolt, and we will have to fight them. And if that is the case, and an armed conflict is inevitable, then we should choose the time and setting of the clash ourselves, rather than wait for them to get desperate. I see, across the chamber, some sceptical glances in my direction, at the thought that these parasites might be up for a fight. But I ask you this, if they came in peace, as some suggest, then where are their children, where are their old folk? Every last one of them, all three hundred thousand, is of fighting age, of military age. They did not come in peace! They filled up their own miserable land, and now they have come for ours! I propose that we demand the High Senate orders a general mobilisation, and an all-out assault on the migrant camp as quickly as can be arranged. We must purge this infestation from our flesh before it is too late!’
She sat, amid uproar. Over half of the members were on their feet, shouting and pointing across the chamber. Laodoc looked over at the benches of the Merchant Party, many of whom were sweating. He chewed his lip, wondering if they would keep their nerve. For many days, he had been working on them, meeting each councillor individually, trying to persuade them to vote for his proposal, and running through the vast potential profits to be made if they traded with the immigrants, rather than vilified them.
Several had pledged their votes to him, but in the volatile atmosphere of the debating chamber, the Merchants looked like they were feeling the pressure. With thirty-four Liberal votes secure, Laodoc needed nearly all of the twenty Merchants to swing his way.
The High Senate had already voted to continue the blockade, so in many ways the posturing of the Patriots in the City Council was needless, however his own proposal offered something more practical. The High Senate would find it hard to stop the council from sending its own trade mission to the Rakanese, and there was a chance that, by the time the legal means had been found to stop them, it would be too late, and peaceful trade would have begun.
It was risky, Laodoc knew. His fellow Liberals were queasy at the thought of alienating the mass of peasants, for whom hatred of the Rakanese was passionate and heartfelt, and had only agreed to support him if he could guarantee that the Merchants would do the same. His old Hedgers, he thought, were the most likely to vote alongside him, their nose for a profitable deal out-weighing any thought of public approbation.
He remembered the thrill he had felt leading his small party through countless tight sessions of the council, their eleven votes often making the difference between victory and defeat. Every other party had courted him, and complimented his acumen, until he had believed himself invincible.
Now, his stomach was tight, his throat dry, and he felt old, and tired.
Laodoc rose to his feet as the lord speaker gazed around, and he got the nod.
‘Lord Speaker,’ he said, lifting his voice to fill the room. ‘Our nation is at a crossroads. We have conquered the Kellach lands, and we control half the Plateau. Our armed forces are the greatest the world has ever seen. We are feared, and respected, as we should be, just as my fellow councillor remarked earlier. Now, the whole world watches us, to see what we will do, what actions we shall take, when faced with this unexpected challenge. They all look for the Rahain to show leadership, but among too many of us, our natural reaction is fear, and alarm, and we are tempted to lash out.’
He paused, scanning the room. Many were shaking their heads and muttering at him on the opposite benches.
‘There is another way,’ he said, ‘where everyone benefits. We should seize this opportunity, lease the land to the Rakanese, and trade with them.’ Shouts were now ringing through the chamber at his words. ‘Prosperity and peace,’ Laodoc shouted over the increasing noise. ‘Make of the Rakanese an ally, a trading partner. We don’t use or value the land where they have camped…’ He paused again, drowned out by the roar of disapproval coming from the war coalition benches.
The lord speaker banged his fist, shouting for silence.
‘You will allow the councillor to finish,’ he called out, ‘or you will be ejected from this chamber.’
The room quietened.
‘I propose,’ Laodoc said, ‘that the city sends a trade mission to the Rakanese camp, to talk with their leaders, and discuss a treaty.’
A loud chorus of boos echoed out, along with a few mocking laughs among the more confident Patriots. Laodoc sat.
‘Your proposal is noted,’ the lord speaker said. ‘Does it have a seconder?’
Wyenna, the veteran Liberal, rose, and nodded.
‘Thank you,’ the lord speaker said. ‘And a dissenter?’
Ruellap stood. As soon as they saw him, the others from the war coalition who had got up sat back down again.
‘Lord Speaker,’ Laodoc’s elder son said, ‘there is a word for what we have just heard, although it won’t pass my lips in this chamber. At this very moment, fellow councillors, down in the Tahrana Valley there are eighty thousand Rahain soldiers defending this Republic against a swarm of migrants four times their number! While our brave armed forces hold the line against this tide of wanton criminality and lawlessness, there are others in this chamber who would go behind the back of the most noble High Senate, the highest authority in this Republic, and cravenly seek to treat with the enemy.
‘For let us make no mistake,’ he went on. ‘The Rakanese are our enemy. If we do not demonstrate to them that this is our country, if we seek instead to appease them, then they will take full advantage. Does anyone here seriously believe, that if we allow them to settle, then more will not come? It is in their nature, part of their amphibian heritage. Another mass wave will follow the first one, as sure as night follows day, until they fill up our land, as they have filled up their own. Every river, every spring and mountain lake, every stream and every well, the degenerate Rakanese will befoul and despoil, with their breeding spawn, and their filth. They will outbreed us in a few generations, and when our ancient caverns are filled to overflowing, and our granaries empty, they will move on to the next victim. Such will be our fate, if we show weakness now, and such a fate we shall deserve, if we betray our nation and act like slaves, rather than the mage-blood of Rahain.
‘Yes,’ he continued, to a silent chamber, ‘they are our enemy. And those who seek to treat with the enemy? Well, there’s that word again, the word I will not pollute my lips with. Any in this chamber who may be tempted to add their vote in support of this proposal should beware that they, in turn, are not tarred wi
th the same word.’
Laodoc glanced over at the merchants. Their leader turned to him, and shook her head.
Next to him Pleonim sighed.
‘Sorry, old man,’ he whispered. ‘Not this time.’
‘I, however, trust in the High Senate’s judgement,’ Ruellap said, ‘and favour the continuation of the blockade. Furthermore, in order to place this great and noble chamber above any hint of suspicion, I now counter propose a ban on any and all contact between the city and the Rakanese.’
‘Thank you,’ the lord speaker said. ‘A seconder?’
He nodded at one of the many conservatives who stood.
‘A vote is called,’ the lord speaker said. ‘Those in favour of the proposal from Councillor Laodoc raise your hands.’
Laodoc raised his hand, along with Wyenna, who shrugged at him, and six of his ex-Hedgers.
‘And those in favour of Councillor Ruellap’s counter-proposal?’
A forest of hands went up on the opposite benches.
‘Councillor Ruellap’s counter-proposal is hereby carried by fifty-four votes to eight,’ the lord speaker announced. ‘And it is therefore and with immediate effect, declared a criminal offence to initiate or take part in, any and all contact or communication with the Rakanese camp, and any person therein. The clerks of the council will pass this decree to the jurists, who will appropriately compose and publish said decree in due course. This session is now ended, see you all in the bar.’
Laodoc remained seated as the rest of the councillors got to their feet and made their way across the marble floor to the great doors, which were being swung open. Most ignored him as they filed past, although he received mumbled apologies from a few Liberals who shuffled by.
‘You are still an eloquent speaker, father,’ Ruellap said as he approached. ‘It’s just a pity that the content is so lacking.’
‘We missed an opportunity today, son,’ Laodoc said. ‘One that may not come again. One that we may well regret not taking, if things escalate.’
‘That is for the High Senate to decide,’ his son said, sitting down next to him. ‘I understand, father, that you think you are trying to do the right thing, but we cannot allow a mass influx of foreigners to overwhelm us.’
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