The Riftwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

  Pug and Laurie sat on the steps of the temple, with six Tsurani guards lounging around. The guards had been civil – barely – for the entire journey. The travel had been tiring, if not difficult. With no horses, nor anything to substitute for them, every Tsurani not riding in a needra cart moved by power of shanks’ mare, their own or others. Nobles were carried up and down the wide boulevards on litters borne on the backs of puffing, sweating slaves.

  Pug and Laurie had been given the short, plain grey robes of slaves. Their loincloths, adequate in the swamps, were deemed unsightly for travel among Tsurani citizens. The Tsurani put some store upon modesty – if not as much as people in the Kingdom did.

  They had come up the road along the coast of the great body of water called Battle Bay. Pug had thought that if it was a bay, it was larger than anything so named in Midkemia, for even from the high cliffs overlooking it, the other side could not be seen. After several days’ travel they had entered cultivated pastureland and soon after could see the opposite shore closing in rapidly. Another few days on the road, and they had come to the city of Jamar.

  Pug and Laurie watched the passing traffic, while Hokanu made an offering at the temple. The Tsurani seemed mad for colors. Here even the lowliest worker was likely to be dressed in a brightly colored short robe. Those with wealth could be seen in more flamboyant dress, covered with intricately executed designs. Only slaves lacked colorful dress.

  Everywhere around the city, people thronged: farmers, traders, workers, and travelers. Lines of needras plodded by, pulling wagons filled with produce and goods. The sheer numbers of people overwhelmed Pug and Laurie, for the Tsurani seemed like ants scurrying about as if the commerce of the Empire could not wait upon the comfort of its citizens. Many who passed stopped to stare at the Midkemians, whom they regarded as giant barbarians. Their own height topped out at about five feet six inches, and even Pug was considered tall, having come to his full growth at five feet eight. For their part, the Midkemians had come to refer to the Tsurani as runts.

  Pug and Laurie looked about. They waited in the center of the city, where the great temples were. Ten pyramids sat amid a series of parks differing in size. All were richly appointed with murals, both tiled and painted. From where they were, the young men could see three of the parks. Each was terraced, with miniature watercourses winding through, complete with tiny waterfalls. Dwarf trees, as well as large shade trees, dotted the grass-covered grounds of the parks. Strolling musicians played flutes and strange stringed instruments, producing alien, polytonal music, entertaining those who rested in the parks or passed by.

  Laurie listened with rapt attention. ‘Listen to those halftones! And those diminished minors!’ He sighed and looked down at the ground, his manner somber. ‘It’s alien, but it’s music.’ He looked at Pug, and the usual humor was missing from his voice. ‘If I could only play again.’ He glanced at the distant musicians. ‘I could even develop a taste for Tsurani music.’ Pug left him alone with his longings.

  Pug glanced around the busy city square, attempting to sort out the impressions that had been coming without cease since entering the outer precinct of the city. Everywhere people hurried about their business. A short distance from the temples, they had passed through a market, not unlike those in Kingdom cities, but larger. The noise of hawkers and buyers, the smells, the heat, all reminded him of home in an odd way.

  When Hokanu’s party neared, commoners would step out of the way, for the guards at the head of the procession would call out ‘Shinzawai! Shinzawai!’ letting everyone know a noble approached. Only once did the party give way in the city; a group of red-clad men, robed in cloaks of scarlet feathers. The one that Pug took to be a high priest wore a mask of wood fashioned to resemble a red skull, while the others had red painted faces. They blew reed whistles, and people scattered to clear their line of march. One of the soldiers made a sign of protection, and later Pug learned these men were the priests of Turakamu, the eater of hearts, brother to the goddess Sibi, she who was death.

  Pug turned to a nearby guard and motioned for permission to speak. The guard nodded once, and Pug said, ‘Master, what god resides here?’ as he pointed to the temple where Hokanu prayed.

  ‘Ignorant barbarian,’ answered the soldier in a friendly manner, ‘the gods do not abide in these halls, but in the Upper and Lower Heavens. This temple is for men to make their devotions. Here my lord’s son makes an offering and petitions to Chochocan, the good god of the Upper Heaven and his servant, Tomachaca, the god of peace, for good fortune for the Shinzawai.’

  When Hokanu returned, they started off again. They made their way through the city, Pug still studying the people they passed. The press was incredible, and Pug wondered how they managed to stand it. Like farmers in a city for the first time, Pug and Laurie kept gawking at the wonders of Jamar. Even the supposedly worldly troubadour would exclaim about this sight or that. Soon the guards were chuckling over the barbarians’ obvious delight at the most mundane things.

  Every building they passed was fashioned from wood and a translucent material, clothlike but rigid. A few, like the temples, were constructed with stone, but what was most remarkable was that every building they passed, from temple to worker’s hut, was painted white, except for bordering beams and door frames, which were polished deep brown. Every open surface was decorated with colorful paintings. Animals, landscapes, deities, and battle scenes abounded. Everywhere was a riot of color to confound the eye.

  To the north of the temples, across from one of the parks and facing a wide boulevard, stood a single building, set apart by open lawns bordered with hedges. Two guards, dressed in armor and helm similar to those of their own guards, stood watch at the door. They saluted Hokanu when he approached.

  Without a word their other guards marched around the side of the house, leaving the slaves with the young officer. He signaled, and one of the door guards slid the large cloth-covered door aside. They entered an open hallway leading back, with doors on each side. Hokanu marched them to a rear door, which a house slave opened for them.

  Pug and Laurie then discovered the house was fashioned like a square, with a large garden in the center, accessible from all sides. Near a bubbling pool sat an older man, dressed in a plain but rich-looking dark blue robe. He was consulting a scroll. He looked up when the three entered, and rose to greet Hokanu.

  The young man removed his helm and then came to attention. Pug and Laurie stood slightly behind and said nothing. The man nodded, and Hokanu approached. They embraced, and the older man said, ‘My son, it is good to see you again. How were things at the camp?’

  Hokanu made his report on the camp, brieflly and to the point, leaving out nothing of importance. He then told of the actions taken to remedy the situation. ‘So the new overseer will see that the slaves have ample food and rest. He should increase production soon.’

  His father nodded. ‘I think you have acted wisely, my son. We shall have to send another in a few months’ time to gauge progress, but things could not become any worse than they were. The Warlord demands higher production, and we border on falling into his bad graces.’

  He seemed to notice the slaves for the first time. ‘These?’ was all he said, pointing at Laurie and Pug.

  ‘They are unusual. I was thinking of our talk on the night before my brother went to the north. They may prove valuable.’

  ‘Have you spoken of this to anyone?’ Firm lines set around his grey eyes. Even though much shorter, he somehow reminded Pug of Lord Borric.

  ‘No, my father. Only those who took council that night—’

  The lord of the house cut him off with a wave of the hand. ‘Save your remarks for later. “Trust no secrets to a city.” Inform Septiem. We close the house and leave for our estates in the morning.’

  Hokanu bowed slightly, then turned to leave. ‘Hokanu.’ His father’s voice stopped him. ‘You have done well.’ Pride plainly showing on his face, the young man left the garden.

 
The lord of the house sat again upon a bench of carved stone, next to a small fountain, and regarded the two slaves. ‘What are you called?’

  ‘Pug, master.’

  ‘Laurie, master.’

  He seemed to derive some sort of insight from these simple statements. ‘Through that door,’ he said, pointing to the left, ‘is the way to the cookhouse. My hadonra is called Septiem. He will see to your care. Go now.’

  They bowed and left the garden. As they made their way through the house, Pug nearly knocked over a young girl coming around a corner. She was dressed in a slave’s robe and carried a large bundle of washing. It went flying across the hall.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘I’ve just now washed these. Now I’ll have to do them over.’ Pug quickly bent to help her pick them up. She was tall for a Tsurani, nearly Pug’s height, and well proportioned. Her brown hair was tied back, and her brown eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. Pug stopped gathering the clothing and stared at her in open admiration. She hesitated under his scrutiny, then quickly picked up the rest of the clothes and hurried off. Laurie watched her trim figure retreat, tan legs shown to good advantage by the short slave’s robe.

  Laurie slapped Pug’s shoulder. ‘Ha! I told you things would be looking up.’

  They left the house and approached the cookhouse, where the smell of hot food set their appetites on edge. ‘I think you’ve made an impression on that girl, Pug.’

  Pug had never had much experience with women and felt his ears start to burn. At the slave camp much of the talk was about women, and this, more than anything else, had kept him feeling like a boy. He turned to see if Laurie was having sport with him, then saw the blond singer looking behind him. He followed Laurie’s gaze and caught a glimpse of a shyly smiling face pull back from a window in the house.

  The next day the household of the Shinzawai Family was in an uproar. Slaves and servants hurried every which way making ready for the journey to the north. Pug and Laurie were left to themselves, as there was no one among the household staff free enough to assign them tasks. They sat in the shade of a large willowlike tree, enjoying the novelty of free time as they observed the furor.

  ‘These people are crazy, Pug. I’ve seen less preparation for caravans. It looks as if they plan on taking everything with them.’

  ‘Maybe they are. These people no longer surprise me.’ Pug stood, leaning against the bole. ‘I’ve seen things that defy logic.’

  ‘True enough. But when you’ve seen as many different lands as I have, you learn that the more things look different, the more they are the same.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Laurie rose and leaned on the other side of the tree. In low tones he said, ‘I’m not sure, but something is afoot, and we play a part, be sure. If we keep sharp, we may be able to turn it to our advantage. Always remember that. Should a man want something from you, you can always make a bargain, no matter what the apparent differences in your stations.’

  ‘Of course. Give him what he wants, and he’ll let you live.’

  ‘You’re too young to be so cynical,’ Laurie countered, with mirth sparkling in his eyes. ‘Tell you what. You leave the world-weary pose to old travelers such as myself, and I’ll make sure that you don’t miss a single opportunity.’

  Pug snorted. ‘What opportunity?’

  ‘Well, for one thing,’ Laurie said, pointing behind Pug, ‘that little girl you nearly knocked over yesterday is appearing to have some difficulty in lifting those boxes.’ Pug, glancing back, saw the laundry girl struggling to stack several large crates ready to be loaded into wagons. ‘I think she might appreciate a little help, don’t you think?’

  Pug’s confusion was evident on his face. ‘What . . . ?’

  Laurie gave him a gentle push. ‘Off with you, dolt. A little help now, later . . . who knows?’

  Pug stumbled. ‘Later?’

  ‘Gods!’ laughed Laurie, fetching Pug a playful kick in the rump.

  The troubadour’s humor was infectious, and Pug was smiling as he approached the girl. She was trying to lift a large wooden crate atop another. Pug took it from her. ‘Here, I can do that.’

  She stepped away, uncertain. ‘It’s not heavy. It’s just too high for me.’ She looked everywhere but at Pug.

  Pug lifted the crate easily and placed it on top of the others, favoring his tender hand only a little. ‘There you are,’ he said, trying to sound casual.

  The girl brushed back a stray wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyes. ‘You’re a barbarian, aren’t you?’ She spoke hesitantly.

  Pug flinched. ‘You call us that. I like to think I’m as civilized as the next man.’

  She blushed. ‘I didn’t mean any offense. My people are called barbarians also. Anyone who’s not a Tsurani is called that. I meant you’re from that other world.’

  Pug nodded. ‘What’s your name?’

  She said, ‘Katala,’ then in a rush, ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Pug.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s a strange name. Pug.’ She seemed to like the sound of it.

  Just then the hadonra, Septiem, an old but erect man with the bearing of a retired general, came around the house. ‘You two!’ he snapped. ‘There’s work to do! Don’t stand there.’

  Katala ran back into the house, and Pug was left hesitating before the yellow-robed estate manager. ‘You! What’s your name?’

  ‘Pug, sir.’

  ‘I see that you and your blond giant friend have been given nothing to do. I’ll have to remedy that. Call him over.’

  Pug sighed. So much for their free time. He waved for Laurie to come over, and they were put to work loading wagons.

  • CHAPTER TWENTY •

  Estate

  THE WEATHER HAD TURNED COOLER DURING THE LAST THREE WEEKS.

  Still it hinted at the summer’s heat. The winter season in this land, if a season it properly was, lasted a mere six weeks, with brief cold rains out of the north. The trees held most of their bluish green leaves, and there was nothing to mark the passing of fall. In the four years Pug had abided in Tsuranuanni, there were none of the familiar signs that marked the passing seasons: no bird migrations, frost in the mornings, rains that froze, snow, or blooming of wild flowers. This land seemed eternally set in the soft amber of summer.

  For the first few days of the journey, they had followed the highway from Jamar, northward to the city of Sulan-Qu. The river Gagajin had carried a ceaseless clutter of boats and barges, while the highway was equally jammed with caravans, farmers’ carts, and nobles riding in litters.

  The Lord of the Shinzawai had departed the first day by boat for the Holy City, to attend the High Council. The household followed at a more leisurely pace. Hokanu paused outside the city of Sulan-Qu long enough to pay a social call upon the Lady of the Acoma, and Pug and Laurie found the opportunity to gossip with another Midkemian slave, recently captured. The news of the war was disheartening. No change since the last they had heard; the stalemate continued.

  At the Holy City, the Lord of the Shinzawai joined his son and the retinue on its journey to the Shinzawai estates, outside the City of Silmani. From then, the trek northward had been uneventful.

  The Shinzawai caravan was approaching the boundaries of the family’s northern estates. Pug and Laurie had little to do along the way except occasional chores: dumping the cook pots, cleaning up needra droppings, loading and unloading supplies. Now they were riding on the back of a wagon, feet dangling over the rear. Laurie bit into a ripe jomach fruit, something like a large green pomegranate with the flesh of a watermelon. Spitting out seeds, he said, ‘How’s the hand?’

  Pug studied his right hand, examining the red puckered scar that ran across the palm. ‘It’s still stiff. I expect it’s as healed as it will ever be.’

  Laurie took a look. ‘Don’t think you’ll ever carry a sword again.’ He grinned.

  Pug laughed. ‘I doubt you will either. I somehow don’t think they’ll be finding a place
for you in the Imperial Horse Lance.’

  Laurie spat a burst of seeds, bouncing them off the nose of the needra who pulled the wagon behind them. The six-legged beast snorted, and the driver waved his steering stick angrily at them. ‘Except for the fact that the Emperor doesn’t have any lancers, due to the fact that he also doesn’t have any horses, I can’t think of a finer choice.’

  Pug laughed derisively.

  ‘I’ll have you know, fella-me-lad,’ said Laurie in aristocratic tones, ‘that we troubadours are often beset by a less savory sort of customer, brigands and cutthroats seeking our hard-earned wages – scant though they may be. If one doesn’t develop the ability to defend oneself, one doesn’t stay in business, if you catch my meaning.’

  Pug smiled. He knew that a troubadour was nearly sacrosanct in a town, for should he be harmed or robbed, word would spread, and no other would ever come there again. But on the road it was a different matter. He had no doubt of Laurie’s ability to take care of himself, but wasn’t about to let him use that pompous tone and sit without a rejoinder. As he was about to speak, though, he was cut off by shouts coming from the front of the caravan. Guards came rushing forward, and Laurie turned to his shorter companion. ‘What do you suppose that is all about?’

  Not waiting for an answer, he jumped down and ran forward. Pug followed. As they reached the head of the caravan, behind the Lord of the Shinzawai’s litter, they could see shapes advancing up the road toward them. Laurie grabbed Pug’s sleeve. ‘Riders!’

  Pug could scarcely believe his eyes, for indeed it appeared that riders were approaching along the road from the Shinzawai manor. As they got closer, he could see that, rather than riders, there was one horseman and three cho-ja, all three a rich dark blue color.

  The rider, a young brown-haired Tsurani, taller than most, dismounted. His movement was clumsy, and Laurie observed, ‘They will never pose any military threat if that’s the best seat they can keep. Look, there is no saddle, nor bridle, only a rude hackamore fashioned from leather straps. And the poor horse looks like it hasn’t been properly groomed for a month.’