Storms of Destiny

by A. C. Crispin

  She looked up at the two slaves. “He’s dead,” she said, her voice sounding as though it came from far away.

  Eregard went even paler. “Dear Goddess,” he whispered.

  “What have I done?”

  Talis pushed herself to her feet, and only now did she feel the aches and pains from the fight. Her slashed forearm burned. She clasped it tightly with her other hand, trying to stanch the bleeding. “Why did you have to interfere?” she demanded angrily. “I was handling him. I didn’t need any help.”

  “I … I was afraid you’d kill him, or he’d kill you,” Eregard stammered. “But now, I killed him. They’ll hang me.”

  “Nonsense,” Talis snapped. The rush of anger was abating, leaving her light-headed and shaking, but rational once more. “His death was an accident.”

  He looked at her, and she had never seen such fear in a man’s eyes. “If I were free, it would be an accident,” he whispered. “But I’m not free. I’m a slave. Soon I’ll be a dead slave.”

  “The law is clear,” Gerdal said heavily. “The slave killed a free man, an overseer. He must hang.” He paced around his

  office, hands behind his back, shaking his head. “There is nothing else to be done.”

  Talis took a deep breath and counted to twenty. Slowly, deliberately, she sat down on a hassock, striving for calm. I can’t afford to lose my temper.

  “Father,” she said, keeping her voice level, “This is not a case of murder. There was no deliberate attack. What Eregard did was an accident.” She held up her bandaged hand and forearm. “Trevenio pulled a knife on me, remember?

  Eregard was trying to defend me.”

  “You explained that already,” Gerdal said. “And I understand that it really isn’t fair to hang the slave for what happened. But I can’t keep a slave here at Woodhaven who has caused the death of an overseer, no matter how it happened.

  It might give the other slaves ideas.”

  Talis had heard these arguments all her life. All of the estate owners had heard tales of slaves rising against their masters. Murder, looting, rape … when slaves revolted, no one was safe. She even agreed with her father, in principle.

  But this case was different.

  “All right,” she said, keeping her voice smooth and reasonable, “I understand how it might not be a good idea to keep the slave here. It could give the others ideas, I agree. But I don’t think he should be put to death. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Her father gave her an exasperated glance.

  “I know, I know, he’s just a slave. But,” she said, thinking fast, “sign him over to me, Father. When I go north to buy supplies, I’ll sell him and buy a replacement. That way we won’t do the wrong thing by killing him, and yet the other slaves won’t have him around to give them ideas.”

  Gerdal considered that for a moment. “Very well, daughter,” he said. “Make sure you get a decent price for him.” He walked over to his big oak desk, opened one of the bottom drawers, took out a file and began thumbing through it.

  “Hmmmm …” He removed a sheet of paper, scribbled for a moment, then blotted the ink carefully and handed the page to his daughter. “Here … I’ve transferred his ownership to you, Talis. Best if you don’t sell him around here. The story is bound to have spread by now.”

  Talis saw her chance and seized it. “I was thinking of going farther north, to Q’Kal,” she said. “It’s such a big market town, all the caravans stop there. Goods are priced more competitively.”

  Gerdal thought for a moment. “It’s several extra days travel. You’ll need a guardian.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Talis said.

  “It doesn’t look right for a young girl of marriageable age to be traveling with just a male slave to accompany her,”

  Gerdal pointed out. “Your mother would never forgive me.”

  Talis started to say more, then thought better of it. She nodded instead, not raising her eyes from the slave’s transfer of ownership.

  “Daughter,” Gerdal said hesitantly, “just one more thing …”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Why were you and Trevenio fighting? Did he … did he try to take liberties?”

  Talis was tempted to just say yes and let him think that.

  After all, it was true, in a manner of speaking. No, she thought. I’m not going to lie to protect my vermin of an uncle. “He asked me to marry him,” she said, her voice harsh with remembered anger. “He told me that I would be lucky to get him, since I’m ruined.”

  “Ruined?” Her father was taken aback. “What did he mean by—” He broke off, realization dawning on his features.

  “Uncle Jasti told him, Father,” Talis said, feeling a mean enjoyment at Gerdal’s expression. “I’m a slut. He’s told everyone about me.”

  “He … he …” Her father was sputtering now.

  “And what are you going to do about it, Father?” Talis did not try to gentle the edge in her voice. She was shaking with anger. “I’ll tell you what you’ll do— nothing. Just like before. Well, you do what you have to, and I’ll do what I must.

  I’ll say no more to anyone about this, but you will never mention the word marriage to me again. Never.”

  Her father looked at her. “But, Talis, Havier Carino doesn’t know. He told me he wants to—”

  Without waiting for him to finish, Talis turned and strode out of the room. There was nothing more to say.

  Gerdal hired a retired female mercenary named Clo to accompany Talis on her trip north. Clo was a short, stocky woman in her early forties with cropped graying hair, broad, freckled features, and keen blue eyes. She liked to sing as she rode, and told Talis several jokes that would have made Evonly faint dead away if she had heard them. Talis had heard worse, while working for Castio in the taverns, but she was careful at first to stick to her role as a gently raised daughter of a gentleman farmer. She wanted to take the woman’s measure, to see if she dared be honest with her, because she could tell that Clo could teach her a great deal about how a woman could become a better fighter.

  The three set out early on the second morning after Trevenio’s death. Clo drove the farm wagon with the goods they hoped to sell in Q’Kal, and Eregard rode beside her on the seat. Talis rode Bayberry, seated sidesaddle like a proper lady, though she had brought her regular saddle in the back of the wagon, and planned to use it when they were at least a day’s journey from North Amis. She didn’t want to risk running into people she knew while wearing trousers and riding astride.

  They made steady progress that day, good enough so that Talis decided to make camp well before sunset. She hobbled the wagon team and Bayberry to graze, while Clo fixed up their beds beneath the wagon. “I’ll start the fire,” Clo said.

  “And then I’ll do the cooking.”

  “We’ll share the chores,” Talis said. “I was raised on a farm, remember? I’m no city girl. I know how to cook over an open fire.”

  “All right,” Clo said, and her smile told Talis that she’d done something very right. “I’ll cook tonight, you cook tomorrow night. The slave cleans up. Fair?”

  “Fair enough,” Talis agreed.

  Reaching into the wagon bed, she took out a couple of blankets and headed over to a nearby tree. After dropping them at its foot, she went back to the wagon and took out a chain and a lock. Eregard, who was sitting on the wagon, bare feet dangling, gave her a quick glance, then looked away. “I gather that’s where I’ll be tonight, mistress?”

  Talis nodded. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take any chances. I had enough trouble convincing my father to sell you, rather than hang you. If you ran away, he’d not be pleased.” And besides, you’re my property now, she thought. The money I’ll get for you will be enough to keep me for a while, if I decide not to go back home.

  In fact, she was seriously considering not returning home.

  She could just send the wagon and the money for the sold crops back with Clo. The thought of her mother’s d
istress caused her a pang, but what was there for her back there?

  Only her father trying to push her into marriage, and Uncle Jasti’s vile lies.

  The slave nodded. “Yes, Mistress Aloro. Is there anything I can do before supper?”

  Talis nodded. “Rub down the horses, then give them each a measure of grain.”

  As soon as Eregard left, Talis reached into her bag and took out one of Castio’s books— The Art of Modern Warfare by General Serio Beldani. As the smell of wood smoke and then the enticing smell of frying bacon and corn mush filled the air, she read on, puzzling over some of the words, wishing the book had diagrams. It was difficult to visualize General Beldani’s battle plans.

  As she sat there—her small cache of books, pamphlets, and broadsides beside her—Talis sensed movement and looked up. The slave, Eregard, stood there, looking at the book she was reading. “Good old General Beldani,” he said, then looked disconcerted, as though he hadn’t meant to speak aloud. “Excuse me, mistress,” he said hastily. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Talis looked at him. “You’ve read this book?”

  “Uh …” he hesitated. “Mistress, it’s forbidden for slaves to read, unless the master commands it.”

  “I am not going to punish you,” Talis said. “Just tell me the truth.”

  He took a deep breath. “Yes, mistress, I read it.”

  “Did you understand it?”

  “Yes, mistress.” He looked panicky. “I did. But, mistress, I wasn’t born a slave.”

  “So I gather,” Talis said. “Well, if you understood what General Beldani was talking about in this chapter, when he discusses the effective deployment of cavalry, could you explain it to me?”

  Eregard blinked at her, and hesitated.

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “It will be our secret.”

  He glanced over at Clo, who was busily cooking, then shrugged. “As you say, mistress,” he said. “Now, when the general discusses cavalry deployments against superior infantry forces, he mentions several classic tactical situations.

  Imagine this is the opposing infantry, here …” Picking up a stick, he began sketching in the dirt.

  Talis watched, fascinated, as Eregard sketched and explained the military tactics the general was discussing in his book. They were still hard at work when Clo called them to supper.

  Talis ate fried cornmeal mush, bacon, eggs, and dried fruit. Eregard, as was proper, waited until they were done and Clo beckoned him forward, then they both piled the remains of their supper onto his plate.

  Instead of digging into the food with his fingers, the way slaves usually did, Eregard hesitated, placed his plate on one of the rocks beside the impromptu fireplace Clo had rigged, then went off to the nearby stream. Talis saw him kneel and wash his hands. He came back to retrieve his plate, and on impulse Talis held out a fork. “Here. Thank you for the lesson. Those diagrams helped.”

  He took the fork, bobbed a quick bow at her, then went off to sit on the tailgate of the wagon while he ate. Clo eyed Talis speculatively. “Something going on, Miss Aloro?”

  Talis smiled. “We’re going to be together for quite a while, Clo. Please, call me Talis.”

  The mercenary’s eyebrows lifted, then she nodded her cropped head. “All right, Talis. Something going on?”

  “That slave, Eregard,” Talis said thoughtfully, leaning her elbows on her knees, and idly pitching a wisp of straw that had caught in her tunic into the fire. “I believe he must have been born of gentle blood. He can read, and he understands military tactics.”

  “He does?” Clo was surprised. “Maybe he was once an officer?” She gave the slave a speculative glance. “Pretty young to be an officer, though.”

  “I asked him that. He said he hadn’t been.” Talis took up a charred stick and poked the fire. “Clo … did you like soldiering? You had rank, didn’t you?”

  The woman nodded proudly. “Aye, I was a sergeant when I retired. I loved soldiering. I wished I didn’t have to leave it, but m’joints got too stiff from sleepin’ on the ground.”

  “It was a good life?”

  Clo smiled. “It is. As long as you stay in shape and stay quick on your feet, you do fine. And when you get too old to do that … well, things usually take care of themselves. You don’t find too many soldiers droolin’ by the fire, eh?”

  “I suppose not. Is it hard to be a woman soldier? Aren’t the men … horrible?”

  Clo shrugged. “Well, they might be if’n you let ’em, so you have to prove yourself. You have to show them that you’re as tough as they are, or tougher. They have to learn that if they lay a hand on you and you don’t like it, blood will spill—theirs.”

  “Seems to me they’re all pigs,” Talis said, not looking up as she tucked in a corner of the bandage on her forearm. “Or mostly.”

  “They’re human, Talis, just like you and me, ’cept they’re more likely to let their crotches rule their heads sometimes than women are.” Clo laughed reminiscently. “But most of ’em are decent lads who’ll guard your back. I’ll tell you, I’d a sight rather march all day and then sleep in the rain with m’comrades than chase after a brood of brats, cooking and cleaning for some husband who treats me like dog turds.”

  “What made you decide to become a mercenary?”

  Clo began picking her teeth, and it was a moment before she answered. “When I was just a young girl, not much more than ten, I saw the King’s Army march by, with the drums a-beatin’ and the pipers piping away. I knew then I wanted to be a soldier. They told me girls couldn’t be soldiers, but as I grew, I kept my eyes open, and I saw that the mercenary outfits were smarter than the regular military. So I talked some of ’em into showing me how to fight.” She spat into the fire.

  “Turned out I had a real knack for it.”

  “I think I’ve got a knack for it, too,” Talis said after a moment. “My folks would never understand. All they want me to do is get married.”

  Clo’s weather-beaten features were sympathetic in the flickering light of the fire. “I know exactly what you mean, Talis. Mine were the same.”

  Talis held up the book she’d been reading. “Do you understand tactics?”

  Clo made a derisive sound. “Tactics? Bless you, Talis, tactics are for officers. I just stayed with my unit, and we did the best we could to follow the orders our lieutenant gave us. I suppose there are tactics involved, but when you’re in the thick of battle, you don’t see the words on the pages, or those little drawings with all those X’s and dotted lines. You see your mates, fighting, and you see the man in front of you that you’ve got to kill before he can shove his pike up your arse or get his musket reloaded in time to blow your face off.”

  Talis flinched at the blunt words. Clo noticed her expression. “Ah, missy, that’s the way of battle. It’s glamorous perhaps when you’re marchin’ along and the crowds are cheerin’

  you, but when you’re digging trenches so you can lie in ’em in the mud rather than bein’ blown to bits, that’s the way of it.”

  Talis thought about that for a while. Clo began gathering up the dishes, then beckoned to Eregard, who was looking at them expectantly. “Hey, you! Time for cleanup!”

  Quickly, the slave hopped off the tailgate and began tidying the campsite.

  Talis thought about what Clo had said that night as she lay in her bedroll. Clo was taking the first watch.

  A breeze stirred the topmost branches of the trees, a wind that carried a hint of rain. Talis hoped that it would hold off until morning. Chained as he was, Eregard could not get out of the rain, and if he got soaked, he might take a chill and become ill. And nobody would buy an obviously sick slave.

  Would Clo take me to her old unit when this journey is done?

  she wondered. The thought of never seeing Woodhaven again brought pain to her heart. What will my mother do without me?

  But her loyalty lay with Rufen Castio and his movement to bring freedom to Kata. Perhaps now
would be a good time to join the Cause full-time. I’ll talk to Rufen, see what he says. Just let me take care of Dad’s business this one more time, then it will be time for me to do what I want, for a change. If Eregard fetches a good price …

  She found herself thinking about Trevenio, and was suddenly, fiercely, glad that he was dead. If only I could get Uncle Jasti, she thought.

  Talis fell asleep with a smile on her lips, fantasizing about ways to kill her uncle.

  They made their way north, bypassing most of the towns. Clo cautioned against drawing attention to themselves. In these days, where Kata was used as a dumping ground for the royal prisons, there were far too many brigands roaming the land—desperate men and even women who would steal their horses and the clothes off their backs, with no more thought than most Katans would give to swatting a blood-sucking insect.

  They developed a routine as they traveled, similar to the one they had followed that first night. They camped in remote areas, far from any towns, homes, or farms. Clo and Talis alternated guard duty. Lost hours of sleep were made up the next day, napping in the bed of the wagon as it creaked along. As soon as the horses were unhitched, rubbed down, and hobbled to graze, Talis took out her books, and Eregard joined her. He proved to be a good teacher, though he had to squint to read. “I lost my spectacles when I was captured,” he said quietly.

  “Captured?”

  He gave her a glance that was hard to fathom. Was there a glint of anger? Talis couldn’t be sure. Slaves learned to control their expressions in the presence of their masters. “Yes.

  The ship I was traveling on was taken by pirates. I told you I wasn’t born a slave.”

  Talis smiled ruefully. “Yes, I remember. No native born slave can read, you’re right. And the way you talk … like someone who has had some education.”

  A slight, answering smile touched his mouth for an instant.

  “Some education … yes, I suppose you could put it that way.”

  Talis looked over at Clo, whose turn it was to cook that night. “Clo,” she said, “have you ever been in a battle where Beldani’s Pincers was used?”

  Clo shook her cropped head. “If I have, I don’t know about it. I leave the readin’ and all those fancy movements to the officers, and just go where I’m told and do what I’m told to do once I get there.”