Reluctant Concubine

by Dana Marton

  An empty seat gaped on his other side, and so he had no one else to talk to but me. He sampled every tray the servants brought around, and praised the food.

  “Do you mind?” He pointed to the bone of the pheasant thigh I had just finished.

  He had been throwing his leavings under the table from time to time, and I assumed he had his hound at his feet. Until I felt a heavy tail fall across my slippers. The tail began to beat the floor restlessly, and I heard a low rumbling growl as Karnagh tossed the bone under the tapestry that covered the table.

  And then I remembered where I had heard his name before. He was the warlord Batumar had told me about on the road to Karamur—Karnagh, whose people talked to tigers and took them to battle. He would not…

  I paled at the thought. And even as I tried to convince myself I could not possibly be right, something massive rubbed against my legs under the table.

  “Tigran,” Karnagh murmured under his breath, and the beast moved away from me. The man gave me a conspiratorial wink and pulled the tablecloth up enough to allow a glimpse of the largest tiger that lived in all the lands.

  I froze in my seat. The beast looked at me as if bored. Lord Karnagh dropped the cloth back. I understood at once why no one sat on his other side.

  “Batumar said you would not mind. Everyone knows he is harmless unless he is hunting or we are in battle. I do not know why the womenfolk around these parts always squeal if he comes near. It is fair heartening to find one brave lady in the castle,” he said with a wide smile.

  I steeled my spine, not wanting to tremble and disappoint the man. “He does as you bid him?”

  Lord Karnagh’s smile stretched wider as he started into the story of their last fight.

  He most certainly managed to distract me from my fears of the upcoming night. So preoccupied was I with the beast under the table that could at any moment decide to sample me for dessert, I did not think of Batumar until he rose to leave.

  I dared not breathe or move until I was certain he had left the hall, for fear I would draw attention to myself. He did not call my name.

  A short reprieve, then, I thought, and as others rose, I took my leave of Lord Karnagh to return to my chamber, wishing to be alone for as long as I could before the High Lord sent for me. I knew I had but a moment’s delay. To take my body was his right; indeed, I was his possession. And the Kadar liked to take.

  I could have never found my way back, but as soon as I stood, Leena appeared by my side.

  I barely recognized Pleasure Hall. Steaming water filled the great hole in the middle of the floor, heated through some magical mechanism from below. Silk pictures, finer than any at the House of Tahar, hung on the walls. I turned from the images and prayed that Batumar would never want to do any of that to my poor body.

  But why else would he have ordered the pictures to be hung if not to educate me before I went to him? I wished the High Lord’s Pleasure Hall had other concubines so I might ask how such things were conducted. I seemed alone in the great space, however, save the servants. I did not take that as a good sign.

  I remembered the tales I had heard at Lord Tahar’s Maiden Hall about concubines who brought shame to their lord or displeased him. They were put to the sword, their bodies hung from the whipping post for days for all to see. I heard whispers of Lord Tahar’s father, who had one concubine sewn into a burlap sack with a selection of snakes and tossed into the harbor. Her lover had been castrated, then burned alive.

  I thought of the endless row of empty chambers in the High Lord’s Pleasure Hall. It seemed impossible that this many women could have displeased Batumar.

  Would I?

  I was too distraught to appreciate the gossamer night rail that lay upon my bed. But then I took a closer look. Sweet spirits. I could see the embroidered flower petals of the coverlet clearly through the thin fabric that shimmered in the light of the fire.

  Leena moved to unlace my gown, but I sent her away. I would have been too embarrassed to wear such a garment in front of her, let alone Batumar. I smoothed down the thick brocade of the gown—the more barriers between me and the High Lord, the better. I wondered whether it would have been untowardly if I put on my traveling cape.

  I sank onto the padded stool to wait in front of the fire, but as time passed and my back ached, I lay upon the bed, snuggled against the small mountain of pillows.

  * * *

  I awoke to the morning light filtering in through the small windows high on the wall, and to noises made by a servant woman stoking the fire in the hearth. She had a bent back and hair of silver, one of her eyes milky white and almost certainly blind.

  “My name is Tilia, my lady. I am at your service,” she said with a bow as soon as she saw me come awake. She brought my morning meal and apologized for the lack of fresh mosan juice.

  “The mist is upon us. May the goddesses save us.” Her aged hands trembled. “It came on early before anyone could go to market. No market now and not anything else either,” she mumbled on as she served me.

  “A snowstorm?” I had hoped the season of snow was behind us. Escape would be easier in fair weather.

  “Nay, not snow. Not bad weather it is, but great evil, my lady.”

  The honest fear in her voice sent a chill down my spine.

  “It will pass by tomorrow, but the streets will be empty until then. Not a soul would walk into the mist, not one. Thick it is like goat milk and foul. Many unwary fools have disappeared into it never to be seen again. They say invisible beasts live in the mist and feast on human flesh.”

  She held on to a clump of charms that hung from her belt, and I nearly missed mine. I ate the boiled eggs and cheese in silence as her words darted around in my mind like frightened mice.

  She took the tray when I finished my victuals, and other servants came to attend other chores. All had charm belts around their waists now, although I had not seen that custom followed at Karamur the previous night.

  By the time I washed and they combed and arranged my hair, the dressmaker stood in the door again and worked with me that entire day with but a few breaks. She did not leave until the servant women came for me in time for the evening meal. It seemed the High Lord’s household ate together every evening when the High Lord resided at Karamur, and not only on special feast days as did the House of Tahar.

  “I hope the evening finds you well. Have you yet recovered from our journey?” Batumar asked, once I took my seat, careful of the tiger.

  His plain white shirt stretched over wide shoulders, his dark hair spilling down his back. He wore no symbols of his station, yet he looked as regal as a king. Were he dressed as the last beggar, he would have still looked a warrior. His fearsome sword rested on the bench on his other side, ready in its scabbard.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He watched me for a moment; then his gaze moved to the man on my other side. “Lord Karnagh, have you given more thought to our discussions?”

  I felt awkward for being in the way of their conversation, although neither seemed to mind.

  “An alliance will be easy enough to forge,” Lord Karnagh said after some time. “But bringing armies together would be almost impossible.”

  Batumar nodded. “No one will leave their homes undefended. Our armies stand scattered on a host of islands to be trampled one by one, while if we stood together with one force and met Woldrom’s hordes as such…”

  The men’s faces reflected their frustration.

  “If we could know for certain where Woldrom will attack next,” Lord Karnagh suggested.

  “A good spy would be useful. Rorin knows, Woldrom has spies everywhere. Best would be to stop him before he comes this far. Can any of his captains be turned against him? Has any the power to bring him down?”

  Lord Karnagh shook his head. “He lets no one close enough to harm him. Gives no one power enough to replace him. He does not even have a second in command.”

  “He is isolated, then. We will use that to our adva
ntage.”

  As the two lords talked, I looked around. The lizard-eyed old man next to Lord Gilrem watched me just as closely as he had the day before.

  When the High Lord turned to his brother, I dared ask Lord Karnagh, “My lord, would you tell me who sits by Lord Gilrem?”

  “Shartor, Karamur’s soothsayer,” Lord Karnagh said without much enthusiasm.

  I spent the meal talking with him once again, my feet tucked carefully beneath my seat.

  Little laughter rang out over the Great Hall, unlike the night before. Dark tension thickened the air, the torches flickering as if preparing to fail at any moment. A chill touched me that I had not felt the previous night. More than one servant mentioned the mist in passing.

  Batumar rose to leave early, without bidding me to follow him, and as soon as he left, the Great Hall was fast deserted, all who had dined within eager to return to their chambers.

  I was just as eager to reach mine. Having escaped the High Lord for the second day, I grew hopeful that he only wanted me as a healer. Maybe he only housed me in Pleasure Hall because it stood empty, available. I held on to that thought.

  He had required nothing but healing of me all this time. I needed to start readying for more of that at once, before my services were called upon and he caught me unprepared.

  “I shall need an escort to the forest tomorrow,” I told Tilia, who was once again feeding the fire in my chamber.

  Alarm flooded her lined face. “Lady Tera, the High Lord’s concubines never left the palace, except at his request and in his company.” She bowed deep.

  So he had concubines in the past. I filed that ominous thought away.

  “I am a healer. I will need a good supply of herbs. Perhaps if I told you what to look for, you could bring them to me.”

  True horror flooded her face then as she shook her head and threw herself to the floor, crying and protesting that I should not ask her to do such a terrible thing.

  As I could not understand her anguish and wished to cause no more, I sent her away.

  When Leena came, I sat patiently while she unlaced my dress. I had learned that a tight bodice was most uncomfortable for sleeping, and also I knew what hard work went into the servants restoring a dress from a wrinkled state. I would relent and wear the night rail, I decided.

  I feared that bringing up herb collecting might distress Leena as it had Tilia. I would find out why the servants had such an aversion to herbs before I brought up that subject again. Instead, I asked a question that had formed in my mind during the evening meal.

  “Lord Karnagh seems an esteemed guest. How is it that he is not offered a maiden? Does he not take offense?”

  “Such is not practiced at Karamur, my lady. No Maiden Hall here. The High Lord does not keep with many of the old traditions. And Lord Karnagh would have enough women ready to warm his bed would he only ask.”

  “He does not?”

  “A Selorm he is.”

  “A priest?” I heard about such practices in faraway countries, men dedicating themselves to their gods and forswearing all women.

  “Nay, my lady. Selorm are his people. Different from us they are. But one woman for every man, and one man for every woman for as long as they live.”

  “It is such among my own,” I told her, beginning to like the man even more.

  “Gets stranger, the tale.” Her fingers never stopped moving as she talked. “It is said that sometime after Selorm males reach manhood, they are beset by a powerful urge to mate. They cannot until then, you see. And they do not choose their mates in the common way, either. They ‘call’ from deep within. Some strange vibration it is. And only their one true mate can hear it, and she will hurry to her man’s side. They can call across endless distances.”

  I thought of Lord Karnagh and wondered whether he had yet called himself a mate.

  Leena said, “Their sacred tradition it is and taken most seriously. I’ve heard tell the worth of a man is measured by how fast his mate responds to the call, and from how far he was able to call her. The wait, if long, can be most painful.”

  I could scarcely imagine such, and would have asked more questions, but a young woman at the door interrupted us.

  “The High Lord sends his summons, my lady.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  (Leena)

  I had to press my palm against my chest to calm my clamoring heart as Leena brought a white, fur-trimmed cape. Not as thick as a traveling cape, the chamois had been delicately worked and fell in soft folds around me. I slipped my feet into matching fur-trimmed slippers, too nervous to enjoy all the finery.

  I followed the young woman down twisting hallways with increasing dread. She left me at a simple wooden door, and for a moment I thought of bolting. Then I straightened my spine and held my head high. “My lord?”

  No response came. Yet I knew I was meant to go in, so I pushed the door open.

  A spacious antechamber spread before me, lit by a multitude of oil lamps. The two men inside looked up at my entrance. I could not puzzle out the High Lord’s thoughts from his gaze, but the other man, whom I had not seen before, watched me with open suspicion.

  He wore odd garments, a tunic too long, woven with a jumble of colors most unpleasing to the eye. Slightly built and shorter than Batumar, he stood with his chest puffed out and chin held high, as if trying to give the appearance of a strong presence. But the lines on his face betrayed his worries. He grew more restless as he watched me, while Batumar grew more relaxed.

  “We have an emissary from the Kingdom of Orh,” the High Lord said. “One of the Palace Guards could translate most of his message, but I would know all of it.”

  I could have flown to the ceiling, I felt so light with relief.

  “How many warriors does your king need?” Batumar asked, and I translated.

  “As many as the High Lord can spare, for the enemy is fierce.” The emissary shifted on his feet.

  “Has your king sent emissaries to others?”

  “To all that are famous for fight.” The man’s gaze darted between Batumar and me.

  “Tell me what you know of the Kerghi,” Batumar ordered.

  “The number of their warriors has grown a hundredfold, so they fight to settle new lands. They need the ore of the mountains for armor and the wheat of the fields to feed their armies.”

  The man rushed on, “When they take a kingdom, they kill all the women past childbearing age and all the males over the age of twelve, unless there is a slave market close enough to drive them there. The younger women they use for labor and to breed future warriors; the boys they carry off for military training.”

  The spirits save us from the Kerghi hordes, I thought as I translated.

  “The enemy has already taken the palace,” the man said in a grim tone. “My king is even now hiding in the mountains. He pledges to you all the crystals of his treasure chamber if you come to his aid.”

  “I do not like leaving my own people unprotected,” said Batumar, and the man’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

  “But Woldrom must be stopped,” Batumar went on. “I will take as many warriors as I can spare and help your king.”

  The man fell on his knees in front of him. “You shall be known as the savior of our people.”

  “He might be lying,” Batumar said to me in Kadar, and I knew he had noticed the man’s odd gestures as I had. “It could be a trap.”

  I could feel the fear and desperation in the emissary’s heart. They did need the help. I did not doubt their survival depended on it. “Perhaps he fears you will say no, and his king will punish him for bringing an unfavorable answer.”

  The man spoke again, listing the treasures his king promised, reaching up several times to rub his chin. I translated all to Batumar.

  “It is as if the lies he speaks drip down his chin and burn his skin,” I added, still in Kadar, at the end. “But only when he speaks of payment.”

  Batumar nodded, and I went on, emboldened. “If
the enemy already has the palace, they probably have the king’s treasure.” They might have even taken it out of the kingdom already.

  Batumar questioned the emissary on this at once and did not rest until the man finally admitted the truth.

  I translated back and forth for near half the night.

  When the High Lord finished with his inquiry, he sent me away, but from then on, instead of spending my days at Pleasure Hall, I was assigned to his personal service.

  He spoke many languages but asked me to translate when needed, and from time to time, he would ask my opinion on the worth of the man before him.

  I served him like that until the day he marched off with his warriors to help the King of Orh at the next mooncrossing. Not for the treasure, which he had little hope of seeing, but because he wanted to stop the Khergi hordes before they reached our island.

  Lord Karnagh joined him with the small troop of warriors he had in Karamur. They added quite a splash of the exotic to Batumar’s army.

  Offerings were heaped high on Rorin’s altar at the feast the night before the army’s departure, all the right foods served to ensure a favorable outcome for the battle.

  When a servant summoned me to Batumar’s chambers after the feast, I expected to be once again required only to translate. But when I walked through the outer door, the High Lord’s antechamber stood empty, the door to his bedchamber ajar.

  “Tera.” He spoke the single word softly.

  My heart suddenly trembled.

  Yet I had no choice but to go to him.

  His bedchamber was smaller than I had expected, holding nothing more but a large bed covered in black pelts that shone like silk in the light of the fire of a giant hearth. A small table and a single trunk stood to the side.

  Batumar sat on the bed’s edge, his elbows resting on his knees, exhaustion etched on his forehead. He had been everywhere at once since he had returned to the city: training with his warriors, meeting with dignitaries, guiding the work to strengthen the fortress.