LITMIR.BIZ

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‘If you cry, I shall surely cry too.’ The sisters were so similar in appearance that Sparhawk had some difficulty telling them apart. Their plumpness was more like dough than flesh. Their colourless hair was limp and uninspired, and their complexions were bad. Neither of them was really very clean. ‘I try so hard to protect my poor sister,’ Ermude blubbered to the long-suffering Melidere, ‘but this dreadful place is destroying her. There’s no culture here. We live like beasts – like serfs. It’s so meaningless. Life should have meaning, but what possible meaning can there be so far from the capital? That horrid woman won’t permit our poor brother to sell this desolate waste so that we can take a proper residence in Darsas. We’re trapped here – trapped, I tell you – and we shall live out our lives in this hideous isolation.’ Then she too buried her face in her hands and wept.

      Melidere sighed, rolling her eyes ceilingward.

      ‘I have some influence with the governor of the district,’ Baron Kotyk was telling patriarch Emban with pompous self-importance. ‘He relies heavily on my judgement. We’ve been having a deuce of a time with the burghers in town – untitled rascals, every one of them – runaway serfs, if the truth were known. They complain bitterly at each new tax and try to shift the burden to us. We pay quite enough in taxes already, thank you, and they’re the ones who are demanding all the services. What good does it do me if the streets in town are paved? It’s the roads that are important. I’ve said that to his Excellency the governor over and over again.’

      The baron was deep in his cups. His voice was slurred, and his head wobbled on his neck. ‘All the burdens of the district are placed on our shoulders,’ he declared, his eyes filling with self-pitying tears. ‘I must support five hundred idle serfs – serfs so lazy that not even flogging can get any work out of them. It’s all so unfair. I’m an aristocrat, but that doesn’t count for anything any more.’ The tears began to roll down his cheeks, and his nose started to run. ‘No one seems to realise that the aristocracy is God’s special gift to mankind. The burghers treat us no better than commoners. Considering our divine origins, such disrespect is the worst form of impiety. I’m sure your Grace agrees.’ The Baron sniffed loudly.

      Patriarch Emban’s father had been a tavern-keeper in the city of Ucera, and Sparhawk was fairly sure that the fat little churchman most definitely did not agree.

      Ehlana had been trapped by the baron’s wife, and she was beginning to look a little desperate.

      ‘The estate’s mine, of course,’ Astansia declared in a coldly haughty voice. ‘My father was in his dotage when he married me off to that fat swine.’ She sneered. ‘Kotyk only had those piggish little eyes of his on the income from my estate. My father was so impressed with the idiot’s title that he couldn’t see him for what he really is, a titled opportunist with two fat, ugly sisters hanging from his coat-tails.’ She sneered, and then the sneer slid from her face, and the inevitable tears filled her eyes. ‘I can only find solace for my tragic state in religion, my beloved brother’s art and in the satisfaction I take in making absolutely sure that those two harridans never see the lights of Darsas. They’ll rot here – right up until the moment my pig of a husband eats and drinks himself to death. Then I shall turn them out with nothing but the clothes on their backs.’ Her hard eyes became exultant. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she said fiercely. ‘I shall have my revenge, and then my sainted brother and I can live here in perfect contentment.’

      Princess Danae crawled up into her father’s lap. ‘Lovely people, aren’t they?’ she said quietly.

      ‘Are you making all this up?’ he asked accusingly.

      ‘No, father, I can’t do that. None of us can. People are what they are. We can’t change them.’

      ‘I thought you could do anything.’

      ‘There are limits, Sparhawk.’ Her dark eyes grew hard again. ‘I am going to do something, though.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Your Elene God owes me a couple of favours. I did something nice for Him once.’

      ‘Why do you need His help?’

      ‘These people are Elenes. They belong to Him. I can’t do anything to them without His permission. That’s the worst form of bad manners.’

      ‘I’m an Elene, and you do things to me.’

      ‘You’re Anakha, Sparhawk. You don’t belong to anybody.’

      ‘That’s depressing. I’m loose in the world with no God to guide me?’

      ‘You don’t need guidance. Advice sometimes, yes. Guidance, no.’

      ‘Don’t do anything exotic here,’ he cautioned. ‘We don’t know exactly what we’ll be dealing with when we get deeper into Tamuli. Let’s not announce our presence until we have to.’ Then his curiosity got the better of him. ‘Nobody’s said anything very relevant yet.’

      ‘Then keep listening, Sparhawk. It will come.’

      ‘Exactly what were you planning to ask God to do to these people?’

      ‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘Absolutely nothing at all. I won’t ask Him to do a thing to change their circumstances. All I want Him to do is to make sure that they all live very, very long lives.’

      He looked around the table at the petulant faces of their host’s family. ‘You’re going to imprison them here?’ he accused. ‘Chain five people who loathe each other together for all eternity so that they can gradually tear each other to pieces?’

      ‘Not quite eternity, Sparhawk,’ the little girl corrected, ‘– though it’s probably going to seem that way to them.’

      ‘That’s cruel.’

      ‘No, Sparhawk. It’s justice. These people richly deserve each other. I only want to be sure that they have a long time to enjoy each others’ company.’

      ‘What’s your feeling about a breath of fresh air?’ Stragen asked, leaning over Sparhawk’s shoulder.

      ‘It’s raining out there.’

      ‘I don’t think you’ll melt.’

      ‘Maybe it’s not a bad idea at that.’ Sparhawk rose to his feet and carried his sleeping daughter back into the sitting room and the divan where Mmrr drowsed, purring absently and kneading one of the cushions with her needle-sharp claws. He covered them both and followed Stragen into the corridor. ‘Are you feeling restless?’ he asked the Thalesian.

      ‘No, revolted. I’ve known some of the worst people in the world, my friend, and I’m no angel myself, but this little family –’ He shuddered. ‘Did you happen to lay in a store of poison while you were in Rendor?’

      ‘I don’t approve of poison.’

      ‘A bit short-sighted there, old boy. Poison’s a tidy way to deal with intolerable people.’

      ‘Annias felt much the same way, as I recall.’

      ‘I’d forgotten about that,’ Stragen admitted. ‘I imagine that prejudiced you slightly against a very practical solution to a sticky problem. Something really ought to be done about these monsters, though.’

      ‘It’s already been taken care of.’

      ‘Oh? How?’

      ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

      They stepped out onto the wide veranda that ran across the back of the house and stood leaning on the railing looking out into the muddy back yard.

      ‘It doesn’t show any signs of letting up, does it?’ Stragen said. ‘How long can it continue at this time of year?’

      ‘You’ll have to ask Khalad. He’s the expert on the weather.’

      ‘My Lords?’

      Stragen

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