“In Sachakan homes this is known as the ‘approach’,” he told her. “The room at the end is known as the ‘master’s room’ as it is where the owner of the house greets and entertains visitors, and serves meals.”
The room they entered was huge. Benches covered in cushions were spread around the floor, and where large cabinets did not cover the walls, paintings, hangings and carvings hung. Doors led away in all directions. There was no stairway visible, so Tessia assumed access to the upper floor must be located elsewhere in the house.
In the middle of the room stood a couple, smiling at their visitors. This must be Lord Everran and Lady Avaria. They were younger than Tessia had expected, probably in their twenties. Lord Everran was a tall, thin man with typically black Kyralian hair, but his skin was darker than the norm – a pleasant golden hue. He was quite handsome in a sleek, groomed way, she decided.
Tessia had never seen a woman like Lady Avaria. Her hostess was attractive, but in a restrained way. She is what Mother meant when she tried to describe “elegance” to me, Tessia mused. But there was something in Avaria’s face – a glint of mischief in her eye, a quirk in her smile – suggesting something playful underneath the restraint. And this woman is a magician, she reminded herself.
Everran’s expression was openly pleased as he greeted Dakon, slapping his guest’s upper arms in what Tessia now concluded was some sort of greeting among important men. She noted that he did not favour Jayan with the same gesture. Lord Gilar hadn’t either, she recalled. Perhaps Jayan would not be considered important until he was a higher magician.
Lady Avaria did not follow suit. She smiled and touched Dakon lightly on the cheek.
“It is good to have you back, Dakon,” she said in a warm, low voice. She turned to Jayan. “Welcome back, Apprentice Jayan of Drayn.”
Both host and hostess had an alertness to their gaze, Tessia noted. As they turned to regard her she had the distinct feeling she was being examined with astute care. It is a good thing I’m not the sort to babble when I’m nervous, she thought as she answered their questions, and have nothing to hide. I have a feeling they’d never miss a slip of the tongue.
“A healer’s assistant?” Avaria said. “I have a friend who is in training to become a healer. I should arrange a meeting, over lunch or something.”
Tessia blinked in surprise. “I was only an assistant. They may find me, ah, rather wanting.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fascinating,” Avaria assured her. “And I’ve been looking forward to a new shopping companion.” She turned to Dakon. “Now, have you given your apprentices the usual allowance?”
Dakon chuckled. “Just as soon as we have all unpacked.”
“Prices have risen considerably since your last visit,” Avaria warned. “Since this is Tessia’s first visit she has more than the usual stocking up to do.”
Tessia felt her face warming. “I don’t—” she began then stopped as Jayan put out a hand to stall her.
“Oh, yes you do,” Jayan told her quietly, “if you’re going to survive Avaria’s company for more than five minutes.”
The lady looked back at him and narrowed her eyes. “I heard that.”
“She also has very sharp ears,” he warned Tessia.
“Five minutes.” Avaria clicked her tongue, her eyes flashing with amusement. “A whole five minutes. I shall have to do something to salvage my reputation.”
“Hanar!”
Suppressing a grimace, Hanara straightened and looked towards the voice. No self-respecting Kyralian man had a name ending in a, as their women did – or so the stable servants had told him – so they had shortened his.
The stable master, Ravern, was standing at the door. He beckoned, so Hanara put aside his shovel and walked over.
“Take this to Bregar, the store master,” Ravern said, handing Hanara a waxed tablet with writing scrawled over it. “Bring back what he gives you. And be quick, or you’ll interrupt his dinner.”
Hanara nodded his head as the other stable servants did to show respect to the man, and strode out into the late afternoon light. He tucked the tablet into his tunic, where it sat wax-side outward against his belt. Hurrying down the cartway to the gate, he paused to quickly scan the village.
No people about. It was not surprising. The air had a chill to it that promised a late snow.
Stepping out onto the road, he strode purposefully towards the large store building. It was both a shop and the place where produce made in the ley, or brought in from outside for the use of the ley’s populace, was kept. The stable master had sent him out on errands like this a few times now. Hanara suspected his trustworthiness was being tested. And his usefulness.
Reaching the store, Hanara entered and removed the tablet from his tunic. The store master was absent, so he rang the bell. Bregar shuffled into the room from a door at the back, his scowl softening into a frown when he saw Hanara. The man didn’t trust Hanara, but he never mocked him either. He reached out to take the tablet.
Bregar was a big man for a Kyralian. Hanara suspected there was quite a bit of Sachakan in his bloodline. As he watched, the store master piled up solid blocks of a glossy substance on a table, then bags of grain and a heavy ceramic jar, its stopper sealed generously with wax. All the items were for the stables, which made sense, but Hanara had noticed that he had never been sent – as other stable servants often were – to collect food for the Residence or to take items to be sharpened to the metal worker.
Bregar handed back the tablet. The pile on the table was large, and the store master set about packing everything into a wooden crate. Seeing this, Hanara dropped the tablet down his tunic front again. He would need both hands to carry the crate. As Bregar lifted the container, Hanara bent over and indicated that the man should place it on his shoulders. He straightened up, and the man frowned and made a questioning grunt.
Hanara nodded. The store master shrugged and opened the door.
Outside the light of day was failing. As Hanara started back towards the Residence, he mused that the grunt had been the closest thing to a conversation that he’d ever had with Bregar. He didn’t mind. Slaves tended to be as reticent. Chatter got you into trouble.
Halfway to the Residence something stung Hanara’s arm. He flinched and kept walking. This often happened when he was out in the village alone. Usually when the two young louts were about.
He hadn’t gone much further when he heard footsteps coming closer. As the two young men approached he felt his stomach sink. They were an irritation most of the time, but if they made him drop his burden and something broke there would be trouble back at the stables.
He kept walking. The pair moved to either side, keeping pace.
“Hanara,” one said. “Do you have a wife back in Sachaka?”
As always, he stayed silent. Kept walking.
“Do you miss her? Do you miss bedding her?”
“Does your Sachakan master do that now?”
One foot in front of the other. Their taunting was meaningless. They knew too little to hurt him. The benefit of not being allowed to care for anyone was that there was nobody that could be used against you.
“Or did he do that with you?”
It was a strange saying, this “bedding”. As if the act of human breeding was done with mattresses rather than body parts.
“I bet he’ll get into trouble if he drops those boxes.”
“That’s stuff for the Residence,” the other said.
“So? Lord Dakon can afford to replace it if it breaks. But Hanara here can’t afford to do anything wrong, or he’ll get kicked out.”