“An excellent meal,” Takado announced. “Did I detect a little bellspice in that last dish?”
Dakon nodded. “An advantage to living close to the border is that Sachakan traders occasionally pass this way.”
“I’m surprised they do. Mandryn isn’t on the direct road to Imardin.”
“No, but occasionally spring floods block the main road and the best alternative route brings traffic right through the village.” He wiped his mouth on a cloth. “Shall we retire to the seating room?”
As Takado nodded, Dakon heard a faint sigh of relief from Cannia, who was on duty in the dining room tonight. At leastthe servants’ trials are over for the evening, Dakon thought wearily as he stood up. Mine don’t end until the man sleeps.
Takado rose and stepped away from the table. He was a full head taller than Dakon, and his broad shoulders and wide face added to the impression of bulk. Beneath a layer of soft fat was the frame of a typical Sachakan – strong and big. Next to Takado, Dakon knew he must appear pathetically thin and small. And pale. While not as dark as the Lonmars of the north, Sachakan skin was a healthy brown that Kyralian women had been trying to achieve with paints for centuries.
Which they still did, despite otherwise loathing and fearing the Sachakans. Dakon led the way out of the room. They should be proud of their complexion, but centuries of believing our pallor is evidence that we are a weak, barbaric race can’t be turned around easily.
He entered the seating room, Takado following and dropping into the chair he’d claimed as his own for the duration of his stay. The room was illuminated by two lamps. Though he could easily have lit the room with a magical light, Dakon preferred the warm glow of lamplight. It reminded him of his mother, who’d had no magical talent and preferred to do things “the old-fashioned way”. She’d also decorated and furnished the seating room. After another Sachakan visitor, impressed with the library, had decided that Dakon’s father would gift him with several valuable books, she had decreed that such visitors be entertained in a room that appeared full of priceless treasures, but actually contained copies, fakes or inexpensive knick-knacks.
Takado stretched his legs and watched Dakon pour wine from a jug the servants had left for them. “So, Lord Dakon, do you think your healer can save my slave?”
Dakon detected no concern in the man’s voice. He hadn’t expected care for the slave’s well-being – just the sort of interest a man has in a belonging that has broken and is being repaired. “Healer Veran will do the best he can.”
“And if he fails, how will you punish him?”
Dakon handed Takado a goblet. “I won’t.”
Takado’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know he will do his best, then?”
“Because I trust him. He is a man of honour.”
“He is a Kyralian. My slave is valuable to me, and I am Sachakan. How do I know he won’t hasten the man’s death to spite me?”
Dakon sat down and took a sip of the wine. It wasn’t a good vintage. His ley didn’t enjoy a climate favourable for winemaking. But it was strong, and would speed the Sachakan towards retiring for the night. Dakon doubted it would loosen the man’s tongue, though. It hadn’t on any of the previous evenings.
“Because he is a man of honour,” Dakon repeated.
The Sachakan snorted. “Honour! Among servants? If I were you, I’d take the daughter. She’s not so ugly, for a Kyralian. She’ll have picked up a few healing tricks, so she’d be a useful slave, too.”
Dakon smiled. “Surely you have noticed during your journeying that slavery is outlawed in Kyralia.”
Takado’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, I couldn’t help but notice. Nobody could fail to see how badly your servants attend to their masters. Surly. Stupid. Clumsy. It wasn’t always that way, you know. Your people once embraced slavery as if it was their own idea. They could again, too. You might regain the prosperity your great-grandfathers enjoyed.” He downed the wine in a few gulps and then sighed appreciatively.
“We’ve enjoyed greater prosperity since outlawing slavery than we ever had before,” Dakon told his guest as he rose to refill the Sachakan’s goblet and top up his own. “Keeping slaves isn’t profitable. Treat them badly and they die before they become useful, or else rebel or run away. Treat them well and they cost as much to feed and control as free servants, yet have no motivation to work well.”
“No motivation but fear of punishment or death.”
“An injured or dead slave is of no use to anyone. I can’t see how beating a slave to death for stepping on your foot is going to encourage him to be careful in the future. His death won’t even be an example to others, since there are no other slaves here to learn from it.”
Takado swirled the wine in his goblet, his expression unreadable. “I probably went a bit too far. Trouble is, after travelling with him for months I’ve grown utterly sick of his company. You would, too, if you were restricted to one servant when you visited a country. I’m sure whichever of your kings came up with that law only wanted to punish Sachakans.”
“Happy servants make better companions,” Dakon said. “I enjoy conversing and dealing with my people, and they don’t seem to mind talking to and working for me. If they didn’t like me, they wouldn’t alert me to potential problems in the ley, or suggest ways to increase crop yield.”
“If my slaves didn’t alert me to problems in my domain or get the best out of my crops, I’d have them killed.”
“And then their skills would be lost. My people live longer and so gain proficiency in their work. They take pride in it, and are more likely to be innovative and inventive – like the healer tending your slave.”
“But not like his daughter,” Takado said. “Her skill will be wasted, won’t it? She is a woman and in Kyralia women do not become healers. In my country her skills would be utilised.” He leaned towards Dakon. “If you let me buy her off you, I’ll make sure she gets to use them. I suspect she’d welcome the chance.” He took a swig of the wine, watching Dakon over the rim of the goblet.
For a greedy, cruel man with too much power and too little self-restraint, Takado can be disturbingly perceptive, Dakon noted. “Even if I would not be breaking a law, and she agreed to such a thing, I don’t think it’s her healing skills you’re interested in.”
Takado laughed and relaxed in his chair. “You’ve seen through me once again, Lord Dakon. I expect you haven’t tasted that dish – or have you?”
“Of course not. She is half my age.”
“Which only makes her more appealing.”
Takado was goading him again, Dakon knew. “And more likely that such a liaison would make me look a fool.”
“There’s no shame in seeking a little entertainment while looking for a suitable wife,” Takado said. “I’m surprised you haven’t found yourself one yet – a wife, that is. I suppose there aren’t any females in Aylen ley worthy of your status. You should visit Imardin more often. Looks like everything worth being a part of happens there.”
“It has been too long since I visited,” Dakon agreed. He sipped the wine. “Did you enjoy your stay there?”
Takado shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘enjoy’. It was as barbaric a place as I expected.”
“If you didn’t expect to enjoy it, why did you go?”
The Sachakan’s eyes gleamed and he held out his empty goblet again. “To satisfy my curiosity.”
Dakon rose to refill it. Every time they came close to discussing why Takado had toured Kyralia the Sachakan became flippant or changed the subject. It had made some magicians nervous, especially since rumours had reached them that some of the younger Sachakan magicians had met in Arvice, the capital of Sachaka, to discuss whether regaining the empire’s former colonies was possible. The Kyralian king had sent secret requests to all landowners that any lord or lady Takado stayed with seek the reason for his visit.