Chunk 15
OK, I've been stuck and this is a really lousy time to be stuck. :/ I managed to break 30K words, which is where I should've been at this time last night, if I wanted to have any hope at all of hitting 50K on time. I'm really doubting I'm going to make the deadline, but I'll keep pushing and see how far I can get. [sigh]



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Luka thought about addressing the Molani emperor as "Gramp" and decided to save it for some time when he'd become weary of life. Or perhaps for a time when he was travelling in some foreign land, several months' travel distant, and sending a message back.

He was as close to relaxing as he'd come since the seige had begun, until Roscha banked the fire and lay down on one of the blankets, then pulled the other one over him and patted the space next to him, obviously expecting Luka to come sleep near him. Luka scowled, but before he could object, Roscha said, "You need to be near me. Their water skins are full of beer and they've been drinking it all day. If we're obviously together, they'll leave you alone."

Once it'd been brought to his attention, it was obvious that the soldiers across the clearing were nowhere near settling down for the night. They were as raucus as any he'd ever camped with and clearly enjoying their drink. It wouldn't have been a problem if he'd been a free man; he could handle any six amorous drunks, or even a shamed and murderous drunk.

But he couldn't fight back. And right then he felt as much like an owned piece of flesh as any slave in a mine with an iron collar around his throat.

The night air was too cold to be comfortable without a blanket, and it would get worse as the night lengthened. Luka settled down next to Roscha, tense and angry but not foolish enough to insist on freezing just to be contrary. Roscha's arm settled around his waist and Luka had to clench his hands together to stop himself from throwing it off.

"If you need to visit the trench in the night," Roscha whispered, "wake me and I'll go with you."

Luka squeezed his eyes closed and growled, "Yes, Master."



Chapter Six

Twenty days later they rode down out of the Ulder Pass and entered the capital province of Pilenem. The eastern border was only another five easy days' ride from the city and Arden felt a knot between his shoulderblades loosening.

He knew there was no rational reason to relax at that point; if anything, the closer they got to Cara, the closer they got to the seat of Baruno's temple and his Patriarch's reach. Despite all his travels, though, this land was most familiar and he allowed his guard down enough to smile a little at the neat spread of fields and woods and hamlets extending from the base of the mountains.

If Arden felt at home here, though, he knew Luka would not. Ruvor was jagged and rocky, cut with rivers and spotted with small, hanging pastures. It was herding country if it was anything, with some mining and quarrying here and there; most of Ruvor's wealth came from Parakovac Ruvor's position as a trading hub. The land was harsh to look at, though, and it bred a harsh-looking people. Ruvor's wild cliffs and peaks were echoed in Luka's narrow, sharp-featured face.

Arden's own face, smooth and square, reflected Pilenem's softer, tamed landscape. The uneven fields, squashed in among one another wherever there was a bit of space, looked chaotic enough, but their straight lines, even corners and gentle swells and hollows spoke of many centuries of carving and cultivation. There was hardly a rock larger than a man's head to be found in the whole province, once one got out of the surrounding mountains, unless it'd been chiselled and toted and fitted into a wall somewhere.

The Molani liked order and were determined to bring it to their world. And Arden had to admit that the definition of what was "theirs" was a fluid thing, easily expandable as opportunity presented itself.

It wasn't what Luka was accustomed to, though, and coming in as a slave wasn't the best way to come to appreciate Imperial customs. Arden knew Luka had been making an effort to control himself in a difficult situation, and Arden had given him as much freedom as he could. As they'd drawn closer to the capital, though, they'd spent less and less time alone, and when they were with others Luka had to behave with some minimal propriety. Arden had only so much freedom himself; if he -- or Luka while wearing his mark -- attracted too much critical attention, Arden would have to rein him in. Public attention would demand public discipline, and Arden knew that if he were forced to it, he'd lose what few gains he'd made with Luka, and might lose him for good.

Well, that'd been enough to tighten his shoulders up again. Luka gave Arden, riding quiet and competent to his left, a quick look.

He still held himself like a warrior rather than a slave. He was too confident, too solid, too aggressive even when completely still. He'd learned to keep his gaze down around free men, but managed to give the impression that he was watching everything out of the corner of his eye, taking everything in and ready to respond in a heartbeat. Which was, of course, proper for a warrior.

There was only one position Arden could imagine Luka fitting into for any length of time, much less the rest of his life. Unfortunately it required a degree of trust which would be foolish at that point.

The Torchbearers were bodyguard-slaves, strong and sharp and dangerous. They were the only Molani slaves allowed to go armed and only a complete fool would harrass an imperial prince's Torchbearer.

It would be a perfect place for Luka, but Arden would be responsible for his every action. With Luka's current attitude, that would be a disaster, even if he didn't dash off at the first opportunity.

And he likely would, whether or not he knew where to start looking for Tochi. Arden had very deliberately kept any information about Yarro, including his name, from Luka for just that reason; if he knew where to go he was certain to hare off at the earliest opportunity, trusting in his "fate" to take care of the larger problem while he chased down his apprentice.

But fate involved everyone and everything, and Arden's own better judgement told him that ignoring Baruno would be foolish, no matter what else or who else had to be left to take care of themselves for a time. Arden's own actions were part of whatever fate was written, so he felt confident that acting as he thought best and hauling Luka along would work out just as well.

Arden hoped Luka would... well, at least stop hating him one day. He knew that forcibly keeping Luka by his side wouldn't make that day come any sooner. But letting him go to be killed by a pack of brigands, or by some drunken fool who was a little too enthusiastic about celebrating the victory at Parakovac, wasn't an acceptable alternative either. Luka was his responsibility now, and his death would go down on Arden's tally, to be explained at the threshold of the dead.

"It's very full," Luka commented. He distracted Arden from his musings, which was likely a favor more than anything else, considering where his thoughts had been taking him.

Arden looked out over the countryside, still some ways below them, and cocked his head. "Not really," he said. "A few villages, some lone cottages, some mills, shrines, a fortress off to the north. Most of the land is open, though. There were far more people within shouting distance anywhere in Parakovac than there are as far as we can see from here."

"You're exaggerating, but that's not what I meant." Luka sounded impatient, and waved a hand across the vista before them. "It's full. It's all used. Everywhere you look, someone owns it and uses it. People are everywhere, or signs of their work. Where do you go to take a deep breath or be alone?"

Arden blinked and raised an eyebrow at Luka. "This, from a man who lived in a city?"

Luka shook his head. "It's different. A city is supposed to be full. But it's surrounded by land that's just land. This -- if there's a city in the middle, it would feel like all the people around it were pressing in." He scowled and shook his head. "I can't explain any better than that, but it's oppressive."

The explanation hadn't helped much. Arden said, "Well, Cara's surrounded by lake so maybe that'll help."

"I'd heard that," Luka said, sounding curious. "Did they truly build it on boats?"

Arden grinned and shook his head. "There were a lot of boats -- still are -- but no. There was a pitiful little bit of swamp, only slightly less wet than the lake itself, out in the center of Lake Doraven when my ancestors arrived. The locals weren't terribly friendly so my tribe boated out to the swampy bit to camp. They went back and forth over time, bringing dirt and rocks to build it up and make it fit to hold huts out of the water. They built the first causeway from the shore out to the island by dumping rocks and dirt into the water.

"If you read between the lines in the chronicles, it was a miserable existence for the first generations there, but it was secure, which nowhere else in the area was. The locals laughed and jeered, until King Erren led an army out and conquered the nearest band of them. Erren's army rowed away back to his island with all their gold and silver, most of their food and half their children to raise as slaves."

"Taught them a lesson." Luka's voice was low and neutral.

Arden remembered exactly who his audience was and sighed. This was the heart of the Molani Empire and Luka would have to get used to it. No one was going to tip-toe around him. He decided to just keep going and said, "They kept building the island, both extending the land and putting up more structures -- a fine stone fortress, temples, storehouses. They imported marble and added smooth, white faces to the more important buildings."

Luka smirked. "And how long before it all started sinking into the lake?"

Arden laughed and gave him a rueful shrug. "Less than ten years after the fortress was completed. King Erren didn't care. He said it just gave them a chance to build bigger and better, as they learned more about stone construction, or brought in stone masons from the outside. They'd been a scruffy band of horse-lords before they settled and they had a lot to learn about building a civilization, or building much of anything."

"Their good fortune to get multiple chances to practice. Most people have to wait for a fire or an earthquake."

"I'm sure the gods were looking out for us even then."



The sun was approaching the horizon, even though night came a little later on the plain than it did up in the mountains. Before it was fully dark, though, Arden saw flickering lights from a pair of torches set near the road. There was a temple to Dereno with a hostelry catering mainly to traders and their caravans, but it was open to common travellers as well. Its position just below the busiest pass through the Daro Uldrem mountain range ensured it was always busy, and grateful travellers who'd just crossed, or hopeful travellers who planned to soon, contributed offerings to Dereno with an open hand.

Arden had stayed there many times and knew the road in the dark, rain and fog. A short time later he led Luka in through the gates and hailed one of the black-tunicked brothers sweeping the expanse of yard. The brown stripe around each sleeve and just above the hem of the young man's tunic indicated his low status in the temple as surely as did his menial task, which he abandoned gladly to trot over and greet the two of them.

"Highness! Welcome!" The brother bowed low, then held their horses while they dismounted. "I'll find a place for them in the stable."

There were at least a dozen horses tied to the fence, which wasn't the best way for a horse to spend the night. Arden was happy to take advantage of his rank and the brother's expectation of a generous donation before he left, even if it meant a pair of merchant horses would be ousted from their more comfortable accommodations to make room.

Luka laid a hand on one of the saddlebags and tilted his head at Arden in inquiry. Arden shook his head and said, "Brother Malen will make sure our packs find their way to my room. Come on."

He led the way into the hostel and three more brothers swarmed around him, bowing and greeting and offering compliments and choices of food. Arden always spent some time in the common room, talking and listening. Mostly listening. He doubted Luka would enjoy the experience, though, so he said, "Show my slave to the room; he'll look after my things." In Ruvori, he told Luka, "Go with the brother. You can spend the evening in the room. I'll have food sent to you."

Luka looked dubious but went without making a fuss. Arden made his selection from the limited offerings and ordered the same taken to Luka, then settled down among the merchants and beast tenders and caravan guards. The tenders and guards would bed down right there in the common room, along with the less prosperous of the merchants, after drinking all the beer they could hold. The two master merchants drank wine and would have small, private rooms like the one Arden was always given.

He greeted the masters and sat down at their round table in the front corner. Neither recognized him, but they'd noted the fuss made by the brothers when he'd entered and were willing enough to welcome him into their company. Arden introduced himself with his given name and patronymic -- Arden Solanus -- and both men were canny enough to figure out exactly who he was, and to know that he didn't care for either formality or business opportunities that evening.

Talk turned -- or possibly returned -- immediately to the Ruvori war, as Arden had expected. One of the merchants had just arrived from the Parakovac seige, where he'd led a caravan of provisions for the army and was bringing back a heavy load of the loot he'd been paid for most of it.

"So, are you going or coming, Solanus?" asked the older of the two merchants, a sturdy sun-darkened man named Berelen Teponus Borelo.

"I'm coming, actually. I left Parakovac twenty-two days ago."

"How went the seige at that time?" asked the other merchant, a wiry man with sharp, intelligent eyes named Ilem Shevorus Jaleno.

"We won," said Arden casually. "We effectively took the city the day before I left, and it was just a matter of rounding up a few pockets of resistance."

"Excellent news!" Jaleno's smile widened. "It seems I concluded my business and got out just in time. I left six days before you did."

Borelo swallowed a mouthful of wine and said, "Good news, yes. Although I was on my way out -- is there still need for basic foodstuffs? Was a gate captured or some such thing, or was the enemy starved out?"

"I heard there was some treachery from within," Arden said. He took a small sip of his own wine and shrugged. "But yes, they were well on their way to starving at the time, so I'm sure you'll find eager buyers for whatever food you bring."

"Excellent." Borelo poured a bit of his own wine onto the floor to share his good fortune with the gods.

Arden's own opinion was that Borelo was unlikely to have so much good fortune as that. The army would still be buying food but the starving Ruvori had been looted of anything they might have used to pay the inflated prices Borelo appeared to be imagining. Arden's own imagination saw any vaguely presentable Ruvori woman trading her body for whatever scraps she could get. He hoped Borelo was in a lusty mood by the time he traversed the mountain pass and the winding rock gorges of Ruvor to get to the city.

"I'm sure you'll make a fine profit," was what he actually said. "Did you offer a gift to Murano before you left?" The god of travellers and messages was Ruvori Ashti's Molani cousin, or however the gods tracked such things.

"Oh, certainly, certainly." Borelo waved a dismissive hand. "One always does. But I took quite a nice gift to Baruno as well. Baruno All-Seeing surely watches the roads as well as Murano, yes? The head of my House declared gifts to Baruno before we travel and we've had considerable good fortune from it."

"Interesting." Arden's shoulders had tensed at Baruno's name, but he kept his expression only mildly concerned. "I'd never heard that the merchants especially looked to Baruno before."

"Not traditionally, no," Borelo admitted. "But Master Arnano was taken with a malicious growth in his gut." His eyes brightened, either out of excitement over telling the tale to one who'd not yet heard it or at the thought of a Rival house losing a wise and shrewd leader, Arden couldn't tell.

"It is said that his House gifted Merciful Zelena, as well as Murano. A priestess of Zelena came and blessed him and he was relieved of his pain for a time, but the growth remained. His slaves were baking the funeral breads when a priest of Baruno came to their house. He had the slaves carry Master Arnano's bed into the garden, under the moon, then called upon the power of Baruno to heal him. The growth shrank and vanished before all their eyes, or so I heard. My uncle was there to give respect to the House and witnessed it himself. We've gifted Baruno since that day, whenever we begin a journey or a venture, or are in need."

"All have heard of it," agreed Jaleno. "Baruno is minded to grant blessings, and those who are wise remember him."

Arden let a look of surprise cross his face. "All the time? I've never heard of so benevolent a god, nor one so busy."

Borelo scowled. "Disrespect!" he snapped. He leaned forward as though to deliver a lecture, then stopped. Arden tilted his head and waited politely, but Borelo appeared to have remembered to whom he was speaking. All he said was, "Your highness is pleased to make a joke."

Jaleno glanced between Arden and his companion. "It does indeed seem wonderous and odd, but it is true. A priest of Baruno blessed the youngest wife of Baron Drojen at her labor. The poor man has only had daughters in all his years, but two boy babies were born to him that day."

"Good fortune indeed." Arden sipped his wine smiled. "And I'm sure Drojen will be happy enough when his many daughters grow old enough to begin bringing him bridegild."

Both merchants nodded and drank in agreement. "Very true," said Jaleno. "It is a grand thing to have many sons, but not so grand to buy them wives."

"My third boy has settled down with the nephew of Voleno, the master mason," commented Borelo. He was still more subdued than he'd been before Arden had come close to mocking Baruno, but was willing to speak once more. "I'll admit under the sun that I'm hoping it lasts. My first is eyeing a fourth wife. I've told him any more brides must come out of his own purse, but he's a stubborn man and headstrong. If it contracts for her and then comes to me with his palm up, I swear I'll send him to our Gicard house and let him languish with the rustics and their goats until I'm dead."

The discussion wandered down the familiar (to anyone who ever listened to the elder men) paths of the thoughtless, selfish, disrespectful young, and how the world was decaying because sons thought about themselves before their families and cetera. Arden kept smiling and nodding and tuned them out. They'd retire to bed before long and he'd be able to mix with the more common sort of men at the larger tables. He was eager to find out just how far this new admiration for Baruno had spread.



By the time Arden made his way back to his room, candle in hand, it was late enough that just about everyone else in the hostel was passed out deep in drink. His own habit was to take sips when his companions were gulping, and to eat some bread as he went, so he was only mildly fuzz-headed.

He opened the door and stepped in and a blade swished past his nose.

Arden ducked away with a snarled curse, and another curse answered him from inside. He held up the candle and saw Luka standing in the middle of the floor -- the cleared floor, with the bed turned up on its side and leaning against the far wall and the single chair perched on top of the small table in one corner -- crouched down with one sword poised over his head and the other extended and pointing toward Arden's heart. His chest was bare, sweat-shined and expanding with his heavy breaths, and his expression was a blend of shock, aggression and dismay.

When the sword pointing at him swung down to the floor, Arden took another step inside and closed the door behind him. He wanted to plant both fists on his hips to accompany a proper glare but he was still holding the candle and the table was no longer beside the door, so instead he just stared hard at Luka and hissed, "Just what were you thinking?"

Luka's expression skewed sharply in the direction of aggression and he snapped back, "Practicing."

Arden muttered a curse invoking witness of Sheviti, the Ruvori god of children and fools, and snapped, "Give me those." Without giving Luka even a moment to think about refusing, Arden stepped right up to him until they were practically chest-to-chest and took the swords out of his hands. He turned his back on Luka and stowed the swords back in their sheaths and shoved the sheaths through the flap of his pack, where they'd been since he'd bought them. When he turned around, Luka was standing where he'd been before, his fists clenched and his lips tight.

"Do you have any idea what would have happened if anyone else had walked in here?" Arden asked. The thought was only now hitting him and he had to struggle to keep his voice low and calm.

"If they had any intelligence, they'd have apologized and retreated," Luka retorted.

Arden cursed again and strode back to Luka until he was glaring right up into his eyes. He let all his fury show and Luka actually backed up two steps before he stopped and glared back.

"No!" Arden said, his whisper low but harsh. "They'd have come to tell me that my slave had threatened them with a sword, if that blade had come anywhere near as close to them as it did to me, and they'd have told me in front of dozens of men in the common room, where it would have been impossible to talk around. And I would have had to strangle you before them all because not only would you have attacked someone but you'd have attacked them with a weapon and it wouldn't have mattered whether it was a free man or another slave or a twice-cursed cat, you are a slave and you are not allowed to wield a weapon! I told you that and I did not say it for the joy of hearing my own voice!"

Luka opened his mouth -- to snap something defiant, Arden was sure -- then muttered a curse and looked away.

"No, you do not get to go sulk in a corner." Arden reached up and grabbed Luka's chin and forced him to look back and meet Arden's glare. "I've put up with your temper and attitude because I know you've had a difficult time, but your ass-headed stubbornness is going to get you killed and I'm not going to allow that. If you're determined to suicide you can wait until our task is complete and then do it yourself like a man, but you're not going to die of Sheviti-damned stupidity, not while I'm here to thump some sense into you!" He smacked his fist down on the mark on Luka's chest for emphasis. He was nearly healed and he knew it didn't hurt anymore, but it was a pointed gesture.

Luka smacked his hand away and snarled, "Don't touch me!"

"I'll touch you if I please!" Arden was ready to beat the wall in with his head. This had gone on too long and it was clear one of them needed a good thrashing -- either Luka for his unslavish attitude or Arden himself for allowing it to continue this long. Arden grabbed Luka's wrist and then thumped him again in the same spot.

Luka gave a wordless grunt and grabbed Arden around the waist. He shifted his weight and when Arden tried to back up he found that Luka had hooked an ankle behind his own and his balance vanished. They both thumped to the floor, Luka on top and with his newly-freed fist pulled back.

Arden wrapped his legs around Luka's hips and twisted. Luka was taller but Arden was heavier and with the right leverage he flipped him easily. Luka pushed him back, then twisted sharply at the waist and slammed his elbow into Arden's jaw. Arden grunted in pain and shook his head, trying to clear it and get his bearings once more.

They rolled again and then Luka was on top. He planted a knee in Arden's gut and the air whooshed out of him.

Luka leaned back and stared down at Arden, as though trying to figure out whether he was up to striking back. Arden was, and decided to be helpful by demonstrating. His fist sank into Luka's stomach and they rolled again.

Arden was sure someone would have been pounding on their door if the hostel didn't serve such fine wine to its wealthiest guests, and so much beer to everyone else. The stone floor was cold and unyielding, but the thumps of blows, grunts of pain, and occasional bangs and thuds as they rolled into a piece of furniture or the pile of saddlebags would've drawn angry protests from anyone sleeping lightly, so it was just as well no one was.

The two of them finally ended up on their sides, having grappled each other to a draw, neither able to move unless the other let loose a tightly-grasping fist or released a twined leg. They panted hard in each other's faces, still glaring their anger, when Arden became suddenly very much aware of Luka's bare chest pressed against his shirt. He could feel the sweat soaking through.

Without a single rational thought in his head, Arden attacked him again, this time with an angry kiss.