Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free!
They touch our country, and their shackles fall.—William Cowper
"I don't like it. Don't like it at all." Daven shook his head, his hairless scalp shining in the sunlight. He was probably the most battered human being Karl had ever seen. His left eye was covered by a patch; half of his left ear and three fingers of his right hand were missing. Long scars ran down his face and neck, vanishing into his tunic.
"Your opinion wasn't asked, Daven," Chak said.
"Be still, Chak." Karl shook his head and switched to English. "Don't irritate him, understood?"
"Yes, Karl." Sitting astride his gray gelding, Chak glared down at Daven. It was possible that he naturally had little liking for Daven, but more likely Karl's own distaste was infectious.
Karl didn't particularly like the former Nyph mercenary, not the way he enjoyed the company of Aveneer, the third raiding-team leader.
Still, Karl had to admit that Daven had a certain something. A year or so back, after a raid on a slaver caravan, one of Daven's men had gotten the bright idea of selling some slaves instead of freeing them. Daven hadn't returned Home for advice or instructions; he had hunted the bastard down himself and brought the charred bones back.
"The Mayor agreed to allow an emissary," Daven went on as though Chak weren't there, "but they've sent more than two hundred—and I wouldn't swear on my life that the only soldiers among them are the fifty wearing armor."
"Can't blame them," Karl said, fitting his boot into Carrot's stirrup and pulling himself up to the saddle. "There've been enough slaving raids into Therranj; traveling without military escort would be asking for trouble."
Daven smiled. "So why are we here?" He gestured at the log cabin that was officially Home's customs station, and the grassy slope below the cabin, where fifty warriors from his team waited, guns loaded and horses saddled.
"Because I don't like to take chances."
"No, not you." A snort. "I believe that. How many of my men do you want to take with you?"
"None. You're here for show. Period. I'm just going over to chat. I don't care what you hear, all of you stay here until and unless I send for you." Karl jerked his thumb skyward. "Ellegon covers me on this." He pulled on the reins and turned Carrot away, Chak following on his gelding.
Daven shrugged. "You have all the fun." His laugh followed Karl and Chak over the rise.
The Therranji had camped on the plain, almost a mile from the ridge that overlooked the valley. Khoral's emissary traveled in style; the encampment reminded Karl of an old-time circus, the several dozen tents ranging in size from three barely larger than a typical Boy Scout Voyageur to a mammoth red-and-white silk one that could almost have served P. T. Barnum as a big top.
Near the entrance to the main tent, a team of cooks attended to a side of beef, turning it slowly over a low fire. The wind brought the scent to him; it smelled absolutely wonderful.
Mounted elven soldiers in chainmail and iron helmets patrolled the perimeter. Three of them approached Karl and Chak as they rode toward the camp.
*Don't make any unnecessary enemies.*
Karl looked up. High overhead, Ellegon circled.
"Since when do I go around making enemies unnecessarily?"
Chak laughed. "How about the time you drew on Baron Furnael? That could have turned bloody. Or when you beat Ohlmin—"
"Enough. It was necessary, or I wouldn't have done it."
*That's what they all say.*
Karl ignored the jibe. Tell me, Kreskin, what are the elves up to?
*My name is Ellegon. And they're all shielded. Sorry. But you might want to get on with this; your wife is already inside—*
What?
*—with Tennetty to keep her company. Not my idea, Karl; I told her you wouldn't like it.*
Karl quelled the urge to spur Carrot past the horsemen, then forced himself to pull her gently to a halt. This was a time for negotiation, not violence.
*Just keep it that way. I can recall a time or two that you've turned—*
Enough. Don't you ever forget anything?
*Nope. Just think of me as a many-tonned conscience.* A gout of fire roared through the sky.
Chak shook his head. "I don't like it."
"Neither do I." Karl bit his lower lip for a moment. "When we dismount, hand the nearest elf your falchion—don't wait for him to ask—then go inside, quietly. When I call for you, I want you and Tennetty to bring Andy out. Move slowly, but get her on a horse and over the hill."
"And what will you be doing?"
"That all depends on them. But I don't want any potential hostages clogging the negotiations." Karl wound his reins around his saddle horn and folded his arms over his chest. He didn't even have a pistol with him; SOP was to avoid letting any foreigner see guns, although he had made several exceptions to that rule in his time.
"Greetings," the foremost of the soldiers said, in an airy voice. In full armor and padding, he looked almost fully fleshed, if exceedingly tall; elves always looked like regular people, stretched lengthwise in a funhouse mirror. But the appearance of fragility was deceptive; pound for pound, elves were stronger than humans. "You are the human called Karl Cullinane?"
I'm called Karl Cullinane because that's my name—and what do I look like, a dwarf?
*Temper, temper.*
"Yes, I am Karl Cullinane."
"You are expected. You and your servant will follow me."
I just might have to teach you how to say please, but this isn't the time—not quite yet. Karl unwound his reins and nudged Carrot into a walk. The speaker took the lead, while the other two rode beside Karl and Chak.
*Can I trust you to keep out of trouble for a while? I have a patrol to fly, and I've got to see that Aveneer's supplies are packed.*
Go ahead.
*I'll be back.* The dragon wheeled across the sky and flew away.
The soldiers led them toward the large tent, then stopped their own horses, waiting for Karl and Chak to dismount first.
Nodding at Chak to copy him, Karl levered himself out of the saddle.
While Chak surrendered his sword to the elven armsman and was ushered inside, Karl dug into his saddlebag and removed a carrot for Carrot. He slipped her bit, dropped the reins to the ground, then stepped on them before feeding it to her, running his hand down her neck. "Good girl."
The soldier cleared his throat. "They are this way."
Karl turned and started to follow him into the tent; one of the other soldiers reached out a hand and grasped Karl's arm.
"I'll have your sword, human."
Karl didn't answer. On the other hand, maybe this is the time to teach you some manners.
He looked down at his arm, then up into the elf's eyes, and smiled. He had put a lot of practice into that smile over the years; it was intended to frighten, to suggest that the bared teeth were going to be sunk into a throat.
The elf dropped his hand. "I will need to take your sword before you enter," he said, his voice a touch less arrogant.
"Guess again." Moving slowly, Karl walked back to Carrot and tied her reins around the saddle horn, then let her nuzzle his face for a moment before turning her around and slapping her rump. "Go home, Carrot. Git!"
He turned back. The three soldiers had been joined by six others; mounted troops were gathering around.
Good.
"Why did you do that?"
"I don't want my horse to get hurt." He raised his voice. "Chak!"
"Yes, Karl," came the distant answer.
"Get Andrea out of there."
"Understood."
I'd damn well better be doing this right, he thought. He turned back to the elf who had demanded his sword. "Now, you were going to try to take my sword away from me?" He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled, beckoning to all the elven soldiers in the area.
He drew himself up straight, resting his right hand on the hilt of his sword. "Listen carefully, all of you. This . . . person—what's your name?"
No answer.
"I asked your name!"
"Jherant ip Therranj, personal armsman to—"
"I didn't ask your rank." Karl sneered. "I'm not interested. Now," he said, addressing the rest, "Jherant here wants my sword. He didn't ask politely; he demanded it.
"I don't think he's good enough to take it." Karl smiled again. "Little Jherant here doesn't look quite sturdy enough." He looked from face to face as he gripped the sharkskin hilt. "Which of you wants to help him?"
An elf dismounted and tossed his helmet aside. "I will, human," he said, pronouncing the word like a curse. The elf nodded to another, who began to circle around behind Karl. Karl heard a distant whisk of steel on leather as the elf drew a dagger.
"Good," Karl said. He pointed to another. "You, too. And you, and you, and you. We're going to play a little game now. What we're going to do is to see how many of you have to die because Jherant hasn't learned a little bit of elementary politeness. I'm willing to bet my life that it's all of you." He looked Jherant straight in the eye. "But don't go away. You're going to be first. Even if your friend at my back closes—"
Karl kicked back, catching the elf in the solar plexus. As the air whooshed from the elf's lungs, Karl reached up and twisted, relieving him of the dagger, then dropping it point-first into the ground.
Karl lifted the gasping elf in his arms and handed him to the nearest of his companions. "Next?"
Jherant paled. This was ridiculous—one human against more than a dozen elven soldiers?
Slowly, Karl drew his sword, then raised it in a salute. Three of the elves copied him, while others moved away, also drawing their weapons.
He stood, waiting.
Tension hung in the air like taut wires. His sword in his right hand, Karl crooked his fingers and beckoned to Jherant. "Come here. You wanted my sword—here it is."
Another elf snickered and nudged Jherant from behind. White-faced, he drew his sword—
"What goes on here?" a firm contralto demanded. The tent flap was pushed aside and a woman walked out, blinking against the bright sunlight.
She was something from a dream: tall, slim, and fine-boned, her long hair so blond it was almost transparent. Her features were delicate; most beautiful human women would have looked gross and crude standing beside her.
She looked down at the nearest of the soldiers and frowned. "What goes on here?" she asked again.
The elf ducked his head. "Your pardon, Lady. This . . . human wants to fight with us."
She looked over at Karl, one eyebrow raised. "Is this so?"
"Not necessarily. I just want to kill the ones without any manners. Improve the breed a bit for you. I might have given this idiot my sword if he'd asked politely, but he demanded it."
"You're Karl Cullinane, I take it." Her lips twitched. "I see that the stories are true. You'd take on all of my soldiers, hoping to hold out until your reinforcements arrived?"
"You don't know my husband, Lady Dhara," Andy-Andy said, as she pushed through the tent flaps and stood beside the elf woman, Tennetty and Chak to either side of her. "I don't think he's waiting for reinforcements."
"Now," Karl said quietly, "get Andy out of here. No reinforcements. Tell Daven."
Tennetty nodded and pulled at Andy-Andy's arm.
One of the soldiers reached out a hesitant arm as though to bar them; Chak grabbed, twisted the elf's arm up and behind his back, then booted him away, snatching the sword out of his scabbard as he fell on his face.
A thin smile crossing her face, Tennetty's hand snaked out and seized another elf by the trachea. Not daring to move for fear that she would rip his throat out, the elf stood there as she quickly unbuckled his swordbelt and let it drop to the ground. Looking him straight in the eye, Tennetty suddenly snapped her knee into his groin, then stooped to retrieve the scabbard. She turned around, her newly acquired sword held easily in her hand.
Nobody else moved.
"Sorry, Karl," Tennetty said. "I gave them my sword. Andrea said there was to be no trouble."
Dhara eyed Karl. "I take it that you have other ideas."
"Perhaps, Lady. It all depends on you. I've been told that you've come here to negotiate. Would you rather do it with words, or with swords?"
"Words," she said. "Definitely words." She gestured at Jherant. "You are dismissed from my service," she said, before turning to another elf. "Captain, have that fool stripped of his weapons and driven away. Karl Cullinane may keep his sword. Anyone who is discourteous to him will answer to me. If he survives." She gestured toward the tent flap. "Karl Cullinane. If you, your wife, and your two friends would be kind enough to join me?"
Karl sheathed his sword. "Delighted, Lady. After you."
*You were taking a big chance.*
Karl sipped at his wine. It would have been more of a chance not to.
*You can explain that later.*
"Your eyes look . . . distant, Karl Cullinane," Dhara said, reclining on the opposite couch. She held out her own wineglass for a refill.
"Just talking to the dragon." He jerked his thumb skyward. "No offense intended."
Dhara chuckled. "In your world, politeness must be much more important than it is thought to be here." She wetted a slim finger and ran it around the rim of her glass, enjoying the clear, ringing tone. "Although I must confess that I wonder how serious you were. Mmmm . . . 'No offense intended'—is that the correct phrase?"
Andy-Andy shook her head gravely. "Lady, I wish you wouldn't do that. You weren't around when he declared war on the Slavers' Guild single-handedly. I was."
*From Andrea: "I could back your play better if I knew what it was." She's not thrilled with you, Karl.*
Tell her I'll thrill her later. "If you'd care to find out just how serious I was, Lady, it could be arranged."
Chak sighed and got slowly, painfully to his feet. "Here we go again."
"Hold on for a moment." Tennetty drained her glass. "Can I get in on this? You always get all the fun." She tested the blade of her newly acquired sword with her thumb. "I've heard dull blades are good for cutting cheese—how's yours?"
"Another cheese cutter." Chak shook his head. "Maybe Nehera can put a decent edge on it."
*From Tennetty: "You're absolutely insane, you know."*
"Don't bet against Karl Cullinane, Lady Dhara," Tennetty said. "The odds are too long."
"You think he could take on my fifty soldiers? Even with your help?"
"I didn't think that was the issue. You're an emissary from Lord Khoral, and one of your men challenged Karl—doesn't that make the question whether or not Karl is going to declare war on Therranj itself?"
Dhara paled. "Are you—" She caught herself. "I find myself in an awkward position. Lord Khoral sent me to negotiate your incorporation into Therranj. I seem to find myself having to negotiate a peace treaty instead."
*From Andy-Andy: "I see a method in your madness, but there's still too damn much madness in your method."*
Thanks. "Sit down, Chak. Frankly, I'd rather not get involved in a war with Therranj," he said to Dhara, trying to sound as though he were considering the subject casually.
*I get it. I don't like it, but I get it. If you can create the slightest doubt in her mind that Therranj couldn't take on you alone, then she's not going to have any trouble swallowing the idea that leaving Home alone is the best move—assuming that she can't get you to join up.*
Right. And we've made that point. The threat is patent nonsense—
*Which only makes it better.*
Exactly. 'Legend' is another word for 'nonsense.' She's not sure that she believes any of this, but there have been too many stories about me being passed around, growing in the telling. Last time I heard about how I took on Ohlmin, Slovotsky wasn't in on it, and Ohlmin had a hundred men, not eight. The rest of this is just pro forma; I've made the point.
*And if she had called your bluff?*
Karl didn't answer. There wasn't a real answer. Years ago, it had become clear that he wasn't likely to die of old age. His situation wasn't like that of an Other Side soldier in a normal sort of war; Karl had enlisted for the duration, and the duration was sure to be longer than even his natural lifespan.
If this was where he was going to die, that was the way it would have to be. Chak and Tennetty would have been able to get Andy-Andy out in the confusion, and that would have had to be enough.
*Well, as long as you don't believe your own bullshit . . .*
You so sure it's bullshit?
*Yup. And you are, too. Now, stop sweating and start negotiating.*
The elf woman beckoned another servitor to refill their glasses. "Now, where were we?"
Karl smiled back at her. "We were discussing peace between Therranj and Home. Sounds like a good idea to me—as it should to you."
"I thought the issue was to be the incorporation of the Valley of Varnath into Therranj proper. That is its proper name, you know."
"Not anymore." Karl shrugged. "Look. We're going to have a town meeting on the question of joining Therranj. The majority will decide—"
Tennetty interrupted him with a loud snicker. "Karl's always thought that counting noses means something."
Dhara raised an eyebrow. "And you don't?"
She laughed. "Of course not. But my opinion doesn't matter—it's my loyalty that does."
"Enough," Karl said. "As I was saying, I'm voting against. I think Ahira is going to stay in office, and Home is going to stay independent. But that doesn't mean that we can't continue to trade with you. We have things you want: Riccetti's horsecollars, better plows than you're used to, finer blades—"
"Guns. And gunpowder. We want your Lou Riccetti to produce them for us."
"—and we also produce a food surplus, each and every year. That doesn't amount to much yet, but we're still growing. And as far as the guns go," he said with a shrug, "those are our secret, and are going to stay that way for the foreseeable future."
"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. "I've heard otherwise."
*I don't like this, Karl.*
Neither do I. Has anyone been talking about the slaver powder and guns?
*Negative.* Ellegon made it a blanket statement of fact.
"As a matter of fact," Dhara went on, "there have been guns operating in the war between Bieme and Holtun. I have it on good authority that the Biemish reverses have been due to the Holts' having some."
*I haven't heard anything about this. Pry for more information.*
"I'd have to doubt that, Lady. Your sources must be mistaken. We haven't taken sides in the war—"
"Nevertheless, there have been guns. You would like witnesses?"
At Karl's nod, Dhara snapped her fingers. "Bring them in."
Elven soldiers brought three humans into the tent, guarding them closely.
"Thinking that you might demand reliable witnesses, I couldn't resist buying these, when I ran across them in a Metreyll market. Which is somewhat ironic; it seems that they were originally headed to Metreyll, although not to become slaves. They were captured by mercenaries employed by Holtun—mercenaries who used guns to kill their bodyguards."
Karl started to speak, but as the three were led in, his words caught in his throat. He didn't recognize the adult man, but both the woman and the boy were familiar.
"Rahff!" Karl leaped to his feet. "How? I saw you die—"
"Karl!" Chak caught his arm. "It's not him."
No, it wasn't Rahff. Rahff had died in Melawei, protecting Aeia. If Rahff had lived, he would have been older than this boy. If Rahff had lived . . . but he hadn't.
And then there was the woman. White streaks had invaded the black of her hair, but the high cheekbones and eyes were a feminine version of Rahff's.
They were Thomen Furnael and his mother Beralyn, the baroness.
Years ago, Karl had suspected that Zherr Furnael had a plan to get the rest of his family away from the oncoming war. Just as he had apprenticed Rahff to Karl, hoping that Karl could teach the boy enough to lead the barony through the war.
But it hadn't worked. Rahff had been killed in Melawei, and now it seemed that Furnael's plan to safeguard the rest of his family had failed.
Until now. Ellegon, get the dwarf. I want him to take over Daven's team. Just in case. "Thomen, Baroness," he said, inclining his head. "It has been a long time."
Dhara snapped her fingers. "Beralyn, you will tell him about the guns. Now."
"You don't understand, Lady Dhara," Karl said, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "The baroness and the boy—all three of them are here now, they're under my protection now. They're free. They're beholden to nobody, owned by nobody."
"Another bluff, Karl Cullinane?"
Tennetty was the first to move; she kicked a table toward the nearest guard, then leaped at Dhara, wrestling the elf woman from the couch, bringing one arm up behind Dhara's back in a hammerlock, setting her blade against the elf woman's throat.
One of the soldiers drew his sword and lunged toward her from behind. Chak parried, then kicked at the elf's elbow; the blade fell from nerveless fingers. He stood, smiling at Dhara's guards.
In the distance, three gunshots rang out.
*Nobody's hurt, yet. I've sent for the dwarf instead of fetching him; Daven needed a bit of persuading to stay put. We compromised on a few warning shots.*
"Nobody's seriously hurt yet, Dhara. Those shots were just a warning."
Andy-Andy raised her hands and wet her lips. "These are the mother and brother of Karl's first apprentice, Lady Dhara. I wouldn't push the matter."
Even with Tennetty's blade at her throat, Dhara managed a smile. "Lord Khoral intended to give the three of them to you, as tokens of our sincerity. If you wish to free them, well, that is your concern. Not mine."
Gently, she tried to push Tennetty's blade away; at Karl's nod, Tennetty let her.
"We'll have to continue this discussion later," Karl said. "Baroness, Thomen, and you, whoever you are, if you will follow me, we'll see to your needs."
The three didn't say anything; they just followed sullenly.