Return of the Exile

4 The Emperor’s Daughter

A heavy knock on the frame of her narrow door Drought Linsha awake before dawn. She yawned and stretched to a sitting position, and for the thirtieth time in as many days, she thought sadly of Varia. The owl had been her constant companion for over five years and habitually woke her in the morning by bouncing on her and hooting softly in her face. It was a far better awakening than this unfriendly, impersonal slam on the door. By Kiri-Jolith, she missed her friend. She didn’t even have the solace of knowing what had happened to Varia. Lanther had refused to let her see the owl before they left the city and would not tell her what he had done with the bird. Nor had she been able to ask since they landed in Ithin’carthia. The one advantage that she could see about being sequestered from the male population was she hadn’t seen Lanther for almost two weeks.

She groaned and rose as Callista slipped into the tiny room with a basin of cold water and a cup of juice. The courtesan looked tired. She had a soft gray look about her eyes and a sag in her shoulders. It was little wonder. Linsha estimated by the time she finished with all the work the palace servants were required to do that she had only four or five hours before she had to start again. The small blonde smiled at Linsha and handed her the juice.

Linsha grimaced. “This dodgagd juice is foul. Where do you suppose they get it?”

Callista laid the basin on a stand. “You don’t want to know. But I am told it is very good for the blood flow. And good blood flow means—”

“Strong muscles, and strong muscles mean healthy babies, and healthy babies mean a greater Tarmak nation,” Linsha said by rote. “I swear if I hear any more about Tarmak babies, I will hurt someone.” She spoke in a loud voice knowing full well she could be heard through the thin screens that separated her from the other sleeping chambers of the barracks-like dormitory.

But Callista was not so bold and replied in a much lower tone. “I know. They are single-minded. The servants say there are seven women with child in the Akeelawasee—and five of them are the Emperor’s get.”

Linsha grimaced at the mere mention of the Emperor and pregnant women spoken together in the same breath. It reminded her of the slave women brought from the Missing City. She hadn’t seen one of them yet, and she could only hope they were still alive. Her thoughts hurried on while she pulled a clean sleeveless shirt over her head. The rumors of babies brought something else to mind she had noticed earlier.

“If all these females are breeding little Tarmaks like rabbits, where are the children?” she asked.

Callista straightened out the blankets and rolled up the sleeping pallet to look busy in case someone passed by the door. “The royal children are in another part of the palace. Their mothers feed them and visit them until they are about seven, then the boys are sent to a military camp and the girls are sent somewhere else for schooling and physical conditioning.”

“Seven?” Linsha repeated, horrified at the thought. At seven she had been happily ensconced in the center of her family, surrounded by loving parents, grandparents, and a brother who still called her by her family nickname. “I can hardly imagine that. A child should be with its family.”

Callista agreed. “My mother may have been a courtesan, but she kept me with her until her death.” She paused and a pale twinkle lit her blue eyes. “Have you had children, Lady Linsha?”

Linsha gave a snort. “I had a horse once.”

Then there was no more time for talk. A bell rang in the corridor calling the women to their first exercise period of the day. Linsha groaned. She had been in this place for about fourteen days and she had come to loathe that bell. It ruled her life like a slave driver, holding her fast to the rigid routine of the Akeelawasee. What, she wondered as she stretched a little, did the common females do? If they were bound to this sort of royal routine, nothing would ever be done.

She was about to leave the cubicle when she suddenly turned and looked at Callista. “How do you know what the servants are saying? Do you speak Tarmakian already?”

The courtesan waved a casual hand. “Servants talk. A few speak Common. They’re all slaves from different areas. There’s even an old woman from Solamnia who was left here by the Dark Knights. She talks to me often. Oh! Another thing I heard. The apothecary, Afec? Some of the older slaves say he is a prophet. They say he has visions sometimes.” She giggled. “It’s probably from all the fumes from his herbs and medicines. Maybe he’ll have another vision of how we can escape from here.”

Linsha grinned. “I’ll ask. Keep your ears open. Let me know what else ‘they’ say.”

Callista’s humor abruptly faded and she held out a hand. “One last thing. Malawaitha has been away being ‘properly chastised.’ Whatever that means. But someone said she was coming back soon.”

“I’ll watch for her. Thanks.”

Malawaitha, Linsha thought as she jogged outside to join the noblewomen. Afec had told her the emperor’s daughter had been sent out of the palace for a while as punishment for her temperamental outburst to the Empress, but no one had said where she had gone or what was happening to her. It had been rather nice not to have to worry about the fiery Tarmak stabbing her in the back or ambushing her during one of their long runs.

The gods knew this place had taken some getting used to. Even her first few years in the Solamnic knighthood had not been as regimented as this. She and all the other royal women rose before dawn for a cup of foul dodgagd juice and a three mile run over the palace grounds followed by calisthenics and swimming. Then there was breakfast, more exercise, a massage, a light midday meal, more exercise, and any work the Empress saw fit to hand out. Then there was music lessons or weapons practice, gymnastics, a small evening meal, discussions on what Linsha could only describe as beauty lessons, and then it was bedtime when all the females had to retire to their personal cells for sleep. The routine was so set and so predictable that she was already perishing from boredom. She was too accustomed to setting her own times, making up her own mind, doing things in her own manner. She liked reading books, visiting with friends, riding her horses, eating different foods, facing challenges, using her mind! Here there was nothing to do but exercise, eat dull food, and sleep. It was enough to drive her mad.

On the good side though, she noted while she jogged along the same dull dirt path, the food, the rest, and the exercise had done her a world of good. After so many months of war and hunger and strife, she desperately needed the food to rebuild her strength, the rest to rebuild her stamina, and the mindless exercise to regain her old skills. She truly felt better than she had in months.

She was so deep in thought that she did not pay much attention to the grounds around her. She had already seen this path fourteen times in a row and examined it carefully for some means of escape. Unfortunately, the grounds were walled in by high stone barriers and frequently patrolled by Tarmak guards. There was no way out that she had been able to see, yet. This morning the sun was barely up and a heavy dew drenched the grass. The shadows were still thick under the trees, but the sky was clear and promised another warm sunlit day.

There were so many other women out running that Linsha paid scant attention to the footsteps pounding behind her. Suddenly a hand struck her between her shoulder blades and shoved her off balance. She staggered sideways, slipped on the damp grass, and fell to her knees. One knee scraped something hard, and pain streaked up her leg. Linsha looked up in time to see Malawaitha run by, a nasty little smile on her face.

“Malawaitha, wait! I’d like to talk to…” Linsha yelled, but the Tarmak woman kept running and soon disappeared among the trees.

Wincing with pain, Linsha climbed to her feet and continued jogging. She didn’t look at her knee. It was obviously scraped, and if it was bleeding, the blood would help clean out the wound until she could find some water and a bandage. This time she ran with her full attention pinned on the track ahead. If Malawaitha could do something like this, she wouldn’t put it past the Tarmak woman to try to ambush her in any one of the groves of trees along the trail. When she heard more runners come up behind her, she slowed a little to allow them to catch up with her. Better to run in a group than by herself. The other Tarmak women in the Akeelawasee tended to ignore her, but at least they didn’t shove her into the dirt.

By the time she reached the end of the morning run, she had blood dried in streaks down her shin. The Empress, waiting at the end of the path, spotted the bloody injury and snapped a word to Afec standing patiently nearby. There was no sign of Malawaitha. Linsha bowed to the Empress as was customary and said nothing about the petty incident with the Emperor’s daughter. She would bide her time and wait to see if this animosity would continue.

The old slave shuffled forward to meet Linsha. “Lady, you must clean that before you can enter the eating hall. It is unsanitary.”

“Undoubtedly,” Linsha replied. She looked down at her knee and frowned. The knee was scraped as she suspected, but there was a short deep cut just below the kneecap as if she had fallen on a sharp stick or a pointed rock. Annoyed, she followed Afec past the dining hall and through an archway into a large garden basking in the morning sun.

Linsha slowed to look around. A few small trees grew in the well-tended beds, but most of the plants she could see looked like herbs. She recognized a few from her own land—feverfew, thyme, marigold, and sage. The rest were new to her, probably culled from the highlands and jungles of the Tarmak island. Their scents filled her nose as she walked along the side of a building after Afec.

At the far end of the building, the Damjatt entered a small room and invited her to enter.

The room must have been Afec’s workroom, for the only pieces of furniture in it were a large table, a smaller work table, and row after row of shelves neatly stacked with bottles, boxes, jars, stacks of linens, and bowls. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling. Another rack held small bottles of powders, unguents, and liquids of various colors. A brazier burned on the worktable, heating something that slowly bubbled in a cooking pot and smelled similar to horehound.

“I wanted to warn you before you ran,” Afec said, indicating that she should take a seat on the large table. He bustled around the tables and shelves as if he was very familiar with the room. “Malawaitha has returned.”

Linsha studied the dirty, oozing scrape and the cut on her knee. “Yes, I saw her.”

She watched while Afec collected a basin of water and a clean cloth. His short stubby fingers played over the jars and boxes for a moment then plucked a stoppered bottle and a jar out of the rack.

“I know you’ve told me Malawaitha is betrothed to Lanther, but what if one of them changes their mind?” she asked. “Do the Tarmaks break their betrothal vows?”

The Damjatt poured a small amount of a clear liquid into the bowl of water and brought it to the table where Linsha sat. “This will sting a little.” Gently he swabbed her knee with a cloth dampened in the water.

Linsha sucked in her breath. It did sting! Yet the pain was not enough to distract her from her chain of thought. She was about to repeat her question when Afec finally answered her with innate discretion.

“It can be done if the Emperor wishes it. However, Malawaitha is a beautiful, headstrong, willful, ambitious woman with the desires of her father’s family. Unfortunately she has her mother’s blood and intelligence.” When Linsha looked blank, the old servant gave a slight shrug and went on. “As you might have noticed, the Tarmaks set great store by rank and position, but their ideas of rank are not always based on birth or even bloodlines. Often it is earned. The warlord Lanther is a good example. He is not a Tarmak, but his skills impressed them so much that he was adopted by the Emperor’s brother and became a high ranking leader in the military.”

“So what does this have to do with Malawaitha?” Linsha asked. “Isn’t she the daughter of the Emperor?”

“Yes, and that grants her some rights and privileges of rank. But her mother was a slave. Unless Malawaitha marries a high-ranking leader or official in the court, she will forever remain a second-rank female in the Akeelawasee.”

Linsha couldn’t think of many things that would be worse. The second-ranked females, she’d noticed, rarely left the grounds of the women’s compound and were often given the most mundane work such as spinning, simple weaving, cleaning equipment, and taking turns caring for the numerous offspring that lived in another part of the palace. She could little blame the energetic, ambitious Malawaitha for wanting something better.

“So she has set her aim on Lanther.”

Afec nodded while he cleaned the cut on her knee. “Some years ago. She saw him at court functions and at the games, and she tried to convince her father to let her marry the human. Even though he was not of the People, he was of higher rank and could bring her status up. She convinced the Emperor to arrange a betrothal. Then Lanther and the Akkad-Ur planned the attack on your land. Lanther left our city and was gone for almost three years. Now that he is back, Malawaitha plans to continue where she left off.”

“But I am in the way.”

Afec glanced at her keenly from under his thick brows. “Malawaitha certainly thinks so. If I may ask, Lady, why are you here? I do not believe it is to enjoy our customs. Are you wishing to marry the warlord?”

Linsha laughed at the irony of the whole thing. She couldn’t help it.

Afec, startled by the bitter fierceness in her eyes, set down the bloody cloth and studied her. His wrinkled face grew thoughtful. “You do not wish this?” he said curiously.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I do not wish it. But it is a matter of honor and a clutch of dragon eggs.”

To her surprise, the Damjatt brightened with interest. “Dragon eggs. Did you bring them with you? They have great medicinal power. I would be pleased to see an egg in its entirety.”

A suspicion sounded in Linsha’s mind. Where had he seen dragon eggs, and what did he mean by “its entirety”?

“How do you know about dragon eggs?” she asked, careful to keep her voice mild and unemotional. “Was the Dark Knight’s dragon a female?”

“No, no. Methanfire was a male. There were eggs from other dragons.”

“What other dragons?” This time Linsha could not contain her interest or her rising intensity. “Are there dragons on this island? What did you do to the eggs?”

The quickening of interest died in Afec’s demeanor as quickly as it came. Something must have come into his mind, for he hastily retreated behind his mask of reticence and bowed low, his hands clasped in front of him. “It was a long time ago, Lady. When the previous healer was teaching me the craft. She had boxes of dragon scales and pieces of shells that she used in her potions and medicines. They have not been renewed in a long while.”

“So you have had no other dragon on this island than Methanfire?”

“None that I have seen,” he muttered and bent to his task to avoid any more questions.

Linsha stifled her irritation. She had a feeling he was not telling her the whole truth, but she wasn’t sure what the whole truth could be. He seemed to know something he did not want to share, but if there was something the old Damjatt was hiding, it would have to be wheedled out of him later when he had forgotten this conversation.

“Lady, the cut is deep and will be sore for a few days. But it will heal.” He dabbed a creamy unguent on the scrape and wiped his hands on a clean cloth. “If you have a problem with it, please let me know.”

Linsha nodded and slipped off the table. She had come to know this Damjatt better the past two weeks. In spite of her intense loathing of this place, she had grown to like the old servant. He had a quiet dignity that appealed to her and an indefinable inner strength that gleamed behind the bowing head and clasped hands of his slave’s status. He was efficient, solicitous without being fawning, and a well of useful information—at least information he felt she should know. Apparently dragons were a subject he didn’t want to discuss. Callista’s words came to mind, and Linsha wondered briefly if there was any truth to the rumors from the servants quarters that Afec was a prophet.

She followed him back across the cloister and entered the dining hall. At a table on the far side of room, she saw Malawaitha lounging amidst a group of the younger females. Probably they were her friends and siblings, Linsha thought. They seemed pleased to see her.

Ignoring Malawaitha’s presence, Linsha found an empty table and sat down. The Tarmaks usually sat on the floor and ate together at a low table spread with bowls of food and cups of beverages. The women did not drink as much wine or ale as the men, but they partook of fruit juices, water, and a powerful concoction of leaves, bark, and the gods knew what else called tazeer. According to Afec, it was a recipe handed down for generations that was supposed to help the body, strengthen the mind, and increase fertility. Linsha thought it tasted like swill and yearned for a cool cup of mead, a mug of her grandfather’s spring ale, or even a scorching cup of kefre.

As soon as she was seated, Callista brought a bowl of hot cereal that contained some sort of grain Linsha didn’t recognize. Steam rose from the gelatinous mass in the bowl, and a smell similar to slightly moldy wheat wafted over the table.

Linsha stifled a groan: Didn’t these people break their fast with anything else? She didn’t mind hot cereal once in a while when she could have it with cream and honey. But not like this, freshly boiled and unflavored. And not every day!

“Don’t they serve meat around here?” she grumbled.

“Where are the sausages? The steaks? The venison and mutton? The hams and pickled pigs feet?”

Afec blanched. “Pigs feet? You truly eat such things?”

“All right, I am jesting about the trotters. I never liked them either. But meat! Why don’t they serve meat here? Even our evening meal is nothing hut soup, soup, flatbread, and soup. This is worse than being under siege. They overcook the vegetables, the fruit is soft and overly ripe, and this stuff should be fed to horses.” She shoved the bowl away. She knew she was being childish, but she didn’t want to stop. She was hungry, Chaos blast it, and not for this slop. “Soups, stews, tubers, boiled grain, and not a scrap of meat in sight.”

“Don’t forget the fish,” Callista added.

“You are fed well,” Afec protested at the same time.

Linsha threw up her hands. “Fish! I am sick of fish. That’s all we see are bits of fish.” Her voice was growing louder, and she made no effort to lower it. “And what about chickens? Or eggs? Don’t you ever eat chickens?”

Afec stood motionless by her side, hoping she would not attract the attention of the Empress. “We do not have enough chickens. They were brought from your country and are considered a great delicacy.”

Callista nodded, ever helpful. “They don’t seem to have much meat. I’ve been in the kitchens. What meat there is goes to the Emperor and his warriors. It helps strengthen their… attributes.” She winked at Afec, whisked off a few dirty bowls, and hurried away to fetch a pitcher of tazeer.

Linsha watched her go with a faint smile. The courtesan had a touch of deviltry in her petite frame that often came out in the presence of the gloomy Damjatt. Although neither she nor Linsha had ever asked, they both assumed from the pudgy look of his body and the higher-pitched timbre of his voice that Afec was a eunuch. It was the only way he would be tolerated in the Akeelawasee with all the royal women.

The reminder of Afec’s position in this place sobered her a little. He was as much a prisoner as she, yet he complained little. He had not even said a word of protest about being assigned to a foreigner who whined about the food and couldn’t control her bad moods. She settled back to her seat, drew the bowl back, and stuck a spoon in the thick porridge. To avoid eating for another few minutes, she asked, “Why do the warriors get the meat? Is there some sort of religious or moral rule?”

“Lady, most of the meat is served to the males because it is they who fight for the glory of the people. Women who are with child are also given meat in hopes that their baby will be a male. The rest of the population must eat the fish, grains, and vegetables.” A sadness came over his face, much like the look of regret he had revealed when he talked about his own people and their horses. “It was not always that way,” he added so softly that Linsha barely heard him.

She lowered her voice. “What changed?”

“This land is too populated. The Tarmaks have spread like locusts. They cut back the jungles for fields and for wood. They overgraze the grasslands with their cattle and sheep. There is not enough arable land left to support all the people.”

His words clicked in Linsha’s mind and a few pieces of understanding fell into place. “No wonder they want Iyesta’s realm,” she said. Images of green fields, the rolling Toranth River, the woods, and the herds of fat cattle took form in her memory and for a moment a homesickness pierced her heart with the force of an arrow.

Someone moved behind her. Suddenly she felt something hot and sticky splat on her neck. The heat stung her skin.

“Malawaitha!” Afec cried. Red-faced he gave her a carefully worded reprimand.

A smooth, silky voice answered in an apology so patently false Linsha wanted to laugh. “Oh, Small One, I am so sorry. I didn’t—” Linsha could understand that much. The rest was a string of Tarmakian beyond her current understanding, but she understood what Malawaitha was doing. The Tarmak was hoping to needle her into attacking her in the presence of the Empress, which would put Malawaitha in a more favorable light and land Linsha in trouble. Linsha curled her lip. This female obviously didn’t know some of the initiation traditions for young Solamnic Knights. She was an amateur in comparison.

With iron control Linsha remained sitting and casually reached up to her neck. It was the cooked cereal as she suspected. Coolly she scraped off some and flipped her hand in the direction of Malawaitha’s voice. Her aim must have been good for she heard the woman give a hoot of anger.

The Empress’s voice cracked across the noise of the hall. “Malawaitha! You will stay away from the Drathkin’kela.”

Malawaitha bowed once in the direction of the Empress and stalked away.

Linsha hid a snarl. She was understanding more and more of the Tarmakian language and catching more of the nuances of their speech. Her self-control had paid off again. Unfortunately she had a feeling that the unmarried Tarmak woman had a vindictive streak as long as the King’s Road. Linsha wiped the rest of the cereal off her neck and vowed she would not break. She would not allow this jealous, spiteful female to goad her into a fight over something she didn’t want.

“Lady,” Afec said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I did not see her.”

Linsha accepted his apology with a wave and plunged her spoon back into her bowl of porridge. Disgusting though it was, the cereal sustained her and gave her strength through the long mornings. She knew she was going to need all the strength she could muster for a while if she was going to ward off the attentions of Lanther’s betrothed long enough to find a way to get home.

Linsha’s resolve was sorely tried over the following days. As she suspected, Malawaitha tried time and again to irritate, anger, or cause injury. The weather remained mild after the big storm, which allowed the women to spend much of their time outdoors running, wrestling, swimming in the garden pool, or practicing with the long sticks or the bell clubs. All of these activities gave Malawaitha ample opportunities to harass Linsha without attracting the Empress’s attention. She found ways to trip Linsha on the trails or pitch rocks at her from behind trees. She grabbed Linsha’s ankle one afternoon and pulled her under the water until Linsha was half dead from lack of air. Whenever she could get away with it, she chose Linsha as a partner during practice skirmishes with the bell clubs, sticks, or wooden swords and fought with such a vicious intensity that Linsha found herself covered with lumps and bruises.

Fortunately none of the other women joined Malawaitha in her petty spitefulness. They were too cowed by the Empress. But they looked askance at Linsha as if they expected her to do something, and they did not help her. Most of the time they turned away from the human woman in their midst and pretended she did not exist.

This frustrating state of affairs went on for another six days until one evening Malawaitha slipped up beside her in a dim corridor on the way to the evening meal. One moment Linsha saw someone slide out of a darkened room as she passed and the next a hand grabbed the chain around her neck and yanked. The strong chain did not break but tore into her skin and pulled her off balance. Pain burned into her neck.

Yet the pain did not burn nearly as hot as her fury. Without a sound she spun and swung a vicious punch into Malawaitha’s midriff just below her breastbone. As she hoped, the Tarmak was completely unprepared for such a move. Her fist sank into Malawaitha’s unprotected belly and drove the air out of her lungs. The tall woman grunted and doubled over, her hands clutching her stomach.

Linsha’s fingers closed over Malawaitha’s long braid and yanked her head up to Linsha’s eye level. “Touch these scales again and I will kill you.”

Malawaitha did not understand the words, but she caught the intent of Linsha’s threat quite clearly. “One day Lanther will give me scales,” she hissed in her language. “And you will be food for the Emperor’s dogs.”

Linsha translated most of it and almost made a slip by snapping a reply in Tarmakian. Instead she bit her lip hard and thrust Malawaitha away from her.

At that moment the Empress sailed into the hall, followed by her slaves and several of the lesser ranked females. She raked her dark eyes over both women and her expression darkened.

“There is blood on the neck of the Drathkin’kela. What have you done now?” she demanded of Malawaitha. Without waiting for an answer, she strode up to Linsha and examined her neck and the chain with the dragon scales. Angrily she turned on the younger woman. “I am ashamed for you. You know the rules of the Akeelawasee, yet you flaunt your desires in our faces. There are times to challenge and times to let patience rule your actions. Do you understand?”

Linsha did not entirely understand. There seemed to be layers of meaning in the Empress’s choice of words that were beyond her limited comprehension of Tarmakian. But Malawaitha understood quite well. She bowed low and stood meekly when the Empress said to her slave, “Take her to the Room of Chastising and give her seven lashes for the attempted theft,” then she swept on to the dining hall with her servants in her wake.

Linsha watched them all go until she was alone in the hallway once again. Slowly she turned on her heel and walked back to the dormitory where her sleeping cell gathered the first shadows of evening. Her appetite forgotten, she lay down on her pallet and her fingers closed around the dragon scales. A deep, wrenching longing welled up inside to see her friends again. Any friendly face would do: Sir Hugh with his blunt easy grin, Leonidas (preferably without his crossbow), Falaius Taneek, or even the healer, Danian, with his hawk and his red-haired apprentice.

But more than anyone else, she desperately wanted to see Varia and Crucible. Especially Crucible. She would not have believed it was possible back there on the fields of the Red Rose, but the big bronze had become a vital part of her life. When she rejected him without giving him a chance to explain or giving herself time to think, she had torn her life apart. She had sent him away to live or die without her, and now all she had was an aching vastness in her heart and a regret that grew larger in her mind like a cancer. She wanted so much to see him again, to sit in the comfortable, reassuring circle of his neck and tail and talk to him as they used to do. Perhaps in time she could understand why he hadn’t told her about his human shape, the shape she had known so well as Lord Hogan Bight. Perhaps. But now it was probably too late. She was trapped in this distant land where he could not find her, held hostage in a palace with a hateful rival and a promised husband she despised. Crucible, for all she knew, was dead.

Linsha lay on her pallet in the gathering darkness and silently cried for lost friends. It was a long time before she found the solace of sleep.