求＜魔法师：大师＞的英文版全书
找了Ｎ久没见中文的 没办法求半英文的看看有的给下 [s:20] 就在龙骑士城堡不就有下吗 Book IIMilamber And The Valheru
We were, fair queen,
Two lads that thought there was no more behind
But such a day tomorrow as today,
And to be boy eternal.
SHAKESPEARE, The Winter’s Tale
NINETEEN
Slave
The dying slave lay screaming.
The day was unmercifully hot. The other slaves went about their work, ignoring the sound as much as possible. Life in the work camp was cheap, and it did no good to dwell on the fate that awaited so many. The dying man had been bitten by a relli, a snakelike swamp creature. Its venom was slow-acting and painful; short of magic, there was no cure.
Suddenly there was silence. Pug looked over to see a Tsurani guard wipe off his sword. A hand fell on Pug’s shoulder. Laurie’s voice whispered in his ear, “Looks like our venerable overseer was disturbed by the sound of Toffston’s dying.”
Pug tied a coil of rope securely around his waist. “At least it ended quickly.” He turned to the tall blond singer from the Kingdom city of Tyr-Sog and said, “Keep a sharp eye out. This one’s old and may be rotten.” Without another word Pug scampered up the bole of the ngaggi tree, a firlike swamp tree the Tsurani harvested for wood and resins. With few metals, the Tsurani had become clever in finding substitutes. The wood of this tree could be worked like paper, then dried to an incredible hardness, useful in fashioning a hundred things. The resins were used to laminate woods and cure hides. Properly cured hides could produce a suit of leather armor as tough as Midkemian chainmail, and laminated wooden weapons were nearly the match of Midkemian steel.
Four years in the swamp camp had hardened Pug’s body. His sinewy muscles strained as he climbed the tree. His skin had been tanned deeply by the harsh sun of the Tsurani homeworld. His face was covered by a slave’s beard.
Pug reached the first large branches and looked down at his friend. Laurie stood knee-deep in the murky water, absently swatting at the insects that plagued them while they worked. Pug liked Laurie. The troubadour had no business being here, but then he’d had no business tagging along with a patrol in the hope of seeing Tsurani soldiers, either. He said he had wanted material for ballads that would make him famous throughout the Kingdom. He had seen more than he had hoped for. The patrol had ridden into a major Tsurani offensive, and Laurie had been captured. He had come to this camp over four months ago, and he and Pug had quickly become friends.
Pug continued his climb, keeping one eye always searching for the dangerous tree dwellers of Kelewan. Reaching the most likely place for a topping, Pug froze as he caught a glimpse of movement. He relaxed when he saw it was only a needier, a creature whose protection was its resemblance to a clump of ngaggi needles. It scurried away from the presence of the human and made the short jump to the branch of a neighboring tree. Pug made another survey and started tying his ropes. His job was to cut away the tops of the huge trees, making the fall less dangerous to those below.
Pug took several cuts at the bark, then felt the edge of his wooden ax bite into the softer pulp beneath. A faint pungent odor greeted his careful sniffing. Swearing, he called down to Laurie, “This one’s rotten. Tell the overseer.”
He waited, looking out over the tops of trees. All around, strange insects and birdlike creatures flew. In the four years he had been a slave on this world, he had not grown used to the appearance of these life-forms. They were not all that different from those on Midkemia, but it was the similarities as much as the differences that kept reminding him this was not his home. Bees should be yellow-and-black-striped, not bright red. Eagles shouldn’t have yellow bands on their wings, nor hawks purple. These creatures were not bees, eagles, or hawks, but the resemblance was striking. Pug found it easier to accept the stranger creatures of Kelewan than these. The six-legged needra, the domesticated beast of burden that looked like some sort of bovine with two extra stumpy legs, or the cho-ja, the insectoid creature who served the Tsurani and could speak their language: these he had come to find familiar. But each time he glimpsed a creature from the corner of his eye and turned, expecting it to be Midkemian only to find it was not, then the despair would strike.
Laurie’s voice brought him from his reverie. “The overseer comes.”
Pug swore. If the overseer had to get himself dirty by wading in the water, then he would be in a foul mood—which could mean beatings, or a reduction in the chronically meager food. He would already be angered by the delay in the cutting. A family of burrowers-—beaverlike six-legged creatures—had made themselves at home in the roots of the great trees. They would gnaw the tender roots, and the trees would sicken and die. The soft, pulpy wood would turn sour, then watery, and after a while the tree would collapse from within. Several burrower tunnels had been poisoned, but the damage had already been done to the trees.
A rough voice, swearing mightily while its owner splashed through the swamp, announced the arrival of the overseer, Nogamu. He himself was a slave, but he had attained the highest rank a slave could rise to, and while he could never hope to be free, he had many privileges and could order soldiers or freemen placed under his command. A young soldier came walking behind, a look of mild amusement on his face. He was clean-shaven in the manner of a Tsurani freeman, and as he looked up at Pug, the slave could get a good look at him. He had the high cheekbones and nearly black eyes that so many Tsurani possessed. His dark eyes caught sight of Pug, and he seemed to nod slightly. His blue armor was of a type unknown to Pug, but with the strange Tsurani military organization, that was not surprising.Even family, demesne, area, town, city, and province appeared to have its own army. How they all related one to another within the Empire was beyond Pug’s understanding.
The overseer stood at the base of the tree, his short robe held above the water. He growled like the bear he resembled and shouted up at Pug, “What’s this about another rotten tree?”
Pug spoke the Tsurani language better than any Midkemian in the camp, for he had been there longer than all but a few old Tsurani slaves. He shouted down, “It smells of rot. We should rerig another and leave this one alone, Slave Master.”
The overseer shook his fist. “You are all lazy. There is nothing wrong with this tree. It is fine. You only want to keep from working. Now cut it!”
Pug sighed. There was no arguing with the Bear, as all the Midkemian slaves called Nogamu. He was obviously upset about something, and the slaves would pay the price. Pug started hacking through the upper section, and it soon fell to the ground. The smell of rot was thick, and Pug removed the ropes quickly. Just as the last length was coiled around his waist, a splitting sound came from directly in front of him. “It falls!” he shouted down to the slaves standing in the water below. Without hesitation they all ran. The cry of “falls” was never ignored.
The bole of the tree was splitting down the middle now that the top had been cut away. While this was not common, if a tree was far enough gone for the pulp to have lost its strength, any flaw in the bark could cause it to split under its own weight. The tree’s branches would pull the halves away from each other. Had Pug been tied to the bole, the ropes would have cut him in half before they snapped.
Pug gauged the direction of the fall, then as the half he stood upon started to move, he launched himself away from it. He hit the water flat, back first, trying to let the two feet of water break his fall as much as possible. The blow from the water was immediately followed by the harder impact with the ground. The bottom was mostly mud, so there was little damage done. The air in his lungs exploded from his mouth when he struck, and his senses reeled for a moment. He retained enough presence of mind to sit up and gasp a deep lungful of air.
Suddenly a heavy weight hit him across the stomach, knocking the wind from him and pushing his head back underwater. He struggled to move and found a large branch across his stomach. He could barely get his face out of the water to get air His lungs burned, and he breathed without control. Water came pouring down his windpipe, and he started to choke. Coughing and sputtering, he tried to keep calm but felt panic rise within him. He frantically pushed at the weight across him but couldn’t move it.
Abruptly he found his head above water; Laurie said, “Spit, Pug! Get the muck out of your lungs, or you’ll get lung fever.”
Pug coughed and spit. With Laurie holding his head, he could catch his breath.
Laurie shouted, “Grab this branch. I’ll pull him out from under.”
Several slaves splashed over, sweat beading their bodies. They reached underwater and seized the branch. Heaving, they managed to move it slightly, but Laurie couldn’t drag Pug out.
“Bring axes, we’ll have to cut the branch from the tree.”
Other slaves were starting to bring axes over when Nogamu shouted, “No. Leave him. We have no time for this. There are trees to cut.”
Laurie nearly screamed at him, “We can’t leave him! He’ll drown!”
The overseer crossed over and struck Laurie across the face with a lash. It cut deep into the singer’s cheek, but he didn’t let go of his friend’s head. “Back to work, slave. You’ll be beaten tonight for speaking to me that way. There are others who can top. Now, let him go!” He struck Laurie again. Laurie winced, but held Pug’s head above water.
Nogamu raised his lash for a third blow, but was halted by a voice from behind. “Cut the slave from under the branch.” Laurie saw the speaker was the young soldier who had accompanied the slave master. The overseer whirled about, unaccustomed to having his orders questioned. When he saw who had spoken, he bit back the words that were on his lips. Bowing his head, he said, “My lord’s will.”
He signaled for the slaves with the axes to cut Pug loose, and in short order Pug was out from under the branch. Laurie carried him over to where the young soldier stood. Pug coughed the last water from his lungs and gasped, “I thank the master for my life.”
The man said nothing, but when the overseer approached, directed his remarks to him. “The slave was right, and you were not. The tree was rotten It is not proper for you to punish him for your bad judgment and ill temper I should have you beaten, but will not spare the time for it. The work goes slowly, and my father is displeased.”
Nogamu bowed his head. “I lose much face in my lord’s sight. May I have his permission to kill myself?”
“No. It is too much honor. Return to work.”
The overseer’s face grew red in silent shame and rage. Raising his lash, he pointed at Laurie and Pug. “You two, back to work.”
Laurie stood, and Pug tried. His knees were wobbly from his near drowning, but he managed to stand after a few attempts.
“These two shall be excused work the rest of the day,” the young lord said. “This one”—he pointed to Pug—“is of little use. The other must dress those cuts you gave him, or festering will start.” He turned to a guard. “Take them back to camp and see to their needs.”
Pug was grateful, not so much for himself as for Laurie. With a little rest, Pug could have returned to work, but an open wound in the swamp was a death warrant as often as not. Infections came quickly in this hot, dirty place, and there were few ways of dealing with them.
They followed the guard. As they left, Pug could see the slave master watching them with naked hatred in his eyes.
There was a creaking of floorboards, and Pug came instantly awake His slave-bred wariness told him that the sound didn’t belong in the hut during the dead of night.
Through the gloom, footfalls could be heard coming closer, then they stopped at the foot of his pallet. From the next pallet, he could hear Laurie’s sharp intake of breath, and he knew the minstrel was awake also. Probably half the slaves had been awakened by the intruder. The stranger hesitated over something, and Pug waited, tense with uncertainty. There was a grunt, and without hesitation Pug rolled off his mat. A weight came crashing down, and Pug could hear a dull thud as a dagger struck where his chest had been only moments before. Suddenly the room exploded with activity. Slaves were shouting and could be heard running for the door.
Pug felt hands reach for him in the dark, and a sharp pain exploded across his chest. He reached blindly for his assailant and grappled with him for the blade. Another slash, and his right hand was cut across the palm. Abruptly the attacker stopped moving, and Pug became aware that a third body was atop the would-be assassin.
Soldiers rushed into the hut, carrying lanterns, and Pug could see Laurie lying across the still body of Nogamu. The Bear was still breathing, but from the way the dagger protruded from his ribs, not for long.
The young soldier who had saved Pug’s and Laurie’s lives entered, and the others made way for him. He stood over the three combatants and simply asked, “Is he dead?”
The overseer’s eyes opened, and in a faint whisper he said, “I live, lord. But I die by the blade.” A weak but defiant smile showed on his sweat-drenched face.
The young soldier’s expression betrayed no emotion, but his eyes looked as if ablaze. “I think not,” he said softly. He turned to two of the soldiers in the room “Take him outside at once and hang him. There will be no honors for his clan to sing. Leave the body there for the insects. It shall be a warning that I am not to be disobeyed. Go.”
The dying man’s face paled, and his lips quivered. “No, master. I pray, leave me to die by the blade. A few minutes longer.” Bloody foam appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Two husky soldiers reached down for Nogamu and, with little thought for his pain, dragged him outside. He could be heard wailing the entire way. The amount of strength left in his voice was amazing, as if his fear of the rope had awakened some deep reserve.
They stood in frozen tableau until the sound was cut off in a strangled cry. The young officer then turned to Pug and Laurie. Pug sat, blood running from a long, shallow gash across his chest. He held his injured hand in the other. It was deeply cut, and his fingers wouldn’t move.
“Bring your wounded friend,” the young soldier commanded Laurie.
Laurie helped Pug to his feet, and they followed the officer out of the slave hut. He led them across the compound to his own quarters and ordered them to enter. Once inside, he instructed a guard to send for the camp physician. He had them stand in silence until the physician arrived. He was an old Tsurani, dressed in the robes of one of their gods —which one the Midkemians couldn’t tell. He inspected Pug’s wounds and judged the chest wound superficial. The hand, he said, would be another matter.
“The cut is deep, and the muscles and tendons have been cut. It will heal, but there will be a loss of movement and little strength for gripping. He most likely will be fit for only light duty.”
The soldier nodded, a peculiar expression on his face: a mixture of disgust and impatience. “Very well. Dress the wounds and leave us.”
The physician set about cleaning the wounds. He took a score of stitches in the hand, bandaged it, admonished Pug to keep it clean, and left. Pug ignored the pain, easing his mind with an old mental exercise.
After the physician was gone, the soldier studied the two slaves before him “By law, I should have you hanged for killing the slave master.”
They said nothing. They would remain silent until commanded to speak.
“But as I hanged the slave master, I am free to keep you alive, should it suit my purpose I can simply have you punished for wounding him.” He paused. “Consider yourselves punished.”
With a wave of his hand he said, “Leave me, but return here at daybreak I have to decide what to do with you.”
They left, feeling fortunate, for under most circumstances they would now be hanging next to the former slave master. As they crossed the compound, Laurie said, “I wonder what that was about.”
Pug responded, “I hurt too much to wonder why. I’m just thankful that we will see tomorrow.”
Laurie said nothing until they reached the slave hut. “I think the young lord has something up his sleeve.”
“Whatever I have long since given up trying to understand our masters. That’s why I’ve stayed alive so long, Laurie. I just do what I’m told to, and I endure.” Pug pointed to the tree where the former overseer’s body could be seen in the pale moonlight—only the small moon was out tonight. “It’s much too easy to end up like that.”
Laurie nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. I still think about escape.”
Pug laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Where, singer? Where could you run? Toward the rift and ten thousand Tsurani?”
Laurie said nothing. They returned to their pallets and tried to sleep in the humid heat.
The young officer sat upon a pile of cushions, cross-legged in Tsurani fashion. He sent away the guard who had accompanied Pug and Laurie, then motioned for the two slaves to sit. They did so hesitantly, for a slave was not usually permitted to sit in a master’s presence.
“I am Hokanu, of the Shinzawai. My father owns this camp,” he said without preamble. “He is deeply dissatisfied with the harvest this year. He has sent me to see what can be done. Now I have no overseer to manage the work, because a foolish man blamed you for his own stupidity. What am I to do?”
They said nothing. He asked, “You have been here, how long?”
Pug and Laurie answered in turn. He considered the answers, then said, “You”—pointing at Laurie—“are nothing unusual, save you speak our tongue better than most barbarians, all things considered. But you” —pointing at Pug—“have stayed alive longer than most of your stiff-necked countrymen and also speak our language well. You might even pass for a peasant from a remote province.”
They sat still, unsure of what Hokanu was leading up to. Pug realized with a shock that he was probably older by a year or two than this young lord. He was young for such power. The ways of the Tsurani were very strange. In Crydee he would still be an apprentice, or if noble, continuing his education in statecraft.
“How do you speak so well?” he asked of Pug.
“Master, I was among the first captured and brought here. There were only seven of us among so many Tsurani slaves. We learned to survive. After some time, I was the only one left. The others died of the burning fever or festering wounds, or were killed by the guards. There were none for me to talk with who spoke my own language. No other countryman came to this camp for over a year.”
The officer nodded, then to Laurie said, “And you?”
“Master, I am a singer, a minstrel in my own land. It is our custom to travel broadly, and we must learn many tongues. I have also a good ear for music. Your language is what is called a tone language on my world, words with the same sound save for the pitch with which they are spoken have different meanings. We have several such tongues to the south of our Kingdom. I learn quickly.”
A glimmering appeared in the eyes of the soldier “It is good to know these things.” He lapsed deep into thought. After a moment he nodded to himself “There are many considerations that fashion a man’s fortune, slaves.” He smiled, looking more like a boy than a man. “This camp is a shambles. I am to prepare a report for my father, the Lord of the Shinzawai. I think I know what the problems are.” He pointed at Pug. “I would have your thoughts on the subject. You have been here longer than anyone.”
Pug composed himself. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him to venture an opinion on anything. “Master, the first overseer, the one who was here when I was captured, was a shrewd man, who understood that men, even slaves, cannot be made to work well if they are weak from hunger. We had better food and if injured were given time for healing. Nogamu was an ill-tempered man who took every setback as a personal affront. Should burrowers ruin a grove, it was the fault of the slaves. Should a slave die, it was a plot to discredit his oversight of the work force. Each difficulty was rewarded by another cut in food, or in longer work hours. Any good fortune was regarded as his rightful due.”
“I suspected as much. Nogamu was at one time a very important man. He was the hadonra—demesne manager—of his father’s estates. His family was found to be guilty of plotting against the Empire, and his own clan sold them all into slavery, those that were not hanged. He was never a good slave. It was thought that giving him responsibility for the camp might find some useful channel for his skills. It proved not to be the case.
“Is there a good man among the slaves who could command ably?”
Laurie inclined his head, then said, “Master, Pug here . . .”
“I think not. I have plans for you both.”
Pug was surprised and wondered what he meant. He said, “Perhaps Chogana, master. He was a farmer, until his crops failed and he was sold into slavery for taxes. He has a level head.”
The soldier clapped his hands once, and a guard was in the room in an instant. “Send for the slave Chogana.”
The guard saluted and left. “It is good that he is Tsurani,” said the soldier. “You barbarians do not know your place, and I hate to think what would happen should I leave one in charge. He would have my soldiers cutting the trees while the slaves stood guard.”
There was a moment of silence, then Laurie laughed. It was a rich, deep sound. Hokanu smiled. Pug watched closely. The young man who had their lives in his hands seemed to be working hard at winning their trust. Laurie appeared to have taken a liking to him, but Pug held his feelings in check. He was further removed from the old Midkemian society, where war made noble and commoner comrades-in-arms, able to share meals and misery without regard for rank. One thing he had learned about the Tsurani early on was that they never for an instant forgot their station. Whatever was occurring in this hut was by this young soldier’s design, not by chance. Hokanu seemed to feel Pug’s eyes upon him and looked at him. Their eyes locked briefly before Pug dropped his as a slave is expected to do. For an instant a communication passed between them. It was as if the soldier had said: You do not believe that I am a friend. So be it, as long as you act your part.
With a wave of his hand, Hokanu said, “Return to your hut. Rest well, for we will leave after the noon meal.”
They rose and bowed, then backed out of the hut. Pug walked in silence, but Laurie said, “I wonder where we are going.” When no answer came, he added, “In any event, it will have to be a better place than this.”
Pug wondered if it would be.
A hand shook Pug’s shoulder, and he came awake. He had been dozing in the morning heat, taking advantage of the extra rest before he and Laurie left with the young noble after the noon meal Chogana, the former farmer Pug had recommended, motioned for silence, pointing to where Laurie slept deeply.
Pug followed the old slave out of the hut, to sit in the shade of the building. Speaking slowly, as was his fashion, Chogana said, “My lord Hokanu tells me you were instrumental in my being selected slave master for the camp.” His brown, seamed face looked dignified as he bowed his head toward Pug. “I am in your debt.”
Pug returned the bow, formal and unusual in this camp. “There is no debt. You will conduct yourself as an overseer should. You will care well for our brothers.”
Chogana’s old face split in a grin, revealing teeth stained brown by years of chewing tateen nuts. The mildly narcotic nut—easily found in the swamp—did not reduce efficiency but made the work seem less harsh. Pug had avoided the habit, for no reasons he could voice, as had most of the Midkemians. It seemed somehow to signify a final surrender of will.
Chogana stared at the camp, his eyes narrowed to slits by the harsh light. It stood empty, except for the young lord’s bodyguard and the cook’s crew. In the distance the sounds of the work crew echoed through the trees.
“When I was a boy, on my father’s farm in Szetac,” began Chogana, “it was discovered I had a talent. I was investigated and found lacking.” The meaning of that last statement was lost on Pug, but he didn’t interrupt. “So I became a farmer like my father. But my talent was there. Sometimes I see things, Pug, things within men. As I grew, word of my talent spread, and people, mostly poor people, would come and ask for my advice. As a young man I was arrogant and charged much, telling of what I saw. When I was older, I was humble and took whatever was offered, but still I told what I saw. Either way, people left angry. Do you know why?” he asked with a chuckle. Pug shook his head. “Because they didn’t come to hear the truth, they came to hear what they wanted to hear.”
Pug shared Chogana’s laugh. “So I pretended the talent went away, and after a time people stopped coming to my farm. But the talent never went away, Pug, and I still can see things, sometimes. I have seen something in you, and I would tell you before you leave forever. I will die in this camp, but you have a different fate before you. Will you listen?” Pug said he would, and Chogana said, “Within you there is a trapped power. What it is and what it means, I do not know.”
Knowing the strange Tsurani attitude toward magicians, Pug felt sudden panic at the possibility someone might have sensed his former calling. To most he was just another slave in the camp, and to a few, a former squire.
Chogana continued, speaking with his eyes closed. “I dreamed about you, Pug. I saw you upon a tower, and you faced a fearsome foe.” He opened his eyes. “I do not know what the dream may mean, but this you must know. Before you mount that tower to face your foe, you must seek your wal; it is that secret center of your being, the perfect place of peace within. Once you reside there, you are safe from all harm. Your flesh may suffer, even die, but within your wal you will endure in peace. Seek hard, Pug, for few men find their wal.”
Chogana stood. “You will leave soon. Come, we must wake Laurie.”
As they walked to the hut entrance, Pug said, “Chogana, thank you. But one thing: you spoke of a foe upon the tower. Could you mark him?”
Chogana laughed and bobbed his head up and down. “Oh yes, I saw him.” He continued to chuckle as he climbed the steps to the hut. “He is the foe to be feared most by any man.” Narrow eyes regarded Pug. “He was you.”
Pug and Laurie sat on the steps of the temple, with six Tsurani guards lounging around. The guards had been civil—barely—for the entire journey. The travel had been tiring, if not difficult. With no horses, nor anything to substitute for them, every Tsurani not riding in a needra cart moved by power of shanks’ mare, their own or others. Nobles were carried up and down the wide boulevards on litters borne on the backs of puffing, sweating slaves.
Pug and Laurie had been given the short, plain grey robes of slaves. Their loincloths, adequate in the swamps, were deemed unsightly for travel among Tsurani citizens. The Tsurani put some store upon modesty—if not as much as people in the Kingdom did.
They had come up the road along the coast of the great body of water called Battle Bay. Pug had thought that if it was a bay, it was larger than anything so named in Midkemia, for even from the high cliffs overlooking it, the other side could not be seen. After several days’ travel they had entered cultivated pastureland and soon after could see the opposite shore closing in rapidly. Another few days on the road, and they had come to the city of Jamar.
Pug and Laurie watched the passing traffic, while Hokanu made an offering at the temple. The Tsurani seemed mad for colors. Here even the lowliest worker was likely to be dressed in a brightly colored short robe. Those with wealth could be seen in more flamboyant dress, covered with intricately executed designs. Only slaves lacked colorful dress.
Everywhere around the city, people thronged: farmers, traders, workers, and travelers. Lines of needras plodded by, pulling wagons filled with produce and goods. The sheer numbers of people overwhelmed Pug and Laurie, for the Tsurani seemed like ants scurrying about as if the commerce of the Empire could not wait upon the comfort of its citizens. Many who passed stopped to stare at the Midkemians, whom they regarded as giant barbarians. Their own height topped out at about five feet six inches, and even Pug was considered tall, having come to his full growth at five feet eight. For their part, the Midkemians had come to refer to the Tsurani as runts.
Pug and Laurie looked about. They waited in the center of the city, where the great temples were. Ten pyramids sat amid a series of parks differing in size. All were richly appointed with murals, both tiled and painted. From where they were, the young men could see three of the parks. Each was terraced, with miniature watercourses winding through, complete with tiny waterfalls. Dwarf trees, as well as large shade trees, dotted the grass-covered grounds of the parks Strolling musicians played flutes and strange stringed instruments, producing alien, polytonal music, entertaining those who rested in the parks or passed by.
Laurie listened with rapt attention. “Listen to those halftones! And those diminished minors!” He sighed and looked down at the ground, his manner somber. “It’s alien, but it’s music.” He looked at Pug, and the usual humor was missing from his voice. “If I could only play again.” He glanced at the distant musicians. “I could even develop a taste for Tsurani music.” Pug left him alone with his longings.
Pug glanced around the busy city square, attempting to sort out the impressions that had been coming without cease since entering the outer precinct of the city. Everywhere people hurried about their business. A short distance from the temples, they had passed through a market, not unlike those in Kingdom cities, but larger. The noise of hawkers and buyers, the smells, the heat, all reminded him of home in an odd way.
When Hokanu’s party neared, commoners would step out of the way, for the guards at the head of the procession would call out “Shinzawai! Shinzawai!” letting everyone know a noble approached. Only once did the party give way in the city; a group of red-clad men, robed in cloaks of scarlet feathers. The one that Pug took to be a high priest wore a mask of wood fashioned to resemble a red skull, while the others had red painted faces. They blew reed whistles, and people scattered to clear their line of march. One of the soldiers made a sign of protection, and later Pug learned these men were the priests of Turakamu, the eater of hearts, brother to the goddess Sibi, she who was death.
Pug turned to a nearby guard and motioned for permission to speak. The guard nodded once, and Pug said, “Master, what god resides here?” as he pointed to the temple where Hokanu prayed.
“Ignorant barbarian,” answered the soldier in a friendly manner, “the gods do not abide in these halls, but in the Upper and Lower Heavens. This temple is for men to make their devotions. Here my lord’s son makes an offering and petitions to Chochocan, the good god of the Upper Heaven and his servant, Tomachaca, the god of peace, for good fortune for the Shinzawai.”
When Hokanu returned, they started off again. They made their way through the city, Pug still studying the people they passed. The press was incredible, and Pug wondered how they managed to stand it. Like farmers in a city for the first time, Pug and Laurie kept gawking at the wonders of Jamar. Even the supposedly worldly troubadour would exclaim about this sight or that. Soon the guards were chuckling over the barbarians’ obvious delight at the most mundane things.
Every building they passed was fashioned from wood and a translucent material, clothlike but rigid. A few, like the temples, were constructed with stone, but what was most remarkable was that every building they passed, from temple to worker’s hut, was painted white, except for bordering beams and door frames, which were polished deep brown. Every open surface was decorated with colorful paintings. Animals, landscapes, deities, and battle scenes abounded. Everywhere was a not of color to confound the eye.
To the north of the temples, across from one of the parks and facing a wide boulevard, stood a single building, set apart by open lawns bordered with hedges. Two guards, dressed in armor and helm similar to those of their own guards, stood watch at the door. They saluted Hokanu when he approached.
Without a word their other guards marched around the side of the house, leaving the slaves with the young officer. He signaled, and one of the door guards slid the large cloth-covered door aside. They entered an open hallway leading back, with doors on each side. Hokanu marched them to a rear door, which a house slave opened for them.
Pug and Laurie then discovered the house was fashioned like a square, with a large garden in the center, accessible from all sides. Near a bubbling pool sat an older man, dressed in a plain but rich-looking dark blue robe. He was consulting a scroll. He looked up when the three entered, and rose to greet Hokanu.
The young man removed his helm and then came to attention Pug and Laurie stood slightly behind and said nothing. The man nodded, and Hokanu approached. They embraced, and the older man said, “My son, it is good to see you again. How were things at the camp?”
Hokanu made his report on the camp, briefly and to the point, leaving out nothing of importance. He then told of the actions taken to remedy the situation. “So the new overseer will see that the slaves have ample food and rest. He should increase production soon.”
His father nodded. “I think you have acted wisely, my son. We shall have to send another in a few months’ time to gauge progress, but things could not become any worse than they were. The Warlord demands higher production, and we border on falling into his bad graces.”
He seemed to notice the slaves for the first time. “These?” was all he said, pointing at Laurie and Pug.
“They are unusual. I was thinking of our talk on the night before my brother went to the north. They may prove valuable.”
“Have you spoken of this to anyone?” Firm lines set around his grey eyes. Even though much shorter, he somehow reminded Pug of Lord Borric.
“No, my father. Only those who took council that night—”
The lord of the house cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Save your remarks for later. ‘Trust no secrets to a city.’ Inform Septiem. We close the house and leave for our estates in the morning.”
Hokanu bowed slightly, then turned to leave. “Hokanu.” His father’s voice stopped him. “You have done well.” Pride plainly showing on his face, the young man left the garden.
The lord of the house sat again upon a bench of carved stone, next to a small fountain, and regarded the two slaves. “What are you called?”
“Pug, master.”
“Laurie, master.”
He seemed to derive some sort of insight from these simple statements. “Through that door,” he said, pointing to the left, “is the way to the cookhouse. My hadonra is called Septiem. He will see to your care. Go now.”
They bowed and left the garden. As they made their way through the house, Pug nearly knocked over a young girl coming around a corner. She was dressed in a slave’s robe and carried a large bundle of washing. It went flying across the hall.
“Oh!” she cried. “I’ve just now washed these. Now I’ll have to do them over.” Pug quickly bent to help her pick them up. She was tall for a Tsurani, nearly Pug’s height, and well proportioned. Her brown hair was tied back, and her brown eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. Pug stopped gathering the clothing and stared at her in open admiration. She hesitated under his scrutiny, then quickly picked up the rest of the clothes and hurried off. Laurie watched her trim figure retreat, tan legs shown to good advantage by the short slave’s robe.
Laurie slapped Pug’s shoulder. “Ha! I told you things would be looking up.”
They left the house and approached the cookhouse, where the smell of hot food set their appetites on edge. “I think you’ve made an impression on that girl, Pug.”
Pug had never had much experience with women and felt his ears start to burn. At the slave camp much of the talk was about women, and this, more than anything else, had kept him feeling like a boy. He turned to see if Laurie was having sport with him, then saw the blond singer looking behind him. He followed Laurie’s gaze and caught a glimpse of a shyly smiling face pull back from a window in the house.
The next day the household of the Shinzawai Family was in an uproar Slaves and servants hurried every which way making ready for the journey to the north. Pug and Laurie were left to themselves, as there was no one among the household staff free enough to assign them tasks. They sat in the shade of a large willowhke tree, enjoying the novelty of free time as they observed the furor.
“These people are crazy, Pug. I’ve seen less preparation for caravans. It looks as if they plan on taking everything with them.”
“Maybe they are. These people no longer surprise me.” Pug stood, leaning against the bole. “I’ve seen things that defy logic.”
“True enough. But when you’ve seen as many different lands as I have, you learn that the more things look different, the more they are the same.”
“What do you mean?”
Laurie rose and leaned on the other side of the tree. In low tones he said, “I’m not sure, but something is afoot, and we play a part, be sure. If we keep sharp, we may be able to turn it to our advantage. Always remember that. Should a man want something from you, you can always make a bargain, no matter what the apparent differences in your stations.”
“Of course. Give him what he wants, and he’ll let you live.”
“You’re too young to be so cynical,” Laurie countered, with mirth sparkling in his eyes. “Tell you what. You leave the world-weary pose to old travelers such as myself, and I’ll make sure that you don’t miss a single opportunity.”
Pug snorted. “What opportunity?”
“Well, for one thing,” Laurie said, pointing behind Pug, “that little girl you nearly knocked over yesterday is appearing to have some difficulty in lifting those boxes.” Pug, glancing back, saw the laundry girl struggling to stack several large crates ready to be loaded into wagons. “I think she might appreciate a little help, don’t you think?”
Pug’s confusion was evident on his face. “What . . . ?”
Laurie gave him a gentle push. “Off with you, dolt. A little help now, later . . . who knows?”
Pug stumbled. “Later?”
“Gods!” laughed Laurie, fetching Pug a playful kick in the rump.
The troubadour’s humor was infectious, and Pug was smiling as he approached the girl. She was trying to lift a large wooden crate atop another. Pug took it from her. “Here, I can do that.”
She stepped away, uncertain. “It’s not heavy. It’s just too high for me.” She looked everywhere but at Pug.
Pug lifted the crate easily and placed it on top of the others, favoring his tender hand only a little. “There you are,” he said, trying to sound casual.
The girl brushed back a stray wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You’re a barbarian, aren’t you?” She spoke hesitantly.
Pug flinched. “You call us that. I like to think I’m as civilized as the next man.”
She blushed. “I didn’t mean any offense. My people are called barbarians also. Anyone who’s not a Tsurani is called that. I meant you’re from that other world.”
Pug nodded. “What’s your name?”
She said, “Katala,” then in a rush, “What is your name?”
“Pug.”
She smiled. “That’s a strange name. Pug.” She seemed to like the sound of it.
Just then the hadonra, Septiem, an old but erect man with the bearing of a retired general, came around the house. “You two!” he snapped. “There’s work to do! Don’t stand there.”
Katala ran back into the house, and Pug was left hesitating before the yellow-robed estate manager. “You! What’s your name?”
“Pug, sir.”
“I see that you and your blond giant friend have been given nothing to do. I’ll have to remedy that. Call him over.”
Pug sighed. So much for their free time. He waved for Laurie to come over, and they were put to work loading wagons. 用龙骑士城堡的ftp，里面英文文件加下有个raymond的文件夹，里面就是了 直接上emule吧。其实那小说就叫magician.上半部是学徒，下半部是大师。书名就叫magician
页:
[1]