The Slime Farmer
/ The Slime Farmer 6 A Boar-Lizard of a Day
He breathed out.
He had underestimated his father.
How else would Ymirin, the most talented of his younger sisters, be in the mining town right now and asking about two slaves and a young noble?
With her was a contingent of Remir guardsmen and slaves.
At the very least, he was certain that none of them were adept in the Current. They would not be standing so easily this close to the Gate if they were.
He breathed in.
Their information was also flawed.
First, they did not know Garun and Samti had a child – very odd. His father would have at least noted down the birth as something to hold over a talented farm overseer. Second, they openly called his two adult companions 'slaves'. That meant they did not consult the merchants that did business here.
The average Ascharonian would obstruct them on principle, for their pursuit of slaves. Depending on what Ymirin said, and how good her perception of people was, Defi still had some time to get his business done.
What was he thinking, of course her perception was good – if it was not, she would have been relegated to the branch families a long time ago. He glanced subtly at the contingent again. They were not guards he knew.
Perhaps his father sent her here to test her.
He felt a frission of sympathy. Ymirin was only twelve years in age.
He shook away his thoughts. Test or not, her being here meant trouble.
They needed to move.
He slipped to the next street before the experienced guards felt his watchful eyes. The stables were on the other side of the town from the Gate, to his luck.
He was grateful Marmon Chacort was able to direct them to a clothier this morning. With his local clothes, he looked like the average Ascharonian commoner.
He entered the stables and immediately accosted the stable-master.
"You have acquired a travel-wagon for me?" he asked, doing his best to mimic Garun's broad accent. He was neither Desislaf nor Delos the merchant right now.
The stable-master jumped. "Chelua above, are you a cat?"
Defi only looked at him, innocent. Muffling one's footsteps was a basic Current trick. He'd automatically shifted into quiet mode at the sight of his sister.
"I found that having a child means the need for quiet feet."
Just a hint of noise woke the little one to crying. The walls of the rooms were wood and thin enough that he'd been woken up several times in the night because of the child. Was that why he was so discomposed this morning?
He consciously and silently relaxed. The stable-master did not know him, and likely would not remember another reckless youth keen to race the fastest animals in his stable.
"Kids getting together younger these days," the stable-master grumbled. Defi smiled at him, delighted. Here at last was one person who thought he was too young to have a child. Even Marmocha had thought the child his.
Ah, and Defi had implied heavily to this wonderful soul that he actually had spawned. Damn it.
"Yes, there is a wagon," the man continued. "And you're early. It's been washed but not yet inspected. Word's gone round, today the woodworks won't open until afternoon."
"I will take it as it is."
The stable-master Foll raised his brows. "I'd recommend it be refitted, considering you're hitching her up to a boar-lizard. It won't stand the strain for long."
"I only looked for a wagon because my uncle insisted. If the wagon breaks down, then the boar-lizard would be faster then, wouldn't it?" Defi let a devious smile cross his lips.
The stable-master sighed, ran a hand through his hair, waffled for a second before shrugging. "Well, not my problem. Just don't put anything too important in it, I suppose."
Defi watched as he hitched the travel-wagon to the boar-lizard, petting the animal. The boar-lizard's skin was scaled and rough, the body like a barrel with a long necked head and a tapering tail. The legs jutted out the sides of the animal, looking ungainly and not like the elegance of a riding ox or even a mule.
But boar-lizards were the fastest land-based riding animal in Ascharon, the premier mount of the military for their endurance and speed. They were twice as large as Pale, who was already somewhat large for the average riding ox, and the raised scale patterns on its back and tail were enough to make anyone pause.
It yawned, showing the intimidating tusks in full glory, like it was presenting spears to the approval of a warleader.
How magnificent.
"It's done." Foll stepped away.
Defi was brought back to the severity of the situation by those two words.
"Thank you!" He sprang onto the front seat of the wagon and grabbed the reins. He tossed Foll a small pouch of bronze klauds, enough for the purchase of one slightly-aging boar-lizard and a beat-down wagon. "Hup!"
The boar-lizard surged forward and Defi was amazed. It moved like a wave rolling on the sea, unstoppable, forging forth powerfully and with an unexpected grace.
"Careful there!" yelled the stable-master behind him. "Don't push it too hard!"
Push? What was he pushing? The wagon rattled under him but he could not care. Every stretch of land he put between him and the Rimet contingent behind him was an inch of relief in a league of stress.
The boar-lizard handled easily, to his pleasure. It was not unlike a bullock.
No sooner had he thought that, the boar-lizard sped up. His eyes widened. He hauled on the reins, but the animal only took that as encouragement to gallop even faster.
Creator, did Ascharonians train their draft animals in illogical ways?
A carter swerved out of his way, yelling insults.
But they were already out of the town. He glanced back. Surely this small commotion hadn't been noticed?
There were no pursuers.
He turned to the road with less relief than he expected.
Now, how was he going to stop this thing?
*
*
"Do you have them?" The words were slightly breathless, and Defi more than slightly windblown.
Samti turned at Defi's entrance into the rooms they rented. He was grateful she only paused momentarily at his appearance before deciding not to ask. She was grinding the roots, as Defi instructed. Garun had been sent to procure travel supplies. "Yes, young lord, but I must ask, as Ontrean medicines are more expensive here…"
"Because this particular mix of herbs has only one reason to be purchased and I didn't have the time to buy them from different places." Defi entered his room, dug into his belongings for the rest of the recipe and returned to the common room. He lit a brazier. "We must hurry. Grind those finely, Samti."
"Young lord…?" Even confused, Samti made quick work of the roots.
"My sister is here."
The other sucked a slow breath. "Irinyez…?"
His eldest sister was famous across the low and high castes of Rimet, respected and feared both. It was not surprising; she was the eldest daughter. He could only thank the Creator that her talent in the Current precluded her from actually crossing the Gate.
"Ymirin. She tested of low ability in the Current, but she is the most cunning and intelligent of all father's children. Father would not dare send eldest sister here. But Ymirin…he is likely to do something similar to her as he did to me. She and I, we are not good enough for father. If her test is to find me…"
He knew well enough the lengths his father's children would go to have his favor.
Samti looked at him. "What are you going to do?"
Defi shook his head, frowning into the small bowl he'd put onto the brazier. "Pour those in first; they need to be warmed before the rest."
Samti tipped the mortar over the hot bowl, letting the slightly moist mash drop in. Defi shook the bowl, using tongs to keep his hands unburned.
He waited until the moisture was gone, then added the powders he'd purchased in the capital city. The mixture bubbled. He added the honey. "The rest of the roots, if you would."
Samti scraped the small piles of ground root into the mixture.
The mixture boiled to a semi-opaque blue, indicating the final phase. He turned off the brazier.
"How strange," Defi murmured, as he stirred the mixture with a whisk, waiting for it to cool. "This is the only advanced tincture of Ontrea that I will ever know to produce. That it is this one…I think I will only ever use it this once."
"Young lord?"
He put a wooden tub in front of him. "Give me your arm."
She lifted it slowly, unsure. He whisked the mixture over her inner arm, from her wrist to the crook of her elbow.
She caught her breath.
Defi nodded in satisfaction at the mark that appeared, the mark that Ontrea placed on its slaves. He whisked more of the mixture over it, making it stand clear, a dark red over bronzed skin.
Of course, in accordance to Ontrean values, it was a work of art. It asked a question, a challenge to eyes, mind, and conviction. An art puzzle.
The method to destroy this mark was his last request to his mentor.
He took the obsidian knife from his belt, met Samti's eyes. There were other ways to remove the mark, but this was the fastest.
"This is going to hurt."
She nodded firmly, eyes unwavering on his.
He put the tip of the knife on the most logical point of 'unraveling' on the image, traced lightly through the art the lines of the concept. Blood welled in the wake of the knife, but Samti did not make a sound, only watched him with steady gaze.
The door opened to admit Garun. His expression blanked for a moment at the sight before him, hand going instinctively to the knife on his waist. The bags in his arms thudded noisily onto the floor.
"Close the door, husband. We are being pursued."
"If any of those are damaged, it's coming out of your pay," Defi added.
Garun's mouth opened, closed.
"Yes," he said at last. He shook his head to clear it, eyed them in momentary exasperation, and moved to re-order the dropped bags near the doorway before moving near.
Defi straightened and lifted the knife away, paying no attention to Garun recovering from the moment of conflicted shock.
Silently, they watched the image drain away with the blood dripping down into the tub.
Defi snorted when he realized that the maker of the slave mark had dared be so bold: the cuts on her arm when taken in totality formed a reference from scripture.
Garun huffed at it.
"What does it mean?" Samti asked.
"It's from one of the parables, spoken by a devil who had bested a judge of the people. It means: I pay my dues. Most people do not understand the ascetic nature of the priesthood, so the general interpretation is synonymous to 'reaching for selfishness by destabilizing tradition' – pay no attention, it is pretentious nonsense."
Did it refer to the master or the slave? Either way, it was a warning, an accusation, a benediction.
"Selfishness is not always a bad thing, young lord."
"I am no longer a lord, and you are no longer a slave." Defi told her, handing her a washcloth when the last of the red image dripped away. "I am certain there are salves in this country to deal with the scars."
The cuts, because of the tincture, would not fade easily despite the thinness of the strokes.
Samti persisted. "Noble one, I thank you."
"It is a problem to me as well, if you and Garun remain with that thing on your arms," he turned away, ears reddening. "It stands out to those with training in the Current, that mark. I would rather not be caught because I failed to take something so basic into account. Garun…"
The man immediately bared his arm, motions crisp and trained into him for decades. There was a sheen of moisture in his eyes.
Defi ignored it, as he quickly whisked blue tincture over Garun's arm. "This is where we part, Garun."
"Noble one."
"No. You will not sway me on this. You will take the creaky wagon and the fractious boar-lizard. I will take the boat and the mules. My sister is looking for us together; we will be safer apart." He did not tell them that their pursuers didn't know about the child. Staying with Garun longer would only make it more difficult to leave later. "I would have liked to learn more of Ascharon from you, but circumstances do not give me that leave."
"Young one," Garun's voice had a slight strain. "The…wagon outside is the one you got? I…for coin?"
"The state it is in is unavoidable," Defi huffed. "The woodworks is closed. It will hold until the next town if the boar-lizard behaves itself."
"They are generally difficult animals to master, noble one."
Defi eyed Garun suspiciously. The man was laughing at him, he was certain.
"There is a scout outside," Samti observed. She was holding the little one against her, and her even tone was betrayed by the slight tremble of her fingers.
A runaway slave courted death, and to help one was treason.
Defi was silent. As was Garun. The older wiped away blood and tincture from his arm, eyeing the cuts.
I pay my dues.
They scrambled to get the supplies outside and packed. Garun didn't even make faces at the creaky wagon, all of them keeping up the façade of an unhurried rush.
Defi lashed the last of his things to the mules. He eyed a particular box, then decided. He carried it to the wagon and took out one of the precious seedlings inside, cradled it to his chest.
"I only have two of these," he said. "I'd like you to take one."
"A spice seedling?" Garun was shocked. This single seedling in Ontrea would be worth a single gold finger. In Ascharon, it was worth a small fortune. "What…?"
Defi had no compunction at lowering the profits of Ontrea from this side.
"You have been a merchant and a farmer both." He affected irritation. "You assuredly know what to do with it."
"Noble one, it is too much."
"You have spent thirty years in Ontrea. This," he waved a half-disdainful hand at the wagon, "is surely not all you wish to take from it?"
He had bought it with his father's gold after all.
If it was Defi who had been made a slave, he would burn the place to the ground.
Garun thinned his lips, looked at him sternly. "You are not at fault, and do not need to compensate me."
Of all the stubborn old men. It appeared Defi would have to pull out memories better left forgotten. He firmed his stomach.
"I called you 'uncle' once, when I was very little," Defi said, almost whispering. He had been young and unknowing. For his ignorance, for that single solitary infraction, his father had Garun whipped and made Defi watch. Defi never called him uncle again.
Garun looked steadily at him, no accusation, no recrimination. The man truly did not think it was Defi's fault.
Something in Defi's chest uncoiled in relief. He did not show it.
He met Garun's gaze with a steady one of his own. "I will call your daughter 'cousin' just this once, and beg your indulgence to alleviate my guilt for not having given her a birth-gift at the appropriate time."
He extended the box.
Garun's lips twitched.
Defi waited.
"I thank you, mine nephew," Garun inclined his head. "The gift will not be wasted. But it is still too much."
"Yes, yes. And when the time comes that the name of Garun the Spice-dealer comes to my ears, I will come to you and ask you for a favor. I will make it a grand favor, one the equal of my stature."
Garun smiled. "Of course. I will await your arrival."
It was a promise.
Defi nodded and turned away. There was no time to lose on goodbyes.
Chapter end
|
Report
|
|
Donate
Oh o, this user has not set a donation button.
|
