Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [37]
But to do so, he knew, was to send them to certain death.
Seeing the overseer hesitate, the catalyst frowned and trudged over to stand beneath where the overseer floated in the air. Irritably motioning the overseer to come down to his level, the catalyst muttered, “I can’t believe you’re really considering this! She’s obviously a … well … you know ….” The catalyst flushed in embarrassment, seeing the overseer leer, and hurried on. “Tell her to be on her way. Or, better still, send for the Enforcers—”
The overseer scowled. “I don’t need the Duuk-tsarith to tell me how to manage my settlement. And what would you have me do, send her and the babe into the Outland? This is the last settlement this side of the river. “You want to try to sleep nights, thinking about what’ll happen to ’em out there?” He glanced back at the woman. She was young, probably not more than twenty. Once she might have been pretty, but now her proud face was marked with lines of anger and hatred. Her body was far too thin—the dress hung on her spare frame.
The catalyst indicated, from his sour expression, that he would take his chances on missing a few nights’ sleep to be rid of this female. This helped make up the overseer’s mind.
“Very well, milady,” the overseer said grudgingly, affecting to ignore the catalyst’s look of shocked disapproval. “I can use another hand. You’ll be given a dwelling place—expense of His Lordship—a bit of ground to do with as you please, and a share in the crops. Be in the fields at dawn, leave at dark. Rest midday. Marm Huspeth’ll watch the babe—”
“The baby stays with me,” the woman informed him coldly, hitching up the straps of the bundle on her back. “I’ll carry him in this while I work, to leave my hands free.”
The overseer shook his head. “I expect a full day’s work from you—”
“You’ll get it,” the woman interrupted, drawing herself up to her full height. “Do I start now?
Looking at her wan, pale face, the overseer shifted uncomfortably. “Naw,” he said gruffly. “Get yourself and the babe settled. The cottage there at the end, near the trees, is vacant. At least go to Marm. She’ll fix you some food—”
“I don’t take handouts,” the woman said and started to leave.
“Hey, what’s yer name?” asked the overseer.
Stopping, the woman glanced back over her shoulder. “Anja.”
“And the babe?”
“Joram.”
“Has he been Tested and blessed in accordance with the laws of the Church?” asked the catalyst sternly, determined to try to salvage some of his lost dignity. But the attempt failed. Spinning around, the woman faced him directly for the first time, and the look in her glittering eyes was so strange, so mocking, and so wild that the catalyst involuntarily fell back a step before her.
“Oh, yes,” Anja whispered. “He has been through the ceremony of the Testing and he has received the Church’s blessing, you may be sure!”
With that, she began to laugh such eerie, shrill laughter that the catalyst flashed the overseer a look of smug satisfaction. If it hadn’t been for that look, the overseer might have rescinded his decision and sent the woman on her way. He, too, heard the tinge of madness in that laughter. But he’d be damned before he’d back down in front of this weak-eyed, bald little man who’d been an irritant ever since he’d arrived a month ago.
“What are you all staring at,” he shouted to the Field Magi, who had been watching the proceedings with interest, eager for anything that relieved the daily boredom and drudgery of their lives. “Rest is over. Back to work. Father Tolban, grant them Life,” he said to the catalyst, who, with the self-conscious air of one who has been proven right, sniffed and began to chant