The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [15]
It was, then, a good measure of the strictness of the laws governing the sale of barbarians that when one came his way with a bill of sale that was less than perfect, Brindemo hesitated to sell him. Ordinarily he would have shopped such a prize around to the great houses of Myleton straightaway and asked a good high price for him, too. The barbarian was in his early twenties, extremely handsome with raven-dark hair and cornflower-blue eyes, courteous with a grace that bespoke some contact with the aristocracy, and, best of all, he already knew a fair amount of Bardekian and was learning more with a speed that indicated a rare facility for languages. He would make, in short, a splendid footman with a chance to work his way up to mayordomo someday, a valued member of the household who would eventually be given his freedom and adopted into the clan.
Unfortunately, there was that bill of sale, and the profoundly uncomfortable fact that the slave couldn’t even remember his own name. Taliaesyn, his previous owners had called him, but he readily admitted that the name meant nothing to him. He could remember nothing at all, not his family, not his home city—indeed, no more than a few scraps about his life beyond the day he’d been sold. Since his previous owners had been giving him opium to keep him docile, Brindemo made sure that he had plenty of nourishing food and all the sleep he wanted. Unfortunately, this decent treatment had no effect; Taliaesyn could remember no more than he had before.
“You exasperate me, Taliaesyn of Pyrdon,” Brindemo remarked, in Deverrian, one evening. “But then, no doubt you exasperate yourself.”
“Of course.” The slave gave him one of his oddly charming smiles. “What man wouldn’t want to know the truth about himself?”
“Hah! There are many men who hide the truth about themselves deep in their hearts, where they will never have to face it. Perhaps you are one of those. Have you done somewhat so horrible that you wipe the mind clean to forget?”
“Mayhap. Do I look like that sort of man to you?”
“You don’t, though I think for all your charm you are a dangerous man. I would never give you a sword nor a dagger neither.”
Taliaesyn looked sharply away, his eyes gone cloudy, as if his thoughts had taken a strange turn.
“A dagger,” Brindemo whispered. “The word means somewhat?”
“Somewhat.” He spoke slowly, almost reluctantly. “I can’t find the memory. It just twitched at my mind, like.” Brindemo sighed with deep drama.
“Twenty-five zotars! Easily I could sell you for twenty-five golden zotars if only we could find the truth. Do you know how much a zotar is worth?”
“I don’t, at that.”
“It would buy ten pigs, and five of them fertile sows, even. So twenty-five zotars … ai!”
“My heart bleeds for you.”
“Ah, the sarcasm, and how can I blame you? It is a good sign. Your mind is coming back to life. But, I tell you, I have a guest coming tonight. He has spent many years in Deverry as a wine merchant. He might recognize you, or know somewhat to jog your mind. I cannot stand this. Twenty-five zotars, and here you sit, unsalable. It aches the heart, as you say in your country.”
While they waited for Arriano to arrive, Brindemo taught the slave the proper method of pouring wine and passing a tray of cups around to guests. Taliaesyn took the lesson with a grave interest that had a certain charm, rather like an intelligent child who has decided to please his parents by doing something they want even though it strikes him as ridiculous. Yet Brindemo was always aware that he was docile only because his memory had gone. Taliaesyn moved like a knife-fighter (the professional athletes of the arena were Brindemo’s only cognate for that particular gliding walk, the stance that was both relaxed and on guard at the same time), so much so that seeing him fussing over the silver tray was unsettling, as if a lion were wearing a collar and padding after its mistress like a pet cat. I never should have bought him, he thought miserably; I should