Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [82]
“You will be my manservant, Skylan,” Chloe explained. “Your duties will not be onerous. You will be required to read to me—”
“He cannot read,” said Zahakis. “Nor can he write.”
Chloe was startled by this, but, on reflection, found that made him more intriguing. “Indeed. Well then, Skylan, you will entertain me by telling me stories. As to your other duties, when the weather is fine, you will carry me to the garden—”
“Carry you!” Skylan’s voice was sharp and loud and went off like an explosion in her room where all sounds were muted, only the softest music was played. Chloe jumped, startled and a little frightened. The feeling was thrilling.
The young man glared at her. “I carry shield and sword. Not spoiled brats. You have feet. Carry yourself.”
“How dare you?” Acronis said angrily. “I will have you whipped—”
“Oh, Papa, don’t be silly,” said Chloe in crisp tones. “He is my slave and I won’t allow him to be whipped. He meant no harm.”
She gazed at Skylan and smiled. “You are right. I do have feet.” Chloe drew back the damask coverlet to reveal her limbs and gave a little shrug. “But my poor feet do not work. They have not worked in many years.”
Skylan stared at her, frowning, not understanding.
“My daughter had an illness when she was five,” Acronis said. “She survived, but she lost the use of her legs.”
“I would love to walk into the garden myself,” Chloe said. “But I can’t. I am forced to lie here in this room, day and night.”
She looked at Skylan and added gently, “So you see, I, too, know what it means to be a prisoner.”
Zahakis escorted Skylan from the bedchamber. They walked through vast and echoing rooms decorated with statuary and furniture the likes of which Skylan had never seen. There were even pools of water inside the house. Skylan was astonished to see golden fish swimming about. A great many people were coming and going, working about the villa. He and Zahakis passed by several women on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floors.
“Which one is the Legate’s wife?” Skylan asked.
Zahakis glanced at him in amazement, almost laughing.
“The Legate’s wife is dead. And she would not be on her knees, scrubbing floors. These are slaves.”
Skylan stared at them. The women kept their eyes on their work, not looking up. He saw two men rubbing the wooden furniture with sweet-smelling oils. Going through one room, on their way to the atrium, they came across a small boy of about six years cleaning out one of the fish pools.
“Is the child a slave?” Skylan asked.
“He is the son of a slave and so, yes, he is a slave.”
“But . . .” Skylan sought for words. “These people are your own people! How can they be slaves?”
“Some are born to slaves and as such they are slaves themselves. Some are sold into slavery and some sell themselves to pay off a debt.”
“I live only for the day I escape this land,” said Skylan.
Zahakis stopped walking. Reaching out, he caught hold of Skylan. The two were alone in a hallway of black marble that led to the atrium.
“Remember that you are a slave, the Legate’s property. You and this bit of fruit have that in common.”
Zahakis lifted an apple from a bowl that stood on a small table. With a sudden motion, he flung the apple against the wall with such force that it split apart. Juice and pulp slid down the wall and dribbled onto the floor.
“The Legate will do that to your head, Skylan Ivorson,” said Zahakis, “if you so much as think of harming that child.”
“His daughter? I don’t want anything to do with his whelp!” said Skylan emphatically.
“If it were up to me, you would not be allowed near her. But it is not up to me,” said Zahakis grimly.
“So I must do this,” said Skylan.
“Chloe’s wish is her father’s command. And you are her father’s slave.”
Skylan watched bits of pulverized apple slide down the wall.
“You need have no fear,” he said. “His daughter is safe with me. He is my enemy and I would kill him without hesitation, but I do not make war on children. I don’t enslave them, either.”
Zahakis barked an order. Two women