Free Servant of the Empire by Raymond E. Feist, Janny Wurts Page A

A slave has no honour, nor does he have a spirit in the eyes of the gods. This you must have known, Kevin of Zun.’ She spoke the name with sarcasm. ‘You chose your lot, chose to forfeit honour. If not, you should have died before an enemy took you captive.’ She paused as another thought occurred to her. ‘Or were you vassal to another more powerful house, whose Lord refused you permission to take your own life?’
    Kevin raised his brows, momentarily baffled by confusion. ‘What? I’m not sure what you mean.’
    Mara repeated herself in terms a child would understand. ‘Did your house swear vassalage to another?’
    Kevin straightened his back, winced, and raked a hand through his damp beard. ‘Zun swore allegiance to the High King in Rillanon, of course.’
    The Lady nodded as if all were explained. ‘Then you were forbidden permission by this King to fall upon your sword. Yes?’
    Thoroughly mystified, Kevin shook his head. ‘Fall on my sword?
Why?
I might be a third son of a minor nob – er, family, but I don’t need my King’s permission to sanction what seems an act of total idiocy.’
    Now Mara blinked in surprise. ‘Have your people no honour? If the choice was yours, why allow yourself to be taken captive into slavery?’
    Careful of his welts, which were swelling uncomfortably, Kevin regarded this diminutive woman who through misfortune had come to be his mistress. Forcing a smile, he said,‘Trust me, lady, I had no option, otherwise I wouldn’t be enjoying your …
hospitality
now. Had I a choice, I’d be at home with my family.’
    Mara shook her head slightly. This was not the answer she sought. ‘We may be having difficulty because of your barbaric use of the Tsurani tongue. Let me ask a different way: when you were taken captive, were you not spared a moment by fate in which you could have taken your own life rather than face capture?’
    Kevin paused, as if weighing the question. ‘I suppose so, but why would I think about killing myself?’
    Without thought, Mara blurted, ‘For honour!’
    Kevin laughed bitterly. ‘What good is honour to a dead man?’
    Mara blinked, as if struck by harsh lights in a dark room. ‘Honour is … everything,’ Mara said, not believing anyone could ask that question. ‘It is what makes living endurable. It gives purpose to … everything. What else is there to live for?’
    Kevin threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Why, to enjoy life! To know the company of friends, to serve men you admire. In this case, to escape and go home again, what else?’
    ‘Escape!’ Thoroughly shocked, and unable to conceal the fact, Mara forced her mind to regroup. These people were not Tsurani, she reminded herself; the codes of behaviour that bound slaves to service on her world were not shared by the folk beyond the rift. The Lady of the Acoma went on to wonder whether others of her culture might have discovered how different the Midkemians were from themselves. Hokanu of the Shinzawai sprang to mind. Mara made a mental note to pry loose information on Lord Kamatsu’s interest in the barbarians during the son’s forthcoming visit. Next she considered whether this Kevin of Zun might hold strange knowledge or ideas that might prove helpful against her enemies.
    ‘You must tell me more of the lands beyond the rift,’ she demanded abruptly.
    Pained by more than cuts and bruises, Kevin sighed. ‘You are a woman of many contradictions,’ he said with some care. ‘You order me beaten, dipped in a livestock trough, and then dried with what must be your finest towels. Now you want speeches without so much as a drink to wet my throat first.’
    ‘Your comforts, or lack of them, are beyond your right to question,’ said Mara acidly. ‘You happen to be bleeding on a cushion that cost much more than your worth on the open market, so be careful how you speak of my consideration.’
    Kevin raised his brows in reproof. He intended to say more, but at that moment someone