Free Transformation (Rai Kirah) by Carol Berg Page A

little ones burst out wailing and tried to run back to their mother, but I was standing nearby and grabbed hold of them to keep them out of harm’s way. In horror I watched as Aleksander drew his sword. I believed he was going to slay the stunned woman for daring to touch his feet. But instead he laid the tip of the blade at the Fontezhi youth’s throat and fixed his eyes on the youth’s disbelieving face, while extending his other hand to the fallen woman. She stared at him blankly, mud dripping from her lank hair, her starvation-dulled eyes asking only from which direction the blow would come.
    “Here, here, woman,” said Aleksander, shaking his hand at the woman, though still not looking at her. “Take it and get up or these cretins will trample you.”
    She reached out a hand as if putting it into the mouth of a wolf, but the Prince pulled her up and shoved her away. Then he sheathed his sword and with cold ferocity back-handed the Fontezhi guard who had throttled the children. Astonished, I urged the two little ones toward their mother, and the three of them fled down an alleyway. I wondered how many days they had left to live. Unless the weather eased up a little, I guessed it was not many.
    The Prince said nothing more of the incident, but he did seem to take notice of me as I stood shivering in my sleeveless tunic, waiting for the expedition to proceed. He stared at me so long I wondered if I had angered him by interfering even in so small a way. After a quick glance about, he started to speak, but thought better of it and motioned me to stay close behind him. When we reached the Jurran warehouse, he commanded one of Lord Celdric’s attendants to find me a cloak and some sandals lest I be too cold to write properly. I was confounded.
    The Prince took only a few moments to inspect the warehouse before rendering his judgment. The district could not be burned. It might encourage all the unsavory residents of the place to converge on the rest of the city, he said. The Fontezhi dennissar was speechless and kept fingering the tiny scratch on his neck left by Aleksander’s sword. No doubt the Fontezhi lords had assumed that the residents would burn along with the other filth.
    But Aleksander was not done. “The Jurrans will pay for the land on which their warehouses sit,” he said. “Not rent, but in full for proper ownership. Before the end of the Dar Heged, Lord Celdric will bring me a notice of the settlement. Make a note of it, Seyonne. And for the next twenty years the Jurrans will contract solely with Fontezhi caravans to transport their spices within the boundaries of Azhakstan.”
    Masterful. The Fontezhi would lose land for their insult of the Prince. The Jurrans would lose gold for their insult to a more powerful house. The two hegeds would be forced to work together, and would likely both profit handsomely from the contract, leaving good feelings all around. It was well-done. But it was Aleksander’s treatment of the woman I found intriguing. It seemed wholly out of character.
    We were soon back to normal. On that evening as I sat at the Prince’s writing desk copying dispatches for the military commanders on the northern borders, Aleksander came in from the bedchamber and poured himself a glass of wine, then summoned one of his aides. He pointed at the curtained door to the bedroom and jerked his head.
    “What shall we do with her, Your Highness?”
    “Throw her back in the cesspit where you found her. She stinks and is more crude than a Veshtar. Sovari was right.”
    The aide disappeared through the curtain and did not return.
    “What are you looking at, slave?” said Aleksander. “Was she a friend of yours?”
    I suspected it was the whore from the streets, though I never saw her.

Chapter 6
     
    On the fifth morning of the Dar Heged the Prince began acting strangely. He could not sit still. He tapped constantly on the arms of his chair. He shifted and settled in the red velvet as if he could