Free The Irda by Linda P. Baker Page B

as a flower, as bright and unblemished as the purest of crystals. Her eyes were the silver green of sunlight sparkling on a clear water, her shining hair almost too thick against her small face. Though she was at least two hundred fifty years old, he guessed, fully grown, the top of her head barely reached his chin. Even more intriguing, she smiled with an expression unlike anything he had ever seen in his life, an enigma he could not solve.
    Jyrbian bowed low. “If I hear no story at all, this trip will not be a loss.”
    Instead of the ardent response he expected, she smiled mysteriously and glanced away from the intensity in his eyes, murmuring a thank you for the compliment.
    Playing the part of gracious host, Igraine led them into a large, cool room outfitted as an office. With its heavy oak walls, it would have been dark but for the gallery of tall windows that looked out over the back of the estate. The ceiling was painted the color of the night sky, and silver had been worked into it in the pattern of the constellations of the gods.
    As everyone exclaimed at the beauty of the room and asked how the slaves had created the decoration, Khallayne strolled along the windows and gazed out toward the mountains that ringed the perimeter of Igraine’s property.
    Careful to make sure she was unobserved, Khallayne whispered the words to a “seeing” spell, shivering as the power rose up and skittered along her nerves. As the power took hold, she realized what it was about Igraine’s estate she found so disquieting. Her mouth fell open.
    “What is it?” Jyrbian asked. He had Everlyn’s hand tucked firmly through his arm and was leading her along the windows, admiring the view. He had come up behind Khallayne.
    Khallayne was so surprised, so astounded, she spoke without taking note of Everlyn. “Where are the wards?” She gestured outside, toward the estate. “There are no wards, nothing, to prevent the escape of the slaves. There aren’t even any guards!”
    Jyrbian scanned all that was visible through the tall windows, but he didn’t really need to confirm her news. She was right. That was what felt so odd about the place! No guards.
    Although Igraine’s personal wealth originated from inheritance, it was well known that the largest part of his income came from his mines, which lay north of his estate. The majority of his guards would naturally be stationed in the mountains. But Jyrbian still expected to see at least a handful of guards around the grounds. Honor guards in fancy dress, if nothing else. Or slave guards, especially near the slaves’ quarters. Yet there were none. None as far as he could see.
    Another oddity. The slaves’ quarters were not usually so close to the main house. But he could see the stone huts of the slaves—with glistening thatched roofs, not the miserable, ugly hovels he expected. These were clean, almost picturesque, set against the backdrop of slate-gray mountains, green fields, and blue sky. Beside several of the dwellings, humans worked with rakes and hoes in tiny gardens. Human children, their grotesque little bowed legs bare, played in the nearby dirt. A snatch of human song, low and unlovely, carried on the breeze.
    It seemed almost profane.
    “You are admiring my estate?” Igraine spoke from behind them.
    Jyrbian started, wondering how long the Ogre had been standing there, how much of their observations he had overheard. “We were noticing that you do not guard your slaves, neither with wards nor sentries.”
    “Because my slaves are happy here. They do not require wards, magical or otherwise.”
    “Happy?” Khallayne sampled the word on her tongue. Slaves were not happy or unhappy. They were simply slaves. “How is this unusual state achieved?”
    “It has been the best kept secret in our world.” Igraine laughed. “I will share what I have learned if you truly seek knowledge. But I caution you, what I say will not be easy to understand at first. It will go against