Read Online Servant of the Empire by Raymond E. Feist, Janny Wurts - Free Book Online Page A

overseer’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his lips moved in prayer to Kelesha, goddess of mercy.
    The barbarian simply looked down at the diminutive lady in the doorway, his expression bland but his eyes as blue and hard as the sword metal that abounded on the Midkemian side of the rift.
    Mara felt her own anger rise at that openly rebellious stare. She curbed her temper and spoke evenly. ‘If you value life, slave, let him go now!’
    The redhead recognized authority in her dark eyes. Still, he was insolent. He considered her command an instant; then a wicked grin spread across his face and he opened his fist. The overseer dropped without warning, buckled at theknees, and landed on his seat in the middle of Mara’s favourite flower bed.
    The grin sparked Mara’s anger. ‘You lack any hint of humility, slave, and that is a dangerous thing!’
    The redhead stopped smiling, but his eyes remained upon his mistress with an interest that now had more to do with her thin robe than any respect for her words.
    Mara was not too angry to notice. Suddenly made to feel undressed by the barbarian’s frank appraisal, she felt her anger mount. She might have ordered the redhead’s immediate death as an example to the others, except that Arakasi’s earlier expression of interest in the barbarians made her pause. None of the Midkemians behaved in an appropriate way, and unless she could learn the reason why, the only expedient that could end the problem was to slaughter her purchases out of hand. Still, an object lesson was required. Turning to a nearby pair of guards, she said, ‘Take this slave out of sight and beat him. Do not let him die, but make him wish to.
If
he resists, then kill him.’
    Instantly two swords appeared, and, with clear intent to brook no resistance, the guards led the outworlder away. As he moved down the path, the imminent prospect of a beating seemed to have no effect on his self-important posture. The barbarian’s lack of fear at his coming ordeal served only to irritate Mara more, for it was the one thing about the man that was Tsurani-like and admirable. Then Mara caught herself: about the man? What could she be thinking of? He was only a slave.
    Jican chose that moment to make an appearance. His polite knock on the doorframe broke through Mara’s angry contemplation.
    She whirled and snapped across the room, ‘What!’
    The sight of her hadonra jumping back in fright made her feel foolish. She motioned for her overseer to removehimself from the flower bed, then retired to her cushions, where Ayaki still lay asleep.
    Jican stepped into the room from the hallway. ‘Mistress?’ he inquired meekly.
    With a wave at her hadonra, Mara said, ‘I am about to learn why Elzeki here must argue with slaves.’
    The overseer stepped through the outer door, flushing visibly at his mistress’s disapproval. Elzeki was little better than a slave himself, an untrained servant given the office of managing workers about the estate. And authority given to him could be taken away. He prostrated himself upon the waxed wood floor and protested hotly in his own defence. ‘Mistress, these barbarians have no sense of order. They are without wal.’ He used the ancient Tsurani word meaning ‘centre of being’ – the soul that defined one’s place in the universe. ‘They complain, they malinger, they argue, they make jokes …’ Frustrated to the point of tears, he finished in an angry rush. ‘The redheaded one is the worst. He acts as if he were a noble.’
    Mara’s eyes widened. ‘A noble?’
    Elzeki straightened from his obeisance and glanced in appeal at the hadonra. Jican still winced at the poor choice of words. With no support forthcoming from the hadonra, Elzeki prostrated himself again, his forehead pressed to the floor. ‘Please, mistress! I meant no disrespect!’
    Mara waved away the apology. ‘No. That is understood. What did you mean?’
    Peeking up, he saw that his mistress’s anger had changed