Transformation (Rai Kirah) by Carol Berg Read Free Book Online

all lucky.
    “I’ve heard that you Ezzarians claim you can see the future. Is it true?”
    “If we could see the future, my lord, how could we not have prevented our own destruction?”
    “You asked a question. You did not answer mine.” So he was not a total fool.
    “No man can see the future, Your Highness.”
    “Pity.”
    Aleksander dispatched me to fetch wine, and other house slaves to clean up the mess, and his body slaves to bathe and dress him. Once I located what he required and poured him a fresh glass of wine, he sent me back to the slave house. I was to clean myself and report to the kitchens, where I was to learn the customs for serving at the Prince’s table ... to begin that very night.

Chapter 4
     
    The Summer Palace of the Derzhi Emperors had dominated the misty valley of the Ghojan River for some four hundred years. Built on the site of an ancient fortress that had guarded the mountain passes from barbarians to the north, it had been expanded by one after another of Aleksander’s forefathers. The farther north the boundaries of the Empire stretched, the less fortified and more luxurious the palace became. By the time I was taken there, the sprawling palace walls encompassed some ninety hectares of buildings and courtyards, workshops and barracks and armories, butteries and gardens and stables. The city of Capharna itself was scarcely larger.
    The newer rooms of the main keep had large windows and high ceilings, elaborate columns and arches and elegant carvings, a splendor of decoration that seemed misplaced in the harsh mountain setting. For six glorious weeks a year, the sweetest airs of the Empire wafted through the graceful archways, and the gardens exploded in an ocean of flowers. But on almost every other day the bitter winds rattled the huge windows and gusted through the desolate courtyards. In the long winters thick rugs and tapestries were hung over every opening, making the short daylight hours nonexistent for those who didn’t venture out of doors. Unending wagon loads of wood had to be carted from the thick mountain forests to keep the hearths blazing. Even so, the heat all drifted upward to hang in the ceiling vaults, and the residents ... and certainly the lightly clad slaves ... were forever cold.
    This palace would be the entirety of my universe until the Prince decided to dispose of me. Only rarely were Derzhi house slaves permitted beyond their master’s walls. We were always chained at night and closely supervised during the day. As universes went for slaves, though, the Summer Palace would be quite fine—with a variety of interesting people and events to observe.
    Zeroun, the slave commanded to instruct me in the customs of the Prince’s table, was sure that some dreadful mistake had been made. “An Ezzarian, a branded runaway, serving the Prince and his table guests? Impossible. His Highness would never reward such deviance with his favor, and would never tolerate a scarred face in his sight. You don’t even wear fenzai ...” He pulled at my tunic and peered at my back. “As I suspected ... a disobedient barbarian. Impossible. Scandalous impertinence.”
    Three times he sought confirmation of the orders, until he was at risk of stripes himself. His problem, of course, was that he was a Basranni, which meant that he considered himself far above the level of an ordinary slave. The Basranni were a horse-worshiping desert clan, who’d had the misfortune to slay a Derzhi prince when they were trying to assassinate their own tyrant some fifty years previous. Though related by culture, blood, and intermarriage, and allied in war for three hundred years, the Derzhi had leveled every Basranni town and village and killed or enslaved every Basranni man, woman, and child. Still, Basranni slaves believed they were part owner of every Derzhi household, and were more concerned with upholding Derzhi tradition than were the Derzhi themselves.
    “Derzhi table customs are quite refined