* * *
Wrelk and his two underlings had horses in the Loszian stable, and the four men left the mountains behind heading northeast. They rode swiftly with the few hours of daylight that remained, and Cor was pleased to let Kelli stretch her legs on less treacherous ground. They did not use roads, clearly on a more direct path to their final destination, and they rode until the sun had completely dipped below the horizon, Wrelk declaring it too dark to continue.
After a warm supper, Wrelk set a watch order, explaining to Cor that it was not wise to sleep unprotected in Losz, and he took the first watch himself. Cor had a few questions he wanted answered and said he would stay up for a bit, so long as Wrelk did not mind the company. He did not trust Wrelk, and he doubted Wrelk trusted anyone, possibly not even himself. Cor waited until the two crossbowmen were asleep, or at least pretending to be so, before slowly sauntering over to Wrelk, who sat on a small rock a few feet out of camp.
“You should sleep Dahken Cor,” he said without turning. “You may soon need your rest.”
“I’m restless. Wrelk, where do we ride to?”
“My master’s stronghold is a day and a half’s ride to the northeast.”
“I have met him once, and it wasn’t under the best of circumstances. How do I know he won’t just kill me when we arrive?” Cor asked.
“I suppose you don’t, but I imagine if he wanted you dead, he would have let the border guard kill you,” Wrelk answered. He never looked at Cor, always keeping his eyes attuned to the darkness beyond the camp.
“I owe your master a debt for killing my parents. What’s to stop me from killing him?” At this question, Cor saw a slight, wry smile touch the corners of Wrelk’s mouth.
“Its none of my affair, but I wish you luck in that endeavor,” Wrelk replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Cor waited a few minutes in silence before deciding to change the subject; he had some other questions he wanted to ask.
“You are part Loszian, aren’t you?”
“My grandfather was half Loszian; his father was a noble who took liberty with peasants and slaves.”
Though the West had no shortage of peasants and indentured servants, in all cases it was purely a business transaction that either party could leave at any time without fear of retribution or recrimination. Outright slavery was illegal and considered to be one of the highest crimes in the Shining West. Cor had a hard time fathoming misery of such an existence, especially with the knowledge that one’s oppressors may “take liberties” at any time. The thought of his mother being subjected to such an atrocity came unbidden to his mind, and suddenly his blood began to boil.
“You must hate the Loszians,” Cor said, receiving a puzzled look from Wrelk.
“Why would I? It’s my Loszian blood that makes me better than the slaves or peasants. Over the centuries, the Loszians created a … sub nobility I suppose you might say. Those of us with mixed blood have more freedom and power than the masses. Our lords select us for tasks, and we work to make ourselves more useful to them. I have no wife or daughter, but if I did, I would happily allow a full blooded Loszian, even half blooded, to take her. Any child from that union would live better than I.”
Cor listened incredulously to Wrelk continue on about the social and economic advantages of allowing the rape of his hypothetical daughter or wife at the hands of a Loszian lord. Wrelk explained that it should purely be viewed as a business transaction, or an attempt at raising one’s status, and the man’s detached matter of fact perspective appalled him. His mind whirled with the disgusting logic of it and that the people of Losz had simply come to accept this as the way of things. Again, Cor allowed the discussion to simply die out before asking another question.
“Who was the Loszian that spoke to us back in the mountains?”
“Lord Menak. He was once a powerful noble and sorcerer. I do not know the entire story, but I know he chose to leave his lands in favor of the border, away from the center of machinations in the empire.”
“He’s a full blooded Loszian, isn’t he?” Cor asked, knowing the answer.
“Yes, like most of the lords.”
“Most,” said Cor slowly, watching Wrelk’s reaction, “but not all, like your lord. When I saw him, I only assumed he was a true Loszian, but after meeting Menak, I know that’s not true. What’s his name?”
“Taraq’nok, and I will not discuss my lord’s birth or his private matters,” Wrelk said, turning his face to Cor. “I serve him, and it is his business what he shares with you. Go to sleep Dahken Cor; we have much riding to do tomorrow.”
Cor had heard that tone in a person’s voice many times over the years, and it always came when he had asked one too many questions. It carried a note of finality that his parents had taught him meant to drop the issue lest he pay the consequences. He returned to his bedroll and forced himself to sleep.