The Outcast

6

Seen from the ridge overlooking the valley, the walled city of Tyr resembled the body of a legless spider. The main portion of the city made up the spider’s abdomen, while the head contained the king’s palace and the templars’ quarter. Roughly in the center of the main part of the city, overlooking the stadium and the arena, stood Kalak’s ziggurat, a huge, square-stepped tower constructed of massive blocks of mortared stone. The Wanderer wrote that it had taken thousands of slaves laboring from dawn to dusk for over twenty years to construct the massive edifice. It rose high over the city, dominating the slums and marketplaces all around it, and was visible for miles beyond the city’s outer walls.

At the opposite end of the stadium, separated from the main part of the city by a thick, high wall, stood the Golden Tower, the palace where the sorcerer-king, Kalak, had resided. Surrounded by lush gardens and colonnaded walkways, the Golden Tower was ringed by the templars’ quarter, where the servants of the king had dwelt in luxury, isolated from the people under their authority.

There were three large gates that gave entrance to the well-fortified city. The Grand Gate faced the mountains and gave access to the sprawling palace compound. The Stadium Gate, located between the templars’ quarter and the tradesmen’s district, led to the stadium and the arena. The Caravan Gate, at the opposite end of the city from the palace, was the main entrance to the city. It opened onto the largest and busiest street in Tyr, Caravan Way, which led through the merchant district to the central market square, near the foot of Kalak’s ziggurat.

The Grand Gate was the closest to the trail coming down out of the foothills, but Sorak did not expect to be admitted through the palace gate. He chose to ride around the city’s outer wall, past the outlying farms and fields, to the Caravan Gate. He rode one of the crodlu belonging to the slain marauders and led the others in a string behind him. He had not needed to rope them all together, for they would easily have followed Screech, but Sorak saw no purpose to be served in drawing attention to his unique psionic powers. At least, not yet. And he prudently kept his blade concealed beneath his cloak.

The guards at the gate questioned him briefly before passing him through. He told them he was a simple herdsman who raised and trained crodlu out in the tablelands, and that he had brought in this string to sell in the marketplace.

The guards were primarily interested in Tigra, having never seen a tame tigone before. Tigra was not exactly tame, but Sorak did not tell them that. He explained that he had raised Tigra from a cub and that the beast was bonded to him and a great help in tending the crodlu herd. Then he demonstrated his control over the beast with a few simple commands, which Tigra promptly obeyed, and by encouraging the guards to pet him. One of the braver souls ventured to do just that, and when Tigra suffered the caress without taking his arm off, the others seemed well satisfied. They were always eager to admit traders to the city, for the profits of anything sold in the marketplaces of Tyr were subject to a tax that went into the city’s coffers, from which the guards were paid their salary. However, they warned Sorak that he would be liable for any damage that his tigone caused, either to life or property.

As he passed through the massive gates, he rode along Caravan Way, the widest street in the main part of the city. The other streets he saw leading off the main avenue were little more than narrow alleyways winding through the tightly clustered buildings. As he led the crodlu through the street, he was assailed by a bewildering agglomeration of sights and sounds and smells. In the forests of the Ringing Mountains, there had been no shortage of stimulation for the senses, but his first impression of the city brought him close to confusion and panic.

“So many people!” said Kivara excitedly. “And so much noise!”

“They swarm like ants,” Eyron said with astonishment. “How can so many live together in so small a space?”

In the stretch of one city block, Sorak saw humans, elves, half-elves, even a few dwarves and half-giants. Some drove wagons or pushed wooden carts, others carried baskets on their heads or heavy loads on their backs, all bustling in a steady stream of traffic heading both to and from the central market square. The marketplace itself extended all the way out to the city gates, with tents and stalls with awnings set up along both sides of the busy street. Nobles reclined in the comfort of their shaded litters, ignoring the filthy beggars who sat in the dust and held out their hands in supplication. Armed soldiers mingled with the crowd, on the watch for thieves and pickpockets. Food vendors chanted their offerings to passersby and merchants with goods of every description held up their wares and cried out to entice customers.

Sorak had never experienced such an overlay of odors. Long accustomed to catching the subtlest of scents on the cool, crisp mountain breezes, he was overwhelmed by the smell of all the bodies mingling around him, the musky scents of herd animals and beasts of burden, and the heavy aromas of basted and spiced meats cooking over braziers in the food stalls. This was a far cry from the peaceful and spiritual atmosphere of the villichi convent and the bucolic serenity of the Ringing Mountains.

He felt the Watcher’s anxiety as she tried to assimilate it all. His pulse raced with Kivara’s exultation at the novelty of the experience. He sensed Lyric’s childlike awe, Eyron’s apprehension, and the Ranger’s steadfast determination to remain alert and avoid being distracted by all the tumult and confusion. As he rode through the crowded street, glancing all around him at one fascinating sight after another, he felt the Guardian’s reassuring presence, striving to maintain a balance within the tribe in the face of so much that was new to them.

“I had no idea it would be like this,” he said to her. “How can anyone think straight with so many distractions? How can anyone stand living with so much noise?”

“One probably becomes accustomed to it after a while,” the Guardian replied.

“I do not think I ever shall,” said Sorak. He shook his head. “Do you suppose this goes on all the time?” “I imagine it dies down at night,” the Guardian replied. “Perhaps it is quieter in other sections of the city. I do not know, Sorak. I’m a newcomer here, too.”

Sorak smiled inwardly at her jest, then hushed Kivara, who wanted him to stop at every stall and tent they passed. “I, too, am curious, Kivara,” he said. “There is much to see here, but now is not the time. Be patient.”

He had no difficulty making his way through the crowd. Mounted on a crodlu and leading a string of four others behind him, he could not only see well above the crowd, but his approach caused them to part before him with alacrity. Crodlu were known for occasionally snapping and taking a piece out of an arm or leg. Their chuffing, bleating, snorting sounds helped part the traffic, and more than a few of the people that he passed stared up at him curiously.

“Why do they look at me so?” he wondered.

“Because they have never seen an elfling before,” the Guardian said.

“Am I truly so different?”

“If we were on foot, then we might not be so readily noticed,” the Guardian replied, “but mounted on a crodlu, we stand out among the crowd. They cannot help but notice. Even the half-elves we have seen are taller than the average human, and longer of limb. We possess normal human proportions, yet our features are different.”

“I have never felt so out of place,” said Sorak. “I had looked forward to visiting a city, but I do not think I would want to live like this.”

Before long, he came to an open square at the center of the merchant district, where the beast traders had set up their pens. The odor of manure mingled with the smell of sweat and the musky scent of pelts from beasts of almost every description. One of the pens was filled with z’tals, upright lizards sold primarily for meat, though their flexible scales were often used for razors or small knives. They hopped about, trying to leap over the wall of their enclosure, but they were unable to jump high enough. Stupidly, they kept hopping en masse from one end of the pen to the other, emitting high-pitched, yipping sounds.

Another pen held jankx. The small, furry mammals lived in burrow communities out in the desert and were valued for their meat and for their pelts. Their enclosure had a stout wooden floor to prevent the jankx from digging their way out. Puzzled, they kept scratching at the wood with their paws, unable to comprehend why this curious “soil” would not loosen.

Farther on, Sorak saw larger pens that were used to contain kanks. The large, docile insects moved about sluggishly in their overcrowded confines, the clicking of their mandibles providing a percussive accompaniment to the yelps and cries of all the other beasts. Their exoskeltons were often used for armor, but it was not armor of high quality, for it was brittle and had to be replaced quite frequently. Kanks were more prized for the thick, green honey they excreted, which was nourishing and widely used as sweetener in food and drink.

Beyond the kank pens were large corrals that held erdlus, flightless, gray- and red-scaled birds that stood as high as seven feet and weighed up to two hundred pounds. Erdlu eggs were a staple of Athasian diet. The skittish birds milled about inside their corrals, their long, powerful legs pawing at the ground. Their snaky necks craned around in all directions, and shrill, high-pitched cries came from their wedge-shaped beaks, especially when Sorak approached with Tigra. The tigone’s presence sent them running around in circles, shrieking with alarm.

At the far end of the square, nearest the ziggurat, was an open area that held no pens, for the beasts sold there were too large to be contained by them. Inix lizards grew to a length of sixteen feet and weighed up to two tons. No pen would have held them, and so they were chained to massive blocks of stone that functioned as anchors to keep them from wandering about. Their backs were protected by hard, thick shells and armored scales, capable of bearing a great deal of weight. They were often used in caravans to transport riders in howdahs strapped to their large backs, and the nobility frequently used them as vehicles to get around the city, allowing a servant to drive the beast with an obsidian-tipped prod while they relaxed in their shaded and luxurious howdahs.

On the other side of the open square, well away from all the other beasts, Sorak saw several mekillots. The largest of Athasian lizards, mekillots were used as caravan beasts, easily capable of pufling the heaviest of wagons, or as war lizards, bearing armored howdahs. Only wealthy merchant houses or standing armies could afford to buy them since mekillots were expensive to maintain and were quite vicious. Anyone who strayed within reach of their long tongues was liable to wind up a meal. There was only one way to control them, and that was to employ psionicists as handlers. Obviously, any merchant who dealt in mekillots needed to employ a number of psionicists to keep the gigantic lizards under control, for they could easily break through any enclosure or snap the strongest chains.

Of the beast traders in the square, only the one who dealt in inix lizards had crodlu to sell, and Sorak saw that he only had two of them, placed in a separate pen. He approached the trader, a human who sized him up quickly and decided he wanted to do business.

“I see you brought in some crodlu,” said the trader, as Sorak dismounted in front of him. And then he saw Tigra. “Great dragon! A tigone!”

“Tigra will not harm you,” Sorak said. “I have raised the tigone from a tiny cub, and it always does my bidding.”

“I did not know they could be tamed,” the trader said with interest. “It must require great patience. But then, a herdsman who raises crodlu in the tablelands would have no shortage of that commodity, would he?”

Sorak smiled.

If the trader was curious about Sorak’s ancestry, he said nothing. He had his mind on business. Sorak ducked under to allow the Guardian to come to the fore, and she instantly perceived that the trader was going to try to cheat them.

“Are you interested in making me an offer on these crodlu?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” the trader said. “But as you see, I already have two, and demand for crodlu is not great these days.”

“Ah,” the Guardian said. “Well, in that case, you would have little interest in adding to your stock. I shall not waste your time. Perhaps one of the other traders might be interested in making me an offer.”

“Well, now, let us not be hasty,” said the trader quickly. “I did not say I was not interested, merely that the market conditions for crodlu are not as favorable as they might be. However, who is to say that these conditions may not change? I am in the market every day, unlike a herdsman, who does not have the luxury of waiting for demand to rise. I might take the gamble of increasing my current stock, if the price was right.”

“What would you consider a fair price?” asked the Guardian, and at once, she saw in his mind what the current market conditions for crodlu were. They were far from unfavorable. Quite the opposite, in fact. He already had a standing order from the Tyrian legion for a dozen crodlu, but he could not fill it. With the two he already had and Sorak’s five, he would need only five more, and the legion would take the seven even if he could not fill the entire order. He stood to lose nothing on the trade.

The trader named a figure that was half of what the going price was. The Guardian immediately made a counter proposal, tripling the amount that he had named. They began to haggle in earnest. The trader offered to barter for the crodlu with some of his inix stock, of which he had a surfeit, but the Guardian declined and said that only cash would do. With her ability to read the trader’s mind, the Guardian had the man at a hopeless disadvantage, and he did not even suspect it. It did not take long. The Guardian eventually accepted an amount that was only slightly under the going rate for crodlu, allowing the trader that small satisfaction. After all, the crodlu had cost Sorak nothing, and he walked away with a purse full of silver coins to add to the money he took from the slain marauders.

“I wonder if this will be enough?” he said.

“We shall have no way of knowing until we find out what things cost here,” the Guardian replied.

“We may be in the city for some time before we can make contact with the Veiled Alliance,” Eyron said. “Sooner or later, this money shall run out, and then we will have no means of getting more.”

“Then we shall have to find the means,” said Sorak, out loud. One or two people passing by gave him a curious glance, and he realized he would have to watch the tendency to speak out loud when he was talking to the tribe. He could not expect these people to understand.

He recalled a conversation with Mistress Varanna. “Here at the convent,” she had said, “there is greater tolerance for those who are, in some significant way, different. That is because we all know what it means to be different ourselves. Yet even villichi are not immune to fear or prejudice. When you first came here, there was strong resistance to the idea of a male being accepted in the convent, and an elfling male, at that.”

“But once the sisters knew me, they were able to accept me,” Sorak had replied.

“Yes, that is true, and it may well be true for many in the outside world, as well. But you will find less tolerance there, Sorak. We villichi know what it means to be a tribe of one because it has happened before among us. Out there, people have no knowledge of it. If they knew, they would not understand, and it would frighten them. When people are frightened, they feel threatened, and when they feel threatened, they become frightening.”

“So then... am I always to keep my true nature a secret from everyone except the sisters?” he had asked.

“Perhaps not always,” Varanna had replied. “But there are things in all of us that are best kept private, at least until such time as we encounter someone from whom we would wish to hide nothing, someone whom we would not hesitate to trust with that which is our deepest and most intimate essence. And that is the sort of trust that is only built with time. It is good to value truth and pursue it, but certain truths are not meant for everyone. Remember that.”

Sorak remembered. He remembered that he was in a brand new world and that he did not know these people. And they did not know him. Outwardly, there was already enough about him that was different, and as he walked through the crowded street, people could not help but notice. They saw a tall stranger in the garb of a herdsman, dressed all in brown, with thick, shoulder-length black hair and exotic-looking features. They saw the tigone trotting by his side like a tame pet. Some met his penetrating gaze and quickly looked away, not really knowing why. They pointed at him as he passed, and whispered among themselves.

He stopped at one of the food stalls and asked the vendor for a small bowl of cooked vegetables and several large pieces of raw z’tal meat. “Raw?” asked the vendor.

“For my friend,” said Sorak, glancing down at Tigra. The vendor looked over the waist-high partition of his stall and saw the tigone lying on the ground at Sorak’s feet. He gave out a yelp and jumped back, knocking over some of his pots.

“There is no need for alarm,” Sorak reassured the vendor. “Tigra will not harm you.”

The vendor swallowed hard. “If you say so, stranger. How... how many pieces of raw meat will you require?”

Sorak selected a few choice cuts and gave them to Tigra, then paid the vendor and took his bowl of vegetables. He had taken no more than two or three mouthfuls when he heard the clinking of carapace and armor behind him and turned to see a squad of soldiers standing several feet away, their swords unsheathed. Several held pikes, which they pointed down at Tigra.

“Is that your beast?” their officer demanded. His voice was stern and forceful, but still betrayed uneasiness.

“Yes,” said Sorak.

“Wild animals are not permitted within the city,” said the officer.

Sorak continued eating. “What about all those wild animals back in the market square?” he asked.

“They are kept in pens, under control,” the officer replied.

“The inix are not kept in pens,” Sorak reminded him, “nor are the mekillots, and they are far more dangerous than my tigone.”

“They all have handlers,” said the officer.

“As does this tigone,” Sorak said. “Tigra belongs to me. I am the handler.”

“The beast poses a threat to the citizens of Tyr.”

“My tigone threatens no one,” Sorak protested. “You will note that Tigra remains calm despite your hostile attitude and the weapons you point in my direction. That sort of thing usually upsets the beast.”

The soldiers behind the officer glanced at one another nervously.

“It is illegal for the beast to be within the city walls,” the officer replied.

Sorak ducked under and allowed the Guardian to slip to the fore. She probed the soldier’s mind. “There is no law that specifically prohibits tigones in the city,” she said with Sorak’s voice.

“Are you telling me I do not know what the law is?”

“No, I have no doubt you know what the law is,” the Guardian replied. “And you also know I have not broken it. However, if you wish to take me before the Council of Advisors to clarify this matter, I have no objection. I have important information to present to them, in any case.”

The officer suddenly seemed uncertain of his ground. His eyes narrowed. “You have business with the council?”

“Yes. In fact, I was on my way there and merely stopped to have something to eat. Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort me?”

The Guardian saw doubt in the soldier’s mind. Perhaps, he was thinking, it would be wise not to antagonize this curious-looking stranger. He might be important. He hardly looks important, but he seems very sure of himself.

The Guardian decided to add to his uncertainty. “Of course,” she said, “if you have more important matters to attend to, I would not wish to keep you from them. What is your name, Captain, so I may be sure to commend you to the council for your diligence?” And as she spoke, she allowed Sorak’s cloak to fall open slightly so the officer could see the sword. His gaze flicked quickly toward the blade, noting the silver wire-wrapped hilt and the bronze cross-guards, the finely made leather scabbard and its unusual shape. His eyes met Sorak’s once again, and the expression on his face was no longer quite so stern. “The name is Captain Zalcor. And if you wish to be escorted to the council chambers, I have no other pressing business at the moment.”

“Excellent,” said the Guardian. She handed back the empty bowl to the vendor, who had listened with fascination to the entire exchange. “Thank you. Whenever you are ready, Captain Zalcor.”

Sadira slammed her ebony fist down on the long and heavy table in the small council chamber, upsetting several water goblets. “That is enough, Timor!” she said angrily, her amber eyes flaring beneath her blond hair. “I am tired of hearing the same thing over and over again! We cannot and will not go back to the way things were, however much you templars may protest!”

“With all due respect, I was not protesting,” the senior templar replied smoothly, drumming his bejeweled fingers softly on the tabletop. “I was merely pointing out that all the problems we are now experiencing are attributable directly to one thing and one thing only—the end of slavery in Tyr. You can hardly hold the templars responsible for that, as it was your idea to free the slaves, not ours.”

“Slavery will be brought back to Tyr over my dead body!” the bald mul Rikus said, rising from his chair to glare menacingly at the senior templar.

“Sit down, Rikus, please,” Sadira said. “These constant quarrels are getting us nowhere. We need solutions, not more problems.”

With a scowl, the massive former gladiator resumed his seat at the head of table, beside Sadira.

“As for accepting blame in this matter,” Sadira continued, “the blame lies not with the edict outlawing slavery in Tyr, but with the regime that instituted slavery in the first place. When the people were oppressed, they had no hope. Yet now that they are free, they have no livelihood. We may have given them their freedom, but that is not enough. We must help them find their rightful place in Tyrian society.”

“The templars have never tried to hinder you in that regard,” Timor replied. “In fact, we have cooperated with this new government to the fullest extent of our abilities. However, you cannot expect to overturn a long-standing institution without encountering some difficulties. You will remember that I cautioned you about this. I warned you that freeing the slaves would wreak havoc with the merchants and disrupt law and order in the city, but your thoughts were on your lofty principles, rather than pragmatic considerations. Now you reap the results of your ill-considered actions.”

“What we reap are the results of centuries of oppression by Kalak and his templars,” Rikus said angrily. He pointed at the senior templar. “You and the parasites who make up the nobility have grown fat on the blood of slaves. I find it hard to sympathize with you for wishing you had all your slaves back.”

“Much as I hate to contradict one of the heroes of the revolution,” Timor said sarcastically, “the fact is that I, personally, have no wish for my former slaves to be slaves again. My household slaves have always been well cared for, and they have all chosen to stay on as my servants rather than plunge into the maelstrom of uncertainty you have created for the other former slaves of Tyr.”

“They have chosen to stay on with you?” asked Rikus, frowning.

“And why not? I pay good wages, as the new edict demands. The added expense is easily offset by what I charge them for their room and board.”

“In other words, nothing has changed for them,” said Rikus with disgust. “You pay their wages with one hand, then collect the money back for rent with the other. They are still no better than slaves.”

“I beg to disagree,” protested Timor, raising his eyebrows. “They are merely experiencing the economics of freedom. As slaves, they were my property, and I was obliged to care for them. As freemen, they are free to come and go as they choose, and I am obliged only to pay them for the work they perform. I am not obliged to house them, and there is nothing to prevent them from seeking cheaper accommodations in the warrens. However, they seem to prefer the comfort and safety of the templars’ quarter to the crime-ridden and pestilential conditions they would encounter elsewhere in the city. Since I am offering them superior accommodations, I feel it is not unreasonable that I charge for them accordingly. In fact, I am being more than fair. I do not charge them any more than what they can afford to pay.”

“Trust a templar to find a loophole in the law,” Rikus said contemptuously.

“Enough,” Sadira said firmly. “While I cannot condone Timor’s self-serving rationalizations, they nevertheless underscore a valid point. We had not given enough thought to how the city would be affected by outlawing slavery, and we are now paying the price for that oversight. The question now before the council is how to remedy the situation. Granting homesteading rights to the former slaves in Kalak’s fields outside the city has not addressed the problem adequately. Many are not taking advantage of the opportunity, but even if they did, there would not be enough fertile land for all of them. And among those who have established homesteads, we have already seen disputes over water rights and boundaries and rights of way.

“We still have scores of former slaves in the city who are beggars on the street. Riots in the warrens, as well as in the elven market, have become common, and they are spreading to other sections of the city. The mobs are growing large enough to intimidate the soldiers, and if these uprisings continue, fewer traders will come to the city. They have already started joining caravans to Urik, instead. We have survived one war with Urik only to be plunged into another—a war of trade. If our treasury dwindles further while Urik’s grows, it shall not be long before they are strong enough to attack us once again.”

“The way things have been going, they may not have to,” Timor said wryly. “The people will simply open up the gates and let them in.”

“Never!” Rikus said. “Not after all they have suffered to see the end of Kalak’s tyranny!”

“For the moment, perhaps, you enjoy the people’s support,” said Timor, “but do not count on it overmuch. The people have short memories, and the mob is fickle. The heroes who killed Kalak will very soon become the council members who have brought the city to ruin, and the mob that once cheered you will start howling for your heads.”

“And I bet you would like that, wouldn’t you?” asked Rikus through gritted teeth.

“I?” said Timor. “You mistake me, Councilman. I bear you no malice or ill will. Remember that I, too, sit upon the council, and if the mob starts howling for your head, they shall call for mine, as well. I might also add that it would hardly be in my best interests if this government should fail and Tyr falls prey to Urik. As one of Kalak’s former templars, I would be among the very first to be executed by King Hamanu.”

“Thus far, we have heard a litany of things we have done wrong,” Sadira said. “We have yet to hear any suggestions from the templars as to what we can do right.”

The other council members nodded and muttered in agreement. None of them appeared to have any constructive suggestions to offer, and they would just as soon see that burden fall on the templars.

“As it happens, I do have a few modest proposals,” Timor replied.

“I can well imagine what they are,” Rikus muttered.

“Let him speak, Rikus,” said Councilman Kor. “We cannot judge these proposals until we hear them.”

“Thank you,” Timor said, bowing his head slightly. “My first proposal is that we institute a tariff on all farm produce brought into the city.”

“What? More taxes?” Rikus said with disbelief. “That is your solution? We need to stimulate trade, not drive farmers away from our markets!”

“To stimulate trade, we must first take steps to stop unfair competition,” Timor said. “Former slaves who homestead outside our city walls and grow crops to feed the citizenry will be exempt from this tariff. In this way, they will be able to market their produce more cheaply than the fanners who bring in produce from the outlying areas. It will ensure a ready market for the homesteaders and add incentive for others to take part in the program. And the profits the homesteaders make will enable them to employ laborers, which will cut down on the ranks of beggars in the city.”

“What about the farmers who bring produce to our markets from the outlying areas?” asked Sadira.

“They shall have to settle for a lesser profit,” Timor said, “or else market their produce elsewhere.”

“They can simply choose to lower their prices enough to compete with locally grown produce,” Councilman Dargo said.

“If the tariff is sufficiently high, they shall find themselves unable to compete with the homesteaders,” Timor replied. “Besides, why should we concern ourselves with them? They have been growing fat from their profits in our marketplaces, and in the absence of local competition, they have been able to control the prices, which has driven up the cost of food here in the city. The tariff would not only stimulate crop production, it would bring about lower prices for produce, and thereby lower the price of meals at food stalls and at the city’s inns and taverns. That is something the people would certainly support.”

“The idea has merit,” said Sadira thoughtfully. “However, you neglect the fact that there is still not enough fertile land to go around:”

“There is more than enough to make the city self-sufficient in terms of farm-grown produce,” Timor said. “And it is only fitting that those who had the foresight and industriousness to take advantage of the program first receive the greater rewards. For those who have delayed in taking advantage of the program, there will still be jobs as laborers on the homestead farms, once they start to make a profit. Or else they can take advantage of our second proposal, which will create a new program to address the very issue you just raised.

“Under this new program,” Timor continued, “loans would be made from the city’s treasury, at a modest rate of interest, to anyone who will homestead in the valley for the purpose of raising herds for marketing in Tyr. These loans could be used to purchase beasts in our own markets that would serve to start the herds, and for those taking advantage of the program, there would be a one-time exemption from the market tax. They could then raise z’tals or kanks or crodlu for our army, bring them in to market here in Tyr, and use their profits to pay off their loans in reasonable installments. As with those who participate in the homestead plan, they would be exempted from the tariff and this would assure a ready market for their beasts.”

“But what is to prevent them from marketing their beasts elsewhere?” asked another council member.

“Absolutely nothing,” Timor replied, “except that it would be more convenient for them to market them in Tyr. The expense of driving their beasts to market elsewhere would eat into their profits, and they would be forced to compete with herdsmen from the outlying areas in the tablelands, who would be seeking other markets to avoid our tariff. And, as with the farmers, these herdsmen have driven up their prices due to lack of competition. This plan would serve to give a profitable livelihood to many of the former slaves, as well as lower the prices for meat animals and such to a more reasonable level. The herdsmen in the program would be making money, and the people of the city would be saving money. Everyone would be well pleased, and the new government would be lauded for the new prosperity.”

“Much as I hate to admit it,” Rikus said, “these proposals make a lot of sense, at least on the surface. However, what stops free citizens of Tyr from taking part in the programs and shutting out the former slaves?”

“What if they do?” Timor replied. “Our goal is to diminish the ranks of beggars, whether they be former slaves or not. If these programs reduce the number of beggars on our streets, or cut down on thievery by granting livelihoods to those driven to steal out of desperation, no one would complain. And if some of our citizens leave their jobs to take advantage of these programs, then that would leave openings that could be filled by former slaves. The point behind these proposals is that Tyr must become more self-sufficient if our city is to survive. We must import less and export more. And to that end, I make a third proposal, and that is to grant tax credit to anyone who chooses to start a new industry in Tyr that would employ citizens and provide products for export. We have, for example, greater resources in iron than any other city, yet those resources have never been properly exploited.”

“But if we made all these loans out of our treasury and granted all these tax credits, that would cut into the city revenues,” said Councilman Kor.

“Only for now,” Timor said. “Our revenues would fall in the first year, yet the moment the participants in these programs started to turn a profit, the loans would start to be repaid, and revenues would continue to increase, because we would have more and richer taxpayers. That is the beauty of the import tariff. We create, in effect, a new tax that does not affect our citizenry, and we demonstrate our concern for their welfare by exempting them from it. In part, this new tariff will compensate for whatever short-term revenue losses we may incur through the creation of these programs, but in the meantime, the remainder of our tax structure remains unaffected.”

“But what about these tax credits you have proposed?” Sadira said.

Timor shrugged. “They are merely one-time credits, and they add incentive to get the programs started. Once they are underway, we shall be seeing increased revenues as a result. Meanwhile, we announce that instead of increasing taxes to deal with our current problems, we have decided to freeze them at their current rate, so as not to place an added burden on our people, and even use available tax revenues to create new jobs. Once those jobs have been created, they increase our revenues without the odious necessity of having to raise taxes. The council will have held firm, demonstrated its concern for the people, and increased tax revenues in a manner that would be all but unnoticeable.”

“It sounds dishonest, somehow,” Rikus said, scowling.

“Oh, forgive me. I thought we were discussing ways to save our city from destruction,” Timor said dryly. “I was unaware that we had elevated this discussion to the morality of Tyr. I fear I did not come prepared to propose measures to address that concern. Besides, I think you will find that is a rather low priority among our citizenry. The people do not want honesty and starvation. They want the semblance of honesty and food. If you tell them the truth, they will lynch you every time.”

“Leave it to a templar to shade the truth,” said Rikus sourly.

“Trust a templar to know the truth has many shadings,” replied Timor with a smile. “If I may continue, I have one final proposal, and it addresses the issue of Tyr’s human and demihuman resources.”

“Goon!” Sadirasaid.

Timor nodded. “I am sure you will agree that the greatest asset of a city is its people, and that any governing body would be wise to exploit that asset to its fullest potential. Regrettably, we are denied the full value of that asset because some of our citizens choose to hide their light under a basket, or perhaps, to put it more appropriately, they keep it underground.”

“You are referring to the Veiled Alliance?” asked Councilman Kor.

“Precisely,” Timor said. “Now, in the past, the templars and the Veiled Alliance have been at odds politically, as we had served a defiler sorcerer-king and they are all preservers. Or so they claim, at least. Those political differences no longer exist. Kalak is no more, Tithian is gone, and this council has no quarrel with the preservers. There remain, however, certain compelling reasons for the Veiled Alliance to remain veiled, as it were, and chief among those is the antipathy of the people toward magic-users.”

“Can you blame them,” Rikus said, “when magic has brought our world to ruin?”

“Perhaps,” said Timor with a shrug, “but that is an arguable point. There are those who blame so-called ‘defiler magic’ for the ruin of Athas, and exempt those who call themselves ‘preservers,’ when the fact is that both use the same magic. And it is debatable whether it was magic that was responsible for turning our world into a desert, or the science practiced by our forebears. For that matter, certain natural conditions over which no one had any control may well have been responsible. However, that is not the issue. Whether rightly or wrongly, most people have come to believe that magic is immoral because it destroys natural resources, and they condemn all magic-users as a result. One can certainly contend that such an attitude is manifestly unfair to the preservers, who make a virtue of following the Druid Way and see themselves as custodians of nature rather than exploiters of it.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” said Sadira, with astonishment. “You are taking up the cause of the preservers?”

“I deal not in causes, but in practical considerations,” Timor said. “We are concerned with filling our treasury and making Tyr more self-sufficient. This will entail developing our farmland and raising crops successfully, which in turn will entail proper water use, the planting of shrubs and trees to prevent erosion of the soil, and so forth. Who better qualified to oversee such projects than the preservers who make up the Veiled Alliance? We are also seeking to improve our industry—and magic, judiciously applied, can be of help to us in that area, as well.”

“Let me understand,” said Rikus. “The templars are actually proposing that the Veiled Alliance, an organization they have sought to destroy for all these years, be given a role in restructuring Tyr?” He shook his head. “I cannot believe it. I must be hearing things.”

“The templars sought to destroy the Veiled Alliance in the past because Kalak ordered it. He saw the organization as a threat to him, and we templars acted as the loyal servants of our king. However, Kalak is dead. Our loyalty now lies with the new government of Tyr.”

“Whichever way the wind blows, eh?” said Rikus.

“It is a government that may not love us well,” said Timor with an arch glance at the former gladiator, “but it has seen fit to include us, however inconvenient it might seem, largely because to dispense with us would have proved an even greater inconvenience. Just the same, we are grateful for the role we are allowed to play in the future of the city that has always been our home.”

“You expect us to believe you bear no malice toward the Veiled Alliance?” asked Sadira.

“I bear no malice toward anyone,” said Timor. “I am a templar, and I seek only to do my duty. In that capacity, I cannot support the existence of any underground organization—however well-intentioned it may claim to be—that functions independently and violently in disregard of our laws. I have always been convinced that the Veiled Alliance is, at heart, a subversive group of malcontents who shelter criminals under the guise of patriotism and high moral imperatives. They would disagree, of course.

“However, in the interest of reducing lawlessness within our city and making its citizenry more productive, I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Kalak is dead, and the reason for their secretive existence in our city no longer exists. Let them prove their stated intent and come forward to take part in helping this government build our city’s future. Let them prove to our people that magic can be used as a force for good, and thus gain their support. In return, I propose we offer amnesty to all those who take advantage of this offer.”

“And you think they will come forward?” said Sadira skeptically.

“Those who truly believe in what the Veiled Alliance claims to stand for should have no reason to reject such an offer. Still, I expect some of them to refuse. Those who are and have always been criminally inclined shall not come forward, and in refusing to do so, they shall expose themselves for what they truly are. But at least those among them who are well intentioned will have an opportunity to come out of hiding and take part in our society.”

“I move that we adopt Timor’s proposals,” said Councilman Kor.

“I second the motion,” said Councilman Hagon, at once.

“Not so fast,” said Rikus.

“The motion has already been seconded,” said Councilman Kor. “The templars were accused of not contributing any constructive proposals. Well, it seems that they have called our bluff and produced some excellent ones. Procedure now dictates that we put these proposals to a vote.”

“That is the accepted procedure,” Sadira was forced to admit. “All those in favor?”

There was a show of hands. Only Rikus did not raise his.

“The motion is carried,” said Sadira, who had abstained. As director of the council, she would have only voted in the event of a tie. “The council secretary is directed to formulate the proposals as new edicts, which will be presented to this body for approval of the wording prior to being instituted. And now, if there is—”

The council chamberlain rapped his staff on the floor by the entrance to the room. “With the indulgence of the council,” he said, “a captain of the city guard has arrived with a visitor who claims to have business with the council.”

Sadira frowned. “I am aware of no one who has petitioned to speak before this body today. Who is this visitor?”

“He has given his name as Sorak,” said the chamberlain.

“I know no one by that name,” Sadira said. She glanced at the other members of the council. “Do any of you know this Sorak?”

The other members all shook their heads and glanced around at one another.

“What is the nature of his business?” asked Sadira.

“He did not say,” the chamberlain replied, “only that it was most urgent and that it concerned a matter of utmost importance to the security of the government of Tyr.”

“No doubt merely another malcontent seeking to air his grievances,” said Councilman Hagon. “Must we waste our time with this?”

“This body exists to serve the people, not deny them a voice in our government,” Sadira said.

“Then let him petition to be heard during the proper time, when we conduct the regular forum,” said another council member.

“If, indeed, he has news that may affect the security of Tyr, then we should hear him,” Rikus said. “I say let him speak.”

“Have this visitor brought in, Chamberlain,” Sadira said.

“There is... something else,” the chamberlain replied uneasily.

“Well?” Sadira said. “What is it?”

“He has a tigone with him, and insists that it accompany him.”

“A tigone!” Rikus said, rising to his feet.

“The creature appears tame,” the chamberlain said. “However, it is, nevertheless, a full-grown tigone.”

“A tame tigone?” said Sadira. “This is something I would like to see.”

“Surely you are not going to allow this!” said Councilman Hagon.

“Have the visitor brought in,” Sadira said.