“I will have a good deal less disrespect from you, girl,” he growled, angered by my having called him “my Chamd,” his finger pointing at me in accusation. “I have, till now, overlooked a good deal of your behavior out of deference to Tammad and your concern over his capture, yet shall I no longer do so. It is ever a l’lenda who moves first into battle and leads the way for others to follow, a thing I now do here for these wendaa. You shall obey me and they shall follow, and I wish to hear no more upon it.”
He was looking down at me the way l’lendaa do, hard-eyed above broad shoulders and massive arms, his unreasonably large size straightened to the full, his mind convinced and ready not to give an inch. If I hadn’t been so angry I would have been very uncomfortable but, as I’ve said before, anger can be a rather useful emotion. I looked up into Dallan’s pretty blue eyes, at the same time letting the curtain drop from my mind, and respected his wish to hear no more about who would do what at the palace.
“Do you recall the time of our first meeting?” I asked him softly, holding his gaze while my mind began-encircling-his. “Do you recall what position you held, what commands you were forced to accept, what actions you were made to perform? You were a slave in all things save your mind, constrained to do as others bid you for Seddan’s sake, held to your place by the chains of necessity. Do you recall the time, Daldrin?”
His lips parted as he continued to look down at me, possibly to answer one of my questions, possibly to protest being called by the slave-name of his own choosing, but it was already too late. My thoughts had already superseded his, telling him how he must act and the very important reason for those actions. Dallan was a man and a l’lenda but Daldrin was a slave, filled with self-effacement and an absolute lack of dignity, completely obedient and totally unquestioning, knowing in every single part of him that the least deviation from any requirement would cause the immediate death of his brother Seddan. I’d had to really intensify his love for Seddan and the sense of dread surrounding the thought of him, but using a situation that had once actually obtained made it all a good deal easier. Dallan became Daldrin again, but this time a Daldrin clear down to the ground. He knew how abject a slave he had to be in order to save his brother, believed sincerely that there was no other way out, and was determined to go through with it all, no matter what. What you know and believe about something dictates your every action, and determination helps to keep it that way. Dallan immediately lowered his eyes from mine, went to his knees, and bowed his head.
“Terril, what have you done?” Leelan asked unsteadily from not two feet away, staring in great confusion at Dallan. “I felt the surge of your mind when you removed its veil, yet
I could not . . . . What have you said to him that he now behaves as we wished him to?”
“Words do naught with a seetar of a l’lenda,” I told her, examining the results of my work critically. “He is not one who gives heed to-others, therefore did I address the matter differently. For now he is to be called Daldrin, and he will do exactly as he is bidden to do. I must, however, have a few moments for him to return to himself before any swordwork is required of him, after we have entered the palace. I would not see him come to harm through the trap of confusion.”
“I myself, will see that he has the time he requires,” she promised, coming closer to bend and look at him with her head to one side. “How strange it seems, to see a slave where moments before stood a l’lenda, Are you a good slave, Dal l-ah-Daldrin?”
“I strive to be a good slave, dendaya,” my unknowing victim answered, his voice as meek and retiring as he could make it, his manner nervous at being directly addressed. “Is it the dendaya’s wish that I serve her?”
“Not at the moment,” she answered with a look of delight, straightening up again. “How unfortunate that there is so little time left before we must depart. Would it be possible to have him so again, Terril? After the battle, perhaps, when Farian has been seen to?”
“It may be done at another time just as it has been done now,” I told her, amused at her grin as much as at her question. “It must be remembered, however, that he has now been changed for a purpose, which would not be true if he were touched again. Also must it be understood that he will recall each thing said and done to him.”
“Perhaps such recollection would be for the best,” she mused, none of her enthusiasm dimmed, one finger tapping her lips. “He is more than stubborn, this one, and he has dared to suggest- Well, no matter. He is as aware of what was suggested as I, and this shall be my reply to it. Raise yourself again to standing, slave.”
Dallan lost no time in obeying the order he had been given, but his eyes remained down, his head lowered. It didn’t really bother me seeing him like that, not as much as I’d thought it would—I knew the condition wasn’t permanent, and if anyone deserved being put through that, he did. I stood with hand resting on sword hilt, needing to do no more than gently support the knowledge, belief and determination in his mind, and watched Leelan move to him with deliberation.
“You do not at this time require weapons, slave,” she said to him, examining him as if he were a side of beef. “Remove that swordbelt at once, and give it to me.”
The slave Daldrin paled at the hardness in the voice of his mistress, and a short minute later was handing over his weapons. Leelan took them with satisfaction glowing out of her eyes and mind, and then she slowly backed away from him.
“A proper slave does not wear a blue haddin,” she said when she had the distance she wanted, putting some effort into slinging Dallan’s swordbelt over her shoulder as she continued to stare at him. “Remove the haddin, and then we will seek out brown cloth for you.”
It most definitely would not be accurate to say that Dallan hesitated, but it was fortunate I still had an attentive hold on him. Without my support, his unquestioning obedience would probably have developed a sag in the middle. His big hands opened the haddin and unwound the cloth from around his middle, his embarrassed suffering clear in the darkening of his skin, and then the cloth was on the carpet fur at his feet. I hadn’t realized how many people were in the room, until I began picking up reactions to that gesture.
“One is now able to see how truly well made as a man he is,” Relgon said in a drawl as she came over to stand beside Leelan, her mind humming noticeably. Behind those two were four of Leelan’s women servants, spread out in the room doing various things-until the unveiling. Right then they were simply standing there and enjoying the view as any normal woman would, their minds more impressed than amused, Relgon’s hum multiplied by their numbers. Dallan stood with head and eyes down, but somehow I was sure he was aware of every pair of eyes on him.
“Ah, but he is not a man, Relgon,” Leelan said in reply to the older woman’s comment, her grin still going strong. “He is a slave who will be my gift to the Chama, and I now require the answer to no more than one additional question: how are we also to take into the palace his great bar of a sword which will surely be needed by him? Merely to look upon it is to know it as the weapon of a l’lenda.”
“Yes, the sight of a l’lenda’s weapon is stirring indeed,” Relgon murmured with a chuckle, then she looked at Leelan more seriously. “For what reason might it not also be presented as a gift? Well-wrapped in cloth and borne by the slave, who is to say what it is? And should it be necessary to reveal the gift, it might be presented as yours to the man Farian has chosen for you, precious for having been carried and used by your father’s father’s father or some such. There are many things one might say to the gate guard-should it be necessary. ”