Realities of the Road
originally posted February 23, 2006
"In Corcyrus, I would have charged a silver eighty piece each nght you danced," I informed her. "As I did in Torcadino."
"It is a fitting sum," she remarked.
"Arrogant slut," I countered.
"Yes Master," she answered matter of factly, commenting further that it was I who made her that way.
"For a handful of copper bits, for nothing at all, you would dance," I reminded her. "And dance well."
"You would beat me senseless if I did not," she replied.
The fact remains that Emily will not dance in Corcyrus. Each night on the road from Torcadino, our small camp has been set upon by brigands. The incursions have been minor. At certain times of the night, sometimes after retiring to the tent, I hear the ringing of steel. The inevitable crumpling of a dispatched foe onto the grass. I think the women of the camp are oblivious about the matter. They needn't be told of course. Nothing good would come of it. We were perhaps a day's hike to the gates of Corcyrus, once ruled by a Tatrix, once enemy and now ally of Ar, when Mathor suggested a change of course might be sound thinking. I had been keen on seeing Corcyrus, what a city once ruled by a woman might look like. How her cylinders might be painted. How her citizens might attire themselves. And what of the slaves? Would their garments be humbler that those of other cities? Would Corcyrus have taken her fashion cues as most other cities of this world do, from the tailors and cloth-workers of Glorious Ar? The last time I traveled west, I continued down the Eastern Way, Treasure Road. I passed through Samnium and Brundisium, masking, as it was prudent, my accent. From there I made way to Port Kar, gleaming jewel of Thassa. This time I had thought to see Corcyrus, perhaps Argentum, famed for her silver mines. Perhaps in Argentum, where silver flows more freely, Emily might have danced for more than a mere silver eighty piece.
Instead, as En'Kara approaches, we journey north toward the Vosk.
"It is a fitting sum," she remarked.
"Arrogant slut," I countered.
"Yes Master," she answered matter of factly, commenting further that it was I who made her that way.
"For a handful of copper bits, for nothing at all, you would dance," I reminded her. "And dance well."
"You would beat me senseless if I did not," she replied.
The fact remains that Emily will not dance in Corcyrus. Each night on the road from Torcadino, our small camp has been set upon by brigands. The incursions have been minor. At certain times of the night, sometimes after retiring to the tent, I hear the ringing of steel. The inevitable crumpling of a dispatched foe onto the grass. I think the women of the camp are oblivious about the matter. They needn't be told of course. Nothing good would come of it. We were perhaps a day's hike to the gates of Corcyrus, once ruled by a Tatrix, once enemy and now ally of Ar, when Mathor suggested a change of course might be sound thinking. I had been keen on seeing Corcyrus, what a city once ruled by a woman might look like. How her cylinders might be painted. How her citizens might attire themselves. And what of the slaves? Would their garments be humbler that those of other cities? Would Corcyrus have taken her fashion cues as most other cities of this world do, from the tailors and cloth-workers of Glorious Ar? The last time I traveled west, I continued down the Eastern Way, Treasure Road. I passed through Samnium and Brundisium, masking, as it was prudent, my accent. From there I made way to Port Kar, gleaming jewel of Thassa. This time I had thought to see Corcyrus, perhaps Argentum, famed for her silver mines. Perhaps in Argentum, where silver flows more freely, Emily might have danced for more than a mere silver eighty piece.
Instead, as En'Kara approaches, we journey north toward the Vosk.
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