oftly. "About as long as you've been alive, I'd wager. I was guarding merchant trains on this road when you were wetting your bed at night. And if lam a foreigner, well . . . last time I inquired, Khardhun was a free country. We beat back our invader, which is more than anyone here in the Palm can say!"
"You had magic!" the young fellow at the bar suddenly burst out, over the outraged din that ensued. "We didn't! That's the only reason! The only reason!"
The Khardhu turned to face the boy, his lip curling in contempt. "You want to rock yourself to sleep at night thinking that's the only reason, you go right ahead, little man. Maybe it'll make you feel better about paying your taxes this spring, or about going hungry because there's no grain here in the fall. But if you want to know the truth I'll give it to you free of charge."
The noise level had abated as he spoke, but a number of men were on their feet, glaring at the Khardhu.
Looking around the room, as if dismissing the boy at the bar as unworthy of his attention, he said very clearly, "We beat back Brandin of Ygrath when he invaded us because Khardhun fought as a country. As a whole. You people got whipped by Alberico and Brandin both because you were too busy worrying about your border spats with each other, or which Duke or Prince would lead your army, or which priest or priestess would bless it, or who would fight on the center and who on the right, and where the battlefield would be, and who the gods loved best. Your nine provinces ended up going at the sorcerers one by one, finger by finger. And they got snapped to pieces like chicken-bones. I always used to think," he drawled into what had become a quiet room, "that a hand fought best when it made a fist."
He lazily signaled Ettocio for another drink.
"Damn your insolent Khardhu hide," the grey-eyed man said in a strangled voice. Ettocio turned from the bar to look at him. "Damn you forever to Morian's darkness for being right!"
Ettocio hadn't expected that, and neither had the others in the room. The mood grew grimly introspective. And, Ettocio realized, more dangerous as well, entirely at odds with the brightness of the spring outside, the cheerful warmth of the returned sun.
"But what can we do?" the young fellow at the bar said plaintively, to no one in particular.
"Curse and drink and pay our taxes," said the wool-merchant bitterly.
"I must say, I do sympathize with the rest of you," said the lone trader from Senzio smugly. It was an ill-advised remark. Even Ettocio, notoriously slow to rouse, was irritated.
The young man at the bar was positively enraged.
"Why you, you ... I don't believe it! What right do you have...” He hammered the bar in incoherent fury. The plump Senzian smiled in the superior manner all of them seemed to have.
"What right indeed!" The grey eyes were icy as they returned to the fray. "Last time I looked, Senzio traders all had their hands jammed so deep in their pockets paying tribute money east and west that they couldn't even get their equipment out to please their wives!"
A raucous, bawdy shout of laughter greeted that. Even the old Khardhu smiled thinly.
"Last / looked," said the Senzian, red-faced, "the Governor of Senzio was one of our own, not someone shipped in from Ygrath or Barbadior!"↑↑
"What happened to the Duke?" the Ferraut merchant snapped. "Senzio was so cowardly your Duke demoted himself to Governor so as not to upset the Tyrants. Are you proud of that?"
"Proud?" the lean merchant mocked. "He's got no time to be proud of anything. He's too busy looking both ways to see which emissary from which Tyrant he should offer his wife to!"
Again, coarse, bitter laughter.
"You've a mean tongue for a conquered man," the Senzian said coldly. The laughter stopped. "Where are you from that you're so quick to cut at other men's courage."
"Tregea," said the other quietly.
"Occupied Tregea," the Senzian corrected viciously. "Conquered Tregea. With its Barbadian Governo