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Message: <blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 5299110" data-attributes="member: 61094">The Harvest BanquetON THE DAY of Harvest, every slave on the Tang Estate is caught up in frenetic preparation for the evening’s great feast.  The stern Slavemistress Shushila tutors Carwyn and Kyla for hours in the dances they’ll be expected to perform.  By the end, both are aching and thirsty beyond belief.  Before releasing them to bathe and prepare for the night, she looks over them with an unreadable stare.  “The most important dance of all, you will not learn in a week, or a year,” she finally says.  “To sense the desires of a hundred men around you… and dance through and upon those desires, managing not to be caught until you reach the right Master.  One who will protect you from the others.  To live, you must learn it in time.  But whatever happens tonight, remember that you have many years to learn.  Don’t be fools.”    Dozens of richly robed guests begin to arrive at sunset, their litter-bearers carrying them from all over Tziwan.  The banquet is held in the Hall of the Kirin  Garden, a grand dome of woodwork and silk surrounded by lush open-air courtyards and fountains.  The household slaves of the Tang Estate wash the feet of the guests as they arrive, guide them to low couches around the hall, and serve them from huge bowls of food and rice wine.  The Northern slaves are frequently summoned between clusters of fascinated guests and asked to tell stories of their far land.  The musicians and dancers perform on a raised dais in the center, ringed by smokeless oil lamps.    Ontaya is serving at the end of the hall with the Minister and his closest guests, who regard her exotic coloring, sinewy build, and muscular arms with the same fascination they would show to an unfamiliar animal.  Nearby, the Minister’s nephew and a band of raucous youths are watching the dancers with a very different kind of fascination.  Ontaya looks up to the central dais just as the syncopated rhythm and wailing strings of the che’saan fill the room.  Under normal circumstances, she would have relished watching Carwyn, quiet <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4928581-post116.html" target="_blank">Jaori</a>, and the other girls dance; here, with the darkness of others’ cruelty and greed flowering repulsively in her mind, all the paladin feels is dread and rage.    DESPITE HER OWN crushing fear, Carwyn naturally shines onstage, especially with The Dance That Drives Men Mad.  After the dancing, the girls are dispersed to serve around the room.  Many of the guests leave their couches to admire the gardens, converse, and – in the case of Minister Tang’s nephew and his friends – pursue the slave girls.  Ontaya bravely does her best to insert herself between the dancers and the decadent nobles, who for the most part are too taken aback by her size and strength to harass her.  Her heart sinks as Minister Tang summons her over to explain Northern culture to some of his allies at court.    The young nobles converge on Kyla and Carwyn, who do their best to duck and weave their way through the guests to a safer part of the hall.  A distracted Carwyn fails to notice the high-caste Lakshari who is stalking her from her left.  He catches her with a triumphant exhalation of alcohol.  “So exquisite,” the young man murmurs.  “I have never seen the che’saan danced so powerfully, even in Lakshadar.”    Carwyn suppresses a shriek.  “The Master is too kind,” she manages, wriggling free of his grip.    One of the young Xaimani rakes is there to block her escape.  “Don’t run from such a great honor, little one.  You have caught the eye of Rupesh Narayan Shah, heir to half of the Imperial spice trade.”    Rupesh leans in and recaptures her.  “What is your name, slave?”    “Carwyn, Master.  Please, I am needed by the Slavemistress.”    “The Slavemistress?” he laughs in disbelief.  “She will wait until you’ve danced for me.”  Over Carwyn’s frantic protests, and with her friends watching helplessly from across the room, Rupesh Narayan Shah picks her up and carries her off toward one of the small houses in the garden.  Ontaya manages to excuse herself from further attendance on Tang just in time to interrupt a similar knot of noble assailants around the terrified Jaori.    For her part, Kyla has made it to a particularly dense cluster of banquet guests at the edge of the room when Minister Tang’s nephew appears, squinting drunkenly and possessively at her.  Discovering dexterity she hardly knew she had, Kyla manages to trip the Xaimani youth.  As he topples to the floor, she vanishes among the bemused guests.  For the remainder of the evening, she uses all her skills at tracking and hunting to stay far away from the pack of vile young aristocrats.    CARWYN STUMBLES FROM the garden much later, her face bruised and tear-streaked.  Ontaya catches her, immediately uses her paladin gifts to heal the superficial damage, and conveys her to Slavemistress Shushila.  “Slavemistress,” she says, harsh-throated.  “Our friend is... sick.  May Jaori and I see her safely back to our quarters?”    “Take her,” Shushila replies at once.  “The banquet is nearly done.  Others can serve from here.”  As Kyla emerges from the crowd to follow her friends, the Slavemistress steps in close to her and speaks in quiet, neutral tones.  “The Minister’s nephew does not understand exactly how he was shamed tonight, but others who were near to him do.  If the story comes to the Minister’s ears, it will not go well with you.  I warned you not to be foolish.”    Kyla’s emotions are all too plain across her face.  “Death would be better than... this, woman.”  She pushes her way past the somber Lakshari slave and hurries to rejoin the others as they reach the slave quarters.    “I stole the bastard’s jewelry,” Carwyn says dully, producing a necklace of fine cut stones from inside her slaveclothes.  “I should have strangled him with it – I would have, if I hadn’t known what they’d do to you all...”    “Oh, Carwyn,” Ontaya says in anguish.  “Carwyn, I’m so sorry.”  And by Ain and every thing holy, she vows with all her fury and faith, we will see justice done for this.    Kyla just sits next to Carwyn, holding her in silence.  At least I had a moment of choice, she thinks bleakly.  And I took it.  Now let the bastard Xaimani do what they will.</blockquote>

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