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Message: <blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 5301947" data-attributes="member: 61094">RepercussionsASH WAKES MOMENTS before the rest of the party, hearing the unmistakable clatter of armed and armored men approaching their quarters.  Baby T’harai starts up and begins to wail.  The captain of Tang’s guard appears, his short spear in his hand, and snarls, “Northerners.  Up, now, and follow me.”     The estate is swarming with guards.  The usual Xaimani equanimity is absent today; anyone who sees the Northern slaves not only stares, but turns to a neighbor and begins talking excitedly.  Carwyn (at first wondering numbly if this has to do with stolen gems) hears anger and incredulity in the hushed voices, and one word repeated over and over: Escape.    They are ushered into a small, musty room where Slavemaster Daoran stands with two strangers.  One is a cleric of Ii, wearing the dark stole that signifies high rank in the Reflective Path.  Next to him is a black-swathed man wearing a silver skull pendant; he carries a weapon that looks like the captain of the guard’s short spear, but with serrated edges and an array of twisted hooks.    “To every question I ask, you will each immediately answer yes or no -- or die under the worst tortures of the Skull Path,” Daoran says grimly.  “Your two friends who were sold to the Imperial   Palace.  Have you communicated with them in any way since your sale?”    “No, Slavemaster,” comes back the unanimous answer.  The priest nods quietly to Daoran.    “Did you know they had any plan to escape from the Palace?”    “No, Slavemaster.”  All of the Northerners struggle to keep any sign of hope or happiness from breaking across their faces.    “Do you have any idea where they might be now?”    “No, Slavemaster.”  The priest looks at each of them in turn, then nods again.      Daoran exhales raggedly, looking more unsettled than Ontaya had ever thought to see him.  “You -- tall one.  Follow me.”  As Meeshak steps forward, the Skull executioner smoothly sheathes his hooked spear in a harness across his back and produces a bamboo rod with a length of studded leather at the end.    EACH PARTY MEMBER is taken for questioning and a thorough beating by the Skull Path.  Even one-year-old Hamber and T’harai are given a symbolic whip blow.  They are given no explicit reason for their punishment, but the questions they are asked make clear that Atrix and Darren <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4853163-post111.html" target="_blank">escaped</a> from the Emperor’s Palace shortly before dawn.  Neither Kyla nor baby T’harai return from their questioning, leaving their friends sick with worry.    Shortly after her whipping, Ontaya is taken to Minister Tang.  The Minister of State is wearing silk robes more elaborate than any she has seen before; his long hair is intricately groomed and held together with gold needles.  He turns to her, clearly struggling to retain his poise as she prostrates herself.  “Slave.  A grave... no, an unimaginable crime has taken place.  Two slaves have dared to bring indignity upon the Palace, to commit murder, to deny their slavery.  And they are your compatriots, from the very cage that brought you here.”  When Ontaya remains silent, Tang snaps, “What do you have to say of them?”    “Master – we have no knowledge of their deeds,” Ontaya replies tersely.  “We had no idea that they would violate the laws of the Empire in this appalling way.”    “Look at me,” Tang demands, his face pale and taut.  “Tell me, how do you regard their deeds?”    “Their crimes are a grievous attack against the foundations of the Imperial order, Master,” Ontaya says at once, unblinking.  “The law demands their excruciation.”    “And do you think as lightly of the Order of Heaven as your... friends do?”    “No, Master.  I strive always to follow law and order.  A disordered society produces only injustice and destruction.”    Tang holds her gaze for a long minute, then turns away; Ontaya immediately returns her eyes to the floor.  “Your Northern lands do not understand order.  For slaves to dishonor the Highest of Houses... not even the lowest barbarians would behave so.  This is a great shame on all Northerners.  When the next legions march north, it will not be forgotten.”    AS TANG STALKS off toward his litter-bearers, Daoran beckons Ontaya back toward the slave quarters.  “He was debating whether to bring all your heads to the Emperor as an honor gesture,” the Slavemaster informs her.  “You answered ably enough.  Still, you should pray that his audience goes well.”    “Yes, Slavemaster,” Ontaya says emotionlessly.    “Your friends have brought madness to Tziwan.  Kesh’ao of the Windowless Spike has been called out, and the South Forge of the Spear Level stilled for a whole day.  Cadans and Slavemasters have been given to the Skull Path.  Every Northern slave is to be beaten, throughout the entire Empire.  Much more could and will be done.”  There is hurt in Daoran’s reproof.  “<a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4798550-post94.html" target="_blank">Chang</a> of the Imperial Household was a friend of mine.  Good men die when order is violated.  Do you understand what I say?”    “Yes.”  Ontaya waits for a minute, then voices her fear for Kyla.  “Slavemaster – forgive me, but our Arawai friend – surely it is not necessary to keep her for additional questioning?”    “She is not being questioned.”  Daoran’s demeanor darkens further.  “It is well known that Arawai don’t make good slaves.  Wild as their horses.  I should not have assumed that she would be different.”      “What has happened to her?”    “She has been given as a novelty to one of the Minister’s guests.  From Sziao, far away.  There they understand how to discipline troublesome slaves.  You will not see her again.”    Ontaya tries to mask her horror.  “And her child?”    “No, the Minister wished to keep the child.  We purchase a new dancing girl today to replace your friend.  She will also be given responsibility for the child.”  Daoran’s tone admits no question.  “Your Slavemaster training is suspended.  Remain in the slave quarters until you are called for.”    IN THE EARLY afternoon, the little group is gathered again for another interrogation – this time by a man wearing the golden robes of an Archmaster in the Radiant Path.  The mage is potbellied but his face is emaciated; his pockmarked cheeks and thin lips are tight with zealous anger.      “Slaves,” Daoran declares, “it is your honor to be in the presence of Archmaster Kesh’ao, Enforcer of the Imperial Will and foremost avenger of crimes against the Order of Heaven.”    “I am no slave-hunter,” Kesh’ao says with contempt.  “But your fellows have committed a crime against nature.  Every breath they take is a shame to all Tziwan.  Their excruciation is most richly deserved.”  He looks at each of the Northerners in turn.  “If any of you so much as dream of lying or withholding any information from me, you will all share your friends’ fate.”    The mage begins to question the group for details about Darren and Atrix: faces, names, histories.  Then he suddenly fixes Carwyn with a clinical stare.  “Slave: have you mated with either of them?”    “<a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4354425-post13.html" target="_blank">Yes</a>,” Carwyn manages, bile rising in her throat.    “Think on it,” the mage commands, places three fingers on her forehead.  Carwyn closes her eyes and emphatically fills her mind with the memory of <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4490145-post38.html" target="_blank">the late Alan d’Loriad.  </a><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4490145-post38.html" target="_blank"></a><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4490145-post38.html" target="_blank"></a>     Kesh’ao slowly draws his hand away.  For a terrible moment, Carwyn is sure he’s seen through her deception; then a look of triumph breaks over his face.  “Perfect.  I have an image of the runaway’s soul.  He cannot evade me now.”  The Archmaster stalks out of the room to scry for a dead man.</blockquote>

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