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To my relief, Braxia, or at least ruling Clan Xeldar’s compound, rivaled most developed intergalactic cities I’d visited over the years. Granted, some of the technology in use or on display was a little dated, but nothing that couldn’t be easily fixed with the right guidance and the right contacts provided, of course, by yours truly. What bothered me were all the other things that I didn’t see. Walking through the streets of the Xeldar compound felt like one long trip through a giant quartermaster’s storehouse. Everything was functional and provided for some kind of basic or essential need. The only place that offered any kind of fluff were food-related, be it restaurants, grocery stores, and especially bakeries.
But what of tourist-attraction types of businesses? Jewelry stores? Beauty parlors? Even the clothing stores offered a very limited inventory, with nothing extravagant or non-conformist. Where were the women’s clothing and shoe stores? I’d only seen concubine outfits and discipline specific servant outfits. Yet, I distinctly remembered the wives and concubines at the side tables wearing some beautiful dresses and jewelry. Where did those come from?
When Ravik returned from his touring tonight, we would go to Councilor Fenton’s home where we’d been invited for dinner. I liked the man. Although a little gruff, there was a great kindness in him and an unshakable loyalty towards Ravik. For that alone, I would have liked him. Until then, I hooked up my computer and started analyzing the footage I’d taken.
Chapter 11
Ravik
Isettled down in the shuttle as my two most trusted bodyguards took me to my next destination, Tagar at the helm and Nowik on the com. It had been a long, exhausting day. I just wanted to go home to my woman and lose myself in the softness of her embrace, not head to one of the Fifteen’s compound. What a stupid idea to leave him for last in today’s tour. I’d reasoned that seeing him first would have put me in a foul mood for the rest of the day. But after all the depressing visits I’d had thus far, every one of the clans struggling, and me helpless to provide any solution, I didn’t trust myself not to lose it on Boros Grumar.
Clan Grumar’s compound loomed ahead, sprawling at the foot of Mount Jyriak, its dark buildings cleverly erected and laid out in a way to give the illusion they blended in to the rocky face of the mountain. Once part of the elite, Clan Grumar had been renowned for the masterful craftsmanship of their blacksmiths, forging the best swords and weapons in the realm. But technology soon made their skills obsolete as it allowed anyone to achieve results of similar quality, faster. The only other sources of income for the clan stemmed from their stone quarries and duralium mining. But like Clan Caldes, Clan Grumar quickly found itself losing most of its clientele as better, stronger, more stable materials became available on the intergalactic markets. The limited local demand for stone and duralium no longer sufficed for the far too many clans that relied on the mining and selling of those products for their livelihood.
As we began our descent, Boros, his three sons, and elder council clansmen approached the landing pad to welcome me. I begrudgingly recognized he was showing me more courtesy than many of the clans, especially those whose situations had grown as dire as his. Stepping down the ramp after we landed, I let my gaze roam over the Clan Leader. Two years younger than I, Boros had aged well. As was often the case with non-warrior bloodlines, he stood noticeably smaller than I in both height and constitution. Still, by galactic standards, he’d be considered a very muscular giant. His shoulder-length dark-brown hair framed a proud, Braxian face where light-brown eyes peered at me, devoid of the fear mixed with hatred I usually received from the other Fifteen.
“Magnar Ravik,” Boros said, hitting his chest with his fist. “Welcome to the Grumar compound. Health, strength, and prosperity to your clan. My home is yours.”
His sons and council clansmen repeated the salutary gesture, although they remained silent.
“Thank you for your welcome, Clan Leader Boros,” I said with a nod.
The heavy metal doors of Clan Grumar’s Hall never ceased to impress me. The smithy work on them was exquisite with the clan’s sigil carved on its face with laser precision, and filled with the opalescent nyrian stones abundantly found in this region. The doors parted to let us in. Within the large hall, with its maroon floors and light grey walls, a large stone sculpture of an anvil and hammer occupied the center of the room. Standing by the door, his clansmen on the left fisted their chest, heads bowed, the females and servants on the right getting on their knees, aside from his wife who remained standing, head and eyes down.
I gestured for all to rise, reflecting once again on how tired I had grown of these rituals, vestiges of an era long past. The last time I’d broached the subject of doing away with them, my close council had sternly warned me against it. However irritating it felt to me, it reminded people of my position and status. In these troubled times where some murmured about challenging my rule, removing symbols of my power could play against me.
Boros led me to his private chamber where he and his council clansmen spent the next forty minutes listing their woes and the hopeless situation their people drowned in.
“I cannot invent yet another civil project of no real use to the realm just to keep your men working,” I said at last in exasperation.
“Nor are we asking you to,” Boros countered, visibly stung. “The reality is that, come winter, my clan will starve. I do not challenge the new anti-slavery laws. However much it harms us right now, we agree that Braxia needs to change before we are further left behind. But I can no longer afford to pay their wages or even send them home. By month’s end, I will release the majority of my servants, which includes all my former slaves, to seek their fortune elsewhere.”
I barely repressed a flinch. For a clan to have no servants was the ultimate sign of degradation. Whatever my personal issues with Boros, I didn’t want to see such an ancient house brought so low, not to mention how it would give my detractors more ammunition against me.
I heaved a sigh. “I will speak to my council about granting you another emergency fund—”
“No,” Boros interrupted, before nervously rubbing his broad, flat nose. “It will be no more than using a glass of water to extinguish a forest fire.”
True. But that’s all there is.
“We have exhausted every avenue,” Boros said in a tired tone. “Despite his efforts, Anton couldn’t find buyers for the resources we produce. However, he found many primitive colonies that would love benefitting from our blacksmithing skills, since they are of no use here. But that means displacing and scattering my people. I will only resort to it as a last option.”
I nodded, feeling for his pain in spite of everything. “So what would you have me do?” I asked.
He exchanged uncertain glances with his clansmen before turning his wary eyes back to me. I narrowed mine in suspicion.
“It has come to our attention…” Boros cleared his throat. “Well, the word is that your female is closely acquainted with the Tuurean leader.”
My back stiffened, feeling instantly irritated as I did every time I heard mention of said relationship. Although Ravena had assured me there was nothing romantic between them, her vagueness as to the actual nature of their rapport set my teeth on edge.
“The Admiral is not their ruler. He only leads their military,” I said, my voice colder than I wished it. It was petty of me, but pointing out that I outranked him—even if his power far exceeded mine—made me feel slightly better. “What of it?”
“The Tuureans are building a new home world for the Veredians on their planet, Tuur. They will need tons of basic resources and building materials,” Boros said, shifting in his seat. His clansmen nodded, murmuring their approval. “If your female put in a good word, maybe they would consider procuring some from us.”
I leaned back against my chair, my gaze roaming over the men assembled around the table. They stared back at me, faces strained by stress and worry, eyes full of hope.
“You would deign to let a female intercede on your behalf?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“This is a matter of survival, Magnar,” Boros said, his tone hardening. “Those who bark and yowl the loudest in your Hall are the wealthy who’ve grown fat, entitled, and lazy thanks to their fertile agricultural lands. Having to pay staff rather than enjoying free slave labor puts a dent in their already sizeable profits, and they don’t like it. As for me, I don’t care who mediates in our favor as long as it can result in us finding work so that my people will have food in their bellies come winter.”
