intelligent though unlearned, expert in the rigors of survival in the Waste, and constantly attentive to his wellbeing.
Captivity, however, be it benign and pampered, was still captivity. While none of the Gheddessii ever raised a weapon to him or impeded his path in any manner and his presence with them was by his own choice, he felt captive all the same.
Always before when he had left his stasis coffin, he had been free to go wherever his impulse might lead, to travel to any part of the world, to divert on a whim from his intended course to sample any vistas or taste any delicacy. Now, to bring the hope of progress through magic to these last wretched descendants of his people, he must remain day after dreadful day in this simple village. The only thing that he had to look forward to was the arduous trek to their spring cantonment.
The cold of winter had stayed far later this year. The crisp air of the desert frosted his breath as he moved about to work the kinks out of his aching joints. All five of the women hovered near, three watching outward with the seeking eyes of hunters, two watching him to make sure that he did not stumble.
The only thing worse than having five wives all pregnant at the same time was having five pregnant female Gheddessii warriors as wives who had sworn to see no harm come to him. They would not even let him go to make water alone.
At first, he had naively consulted with The One Who Sees to understand the policies of a polygamous Gheddessii household, but had learned with some confusion that the tribe was rigidly monogamous. Their social penalties for infidelity bordered on the cruel. However, further quiet investigation had revealed that liberal unspoken exceptions were often made where either spouse was afflicted with infertility or where accident, war, or disease had taken the last offspring and a family group was in danger of extinction. The latter was the dispensation that had been applied in Llylquaendt's case.
For the sake of what shreds of dignity he might still claim, he had spurred the advances of all those under the age of thirty. At that, his still felt that his hard-eyed and weather-worn wives were too much his junior. He would have raised this minimum, but the natural decrees of human reproduction forbade it. He had also only considered the overtures of women that his portable instruments indicated had some detectable trace of magenfolk blood. Even so, he had felt compelled to reject two dozen otherwise eligible suitors simply on the basis of his fear that he would not be able to remember all their names.
He had also spurned out of hand any who were not clear-eyed volunteers, turning his back on any daughters presented by their kin.
Myleu, a statuesque warrior, was a widow of some eight years who had deemed all of her various suitors unworthy of the memory of her still mourned husband. Beasl was an uncommonly intelligent woman who found the daily life of her tribe uninteresting and oppressive. Kylii had a large, unlovely scar that disfigured an otherwise plain-featured face. Mryeen, the oldest, was a stocky woman who had buried two husbands and three stillborns -- she thought Llylquaendt would change her luck. Plri, the youngest at thirty, simply wanted a child without having to assume the extensive familial obligations that a Gheddessii marriage normally entailed.
Of course, all of his wives were frighteningly proficient with the bow and the knife.
"Myleu, I am going to see The One Who Sees," he told the leader of his guardian wives. "I want to hear more of the songs."
Myleu, whose name meant Throat Cutter , had been his first wife and her baby was the farthest -- four months -- along. While she had taken the confirmation by one of the simple spells of his kit of her pregnancy in stride, he had known nothing but worry for her child and the subsequent children that he had dutifully sired, children that he might live to see
Captivity, however, be it benign and pampered, was still captivity. While none of the Gheddessii ever raised a weapon to him or impeded his path in any manner and his presence with them was by his own choice, he felt captive all the same.
Always before when he had left his stasis coffin, he had been free to go wherever his impulse might lead, to travel to any part of the world, to divert on a whim from his intended course to sample any vistas or taste any delicacy. Now, to bring the hope of progress through magic to these last wretched descendants of his people, he must remain day after dreadful day in this simple village. The only thing that he had to look forward to was the arduous trek to their spring cantonment.
The cold of winter had stayed far later this year. The crisp air of the desert frosted his breath as he moved about to work the kinks out of his aching joints. All five of the women hovered near, three watching outward with the seeking eyes of hunters, two watching him to make sure that he did not stumble.
The only thing worse than having five wives all pregnant at the same time was having five pregnant female Gheddessii warriors as wives who had sworn to see no harm come to him. They would not even let him go to make water alone.
At first, he had naively consulted with The One Who Sees to understand the policies of a polygamous Gheddessii household, but had learned with some confusion that the tribe was rigidly monogamous. Their social penalties for infidelity bordered on the cruel. However, further quiet investigation had revealed that liberal unspoken exceptions were often made where either spouse was afflicted with infertility or where accident, war, or disease had taken the last offspring and a family group was in danger of extinction. The latter was the dispensation that had been applied in Llylquaendt's case.
For the sake of what shreds of dignity he might still claim, he had spurred the advances of all those under the age of thirty. At that, his still felt that his hard-eyed and weather-worn wives were too much his junior. He would have raised this minimum, but the natural decrees of human reproduction forbade it. He had also only considered the overtures of women that his portable instruments indicated had some detectable trace of magenfolk blood. Even so, he had felt compelled to reject two dozen otherwise eligible suitors simply on the basis of his fear that he would not be able to remember all their names.
He had also spurned out of hand any who were not clear-eyed volunteers, turning his back on any daughters presented by their kin.
Myleu, a statuesque warrior, was a widow of some eight years who had deemed all of her various suitors unworthy of the memory of her still mourned husband. Beasl was an uncommonly intelligent woman who found the daily life of her tribe uninteresting and oppressive. Kylii had a large, unlovely scar that disfigured an otherwise plain-featured face. Mryeen, the oldest, was a stocky woman who had buried two husbands and three stillborns -- she thought Llylquaendt would change her luck. Plri, the youngest at thirty, simply wanted a child without having to assume the extensive familial obligations that a Gheddessii marriage normally entailed.
Of course, all of his wives were frighteningly proficient with the bow and the knife.
"Myleu, I am going to see The One Who Sees," he told the leader of his guardian wives. "I want to hear more of the songs."
Myleu, whose name meant Throat Cutter , had been his first wife and her baby was the farthest -- four months -- along. While she had taken the confirmation by one of the simple spells of his kit of her pregnancy in stride, he had known nothing but worry for her child and the subsequent children that he had dutifully sired, children that he might live to see
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