As would I, he added to himself as his guest leaned back, patted his broad girth and belched. Preferably back to his homeland, which I presume is where he is heading since he has travelled through most of Kyralia and this is the closest Residence to the pass.

“An excellent meal,” Takado announced. “Did I detect a little bellspice in that last dish?”

Dakon nodded. “An advantage to living close to the border is that Sachakan traders occasionally pass this way.”

“I’m surprised they do. Mandryn isn’t on the direct road to Imardin.”

“No, but occasionally spring floods block the main road and the best alternative route brings traffic right through the village.” He wiped his mouth on a cloth. “Shall we retire to the seating room?”

As Takado nodded, Dakon heard a faint sigh of relief from Cannia, who was on duty in the dining room tonight. At leastthe servants’ trials are over for the evening, Dakon thought wearily as he stood up. Mine don’t end until the man sleeps.

Takado rose and stepped away from the table. He was a full head taller than Dakon, and his broad shoulders and wide face added to the impression of bulk. Beneath a layer of soft fat was the frame of a typical Sachakan – strong and big. Next to Takado, Dakon knew he must appear pathetically thin and small. And pale. While not as dark as the Lonmars of the north, Sachakan skin was a healthy brown that Kyralian women had been trying to achieve with paints for centuries.

Which they still did, despite otherwise loathing and fearing the Sachakans. Dakon led the way out of the room. They should be proud of their complexion, but centuries of believing our pallor is evidence that we are a weak, barbaric race can’t be turned around easily.

He entered the seating room, Takado following and dropping into the chair he’d claimed as his own for the duration of his stay.