It was apparent that more than just Zeth's eyes had been dug out by Skralang's spoon. His words, however, showed him to be smarter than he had first seemed. I could think of nothing to say, so I finished my cold meal.
"It will be light soon," said Zeth. "We will rest, then evening will come and we will march. We will find a village." He paused, lifting his head slightly as if listening to something far away. "They will be halflings, farmers. There we will start."
I swallowed the last bite slowly and chased errant bits of food across my teeth with my tongue. "Start what?" I asked, masking my concerns. I knew from past experience that Durpar's warriors were not to be taken lightly. If any gods were leading Zeth, they could not have been our gods.
Zeth looked up. "There we will start our teaching," he said quietly.
'Teaching," I repeated.
'Teaching, yes," said Zeth, with an unmistakable note of enthusiasm. To my great concern, he then looked directly at me. "We will teach them."
"What? Teach them what?"
"Ah," said Zeth. His smile grew broader. "We will teach them what we have forgotten."
Crickets chirped. A sparrow called down in the fields.
What would the gods do to me if I were to kill you? I thought as I looked at the pale, smiling face. What is Skra-lang expecting of me? Will I fail his unspoken desires by letting this abomination live? No, Skralang had been clear: I was to obey his grandson. But he was mad, and he was leading us into destruction.
"I should post guards," I said and got to my feet. I needed to think. Perhaps it was unwise to risk the anger of the gods by acting directly. Nature could take its course, with a minimum of help. The half-human would be easy to dispose of just by letting him lead until he walked into a ravine or a Durpar border camp. His grandfather would undoubtedly welcome the news.
I turned to go but got only three steps when Zeth called my name. I looked back.
The blind half-human had a dagger in his right hand, holding it out to me by the blade. I felt at my belt and discovered a dagger missing. It must have slipped out when I sat down.
"You must be more careful," he said. "We have much to do tonight."
He handed the weapon to me, the handle aimed exactly at my stomach. I took back my dagger and left, looking back several times as I did.
We were on our feet and moving before the sun had vanished behind the low western hills. The half-moon lighted our way. Zeth strode easily through the tall grass that paralleled a cart track a half-mile east of us, to our left. I posted a forward scout and two scouts to the left and right. Yet another scout trailed Zeth by a dozen paces, and the rest of us followed after.
As before, the big half-human avoided most obstacles in his path, winding his way around them with unusual care. If he stumbled, he caught his balance gracelessly but quickly. I wondered whether the gods had made Zeth insane and his eyes simply invisible, or if it was all an elaborate trick, something Skralang thought up to test me. I thought of Zeth staring at me that morning, and a tightness grew in my stomach.
I was growing used to the mindlessness of the situation- a company of goblins led by a blind madman-but I saw its dangers as well. The warriors grumbled among themselves, and some began to treat the outing as a farce. They walked with weapons sheathed, laughed at private jokes, pushed and shoved one another in line.
I did not let this go on long. I dropped back among the file and located one of the worst offenders, who had fallen earlier and scraped his knees and hands. As he complained about the pain for the third time, I pulled the lash from my belt and struck him.
The lash caught him full across the face, just below the eyes. Before he could cry out, the lash came back and snapped across his back like a brand of fire. His cry was cut off by his intake of breath at the second hit, and he fell to his knees, hands covering his face.
The column behind him stopped, but at a gesture from me, continued on around him. I waited with the warrior as the column filed past. After a few moments, he regained his feet and picked up his weapon. I watched as he stumbled on to catch up with the column.
I followed, ensuring that the message had gotten through. It had. Silence was kept thereafter, and weapons were held at the ready.
We marched on for only three hours when Zeth abruptly slowed his pace, head turned to one side, and stopped. The scout behind him looked back at me questioningly. I came forward.
"There they are," said Zeth, pointing ahead. "We must begin our teaching."
I looked ahead and noticed a faint light. We were about two miles from a small community that sat astride the cart path to our left. I detected no sign of any military activity, but that meant little. Enemy warriors could be concealed anywhere and had time to prepare a bloody welcome.
"We are safe," said Zeth carelessly. He was smiling again and wasn't breathing as heavily as the night before. "They don't know we're here."
"How would you know?" I asked under my breath. I gave a hand signal for the troops to stay low and keep silent. Before I could do more, Zeth turned to me and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me close to him. I was too surprised to resist.
His breath was visible in the cool night air. "Gather the villagers together. They will not resist I wish to begin teaching before the night has passed. Our people should gather around and learn wisdom, too." He released me and sat on the ground with a thump, not moving from that spot.
I stared at him, then looked across the dark field. Gather the villagers up for Zeth to teach them? His grandfather had ordered me to obey the mad one as if he were one of the gods. Perhaps the gods would spare me for my obedience if any disaster fell, but I no longer believed it. I obeyed but felt I was as mad as Zeth to do it.
I left the scout with Zeth while I went back and collected the rest of the troops. Moments later, we moved on to the sleeping village.
The attack was over almost as soon as it had begun. Many of the halflings were in their beds when we set fire to their barns. As they rushed out, half-dressed and clutching blankets and buckets, they were shot by our archers. Many were clubbed down and herded together on the road as others of us torched the houses. Some fought back with farm implements-pitchforks, shovels, hammers. Those we killed. The dogs were more trouble than the villagers.
We forced the survivors-about three dozen males, females, and children-to strip and stand naked in the night wind. Warriors surrounded them and amused themselves by prodding bare skin with their spears, laughing and betting as to which of the little people would jump highest. Around us, orange flames roared through the halflings' homes and farms.
I sent a runner for Zeth, but he was already on his way to the burning village with the scout at his side. As I watched him approach, I wondered what purpose there was in this miserable raid besides this nonsense about "teaching." I had always fought armed humans before-guardsmen on caravans, or armored militia at fortified farmhouses on the borderlands. Assaulting such poorly armed and trained halflings was wasteful of our powers. I bit my lip with frustration and tasted blood.
Zeth put out his hands toward a burning cottage as he passed it, his smile clearly visible. He warmed himself thus, then slowed and picked his way with care toward the warriors surrounding the crouching prisoners. The huddled halflings' eyes were like those of caged rabbits. Zeth looked them over, and I believed then that he had to have sight of some kind. Was it magic, then, that let him see? I would not allow myself to think that the gods had anything to do with it. It must be Skralang's doing, though I could not imagine how or why.
Satisfied, Zeth walked to the top of a low mound, then turned to face the troops. There was silence across the area, except for the crackling of dying flames.