“Everlyn, it’s no longer safe here. This is the first place the king’s soldiers will look for your father.”
The group stared, first at him, then at each other, with slowly dawning comprehension. A female Ogre drifted toward the long windows and peered outside. When she turned back, she nodded grimly to the others. “He’s right. We should go.”
Only Everlyn wasn’t sure. Jyrbian could read indecision in the set of her delicate shoulders, in the glossy dampness pooling at the corners of her eyes.
She crossed to the hearth and took down the bloodstone. Cradling it in her palms, she whispered, “But this is my home.”
Before Jyrbian could respond, Eadamm said quietly, firmly, “The lord is right, Lady. You would not be safe. And think what they could do to your father if they held you hostage. He would do whatever they said, even if it meant walking to his death.”
Aware of the minutes ticking away while they debated, Jyrbian bit back the harsh words he wanted to fling at the human. If the human could persuade Everlyn, he would allow those transgressions to pass unmentioned for the moment.
Still not convinced, she pressed the large rock to her breast. “They have no right… “
“They have every right,” Jyrbian said. “This is your father’s land by their grace.”
“They will attack,” Eadamm said. “And these people will die defending you.” He gestured toward the gathered Ogres and slaves.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she nodded in agreement. “I’ll go,” she whispered. Still clutching the bloodstone, she motioned for two of the slaves to follow. “I’ll get my things. Eadamm, will you come? I have instructions for the others. And we must dispatch messengers to alert our neighbors.”
Once her decision was made, Everlyn and her family moved swiftly, efficiently, waking the rest of the household, feeding the children, packing clothing, tools, food, weapons.
By the time all were assembled in front of the manor, his small contingent of four had swelled to fourteen adults and three children, all well mounted. They were as orderly and disciplined as if they’d trained for this day all their lives.
Everlyn guided them around the house, choosing a path through the sea of grain, which she said would take them through the fields and set them much more quickly on the mountain path toward the caves.
As they rounded the back corner of the house, Jyrbian saw movement, frantic activity, in the area of the slave cabins. Women and children with packs of belongings on their backs were disappearing into the tall corn. Along other trails through the waving sea of gold, he saw the flash of morning sun on weapons. He straightened, rising up on his stirrups as he reached to draw his sword.
Everlyn stopped him by catching his reins. “There’s no cause for alarm,” she said. Something in her voice belied that, a little catch, a breathlessness.
“The slaves are escaping,” he exclaimed. “Arming themselves!”
“Yes,” she said, and this time the tone was fearful, as if she were a child, defiant and afraid before a parent. She looked back, sadness marring her beautiful face. “They will guard our escape. And as for running away… They may go where they wish. I have freed them.”
“Freed them!” Dismay, astonishment, and indecision warred within him. It was already too late to turn back, round up the fleeing slaves. There were too many of them, too few Ogres, too little time to waste. Then, suddenly, he realized what she had done. All his emotions gave way to admiration. “By the gods,” he told her, reaching out to squeeze her hand, “what a ploy! When the King’s Regiment arrives here and finds the slaves have run, they won’t even think of coming after us. That was brilliant!”
He spurred his horse and rode to the head of the line. Jyrbian’s passage frightened a covey of birds. With raucous cries of protest, they burst from cover and zipped skyward, their brown wings beating in time to his pulse, sending a draft of warm air to caress his face. Glancing back to see that the others were following, he kicked his horse and sped off, imagining that, he, too, had taken wing.
They rode, a ribbon of colorful silks and wool winding through the golden field. Their passage stirred, above the wheat, a cloud of insects as thick as dust, opalescent wings awhir.
Through the fields and into open meadow they rode. Across a swath of river, the water a thin, silver scrim over a bed of white pebbles. Their passage sent up a noisy spray of droplets that sparkled like fire in the morning sun.
Everlyn kept up Jyrbian’s pace, pointing out the path through the fields, the places where it was safe to veer off and cut through the meadows.
Up into the mountains they continued, under cover of thick evergreens and oaks, which blotted out the heat and the light. To Jyrbian, the transition from grassy meadow to the hard, packed earth was an assault to his ears. Surely the entire forest boomed with their presence. Once more he took the lead, pushing as fast as he dared on the steep mountain trail. He slowed as they approached the Caves of the Gods, and sent a scout ahead to make sure the area was clear. Finding that it was, he called a halt.
He was the first to touch his feet to the ground, leaping nimbly from the saddle so that he could help Everlyn dismount. She seemed pale and clung to his supportive arm for a moment as she stretched her legs.
“How are you faring, Lady?” He went quickly to his horse and brought back a full wineskin.
She sipped delicately and passed it back. “It’s a hard ride.”
All around them were groans and gasps, of both pleasure and pain, as others dismounted. Only the children seemed unaffected, running about, laughing and shouting.
Everlyn’s aunt grabbed an older child as they went past. “Care for your mounts first,” she ordered angrily. “Then play.”
The horses were lathered and still breathing hard. As Jyrbian, too, moved to water his stallion, to rub the animal down and feed him a handful of oats, he realized that the group with which he had begun the trip had doubled in size. There were many crowding into the open area before the cave entrances.
The size of the group had grown again by the time he called the next stop, and with each succeeding stop, until Jyrbian was leading a group easily one hundred strong.
CHAPTER NINE
The added number didn’t slow the group significantly. Two weeks later, at a crossroads high in the mountains to the north of Takar, Jyrbian caught up with the smaller group who’d left Takar with him. Three days later, he led them down into a small dip in the trail, where they joined with the group that had escaped with Igraine.
“I’m not sure where they all came from,” Jyrbian said in amazement.
“They’re from Khal-Theraxian. From estates that bordered mine,” Igraine supplied, seeming not at all surprised at the size of his following. “They’re from many districts. From anywhere that the Ogres wanted to embrace a new path.”
Everlyn, holding the arm of her father as if she would never again let him go, looked around, spying faces she recognized. “There’s Lord Nerrad from Bloten, and Lady Rychal. Her land borders ours on the east. And I think that’s most of the Aliehs Clan…” She pointed toward a large crowd of mostly young Ogres who looked as if they were on a picnic instead of running for their lives.
Their picnic was interrupted as an Ogre, riding at breakneck speed, tore through their blankets, his horse scattering adults and children and food. The rider sawed viciously on his reins, trying to slow his horse; then the animal reared and stopped.
One of the Aliehs started toward the rider, his scowl evidence of his intentions, but the rider’s words stopped him cold.