“Old people and children,” Nortah observed. “For the most part.”
“They kill what they can’t sell,” Dahrena said. She spoke in an even voice but tears streamed from her eyes as she viewed the carcasses. “Like a cattleman weeding out poor stock.”
The village itself had been ransacked, valuables taken but the buildings left standing. It had been a pretty place of wattle-and-daub-walled cottages, thatched roofs and a tall windmill standing atop a nearby hill, the blades still turning, oblivious to the fate of those who had built it. “Build a fire,” Vaelin told Adal. “Have Brother Kehlan say the words.”
“Snowdance has the scent,” Nortah said, pointing to the war-cat as she crouched with ears flat, staring eastwards at the wagon tracks leading away from the village.
“They’ll have a day’s lead on us,” Adal pointed out.
“I’ll only need a day,” Nortah replied with a questioning look at Vaelin.
“What do you require?”
“A company of North Guard should do, plus Lorkan.”
“And me, brother.” Vaelin reached for Flame’s reins, hauling himself into the saddle. “I should like to see the man who can’t be seen.”
“I don’t know if I can.” Lorkan’s hands were shaking as he held the knife, eyes bright in the predawn gloom. “I’ve never . . .”
Vaelin saw Nortah’s head slump a little, knowing he was wrestling with his own reluctance. “Have we ever asked you for anything?” he said to the gifted youth. “In all the years you have been sheltered, fed, educated and tolerated, has any price ever been asked?”
“Teacher, I . . .”
“Here.” Vaelin took the knife from him and returned it to his sheath, holding it out blade first. “Hold it like this, hit them with the pommel, as hard as you can just below the ear. If they don’t go down first time, hit them again.”
Lorkan hesitated then reached for the knife, turning and walking towards the fires of the Volarian camp. He paused after a few steps and turned back to Nortah. “Teacher, if I fall tell Cara . . .” He trailed off then forced a grin. “Tell her I was a hero. She won’t believe it, but it may make her laugh, finally.”
He resumed walking, his slender form black against the pale orange horizon, moving without any attempt at stealth or concealment. After he had gone about fifty paces Vaelin heard Adal and the other North Guard utter soft gasps of surprise and bafflement. Vaelin frowned, seeing only a young man walking across a field.
“Shouldn’t be long now.” Nortah notched an arrow to his bow and started after Lorkan. “We’ll secure the slaves. Come on fast when you hear the commotion.”
“He’ll be seen,” Vaelin said, nodding at Lorkan’s retreating shadow.
“Really?” Nortah smiled over his shoulder. “I can’t see him.” He moved off in a low crouch, Snowdance slipping into the grass at his side.
“He’s right, my lord,” Adal said in a whisper. “The boy just . . . vanished.”
They waited as the horizon faded to black and the stars were revealed in a cloudless void, the half-moon adding a pale blue tint to the swaying grass.
“Erm, my lord?” Vaelin turned to see Adal holding out a sword, handle first, the blade resting on his forearm.
“No thank you, Captain.” The canvas bundle was tied to his saddle, the knots still firmly unpicked. “I have a feeling I shan’t need it tonight.”
The screams began shortly after, choked off by Snowdance’s wailing growls. Vaelin spurred Flame into a gallop, the North Guard following instantly as they covered the ground to the Volarian camp in the space of a few heartbeats. He pulled up in the centre of the camp, seeing a slave-hound sail through the air, trailing blood from a torn throat as Snowdance tossed it aside and sought another victim. Bodies lay between the wagons, several pierced with arrows, most clearly the result of the war-cat’s attentions. A few Volarians tried to assail the North Guard with whips and short swords but were swiftly cut down, some throwing their weapons aside and raising arms in a plea for mercy; however, the sights in the village had left the men of the Reaches with no inclination to show it.
He found Nortah helping Lorkan free the slaves from the wagons. They numbered at least a hundred people, evidence that the slavers had visited more than one village. On being unshackled some of them went wild, attacking any Volarians they could find, the living and the dead, but most just stumbled about in shock. One of the freed men recognised Vaelin and immediately sank to his knees, shouting gratitude with tears streaming from his eyes, soon joined by a dozen or more ragged people. He dismounted and went to them, raising his hands to call for silence.
“They answered us,” the man who had recognised him said, still kneeling. “We called to the Departed to send you and they did.”
Vaelin reached down and pulled the man to his feet. “No-one sent me . . .” he began then stopped at the sight of the naked devotion in the man’s eyes. Most of the other freed captives had gathered round now, all staring with unnerving intensity, as if he were something that had stepped from a dream. “I come in answer to the Realm’s need,” he told them. “I offer only war and struggle for any who wish to join with me. Those who don’t are free to go.”
“We go nowhere but with you, my lord,” the weeping man said, immediately echoed by the others. His hands clutched at Vaelin’s arms, frenzied and desperate. “I was with you at Linesh. I knew you would never forsake us.” The other captives closed in around him, voices raised in an awed babble. “You will lead us to freedom . . . The Tower Lord is blessed by the Departed . . . Give us justice, my lord . . . They murdered my children . . .”
“All right!” Nortah moved through the crowd, pushing them back with his bow. “Give His mighty Lordship some room, you fawning fools you.”
Eventually the North Guard had to intervene to release Vaelin from the mob’s adoration, Captain Adal leading Flame to his side so he could mount and ride free. “Escort them back to camp,” he told the captain. “Weapons for any who want them.”
“Even the women, my lord?”
Vaelin recalled the murderous hate in the eyes of a woman he had seen repeatedly lashing a Volarian corpse with her chains. “Even the women. Those unwilling or unsuited to fighting can cook or help Brother Kehlan.”
He started back for the camp in company with Nortah and Lorkan, Snowdance bounding on ahead, her tail whipping about as she rolled and leapt in the grass. “She’s always like that after a hunt,” Nortah explained.
“You are . . . well, brother?” Vaelin ventured, noting a familiar haunted look in his brother’s eyes.
“Thought it might have gotten easier,” Nortah replied with the faintest of grins. “But even with scum like that, it still hurts as much as it ever did.”
“Wasn’t so bad,” Lorkan said, drinking from a liberated flask of wine. From the slur of his words Vaelin suspected it wasn’t his first. “Hit the last bugger like you said, m’lord. Bam bam behind the ear. ’Cept he didn’t fall like the others, just staggered about a bit and reached for his sword.” Vaelin noted the red-brown stain on Lorkan’s hands as he drank some more. “He saw me. They always do when you touch them.”
“But only those not gifted,” Vaelin said. “We can see you regardless. To others it’s as if you vanish.”
“Well deduced, my lord.” Lorkan bowed in his saddle. “But I don’t vanish, not really. It’s more like I slip beneath their notice, like the buzz of a fly or the shadow of a bird on the ground. As a child I walked the streets of South Tower for years, stealing at will. They see me but don’t see me, so I can steal from them, unless I touch them, then these days it seems I have to kill them.” He raised the wine flask to his lips again, gulping and nearly tipping over until Nortah reached out to steady him. “Don’t tell Cara, Teacher,” the young man said. “What I did. I don’t want her to know.”