Brennan watched as that frail fleck of wood fell and fell and found the home it sought. The slavers’ tyrant twisted a little in his saddle. His horse drifted sideways as he slumped.
They had saved forty-six of those who would have been slaves in the end. They had slain more slavers than that. Brennan still did not know if it was enough. But it was what had been possible.
There were no horses for the slaves, save a few Rudran and his lancers had taken from men they killed. Children rode on those, and the weakest and sickest of the adults, Marweh’s husband among them. The rest walked.
The Free-the eighteen of them who lived-rode behind the weary, ragged company of villagers. Between them and the two hundred or so Orphanidons who were shadowing them on their journey out of the Empire. Always just on the edge of sight. Always there, their steel catching the sun, their horses raising pillars of dusty earth. Always watching.
Brennan did not care. It was over. He watched Marweh and her son as he rode. They walked at the front of the group of village folk, hand in hand. His head dropped now and again as his exhaustion tried to claim him. He would start awake. Remember himself after a moment’s confusion. His many wounds were bound and salved, his thirst and hunger quenched. Wren, who had done the binding, had told him he would not die. But the weakness remained. And the pain.
Yulan came to ride beside him for a time.
‘You did well, you three,’ the Captain of the Free told him. ‘All these people’d be lost to us, and to themselves, if you’d not done what you did.’
‘They did well, Lorin and Manadar. They died well.’
‘Their shares will go to those they named,’ Yulan said. ‘Just as they wanted it.’
‘Lorin had two wives,’ Brennan murmured numbly.
‘He did. Kallina in Sussadar and Janeth Lena in Armadell-on-Lake. One half of his share to each. Manadar left his to a mother and a father and two brothers in Harvekka. And one tenth part to a serving woman in an inn near Armadell. Who is about to become richer than the inn’s owner, at a guess.’
Brennan glanced at Yulan. It had never occurred to him that the man would know so much of just two among the many scores who followed him. But seeing him now, seeing the sorrow etched into his handsome features, he understood a little more of what it meant to lead the Free. What it took.
‘You could be among the men who carry the word and the coin to those who don’t yet know they’re awaiting it, if you want,’ Yulan said.
Brennan nodded.
‘Yes, please.’
They rode along in silence for a while. Both of them watched the horizon far ahead. Safety, and home, should appear there before too much longer.
‘And you?’ Yulan asked. ‘Will you come back afterwards, or do we need to portion out your share too?’
‘I don’t know,’ Brennan said without thinking. It was honest. He had not known how honest until he said it.
‘You will know, in time,’ Yulan told him.
‘Maybe tomorrow will mend it,’ Brennan said softly. An unbidden thought he had meant to leave unspoken, that somehow would not stay that way.
The Massatan looked at him, a fleeting puzzlement on his face. Then smiled sadly.
‘Maybe it will, Brennan. It does sometimes.’
Yulan closed his eyes.
‘Some tomorrows are a long time coming,’ he said. ‘For now, tell me how they died. I’ll want to remember that.’
Brennan did. And so, as they rode together, he shared some small part of his burden with the Captain of the Free.