The second solider had been right. It was a monster.
And then there were the Memoridons, using some kind of invisible sorcery to melt men’s minds like wax, driving them mad or striking them down without so much as a touch… that was something I could do without seeing ever again. Or not seeing. And that actually made it worse-if fire had leapt off Soffjian’s fingers and set the man’s skin ablaze, or if lights had danced in front of the Hornmen attacking Skeelana, blinding him not with illusions in his mind but something real, something I could have seen… it would have still been unnatural, awful, but at least it would have made some semblance of sense. What the Memoridons did was beyond unnatural. No wonder the Syldoon wanted as little to do with them as possible.
And even beyond those things, I saw a man die in front of me, by my hand. Maybe it would have been worse if I’d driven a blade between his ribs or cut his throat. Of course it would have. But his life ended by my hand. Did he have a family? Children? He had parents, at least, unless they were in the ground waiting for him. Friends, no doubt. Whoever he left behind would never have the opportunity to say goodbye to him, to tell him a kind word. Had he been kissed on the lips by a lover before riding through the predawn streets of Alespell to his death?
I was very glad I didn’t possess Bloodsounder. It was difficult enough to think about the man I killed without knowing the first thing about him. If I’d known who he really did leave behind to grieve for him, what his passions had been, fears, dreams, compulsions…
It was too much.
My silence clearly wasn’t companionable-downright inhospitable, truly-so I took the opportunity to move alongside Vendurro, who was riding alone. I’m sure he would have been arguing with Glesswik about one thing or another. Had Glesswik been around. I forced myself to smile as I called out Vendurro’s name.
Vendurro nodded when he saw me, freckled face briefly breaking into a grin. It wasn’t the broad and engaging smile I’d first seen, but that was several battles and one lost friend ago, so it was better than the grim greeting I expected. I shifted in the saddle, my legs and back already uncomfortable, and then realized that there were some benefits to not wearing armor. Although these soldiers were no doubt accustomed to the extra weight pulling on the shoulders, extra load was extra load.
I wondered how much blood Vendurro had to clean off. How many men had he killed? In Alespell, just that morning. Ever. It seemed a question better left unasked, so instead I opted for, “How long since you’ve been to Sunwrack?”
That did cause him to brighten a little. “Been a fair bit. Longer than any of us would like, I’m guessing.” He stopped, calculating. “A few years now. Seems longer. Always seems longer when you’re away from home.”
“Home? I would’ve thought that…”
I stopped myself, but Vendurro wasn’t as cooperative. “What’s that?”
“Well… some of the other soldiers, they’ve spent decades in Sunwrack. Or, at least returned there when they weren’t on campaign I’m guessing. So, more of their lives there than where they grew up. It makes sense they would consider the place home. But you can’t be much older than me, if any. What was it Hewspear said-you were chosen when you were still children?” He nodded. “So, you’ve spent half your life or thereabouts as a Syldoon. But that means half your life was with your family.” His bright look disappeared. “Your blood family, I mean. Where you came from.”
I could see I’d either overstepped or pinched a bruise, as he looked straight ahead, smile gone altogether. I did seem to have a knack for that. I was considering whether or not to try a completely different topic or wait for him to ride ahead or fall behind, or excuse myself if he didn’t, when he replied, “You’re on the mark about the timing of it. Half in one means half in the other, not much sense arguing the sums. But you can have yourself a loaf of bread, half still good, half given over to mold and rot, so two halves ain’t always equal. What do you do with the half that’s gone green? You cut it free and drop it in the dirt and eat what you got left. Unless you like eating mold. Can’t think of too many who do, though. You a big fan of mold, are you, Arki?”
“It’s not my favorite. So… is it really that easy to cut that part of your life free? The life you had before? Where you grew up, the people who raised you?”
Vendurro didn’t pause in responding this time. “A few things might help clear it up some. Firstly. I didn’t truly cut that part out altogether. I was using the moldy bread for effect.”
“Figurative then?”
His smile returned. “No, I literally used it for effect.” Since he talked like a tough half the time, it was easy to forget that he’d been educated, like all Syldoon. I’d have to remind myself of that. Especially in Sunwrack. Very bad to underestimate these men. “Fact of it is, I still send some gold to my old clan from time to time.”
“Really? Just the gold? Or do you send message or communication as well?”
“I’d send a letter, too, but what’s the point? They’d just use it to start a fire. And the message is the gold itself. Means I’m alive. And so long as I am, I’ll continue to send some. I don’t even ask who’s there to receive it. Don’t want to know who’s still alive on that end. That’s part of cutting things free. Figurative like. But I’ll never be free of them completely. Those folk gave me life, taught me how to fight, and milk a goat, and herd sheep. And most any other skill I had when the Syldoon took me. But here’s where we come to the second point.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t help what family brought you into the world, and they’re in your blood, to be sure. They are your blood. But once you fall in with the Syldoon, there’s no falling out. It’s for life. You know that the minute your manumission is done. You signed on with all the blood you got and more. And that’s something different, to be sure. You chose the bond, and dedicated your life to it, promised to protect your brothers and your Towermates so long as you got breath to do it. You see and do things as slaves that brings you closer than you ever get with any family, and once you get set free, accept the commission, take on the noose, there ain’t no taking it off.”
Vendurro realized he’d been speaking more passionately than I’d ever heard him, and seemed a little embarrassed, but then shrugged his shoul ders and added, “Sunwrack is the only home I got, Arki. No matter how long I been away. It’s a hard place full of harder people, but it will always be where I took the noose, so heading back there is about the sweetest ride I can imagine.”
He looked over at me as I thought about that and then asked, “What about you, Arki? Mulldoos nailed it true-you weren’t from Rivermost in the original. You miss home any, the one you grew up in? How’s it feel to be heading in the opposite direction?”
If Mulldoos or almost any other Syldoon had posed the question, it probably would have been with intent to wound or rile up, but one look at Vendurro’s expression told me he hadn’t meant it that way. And yet it had stung, if only for a moment. “No, I’m in a situation far different from your own. I don’t miss the home I grew up in, as it hardly counted as one. So it wasn’t all that difficult to cut free. But I’ve never found anything like what you experienced. The university came closest to a home, but I always knew it was temporary, so I never allowed myself to form any lasting attachments. And everything after that has been a journey. With stops. So, no chance to create a home. Worthy of the name, anyway.”