They managed to take two of the riders alive, both knocked senseless when they tumbled from their mounts as Rensial’s sword neatly severed the ties of their saddles. Frentis accounted for the remainder with his bow, none of the Varitai coming close enough to press a charge and displaying a typical failure to realise the hopelessness of their cause.
As promised he gave the captives over to Weaver. Vaelin had intimated the man was possessed of a confused mind, and his behaviour during the voyage had done much to confirm it, so it was strange to witness the grim understanding on his face as he surveyed the two unconscious Varitai. “Great pain,” he said softly.
“Pain can bring freedom.” Frentis held up the satchel containing their supply of the Lonak elixir. “It freed me. It will free them, with your help.”
The screams were terrible, rising high into the night sky as they gathered in the courtyard to eat a meal of looted spoils. The freed slaves had proved even less welcoming of liberation than at the first villa, several weeping at the sight of their master’s body. “He was sparing with the whip,” Lemera explained. “Allowed the children he fathered on the pleasure slaves to live. Usually they are exposed and left to die. He would keep them until they were old enough to sell. A generous man.”
“These people are fucking disgusting,” Draker said when Thirty-Four translated, casting a dark glower at the slaves keening over the master’s body. “Shut up you simpering dogs!” They scattered as he threw a half-eaten chicken leg at them, fleeing into the darkness or retreating to their quarters, too fearful to even ask about their fate.
The Varitai’s screams ended abruptly, heralding a silence that seemed to last an age. Frentis scanned the faces of his veterans at the fire, for the first time seeing a grim understanding of the magnitude of their task. A handful against an empire was always a hopeless cause. He had known it from the day they sailed, but had they?
“Should we go after the runners?” Illian asked, breaking the silence. “They’ll no doubt spread warning of our arrival.”
“Good,” Frentis said. “We are here to cause as much fear and confusion as possible.”
“We need more fighters,” Lekran stated. “The cowards we keep finding won’t make an army.”
“Then we may be in luck.” Thirty-Four produced a large ledger, opening it to reveal row after row of neatly inscribed figures. “The master’s scribe kept excellent records. It seems he did much business with a Varikum to the south.”
“Varikum?” Frentis asked. “I don’t know this word.”
“Training school,” Lekran translated. “For the Garisai, those chosen to partake in the spectacles.”
“Slaves?”
He nodded. “But not like Varitai or Kuritai. No binding for them. Captured in war and chosen for strength, or savagery. Nearly got sent to one myself but the Kuritai quota was light that year.”
“It will be well defended,” Thirty-Four advised. “Inside and out.”
Frentis turned to Lemera, noticing for the first time the perfection of her profile, skin smooth and flawless. A few hours ago he had seen her stabbing at the master’s body, teeth bared and voicing a joyful laugh every time the knife came down. “It’s a rare man who can guard against beauty,” he said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vaelin
Wise Bear called it The Long Night, the time when the sun vanished from the ice for a full month, its coming heralded by the shortened days and the increased brightness of Grishak’s Breath. “Must reach islands before it comes,” he had warned the first day they set foot on the ice. “Long Night kills all.”
The first week had been easier than expected, the novelty of traversing such a vast and stark environment doing much to dispel their discomfort at the ever-deepening cold. Wise Bear led the way, moving with short economical strides with Iron Claw lumbering along behind. The great bear would sometimes disappear for a day, returning with dried blood on his snout though Vaelin was baffled as to what prey it had managed to find. To him the ice seemed as barren as the Alpiran desert, a place void of life for all its beauty, fully revealed at twilight when the green-tinged fire danced in the sky and the ice became a mirror to its majesty. The Lonak would fall into a reverent hush when the sun fell, whispering thanks for Grishak’s blessing.
Wise Bear seemed to hold a similar reverence for the dancing sky lights, greeting their appearance by sinking to his knees and holding his bone-staff aloft, a lilting song rising from his throat. Vaelin had yet to hear the shaman speak of any god but it was clear the sky-fire held considerable significance.
“He’s not praying,” Kiral said one evening as Vaelin’s gaze went to the old man, her face sombre as her song related the meaning of Wise Bear’s lilting ode. “He offers greetings to his wife and the children they lost on the ice.”
Vaelin looked up at the swirling green fire, watching it coalesce and break apart in an unending dance. It might resemble flame but there was no fury to it, the constant swirl conveying a strange sense of serenity. “He thinks she’s up there?” he asked.