Frentis turned to find Lemera standing nearby, regarding the Varitai with a bemused expression. “No, a healer,” Frentis replied in his halting Alpiran. “Owns . . . great magic-power.”
“You butcher my language,” she said, slipping into Volarian with a laugh. “Did you learn it in my country?”
He turned back to the Varitai, wincing at best-forgotten memories. “I have travelled far.”
“I was only eight when they took me, but memories of home are still bright. A village on the southern shore, the ocean was rich with fish and blue as a sapphire.”
“You’ll return one day.”
She moved to his side, gaze low and sorrowful. “There will be no welcome for me there . . . ruined as I am. No man will make offer for me and the women will shun me for my despoilment.”
“Your people have harsh customs it seems.”
“My people no longer.” She nodded at the Varitai now helping their freed brothers to stand, a few voicing soft words of comfort and reassurance. “These are my people now, and the others. You are the King of a new nation.”
“I have one already, and my queen is unlikely to tolerate another crown in her Realm.”
“The sister says you are the greatest hero in your land. Do you not deserve lands of your own?”
“Sister Illian tends to exaggerate, and servants of the Faith are denied ownership of property.”
“Yes, she tried to teach me your faith. An odd notion to worship the dead with such devotion.” Lemera shook her head before turning and walking back to the main camp, her parting words faint and barely heard, “The dead can’t love you back.”
? ? ?
They reached the hill country two days later, their number now swollen to over five hundred though many lacked decent weapons, about half armed with nothing more than clubs or farming tools. An increasing number of recruits were now runaways, fleeing their masters upon hearing of the great rebellion as those who had escaped the raids spread word of their exploits. The runaways brought news of the terror they were provoking amongst the free folk of Eskethia, the northern roads now crowded with black-and grey-clad alike, seeking the safety of more heavily garrisoned lands.
Frentis led them deep into the hills, a mostly bare landscape dotted with small trees and distinguished by the monolithic stones adorning the winding slopes. He chose a rock-strewn plateau for their main camp, offering clear views on all sides and shielded on the northern flank by a fast-flowing river. He sent Master Rensial and Illian to scout the western approaches, reporting back after a two-day ride that the Volarian garrison was pursuing with an impressive turn of speed, a thousand troops force-marching at a pace of fifty miles a day.
“This lot can’t face a thousand, Redbrother,” Lekran stated that evening. “The new ones still think it’s a game and most have never seen a real fight.”
“Then it’s time they did,” Frentis replied. “We can’t run forever. I will take the archers, see if we can thin their ranks a little. Sister Illian, get your people to start piling these rocks up into some semblance of a fortification. You and Draker will have charge of the camp until I return.” He turned to Lekran and the Garisai woman. “Can I trust you both to perform a task without spilling each other’s blood?”
Ivelda gave Lekran a sour glance but nodded, the former Kuritai issuing a terse grunt of agreement. They watched as Frentis scratched out a map in the dirt, listening intently as he explained their role.
“Much could go wrong in this,” Lekran observed.
“Even if it doesn’t work, it should at least claim half their number and the people here will have a fighting chance.” Frentis stood, hefting his bow. “Master Rensial, if you wouldn’t mind joining me?”
? ? ?
They found a shadowed overhang to hide in as they watched the Varitai march into the hills, Frentis using his spyglass to pick out the officers. Identifying the commander proved an easy matter, a sturdy man on horseback in the middle of the column, his authority plain in the curt nods he gave to the younger men who occasionally rode to his side. The column was tightly ordered but had a loose skirmish line of Free Sword cavalry at its head, flanks and rear.
“This fellow’s a trifle too cautious for my liking, Master,” Frentis commented, passing the glass to Rensial.
The master held it to his eye for a brief moment then handed it back with a shrug. “Then kill him.”
Frentis beckoned Corporal Vinten and Dallin to his side and pointed to the column’s southern flank. “Dallin, you’ll come with Master Rensial and me. Vinten, take the others and circle around. When they make camp wait for twilight and pick off as many pickets as you can. Once it’s done head back to the camp, don’t linger.”
The City Guard gave a reluctant nod. “Don’t feel right leaving you, brother.”