“Of course, Master.” They always beg. Frentis watched the black-clad collapse to his knees, bound hands raised in appeal. He was a tall man, impressively built with the look of a soldier, attested to by the various military souvenirs found in the villa. An officer of renown? The villa, the family, the slaves. All fruits of an illustrious career. A hero’s reward. He was far from heroic now, just a terrified, piss-stained man begging for his life. They always beg.
He turned away as the torment began, going to where Illian was engaged in training the latest batch of recruits. There were fewer Realm folk now but their numbers had begun to swell since the victory over the Eskethian garrison, the Free Swords they had allowed to flee carrying word of the calamity with impressive speed. Within days a hundred more runaways had arrived in the mountains, the army’s numbers swelling to over four thousand in the space of a month. Feeding so many had forced Frentis to order a move to the north-west, into the rich farmlands that stretched towards New Kethia, this villa being the first to fall.
He watched the training for a short time, taking satisfaction from the accustomed ease with which Illian marshalled the recruits, displaying all the authority of a master on the Order House practice ground. She had them learning the staff, the basis for eventual use of the pole-axe or the spear, but also a sign that they still lacked sufficient weapons. He had set the former blacksmith to work in the villa’s forge with orders to remake the copious stocks of farming tools into as many axe blades as possible. It meant they would have to linger here for a time, weeks probably, and he chafed at the delay. Keen to maintain the impetus of their rebellion, he had sent Lekran and Ivelda in opposite directions with two hundred fighters each and orders to free as many slaves as possible.
Frentis turned as Thirty-Four approached. The former slave had taken to wearing kit stripped from the bodies of Free Sword officers and gave an impression of impeccable military neatness, every inch of armour scrupulously cleaned and all buckles polished to a gleaming shine.
“He’s ready then?” Frentis asked him.
“Healed and fully able to ride, brother. Still refusing to talk though.”
“Unusual. They normally can’t shut up when they realise what you are.”
“Who I am,” Thirty-Four corrected, an uncharacteristic hardness in his voice. “What I used to be.”
“Yes.” Frentis offered an apologetic smile. “Let’s set him on his way, shall we?”
The Volarian had refused to offer a name but they had gleaned it from the correspondence found among his battalion’s baggage train. “Honoured Citizen Varek,” Frentis greeted him brightly, crouching at his side in the shade of the acacia tree to which he had been shackled. “Feeling better I trust?”
Varek remained slumped against the tree-trunk, his face betraying no emotion beyond the simmering rage that had dominated his demeanour upon waking to find himself chained and his battalion destroyed.
“I have good news,” Frentis went on, gesturing for Thirty-Four to unlock the chain. “Freedom awaits.”
Varek’s expression became guarded, Frentis noting how he suppressed the faint glimmer of hope that rose in his eyes. “No trick, I assure you.” Frentis took hold of the chain and gave an insistent tug, the Volarian slowly getting to his feet, wary eyes constantly moving in expectation of an attack. Frentis led him through the courtyard, knowing he would take full notice of the many former slaves at training. Draker waited at the villa’s arched entrance with a horse, saddled and laden with provisions for several days’ ride.
“This was your horse, wasn’t it?” Frentis asked, removing the shackles from Varek’s wrists.
The Volarian was marginally less wary now, rubbing at his reddened flesh as his gaze tracked from Frentis to the horse. “I will not betray my people,” he stated, the first words he had spoken since waking. “Whatever the reward.”
“This could hardly be called a reward,” Frentis said. “I imagine you know the kind of welcome you’ll receive in New Kethia, the defeated, disgraced son to an honoured father. The shame of it will be unbearable, but before you kill yourself please inform your tormentors that what happened to you will soon happen to them. Before the year is out their city will fall and every soul they keep in bondage will be free. But my queen is rich in compassion and willing to offer terms.”
The Volarian sighed, shaking his head. “You are mad.”
“The city gates to be opened and the walls cleared of defenders. All Free Swords to lay down their arms and all slaves, including Varitai and Kuritai, to be freed. The city will become the property of Queen Lyrna Al Nieren, who will decree a fair redistribution of lands and riches in due course.” He stepped closer to Varek, speaking softly, feeling his rage building anew. “Failure to agree to these most generous terms will result in the utter destruction of your city and the execution of every Volarian found in arms.”