She made a face at Arendil and continued her tale. “I was visiting with Lady Allin, she often invites me when father’s away. We saw smoke rising from the city, then those men came. Those horrid men, with whips and dogs . . .” She trailed off, sniffling.
“You were captured?” Frentis prompted.
“All of us, apart from the older servants and Lady Allin . . . They k-killed them all, right there in front of us. We were chained up together and put in wagons. They already had other people in the wagons. Mostly commoners but people of quality too.”
“How many?” Frentis asked, choosing to ignore her unconscious snobbery.
“Forty, maybe fifty. They were taking us back to the city, anyone who cried out or even gave them a bad look was whipped. There was a woman in the wagon next to ours, captured before they came for us. One of the whippers t-touched her, she spat at them and they cut her throat, her husband was chained beside her. He screamed until they beat him senseless.”
“How did you get away, my lady?” Master Grealin asked.
“Gaffil had a small pin in his boot, he used it to do something to the locks on the chains and they came off.”
“He would have been useful,” Ratter muttered.
“He freed everyone in the wagon and told us to wait until the trees were closer. When they were he hit one of the whippers with his chains and we ran. There were ten or twelve of us when we started running, soon it was just Gaffil and I. Then we heard those dogs.” She fell silent, face tensed against more tears.
“Other than the men with whips,” Frentis said. “Were there guards? Soldiers?”
“There were some men on horses with swords and spears. Perhaps six or seven.”
Frentis smiled and gestured at the stewpot. “Eat, my lady. You must be hungry.”
He inclined his head at Master Grealin and Davoka and they went a short distance into the trees, beyond earshot of the others.
“Two thieves and a couple of children,” Grealin said. “Plus a fat old man. Not an impressive army, brother.”
“Armies need recruits,” Frentis pointed out. “And thanks to her ladyship we know where to find some.”
“Be miles gone by now,” Davoka said.
“I doubt it. No slaver’s likely to leave his dogs behind.”
They had dragged the bodies of the dogs a good two miles north before doubling back to the camp. Finding the trail of those who came in search of them wasn’t especially difficult, though keeping Ratter and Draker quiet enough to follow without being detected was another matter.
“See?” Davoka said in a fierce whisper, picking up a broken twig from the forest floor. “Wood is dry. Step on it and it cracks.” She tossed it at Draker. “Look where you step.”
It was early evening before they found them, encamped in the more open fringes of the forest. Master Grealin waited with Illian and Arendil as Frentis led the others forward. “Wait until you see me,” he whispered to Ratter and Draker then beckoned Davoka to follow as he circled around to the right. The four wagons were arranged in a square, rows of cowed people chained within. There were six guards on the perimeter and five slavers sitting around a fire, one of them weeping openly.
Overconfident, Frentis decided, noting the casual saunter of the guards between the wagons. Shouldn’t have ventured so far in.
He crept up behind the nearest guard, waited until his closest compatriot disappeared behind a wagon and slit his throat with a hunting knife. Free Sword mercenary, he judged from the man’s nonuniform gear.
He caught Davoka’s eye and pointed to the next guard, sitting on a wagon wheel with his back to the trees and guiding a whetstone over the blade of his short sword. Frentis didn’t wait for the spectacle and moved to the wagons, close enough to hear the slavers’ conversation.
“Raised ’em from pups,” the crying man was saying. “Trained ’em myself.”
“Cheer up,” one of the his companions said with a sympathetic smile. “Fuck one of the boys we found. Always perks me up.”
“When I find who did my pups,” the weeper went on. “I’ll do plenty of fuckin’ all right.” He brandished a long-bladed dagger. “With this.”
A shout came from the other side of the camp quickly followed by the din of an untidy scuffle; Ratter and Draker failing to remain hidden. Frentis drew his sword, keeping the hunting knife in his left hand, and stepped from behind the wagon. “In compensation for your loss,” he told the man with the long dagger, “I’ll kill you last.”
“No moving!” Davoka told Draker as she stitched the cut on his arm. The big man gritted his teeth with a whimper, arm trembling as the needle did its work.
“Serves you right, you clumsy bugger,” Ratter said. He sported a livid bruise on his cheek and badly scraped knuckles from beating one of the slavers half to death. The freed captives had gathered round to finish the job.
Altogether they had rescued some thirty-five people, none appearing to have passed their fortieth year, an even mix of men and women, plus a few barely in adolescence. There was also a decent haul of weapons and loot gathered by the slavers, some of which the captives had immediately begun to squabble over.
“This belonged to me old mum!” a young woman insisted as she hugged an antique vase in a tight grip.
“That belongs in the house of Lady Allin, as you well know,” Illian scolded. “Brother”—she tugged at Frentis’s sleeve as he passed—“this servant seeks to thieve from her employer.”
Frentis paused, staring hard at the young woman with the vase. After a moment she swallowed and handed it over. He turned it over in his hand, noting the artistry of the decoration, an exotic bird of some kind flying above a jungle, reminding him of the country south of Mirtesk. “Beautiful,” he said, and threw it against the nearest tree.
“Weapons, tools, clothing and food only,” he said, raising his voice, the squabblers falling silent. “That’s if you’re going to stay with us. This Realm is at war and any who stay are soldiers in that war. Or grab whatever loot you can carry and run, though I’d be surprised if you didn’t find yourself back in a slaver’s wagon within days. This is a free Realm, so I leave the choice to you.”
He moved on then paused at the sight of a man sifting through the pile of assembled weapons. He was thin with long hair veiling his face, but there was a familiarity to his movements, a noticeable limp as he sifted through the pile. He stopped, recognising something, his hair parting as he knelt down to retrieve it.
“Janril!” Frentis rushed over, extending a hand to the onetime bugler of the Wolfrunners. “Faith, it’s good to see you, Sergeant!”
Janril Norin didn’t look up from the assorted weaponry, lifting a sword from the pile. It was a Renfaelin blade, plain but serviceable. Janril sat back on his haunches, grasping the hilt, his fingers playing over the blade. Frentis took in the many bruises on his narrow face. They slit her throat . . . Her husband screamed until they beat him senseless . . .
“Janril,” he murmured, crouching at the minstrel’s side. “I . . .”
“We were sleeping when they came for us,” Janril said in a dull tone. “I hadn’t posted a guard, didn’t think we needed one so close to the capital. This”—he tapped the sword—“was under our bed, all cosy and tucked up in a blanket. I’d barely got a hand to it when they dragged us out. Sergeant Krelnik gave it to me the day I left the Wolfrunners. Said all men needed a sword, be they minstrel or soldier. Apparently he picked it up the night we stormed the High Keep. Don’t know why he kept it so long, not much to look at, is it?”
Janril’s gaze swivelled to Frentis, who knew he was looking into the eyes of a madman. “You kill them all?” the minstrel asked.
Frentis nodded.
“I want more.”
Frentis touched a hand to the sword blade. “You’ll have it.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Reva
“The entire Realm Guard?” Uncle Sentes asked.
The cavalryman nodded, the brandy glass in his hand trembling. It was his third measure but seemed to have done little to calm his nerves. “Save those regiments not quartered on the coast or borders, my lord. Forty thousand men or more.”
Reva watched her uncle slump in his chair. Apart from Lady Veliss and the cavalryman, they were alone in the Lord’s chamber.
“How is this possible?” Veliss asked the man.
“They were so many, my lady. And the knights . . .” He shook his head, trailing off and choking down more brandy before continuing. “Smashed into our flank and cut down two full regiments before we knew what was happening. By then the Volarians were coming on in full strength.”
Uncle Sentes continued to sit silently in his chair and Lady Veliss seemed unable to formulate another question, tracing a less-than-steady hand over her forehead.
“Let me see if I have this right,” Reva said as the silence stretched. “The Realm Guard was two days out from Varinshold when word came of invasion. Correct?”
The cavalryman nodded.
“The Battle Lord turns you all around, a day later you’re drawn up against the Volarians then Fief Lord Darnel appears on the horizon with his knights.”
