Kellanved's Reach

Courian snorted and waved his dismissal. ‘Don’t worry, son. There’s no glory to be had with that sad lot.’

‘They’ve never disgraced the field,’ his son K’azz observed.

‘But what honours have they won?’ Courian demanded. ‘None!’

Surprised by how much Courian’s scorn stung, Gregar straightened, saying, ‘Nevertheless. Yes.’

Courian’s flushed face darkened even more. ‘Do you have any idea of the honour that has just been granted you?’ He waved to the entrance. ‘Every day knights and fighting men and women come petitioning, waving damned testimonials, citing stupidly tenuous family connections, you name it!’ He shook a blunt finger at Gregar. ‘And now you have the gall to say no thank you?’

K’azz raised a hand to Courian’s arm, but was angrily shaken off. ‘Who in Hood’s bony arse do you think you are?’ He turned his furious glare on Haraj now. ‘And what about you? Too good for us as well, I suppose?’

Haraj practically withered under the man’s thunderous glower. He wrung his hands together, glanced between Gregar and the mercenary commander. ‘Well,’ he managed, barely audible, ‘I think maybe I should stay with my friend – if you know what I mean …’

Courian surged to his feet, sending his chair crashing. K’azz rose as well, a hand on his father’s shoulder that he pushed away, roaring, ‘Give me that stave, Cole!’ He fought to edge past his son. ‘I’ll show these two how we treat impudent dogs in the Guard!’

‘Please, Father,’ K’azz murmured, his voice low, ‘don’t …’

‘I’ll …’ the man roared, ‘I’ll …’ Then he clenched his left arm, grimacing, and it appeared to Gregar as if K’azz was now supporting the man rather than trying to restrain him.

Surat moved to stand before Gregar, and, glancing back, shot a significant look to the entrance. Gregar reached out, grasped Haraj’s shirt by the neck, and began backing away.

‘Out of my way, damn you dogs!’ was the last bellow he heard from Courian as the heavy canvas flap closed behind them. He dragged Haraj onward by his shirt and didn’t stop until they were well clear of the encampment.

When they neared the Fourth’s bivouac Gregar cleared his throat and glanced at Fingers. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, gesturing back to the Guard camp.

‘Sorry?’

‘I mean, so much for joining. I know how much it meant to you, an’ I went and messed it up.’

Haraj waved it aside. ‘It’s all right. I have a place.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s all I wanted, really. A place – like a home.’

Gregar kicked at the ground. ‘Well, sorry just the same.’ He eyed the boy sidelong. ‘So, a mage? Really?’

‘Oh yes. For certain.’

‘Really.’ He shook his head, still disbelieving. ‘But how could that be? I mean, I’ve never … you know …’

Haraj shrugged as they walked along. ‘Just the same. It’s there. You just have to have the training to know how to bring it out.’

‘You?’

‘Sorry. I don’t know much about training. Maybe I can try, though.’

They were nearing their camp and Gregar glanced about, sighing. ‘Yeah. Well, as if we have time for that anyway.’

When they entered the barn Leah jumped to her feet, looking very surprised. ‘You’re back!’

Gregar offered a resigned shrug, ‘Yeah. It – ah, it didn’t work out.’

‘Good.’ She tossed him a spear. ‘Because I’d have lost a lot of faith in the Guard if they’d taken either of you

.’

Chapter 12

The range that began at the coast to run eastward of Quon Talian lands was rugged, but unfortunately very small as mountains went, and Orjin Samarr was beginning to think he and his troop had hiked over every square league of it. They had survived to date by keeping to the roughest, most uneven ground available to better keep the Talian cavalry at bay, a strategy that could only work for so long, as they were running out of ground, and steadily being forced eastward.

The Quon Talian commander, Renquill, had indeed been recalled from his assault upon Purage, and had since dedicated himself to chasing down Orjin Samarr and his ‘band of outlaws’, as Quon would have it. So far Orjin had managed to stay ahead of his pursuers, all the while waiting for word from Purage command. For surely they would dispatch a relief force; after all, he’d ended the siege and drawn the invading force out of Purge.

This evening he made the rounds of his forces huddled at shared fires – wood at least was plentiful, and Renquill knew they were up here anyway. No, the real limiting factor was food. The isolated hill tribes had been grateful enough to offer what they could, but they did not have the resources to feed both themselves and another four thousand hungry men and women. And nor would Orjin expect them to.