Kellanved's Reach

It was a long time before he re-joined the group around the campfire.

Terath raised her eager gaze. ‘What word?’

Orjin tapped the rolled scroll in his hands, took a heavy breath. ‘We are ordered to surrender to the Talians.’

Terath gaped. ‘What? After all this? That’s outrageous.’

Orjin was nodding. ‘I agree. The order is ridiculous. But it is signed by the Council of Nobles and the queen.’ He looked at Jeral, who still would not meet his eye. ‘It seems we are being forced to make a choice.’

‘Choice?’ Orhan asked, his brows furrowed.

‘We are being thrown to the wolves,’ Yune supplied.

Orjin didn’t disagree. ‘Follow orders or become outlaw in truth.’

‘The bastards!’ Terath seethed.

Prevost Jeral surged to her feet. ‘A word, commander. If you would.’

Orjin nodded – he’d been expecting this – and invited her aside. Off a distance, he turned to her, expectant.

The prevost was rubbing her hands down her thighs. After a long silence, she said, ‘Two cylinders arrived from Purage. Orders for you. And orders for me.’

He nodded, unsurprised.

She looked skyward, drew a hard breath. ‘I am ordered – that is, if you refuse to obey your orders – I am ordered to arrest you and hand you over to the Quon Talians as a criminal.’ She crossed her arms, hugging herself. ‘A cessation of hostilities has been negotiated. The price is your head.’

Orjin turned away. It was just as he’d suspected. Facing away into the night, so very impressed by their damned tenacity, he said, ‘Hood take those Quon merchants. They meant every word they said, didn’t they?’

‘I’m so very sorry …’

He raised a placating hand. ‘It’s all right. I understand.’ Turning, he faced the woman, and regarded her for some time before saying, slowly, ‘The choice isn’t ours, then. It’s yours.’ He cocked a brow. ‘What will you do … prevost?’

In one fluid motion the woman drew her sword and dropped to one knee before him, blade proffered in both hands. ‘I say damn them to Hood’s deepest abyss.’

Orjin took hold of her shoulders and raised her up. ‘You realize you will be declared outlaw as well?’

She shrugged. ‘I can’t return without you. I’ll be arrested. Perhaps we should break out across Seti lands after all.’ She offered a fey laugh. ‘There’re plenty of wars in the east.’

He shook his head. ‘We’ll settle this here. One way or another.’ He beckoned her back to the campfire. ‘We’ll just have to find a way out of this knot, hey?’

The furious debating at the fire died down as they returned. Orhan, Terath and Yune peered up, expectant, and Orjin eyed each in turn, then sighed. ‘We run. Prevost Jeral here wishes to stay with us and I say yes.’ He glanced to her, considering. ‘However, perhaps you should offer the choice to your troops: stay or try to break through to the north, re-join Purge forces.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll speak to them.’

‘Welcome, Jeral,’ Terath said. ‘But the problem remains – run where? There’s nowhere to run to.’

Orjin waved the objection aside. ‘We’ll just have to stay alive long enough to find an answer to that.’

Terath was obviously not satisfied but chose not to argue any further. Orhan slapped his leg and laughed. ‘We will lead them on such a chase, hey?’

Orjin laughed as well and passing soldiers smiled to one another, their mood brightening. Jeral smiled also; the gift of leadership – this man had it. She leaned to him, saying, ‘I will speak to my sergeants,’ and he nodded her off.

Orhan rose, quite stiffly. ‘I will rest for the morrow.’

Terath stood, appeared about to say more, but reconsidered, shaking her head, and marched off into the dark.

Orjin lowered himself to the ground before the fire. The Dal Hon shaman, Yune, regarded him steadily from across the flames. Orjin cocked a brow. ‘Yes?’

The elder sighed and poked anew at the fire. ‘I will work to locate our beaters as before, but now they are all about. I won’t be able to see them all.’

‘Thanks for the warning. Do your best.’ The old shaman nodded, a touch glumly, and returned to studying the fire. Orjin reflected that their state was indeed dire if this tough old campaigner was showing his concern. ‘We’ll get out of this – don’t you worry.’ The Dal Hon didn’t answer, and Orjin rose to limp to his bedding.

*   *   *

A young girl ran across the grassed savanna of northern Dal Hon at night. The bright moon lit the landscape in a silver monochrome. She wore a simple slave’s shift and her long dark hair coursed behind her. She gasped and stumbled, nearly spent, peered back with wild wide eyes, then pushed onward once again.

Eventually, staggering and panting, she halted. Tears smeared her dirty cheeks and she sobbed, gesturing into the empty night. The air ahead seemed to brighten as a light like that of the moon began to shimmer there.

A snarled ‘No!’ sounded from the night and the girl yelped, jumping. The brightening snapped away.

The thick grasses wavered all round her, lashing and writhing, and a knot of them twisted about her legs, yanking her from her feet.