“Have you seen the girl since they pulled out?” the boy asked, interrupting the man’s reflection on the past few days.
The old man looked away, then fixed his eyes on Son’s. “I’m afraid I haven’t,” he said. “She was always with that boy, and they seemed keen to be in the thick of all the activities.”
“How long ago did they leave?”
“Oh, I reckon about an hour ago.”
“Which direction did they go?”
“East.”
Son didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he determined that he was going to find the slavers and get Maren back. He was angry with himself for allowing her to be taken, but an even greater rage was growing inside of him for her captors. “Do you have a horse you’d be willing to sell?” he asked, knowing that a foot chase would be futile.
“Oh, I suppose,” the shopkeeper answered. “But I don’t know what good it’ll do ye.”
“Just fetch it for me,” the boy urged. “I’m going to go collect some things and I’ll be back for it shortly.”
Son bolted off as fast as he could, leaving his cart full of toys in the town square. As he ran toward home, he made a mental list of the weapons, clothing, and money he would need to find Maren and bring her home. He didn’t care what it took. He was going to make it right—or die trying.
Son returned to Gale Hill. He was out of breath and his chest was pounding. He burst through the door of the house and ran upstairs, where he strapped on his sword and filled a leather pouch with all of the coins he had. He trusted that it would be more than enough to purchase the shopkeeper’s horse and provide for incidentals along his journey. He then slung a bag over his shoulder and ran down the stairs to gather some items from the kitchen. As he did, he whispered prayers under his breath, pleading with the Great Father to help him bring Maren back home.
While the boy was filling his bag, he could hear horses racing toward the house. Before he had a chance to see what was happening he heard Dulnear’s voice calling his name. He ran out the door to meet his friends and suppressed a tear.
“Son!” the man from the north cried out, dismounting his horse. He ran to the boy and embraced him. “You are here, and you are okay.”
Faymia followed suit and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so relieved,” she declared. “Where’s Maren?”
The tear that the lad had been suppressing escaped from his eye and ran down his cheek. As he looked at his friends’ faces, the weight of his failure threatened to bring him to his knees. “She’s not here,” he muttered. “I’m afraid she has gone with the slavers.”
Faymia’s skin turned white and she looked as if she were suffocating. As if struck by a boulder, she crumpled to the ground and sobbed.
“No!” Dulnear shouted. “How long ago did she go?”
“Earlier today,” the boy answered. “I was just leaving to catch up with them.”
The man from the north growled, “Mount the horses, we have no time to lose!” He then ran into the house, darted up the stairs, and began rummaging through Maren’s room.
Shaking, Son turned toward Faymia, who was still on her knees, weeping. He knew all that she had been through as a slave and vividly remembered the price they all paid to set her free. He placed his hand on her shoulder and swallowed. “We’re going to get her back. They can’t be that far off,” he declared.
The woman took several deep breaths and regained a portion of her composure. She stood to her feet and looked at Son. “Even if we catch up to them, then what?” she asked.
“We’ll buy her back,” Son suggested.
“It’s not that easy. Dulnear was able to purchase my freedom because Tcharron saw me as old and used up. Maren is young and healthy, and could be of value to a slaver for many years.”
Son didn’t know what to say. He only felt that, if he could find his friend, he would figure out a way to free her. “Then we’ll—” the boy stammered.
Appearing in the doorway of the house, the man from the north completed Son’s sentence. “We will do whatever it takes, even if it means slaying an entire slaver crew. Now, get on those horses before it is too late.” He got on his horse and pointed it toward the road.
Faymia and Son shared the other horse, with the woman at the reins. “A man in town said he would sell me my own horse,” the boy said.
“There is no time for that,” Dulnear replied. “Just tell me what direction the caravan went.”
“East,” the boy said.
“Then east we ride—to bring back Maren!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Wages and Cages
Dulnear, Son, and Faymia rode east as fast as the horses would allow, and the rolling southern countryside flowed on either side of them like waves of angry green ocean. The man from the north was furious that the boy had allowed Maren to be taken by slavers but channeled his anger into determination to find her. Long past the village of Laor, he began to wonder why they hadn’t caught up with the caravan yet. He signaled to his wife to stop her horse, then brought his own to a halt.
“I do not understand it,” the warrior huffed. “We should
