and a slave together, working to fashion a new empire? For we must keep you a slave, mustn’t we? A slave in the eyes of all others. We suspect that, were we to free you, you would leave us.’
A sudden tremble at these words.
Rhulad’s terrible eyes, so crimson-bruised and hurt, shifted away from Udinaas. ‘Do you understand, Udinaas?’ he asked in a whisper. ‘I am so…’
The emperor placed a hand over his eyes. ‘She is drowning herself in white nectar.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘I would free her… but I cannot. Do you know why, Udinaas?’
‘She carries your child.’
‘You
‘Sire, it might be worth considering sending for Uruth. For your mother. Mayen needs… someone.’
Rhulad, face still covered by his mangled hand, nodded. ‘We will join with Fear’s army soon. Five, six days. Uruth will join them. Then… yes, I will speak with Mother. My child…’
A farm was burning in the valley below, but she could see no-one fighting the flames. Everyone had fled. Seren Pedac resumed hacking at her hair, cutting it as short as she could manage with the docker’s knife one of Iron Bars’s soldiers had given her.
The Avowed stood nearby, his squad mage, Corlo, at his side. They were studying the distant fire and speaking in low tones.
Somewhere south and east of Dresh, half a day from the coast. She could not imagine the Tiste Edur invaders were anywhere near, yet the roads had been full of refugees, all heading east to Letheras. She had seen more than a few deserters among the crowds, and here and there bodies lay in ditches, victims of robbery or murdered after being raped.
Rape, it seemed, had become a favoured pastime among the thugs preying on the fleeing citizens. Seren knew that, had she been travelling alone, she would probably be dead by now. In some ways, that would have been a relief. An end to this sullied misery, this agonizing feeling of being unclean. In her mind, she saw again and again Iron Bars killing those men. His desire to exact appropriate vengeance. And her voice, croaking out, stopping him in the name of mercy.
Errant knew, she regretted that now. Better had she let him work on that bastard. Better still were they still carrying him with them. Eyes gouged out, nose cut off, tongue carved from his mouth. And with this knife in her hand she could slice strips of skin from his flesh. She had heard a story once, of a factor in a small remote hamlet who had made a habit of raping young girls, until the women one night ambushed him. Beaten and trussed, then a loincloth filled with spike-thorns had been tied on like a diaper, tightly, and the man was bound to the back of his horse. The pricking thorns drove the animal into a frenzy. The beast eventually scraped the man loose on a forest path, but he had bled out by then. The story went that the man’s face, in death, had held all the pain a mortal could suffer, and as for what had been found between his legs…
She sawed off the last length of greasy hair and dropped it on the fire. The stench was fierce, but there were bush-warlocks and decrepit shamans who, if they happened upon human hair, would make dire use of it. It was a sad truth that, given the chance to bind a soul, few resisted the temptation.
Corlo called to the soldiers and suddenly they were running hard down the hillside towards the farm, leaving behind only Seren and Iron Bars. The Crimson Guardsman strode towards her. ‘You hear it, lass?’
‘What?’
‘Horses. In the stable. The fire’s jumped to its roof. The farmer’s left his horses behind.’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
He squinted down at her, then crouched until he was at eye level. ‘No, likely the owner’s dead. Strange, how most locals around here don’t know how to ride.’
She looked down at the farm once again. ‘Probably a breeder for the army. The whole notion of cavalry came from Bluerose – as did most of the stock. Horses weren’t part of our culture before then. Have you ever seen Letherii cavalry on parade? Chaos. Even after, what, sixty years? And dozens of Bluerose officers trying to train our soldiers.’
‘You should have imported these Bluerose horse-warriors over as auxiliaries. If it’s their skill, exploit it. You can’t borrow someone else’s way of life.’
‘Maybe not. Presumably, you can ride, then.’
‘Aye. And you?’
She nodded, sheathing the knife and rising. ‘Trained by one of those Bluerose officers I mentioned.’
‘You were in the army before?’
‘No, he was my lover. For a time.’
Iron Bars straightened as well. ‘Look – they’ve reached them in time. Come on.’
She hesitated. ‘I forgot to thank you, Iron Bars.’
‘You wouldn’t have been as pretty drowned.’
‘No. I’m not ready yet to thank you for that. What you did to those men
‘I’ve a great-granddaughter back in Gris, D’Avore Valley. She’d be about your age now. Let’s go, lass.’
She walked behind him down the slope. Great-granddaughter. What an absurd notion. He wasn’t that old. These Avowed had strange senses of humour.
Corlo and the squad had pulled a dozen horses from the burning stable, along with tack and bridles. One of the soldiers was cursing as Seren and Iron Bars approached.
‘Look at these stirrups! No wonder the bastards can’t ride the damned things!’
‘You set your foot down in the crotch of the hook,’ Seren explained. ‘And what happens if it slips out?’ the man demanded. ‘You fall off.’
‘Avowed, we need to rework these things – some heavy leather-’
‘Cut up a spare saddle,’ Iron Bars said, ‘and see what you can manage. But I want us to be riding before sunset.’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘A more stable stirrup,’ the Avowed said to Seren, ‘is a kind of half-boot, something you can slide your foot into, with a straight cross-bar to take your weight. I agree with Halfpeck. These Bluerose horse-warriors missed something obvious and essential. They couldn’t have been very good riders…’
Seren frowned. ‘My lover once mentioned how these saddles were made exclusively for Lether. He said they used a slightly different kind back in Bluerose.’
His eyes narrowed on her, and he barked a laugh, but made no further comment.
She sighed. ‘No wonder our cavalry is next to useless. I always found it hard to keep my feet in, and to keep them from turning this way and that.’
‘You mean they swivel?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I’d like to meet these Bluerose riders some day.’
‘They are a strange people, Iron Bars. They worship someone called the Black-winged Lord.’
‘And they resemble Letherii?’
‘No, they are taller. Very dark skins.’
He regarded her for a moment, then asked, ‘Faces like the Tiste
Edur?’
‘No, much finer-boned.’
‘Long-lived?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, but to be honest, I don’t really know. Few Letherii do, nor do they much care. The
