A short time passed. As Savara withdrew her hand she looked up at the rest of the ex-slaves. “We cannot stay long. I cannot take power from all of you.”
“Then we’ll give it to your fighters,” the first speaker declared. The rest nodded and turned their attention to the other Traitors. Lorkin noted that, as domestic knives were found to be lacking, the Traitors were handing over their own knives. When a woman offered her wrists to Lorkin he blinked in surprise.
“Um... Tyvara?”
She chuckled. “You’re one of us now,” she said. “Better get used to it.”
“Oh, that’s not the problem.” He put a hand to his sheath-less belt. “I don’t have a knife.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Then I guess we’d better see to that at the first opportunity. For now,” she looked at the man facing her with hand extended, “we’ll have to share.”
The sun was hovering above the mountains when Sonea and Regin neared the first Ashaki estate. Gold- tinged light bathed the walls the colour of old parchment. In contrast the hole in the roof was an ominous black.
The estate was swarming with people.
“Slaves,” Regin said. “Looting?”
Sonea shook her head. She could see a line of men hauling rubble out of the building. “Cleaning up.”
Regin frowned. “Surely they’d have run away when the Traitors attacked – and stayed away now they have their freedom.”
“They’ve got to live somewhere, and there’s food and shelter here. I wonder: if the Traitors win will they take over the estates or give them to the slaves?”
“Hmm.” Was Regin’s only answer. “They’ve seen us.”
Sure enough, a group of about a dozen slaves had stepped out of the gates and were walking toward them. Sonea pictured what she and Regin must look like. Their robes clearly marked them as Kyralian magicians. As Kyralians they might not be welcome here, but she doubted even newly freed slaves flushed with victory would dare to attack them.
“What do you want to do?” Regin asked.
Sonea stopped. “Meet them. Better to know what reception we’re going to get now, than later, when we’ll be further from the border.”
About twenty strides away, the group slowed to a halt.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” one of them called out.
“I am Black Magician Sonea and this is Lord Regin, of the Magicians’ Guild of Kyralia. We are here as representatives of the Allied Lands.”
“Who invited you here?” the man demanded again.
“We met Queen Savara two days and three nights ago.”
“Why are you following a few days behind, then?”
“To avoid being caught up in the fighting.”
The slaves began discussing this. Osen had agreed that Sonea and Regin could follow the Traitors to Arvice, keeping a safe distance from the fighting, so that the Guild would keep track of the Traitors’ progress. He’d suggested that Sonea use the excuse that she was checking the way was safe for the Healers the Guild was sending – but only if she had to. The fewer who knew of the deal, the less chance the Sachakan king would learn of it. If the Traitors lost but enough of them survived and were still willing to trade their stones, it would be easier to get Healers to them if the king didn’t know about it.
The slave who had spoken strode forward, the others hurrying after him. Regin straightened and crossed his arms, but the man ignored him. The lead slave stopped a few steps from Sonea, staring at her intently, his eyes narrowing.
“We’ll have to check that is the truth.”
She nodded. “Of course.” Inwardly she cursed. If they did manage to contact Savara, the queen would learn that Sonea and Regin were following her. She might try to stop them.
The main straightened. “In the meantime, you must stay here. It will be night soon and we Sachakans pride ourselves on our hospitality.”
She inclined her head. “We would be honoured. With whom are we staying?”
The man paused and looked down, his confidence disappearing as if he had suddenly realised his behaviour had been unnecessarily confrontational. “I am Farchi,” he said. He turned to introduce the others. Too many names to remember, Sonea decided. She took note of the names of the boldest, and the sole woman in the group.
With a gracious movement, Farchi invited her and Regin to accompany him to the estate. As they walked, Sonea figured she might as well find out what had happened here.
“If it is not rude of me to ask, is the damage here from a Traitor attack?”
Farchi nodded. “The queen and her fighters killed the Ashaki and freed his slaves.”
“What will you do now?”
“Try to run things on our own, and with the Traitors’ help.”
“So the Traitors aren’t going to take ownership of this place?”
“Some estates they will take. Most will go to ex-slaves. Some will be divided up.”
“And the rest of the ex-slaves?”
“Will be paid for their work. And be free to live where they want, marry who they want, and keep their children.”
She smiled. “I hope with all my heart that you achieve this.”
Farchi’s chin rose and his back straightened. “We will. The Traitors are Sachakans. They will not abandon the task, as the Guild did.”
She looked at him closely. “How do you know they did? Our records indicate no decision by the Guild or Kyralia to stop trying to end slavery in Sachaka.”
He frowned. “It’s... what everyone says.”
“They also say that the Guild created the wasteland to weaken Sachaka, but historical records found here in Sachaka point toward it being the action of one madman, and many Guild magicians died trying to stop him.”
“Was this madman Kyralian or Sachakan?”
“Kyralian.”
“So it is still your fault.”
Sonea sighed. “Yes, whether it was deliberate or a mistake, it was still the fault of a Kyralian. Just as it was the fault of all Sachakans that Ichani attacked Kyralia and murdered many of my people.” She met his gaze and held it, and he quickly looked away. “If I don’t blame you for the crimes of the Ichani twenty years ago, can you try to forgive me the act of a madman six hundred years ago?”
Farchi gave her a long, appraising look, then nodded. “That’s fair.”
She smiled, and followed him through the gates into a scene of destruction and hope, grief and newfound freedom.
As Cery joined Gol he drew in a deep breath of clean, forest air.
“Smells like spring.”
“Yes,” Gol agreed. “It’s warm at night now, too.”
“Warm
