“Could’ve just given him to me,” Ellese admonished Vaelin as he stood in the centre of the compound to watch the executions. “I saw him first.” She fidgeted for a moment, her agitation increasing as a noose was slipped over the first outlaw’s head. “Do we really have to watch this?”
“You don’t,” Vaelin said. “I do. And if your mother had ordered it, she would watch too. When you order a killing, you need to see it, lest it becomes too easy.”
Tallspear appeared at Vaelin’s side with his typical absence of noise, his gaze dark as he watched a trio of North Guard haul on the rope. The outlaw’s desperate sobs for mercy died as he was dragged aloft, legs kicking in a frantic dance.
“I recall a time when your heart was more merciful, my lord,” the hunter said. “Even at the dawn of war.”
“That war ended,” Vaelin replied. “Whereas this one never seems to.”
“Was I any less wretched than these men? Any less deserving of death?”
“Perhaps not. But then I . . . knew there to be a chance for you. If the Bear People found you, there was a path to peace. Such insights are beyond me now, and the queen’s justice is all I have to offer.”
Ellese let out a small whimper at the sight of the outlaw’s body spasming, the crotch of his trews becoming sodden as his bowels loosened in death. Just a child after all, Vaelin mused, watching the blood drain from the girl’s face. The thrill of the hunt and the fight is one thing, this is another.
The outlaw’s legs kicked a few more times before he slackened. Piss mingled with shit to cover his boots before dripping to the ground where it steamed in the chilled night air. Ellese gagged and turned away, hurrying off to a shadowed corner to loudly disgorge the contents of her stomach.
“She will truly be Lady Governess of Cumbrael one day?” Tallspear asked, eyebrow raised to a dubious angle.
“As is her mother’s wish,” Vaelin told him.
“I did so much in service to the World Father and the Fief.” Tallspear shook his head, a new depth of sorrow in his voice. “It all seems like a dream now. An old nightmare that troubles me only rarely. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve this life. Iron Eyes, our children, the people who took in a starving madman they found wandering the woods. It feels like gifts to an unworthy soul. I suppose that’s when I lost him, the Father. For why would he ever reward one such as me?”
Vaelin found himself seized by sudden anger. This man he had spared, this former assassin and fanatic bemoaning his lost god. He had an urge to beat this self-pitying fool to the ground. As it often did, anger carried Vaelin back to the craggy hilltop in northern Volaria, the wind and the rain beating at his benumbed flesh as he held Dahrena, her body a small, limp thing in his arms. She spoke of how much she loved you, the Ally had said. But mostly she worried for the child you made together . . .
“My lord?”
Vaelin blinked, realising Tallspear had retreated a step, face wary. Vaelin turned back to the gate, where another outlaw was being dragged towards the noose, feet scrabbling at the muddy ground, his face rendered childlike by desperate sobs. “Captain Nohlen!” Vaelin called out.
“My lord?”
“This is taking too long. Behead the rest and have done. I’m keen to be gone from here.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
He left Nohlen and half the North Guard at the gulch as security against any outlaw gangs who might attempt to seize the mine. At Alum’s urging the Moreska agreed to remain, though most seemed disinclined to keep working the seams. Only half the gold ore accrued by the outlaws could be packed onto the mules they found in the stables. Vaelin told Nohlen he would send a suitably well-protected caravan for the remainder on return to North Tower.
Before setting off he watched Alum consult with a small group of Moreska. There were six of them, four men and two women comprising the oldest souls to be found amongst the freed captives. They joined hands to form a circle with Alum kneeling in the centre, head lowered as he spoke in a tongue Vaelin didn’t know. He was struck by the sadness of the other Moreska, each face drawn in sorrow, tears visible on their cheeks.