the liquid to the slave’s mouth. I took in the sight of the raw, bleeding scrapes on his forehead and limbs, deep enough to lay bare the muscle beneath his skin. Such injuries would normally entail a swift execution since they would render him unfit to work for several days.
“Fear not,” Kehlbrand told the slave, spooning more water into his mouth. Rising he called out to the two warriors who had escorted us through the hovels. “Ride to our camp, bring the healer!”
“Healer?” the warrior who had inflicted the punishment asked in evident bafflement. The incident had attracted the attention of several of his fellows and I kept the wariness from my features as we found ourselves in the centre of an encircling ring of riders. They were all Wohten, until recently fierce and hated enemies of the Cova. I could see no aggression in them, however, just a shared depth of incomprehension.
“What was this man’s offence?” Kehlbrand demanded of the dismounted warrior.
“He met my gaze, Mestra. It is death for a slave to look into the eyes of one born to the Hast. So have the priests ordained.”
“Do not speak to me of priests,” Kehlbrand rasped, face reddening. I watched as he made a show of mastering himself, breathing deeply and running a trembling hand through his hair. “This is not your fault,” he said, voice faint as if experiencing a sudden realisation. “Too long have those who stand between the Hast and the Unseen led us along the wrong path.”
My unease deepened as I saw the warriors exchange uncertain glances. Fortunately, Kehlbrand was ever skilled in not allowing the thoughts of his audience to dwell on uncomfortable notions.
“You are needed here no longer,” he told them. “Return to your Skeld. Hunt, practise your skills, teach your young. Tell all, the great ride to the Golden Sea will soon be upon us.”
“But . . .” one of the warriors began, gesturing to the quarries. “The slaves, Mestra-Skeltir.”
“Slaves?” Kehlbrand looked down at the injured man at his feet, his smile as full of warmth as it was of guilt. “There are no slaves here now. Leave this tor and these people to me, for now their labour will be my labour.”
It took a great deal more inventive rhetoric before the warriors of the Wohten tied their bows and lances to their saddles and rode off towards the encampments of their Skeld. By Kehlbrand’s order they each left one weapon behind. The oxhide whips were all piled atop the largest quarry, where he stood to address the assembled slaves. They stood in bedraggled ranks below, staring up at the strange, tall Stahlhast with a voice that seemed to reach every ear with unnatural ease.
“These,” Kehlbrand said, pointing to the piled whips, “will never touch your flesh again. This I swear. Many are the crimes that brought you here and great is my pain at all you have suffered. Know this, today the Darkblade has taken you under his protection and I will cherish you as I cherish my own blood. Henceforth all labour will be rewarded. None will go hungry. Before another pick touches this tor, we will build real houses where families will live in warmth and safety. For now, go and rest. Tomorrow we build, and so that you know my word is true, the Darkblade and his beloved sister will stay and build with you. We will not leave this place until all is made right and all wounds are healed.”
The cheering was unexpected, perhaps because I assumed none of the people gaping up at us possessed the strength for it. But cheer they did, a thin, tremulous thing at first, like a chord struck to the strings of a lyre by untutored hands, growing by the second to something full and vibrant. Hands raised in gratitude, people went to their knees, others wept, but they all called out in worship to the Darkblade.
“I don’t want to stay here,” I said when he finally turned away from the supplicant throng. I recall his expression as being strangely lacking in either triumph or exultation. Instead he wore a small smile of satisfaction that reminded me of when my mother put the final stitch in a well-crafted jacket.
“Oh, cheer up, little colt,” he told me. “After all, I just made you sister to a god.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
And so we stayed amongst the slaves, or the artisans, as my brother insisted they now be called. Although we were two