Read Online Haven: A Trial of Blood and Steel Book Four by Joel Shepherd - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joel Shepherd
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us look.”
The horseman thought about it. A nervous shifting passed along the wagon column. Then the horseman backed up, and crossbowmen leaped from the back of the wagon.
“There was a bounty,” the horseman explained nervously. “A gold piece each. We just wanted to bring something back to our families.”
Sasha dismounted, strode to the back of the wagon, and threw open the rear flap.
The wagon was filled with small bodies. Little shapes, arms and legs askew, entangled in dreadful heaps. She saw little faces, and widened eyes. Saw a flash of inhuman colour, the gleam of serrin sight. Crossbred children. Part human, part serrin, like her good friend Aisha. Like she and Errollyn would have had, given the chance, and the assurance that their offspring would not end up like this, piled in some forager's cart like…
The wagon floor was awash with blood. The smell was dreadful.
Sasha did not know how she hit the ground, but suddenly her knees were gone, and she was curled against the wagon wheel, her body torn with sobs. From the Isfayen behind her, there was consternation. Markan dismounted and peered into the wagon. And cursed in shock.
Then Yasmyn, who said nothing when she looked, but her grip on Sasha's arm when she crouched at her side was painfully tight. Other Isfayen lords came to look, now guessing the wagon's contents, but horrified all the same.
“Sasha,” said Yasmyn, perhaps as distressed to see the great Synnich-ahn curled and sobbing like a child as she was at the wagon itself. She put a hand to Sasha's face, eyes pleading her to stop. Sasha barely noticed. She had tried to make herself like stone, but stone was not her nature. She was water, free and wild, and she could not bear this weight.
She could not be a party to this. Her land and her people were all she had that remained, and she marched with them into the very gates of Loth…but she could not be a party to this. She would rather die. She had to die. She had no other choices left.
A time passed, and Sasha was barely aware that the men of the column had been rounded up, and the other wagons searched. Men about her muttered of an orphanage, a special place for abandoned children of mixed blood. They must have been late to leave, they said, and taken refuge in the temple, praying that their gods would save them. Sasha sat against the rear wheel, face in her hands, and wished the world would end.
“Sasha,” came Markan's voice at her side, more gentle than she'd ever heard him. “Synnich-ahn. We have found one alive.”
Sasha raised her tear-streaked face and looked at him. Then another lord came, carrying a bundle that he placed on the road beside her. It was a little boy, perhaps six years old. His face was pale, yet his eyes were sharp, emerald green. Like Errollyn's.
Sasha gazed at him. The boy seemed sightless, and Sasha wondered if he were blind. But she passed a hand before his face, and he blinked, and moved back a little.
“Hello there,” she murmured, in Torovan. “What's your name?” There was no reply. Torovan was a tongue learned at later ages, if at all. Most likely the boy spoke Rhodaani…and perhaps one other. “What is your name?” Sasha tried again, this time in Saalsi, the language of the serrin.
The boy blinked at her, as though noticing her for the first time. Sasha nodded.
“I do speak that tongue,” she told him quietly. “I see you know a little.”
The boy's green eyes shimmered with tears. Sasha hugged him before the sight of his face could make her lose control again. She held him tight, as Isfayen about them wondered at the location of a grave and what to do for a ceremony.
“What do we do with the prisoners?” one man asked Markan. Markan made a gesture of thumb across throat, as careless as a man might decide to cast away food gone bad. The other nodded, and left to do that.
“Ask them who demands the bounty,” Yasmyn called after that man. “If he will not answer, make it
The horseman thought about it. A nervous shifting passed along the wagon column. Then the horseman backed up, and crossbowmen leaped from the back of the wagon.
“There was a bounty,” the horseman explained nervously. “A gold piece each. We just wanted to bring something back to our families.”
Sasha dismounted, strode to the back of the wagon, and threw open the rear flap.
The wagon was filled with small bodies. Little shapes, arms and legs askew, entangled in dreadful heaps. She saw little faces, and widened eyes. Saw a flash of inhuman colour, the gleam of serrin sight. Crossbred children. Part human, part serrin, like her good friend Aisha. Like she and Errollyn would have had, given the chance, and the assurance that their offspring would not end up like this, piled in some forager's cart like…
The wagon floor was awash with blood. The smell was dreadful.
Sasha did not know how she hit the ground, but suddenly her knees were gone, and she was curled against the wagon wheel, her body torn with sobs. From the Isfayen behind her, there was consternation. Markan dismounted and peered into the wagon. And cursed in shock.
Then Yasmyn, who said nothing when she looked, but her grip on Sasha's arm when she crouched at her side was painfully tight. Other Isfayen lords came to look, now guessing the wagon's contents, but horrified all the same.
“Sasha,” said Yasmyn, perhaps as distressed to see the great Synnich-ahn curled and sobbing like a child as she was at the wagon itself. She put a hand to Sasha's face, eyes pleading her to stop. Sasha barely noticed. She had tried to make herself like stone, but stone was not her nature. She was water, free and wild, and she could not bear this weight.
She could not be a party to this. Her land and her people were all she had that remained, and she marched with them into the very gates of Loth…but she could not be a party to this. She would rather die. She had to die. She had no other choices left.
A time passed, and Sasha was barely aware that the men of the column had been rounded up, and the other wagons searched. Men about her muttered of an orphanage, a special place for abandoned children of mixed blood. They must have been late to leave, they said, and taken refuge in the temple, praying that their gods would save them. Sasha sat against the rear wheel, face in her hands, and wished the world would end.
“Sasha,” came Markan's voice at her side, more gentle than she'd ever heard him. “Synnich-ahn. We have found one alive.”
Sasha raised her tear-streaked face and looked at him. Then another lord came, carrying a bundle that he placed on the road beside her. It was a little boy, perhaps six years old. His face was pale, yet his eyes were sharp, emerald green. Like Errollyn's.
Sasha gazed at him. The boy seemed sightless, and Sasha wondered if he were blind. But she passed a hand before his face, and he blinked, and moved back a little.
“Hello there,” she murmured, in Torovan. “What's your name?” There was no reply. Torovan was a tongue learned at later ages, if at all. Most likely the boy spoke Rhodaani…and perhaps one other. “What is your name?” Sasha tried again, this time in Saalsi, the language of the serrin.
The boy blinked at her, as though noticing her for the first time. Sasha nodded.
“I do speak that tongue,” she told him quietly. “I see you know a little.”
The boy's green eyes shimmered with tears. Sasha hugged him before the sight of his face could make her lose control again. She held him tight, as Isfayen about them wondered at the location of a grave and what to do for a ceremony.
“What do we do with the prisoners?” one man asked Markan. Markan made a gesture of thumb across throat, as careless as a man might decide to cast away food gone bad. The other nodded, and left to do that.
“Ask them who demands the bounty,” Yasmyn called after that man. “If he will not answer, make it
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