Father Fairwell returned as Liandra was shrugging her bulky pack onto her shoulders. The man seemed to wander around as if he knew where he was going, but at the same time had nowhere to be. Mostly, she sensed a kind of blankness from him, a purity almost, but not a comforting one. Perhaps he was just an idiot, blank of mind, absent, the kind of person you could talk to for five minutes, but they wouldn't hear a single thing you said.
Mother relayed the news to the priest, who skittered about, gathered his meagre possessions, and once they were all ready, they left the stable behind. As soon as they were back within sight of the inn, the captain barrelled out the front with his new prisoner held out at arm's length. Auric stumbled as the captain pushed him.
'Bring me proper shackles,' the captain said. 'We're going to have to watch this one like a hawk.'
The captain really was fearful of this man, who must have been fifteen years his senior. Liandra wasn't sure why. All she could feel from Auric was regret and the type of calm someone had when they accepted their fate was out of their hands.
'Is that really him?' Beecham piped up. 'Is that really The Blackhand?'
'Claims he is,' the captain said. 'He matches the description. He's the right age. And from what I've been able to ascertain in the last ten minutes, seems he really was one of King Yulian's generals.'
'Holy shit,' McJames said, stepping up to face Auric in the middle of the street, apparently forgetting Mother's request to clean up his tongue. 'It really is him, isn't it?'
Auric glowered back at McJames.
'Never thought I'd be standing in the face of the fucker who burned Rothwich to the ground. It's a pity you're worth more walking than in the ground. Vallendred'll see your skin hung from his walls.'
So, that was it. That was why the soldiers were so afraid of this man, and why he was worth so much. Liandra knew much of Nothstrum's war for independence, of course, had grown up hearing about it, though she struggled to remember the dates and the names. Rothwich, however, was one that most people remembered. The city had been long held by Vallendred's army, until it was burnt to the ground in the night, that is, when Yulian's rebels snuck in, doused the place in oil and set the whole place alight. Thousands of people—soldiers mostly, but men and children too—had burned alive as they slept, or as they tried to escape their barred houses.
McJames spat in Auric's face. The old man ground his jaw, scowled back, wiped his face as best he could on his shoulder, then headbutt the soldier square in the nose. There was a crunch as McJames' head whipped back. His hands shot up to his face, blood pouring through his fingers.
'Oh dear,' Father Fairwell said.
'Enough,' the captain shouted. He kicked Auric in the back of the knee, and he went down into the dirt road. 'Beecham, secure this prisoner and chain him where he belongs.'
'Yes, sir.' Beecham ran over to Auric, a set of shackles clanking in his hands.
'Fuck. Is it broken?' the young soldier said, blood dribbling into his mouth.
The captain walked over, peered into McJames' face. 'It bloody well better be, the amount of blood coming out of it.'
'Ass-licker broke my fucking nose.'
'Well, that'll teach you for puttin' your nose where it can get broken, won't it? Like a hawk, I fucking said.' The captain pulled out a kerchief and held it to McJames' face. 'Hold that against your nostrils 'til the blood stops. Gods, is it too much to ask for a pair of competent men?' The captain's words trailed off in a murmur.
Beecham shackled Auric's hands and dragged him over to Stroud. He linked the two prisoners together, then brought them both over to the captain.
The captain ran a hand over his bald head, took the end of the chain. 'What a marvellous idea this is turning out to be,' he said under his breath. 'Well, no use in standing around. Let's get some miles under our feet.'
'What about my nose?' McJames said. Dark bruises had started to form under his eyes.
'It'll heal,' the captain spat. 'And if it heals crooked, it'll serve you right.'
'You'll pay for that, twat,' McJames muttered.
The captain led the way, as he always did, stomping towards the gate, his prisoners trailing behind him on their clinking chains. Liandra and Mother followed, with Father Fairwell bringing up the rear, his head flittered back and forth like an owl. The old gateman who had let them in last night regarded them as they passed, threw a scornful salute at the captain, a venerable nod to Liandra.
They passed through the gates and back onto the cold roads of Nothstrum. It would be a few days before they reached Whitehall. Liandra had thought about what would happen upon their arrival every day for the last few months. She thought about what Mother would have to do, once they got there. But she knew Mother didn't think of it, just saw it as a task that needed doing, as she saw most things. Still, Liandra almost felt as if she would miss this time on the road, this simple time.
'Wait, wait,' came a shout from behind. Halford, the owner of the inn, jogged down the street, his great belly bouncing in front of him.
They all turned, and he came up to them, stopped, rested a hand on his knees while he caught his breath, waved the other one, begging patience.
'What is it, man? Spit it out,' the captain said.
Halford turned to Auric. 'He's with them. Mouse, I mean. He's with Jayna and Flynn. I thought you should know while you still had the chance.'
'Good,' Auric said in his rough voice. 'You have my gratitude, but maybe you could do one more thing for me.'
Halford winced. 'You've got a lot of cheek asking me these things. I believe it was you said you would do some work for me.'
Auric's jaw clenched. 'I did. And I meant it. But it seems I may not get the chance.' By way of exclamation, Auric held up his shackles, gave them a little jiggle.
'Fair enough,' Halford said. The redness in his face had started to fade. 'As long as it doesn't involve running, I'll try my best.'
'See that the boy gets some shoes.'
Halford nodded. 'I will.'
'Time to go,' the captain said, tugging at the chain.
As they left the town behind and wound their way into the southern hills, Liandra felt the vague, murky emotions of several hundred lives dissipate. While she had grown used to feeling what others felt, she sometimes cursed her strange ability. She had learned to block out the noise, the background haze of other people's minds, somewhat, at least. But occasionally she was afraid she would lose herself amongst the ocean of experience, the never-ending tide of emotion, pouring down on top of her all at once. And she would become like Mouse had, trapped in a walled-off corner of her mind.
She turned her eyes to the sun, closed them, let the heat warm her skin. For now, the air was clear, the countryside was still.
They came to a high place that looked down on the little town. It seemed almost like a painting then, with its thatched roofs and little curls of smoke twining into the air. A waft of autumn leaves spiralled lazily on the breeze.
Goodbye, Agrafell, she thought. May the wind forever be at your back.
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