heavens.”
He covered Loke’s face with the blanket and then stood. He pulled his armour back on, strapped on his sword, and walked out of the tent. Two soldiers stood on guard. “No one goes in,” he said curtly, then he strode off towards the village, calling for someone to fetch Jozo, and for the men to fall in behind him.
He found the villagers assembled in the main square, kneeling in the dirt, under close guard. “Which one of you threw the explosive?” His anger was cold as snow in his chest.
No one responded to his call, so he stalked over to the clan head and dragged her up by her hair, drawing his sword and holding it to her throat. “Let the man who threw the bomb step forward, or she dies now.”
At first there was no reaction, but as he pressed the edge of his sword against the woman’s neck, a voice cried out in distress. “No! It was me, don’t!”
Still holding his captive, he scanned the prisoners. “Come forward, you coward.”
A teenaged boy stood, and was immediately dragged out and over to Arman, cast on the ground in front of him. Arman pushed the clan head away from him. “Who is kin to this boy? Who are his mother and father?”
A man and a woman stood, and were also dragged over to him. Arman had them held facing him, as he pulled the boy up, his arm around his throat. “You are his parents? Answer me!”
“Yes, lord,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “He is our son, our only child. Please, I beg you, be merciful.”
“Merciful,” Arman repeated with heavy irony. “I know another woman with an only son, an only child. At least, she had a son. I have his last note to bring to her. Will that comfort her, do you think? Will she rejoice to know your child killed hers, who never harmed anyone or anything in his life? I think not ,” he spat at her in anger. “You ask for mercy?” He took his sword and thrust it suddenly up under the boy’s ribs. He heard him choking, and let him fall to the ground. “There is your mercy. You can bury him. That’s more than she will have.”
The woman screamed and fell to her knees, clutching the boy’s body to her chest. The man raised his hand at Arman in anger, but the soldier knocked him to the ground before he could strike. Arman ignored him and stepped away from the pitiful scene, in which he had no further interest. “This is how it will be, you honourless bastards. You kill one of my people, we will kill yours. If you kill my soldiers, your hostages will die, and we will take more. If you strike again, your village will be razed to the ground and every one of you sent to work in the torkezi mines until you die of exhaustion. The Prij will not tolerate rebellion. I will not tolerate cowardice. I will pray to Lord Niko for the rest of my life that yours will be short, miserable and filled with grief.” He spat on the ground to show his disgust. “This village is damned. I curse it and all of you.”
He turned. Jozo watched him with an unreadable expression, and as Arman approached, he gripped his arm. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have done that, or we will be at odds,” Arman said through gritted teeth.
“No, you did what I would have done. Do you want any more executed? We lost five other men.”
Arman glanced back at the villagers. The mother with the dead boy still keened over his corpse. “No,” he said coldly. “For once I started, I would want every one of them destroyed and that is not Her Serenity’s will. But I want the camp moved. I don’t want to breathe the same air as these curs a moment longer.”
“Yes, of course, I’ve already given orders.” Jozo hesitated. “And Loke?”
The sound of the name made his eyes fill again, but when he spoke, his voice was cold and calm. “I will see to him. He is still in my care.”
And ever in my heart, my dear and beloved friend.
Chapter : Darshian 8
Gren nuts were plentiful this year, but Banji still had to wrestle Reji to prevent his friend
He covered Loke’s face with the blanket and then stood. He pulled his armour back on, strapped on his sword, and walked out of the tent. Two soldiers stood on guard. “No one goes in,” he said curtly, then he strode off towards the village, calling for someone to fetch Jozo, and for the men to fall in behind him.
He found the villagers assembled in the main square, kneeling in the dirt, under close guard. “Which one of you threw the explosive?” His anger was cold as snow in his chest.
No one responded to his call, so he stalked over to the clan head and dragged her up by her hair, drawing his sword and holding it to her throat. “Let the man who threw the bomb step forward, or she dies now.”
At first there was no reaction, but as he pressed the edge of his sword against the woman’s neck, a voice cried out in distress. “No! It was me, don’t!”
Still holding his captive, he scanned the prisoners. “Come forward, you coward.”
A teenaged boy stood, and was immediately dragged out and over to Arman, cast on the ground in front of him. Arman pushed the clan head away from him. “Who is kin to this boy? Who are his mother and father?”
A man and a woman stood, and were also dragged over to him. Arman had them held facing him, as he pulled the boy up, his arm around his throat. “You are his parents? Answer me!”
“Yes, lord,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “He is our son, our only child. Please, I beg you, be merciful.”
“Merciful,” Arman repeated with heavy irony. “I know another woman with an only son, an only child. At least, she had a son. I have his last note to bring to her. Will that comfort her, do you think? Will she rejoice to know your child killed hers, who never harmed anyone or anything in his life? I think not ,” he spat at her in anger. “You ask for mercy?” He took his sword and thrust it suddenly up under the boy’s ribs. He heard him choking, and let him fall to the ground. “There is your mercy. You can bury him. That’s more than she will have.”
The woman screamed and fell to her knees, clutching the boy’s body to her chest. The man raised his hand at Arman in anger, but the soldier knocked him to the ground before he could strike. Arman ignored him and stepped away from the pitiful scene, in which he had no further interest. “This is how it will be, you honourless bastards. You kill one of my people, we will kill yours. If you kill my soldiers, your hostages will die, and we will take more. If you strike again, your village will be razed to the ground and every one of you sent to work in the torkezi mines until you die of exhaustion. The Prij will not tolerate rebellion. I will not tolerate cowardice. I will pray to Lord Niko for the rest of my life that yours will be short, miserable and filled with grief.” He spat on the ground to show his disgust. “This village is damned. I curse it and all of you.”
He turned. Jozo watched him with an unreadable expression, and as Arman approached, he gripped his arm. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have done that, or we will be at odds,” Arman said through gritted teeth.
“No, you did what I would have done. Do you want any more executed? We lost five other men.”
Arman glanced back at the villagers. The mother with the dead boy still keened over his corpse. “No,” he said coldly. “For once I started, I would want every one of them destroyed and that is not Her Serenity’s will. But I want the camp moved. I don’t want to breathe the same air as these curs a moment longer.”
“Yes, of course, I’ve already given orders.” Jozo hesitated. “And Loke?”
The sound of the name made his eyes fill again, but when he spoke, his voice was cold and calm. “I will see to him. He is still in my care.”
And ever in my heart, my dear and beloved friend.
Chapter : Darshian 8
Gren nuts were plentiful this year, but Banji still had to wrestle Reji to prevent his friend
Similar Books
