After resting for three days in their Stoneholm camp, the Gremurr refugees were eager to set off for home again. Thoughts of seeing Vicka after his long absence filled Mateo’s mind, and these liberated slaves had similar dreams of their families. Free men needed little encouragement to march; all of Tierra lay before them, and the road was open.
Mateo led the refugees down the path into drainages that joined with the river network. He noted their energy and anticipation in sharp contrast to how weary and bedraggled they had looked back in Gremurr. Now they had a spring in their step—and hope.
And so did he.
He set an easy pace along the dirt road. The refugees talked with colorful cheer, reminiscing about their homes, their families, their once happy existences. After seeing the joyous reunions of some of the freed slaves at Corag, they all expected the same, imagining that they could seamlessly rejoin their old lives.
“I used to complain about working on my farm in Alamont, but now I can’t wait to get the good, dark dirt under my fingernails.”
“My family raised the best butter melons, as big as your head! Almost no seeds, and as sweet as a honeycomb.”
“Ha, the sweet I want is the taste of my Jemma’s lips!”
“I know, I’ve tasted them,” another man quipped, which spurred a round of raucous laughter.
“A lover’s kiss is sweet, but there’s nothing like the excited hugs of your children. By the Fishhook, my two boys must be old enough to be apprentices now…or journeymen!”
“Kelpwine from Windcatch…have you ever tasted it?”
“I’ve heard about the Windcatch stench when all the seaweed rots and floats out to sea.”
“My mother made the most delicious herb-rubbed lamb, with wild garlic and dandelions.”
“One thing I’m not going to miss is the taste of Uraban food.” In odd unison, several of the men spat on the ground.
Listening to the easy chatter, Mateo could not stop thinking about how long these men had been gone. He feared they might return home to wives who had remarried, children or parents who had died, or households that had simply moved away.…
Mateo was himself a different person from the man who had left to do the queen’s bidding. An eternity ago, when he’d kissed Vicka goodbye and departed from Calay, his hands had not been stained with innocent blood. Now he shouldered the weight of a thousand severed heads.
When the group topped a hill and saw a small river town with wooden docks that served as a port for Destrar Sazar’s boats, they let out a spontaneous cheer. With great relief, Mateo saw an empty barge tied up waiting for them. He faced the happy smiles and bright eyes of the refugees. “We can rest on the journey downriver—we’ll be in Calay soon! Queen Anjine will host a feast and celebration for us when we arrive.” He knew the return of these former slaves would be seen as a glorious victory for Aiden, a way to lift up a land full of battered hearts.
And Mateo just wanted to go home as well. Hadn’t he earned it? He so longed to feel like a human being again, not just a soldier but a man with a loving wife and a warm house. He had just married Vicka, and he could only imagine—not know—what a normal life would be like with her. She would be wondering why he had been gone for so long, but he had not been ready to face her, or Anjine, when the horror of the thousand heads was so deep and fresh.
Scarred and shamed by what he’d done, he had ridden off in search of some kind of cleansing. The victory at Gremurr gave him part of what he needed, and bringing these once hopeless men home would do the rest.
As the refugees came down the dirt road to the river, the townspeople emerged from their homes to welcome the crowds. Having received word from Destrar Siescu’s riders, they had prepared large cookpots in the town square and were ready to serve a hot meal. The village prester came out to bestow Aiden’s blessing on them all.
Aboard the waiting barge, rivermen and their families brought out flutes and fiddles and struck up a lively tune. Giddy refugees grabbed townspeople and began to dance. The joyful laughter sounded strange coming from the throats of the former slaves, and Mateo felt some of their hope rubbing off on him.
He spotted Sazar, the burly black-bearded man who led the river clans. He had helped Mateo ferry the thousand Uraban prisoners from their slave camp down to Ishalem for the slaughter. Seeing Mateo now, the river destrar opened his arms in a gesture of welcome. “This is one human cargo I’ll be most pleased to transport, Subcomdar.”
“And I’m most pleased to deliver it to you. Let’s take these men back home to balance some of the dark things we’ve done.” He tried to swallow away the lump in his throat. “Maybe that’s a victory we can hold on to.”