‘Then know this, Karnak. If for any reason Galen comes back without you, I intend to cut his throat.’
Karnak chuckled. ‘You do that,’ he said, the smile fading. ‘You do exactly that!’
13
Black and grey vultures, their bellies distended, hobbled on the plain. Some still squabbled over the carcasses that lay around the ruined tents. Crows had also gathered, and these darted in among the vultures, their sharp beaks pecking at unresisting flesh. Smoke spiralled lazily from the burning tents, creating a grey pall that hung over the scene of the massacre.
Angel guided his horse down on to the plain. The glutted vultures closest to the horsemen waddled away, the others ignoring the newcomers.
Belash and Shia rode alongside Angel. ‘These were Green Monkey tribe,’ said Belash. ‘Not Wolves.’ Vaulting from the saddle he moved among the bodies.
Angel did not dismount. To his left was a small circle of bodies, the men on the outside, women and children within. Obviously the last of the warriors had died defending their families. One woman had covered her baby’s body with her own, but the broken lance that jutted from her back had thrust through the infant she shielded.
‘Must be more than a hundred dead,’ said Senta. Angel nodded. To his right the bodies of five infants lay where they had been thrown against a wagon, their heads crushed. Blood stained the rim of the wagon-wheel, and it was all too obvious how the babes had been killed.
Belash walked back to where Angel sat his mount. ‘More than a thousand soldiers,’ he said. ‘Heading for the mountains.’
‘Wanton slaughter,’ whispered Angel.
‘Yes,’ agreed Belash. ‘So they can’t be all bad, eh?’
Angel felt a piercing stab of shame as he heard his own words repeated back to him, but he said nothing and tugged on the reins, galloping his horse back up the hillside to where Miriel waited.
Her face was the colour of wood-ash and she was gripping the pommel of her saddle, her knuckles bone-white. ‘I can feel their pain,’ she said. ‘I can feel it, Angel. I can’t close it out!’
‘Then don’t try,’ he told her.
She let out a shuddering sigh, and huge tears formed, spilling to her cheeks. Dismounting, Angel lifted her from the saddle, holding her close as wracking sobs shuddered her frame. ‘It is all in the land,’ she said. ‘All the memories. Soaked in blood. The land knows.’
He rubbed her back and stroked her hair. ‘It’s seen blood before, Miriel. And they can’t be hurt any more.’
‘What kind of men could do this?’ she stormed, anger replacing her sorrow.
Angel had no answer. To kill a man in battle he understood, but to lift a baby by its heels and … he shuddered. It passed all understanding.
Belash, Shia and Senta rode up the hill. Miriel wiped her eyes and looked up at Belash. ‘The soldiers are between us and the mountains,’ she said. “This is your land. What do you advise?’
‘There are paths they will not know,’ he told her. ‘I will lead you – if you still wish to go on.’
‘Why would I not?’ she countered.
‘There will be no time for tears, woman, where we shall ride. Only swords and true hearts.’
She smiled at him then, a cold smile, and mounted her horse. ‘You lead, Belash. We will follow.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Shia. ‘We are not your people, and old Hard-to-Kill hates the Nadir. So tell me why.’
‘Because Kesa Khan asked me,’ said Miriel.
‘I will accept that,’ the girl said, after a moment. ‘But what of you?’ She turned her gaze to Angel and Senta.
Senta chuckled and drew his sword. ‘This blade,’ he said, ‘was specially made for me by a master armourer. It was a gift, lovely. He came to me one day and presented it. No man has ever bested me with a sword. I’m rather proud of that. But, you know, I didn’t ask the armourer about the quality of the steel, or the amount of care that went into its Grafting. I just accepted the gift and thanked him for it. You understand?’