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want the foreigners dead, you hear me?
The recumbent Daggum muttered an agreement into the rugs his face was buried
in.
The Jeboh moved impatiently closer to him, set his foot on the Daggum s neck.
I want the foreigners dead. Not captured. Dead. I want that witch, that Green
Thing, I want her captured and thrown into the
Prudjin s Cave. Not dead. Alive. Stripped and thrown into the Dark. You hear
me? He pressed down, moved his foot back and forth making the Daggum s head
roll to one side then the other.
Another mumble, smothered in the standing fibers of the rug.
The Jeboh removed his foot. Then get out and do it.
3. The Outlands West Of The Ston Gassen
Serroi lifted her head, grimaced at the, stench the wind brought to her.
Another, she said. She turned her macai s head and followed the smell to
a farm-house tucked into the side of a small hill. The roof was caved in,
still smoking from the fire that charred the stones, torn bodies were
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scattered about.
This was border country, wild and dangerous, a place where youmbards seldom
came and taxmen never. It was the land of exile and outlaws, with poor soil,
little water, a place where people came who couldn t take the constrictions of
provincial life. And it was the last stretch they had to cross before they
reached the Ashtops.
Serroi slid from her macai, flinched as hot prickles from the earth leaped
like lightning through her body. She steadied herself and stood, head turning
slowly until she found a thin thread of life among all the death. She walked
to a root cellar beside the house, with thick earth walls and a sod
roof with charred grass growing from it. The door was partway open, hanging
on torn leather hinges. She wrestled it open further, stood in the opening.
It s all tight. We won t hurt you.
A whimper came from the darkness, then a scraping sound. A shadow moved in the
shadows, came slowly from behind some broken barrels, turned into a small boy
holding a baby dutched against him with one arm; the other hung limp at his
side, there was a lump over his left eye and the dark blotch of a bruise. He
came to the ladder leading up to the door, stood a minute look-ing up at her,
the whites of his eyes glistening. Her small size seemed to reassure him.
Slowly, awkwardly because he couldn t use his hands he climbed the lad-der.
The baby he was squeezing against his chest didn t move, didn t make a sound.
She stepped aside to let him out, using her body to shield him from the worst
of the carnage. My name is Serroi, what s yours?
Ramman and this is my sister Berda. He was shivering, and so pale under the
smears of dirt that he was almost as green as she was.
She stretched out her hand, but didn t quite touch him. I m a healer, Ramman.
Let me help you.
He blinked at her, flinched when her fingers touched his brow but didn t pull
away.
She closed her eyes. The force grew to a river and flowed through her fingers
into the boy. It washed away blood gathering inside the skull, mended cracked
ribs and erased internal bruises, popped the dangling arm back into the
shoulder socket, smoothed away the hairline fractures in the arm
bones, wiped away the bruise and swelling that distorted his face.
Her hand dropped onto the baby, but there was nothing she could do there,
death was something no one could heal.
She tapped her fingertips to his face, pulled her hand back.
There. Isn t that better?
The boy nodded.
Ramman, do you know what happened?
He looked away, nodded after a moment, stood staring at the ground.
Do you have other kin you could go to?
M ma s sister. Over that way. He still didn t look at her, just nodded his
head toward the house.
Cou-ple farms off. If they din t get her too.
She heard the crunch of someone walking on the cinders, looked round. Mama
Charody. Anyone?
Charody shook her head. We d better get on. She smiled at the boy. You ll
be coming with us, then?
He nodded.
Good. Best give the little one to the healer, then you come with me. I ve got
a boy too. He s not that much older. His name s Doby. She held out her strong
square hand, smiled again as he sidled round
Serroi and took hold of it.
She s green, he whispered.
Like a plant. Green things are good, aren t they? You want to give me the
baby?
Once again he didn t seem to hear her. After a glance at Serroi, she led him
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around the house. Serroi sighed and followed.
The boy didn t look at the dead as Charody led him toward the waiting mounts.
Doby was holding together better than he had the first two times, no more
nightmare, no more cold sweats, no emptying out everything in his stomach. He
looked at the baby in Ramman s arms, started to say something.
Serroi spoke before he could get any words out. Doby, where s Teny?
She went off that way, ahind those trees there. Doby pointed at some gnarled
olive trees, the ripe fruit hanging like black pearls among the gray-green
leaves.
Serroi moved up to stand behind Ramman, dropped her hand lightly on his
shoulder. She could feel him shiver, then relax as she went on speaking and
didn t do anything else. Fetch her,. please. We want to be away from here in
the next few minutes.
She brushed her hand across Ramman s eyes, felt him sag, caught him as he
fell, taking the dead baby from his loosened grasp. He was profoundly asleep
as she lifted him to Mama Charody.
Charody settled him in her lap, his head cradled against her shoulder. And
that? She nodded at the infant.
I ll put her back in the root cellar. Her people can bury her.
In the daze between sleep and waking, Ramman groped for the baby, but once his
eyes were open he seemed to have forgotten all about her. He lay against Mama
Charody and watched Doby arguing with Yela o who was trotting beside his
macai.
... and it was so a seven skips, not a six.
He listened.
Uhuh, Y el. There was seven plops before it sank, you can t count.
Ranunan sighed and pulled away from Charody. Who he talkin to?
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