Chapter 21: Refugees
I found the boy first—the one who'd distracted the guards.
He stood in front of seven girls and three women, plank raised with shaking hands.
Brave and stupid.
That's how boys survive long enough to become men.
"Hey," I said gently, stopping a few steps away. "I'm Leno."
"Stand back!" the boy shouted.
"I'm not here to hurt you," I said, and slowly sheathed my sword so he could see both hands.
"I'm here to help. And… thanks for the distraction back there."
One of the older women stared at me. "Why were you in a cage?"
I shrugged. "Sins of the father, they say."
A younger girl stepped forward, voice small. "We need somewhere safe. Can you help us, sir?"
Sir.
No one had ever called me that in my life.
It made me feel important for a heartbeat.
Then it made me feel responsible.
I thought about taking them to Ennox… and remembered there was no Ennox anymore.
Only Mace Town.
"Yes," I said. "Do you know White Wood?"
The little girl nodded quickly.
"Good," I said. "We go to White Wood. If they take refugees, we stay. If they don't, we find a ghost town in the south and disappear."
"My daddy says there are slavers down there," the plank boy blurted.
"That was four years ago," I said, and forced a smile I didn't fully feel. "I was taken once. Now I'm back."
I handed him the provision bag. "Water. Food. Share it."
He hesitated, then hugged it like treasure.
We heard hooves.
Close.
Everyone scattered behind trees without needing to be told. Even fear can be trained.
I turned and saw four riders approaching through the brush.
I didn't wait for negotiation.
My knife flew from my hand and sank into the lead rider's throat.
He toppled off his horse like his strings had been cut.
The other three reined in hard.
They stared at me, cautious now.
One held a spear.
And on that spear was a head.
The other two drew swords.
"Begone," I said, drawing Canna, "while you still have your lives."
The man with the spear spat something and shook the head like it offended him.
"Do you know who we are, boy?" he asked.
"General Bushi's men," I guessed, because the world loved answering questions by making them worse.
The spear man's mouth curled. "Correct. So you know we fear nothing."
"Even men who fear nothing die," I said. "It's all the same."
I shifted my stance, ready for the horse charge.
The spear man charged first, spear leveled for my ribs.
I waited until the last possible moment, then jumped aside and smacked the horse's hindquarters as it flew past.
The horse kicked wildly and bucked.
The rider lost balance and hit the ground hard.
He tried to rise.
The horse's hind legs found his face.
I didn't bother looking at what was left.
I turned toward the remaining two.
"Last chance," I said. "Leave."
They attacked instead.
So I killed them.
When it was over, I lifted my voice toward the trees.
"You can come out. They're dead."
The refugees emerged cautiously, eyes wide, breathing fast.
We robbed the bodies quickly—coins, boots, straps, anything useful.
Then we returned to the prisoner cart.
Nel and Trista were gone.
A blood trail ran north.
I stared at it for a moment.
Let them go.
For now.
I shoved the cage off the cart and it landed with a heavy thud like a chapter closing.
"Those who can't ride," I said to the women, "get on the cart."
I grabbed the reins.
"We're going southwest. White Wood."
As we moved, I realized it with a clarity that made my chest ache.
This wasn't the Rovena I grew up in.
This wasn't the fairytale land my grandfather used to describe when he wanted me to sleep.
This was a war zone.
And the king was sitting in his castle doing nothing.