The Blade Itself

Towers of wood, floating fortresses. Ferro had never seen ships half that size. Their masts were a dark forest against the bright water behind. Ten were docked below them, and further out in the bay two more were cutting slowly through the waves, great sails billowing, tiny figures crawling on the decks and in amongst the spider’s web of ropes above.

“I see twelve,” murmured Yulwei, “but your eyes are the sharper.”

Ferro looked out across the water. Further round the curving shore, twenty miles away perhaps, she could see another fortress, another set of wharves. “There are more over there,” she said, “eight or nine, and those ones are bigger.”

“Bigger than these?”

“A lot bigger.”

“God’s breath!” muttered Yulwei to himself. “The Gurkish never built ships so big before, not half so big, nor half so many. There is not the wood in all the South for such a fleet. They must have bought it from the north, from the Styrians, maybe.”

Ferro cared nothing for boats, or wood, or the north. “So?”

“With a fleet this size, the Gurkish will be a power at sea. They could take Dagoska from the bay, invade Westport even.”

The pointless names of far-away places. “So?”

“You don’t understand, Ferro. I must warn the others. We must make haste, now!” He pushed himself up from the ground and hurried back towards the road.

Ferro grunted. She watched the big wooden tubs moving back and forth in the bay for a moment longer, then she got up and followed Yulwei. Great ships or tiny ships, it meant nothing to her. The Gurkish could take all the pinks in the world for slaves as far as she was concerned.

If that meant they left the real people alone.

“Out of the way!” The soldier spurred his horse right at them, raising his whip.

“A thousand pardons, master!” whined Yulwei, grovelling to the ground, scuttling off into the grass beside the road, pulling Ferro reluctantly by the elbow. She stood in the scrub, watching the column shamble slowly by. Thin figures, ragged, dirty, vacant, hands bound tightly, hollow eyes on the ground. Men and women, all ages, children even. A hundred or more. Six guards rode alongside them, easy in their tall saddles, whips rolled up in their hands.

“Slaves.” Ferro licked her dry lips.

“The people of Kadir have risen up,” said Yulwei, frowning at the miserable procession. “They wished no longer to be part of the glorious nation of Gurkhul, and thought the death of the Emperor might be their chance to leave. It seems they were wrong. The new Emperor is harder even than the last, eh, Ferro? Their rebellion has failed already. It seems your friend Uthman has taken slaves as punishment.”

Ferro watched a scrawny girl limping slowly, bare feet trailing in the dust. Thirteen years old? It was hard to tell. Her face was dirty and listless. There was a scabby cut across her forehead, others on the back of her arm. Whip marks. Ferro swallowed, watched the girl toiling along. An old man, just in front of her, tripped and sprawled face first into the road, making the whole column stumble to a halt.

“Move!” barked one of the riders, spurring his horse forward. “On your feet!” The old man struggled in the dust. “Move!” The soldier’s whip cracked, leaving a long red mark across the man’s scrawny back. Ferro twitched and winced at the sound, and her back began to tingle.

Where the scars were.

Almost as if she’d been whipped herself.

No one whips Ferro Maljinn and lives. Not any more. She shrugged the bow off her shoulder.

“Peace, Ferro!” hissed Yulwei, grabbing her by the arm. “There’s nothing you can do for them!”

The girl bent down, helping the old slave to his feet. The whip cracked again, catching them both, and there was a yelp of pain. Was it the girl or the man who had cried out?

Or had it been Ferro herself?

She shook Yulwei’s hand off, reaching for an arrow. “I can kill this bastard!” she snarled. The soldier’s head snapped round to look at them, curious. Yulwei seized hold of her hand.

“What then?” he hissed. “If you killed all six of them, what then? Have you food and water for a hundred slaves? Eh? You have it well concealed! And when the column is missed? Eh? And their guards found slaughtered? What then, killer? Will you hide a hundred slaves out here? Because I cannot!”

Ferro stared into Yulwei’s black eyes, her teeth grinding together, her breath snorting fast through her nose. She wondered whether or not to try and kill him again.

No.

He was right, damn him. Slowly, she pushed the anger back, as far down as it would go. She shoved the arrow away, and turned back towards the column. She watched the old slave stumble on, and the girl after him, fury gnawing at her guts like hunger.

“You!” called the soldier, nudging his horse over towards them.

“You’ve done it now!” hissed Yulwei, then he bowed to the guard, smiling, scraping. “My apologies master, my son is…”

“Shut your mouth, old man!” The soldier looked down at Ferro from his saddle. “Well, boy, do you like her?”

“What?” she hissed, through gritted teeth.