The band
of killers crested a hill and had a view of the Harbor behind and the snowy
mountains ahead. The wind blew down the little alpine valley, carrying with it
a scent of manure. Olion raised his gauntleted hand, and without a word his men
stopped behind him. Vaardvir the Boot sidled up and leaned close.
Olion
pointed at a shady rock outcropping half a dal ahead. The Boot followed his
gaze and nodded.
A tiny
pair of figures was there; children probably, tending a fold of shemgar near
the lake's edge. Now the bleating sounds of the animals could be heard
intermittently on the wind.
"We're
close," Olion whispered, scanning the valley for smokesign. The Boot
tilted his head and signaled the men. They touched their fists to their chests
silently and followed him and Olion, charging along the icy shore on
black-veined legs with inhuman speed.
They
swept upon the two little boys like a wave. The older of the two shouted
something and tried to grab the younger one in a frantic effort to escape, but the
Boot tackled them and pinned them to the ground, one in each arm. Soon the
others had rounded up several of the shemgar and were already beginning to
butcher them.
Olion
stood over the children. They were perhaps ten and twelve in age and appeared
to be brothers. He cleared his throat.
"We
are envoys from Vogroth Castle," he lied. "We require
these animals for our sustenance. Tell me, boys, what is the name of your
village?"
The older
one met Olion's black eyes defiantly and tried to shrug off the hands that held
him down. A smart one, Olion thought. He frowned, but the boy did not lower his
gaze.
Vaardvir
the Boot tightened his grip, pushing the wind out of the boy until he winced
and stopped struggling. But Olion waved him off. Letting go, the Boot stood slowly
and loomed over the boy and his little brother as they wheezed for breath.
"Pyelmubrr'on,"
the older child said finally. "Our village is Pyelmubrr'on."
"And
your name?"
The child
hesitated. "Danloro."
Olion
leaned over him. "Well, Danloro, I can see that you are quite brave. But
do not forget your manners, young man, or those shemgar will not be the only
ones to lose their pulses this afternoon." Olion nodded meaningfully at the
boy's little brother.
Danloro
sat up and brushed himself off. "Yes, darr'a," he said.
"Myotdarr'a," Vaardvir the Boot
growled.
"Yes,
Myotdarr'a," the boy repeated in a tone rich with irony.
"Dan,"
his little brother whimpered next to him.
"It'll
be okay," the older boy whispered.
"Quiet,"
the Boot menaced.
Olion stood
and glanced at his lieutenant. "We will take these two with us. But first
we eat."
The Boot
tilted his head in acquiescence and turned to organize the men.
Squatting next to Danloro and his brother, Olion placed his weapon on the cold mountain grass and said, "Now
then, boys, my men are hungry. What do
you know of starting a fire?"