North Star Guide Me Home

by Jo Spurrier

  Rasten just watched them. He ought to say something, he supposed, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what.

  One figure stepped out from the others, and approached him with hands raised in surrender. Rasten went tense at once, and his horse tossed its head and pawed at the rocky ground.

  ‘Sir, you have my deepest thanks — by the Bright Sun herself, all our thanks. But who are you? What’s a man of Ricalan doing out here? And what … what do we do now?’

  But who are you? Rasten held his tongue. They’d figure it out. At that moment, surrounded by hundreds of pairs of eyes watching him with a mix of fear and awe, he wanted nothing more than to kick his weary horse into a gallop and charge through them, fleeing back to the safety and solitude of the camp. Instead, with an effort of will, he forced his clenched jaw to relax and softened his white-knuckled grip on the reins. He had to tell them something.

  Rasten closed his eyes, making brief contact with Sierra, and found her riding with Cammarian and Delphine. At once the tightness of his chest eased. ‘There’s someone coming who can tell you what to do,’ he said. ‘Cammarian, the outlaw prince. You know of him?’

  Eyes growing wide, the man nodded.

  ‘He’ll reach the northern edge of the gorges in a few hours. Go and ask him. But first, gather whatever gear and food the Slavers left and bring it along.’ Rasten nudged his horse forward, and the people moved aside to clear a path. There were many hundreds of them, perhaps even a thousand, some still strung together with chains. They called out to him in gratitude as he passed. Rasten couldn’t bring himself to look at them, and kicked his horse into a trot and then to a weary canter, fleeing the mass of humanity while a strange feeling, something akin to terror, seized his heart in an iron grip.

  It was only once he’d descended within the sheltering walls of the gorges that Rasten was able to slow his racing heart and mind and consider what he’d done.

  He felt … good. Seeing those folk loosed from their chains had made his shoulders lift and the weight of weariness fall away, for a few moments at least.

  It didn’t last long. As he descended into the canyons, dread closed around him again.

  What had he done?

  Before, he’d thought only of Sierra and how more people would be of benefit to her, but now he found himself thinking of the displaced folk, taken so far from their homeland and everything they knew. What would become of them?

  They would all be starving soon enough. Where would they go? Those poor souls were in the same situation he and Sirri and the others were, hundreds of miles from home and with enemies all around. Except the freed slaves had no way to defend themselves when the soldiers closed in. They’d only be useful as decoys, distractions, providing cover … he and Sierra could do their best to defend them, but there were simply too many of them. How could two mages hope to keep so many safe, especially when they would have to range far to find food and water? Those folk wouldn’t remain free for long — within days they’d be dying under Akharian swords, or else back in chains.

  With a wordless growl of frustration, Rasten ground the heel of his hand into his eyes, heedless of the dust and grit caking his skin. Those who had called out to him in thanks, offering blessings from gods he no longer believed in, had no idea what lay ahead of them … or perhaps they did. Perhaps they knew that their chances of keeping this new-found freedom were slight. Perhaps that was the source of the fear he’d seen in their drawn and filthy faces.

  But it’s not just the two of us, Rasten reminded himself. There’s Isidro and the Akharian, too. But he was clutching at straws. The Akharian woman was an academic, not trained for blood and battle. And Isidro … if he did recover, if his mind did survive the loss of blood and the scattered wits that came with it, he’d take months to regain his strength.

  They needed more mages.

  Rasten snorted to himself at the thought. Might as well wish for wings to carry them back home. Even if the Slavers hadn’t killed every captive with power, what would it give him … a few dozen folk with atrophied and untrained talent? That’d be as useful as giving a beardless boy a battle-axe he was barely strong enough to lift. Rasten remembered the girl with a faint spark of power, a tiny smouldering ember. If she was the best they had they may as well give up and surrender now.

  What was her name? Gretta? Gravka? Greska, that was it. As he thought of her, he couldn’t help but recall a day last winter when he’d stood over a bound and naked man, feeling the flutter of anticipation that always came when the knives came out and it wasn’t him in the stocks.

  He’d never imagined that that day would lead him here, halfway across the world with a woman he loved as much as life itself, and his tormentor cold beneath the earth with wild dogs fighting over his rotting flesh.

  When he reached the camp, Rasten watered the horse and stripped its tack and then checked on Isidro.

  He was sleeping peacefully now, finally warm beneath his blankets. Rasten gave him more water, and checked the bandages over the stump again. The creeping seep of blood had stopped.

  Rasten studied the man. The rituals that day last winter had woken Isidro’s talent for mage-craft. He hadn’t truly believed it was possible. But then, Kell had never let the subjects live long enough to test the theory.

  It won’t work, Rasten told himself. It can’t. How long had it taken Isidro to grasp how his power had changed, and then learn to use it? And most didn’t have a mind like his, able to absorb knowledge like a cloth soaks up water. Rasten clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles throbbed. Besides, he didn’t want to do it again. He wanted to leave it all behind him, the things Kell had taught him, the sick and twisted pleasure in the suffering of others that was the only joy he’d ever been permitted to feel.

  A twig snapped behind him, and Rasten wheeled with a nervous burst of power, a sheet of heatless flame that rippled over him like a caress. He cursed himself silently — was he a novice again? Kell had put him on the rack for less than that.

  He stood, searching the scrub around him, hoping it was Sierra. It would be easier with her here to tell him if his thoughts were good ones or not. She was his anchor, but she was hours away still, and he was alone with the maddening gyre of his thoughts.

  Only he wasn’t alone. ‘Come out,’ he growled. ‘Come out where I can see you. I know you’re there.’

  With a rustle of vegetation she stepped out of cover, shoulders hunched, like a dog expecting to be whipped. The girl from earlier, Greska.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I … I followed your tracks, like you said. I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll go away again if you wish.’ She dropped her gaze, waiting, but after long moments passed in which he said nothing, her head lifted. ‘Did … did you find them, my lord? The other slaves?’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ he snapped, and she flinched. He swallowed hard, trying to slow the rapid thunder of his heart. When had he forgotten how to control himself? Ever since Kell died, it seemed he was always on the verge of falling apart.

  Rasten shook his head, shoving that thought aside. ‘They’re free. And there are some … people coming soon who can tell you what to do.’

  He’d almost said friends, but he bit the word back just in time. Sirri was his friend, perhaps, but the others … to them he was nothing but a mad dog. Rasten glanced at the still, sleeping body under the blankets. Cammarian would never forgive him for what he’d done, and Rasten couldn’t blame him.

  The girl came towards him, one slow, cautious step at a time. ‘You are him, aren’t you? The Apprentice? We heard about you weeks ago, when the soldiers tried to turn the Slavers back from crossing the rocky plain. Is it true that you were hunting the Blood-Drinker?’

  Rasten thought about denying it, but what was the use? She’d seen what he could do, and he was under no illusions that he could pass as a normal man. ‘He’s dead,’ he said at last. ‘We killed him.’

 
‘We?’ the girl said, and peered past him to the crude shelter.

  ‘He’s ill,’ Rasten said. ‘Leave him be.’

  Greska nodded and bowed her head. She’d been a slave long enough to obey at once.

  ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I meant what I said earlier. I’ve carried the taint since I was a girl, and I know it’s weak, but if there’s any way I can learn to use it, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you say. Please, my lord, will you teach me?’

  Rasten clenched his jaw. ‘I can’t. I can’t do it.’ I won’t do it. I won’t be Kell’s creature any more. I don’t want to go on being a monster.

  The girl raised her gaze, her face stubborn and as hard as stone. ‘My little brother had power. I thought it was weak, like mine, but when the Slavers came, he … he fought them, somehow. One of the soldiers cornered us, and Grassen … he burned him. I felt the power like a wind that blew right through me. We both wore the stones, but sometimes we’d take them off, to see if we could do the things they talk about in the tales. We’d spend hours trying to move pebbles or light candles … I managed it once. Only once. Grassen never did it at all.

  ‘They killed him. One of their mages came running and the soldiers butchered him, right in front of me. They were going to kill me, too, but the mage … he must have said I wasn’t strong enough, so they raped me instead. For a long time, I wished they’d just killed me. But you know what it’s like, don’t you? That’s if the stories I’ve heard are true.’

  ‘Hold your wretched tongue,’ Rasten snapped. He realised his hands were shaking and clenched them to fists at his sides.

  Greska flinched. ‘My apologies, sir.’

  Rasten drew a ragged breath. ‘I’m sorry. I truly am.’ He was trying to do the right thing, but the moment the words left his lips, he hated himself for them. What good were words? They didn’t change anything.

  He wrenched himself away and went across to the fire. ‘Did you find any water? I have some here, if you still need it.’

  ‘I … May I? I found a little on those men you killed, but the others, the ones hiding with me, they took it.’

  Rasten glanced up, but she had stayed where she was, head down. ‘You can have all you need,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

  She came hesitantly towards him. When he offered her a bowl she took it from him with filthy hands and gulped it down eagerly.

  ‘Not so fast,’ he growled. ‘You’ll be sick. Drink it in sips.’

  She flinched, but obeyed, and after a moment she looked around again, eyes skimming over Isidro’s sleeping form. ‘Is it just the two of you here?’

  ‘There’s Sirri as well. She’ll be back soon with the others.’

  ‘Sirri? Do you mean Sierra? The one they call the Stormblade?’

  It was the first he’d heard of the epithet.

  Greska glanced at Isidro again. ‘So he’s the other one, the mage who hid his powers when the Akharians enslaved him? That makes three of you, two if he’s ill, and the Slavers said they’d be sending whole legions out to finish you off, once the Blood-Drinker was dead …’

  She frowned down at the bowl in her hands. It was still half-full, but she stooped to set it down. ‘Why did you free us?’

  ‘Isidro’s too weak to be moved,’ Rasten said. ‘It was easier to deal with the Slavers than hide, and the Akharians already know we’re here. But …’ He hesitated, struggling to find the words. ‘It’s not the only reason. I was a slave, before Sirri freed me.’

  ‘But what do we do now? We’re thousands of miles from home, and if the Akharians are chasing you they’ll be all around us … and there are only two mages like you who can drive them off. What will happen to us? Any folk they recapture will be tortured for anything they know, and we’ll be made slaves again, or they’ll cut our throats! What are we going to do? We have no weapons, no supplies, and we can’t defend against their mages. By the Black Sun, what have you done to us? We’re like rats released from a cage just for the sport of hunting us!’

  Rasten bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I had to act. Look, Prince Cammarian is coming. He led the attack on Demon’s Spire and freed the slaves in the Wolf Lands. He’ll know what to do.’ He has to know.

  Greska lifted her chin. ‘There are mines to the west. That’s where they were taking us. The men were headed for work underground, and they’d never see the surface again. When they die, they just throw them down an old shaft. Us women would cook for them and the guards and the others, and at night we’d warm the beds of whichever man picked us out.’ She shook her head. ‘I won’t go back. I’ll kill myself first.’

  ‘We’ll try to take you home,’ Rasten said. ‘We’ll do what we can to keep you safe. I swear it.’

  ‘But there are only two of you! How in the Fires Below can you protect us all? Teach me, please, I’m begging you — you have to at least try! Grassen did it, surely I can do it too! I’ll do anything, just please give me a way to fight, to pay back what they’ve done to my brother and me! There must be something you can do!’

  Her eyes were wide, her voice thick with tears and anger, and as she threw up her hands in frustration Rasten grabbed her wrist. ‘Do you mean it?’

  She turned suddenly pale as she felt the power throbbing beneath his skin, the strength in his grip and heard the iron in his voice. ‘I —’

  ‘Do you mean it?’ he thundered, and he started to move away from the camp, dragging the girl with him. ‘You said you’d do anything, do you truly mean it? It’ll be as bad as anything the Slavers have ever done to you. Worse, maybe. It’s no easy path, you’ll have to learn to use it — but the Slavers will never take you alive, and you’ll never have to fuck them again and smile afterwards and say you liked it. Is this what you want? You’d better be certain, because there’s no going back.’

  Tears spilled from her eyes, cutting clean tracks through the grime ground into her skin. ‘By the Black Sun … yes, it’s what I want. It’s the only thing I want. Spirit of storm, defend me … just give me the power to destroy them.’

  Chapter 5

  By the time they reached the gorges, Sierra was clinging to the saddle, the power taken from the soldiers the only thing keeping her going. They’d found a little food, but she was so exhausted that the thought of eating turned her stomach. She was so weary that she ached all over, no matter how she shifted in the saddle. Cam cast worried glances her way as they rode, but he did the same to Delphine, who seemed unusually quiet, at least compared to how Sierra remembered her.

  As they descended into the gorge, Sierra saw Cam’s shoulders stiffen, and he reached for the hilt of his sword. ‘Sirri, there are people down there, do you see them?’

  She shook herself, but exhaustion was wrapped around her bones with a grip like hypothermia — with every effort to lift herself out she immediately sank back in. ‘Where?’ she said.

  ‘That patch of scrub off to the east, three of them. Don’t be obvious about looking, if they’re setting up an ambush we don’t want them to know they’ve been seen. Do you have a shield ready?’

  She could cast a shield in her sleep, but any working she made now would be loud and messy. She was long past the point of being able to keep it contained. ‘I’m ready.’ Her eyes searched the patchy scrub, but she couldn’t see them.

  ‘What was it Rasten found?’ Cam muttered. ‘Some slave-hunters and their prey? Maybe he missed a few.’ He guided his horse on, but aside from a perfunctory scan of the rocks around them, he kept looking straight ahead.

  Then, as they drew level, a man stepped out of the rough cover. ‘Prince Cammarian, sir!’

  Cam snatched at his sword and had it half drawn before the words registered, along with the language the man spoke. He’d called out in Ricalani.

  Reining in, Cam glanced across at Sierra. Delphine nudged her horse closer as well, scanning the opposite slope.

  As the fellow came towards them, two more men emerged from the scrub. They were filthy, with ragged clothes and uncu
t hair, wearing rags on their feet for want of shoes. The leader drew closer, but when he saw Delphine’s dark skin he hesitated and hung back. ‘Are you the prince, sir?’

  Cam slowly lifted his hand from the sword. ‘Just Cam will do. You’re a long way from home, brother.’

  The man broke into a wide grin, and saluted him with a fist over his heart. ‘You’re a welcome sight, sir! Madric of Karsen’s Hill at your service. I was a captain for the Bear Clan before the Slavers came. The … the Apprentice said that you’re in command.’

  Cam choked, hastily turning the sound into a cough. ‘Rasten said that?’

  ‘Yessir, he said we ought to come and meet you. Do you have any orders, my lord? We’ve scrounged some weapons from the guards, but there wasn’t much. Some folk heard there’d be legions coming our way, sir. If that’s true, I’m not sure we stand much chance. We’ve taken control of the supplies, but they won’t keep us going long.’

  ‘I see,’ Cam said. ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘Near a thousand, sir.’

  Cam sat for a moment, frowning down at the man, until at last he kicked his feet out of the stirrups and dismounted. ‘Alright, Madric, come walk with me. I don’t truly know what’s going on either, so why don’t you start from the beginning, and tell me exactly what happened?’

  It took most of the walk to explain. The Slavers, Madric said, had their own route across the empire’s desert interior, a path laid out between springs and bores. They were headed for the mines arrayed across the empire’s west, a market profitable enough to risk losing a proportion of their slave stock on the taxing march.

  ‘I’m surprised the legions let them go,’ Cam said. ‘They knew Sirri and the others would be around here somewhere …’

  ‘They did try to turn us back, sir,’ Madric said. ‘The slave-master made like he was following his orders, but as soon as the soldiers moved on he turned us west again.’

  As they moved deeper into the canyons, more people appeared; ragged, filthy souls who lined the dry riverbeds or scratched and dug for water in the sand. Some seemed oblivious to their passing, staring hollow-eyed at the men and horses trudging past. Others called out Cam’s name with hope that turned to joy and relief when he returned their greeting and confirmed that the woman riding at his side was Sierra, the Stormblade. The sight of Delphine with her dark Akharian skin brought mutters of anger until she dismounted, walking amid the knot of beasts and bodies to shield herself from sight.