A sense of duty pursues us ever. . . . If we take to ourselves the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, duty performed or duty violated is still with us, for our happiness or our misery. If we say the darkness shall cover us, in the darkness as in the light our obligations are
yet with us.—Daniel Webster
"You expect me to be grateful, Karl Cullinane?" Beralyn sneered. "You, who might as well have murdered my son." She sat back in her chair. "Go ahead, kill me. That won't change anything."
The shack was small, but neat; originally, it had been Ahira's house, but now it was one of the three small log cabins that were used for receiving new arrivals, giving them a place to sleep and take their meals until they could adjust to Home life.
Karl bit his lip, opened his mouth, closed it. He turned to the boy.
"Thomen, I need to know something." Karl tapped at the two rifles on the table in front of them. "One of these is a Home rifle; the other is one we seized from slavers just about a tenday ago. The men who killed your guards and took you—which kind did they have?"
Karl was sure what the answer would be—but what if he was wrong? What if someone on his or Daven's or Aveneer's squad had taken up slaving?
Hesitantly, the boy started to point toward the slaver's gun, but his mother's voice brought him up short.
"Don't answer," the boy's mother snapped. "We will give your brother's killer no help."
*Anything I can do?*
No. Just go away. Karl couldn't even work up the strength to blame Beralyn. She had been against apprenticing Rahff to Karl from the first, knowing that it would endanger the boy.
It hadn't just endangered him. It had killed him.
There was a knock on the door, and Aeia walked in without waiting for an answer. "Greetings," she said, her face grave. "Andrea says that Rahff's mother is here. Are you her?"
Beralyn didn't answer.
"We didn't meet when I was in Bieme. But I did get to know Rahff well. You should know something about how your son died."
"I know how my son died."
Aeia shook her head. "You weren't there. I was. If it hadn't been for Rahff . . ." She let her voice trail off
Thomen looked up. "What if it hadn't been for Rahff?"
Aeia smiled gently. "I would have been killed instead. The slavers had gone crazy; they were killing everyone they could reach. Rahff stood between me and one of them."
Karl pounded his fist against the table. If only I'd been a little smarter, a little faster. If he had been only a few seconds faster he would have gotten to the slaver before the bastard opened Rahff's belly. If only Karl had worked out that Seigar Wohtansen would treat his own people first, he would have been able to get the healing draughts to Rahff in time.
Aeia sat down next to Thomen. "Rahff hit me once, did you know that?"
"What for?"
She shrugged. "I doubted Karl—out loud. Rahff sort of elbowed me in the side. What did you tell him, Karl?"
"Aeia . . ." Karl shook his head. "I don't remember."
"I bet Rahff did. You said, 'A man whose profession is violence must not commit violence on his own family, or his friends. You and I are supposed to watch over Aeia, protect her, not bully her.' "
Just as I was supposed to protect Rahff. Teach him, protect him, not watch him die.
*It has been more than five years, Karl. Isn't it time you stopped flogging yourself over Rahff?*
"Don't you ask me that." Karl jumped to his feet. "Ask her, dammit, ask Beralyn. Tell her that it's okay now."
He pounded his clenched fists in front of his face. "There hasn't been a day gone by when I haven't remembered. He trusted me. The boy practically worshipped me." He turned to Beralyn, trying to think of the words that would soften her stony expression. "Baroness . . ." But there weren't any words.
It was too much; Karl pushed away from the table and walked out into the courtyard. He leaned against the wall of the old smithy.
High above, Ellegon's dark form passed across the stars. *Anything I can do?*
"No. Just leave me alone." Karl buried his face in his hands. "I've just got to be alone for a while."
Time lost its meaning. He never knew how long he stood there.
A finger tapped against his shoulder. He turned to see Beralyn standing next to him, her face wet. "You loved him, too, didn't you?"
Karl didn't answer.
"I've spent years hating you, you know. Ever since a trader brought us your letter, telling us that he was dead."
"I . . . understand."
"I thank you for the understanding. What do we do now, Karl Cullinane? Do we go on hating each other?"
"I don't hate you, Baroness. You've never given me any reason to hate you."
"But you don't like me much, either. You feel that I should be grateful because you freed Thomen, Rhuss, and me."
"Just tell me what you want, Lady. Don't play games with me."
She nodded slowly. "My husband sent Thomen and me away, once the Holts started using these guns and the tide of the war turned against us. He thought we would be safe. But it seems that guns are flowing out of Enkiar these days—flowing toward Holtun."
Enkiar, again. That was where the slaver caravan had been heading. That was where Ahrmin had hired the assassins. What did it all mean?
Well, he'd find out soon enough.
"Aeia told me that you're going to Enkiar. She didn't say where you would be going after that."
He shrugged. "I guess that depends on what happens there. Maybe back here, maybe on another raid." And maybe to the source of the slavers' guns. Not only was there a score to be settled there, but even light trading in slaver guns and powder had to be stopped.
"You owe me, Karl Cullinane. You owe me for my son. I wish to collect on that debt."
He looked her full in the face. "How?"
"You know my husband. Zherr isn't going to survive this war. I'm likely never to see him again. Unless . . ."
"Unless what?" Dammit, couldn't anyone speak plainly?
"Unless you take me back to Bieme. I want to go home, Karl Cullinane. And I want your word." She gripped his hand. "I want your word that if it's humanly possible, you'll take me home, after Enkiar. That's little enough payment for my son's life."
"Baroness—"
"Isn't it?"
"Yes, but—"
"Do I have your word? This . . . word of Karl Cullinane that you prize so much?"
"You have it."
"There is one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Thomen. He is to stay here, to be sent with another party. I won't have him around you."