After she had acquired a job for her caravan from a Selected of the Third Court of Rema, Vaenuth hired another ten workers using notice boards and taverns around the city; then she set to planning her trip. Knowing Banno’s potential objections to her ruthlessness, she had to decide to leave him in charge of her caravan in her stead. Hulean, the only member who could teleport—travelling without expense or significant danger—would be joining her mission team after two months, in the distant city of Sheld.
“There’s been books written about it,” Hulean had assured her, the day before. “To travel from one destination to another with the forces of magic is simply an acceleration of fate. If it were to take me four months to reach a destination, my spell would get me there in one. But if the same destination took me a year, months would pass before I reappeared.”
Tagg had rolled his eyes. “Magic madness. You’re not actually travelling it through, so how—”
“It just does,” Hulean had said.
Vaenuth remembered her skepticism. She had been drinking an ale, and had finished it then.
Hulean had added, “Some magicians believe in gods because of this, because magic seems to follow fate, not chance.”
Hulean’s magic would hurry his journey, so he’d have a few weeks to see the caravan going to work. He could then report it to her, but join her adventure for the added benefits of his sorcery. But he was only one of those she had already decided on.
The morning of the 20th, Vaenuth met her squad before the sun rose, at the edge of her camp near the walls of Rema. She was wearing her white wrap, of course, but had decided to leave Belmyre under Banno’s care. She had bought an short iron sword with a curved blade, which hung from a loop at her waist. Her ink gleamed with sweat in the torchlight from her camp. A leather strap bit into the muscles of her shoulder; they had heavy packs, laden with food, some coin, weapons, and bandages.
Tagg was the integral member, in her mind; he was experienced with combat, both the physical and the tactical. And he had already proved his ruthlessness rivaled her own. Not only that, but she knew she could trust him implicitly. Pressip was involved, as he was an excellent hunter and a reliable hunter. The hunter had a bow around his colourfully tattooed shoulders. Next was Krebin and Arloe, two of Tagg’s subordinate warriors he had hand chosen.
Banno approached, forcing a smile. Vaenuth stepped aside with him. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she said. Ovoe the Keeper’s note—her lead—felt like it was adding weight to her pack.
Banno tried to shrug, but the action didn’t become a man of his proportions. “Stay safe,” he told her. “I won’t try talking you out of it. This is something you need to do to move on with your life. Finish it, please. I want to see you free. And happy—really. Happy.”
“Banno…” Vaenuth said with a smile. She felt the urge that she always suppressed; she did not weep. She did touch his arm as she said, “I look forward to seeing you in a clearer light, my old friend.” As they embraced, Vaenuth was surprised to see that Iloli had come out to see her off as well, still wearing a full tunic to hide her burn scars. The woman would be staying with Banno and the caravan too.
“Farewell,” she told them, a few minutes later. The sun was starting to come up over the curving arm of the Yurna Mountains, and it gleamed off the angled ceiling of the Iron Palace in the distance. She smiled to her friends, and then looked at Tagg. He parted his lips, comfortingly.
They set out toward the river harbour. Vaenuth and Tagg walked side by side, while Pressip followed and Krebin and Arloe took up the rear. They had already secured passage on a river boat, which would take them downstream toward Maykren and Trader’s Bay. It was a long venture, but much quicker than travelling by foot. There were a few villages and river colonies to stop at, but it would be a relentless trip through lands shrouded since the dawn of time by fierce tribes and aggressive Primals.
Before they reached the busy docks, Tagg stepped closer to Vaenuth and asked her, “What’s the plan, boss? After Sheld, after we find…”
“You can say it,” Vaenuth said. “My slaver.”
“Your slaver,” Tagg repeated. He seemed uncomfortable by it—of all the things to make Tagg squeamish, it was her history?
“Well, he’s going to die,” Vaenuth said. “But I didn’t bring Banno because this whoreson’s family is going to die too. His wife, his kids, his friends. No one is going to stand between me and that end.”
Tagg pursed his lips, but he didn’t frown. He rested his hand on his sword as they kept walking, and then muttered to his blade, “You, my friend, are going to taste a lot of blood soon enough.”