She tried to track Della’s logic. When Rain had been caught and taken to Warlord Grunswallen’s manor, Owen had waited for the man to leave his home, and had then ambushed him in the market, overpowering his guards.
He’d tried to avenge Rain’s honor, but he’d struck too late. The fat old warlord had already bedded her.
Still, Owen had known that his deed would bring retribution on him and his family, so the whole family had fled that day, taking boats downriver for thirty miles, reaching a town in the full night, and then creeping overland for days.
They hadn’t stopped to purchase food for a week, hadn’t met with a stranger. They’d traveled only at night.
When they did resurface, two hundred miles from home, they heard rumors of how Owen Walkin’s entire realm had been “cleansed.”
At first, Rain imagined that it was their fault, that Grunswallen’s men had taken revenge upon the entire realm. But all of the bards agreed— the lands were cleared in the morning, and new tenants began to arrive by noon.
That could only have meant that Grunswallen had sold their lands months earlier—perhaps as much as a year in advance.
He’d simply become more rapacious as the time for the cleansing neared. Taking her as his slave was simply one last mad act among a long list of crimes.
So Rain’s father had saved her. In fact, he’d saved his entire family, and Rain felt grateful to him. But she did not feel guilty about the manner of his death.
She hadn’t wished it upon him. She hadn’t sensed it coming. She would have averted it, if she could.
“You say that my father died for my honor, but it seems to me that he died for all of us—just trying to get by.”
“You shouldn’t have stepped in!” Della said. “Your father couldn’t fight that giant—and you!”
Now Della’s true feelings came to the fore. Rain felt angry. She’d tried to talk her father down, stop him from committing a senseless murder. She’d hoped to remind of him of his honor.
But now she saw the true reason for Della’s rage. She suspected that Owen had been slow to react precisely because he feared hurting his own daughter.
Maybe she’s right, Rain thought.
She halted a moment, feeling ill, overwhelmed by the questions that raced through her mind.
Della’s youngest boy was trudging along ahead. He turned back and whined, “I want some water.”
“There’s water ahead,” Della urged.
The road before them wound over a long stretch of gray rocks that could not support even a gorse bush or a blade of rangit grass. The sun beat down mercilessly. Rain’s mother had forged far ahead of the rest of the group, and was now approaching a line of gum trees and wild plums, a sure sign that there was a creek. They had come perhaps two miles from the Borenson camp.
Suddenly Rain’s mother burst into a sprint, stretching her legs long as she pounded down the road. She looked as if she was breaking free, running from all the troubles of her past.
“There she goes,” Della said, as if she’d been expecting her to run. “Off to town. That mighty Lord Borenson is going to hang when she gets through with him.”
Rain’s mother was heading toward Fossil. It would be a long run— twenty miles—but she could make it in a few hours.
The blood burned in Rain’s face, shame and rage warring in her.
She worried how her mother would twist the tale. She couldn’t hope to gain much sympathy if she told the truth, so she’d have to lie: tell the townsfolk how a giant had killed her husband, a cruel beast who was intent on robbing a bit of salvage from her poor family. She’d neglect to mention what her husband had done.
But there was one thing that Rain felt sure of. No matter what happened, Aaath Ulber would not get a fair hearing. People would see his size, his strange features, and cast their judgment based on that.
Most likely the law would demand that he hang. Whether for the killing or for the robbery, it did not matter. The penalty was the same for both. Justice here in the wilderness was stark and sure.
Rain hurried her pace until she reached the line of trees.
They came upon a relatively broad creek, perhaps eight feet across. White gum trees grew along its banks, as did wild apples and plums. Rain crossed it and looked beyond—across a broad expanse of more gray rock, interspersed with fields of rangit grass. She studied her surroundings.
The fruit trees were the same breed as found in the Borensons’ old orchard. Most likely, burrow bears or borrowbirds had eaten the fruits in ages past, and then shat out the seeds here on the ridge. In this manner the fruit trees had gone wild along the creeks.
“This looks like a good place to camp,” Bane said. He was now the oldest of the Walkin brothers. So he urged the families to set camp beneath some trees, while the children went about searching for food.
An hour later, half of the children were asleep and Rain was wading in the creek, lifting rocks so that the children could catch crayfish, when Draken showed up.
One of the children saw him and raised a warning shout, as if he might have come to attack the camp.
As he came in out of the sun, beneath the shelter of some woody old peach trees, he called out, “Is Greta here?”
No one answered at first. Rain didn’t want to tell him. But finally she answered, “She’s gone . . . to Fossil.”
She watched his face fall, saw the fear building in his eyes.
Della laughed, “Your father is going to swing, if the town can find a tree big enough!”
Several of the children chimed in, “Yeah, he’s going to hang.”
Draken withstood the insults. “When she returns,” Draken asked, “will you give her this? It’s the salvage that Owen found last night.”
He held out a piece of white linen all bundled together.
Rain knew that he was trying to make things right. She suspected that he had come here on his own, defying his father.
“We don’t want your blood money,” Della called out. “Besides, there isn’t half enough to buy us off.”
Rain’s thoughts raced. Della didn’t want his money but she wanted him to double his offer?
Reverently, Draken set the money on the ground. “I’m not trying to buy you off,” he said. “This is for Greta . . . and her children. I was hoping she could use it to get some land and some food, so that the children don’t starve.”
No one stepped forward to take the gold. He stood for a long moment, gazing at Rain, and she merely remained by the creek, her heart breaking.
“Just so you know,” he said, “it wasn’t my father who did this. Anyone could tell you, my father was a fair man. But since the change . . . well, you can see . . . Aaath Ulber . . . my father isn’t himself.”
Draken stood shaking, peering into Rain’s eyes. He was forty feet away, but seemed afraid to draw any closer.
“You’d best get out of here, little man,” Della called.
Draken peered into Rain’s eyes, and with all that was in him begged, “Come with me!”
Rain just shook her head. He was asking too much of her. She turned and raced off into the trees, tramping loudly, blinded by tears. When she was in the deep shadows, she swiped her face and turned to see Draken out in the sunlight, trudging over the barren rock on stiff legs.
“Your da is going to hang!” Della shouted, and the children offered up similar catcalls, even as one of them grabbed up the little bundle of gold.
Rain felt confused, broken. Draken had tried to do something noble, had tried to make things right. But her family was just being mean and vindictive.
We were nobles once, she thought. Now we are reduced to being beggars and thieves, liars and robbers.
She loved Draken; that much Rain knew.
He was decent and strong. As a child he’d served as a Gwardeen, a skyrider flying on the backs of giant graaks. She admired his courage, his devotion to the people he’d served.