Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

That did cause him to brighten a little. “Been a fair bit. Longer than any of us would like, I’m guessing.” He stopped, calculating. “A few years now. Seems longer. Always seems longer when you’re away from home.”

“Home? I would’ve thought that…”

I stopped myself, but Vendurro wasn’t as cooperative. “What’s that?”

“Well… some of the other soldiers, they’ve spent decades in Sunwrack. Or, at least returned there when they weren’t on campaign I’m guessing. So, more of their lives there than where they grew up. It makes sense they would consider the place home. But you can’t be much older than me, if any. What was it Hewspear said-you were chosen when you were still children?” He nodded. “So, you’ve spent half your life or thereabouts as a Syldoon. But that means half your life was with your family.” His bright look disappeared. “Your blood family, I mean. Where you came from.”

I could see I’d either overstepped or pinched a bruise, as he looked straight ahead, smile gone altogether. I did seem to have a knack for that. I was considering whether or not to try a completely different topic or wait for him to ride ahead or fall behind, or excuse myself if he didn’t, when he replied, “You’re on the mark about the timing of it. Half in one means half in the other, not much sense arguing the sums. But you can have yourself a loaf of bread, half still good, half given over to mold and rot, so two halves ain’t always equal. What do you do with the half that’s gone green? You cut it free and drop it in the dirt and eat what you got left. Unless you like eating mold. Can’t think of too many who do, though. You a big fan of mold, are you, Arki?”

“It’s not my favorite. So… is it really that easy to cut that part of your life free? The life you had before? Where you grew up, the people who raised you?”

Vendurro didn’t pause in responding this time. “A few things might help clear it up some. Firstly. I didn’t truly cut that part out altogether. I was using the moldy bread for effect.”

“Figurative then?”

His smile returned. “No, I literally used it for effect.” Since he talked like a tough half the time, it was easy to forget that he’d been educated, like all Syldoon. I’d have to remind myself of that. Especially in Sunwrack. Very bad to underestimate these men. “Fact of it is, I still send some gold to my old clan from time to time.”

“Really? Just the gold? Or do you send message or communication as well?”

“I’d send a letter, too, but what’s the point? They’d just use it to start a fire. And the message is the gold itself. Means I’m alive. And so long as I am, I’ll continue to send some. I don’t even ask who’s there to receive it. Don’t want to know who’s still alive on that end. That’s part of cutting things free. Figurative like. But I’ll never be free of them completely. Those folk gave me life, taught me how to fight, and milk a goat, and herd sheep. And most any other skill I had when the Syldoon took me. But here’s where we come to the second point.”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t help what family brought you into the world, and they’re in your blood, to be sure. They are your blood. But once you fall in with the Syldoon, there’s no falling out. It’s for life. You know that the minute your manumission is done. You signed on with all the blood you got and more. And that’s something different, to be sure. You chose the bond, and dedicated your life to it, promised to protect your brothers and your Towermates so long as you got breath to do it. You see and do things as slaves that brings you closer than you ever get with any family, and once you get set free, accept the commission, take on the noose, there ain’t no taking it off.”

Vendurro realized he’d been speaking more passionately than I’d ever heard him, and seemed a little embarrassed, but then shrugged his shoul ders and added, “Sunwrack is the only home I got, Arki. No matter how long I been away. It’s a hard place full of harder people, but it will always be where I took the noose, so heading back there is about the sweetest ride I can imagine.”

He looked over at me as I thought about that and then asked, “What about you, Arki? Mulldoos nailed it true-you weren’t from Rivermost in the original. You miss home any, the one you grew up in? How’s it feel to be heading in the opposite direction?”

If Mulldoos or almost any other Syldoon had posed the question, it probably would have been with intent to wound or rile up, but one look at Vendurro’s expression told me he hadn’t meant it that way. And yet it had stung, if only for a moment. “No, I’m in a situation far different from your own. I don’t miss the home I grew up in, as it hardly counted as one. So it wasn’t all that difficult to cut free. But I’ve never found anything like what you experienced. The university came closest to a home, but I always knew it was temporary, so I never allowed myself to form any lasting attachments. And everything after that has been a journey. With stops. So, no chance to create a home. Worthy of the name, anyway.”

I never imagined saying this, but there wasn’t any reason not to. At least to Vendurro. “I suppose I envy you that. Well, I know I do. You have something I’ll never experience. Maybe someday I’ll find a place that becomes home. I’d thought Rivermost might have been it, but I sort of knew the entire time that was temporary, too. I doubt I’d have ridden off with Captain Killcoin otherwise. But what you Syldoon have… The intense bonds. The allegiance. The blood oaths to your comrades. That’s truly unlike anything else I’ve seen or heard of, even among other soldiers.”

“No lie, that. None at all.”

I sighed, and got angry at myself for doing so. “No matter where I set down roots and make a home out of, I’ll never know the world as you do. It’s quite… something.” The conversation had turned much too earnest, probably for either of our tastes, so I added, “If I could have that without having to be a slave for a tenyear, and then kill men routinely after, well, that would be lovely.”

Vendurro laughed, loud enough that the soldier in front of him looked over his shoulder before seeing me and wondering if his comrade was laughing at me, then assuming he must have been, faced front again.

“Plague me,” Vendurro said. “When you put it like that, I kind of do miss my family.” Then we laughed together, earning a scowl over the shoulder from the same soldier in front.

It felt good to laugh after witnessing the battle in Alespell. Not just witnessing, I reminded myself. I had participated in the worst way possible. Even if it had been defending myself and Skeelana, I had taken a life. And what’s more, suggested freeing the ripper, which had surely ended several more. I almost felt guilty laughing, but still, it felt good.

We were quiet for a minute after the laughter died away, and while I was reluctant to ask or say anything that might spoil the moment, I never knew when I would have another opportunity, so I gave it a go. “You said you’ve been in Anjuria for three years?”

Vendurro nodded. “Something like that. Wasn’t counting the days. Ought to ask Hewspear. That man knows something about practically everything. The lieutenant could probably tell you down to the minute.”

“And Lloi had been in the company for two? Or close to?”

Vendurro thought about it, then replied, “Near enough.”

I glanced over my shoulder to be sure no one was immediately behind us. “And how long has Captain Killcoin had Bloodsounder then?”

Vendurro said, “About four years, give or take. About a year before we come to Anjuria. Thereabouts.”

“And how did he come to have it? Lloi told me he unearthed Blood-sounder. But she wasn’t with him, obviously. What did she mean by that?”