The sooner he could work, the faster he would be finished. Tapel took the jewellery, then left the body and continued his search.
Some kind of explosion had left a huge gouge in the earth up ahead. With horror, Tapel realised that the lumps he had taken for clods of dirt scattered about were the pieces of bodies. He promptly left the scene behind and came to a group of Black Army regulars, motley soldiers whose luck had run out when they encountered a group of ironmen. The constructs had run through them like a scythe through wheat. Some twisted pieces of metal could be seen here and there, but scores of bodies in black tabards proved who had been the victor in that particular encounter. The Black Army regulars were laid out in an almost orderly fashion, limbs akimbo and flesh torn.
Tapel moved quickly from corpse to corpse, keeping his mind carefully blank. He picked up mostly cheap metal jewellery, but also found a gilt scabbard and a gold ring set with a purple stone.
Tapel crested a hill, and jumped when he startled a flock of crows gorging on the dead. They settled again, further ahead, their beady eyes regarding him as they tilted their heads, hopping from one place to another and cawing to each other. A nearby sound caught his attention, and he looked down; at his feet a crow glared up at him, blood dripping from its beak. Tapel kicked at it with his foot.
It was growing dark. Looking around the battlefield Tapel realised he was the last of the youths still out. If he came home too late, his mother would ask questions, questions he knew he wouldn't want to answer.
The shortest path back to the city was through yet another group of the dead, where it appeared a tremendous swordfight had taken place. As Tapel came closer he realised that there were only black-clad legionnaires here; where were the Halrana dead, or the Alturans? Perhaps some constructs had been the cause of this destruction?
But there were only dead legionnaires. And these bodies weren't burnt; there hadn't been an explosion; these were sword wounds. An epic battle had been fought here; a battle that had taken the lives of at least a hundred, no, perhaps two-hundred legionnaires.
Tapel moved between the bodies, trying to keep his distance, anxiously looking back at the setting sun. He no longer looked for jewellery; he just wanted to get out of this terrible place and go home to his mother.
Then Tapel's heart stopped and his blood ran cold. Something had grabbed hold of his ankle; a hand was wrapped around his foot and, try as he might, Tapel couldn't move. Despite himself, a whimper came from his throat and he nearly voided his bowels.
He looked down.
A soldier lay by Tapel's feet, an Alturan by the colour of his clothing and the sword and flower of his raj hada, but this man wore no armour, instead his body was covered in light, reflective green fabric. Silk? A sword lay by the Alturan soldier's side, a long, slightly curved blade, free from dent or scratch, and inscribed with arcane symbols. Symbols also covered the Alturan's clothing.
Tapel realised that this was the man who had left behind so many of the enemy dead, at the same time also realising what he was. A bladesinger.
But he was old, with dark hair turning grey and faded scars on his face mingling with new wounds. He had his hand wrapped around his throat, where fresh red blood welled out from between his fingers.
"Agh…" the Alturan looked up at Tapel, and tried to speak.
Tapel realised he was going to have to answer his mother's questions about where he had been, whether he liked it or not.
~
THAT had been many weeks ago, and as they nursed him back to health Tapel and his mother still wondered who the stranger was. The jewellery Tapel had found paid for food — the Alturan was a ravenous eater — and day by day the Alturan's colour slowly returned.
He could not speak, although both Tapel and Amelia knew he was desperate to. They had never seen him try as hard as he had when word arrived about the great battle that was fought at the Bridge of Sutanesta, and the miraculous events that led to the rescue of the Halrana refugees and the salvation of what was left of the allied army.
It was a victory, clawed back from the jaws of defeat. The Alturan tried time and again to express himself, gripping Tapel's hand inside his huge one, squeezing until it hurt. Finally the Alturan gave up, and tears came out of his eyes, spilling down his cheeks.
Not knowing what to do, Tapel had looked away.
Now, for the hundredth time, Tapel wondered who he was.
"Try again," Tapel said to him. "No, don't try to rise. Just try to speak."
The Alturan opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a ragged croak.
"I know you can do it," Tapel said. "Your name. Start with your name."
"Stop it, Tapel," his mother's voice sounded from behind him. "I've told you. He'll speak when he's ready."
"What if he never talks?"
Amelia came and sat by her son on the bed, where the Alturan lay watching them soberly. "Perhaps he won't. But he fought to free us and our people, and we'll help him nonetheless."