Free The Last Bastion by Nathan Hawke Page A

the Vathan woman, and then . . . And then he didn’t remember.
    A dozen Marroc trailed along behind the horsemen, hands bound, pulled by ropes tied to Vathan saddles. If anyone fell then the Vathen wouldn’t stop. Gallow closed his eyes again. No point letting them know he was awake because then they’d only drag him like the others. He let himself drift, trying to doze away the throbbing between his eyes.
    The sun was still high when the Vathen finally stopped and made a small camp. They threw together a fire and sat around it roasting haunches of meat while they left their animals to graze. The horses looked thin and hungry and the Vathen tucked into their feast like starving men. Some of them taunted the Marroc with strips of fat, dangling them and then whipping them away again, but they stopped whenthe woman from Hrodicslet came past and barked at them. Gallow’s eyes followed her. The other Vathen deferred to her. She was their bashar then. And now he dimly remembered. Hadn’t she told him that before . . . before whatever had happened?
    She saw him watching her, and while the other Vathen stamped out the fire and rounded up their horses, she cut the ropes that held him and tipped him onto the ground and poked him with her toe.
    ‘Come on, forkbeard, move. Else I’ll think you’re dead. You might think I’ll leave you and you’ll slip your ropes and escape, but there are some things I want from these Marroc, and I’m thinking that if I let them bleed a forkbeard it might loosen their tongues a little.’
    Gallow rolled onto his back and looked up at her. ‘Lhosir make poor slaves. What do you want from me, Vathan?’
    ‘Right now for you to get to your feet.’ She tied a rope to the horse’s saddle. As Gallow struggled to rise she hauled him up and then strung the rope around his waist. When that was done she cut the ropes around his feet. She didn’t touch the ones around his wrists.
    ‘It’s easier to walk with your hands at the front.’
    She flashed him an unkind smile. ‘So it is. You want to know what I want from you?’ She walked a little way to her own horse and led it back and tapped at the scabbard tied across its saddle. His scabbard. ‘I want to know where to find the sword that goes with this.’
    Gallow shrugged, but she was laughing before he could even open his mouth. ‘Of course, forkbeard, of course you don’t know, haven’t the first idea, can’t even imagine what I’m talking about. Save your breath for the walk since I won’t believe a word you say right now. When you’re ready you can tell me how you came to have the scabbard, at least. Or do you propose to tell me that some Marroc hung it on you for a joke when you were drunk last night?’
    Gallow twisted his neck from side to side, trying to ease out the knots in his muscles. He felt the joints and the bones crack. ‘I’ll tell you exactly, Vathan, for I see no secret to it. My name is Gallow. Some once called me Truesword. Most call me Foxbeard now. I fought beside the Screambreaker at Andhun. I was there when he defeated your giant and took the red sword and I was beside him when he fell. That’s how I came to be carrying both that scabbard and the sword you’re looking for. Is that what you wanted to hear?’
    The Vathan cocked her head. ‘Go on.’
    Gallow closed his eyes. ‘Let your Marroc slaves go.’
    The woman howled with laughter. ‘A forkbeard asking mercy for Marroc slaves? There’s a thing. I’m sure they won’t beg for you .’
    ‘No.’ Gallow bowed his head.
    ‘Well, if ever you find a Marroc prepared to take your place, I’ll let you go, forkbeard. But for now there are other things I want from these Marroc and so you’ll have to tell me more about what happened to Solace as we walk. Do you think you can manage that?’
    ‘You told me to save my breath.’
    She smirked. ‘Are you the forkbeard who threw Solace off the cliffs of Andhun into the sea?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And you jumped right