Free The Key to Creation by Kevin J. Anderson

this! Why are you telling me?”
    “So you understand that your people will be defeated.” Anjine’s voice was like a bludgeon. “I want to extinguish every spark of hope in your heart before you go to your grave.”
    The messenger cringed; the bindings at his wrists and ankles were bloody from his struggles.
    “It is a small repayment on the debt of justice. You are indeed a messenger, Khalig, but you are not innocent. No Uraban can claim innocence after what your people have done. However, each drop of blood helps to balance the scales.”
    She called in Guard-Marshall Vorannen and another guard. The terrified Uraban messenger struggled, begging for mercy, but the guards went about their grim duty without sympathy.
    “Alas, we have no prester-marshall to give you final prayers,” Anjine said, “but I don’t suppose the fish will mind.”
    She had hoped to feel satisfaction as the two men tossed Khalig off the lighthouse balcony. She didn’t. Sen Leo looked sickened by what he witnessed, but Anjine refused to acknowledge the Saedran’s expression. She turned back to her advisers. “Now then, on with the war.”

Corag River Port

    After resting for three days in their Stoneholm camp, the Gremurr refugees were eager to set off for home again. Thoughts of seeing Vicka after his long absence filled Mateo’s mind, and these liberated slaves had similar dreams of their families. Free men needed little encouragement to march; all of Tierra lay before them, and the road was open.
    Mateo led the refugees down the path into drainages that joined with the river network. He noted their energy and anticipation in sharp contrast to how weary and bedraggled they had looked back in Gremurr. Now they had a spring in their step—and hope.
    And so did he.
    He set an easy pace along the dirt road. The refugees talked with colorful cheer, reminiscing about their homes, their families, their once happy existences. After seeing the joyous reunions of some of the freed slaves at Corag, they all expected the same, imagining that they could seamlessly rejoin their old lives.
    “I used to complain about working on my farm in Alamont, but now I can’t wait to get the good, dark dirt under my fingernails.”
    “My family raised the best butter melons, as big as your head! Almost no seeds, and as sweet as a honeycomb.”
    “Ha, the sweet I want is the taste of my Jemma’s lips!”
    “I know, I’ve tasted them,” another man quipped, which spurred a round of raucous laughter.
    “A lover’s kiss is sweet, but there’s nothing like the excited hugs of your children. By the Fishhook, my two boys must be old enough to be apprentices now…or journeymen!”
    “Kelpwine from Windcatch…have you ever tasted it?”
    “I’ve heard about the Windcatch stench when all the seaweed rots and floats out to sea.”
    “My mother made the most delicious herb-rubbed lamb, with wild garlic and dandelions.”
    “One thing I’m not going to miss is the taste of Uraban food.” In odd unison, several of the men spat on the ground.
    Listening to the easy chatter, Mateo could not stop thinking about how long these men had been gone. He feared they might return home to wives who had remarried, children or parents who had died, or households that had simply moved away.…
    Mateo was himself a different person from the man who had left to do the queen’s bidding. An eternity ago, when he’d kissed Vicka goodbye and departed from Calay, his hands had not been stained with innocent blood. Now he shouldered the weight of a thousand severed heads.
    When the group topped a hill and saw a small river town with wooden docks that served as a port for Destrar Sazar’s boats, they let out a spontaneous cheer. With great relief, Mateo saw an empty barge tied up waiting for them. He faced the happy smiles and bright eyes of the refugees. “We can rest on the journey downriver—we’ll be in Calay soon! Queen Anjine will host a feast and celebration for us