Chapter 160 — The Refugee Settlement
Blade of Dawn · Page 1 of 3
The refugees' settlement was not far from the Whitewater River. Beyond the wasteland on the river's northern bank, the terrain gave way to mountain forest, and it was in those woods that the refugees hid, scraping out a hard living from the scant food the forest deigned to yield.
The forest was a byproduct of where the Tangsan Mine met the eastern hill country. The rolling slopes broke the force of the wind, giving wind-borne seeds a chance to take root and sprout, and so a patchy, sparse woodland had grown up along the low hillsides—land that had once, long ago, had an owner.
A short-lived family by the name of Karg had briefly held lordship over this woodland and the wasteland on the northern bank of the Whitewater, but a plague had ended their rule—and that was centuries ago. Nature had long since scoured away every trace of human civilization; the collapsed castle of the Kargs lay sleeping behind some hillside or other, and these woods and wilds, lying too close to the Dark Mountains, were a place no one cared to go near.
Whenever a family along the Dark Mountains perished, everyone agreed it was the curse and chaotic magic radiating from the wastes of Gondor. Such ownerless lands were scattered everywhere across the Far Southern Marches. Though this place was separated from Viscount Andrew Leslie's domain by no more than the Tangsan Mine, the good viscount had plainly never entertained the notion of sending his people over that great mountain to develop the land on the far side.
Cecil's combat troops wore light enchanted armor suited to rapid movement, carried the new thermal ray guns and arcane power packs, and moved through the forest with cautious speed, just as their training had drilled them. They had been away from the domain a full day and night, had rested and eaten not long ago, and were now at their sharpest in both spirit and body. The place where the refugees hid was close at hand.
Once inside the forest, warhorses were of little use, so Gao Yang left his mount and walked on foot beside Philip Qian, leading his horse by the reins. Amber hung draped over the broad back of his "Krieg high-blood warhorse," nodding off this way and that.
The word was "draped" because the half-elf lady was a truly wretched rider. To keep from falling off, she had strapped herself to the saddle with several leather belts and buckles—no matter; in an emergency she could always roll into the shadows, and being bound tight made no difference to her running away.
A creature with elven blood, and she couldn't even hold a conversation with a horse. Truly a disgrace to elfkind.
"We're almost there," Philip Qian said, looking ahead. "In fact there are quite a few refugee camps scattered through this country, all tucked away in places almost impossible to find. But once we find one, it will be easy enough to make contact with the others."
Gao Yang gave a slight nod, but his brow furrowed. "Actually, something about this whole business strikes me as odd."
"Odd?" Philip Qian didn't quite follow. "Odd how?"
"Few people round up slaves on a large scale after the frost-month," Gao Yang said, shaking his head. "Once the frost-month comes the temperature drops and the farming stops—there's no need for much labor. Most people go into a state of consuming their stores. To seize slaves in weather like this means you can't put them to work, and instead have to feed them out of your own stock for nothing. Unless it's a mine, which isn't subject to the seasons and needs slave labor all year round—but the biggest mine in these parts is the Tangsan Mine, and Viscount Andrew has shown no inclination lately to add to his slave labor... Besides, he seems to think himself above that sort of business—snatching up refugees to sell as slaves."