Chapter 160 — The Refugee Settlement

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."

"Heaven knows who paid those mercenaries," Philip Qian said. "Maybe they mean to sell them in the central regions. There's no shortage of mines and merchants there, and slave prices run high in the center. Plenty of people will risk their necks buying 'private slaves.'"

Gao Yang made no comment, and very soon a faint smell of blood drifted into his nostrils.

"Halt!" He at once raised a hand, and the squad leaders quietly called their men to a stop. Every soldier went on guard.

Even Amber, who had been drowsing half to death on horseback, sensed the shift in the air at once (that alertness of hers was about the only thing worthy of her bloodline, though it looked for all the world like plain cowardice). Her eyes snapped open, and the next moment she had melted into a shadow and darted to Gao Yang's side. "There's blood up ahead!"

"Holy Light above!" The army chaplain, Wright, instantly traced a sacred sign over his chest. "Someone is bleeding. Someone is dying."

Led by Gao Song, the soldiers swiftly pushed through the trees and brush, and the situation at the refugee settlement opened up before them.

The mercenaries had already made their move.

The settlement was ringed by a fence of broken wood and thornbushes, but it had plainly failed to hold off beasts armed with blade and sword. Between the few scattered, dilapidated tents stretched a wide open ground, and there eighty or ninety ragged, gaunt refugees had been herded together. Twenty-odd fully armed mercenaries had split into two groups: half guarded the camp's perimeter, while the other half stood with blades drawn, facing the gathered refugees. One man in black half-plate paced back and forth before the wretches who were soon to become slaves, bellowing curses without pause.

On the open ground around them lay seven or eight bodies, all hacked to death. Clearly, at the first moment the mercenaries attacked the camp, someone had put up a brief resistance—but that resistance had been crushed like a thunderbolt. Those hacked to pieces where they stood had served quite effectively to keep the resistance from spreading and the situation from slipping out of control.

"Their equipment is good, no doubt about it," Gao Cen observed as he studied them. "And half of them are mixed in among the civilians. Once the fighting starts, they'll likely use those civilians as hostages..."

"Hostages? You're overthinking it," Amber said, glancing at Gao Cen. "Those are refugees—nobles and mercenaries treat them like livestock. Nobles and noble armies never care whether they live or die, and those mercenaries surely think the same of us, so they won't take those people hostage. They might use them as human shields at the critical moment, though... But if we can make a big enough commotion to catch them off guard, the refugees will scatter in an instant, and then the mercenaries won't be able to control the situation. While those refugees' hands and feet are still free—now is a good moment."

Looking at the half-elf lady laying it all out so methodically, Gao Yang couldn't help but be taken aback—and then he realized that he had, sure enough, still been thinking like an Earthling.

Hostages... that only works when you treat people as people. But here, there would never be a scene where some villain holds a knife to a "lowborn's" throat and threatens a noble, shouting, "One more step and I'll kill him!"

Because a "normal" noble would cut down the "lowborn" and the bandit together without a moment's hesitation.

At the thought, Gao Yang sighed, then casually pulled out two crystal grenades. "Then let's make a bit of a commotion."

……

The mercenaries of unknown origin had attacked the camp, and the few who instinctively chose to resist were hacked limb from limb almost instantly.

Cries and screams swept the settlement in an instant, then subsided again within a very short time. Like driven cattle, the people were herded out of their tents and straw piles by the sword-wielding bandits and thugs, all of them gathered onto the open ground at the center of the camp.