The raucous cheering and noise-making grew to a deafening din in the
compound.
* * *
Somewhere past the bungalow of the field slaves, beyond the back gate
that let out into the fields behind the compound of the once and mighty
House of Rababull who was no more, and yet beyond, out in the tall saw
grasses and swaying bulrushes beside a peacefully meandering little
stream, Si'Wren crouched low beside a collapsed Habrunt as she listened
fearfully. In the distance, the madmen howled their anger and
frustration at not finding her, and their mounting desperation at what
Conabar would do to them for their failure to deliver one called
Si'Wren into the hand of their master was driving them to extremes.
They had already run old L'acoci through with a sword, for refusing to
tell which way Si'Wren had gone.
Bent over in agony and unable to defend her now, the savagery of his
punishments making him the very image of evil and degradation, a
crippled Habrunt had counseled Si'Wren to flee, and against his
protests found himself dragged along rather than be abandoned to the
invaders. He had known what to do, but it was she who had actually
accomplished their escape so narrowly in time.
Beside him, a heavily gasping Si'Wren felt deep fear.
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