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Khamir
“Free Peoples!” Khamir shouted a term he had heard some of the westerners use to address the former slaves. The sound of it was proud, and it asserted the very fact that they were now free, which was something he dearly wished to remind them of.
“Anyone who wishes to head after the Easterlings, the bounty hunters, and free again the children…our children…may prepare to leave as soon before dawn as possible.”
A murmur rose up all around the camp, everyone wondering all at once about this sudden decision. Khamir could only imagine their thoughts and their words: finally a decision, trying to make up for his cowardice, pretending to be leader, playing games of heroes… He was careful not to allow his ears to hone in on any of the voices.
“All of those who remain must be prepared to guard the camp, particularly if anything should go wrong.”
The one-armed man ran a hand through his hair, and looked a great deal like his former self: a weary plantation slave.
“I would never claim to be a hero. I would never claim that I have done anything right. I only tell you now what I know…and what I plan to do. No one must come with me. We are free to do as we will. And I will not sit here any longer… I-“ he paused, and reached down to collect the two knives he had been sharpening and placed them in his bag. As soon as he rose up again, he finished his sentence, with no less assurance, “am sorry.”
Knowing not what else to say, and not at all certain about what he had said, Khamir shouldered his bag, and was followed by Beloan a few yards away from the camp. This would require careful planning, and the Southron man felt a slight thrill of excitement. It was just like the raids of old, only with more precious spoils than ever before…
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