Chapter seven
StrandedA sennight later and well up the river the fugitives found it expedient to make a camp for a few days on one of the islands dotting the Kazzchun River hereabouts. The river rolled along, redolent of brown mud and damp growing things, choked with wildfowl, the mudflats always shimmering with the flash of wings. The denizens of the water fought and thrived, and, all in all, there was food a plenty.
The histories of the freed slaves were interesting and shared a common thread. Folk who are born to slavery are born to slavery, as the saying went. Others, caught in petty crimes, found themselves chained and trudging along in the coffle, punished enough and more for their sins.
The little Och, Umtig the Lock, more than once exclaimed when he spoke: “By Diproo the Nimble-
