Part I
Chapter One
Theos checked his map one more time, then looked at Andros, his second-in-command. It all seemed clear, but this was Theos’s first time as iyatis and he needed to be careful. Fighting came naturally to him, but this situation called for caution—not his strong point.
“They’re well over the border,” Andros confirmed. Then he grinned, and Theos pulled his own lips back, half-smile, half-snarl. It was time for battle.
Which meant all room for doubt or questions was gone.
Both sides had already noticed the other’s presence, and both sides had found cover in the dense forest on opposite banks of a small stream. Theos had seen about twenty of the enemy, and there were sixteen in Theos’s patrol, so the odds were good. At two-to-one Theos might have begun to consider withdrawal, but even then it wouldn’t have been likely, not when he was fighting with the Sacrati, the elite of the Torian army. No, twenty men was not nearly enough to make Theos hesitate.
But it was never good to be careless. He gave the orders for his team to spread out, four circling around to cut off any possible escape. And then, with a battle song singing from his heart to every fiber of his body, Theos led the charge.
The battle was short. The Elkati fought back, but not well. Theos bloodied his sword on one and elbowed another in the face for a satisfying crunch of bone, but there was no real challenge in a fight like this. It was disappointing, but not surprising.
Four of the Elkati died before Theos knocked away the weapon of the one he supposed was their leader, an older man with some sort of decorative plume on his helmet. Theos held his sword to the old man’s throat and spoke one of the few Elkati words he’d bothered to learn. “Surrender.”
But the old man surprised him, dodging Theos’s sword and pulling a dagger. He lunged upward and Theos stepped to the side, then kicked him in the face. The man was flipped over and landed hard on the ground. Theos stomped down on his enemy’s arm, then brought the tip of his sword to the man’s throat again. He pressed in enough for a little blood to flow, and in a more exasperated tone, as if speaking to a child struggling with a simple lesson, he repeated, “Surrender.”
The old man’s only answer was a glare. But a younger, lighter voice rang out through the forest. Theos didn’t understand the words, but he saw their effect as the Elkati disengaged and stood with heads bowed.
Theos’s men knew the drill. The enemy soldiers were quickly disarmed and their hands tied tightly together. Their feet were bound with only a little slack in the rope; they could walk, but not lengthen their stride into a run. Then their weapons were inspected and their packs plundered while Theos sat back and supervised it all, ensuring that no one was careless.
He wasn’t sure which of the Elkati had ordered the surrender, and he watched them now, trying to understand their structure. They certainly seemed concerned about the old man. Maybetooconcerned; they were more protective than deferential. Was he their leader, or their mascot?
It didn’t really matter. The menhadno leader now, other than Theos. Whatever their structure had been, whatever theirliveshad been, it’d all been lost to them as soon as they’d had the bad luck to be discovered on their illicit trip into Torian lands.
No one in Theos’s squad spoke sufficient Elkati to interrogate the prisoners, so there was no point in further delay. His men loaded the Elkati down with whatever had seemed worth scavenging from their packs and added a few of the heavier items from the Torian kits, then they started off. They’d been on the last leg of their moon-long patrol as it was, so they didn’t have to divert from their original course in order to head for home.
Theos pushed a little harder than he might have without the prisoners, making sure they were sufficiently far away from the border to make rescue attempts unlikely, before giving the order to make camp for the night. He also set out an extra sentry, further back along their trail, to give advance warning if anyone was tracking them. They were in the mountains, with most of the land impassible, so there weren’t many directions from which they could be attacked. Having done his job, he allowed himself to relax just a little.
After another quick inspection, Theos loosened the hands of two of the prisoners, giving them freedom to prepare food for the other Elkati. And then one of the prisoners still bound, a young man with barely enough beard to earn the name, stood and shuffled toward him. He held his own hands out, tugging on the ropes. Theos raised an eyebrow, and the Elkati pointed with his chin, gesturing toward two of his comrades who’d been injured in the battle.
“You want to patch them up?” Theos assessed the boy, then shrugged and loosened the rope around his wrists. After all, the prisoners would be more valuable if they were in good health. The boy started working with what seemed like competence. He looked at Theos for permission a few more times, first to take a pot to the spring and fill it with water, then to burrow through one of the Elkati packs for a bag of healing salves. The Elkati were renowned as scholars and doctors, so the Sacrati who’d sorted through their gear had known these potions might have value. But they probably hadn’t intended them to be used on the prisoners themselves. Still, Theos couldn’t bring himself to object. Not until the boy returned to Theos and pointed at his waist.
“You want . . . you want my knife?” Theos shook his head. These Elkati were all brain and no heart; they had no understanding of what was important. “No.”
The boy held up his hands as if promising a truce, but Theos hadn’t refused to lend his knife because he thought it would be used as a weapon. He would have beenmorelikely to lend it if there was a chance it would shed blood. To allow his oath-blade, the sacred steel of his initiation into the Sacrati brotherhood, to be handed to the enemy for use in some menial task? Unthinkable. The question was a sign of the Elkati’s ignorance.
“Here,” Andros said. He picked up one of the kitchen knives and held it out to the boy, handle first. “Will this do?”
The boy frowned, made a gesture of sharpening, and waited until Andros found the whetstone and handed that over too. Then he nodded, just a quick jerk of his head that seemed merely an acknowledgment, not a thanks, and turned back to the other prisoners.
“Demanding,” Theos commented.
Andros grinned. “I think he’s pretty.”
Theos snorted. “I put Xeno on sentry duty for one night and you’re already prowling for company?”
“I expect Xeno will think he’s pretty, too. We’re always happy to share.”
“Not until we’re back to town,” Theos said, letting just a touch of his authority slip into his voice. “You know how strange the Elkati are about sex. They’re good little prisoners now, and I want to keep it that way; you willnotset off some holy rebellion because you have an itch.”
“I thought coming on patrol with you as iyatis would be fun,” Andros said with a sigh. He leaned back and watched the young prisoner sharpen the knife. “I thought, ‘Theos is young, and he likes adventure. I’ll go withhim.’”
“You wereassignedto come with me. And you were assigned because I asked for you. And Iaskedfor you because you have good sense. Don’t ruin that now.”
Andros sighed again in exaggerated disappointment. They sat together for a while, eating the dinner brought to them by the soldier on food duty, absentmindedly observing the prisoners as darkness fell on the camp.
