“Simple questions about his valley’s defenses? About his mission? Just general questions that would help us understand the Elkati strategy, and make it easier for us to conquer them?” Andros’s voice was annoyingly patient. “The same questions you would be totally cooperative about, ifyouwere ever captured.”
Theos squinted at his friend, then turned to Finnvid. “When I leave here, I’m going to talk to the captain. He’ll understand what I’m saying, and you and your men will be reinterrogated. This time by Sacrati interrogators. They won’t let you get away with your nonsense. Do you understand that?”
Finnvid didn’t reply, but the bleak expression on his face made it clear that he understood all too well.
“So you can save yourself a lot of pain—you can save yourmena lot of pain—if you just speak up now.” Theos stared at the wall behind the boy’s head and waited. When Finnvid said nothing, Theos made himself continue. “If you don’t respond to the pain, they’ll go further. They’ll kill one of you. That’s the advantage of there being so many. They have lots of spares, so they won’t have to worry about wasting a few. So, aye, kill one of you, and probably hack his head off and hang it in your pen. Maybe the whole body, so you can smell it rot; I don’t know. They’ll castrate another two or three, if it goes that far. Chop off an ear or a nose. If they can’t get the truth out of you, they’ll stop worrying about your worth as slaves, and they’ll take your hands and feet. All those men you led into danger, and they’re going to be mutilated and tortured, just because you’re slow in giving answers that youknowwe’ll get out of you eventually.”
Theos crouched down next to the boy. “What do you think they’ll take from you?” He reached out, a strange mix of horror and fascination as he thought about an axe hacking through the delicate bones of the boy’s wrist. When Theos touched the narrowest part with one gentle finger, Finnvid jerked his arm away. He was trembling, now, but he still wasn’t saying anything.
Theos shook off the strange mood and tried to sound calm and reasonable. “I don’t want any of that to happen, Finnvid. I want you to be a healer, or whatever else you’re good for, and I want you to earn your citizenship. When we take over your valley, you can come with us and help us rebuild. You can help your peoplethatway. And I want your men to be soldiers. I want them to die as men, if they must die, not as animals. The old man, the one with the plumed helmet, I want him to be a trainer for the new recruits. He may not have enough years left to earn his citizenship, but he could earn a home for himself, and be safe and warm and useful.”
There was still no response. Theos stood slowly. “Andros is your friend, right? You trust Andros?” Even though Theos had just saved the boy’s life, and Andros had done nothing but get bitten by a snake, Theos bet Andros would be favored. “I’m going to leave you here with him. You can talk to him. And you can ask whether anything I said is a lie, or even an exaggeration. You can ask him for advice. And then when I come back, by the sword, youwilltell me what you were doing in our territory, and why it was so important to the warlord that you be shipped out as soon as possible.”
Theos looked at Andros but couldn’t read his expression. Well, Andros was Sacrati; he’d do what needed to be done. Two steps to the door, and then Theos turned back to Finnvid. “You’ll stay with Andros until I return. If he gets sick of you, you’ll sit in the hallway just outside his door and wait for me. If you aren’t in one of those places, I’ll consider you a runaway slave. You’ll be punished when you’re caught. And your men will be punished as well.”
Finnvid finally lifted his head, yet his expression was anything but cooperative as he sneered, “Thank you,master. Your instructions are a gift,master.”
“Mypatienceis a gift,” Theos corrected. “But it’s not one that I’ll keep giving indefinitely.” He frowned at Andros. “Make him see sense,” he ordered, and then he whirled and left, slamming the door behind him.
He decided it would be foolhardy rather than brave to go to the headquarters searching for the Sacrati captain; the warlord spent most of his time in that building. And Theos had been heading toward the drill yards earlier in the day before running into the slavers. He’d been planning to eat, his stomach reminded him, and he tried to remember what he’d done with the food he’d been carrying. But he didn’t have time for another trip to the kitchen.
Instead, he headed for the yards. He was greeted by the familiar sounds of men shouting commands, curses, and war cries; the smells of sweat and leather and well-oiled steel; and the sight of sweaty, fit bodies being used as they were born to be: in toil and fierce battle. Theos loved every part of it, and he took a moment just to enjoy the sensations and be glad he was back home. Then he scanned the crowd, looking for the Sacrati.
Other than the ceremonial daggers they all wore at their waists, there was nothing that immediately set the Sacrati apart. They tended to be a bit larger than the other soldiers, but the difference wasn’t dramatic. They wore the same armor and used the same weapons, although the Sacrati saw more action and victories, so they had coin enough to make sure their armor was perfectly fitted and their weapons were customized as needed. Theos’s own sword was two inches longer than the Torian standard and had a special pattern etched into the grip that kept it from getting slippery with sweat and blood. But that sort of thing couldn’t be spotted at a distance in a crowded training yard.
He just searched for the intensity. Where was the group that was pushing a little harder? The group with a few more scars? Where were the grunts of pain followed immediately by laughter and shouts of encouragement? All Torian soldiers fought with strength and skill; Theos searched for the ones who fought with passion, as well.
And he found them, down by the pond, trampling around in the mud and working on finding their footing in the slippery terrain. As he approached he was hailed, and his clean clothes were immediately covered in filth from hugs and sloppy, playful projectiles.
“Welcome back,” Galen said with one hand gripping Theos’s forearm as the other clapped him on the shoulder. Galen was the most senior iyatis in the Sacrati, second-in-command to the captain.
Theos leaned into the gesture, rubbing their cheeks together roughly and taking the chance to whisper, “I need to talk to you. And the captain.”
Galen leaned away. The smile on his lips was for their audience; the warning in his eyes was for Theos alone. “We need to share some drinks! You can tell me about your adventures.”
And Galen could explain whatever was happening in the valley. Theos nodded enthusiastically. “Tonight?”
“I thought you’d be busy tonight,” a mischievous voice added from somewhere in the mud. Whoever it was raised his volume enough for all to hear him say, “Did you know Theos has claimed a bedwarmer for himself? Everyone’s talking about it up at the barracks! Iyatis for one month and already he’s too good to find pleasure with the rest of us!”
Galen’s face was frozen halfway between a frown and a smile, and Theos just shrugged. “It’s a long story,” he muttered. Then he lifted his own voice and told the crowd, “I wanted a tight ass, and with only you sloppy old men to choose from—”
“An ass that’s tight around your tiny dick?” someone responded. “Are you sure you’re not fucking his nostril?”
Ah, yes. Theos was home, and his brothers were welcoming him.
He grabbed a wooden practice sword and joined the drills, sparring and wrestling and sliding around with the rest of them. For an inexperienced warrior, rough terrain could be a great equalizer, adding an element of chance that made it possible for a weak opponent to beat a stronger one. But Sacrati tried to overcome this by training to take advantage of any opportunity; for them, terrain was just one more weapon to be used in battle.
Theos found a rock outcrop, no larger than his fist but firmly anchored in the mud, and used it as a base for one of his feet, giving him a tiny edge of stability that’d allow him to defend against all comers, at least for a while. When the others realized what he was up to, they fought him for possession of the lone rock, trying to push him off in a strange version of king of the hill.
Finally, three of them attacked at once and sent him slipping away to land in the mud at the bottom of the slope, laughing at his comrades as they fought.
His oldest son would be coming to the barracks soon: a well-grown boy, healthy and clever and ready to start training. Theos smiled to think of the boy finding his own brothers, forging the bonds truer than blood that came from working and fighting and living together year after year. One day, Damios would stand on this hill, maybe as a Sacrati himself, and he would struggle and win, and struggle and win, and eventually struggle and fail, as everyone did. Theos hoped he’d be around long enough to see some of the boy’s victories.
But in the meantime, he had his own battles to fight. He pushed himself to his feet, waited for an opportunity, and then launched himself back into the fray, tackling a man off the little outcrop with sheer weight and aggression, tumbling halfway down the hill before clawing his way up to take his rightful spot again. He would hold it as long as he could. That was all a warrior could do.
Chapter Seven
Theos went back to the barracks and found Finnvid slumped in the hallway outside Andros’s room. He felt guilty for having left the boy for so long, then remembered that he was the master, Finnvid the slave. Making him sit in a hallway wasnotcruel.
