Xeno nodded, swallowed hard, and then grabbed hold of Theos’s wrists, the two of them making a chair to carry their friend. They lifted him carefully, then moved as quickly and smoothly as possible, following the boy.
The path wound around the side of the mountain, the curvature making it impossible to see ahead more than a few paces at a time, and Theos’s gut began to tighten as they ran. The boy had gone. Theos had cut him free, and he’d escaped.
But then the ground leveled out and they rounded one more corner to find a small clearing, flat on one side, with a grassy slope on the other. The boy was there, breaking small branches off a fallen tree, clearly preparing to start a fire. Theos and Xeno settled Andros as gently as they could near the fire site, and then Theos was back in motion, finding tinder and flint and steel, yelling at one of his men to find a pot and the others to produce their waterskins in case whatever the boy was up to required water . . . What else? What else?
The boy was busy. He’d found his medicines and had them spread out in front of him, picking up jars and reading the labels with almost feverish intensity.
Finally he seized one of the jars and a wad of clean fabric and headed toward Andros.
Theos tore his eyes away from the boy. He was the leader of this patrol, and he had responsibilities to all of them, not just Andros. He scanned the area and decided that while the site wasn’t perfect, it was good enough for a night, and set his men to finding water, building a cook fire, and securing the prisoners. This far from the border there was little need of a sentry, but Theos posted one anyway; he didn’t want anything else to go wrong.
All through that night, Andros struggled and groaned, and the rest of the camp was subdued by his pain. In the morning, Theos evaluated their remaining supplies and then Andros himself—finally still, but pale and breathing only in weak, pained gasps.
The Sacrati could survive indefinitely in the mountains if they had to. If they stayed with Andros and the winter came, they could hunt and scavenge for food and build rough shelters using the materials the mountain provided. No, they wouldn’t die, but their condition would be diminished. Theos would have left on his first patrol as iyatis with a band of healthy men and returned with a group of scrawny survivors. And fewer prisoners too, because how many of them were strong enough to last the winter?
In the end, his decision wasn’t based on pride, but responsibility. He’d been entrusted with the care of his fellow Sacrati, and he should return them in the same or better condition than he had received them. But Andros was Sacrati too.
“We’re splitting up,” Theos announced to his soldiers. “Xeno and two volunteers will stay with Andros and the boy. They’ll follow us when Andros is ready to be moved.” He held the men’s gazes for a moment, long enough to make it clear that Andros’s recovery was the only acceptable outcome. “The rest of us will take the prisoners on ahead.”
It was a good plan. It was the right thing to do. But that didn’t make it easier for Theos to walk away from his friend, hisresponsibility. So his feet were heavy as he made himself start along the path, and they weighed just as much two days later when he led his patrol down off the forested slopes and into the pasture lands of Windthorn valley. A sentry greeted him from the raised observation post, and Theos said wearily, “Theos of the Sacrati, returning from patrol. Eleven Sacrati with me, four more to follow as they are able. Sixteen Elkati prisoners, one more to follow with the other Sacrati.”
Another sentry peered over the edge of his platform. “Sixteen, huh? Not bad for a first patrol, especially when we aren’t technically at war. Good to see, Theos.”
It would have been easier to accept the praise ifallof Theos’s Sacrati had returned with him. As it was, he grunted an acknowledgment and nodded his band forward. As they passed the platform, each of his men pulled the tiny leather bag of soil from around his neck and hung it back on the long hooks with many other bags already on them. The men carried soil from the valley into the mountains with them so if they fell in the field, they would rest with at least a little touch of home nearby. The valley dirt would be enough to let their spirits leave their bodies behind, believing they were lying somewhere safe. A small ritual, but an important one.
The pastures gave way to cropland on the valley floor, the fields full of workers from the city weeding or harvesting or . . . whatever it was one did with crops. Young Theos had been enlisted to help in the fields, just as all children were, but he’d never paid much attention to what he was doing; he’d been too busy practicing his swordsmanship with a crooked stick, or wrestling the other boys in their endless fight for status and dominance. Agriculture, like everything else that wasn’t directly related to the Torian war machine, was women’s work. Theos appreciated the fruits of the women’s labor, but he didn’t presume to understand the details of it all, just as the women appreciated the efforts of the warriors but didn’t bother with learning the finer points of warfare.
No, Theos’s home wasn’t in the city with the women and children. He belonged in the barracks, the low, rough buildings that circled the walled town as one more layer of protection against any hazards. As he approached the larger buildings that squatted on either side of the city’s main gates, he let his shoulders relax a little. He might wish his homecoming was a purer triumph, but at least he’d gottenmostof his men home.
He watched his men herd the prisoners into the roofed holding pen adjacent to the military headquarters. There were others already inside, captured on previous missions by other Torians. Theos stepped closer and squinted at the prisoners, reassuring himself they were secure and behaving themselves, then squared his shoulders and headed to the office to give his report. As Sacrati, he bypassed the tables set up in the main room and strode directly to one of the two private offices in the rear of the building; technically the warlord outranked the Sacrati captain, but the matched size of their offices was a more accurate reflection of their relative power.
Theos knocked on the open door and stepped into the office.
“Welcome back,” Tamon said, standing and crossing the room to land a friendly clap on Theos’s shoulder. “Report now, and we can catch up later.”
So Theos told his tale, the captain listened, consulted the map to see exactly where the prisoners had been captured, and frowned. “What were they doing that far inside our territory?” he demanded.
“None of my men speak the language,” Theos said. “We didn’t question the prisoners.”
The captain didn’t seem surprised by that. Sacrati were warriors, not spies; they weren’t expected to learn the language of every valley they conquered. “Well, they’ll be questioned now.” Tamon seemed personally insulted by the Elkati trespass. “So we won’t be sending any of them to the evaluators for a few days. You’ll have to wait for your share.”
“Actually, sir, I was hoping to be sent back out, to help bring Andros back.”
The captain gave Theos a long look before saying, “You left three Sacrati with him; do you doubt their ability to perform a fairly simple task?”
“No, sir. But I do doubt my ability to rest properly untilallof the men I took out with me are safely returned.”
Tamon sighed. “You’re going to lose men, Theos. Hopefully not this time—although if your young Elkati has found a treatment for rock viper bites, I’m going to have more to question him about than just his reasons for crossing the border—but eventually. Every leader does.”
“Yes, sir. But I’d like to put it off as long as possible. And I’d like toknow. Sir.”
Tamon nodded slowly. “Uncertainty makes everything more difficult,” he agreed. “Stay in the barracks tonight. Have a meal and a good night’s sleep. You can go back out tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The captain dismissed him, and Theos headed for his quarters. He’d get cleaned up, as ordered, and later on, he’d get some rest. But in between the two? His men had worked hard and fought well, and he would make sure they had ale and wine enough to celebrate their return. That was his duty as a leader.
Then he’d go to bed, and the next morning he’d perform hisotherduty as a leader. He’d head back to the mountains, and he’d make sure all of his men were accounted for, one way or another.
