Page 109 of The Summer Pass

Firuduna shoved the Zashian forward, and the boy went hastily into a low bow, kneeling on the ground.

“It’s a message from Pantaresh,” Firuduna explained. “He wants to meet to discuss terms.”

“An exchange of prisoners, my lord,” said the boy. “That is what General Pantaresh wishes to discuss.”

“He has prisoners of ours?” Vanu asked, through Firuduna.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And bodies,” Firuduna added.

“They took⁠—”

Vanu stopped as it occurred to him that this was what Firuduna was looking so beaten-down about. Someone he cared about had fallen, and the Zashians, for some bizarre reason, had made off with his body. Really?

“Who did they take?” he signed to Firuduna.

Firuduna hesitated. “Barda,” he signed after a moment. He had to spell the name out. He didn’t know Barda’s name sign. Probably just as well—it was an uncomplimentary sign that Atari had given him in the early days at Umtúshta.

“He jumped off the wall onto the siege tower,” Firuduna explained. “It was listing dangerously close to the wall, and the enemy was climbing it. He fought them off, but then he fell. He died heroically.”

“And you’ve been looking for his body?” Vanu guessed.

Firuduna nodded. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “To bring back to his mother. But they took it.”

Vanu frowned down at the kneeling messenger, who looked back up at him anxiously.

“You’re sure he’s dead?” Vanu asked Firuduna.

“I saw … ” Firuduna started, aloud. “I saw him fall off the tower, but … ”

“Because it’s much more likely they took him prisoner alive than that they gathered up enemy bodies while they were retreating.”

And if Barda was alive, and they had him—along with other prisoners, maybe—this request for parlay made more sense. It was still likely—certain?—to be a trap, but it was one that he would willingly walk into. Of course he would. Barda was a member of his household.

“We’ll come when we’re ready,” he signed for Firuduna to translate.

“You’ll take me with you, my lord?” Firuduna asked, when the messenger was gone.

“If you’re well enough to ride,” Vanu answered distractedly. He turned to Enu. “Find out whether Prince A’s men took any prisoners from Pantaresh’s troops. We’ll need some to exchange.”

The prince’s guard had captured a couple of high-ranking Zashians in flight from the battlefield, and they made no trouble about turning them over to Vanu. He mounted them on horses and brought them along as he set off with Firuduna and Tirtu for the enemy camp.

Firuduna shouldn’t really have been riding, and he knew it. The motion of the horse jolted his injured shoulder painfully with every step. But he was determined to go to the Zashian camp. If Barda was dead after all, at least he would be able to bring back his body—but Vanu was right, it was more likely that he was alive.

The sun was setting by the time they forded the shallow rivulets of the Rakhiri, where Tirtu pointed out a crew of workmen loitering around, looking like they were waiting for orders. They rode further down the trail and saw the tents of the Zashian camp in the distance. Vanu reined in his horse and held up a hand to stop the rest of his party. One of the prisoners’ horses neighed, and its rider murmured to it reassuringly.

“My lord?” said Tirtu.

Vanu turned in the saddle to speak to them. “They’ll want to take me alive,” he said. “Don’t know if they’d do as much for you. Stay back here. Tell the prisoners to come with me,” he told Tirtu.

“But—” Firuduna started to protest.

Tirtu, more obedient, was already passing Vanu’s message to the prisoners. They exchanged some nervous words with one another as they dismounted and followed Vanu forward on foot down the trail. They were still a considerable distance from the tents and must have been wondering what he was doing.

“We’re not just going to let him walk into a trap—are we?” said Firuduna hopelessly.

“Of course not.” Tirtu glanced at him. “You’re wounded. Be careful.”