The first to greet them, to Ingo’s disappointment and begrudging amazement, was Captain Tristor. The green-eyed, mirthless officer sported a long, dark scab across one cheek and limped as he approached. He wore no armour himself, but three armoured soldiers walked by his side. Others turned and watched with interest as the two groups met on the edge of the encampment. They stopped in front of each other, and the captain spoke first.

“Well, Hesio,” he said, indicating Ingo. “You not only survived but claimed the prize." Then, with a surprised look at Ingo’s ankle, he added: “Lose your rope?”

“We made a deal,” replied Hesio.

Tristor nodded slowly and pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t have trusted him, but the general will like that. Well, this is it. Thirty of us went south and five returned.” He scowled at Ingo. “All for him, seeing as we didn’t even find the rock.”

Ingo wondered again why the grey, chalklike substance meant so much to them. It had its uses in medicine and cleaning and the Hallin collected it whenever they saw it, but they would not have sacrificed over twenty of their number to bring any amount of it back to the village. He could not ask, though, without revealing that he knew exactly where to find what they so desperately desired. If I had shown them to it at the start, would they have let me go?

“Captain,” said Hesio, “Gavan needs to see the doctor. Right before we all split up -”

“He was bitten by the monster.”

Tristor examined Gavan. Ingo recalled his refusal to abandon the younger soldier. Yet, he did not appear to hold him in the same affection as Hesio did. He curled his lip and responded curtly:

“It can wait.”

Hesio moved closer to the captain. Ingo strained to hear him as he lowered his voice.

“He’s not been right since it happened. You've not heard the things he's been saying. I can take the boy to see the advocate, if you’d take Gavan to get some help.”

“He’s managed up to now without any treatment. He can come with us to see the general first, and then you can take him to the doctor.”

They wended their way through groups of soldiers toward a circle of taller tents. As they passed one cluster, Ingo noticed that some of the people were dressed differently. A small number of leather armoured men and women with long, double handed swords and braided hair moved between the red soldiers. They looked like Sullin, but could not be. Did the Republic have mercenaries in its pay? Nearby, Ingo saw a group of children playing beside a round tent that looked more like something a Sevener would erect than the white, angular constructions of the soldiers.

They reached the inner circle, entered and walked to the middle. Ingo waited beside Hesio and Gavan, while Captain Tristor approached the largest abode.

Tristor began to speak, then jumped back as a flap flew open. A tall, lithe man with grey hair and a combed, white beard strode out. A black robe flapped around his feet and beneath it Ingo glimpsed a shimmering, silver tunic. Emblazoned on the man’s chest was a symbol that at first glance resembled the Flame of Hurean. As the man drew nearer, he realised it was in fact the Tower of a Thousand Follies, though deliberately rendered to remind one of the flame. The boldness of this effrontery to the gods made Ingo recoil.

In three long strides the man closed the space between them. He held a hand outstretched toward Gavan and the smile cut his thin face almost in half.

Gavan looked weakly at the hand and blinked, then stared off into the distance. The tall man’s smile vanished as he appraised the pale, absent figure before him. He looked questioningly to Hesio.

“Advocate Demetos.” Hesio inclined his whole body. “Gavan was bitten by a root sleeper. They are real. Our young companion here thinks he is doomed, but I would be glad if we could prove him wrong.”

“Captain!” the tall man shouted. Tristor stamped his foot and responded:

“Yes, General.”

“Take Gavan to the doctor’s tent immediately!” he snapped.

“Yes, General. I had thought to present the boy first.” He took Gavan’s elbow with his hand, barely suppressing his anger as Hesio caught his eye. The general replied:

“I am sure my man Hesio will tell me what he knows. It was he, after all, who brought the boy here. Dismissed.”

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“General, Sir.” The Captain bowed, shot Hesio a look that made Ingo wince, and drew Gavan aside.

Ingo wondered why Hesio and Tristor used different titles to address their superior. After the captain and Gavan left, the advocate, or general, straightened his tunic, took a deep breath and looked down into Ingo’s eyes. His expression carried none of the sadness or guilt that Ingo saw in Hesio’s contemplative stares. Neither, though, did it convey the open hostility and derision of Captain Tristor. His bright blue eyes glinted with energy and curiosity.

Hesio cleared his throat and affected a formal tone, announcing as though to an assembly:

“I introduce Kostalyn Demetos, Advocate of the Institute of Dombarrow, Assembly Member of the Sundered Republic and General of the Seventh Expeditionary Force of the Godless Army.”

He paused. Ingo, who had the impression that a bow or at least a nod was expected, stood rigid as a banner-pole.

“So, you’re in charge here? Is that why you have two names?” he asked.

The man’s eyes widened and he laughed. Then a moment later he took a serious expression.

“I command here, yes. I have two names because my family is an ancient one. We were there at the very founding of the Republic and my titles tell you how I serve it today. But since I am neither a general of your army, nor an advocate for your people, you may simply call me Demetos."

What did he mean by his family being ‘ancient?' Since everyone descended from the same ancestors, the low people, weren't all families as old as each other? Demetos eyed Ingo up and down, then asked Hesio in a hopeful voice.

“I see, perhaps, that he came freely?”

“I did not,” corrected Ingo, before Hesio could reply.

“Ah.” Demetos hung his head a fraction. “I hope my men were gentle with you. But even if they were not, it is good they brought you here. Our two nations are teetering upon the brink of war, and much rests upon how willing we are to talk.”

He waited, while Ingo digested the significance of what he said. Ingo had no idea a new war was coming, but clearly the man told the truth. The evidence of it was all around him.

“If you want to talk, why not send emissaries?”

“Emissaries from the Godless City have a tendency to go missing when they set foot in Saltleaf Forest, or indeed the West. Tell me, how would your clan have received our emissary?”

Ingo grunted in reply. If any such messenger found their way to the Hallin they would, at best, have been turned away before they could speak. At worst they would not have left the forest alive.

"I hope that before you leave us, you will see that our people share more in common than you realise.” Ingo would have scoffed, were he not surrounded by this man’s army. He remained studiously silent. “What is your name?” Demetos asked.

“Ingo, of the Hallin.” No sooner had he spoken, Ingo regretted it. In his tiredness, in these strange surroundings, the words had escaped his lips before he’d been able to stop them. He had not yet told anyone from which clan he came. He’d told them nothing but his own name, until now.

“Hallin! Good.” Demetos nodded appreciatively at Hesio, who beamed under the praise.

Then Demetos looked up in concentration. He shut his eyes and recited:

“Medicine and Poison are a single beast with two heads. Embrace one of them and welcome the other's jaws."

Ingo blinked and felt a shiver pass up his spine. It amazed and unsettled him to hear words so familiar from this stranger’s mouth. It was a phrase that Elder Mildred muttered every time she mixed a tonic or applied a balm, warning against over reliance on her cures. It carried a deeper meaning, too. No power came without a price. The greatest powers of all were those conferred by the priests that Seveners rejected. They associated the priesthoods, their blessings and cures and powerful invocations, with the wars between the followers of one group or another. The Seveners kept the faith of a simpler age, venerating all of the gods but worshiping none.

Demetos opened his eyes and looked again at Ingo, assessing his reaction. He tried not to show his surprise and the blue eyed leader of the Republicans asked him:

“That’s a famous saying in your clan, isn’t it?”

“It’s a saying of my clan. I didn’t realise it was famous.”

Hesio gave a soft laugh, but Demetos looked serious.

“It has made it's way to my ears, but it should be known more widely. It is very wise. It shows that your people understand medicine. You don’t rely on the healing prayers of Farlean’s priests, do you, Ingo? You don’t have priests in the forest.”

Ingo felt the faintest swell of appreciation. This apostate knew something about his home. But he was desperately mistaken if he believed the absence of priests among Seveners indicated some distance from the gods. It meant exactly the opposite.

“We don’t have priests in the forest, it's true. Each of us is close to every one of the gods. We honour them all, as they taught humans to do before the wars. It doesn't give us anything in common with you.”

“I knew it! No priests! And whatever the reason, that can only be good.”

Demetos turned to Hesio with a look of triumph, and Hesio nodded respectfully. He said to the solider:

“Captain Tristor reported an encounter with a priest. He insists you fought one. And our new friends cannot stick to any story about the ways of their neighbours for long. I believe they are almost entirely ignorant of the other clans. He has shown me a spear, too, that was taken from a child. It's a Western weapon. I need to hear your account, Hesio, and Gavan’s when he recovers.”

Who were these friends that Demetos spoke of? The question troubled Ingo, but at the mention of the spear he realised with a jolt they were talking about Oli's weapon, the one his grandfather had acquired in the West. He thought again of Adalina’s brother. Oli had escaped, somehow. Someone or something had saved him. Perhaps by now he had told the clan what happened. At least Ada and his father would know he was alive. He became aware of Demetos talking about him.

“...Drifting off. And who can blame him? He’s hungry, as are you, Hesio. How does a bowl of pickled eggs and half a side of pork sound?”

Ingo’s mouth watered and his stomach rumbled. He would achieve nothing by starving himself. He would eat, he decided, and find out what more he could before he braved the journey home. He followed Hesio and Kostalyn Demetos, advocate and general and the gods knew what else, inside the tent.