“I know you are not asleep anymore.”

Damn, Kion thought, opening his eyes. He’d woken up only moments before and immediately sensed that he wasn’t alone. Hoping the other person would be careless and step into reach, he’d pretended and waited. Apparently, he hadn’t fooled the other man. It had likely been a change in his breathing that had given him away.

He rolled around and sat up slowly, ensuring that his face didn’t show the damage to his pride. “Greetings, Licen.”

“Greetings, Duba.”

The young tribesman leaned against a tree six paces away, his arms crossed in front. He looked genuinely relaxed which made it worse.

“I hope you didn’t have to wait too long,” Kion said, preempting any remark with his self-derision. They both knew that he’d been caught off guard.

“Not long,” Licen said, a trace of a smile playing on his lips. “Once I heard your snoring, I took my time walking over here.”

Kion nodded in acknowledgment. It was the only thing left to do. Was his accent always this annoying? He thought.

“Well, I’m glad it’s you,” he said, watching the other man carefully, “and not an Assanaten patrol.”

Licen didn’t hurry to respond. “They never patrol this far away from their camps or the trails we showed them.” He smiled. “The only danger out here is wolfs. And I, of course.”

Never taking his eyes off the tribesman, the unstrung bow, and the knife on his belt, Kion rose slowly to his feet. If Licen was here to capture or kill him, he would have acted while Kion was still asleep. But then again, who knew what barbarians thought.

Licen continued to lean against the tree, watching him.

“Did the Assanaten send your people out?” Kion asked, too impatient to wait for the other to volunteer the reason for his presents.

The tribesman cocked his head and frowned. “No, I do not think they know that you ran away. Your people did not seem eager to tell anybody.”

“The Helcenaean asked you to watch me?”

A shrug. “Tatros had a hunch about you,” Licen said, straitening. “He had you watched since you arrived at the camp. Did your people hear about the Assanaten patrol that went missing, hunting a single man in the mountains?”

“You heard about that?” Kion asked.

Licen stuck one of his hands in the pouch on his belt and retrieved a piece of dried meat which he threw to Kion. “Nobody knows better what’s going on in this valley than my people. This is Horto’s domain and our home.”

Kion caught the food and started chewing. Licen’s words made sense. Their people were constantly moving between the camps, delivering food and guiding the Assanaten troops. Whatever happened in the valley, they would know long before anybody else.

“Tatros thought you might be a spy,” Licen said. “Why did you not go up the mountains. Did you get lost?”

Ignoring the tone of the question, Kion shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Although I’m unused to forests like these, the mountains are hard to overlook. I still have something to do in this valley.”

Kion saw the slight shift in the other man’s stance and thought through his options. It seemed Tatros and Licen hadn’t any problem with him spying on the Assanaten. Considering the Helcenaean’s position, that was understandable. On the other hand, Licen might not be willing to just let him run around. I need to establish some trust, Kion thought.

“I’m here on a mission,” he said. “Until I’ve learned what I came to learn, I can’t leave for Riadnos.”

Licen considered him for a moment, cocking his head in the way he had before. “Good,” he said, turning around. “Let’s go see Tatros. You can tell him about your mission. Maybe we will help.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to sneak back into the camp,” Kion said. The Assanaten might be as unfamiliar with this environment as he was, but their guards and patrols were vigilant.

“We will not,” Licen said. Before Kion could ask another question, he pointed at a particularly big tree. “We must hurry. Behind that tree is a good spot to relieve yourself before we go. I found it while I waited for you to wake up.”

Kion could have lied but he’d seen too many frightened men losing control over their bladder right before battle. A warrior had to eat, sleep and shit whenever he had the chance. Gritting his teeth, he walked in the indicated direction. Maybe Licen would give him a reason to kill him later? If Inashtar wills it, he thought.

A short while later they were running through the forest. Kion was hard-pressed to keep up. Despite doing his best in copying the tribesman’s every step, his unfamiliarity with the ground hampered him. Slippery greenery and fallen branches threatened to trip him here and there and the constant zigzagging around trees made him lose his sense of direction.

While he would never have admitted it, he was thankful when they slowed down to cross a stream. Wading through the freezing knee-deep water, he tried to judge their location in relation to the western mountain range. As far as he could tell they were moving in the same direction he’d meant to go anyway. Heading northeast until he found the marked trail leading from the Assanaten camp at the entry of the mountain pass to Logger’s Home. He’d intended to follow it until he reached the Helcenaean village.

“Where will we meet Tatros?” Kion asked.

Licen glanced over his shoulder. “It is not far from here. An old shrine.” He gestured northward.

“Will he be able to run away so easily?”

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This time the other man turned his head all the way, grinning. “No Helcenaean knows the valley like my people. Except for two.”

Leaving the freezing water behind, they fell into a run again. But this time Licen chose a more moderate pace, allowing Kion to comfortably keep up.

“Is the other your grandfather?” Kion asked, remembering that the tribesman was named after his Helcenaean relative.

“Yes,” Licen said.

“Why did Tatros decide to run away? I thought the Assanaten were holding the women to keep the men in line.”

Licen hesitated before answering. “I do not know. You must ask Tatros.”

Kion was sure that the other man had at least an idea of what had moved Tatros to take this risk, but he didn’t follow up. There was more he needed to ask, and he didn’t want to risk silencing him by pushing too hard.

“What will your people think about you helping the Helcenaean?”

This time Licen didn’t answer. It seemed like his willingness to open up to a stranger had its limits. Kion decided to let it be for the time being.

They continued to run for another hour before the tribesman suddenly slowed to a walk. “There.” He pointed to a small clearing up ahead.

Coming closer Kion saw the remains of a couple of wooden huts. They’d been abandoned some time ago and nature had reclaimed the area. Lacking a roof, a tree had grown in the largest building, forming a canopy over the remaining walls.

“There you are!”

Kion spun around. The voice had come from his left.

Only a couple of steps away, Tatros emerged from behind a tree, carrying his long walking stick in one hand. “Do you have something to eat? The bastards didn’t feed us breakfast this morning.”

Licen smiled and started to rummage in his bag, but Kion’s attention was on Tatros. “You walk better.”

The older man raised an eyebrow but then smiled. “Let’s say it healed better than I let on. Guards are less attentive when they believe you can’t run from them.”

“Is that how you got away?” Kion asked.

Tatros spit to the site. “Ha! I could have slipped away even if I was missing a leg. They sent only six men to bring us back to Logger’s Home. Ipras and the others are no warriors, but we could have overcome them if we’d wanted to.”

Kion had no doubt that this was true. Numbers mattered. And he’d seen the Helcenaean loggers. All of them were strong healthy men with brought shoulders from a lifetime of hard labor and sufficient food. Especially the elder Ipras was a giant. If he got his arms around you, Kion had doubts that even he stood a chance.

Licen handed Tatros stripes of dried meat and pointed towards the undergrows. “There should be some berries over there.”

“Already found them,” Tatros said, chewing.

Kion waited impatiently while the old man sat down and ate. Licen walked over to a big stone on the other end of the settlement and started to clear away the greenery.

“A shrine to their god?” Kion asked.

Tatros glanced in Licen’s direction. “Yeah, Horto. Good god. Doesn’t bother anybody much, except for some bad weather now and then.”

Kion frowned but didn’t say anything. Disinterest wasn’t his idea of a good god. What were all the sacrifices and prayers for if a deity didn’t extend his protection and blessings to his follower? Of course, faith had to be tested and proven but even the most faithful couldn’t afford to follow a god that didn’t deliver.

Inashtar had given him a great blessing and Kion would spend his life repaying her kindness. His Gift had allowed him to survive as an orphan in the streets of Saggab. It had allowed him to survive his first battle and made him a named warrior. This had brought him to the attention of the sar who had elevated him into his bodyguard.

Remembering his great debt, Kion murmured a prayer under his breath. It had been a long time since his last sacrifice and his conscience weighed on him.

“So,” Tatros said, wiping his mouth with his forearm, “you serve Nasser-Zeribona?”

Kion had expected the question and contemplated what he could share with these people. On the one hand, mistress Bel’Sara hadn’t given him any instructions regarding secrecy when she’d sent him to investigate the fate of master Mel’Chor. On the other hand, if her dream was true and the sage was dead, it meant something or someone in this valley was dangerous enough to slay one of the most legendary magi of their time. A figure even Bel’Sara’s own reputation paled to in comparison.

The thought alone caused a shiver to run down Kion’s spine. He would have to be very careful. “Yes, I do.”

“And you came here to find out what the Assanaten are up to?”

Kion nodded.

Tatros scratched his chest. “I guess you found out what you needed and want to leave this place now. You can come with me. We’ll need supplies to cross the mountains but there’re places to get them without running into the Assanaten.”

Having a guild who knew this mountain range would increase Kion’s chances significantly. Not only to avoid the Assanaten patrols but also to find his way. His best idea so far had been to ambush a patrol, take their food and equipment, and ask for directions. Since his only weapon was a short knife, he’d taken from one of the mercenaries that was a dangerous plan. Eyeing Tatros’ stick he became aware of how naked he felt without the familiar weight of a spear in his hand.

Tatros noticed his look and misread it. “Don’t worry. My knee isn’t completely healed yet, but I’m not going to slow you down. I’ll let you carry our supplies though.” He winked.

“What about him?” Kion asked, nodding towards Licen, who had finished cleaning the shrine and came back to them.

“He has…obligations to his people,” Tatros said. “There seem to be some in the tribe who don’t want to be involved with the Assanaten. But they aren’t going to oppose their elders openly. Licen will be fine as long as he doesn’t stray too far.”

Kion nodded while considering his situation. He was torn. This was his best chance to escape the valley but he hadn’t completed the sage’s mission yet. Unable to gauge its true importance, he could only trust mistress Bel’Sara’s word and she’d been very open and clear. For a person of her standing, someone capable of hearing the voices of the gods, to confide in a lowly warrior like him, even if it was just a bit, gave him a sense of the responsibility he now carried.

“…I can’t leave the valley yet,” he said.

Both men looked at him in surprise.

“I need to find a man,” Kion said, unsure how much he should share. “A Helcenaean from Piro. The one the Assanaten vanguard found in the woods.”

Tatros and the young tribesman exchanged a look.

“You want to go to the village?” Tatros asked. “Where the biggest part of the enemy's force camps?”

Licen shook his head. “That is not smart.”

Kion straightened, facing his potential allies. “That’s the mission that was given to me. I can’t leave before it’s completed.”

“What’s so important about this man?” Tatros asked. “Who is he?”

“His name is Livadios, son of Leomenas,” Kion said. “He was sent on an errand and I need to find out what came of it.”

“Is it about his companion?” Tatros asked. “The one the Assanaten were so nervous about?”

Kion hesitated. He didn’t know these people. “Maybe. One way or another, I need to talk to him.”

Tatros looked grim. He was clearly not eager to go. Hadn’t he just risked flight in order to not be brought back to the village?

As the silence stretched between them, Licen looked back and forth between them. “You know, you need him to get over the mountains, Tatros.” He crossed his arms.

“Pah,” Tatros said. “We can find somebody else.”

“Aren’t the loggers all bound by the threat to their families?” Kion asked carefully. He wanted the older man’s collaboration. Extorting his help would be counterproductive in the long run.

“Neither I nor any of my people will help,” Licen said. “The agreement the elders made with the Assanaten binds us. It was made before Horto’s shrine.”

Tatros turned on the spot and started to walk. “Fine. We can have a look at the village from a distance. But if sneaking in looks like a suicidal endeavor - which it will - we turn north. There is a decent trail there that meets the main pass to Riadnos much further to the west. Using it we’ll hopefully avoid most of the Assanaten patrols.”

The two younger men exchanged a glanze, shrugged, and fell in behind the old hunter.

“Why did you run away?” Kion asked. “You don’t have family in Logger’s Home?”

“I didn’t like the food,” Tatros said.