“Eight?” Tatros asked.

“More likely ten,” Kion whispered. “The one sitting on the stool is the chief.”

Licen nodded. “There might be more at the house.”

“So, what now?” Tatros asked.

As if on an inaudible command all three robbed backward from the peak of the small hill from which they had observed the Assanaten warriors camping on the beach below. Back at the foot they sat up and looked at each other.

“Why are they here?” Licen asked.

Tatros plugged a dead leaf from his beard. “Tepras’ place is a hundred paces that way. That’s where the refugees from the village gathered before we started our journey to the western pass. Maybe they’re waiting for stragglers?”

“The form of the lake,” Kion drew the rough outline into the air, “if they have a lookout here and one in the village, they can cover the whole thing.”

Tatros had suggested heading to this place because it allowed the best view of the village. Due to the valley’s dense forest, the only way to observe from afar was across the lake. Kion agreed that the small peninsula was ideal for that purpose. Close enough to get a good look but far enough to stay safe. Only it seemed the Assanaten had come to the same conclusion and sent warriors here.

The men were sitting around a small fire at the beach, talking and laughing. They seemed relaxed but they had their weapons close by at all times. Kion’s trained eyes told him these men wouldn’t be surprised easily.

“Is there another spot, we can observe the village from?” he asked.

“We would need to go around and circle back to the shore a lot closer to the village,” Tatros said, thoughtfully. “There’s a good chance we’ll run into patrols.”

The other reason the old hunter had wanted to come here was his hope to find supplies at the house that was supposed to be close by. He’d admitted that it was unlikely that the Helcenaean had left much behind, but it was worth a try.

“Let’s go then,” Kion said, his tone making clear that he wouldn’t be deterred.

Tatros looked to Licen.

“I shall go first and scout the way,” the tribesman said, rising. A moment later he’d disappeared between the trees.

Tatros used his stick to climb back to his feet. He hid it well, but Kion saw the wince when he put weight on his damaged leg. At the beginning of their journey together, he’d moved well but as the day progressed it became harder and harder for him to keep the pace and hide his pain at the same time. Given enough breaks he would be fine in the valley, as long as they didn’t have to run from an Assanaten patrol, but Kion couldn’t see the old hunter climb a mountain trail anytime soon.

As if having guessed his thoughts, Tatros gave him a suspicious look. Kion kept his expression blank and gestured for the older man to take the lead.

They moved slowly, staying away from the trails to avoid running into anybody by chance. After a short while Tatros raised his fist. “Licen is coming back.”

Kion peered over his shoulder but only saw the tribesman when he stepped out from behind a bush thirty paces ahead. If the Assanaten ever send their tribal allies after me, I’ll have a problem, he thought.

When Licen reached them all three crouched.

“There’re two more warriors and a woman at the house,” he whispered. “She’s cooking.”

“One of the villagers?” Kion asked.

Licen nodded.

Of course, Kion thought, annoyed about himself. Considering the supply issues in the mountains, the enemy would have avoided bringing camp followers to the valley as much as possible. And especially not in the vanguard.

“Are you sure it’s just those three?” Tatros asked.

“Yes, unless there are more in the house,” Licen said.

“A chief of ten and his men,” Kion said. “Enough to watch the lake and catch any Helcenaean stragglers trying to flee through here.”

“There could be more prisoners,” Tatros said.

“For ten men?” Kion raised an eyebrow. “One woman is plenty. I’m surprised they were given one in the first place. They’re probably expected to stay out here for a while.”

Tatros looked at him with an expression Kion couldn’t read.

“Was it different back when you fought for Saggab?” he asked.

Tatro's head turned toward the house. “No,” he said slowly. “No, I think you’re right.” With that, he started to move. Keeping low he snuck toward the house.

Kion and Licen exchanged a surprised look.

“What’re you doing?” Kion whispered as loud as he dared.

“Just taking a look,” Tatros murmured almost inaudibly, without turning around.

Licen shrugged and followed the old hunter.

Inashtar deliver me from fools, Kion thought, falling in behind.

They caught up with Tatros when the old hunter lay flat on his stomach and crawled forward, using the thick greenery for cover.

Licen took the bow of his back before joining his side.

Kion debated with himself if he should stay back and wait but decided he couldn’t take the risk. If Tatros attempted something stupid, he would have to stop him. Reluctantly he dropped to the ground.

“It’s Ditsa,” Tatros whispered.

Pushing himself forward on his elbows, Kion reached the spot the other two had selected as a vantage point. They were huddled close together under a thick bush, peering through leaves. Carefully, holding up a branch Kion saw the house in the middle of a clearing.

Like the huts of the tribesman, it was constructed entirely from wood but it was way bigger than anything Kion had seen in the valley thus far. Used to the mud brick and stone buildings of the south, walls build from entire tree trunks fitted on top of each other was a strange sight. Here in the valley wood was clearly the most abundant material, but it still felt wasteful to Kion.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Ahead two warriors sat on a bench, their backs leaning against the house wall. Their eyes were on a young Helcenaean woman working over a cauldron.

Watching her cook, Kion could feel his stomach react. He’d barely eaten anything since the morning of the previous day. It isn’t worth dying for a meal, he reminded himself. Something in the back of his mind acknowledged his younger self would have found thinking like this strange. Risking his life for the next meal was a description of his entire childhood.

He tapped the old man laying next to him on the arm and pointed backward with his head.

Tatros hesitated. Kion could see that he wrestled with himself. Leaving the girl behind went against his instincts. It took him a moment to acknowledge Kion’s silent question.

Just as the two were about to crawl backward, Licen stopped them with a gesture. They froze in place, their eyes following the tribesman’s finger.

Two more warriors appeared at the edge of the clearing to their right. Judging from the direction, the path they came down led to the beach. Kion recognized the chief of ten.

After exchanging a couple of words, the chief pointed in the direction of the beach. The Assanaten spoke the Old Tongue, the same as the people of Saggab, but the distance and their accents made it hard for Kion to understand what the men were saying.

One of the warriors pushed the young woman aside, took the cauldron from the fire, and started to walk toward the beach. The other two picked up a stack of wooden bowls and a couple of other things and followed him.

The girl stood forlorn in the middle. She hadn’t received any order and was clearly frightened. When she took a hesitant step after the three warriors, the chief’s arm stopped her.

Even at the distance, Kion could see the realization hitting her. Her shoulders tightened as the man led her inside the house. She didn’t try to resist, either guessing or already knowing that it would make things worse.

Kion had seen such scenes before. Not on his one campaign but as a child growing up in the worst neighborhood of Saggab. He’d known a mother taking payment for her daughter, waiting in front of her house’s door until her customer was done. Many paid with food.

He shook his head. You left all that behind long ago, he thought. Inashtar had provided him a path out and he would stay on it.

He peered out over the now empty area in front of the house. They could be reasonably sure that the ten warriors were the only ones close by. Had there been more, they would have gathered to partake in the meal.

Time to move on, he thought. As he turned his head to signal his companions that it was time to leave, his Gift warned him that Tatros was about to do something foolish. Kion’s hand was on the old hunter’s shoulder before he could rise. The suddenness of the movement surprised the other men.

“What’re you doing?” Kion hissed under his breath.

Tatro's eyes hardened, glancing meaningfully at the hand.

Kion ignored it.

“That’s Ipras’ daughter-in-law,” Tatros said.

Kion remembered the old logger. The leader of the Helcenaean prisoners was the biggest man he’d ever met. And he was Tatro's friend.

“We can’t,” he said, trying to soften his tone. “They’ll find the body and alarm the camp. We’ll never get close then.”

“And how am I ever to face Ipras again if I just walk away?” Tatros asked.

Reading the other man’s posture, Kion could see the anger building. He released his grip and held up his hand. “We can’t. And he’ll never know.”

He’d forgotten that these were Tatros’ people, his neighbors. Due to the casualness with which the old hunter had slipped his captivity, he hadn’t even thought about it. The Assanaten were ensuring the logger’s compliance by holding their families, yet Tatros had decided to flee when the prisoners were led back to the village. Why did he run when they were about to be reunited with their families? Kion thought.

“The gods will know,” Tatros said grimly.

Kion couldn’t argue with that.

He looked back to the house, desperately trying to think his way through the situation. To free the girl, they would have to kill the chief. His men would find him and alarm their companions across the lake. The Assanaten would increase their guard, send out patrols, and maybe even make sacrifices to receive a divination. Unless they don’t perceive a threat, he thought.

Suddenly he had an idea. It was risky but he couldn’t see another way.

“Ok,” he said, rising to a crouch. “Stay here. I shall go.”

“What…,” Tatros began to say but Kion interrupted him.

“Watch the path to the beach while I’m in there.” With those words, he sat off.

Staying low he crossed the distance to the house as quickly as possible. His eyes darted from left to right, taking in his surroundings. Everything was quiet.

Passing the cooking area, he picked up a copper knife, the girl had used. The blade was a bit short, but it had to be enough.

When he reached the door, Kion stopped. Concentrating, he could hear the noise of a muffled struggle from within. It was the only sound. Relieved, he snuck forward.

The coupling sounds came from a room down the floor to the left. A thin curtain was the only thing that offered a bit of privacy. Carefully opening a gap by the door frame, Kion peered inside.

The young woman lay on her back. The Assanaten was leaning over her, binding her hands together.

“Quite now,” the veteran warrior said, in the Old Tongue, a language the Helcenaean girl was unlikely to understand.

Kion pulled back and listened patiently. A couple of heartbeats later, he heard the rustling of clothes followed by an appreciative groaning of a male voice. It was the signal he’d been waiting for. Making as little noise as possible, Kion stepped through the curtain.

His torso bare, the man had buried his face in the woman’s ample bosom while his hands were eagerly pulling up her dress.

With three long strides, Kion crossed the room. He sat on the man’s back, causing a surprised shout from both him and the woman below them. When the warrior's head came up, Kion grabbed his hair and stabbed the cooking knife in the side of his neck, and pushed it down.

The Assanaten bulked but Kion kept him pinned down using his body weight. With the main blood carriers cut, it was only a matter of moments before the man would bleed out. He knew that too and desperately tried to cover the wound with his hand.

Kion used his hold on the man’s hair to push his head down and sideways, making it harder for the warrior to stop the blood loss. A dozen heartbeats later, the desperate resistance ceased. Feeling the body below him fall slack, Kion didn’t move right away. Instead, he took a deep breath. “May your god judge your worthiness in the afterlife,” he whispered, paying the fallen warrior his respect.

When he straightened, his eyes met the girl’s for the first time. They were brown and full of tears. Her crying was muffled by a gag that was now soaked in the warrior’s blood which had spread over half her face.

“It’s ok,” Kion said. “I’m here to help you.”

The girl gave no indication that she understood.

Remembering that most of the Helcenaean in the valley didn’t speak the Old Tongue Kion placed his finger over his lips. “Ok?”

He sat back and rolled the body of her. Taking her cleaner arm, he pulled her to her feet. When she stood in front of him he could see her pathetic state. Her whole body was shaking. Her clothes were in disarray and drenched in blood. Her headscarf had come loose at some point letting her disheveled black hair fall over her face.

Afraid she might fall, Kion held on to her arm with his free hand while using the other to cut her hands free. Then he dropped the knife to the ground.

“Come now,“ he said, pulling the girl with him.

She didn’t resist, letting herself be guided out of the house, crying the whole way.

Stepping into the sun, they were confronted by Tatros. Apparently, the old hunter’s impatience had gotten the better of him.

“Licen is watching the beach,” he said, answering Kion’s silent question. “He’ll warn us should anybody approach.” Then his attention turned to the young woman. “Hey, there. Ditsa, right?”

Hearing her name, she looked up. Having to blink away her tears, it took her a moment to recognize Tatros. When she did, she jumped forward with a cry muffled by the gag. She wrapped her hands around the old hunter and buried her head in his shoulder.

“It’s ok,” Tatros said, gently patting her back. “You’re safe now.”

No, we’re not, Kion thought, watching them impatiently. Another warrior or two could come up from the beach anytime, wanting their turn with the woman.

Tatro's eyes met his. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, she killed him.”

Tatros opened his mouth but Kion held up his bloody knife hand.

“They’ll find their half-naked chief on the bed and a bloody cooking knife on the ground next to him.”

Tatro's eyes widened as he understood. “Licen can lay a false trail. That will buy us even more time.”

The warriors wouldn’t be eager to report the circumstances of their chief’s death. It was embarrassing and they would likely be punished. Especially if the woman escaped them on top of it.

“We’ve to get away from here,” Kion said. Making it look like the girl had killed the warrior and subsequently fled into the woods meant, they couldn’t plunder the house. Hopefully, she would have some valuable news. Otherwise, this risky adventure would have been wholly for nothing, but adding another mouth to feed.

Tatros nodded. He carefully loosened the girl’s arms. “Ditsa, we must go now. Can you walk?” He reached out for the gag.

“Leave it,” Kion said.

Tatros frowned at him.

Kion waved towards the tree line. “At least until she stops crying.”