Tatros was just as heavy as he looked. Shorter than average, at least by modern Western standards, but muscular. Not like a bodybuilder, but like somebody who lives in the wilderness and wrestles bears for a living.
Right now the bear-wrestler’s body was leaning heavily on Mark’s shoulder. Neither of them complained but Mark could see the strain on Tatros’ face when they had to pass more rugged terrain.
He tried not to look. The older man endured the pain he was clearly feeling with an admirable stubbornness. So far, he had vetoed any suggestion of a break.
They were on the run.
After the old guy and the remaining warrior had left, the three of them had quickly packed up some supplies and weapons and fled. They had all agreed there was no sense in waiting around for these Assanaten to return in greater numbers.
A sharp intake of air by Tatros brought Mark’s attention back to his burden. Atissa’s uncle looked pale. His forehead gleamed with perspiration.
After being surprised by the Assanaten in his hut, he had apparently tried to resist until he recognized the magi. The warriors hadn’t appreciated what a difficult time he’d given them. After tying him up he had endured quite the beating. His chest had patches of nasty discoloration that indicated the likelihood of a few broken ribs. But the worst was his knee.
At first, Tatros hadn’t said anything, but after ten minutes away from any path, his leg had given in under him. The knee had rapidly swollen and even the proud man was unable to pretend any longer. Now he could barely put weight on it.
Mark had to support him while Atissa had taken over carrying most of their baggage.
They traveled light. Some food and clothing. An empty waterskin. The valley was crisscrossed by streams and they could fill it anytime.
“We will have to take a break,” Mark said.
Tatros wanted to object but saw the look in Mark’s eyes and thought better of it. He just grunted and looked away. The older man was stubborn, but he wasn’t a fool.
Atissa waited a little further ahead. Bow and arrow in hand, she acted as their scout.
When they came closer Mark noticed the concern in her face. This whole situation seemed too much to put on a teenage girl. How would Anne hold up in this situation, he thought? He could feel his face harden. He hadn’t thought this often about her in years. Was it the time he was spending with Atissa?
“We should rest now,” Mark said. “Is there a good spot around here?”
Atissa looked at her uncle, her expression showing relief when he didn’t protest.
“There’s a fallen tree a little bit further ahead,” she said, pointing in the direction. “I will fill the waterskin from the last stream and meet you there.”
“Ok,” Mark said.
Atissa nodded and disappeared into the undergrowth in the direction they had come from. While he still had the energy to talk, Tatros had explained that she was circling them to make sure no enemy scouts were close. Mark had no doubt that considering their current speed Atissa had no problem running back and forth.
Not that he had noticed it.
They reached the tree and Mark helped Tatros to sit down. Leaning his back against the thick trunk, he sighed.
Atissa had selected a good spot. There was a hole in the canopy and the warm afternoon sun felt good on Mark’s face. For once he was unconcerned about how the continued exposure would affect his skin.
He took a seat next to Tatros, feeling the temptation to close his eyes and let go for a bit. Mark resisted it. He had always prided himself in his discipline - it was the only way to gain control of one’s life.
Since the accident, he hadn’t been in control. He had strayed through the woods and followed or run away from others and he didn’t see that changing any time soon. For his survival in the wilderness, he was completely dependent on Atissa’s and Tatros’ skillset. And of course, there was another fact he had to face. At this point I can be fairly sure that this is not my world…or time, he thought.
All kinds of speculations came to mind, but Mark pushed them aside. Right now, they were a waste of time. He had never been into fiction. Well, at least not since his childhood had abruptly ended when he was twelve years old.
Based on his current information, he saw two options. Option A, he was in a coma and was dreaming all of this up. In that case, he had to wait for his body to heal itself. Maybe he could invest some time every day to focus on waking up?
But it doesn’t feel like a dream at all, he thought, rolling his right shoulder to release the tension he had built up supporting Tatros.
Which brought him to option B. He had somehow landed in a different world or time. Considering his current circumstances, he had to act under the assumption that this was the case. He didn’t feel like taking an axe to the face on the chance that he was just dreaming.
Mark sighted. What he really craved right now was a cigarette. But no matter if the world around him was real or dreamed up, it didn’t look like he would be able to replenish his dwindling supply. He had to ration.
Sitting quietly, he studied his hands and forearms. They were covered in scrapes and there was dirt under his fingernails. He tried to pick it out for a few seconds before forcing himself to stop. It was a futile effort. Later, he thought. Focus on what’s important now.
Gathering information was always the first step of every new project. It was time to go back to some of the tidbits he had filed away. Understanding his surroundings would help him to fit in better and in this strange place, his survival might depend on it.
Mark turned his attention to Tatros.
The old man had his eyes closed. He hid it well, but he was clearly in a lot of pain. His sunken eyes and the lines on his face showed the strain. It was probably best for him to rest as much as he could.
“How long until we reach where we are going?” Mark asked. He had always been impatient.
Startled, Tatros opened his eyes and looked up to the sky.
“At our…at my current speed, we should reach Tepras’ home shortly after dark,” he said. “If we don’t take any more breaks.”
Tepras was one of the grandsons of Ipras, the owner of the small settlement they had visited the day before. His house lay on the other side of the Logger’s Lake. Survivors from the village and the surrounding area would likely gather there.
“The Assanaten won’t advance beyond Logger’s Home today. There’re too many people in the village and too many approaches to secure. We should be safe there for at least a day. Maybe two.” Tatros seemed to have guessed Mark’s concerns.
“If these Assanaten want to conquer this place, I assume they will head for all the mayor settlements,” Mark asked.
Tatros glanced at him. There was the hint of a question in his eyes, although he didn’t seem suspicious.
“There’s not really much to conquer. There are the settlements on the eastern side of the Half Moon Valley”, he waved in a direction Mark assumed was east, “a couple of spread out camps and the village. On this side of the valley Logger’s Home is the biggest settlement, and it has less than a hundred people. Even fewer now, since the men aren’t back from the Drive, yet.”
Mark field the comment about the Drive away. He would focus on the threat to his life for now. That was more urgent. “Why would these people conquer this place if there isn’t much here?”
Tatros shrugged. He didn’t seem to be particularly concerned about the bigger picture. Nor was Mark, for that matter.
“Once we reach the place of this Tepras person, how will we get out?” Mark asked.
“Out?”
“Out of this valley.”
Tatros ran his fingers along his leg. When he came close to the knee he flinched. “We don’t necessarily have to flee for good. The valley is big, and it’s all thick woods. We can hide till the Assanaten leave again.”
“But you don’t know why they are here,” Mark said. “How do you know they’ll just leave again?”
Tatros looked at him, clearly hesitant to answer. “Maybe it’s a slave raid,” he finally said. He didn’t seem convinced.
Mark decided to dig a bit deeper. “Would that make sense? To come to a remote place like this for slaves?”
Tatros didn’t answer, his silence telling Mark it wasn’t. Then Mark had a thought. “Where can you get to from here? You mentioned Riadnos a couple of times. I assume that is not an Assanaten city?”
Tatros gave him that confused look again.
It seems these are all things that are common knowledge, Mark thought. He had to be more careful.
“You really are from far away, aren’t you? I can't imagine a place where they haven’t heard of the Assanaten’s conquests.” Tatros shook his head. “Relax,” he said, seeing Mark tense. He waved his hand dismissively. “You saved our lives. And you got Reva, that stingy woman, to hand over some wine. Wherever you are from, I call you friend.” He laughed.
It was the laughter more than the words that eased Mark’s tension. Tatros’ attitude reminded him of some of the better foremen he had worked with as an engineer. Direct, down-to-earth people. Once you’d earned their trust by showing yourself competent, they were easy to deal with.
“Riadnos is a Helcenaean colony. Riadna brought the first settlers over across the straight…over a hundred years ago. It is the northernmost city of the continent and a lot of trade runs through there. Wood, olive oil, wine, metal. You name it.”
“Are you from there?” Mark asked.
Tatros shook his head. “No, I came over from Helcenaea when I was a boy and found work as a mercenary.” He looked up, a genuine smile forming on his lips. “I grew up in the mountains back home. I couldn’t afford a shield and spear, but I was good with the bow. My father had taught me woodcraft. In the army, I learned to wrestle and became pretty good at it too.” His face showed pride, the pain seemingly forgotten for the moment.
“Are you telling stories again, uncle?” Atissa stepped around the tree trunk and handed Mark the waterskin. He hadn’t heard her approach.
“I’m answering master Mark’s questions.”
“Are you sure he asked about wrestling? Admit it, you were just about to tell him about some match you had in the army,” Atissa said, pointing at her uncle. Her tone was lightly accusatory, but that didn’t hide the concern in her eyes as she looked down at her uncle, who had returned to prodding his injured leg.
Tatros glanced up at her and grunted. “Don’t worry, girl. I will make it to Tepras’ place.”
Mark drank deeply, careful not to touch the opening with his lips. Satisfied, he handed the skin to Tatros and rose to his feet.
“What is the relationship between Riadnos and the Assanaten?” he asked. “Could they be on their way there?”
Atissa looked surprised from one man to the other.
“You were there during the last war,” she said to Tatros. “Before you and aunt came to the valley.”
Tatros took his time answering. He plugged the waterskin and handed it to Atissa before accepting Mark’s help to get back to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was pensive. “I thought about that. But it doesn’t make any sense. Marching an army through the mountains just to end up below the city walls. And then you have to transport all your supplies through the mountains too.”
“Maybe they want to make a surprise attack?” Atissa asked eagerly.
Tatros shook his head. “Even if they can sneak through the mountains undetected, the moment they come down on the other side, the anax is going to shut the gates on them. Memnostis, that old bastard will be happy to just wait behind his walls.” He spit on the ground. “He did that with us back then, too.”
Mark felt a wave of revulsion as he saw Tatros spit on the ground. It was a disgusting habit. “Wait, what did you just say?”
“We came along the coast,” Tatros said, while he leaned on Mark to walk. “The Golden Road follows the coastline with the mountains on the other side. We laid siege to the Sea Wall. Took it after four weeks of preparation and a bloody fight. Then it took us another two weeks to dismantle everything and move our camp beyond the wall to besiege the city. But I guess the gods had other plans. We never even got to surround the Riadnos before everything went wrong.” He interrupted his explanations when they had to climb a large rock, half overgrown with greenery.
Mark helped Tatros as much as he could, but the uneven ground made it difficult. The older man gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain. When they finally reached the top, he had to take a break.
Mark turned away, giving the proud man as much space as possible. He let his eyes wander.
“Anyway, old Memnostis didn’t come out to stop us and retake the wall right away. He waited for his moment. Old bastard.”
“What’s that?” Mark asked, interrupting Tatros. Over the treetops, he could see smoke rising. It wasn’t close, but there was so much of it. “Is that where the village is?”
“Yes,” Atissa said, joining his side. “Are they burning it down, uncle?” Anxiety was obvious in her voice.
Mark supported Tatros as he hobbled around to see.
“No”, he said after watching for a long moment, “the smoke is too thin and on too broad a front. Those are cooking fires. Lots of them.”
Tatros was just as heavy as he looked. Shorter than average, at least by modern Western standards, but muscular. Not like a bodybuilder, but like somebody who lives in the wilderness and wrestles bears for a living.
Right now the bear-wrestler’s body was leaning heavily on Mark’s shoulder. Neither of them complained but Mark could see the strain on Tatros’ face when they had to pass more rugged terrain.
He tried not to look. The older man endured the pain he was clearly feeling with an admirable stubbornness. So far, he had vetoed any suggestion of a break.
They were on the run.
After the old guy and the remaining warrior had left, the three of them had quickly packed up some supplies and weapons and fled. They had all agreed there was no sense in waiting around for these Assanaten to return in greater numbers.
A sharp intake of air by Tatros brought Mark’s attention back to his burden. Atissa’s uncle looked pale. His forehead gleamed with perspiration.
After being surprised by the Assanaten in his hut, he had apparently tried to resist until he recognized the magi. The warriors hadn’t appreciated what a difficult time he’d given them. After tying him up he had endured quite the beating. His chest had patches of nasty discoloration that indicated the likelihood of a few broken ribs. But the worst was his knee.
At first, Tatros hadn’t said anything, but after ten minutes away from any path, his leg had given in under him. The knee had rapidly swollen and even the proud man was unable to pretend any longer. Now he could barely put weight on it.
Mark had to support him while Atissa had taken over carrying most of their baggage.
They traveled light. Some food and clothing. An empty waterskin. The valley was crisscrossed by streams and they could fill it anytime.
“We will have to take a break,” Mark said.
Tatros wanted to object but saw the look in Mark’s eyes and thought better of it. He just grunted and looked away. The older man was stubborn, but he wasn’t a fool.
Atissa waited a little further ahead. Bow and arrow in hand, she acted as their scout.
When they came closer Mark noticed the concern in her face. This whole situation seemed too much to put on a teenage girl. How would Anne hold up in this situation, he thought? He could feel his face harden. He hadn’t thought this often about her in years. Was it the time he was spending with Atissa?
“We should rest now,” Mark said. “Is there a good spot around here?”
Atissa looked at her uncle, her expression showing relief when he didn’t protest.
“There’s a fallen tree a little bit further ahead,” she said, pointing in the direction. “I will fill the waterskin from the last stream and meet you there.”
“Ok,” Mark said.
Atissa nodded and disappeared into the undergrowth in the direction they had come from. While he still had the energy to talk, Tatros had explained that she was circling them to make sure no enemy scouts were close. Mark had no doubt that considering their current speed Atissa had no problem running back and forth.
Not that he had noticed it.
They reached the tree and Mark helped Tatros to sit down. Leaning his back against the thick trunk, he sighed.
Atissa had selected a good spot. There was a hole in the canopy and the warm afternoon sun felt good on Mark’s face. For once he was unconcerned about how the continued exposure would affect his skin.
He took a seat next to Tatros, feeling the temptation to close his eyes and let go for a bit. Mark resisted it. He had always prided himself in his discipline - it was the only way to gain control of one’s life.
Since the accident, he hadn’t been in control. He had strayed through the woods and followed or run away from others and he didn’t see that changing any time soon. For his survival in the wilderness, he was completely dependent on Atissa’s and Tatros’ skillset. And of course, there was another fact he had to face. At this point I can be fairly sure that this is not my world…or time, he thought.
All kinds of speculations came to mind, but Mark pushed them aside. Right now, they were a waste of time. He had never been into fiction. Well, at least not since his childhood had abruptly ended when he was twelve years old.
Based on his current information, he saw two options. Option A, he was in a coma and was dreaming all of this up. In that case, he had to wait for his body to heal itself. Maybe he could invest some time every day to focus on waking up?
But it doesn’t feel like a dream at all, he thought, rolling his right shoulder to release the tension he had built up supporting Tatros.
Which brought him to option B. He had somehow landed in a different world or time. Considering his current circumstances, he had to act under the assumption that this was the case. He didn’t feel like taking an axe to the face on the chance that he was just dreaming.
Mark sighted. What he really craved right now was a cigarette. But no matter if the world around him was real or dreamed up, it didn’t look like he would be able to replenish his dwindling supply. He had to ration.
Sitting quietly, he studied his hands and forearms. They were covered in scrapes and there was dirt under his fingernails. He tried to pick it out for a few seconds before forcing himself to stop. It was a futile effort. Later, he thought. Focus on what’s important now.
Gathering information was always the first step of every new project. It was time to go back to some of the tidbits he had filed away. Understanding his surroundings would help him to fit in better and in this strange place, his survival might depend on it.
Mark turned his attention to Tatros.
The old man had his eyes closed. He hid it well, but he was clearly in a lot of pain. His sunken eyes and the lines on his face showed the strain. It was probably best for him to rest as much as he could.
“How long until we reach where we are going?” Mark asked. He had always been impatient.
Startled, Tatros opened his eyes and looked up to the sky.
“At our…at my current speed, we should reach Tepras’ home shortly after dark,” he said. “If we don’t take any more breaks.”
Tepras was one of the grandsons of Ipras, the owner of the small settlement they had visited the day before. His house lay on the other side of the Logger’s Lake. Survivors from the village and the surrounding area would likely gather there.
“The Assanaten won’t advance beyond Logger’s Home today. There’re too many people in the village and too many approaches to secure. We should be safe there for at least a day. Maybe two.” Tatros seemed to have guessed Mark’s concerns.
“If these Assanaten want to conquer this place, I assume they will head for all the mayor settlements,” Mark asked.
Tatros glanced at him. There was the hint of a question in his eyes, although he didn’t seem suspicious.
“There’s not really much to conquer. There are the settlements on the eastern side of the Half Moon Valley”, he waved in a direction Mark assumed was east, “a couple of spread out camps and the village. On this side of the valley Logger’s Home is the biggest settlement, and it has less than a hundred people. Even fewer now, since the men aren’t back from the Drive, yet.”
Mark field the comment about the Drive away. He would focus on the threat to his life for now. That was more urgent. “Why would these people conquer this place if there isn’t much here?”
Tatros shrugged. He didn’t seem to be particularly concerned about the bigger picture. Nor was Mark, for that matter.
“Once we reach the place of this Tepras person, how will we get out?” Mark asked.
“Out?”
“Out of this valley.”
Tatros ran his fingers along his leg. When he came close to the knee he flinched. “We don’t necessarily have to flee for good. The valley is big, and it’s all thick woods. We can hide till the Assanaten leave again.”
“But you don’t know why they are here,” Mark said. “How do you know they’ll just leave again?”
Tatros looked at him, clearly hesitant to answer. “Maybe it’s a slave raid,” he finally said. He didn’t seem convinced.
Mark decided to dig a bit deeper. “Would that make sense? To come to a remote place like this for slaves?”
Tatros didn’t answer, his silence telling Mark it wasn’t. Then Mark had a thought. “Where can you get to from here? You mentioned Riadnos a couple of times. I assume that is not an Assanaten city?”
Tatros gave him that confused look again.
It seems these are all things that are common knowledge, Mark thought. He had to be more careful.
“You really are from far away, aren’t you? I can't imagine a place where they haven’t heard of the Assanaten’s conquests.” Tatros shook his head. “Relax,” he said, seeing Mark tense. He waved his hand dismissively. “You saved our lives. And you got Reva, that stingy woman, to hand over some wine. Wherever you are from, I call you friend.” He laughed.
It was the laughter more than the words that eased Mark’s tension. Tatros’ attitude reminded him of some of the better foremen he had worked with as an engineer. Direct, down-to-earth people. Once you’d earned their trust by showing yourself competent, they were easy to deal with.
“Riadnos is a Helcenaean colony. Riadna brought the first settlers over across the straight…over a hundred years ago. It is the northernmost city of the continent and a lot of trade runs through there. Wood, olive oil, wine, metal. You name it.”
“Are you from there?” Mark asked.
Tatros shook his head. “No, I came over from Helcenaea when I was a boy and found work as a mercenary.” He looked up, a genuine smile forming on his lips. “I grew up in the mountains back home. I couldn’t afford a shield and spear, but I was good with the bow. My father had taught me woodcraft. In the army, I learned to wrestle and became pretty good at it too.” His face showed pride, the pain seemingly forgotten for the moment.
“Are you telling stories again, uncle?” Atissa stepped around the tree trunk and handed Mark the waterskin. He hadn’t heard her approach.
“I’m answering master Mark’s questions.”
“Are you sure he asked about wrestling? Admit it, you were just about to tell him about some match you had in the army,” Atissa said, pointing at her uncle. Her tone was lightly accusatory, but that didn’t hide the concern in her eyes as she looked down at her uncle, who had returned to prodding his injured leg.
Tatros glanced up at her and grunted. “Don’t worry, girl. I will make it to Tepras’ place.”
Mark drank deeply, careful not to touch the opening with his lips. Satisfied, he handed the skin to Tatros and rose to his feet.
“What is the relationship between Riadnos and the Assanaten?” he asked. “Could they be on their way there?”
Atissa looked surprised from one man to the other.
“You were there during the last war,” she said to Tatros. “Before you and aunt came to the valley.”
Tatros took his time answering. He plugged the waterskin and handed it to Atissa before accepting Mark’s help to get back to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was pensive. “I thought about that. But it doesn’t make any sense. Marching an army through the mountains just to end up below the city walls. And then you have to transport all your supplies through the mountains too.”
“Maybe they want to make a surprise attack?” Atissa asked eagerly.
Tatros shook his head. “Even if they can sneak through the mountains undetected, the moment they come down on the other side, the anax is going to shut the gates on them. Memnostis, that old bastard will be happy to just wait behind his walls.” He spit on the ground. “He did that with us back then, too.”
Mark felt a wave of revulsion as he saw Tatros spit on the ground. It was a disgusting habit. “Wait, what did you just say?”
“We came along the coast,” Tatros said, while he leaned on Mark to walk. “The Golden Road follows the coastline with the mountains on the other side. We laid siege to the Sea Wall. Took it after four weeks of preparation and a bloody fight. Then it took us another two weeks to dismantle everything and move our camp beyond the wall to besiege the city. But I guess the gods had other plans. We never even got to surround the Riadnos before everything went wrong.” He interrupted his explanations when they had to climb a large rock, half overgrown with greenery.
Mark helped Tatros as much as he could, but the uneven ground made it difficult. The older man gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain. When they finally reached the top, he had to take a break.
Mark turned away, giving the proud man as much space as possible. He let his eyes wander.
“Anyway, old Memnostis didn’t come out to stop us and retake the wall right away. He waited for his moment. Old bastard.”
“What’s that?” Mark asked, interrupting Tatros. Over the treetops, he could see smoke rising. It wasn’t close, but there was so much of it. “Is that where the village is?”
“Yes,” Atissa said, joining his side. “Are they burning it down, uncle?” Anxiety was obvious in her voice.
Mark supported Tatros as he hobbled around to see.
“No”, he said after watching for a long moment, “the smoke is too thin and on too broad a front. Those are cooking fires. Lots of them.”
