Kion
The digging stick pierced the side of the hole, and more earth came loose. Judging that enough dirt had gathered at his feet, Kion held his tool up. After waiting for two heartbeats, without feeling anybody grabbing it, he looked up. “Hey!”
Another dirty man appeared at the edge of the man-deep pit Kion was standing in and quickly took the stick. “Sorry, Duba.”
“Hand me the tray,” Kion said harshly.
“Yes,” the man said, passing him the flat piece of wood. “Sabil is coming back.”
“Hm.” Kion shoved as much earth on the tray as it would hold before handing it to the other mercenary.
The man took it and stepped away from the edge to empty it. “Does it really have to be this deep?”
“Do you want to get sick?” Kion asked, deciding that he had clawed through enough earth for today and started to climb out of the hole. A moment later, helping hands pulled him over the edge.
Coming to his feet, Kion studied their day’s work. “Latrines must be deep and away from the water source.” A couple of paces next to the hole he had just emerged from, another one almost as deep was being dug by two of their comrades. Seeing him, their eyes lit up and they put their digging tools aside.
“What’re you doing?” Kion asked.
The two men froze and stared up at him, nervously.
“Mine is at least a foot deeper than yours,” he said. “Keep going until they’re the same depth.”
“But Sabil is bringing food,” one of the men whined. “The Assanaten sent over meat again!”
Kion turned to leave. “Then you better hurry. The troop leader has a great appetite.”
He was eager to get back to their camp, too. Less so because of the food, but for news which always came with the supplies. Controlling his curiosity, he decided to clean up first.
In his youth, he hadn’t cared about the dirt or smell that came with living on the streets. Serving in the sar’s bodyguard had changed that. In the palace, appearance mattered, and the servants were given the means not to embarrass their betters.
On the way, he gritted his teeth and waded into one of the icy cold streams. It took some time to wash off a day’s worth of dirt and when he was done the cold had seeped deeply into his body. His comrade had waited at the shore, holding his tunic and spear and showing no interest in following Kion’s example.
“Thanks,” Kion said, receiving his clothing. Slipping it over his head, he started to walk back to the campsite.
“Do you think, there will be news about crossing the mountains soon?” his comrade asked eagerly.
“No idea. Ask the troop leader.”
The man fell quiet, chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes wandering up to the mountain looming over them. Despite being able to eat very well, the men didn’t like staying in the Half Moon Valley.
Kion sighted. “I will ask Sabil.”
His comrade immediately looked relieved. “Thanks, Duba.” None of the men liked bothering the big man, since there was always a chance you might get punched. They were grateful to have Kion as a go-between as the veteran was the only one Sabil respected and listened to.
The forty-odd mercenaries had built their camp in a small meadow. Most of the men sat around fireplaces or busied themselves with their chores.
“Duba!” Sabil waved to him from across the camp. Kion quickly walked over to his leader. The big man was standing next to one of the cooking fires supervising the men roasting meat.
“You’ve brought us fresh meat,” Kion said, loud enough for the men to hear.
Sabil nodded, proudly. “Of course.”
Not that he had done more than go over to the Assanaten camp and pick up their supplies for the next two or three days.
“Anything new?” Kion asked joining Sabil at the fire.
Sabil shook his head. “They only said that they’re expecting new supplies tomorrow or the day after.” After thinking for a short moment he kicked the boney man kneeling in front of him, sticking meat on a wooden skewer. “Stick, didn’t you talk to that barbarian?”
“Yes.” The man rubbed the spot Sabil’s foot had connected with but was careful not to show his resentment. Instead, he looked up to Kion. “The guy who guided us here from the mountains was with the hunters that supply the Assanaten.”
Sabil crossed his arms and spat on the ground. “These barbarians and their damn mountain god make me nervous.”
Several men perked up. Their gaze went nervously back and forth between Kion and their leader.
“It’s better not to insult the gods,” Kion said lightly.
Sabil held up the amulet he wore around his neck. “Balqart will protect us. He’s much stronger than some backwater god with barely enough followers to man three ships.”
Some of the men around him started to glance up to the mountain, said to be Horto himself or his seat. Kion wasn’t entirely clear on that. Others looked over their shoulders into the dense forest where you couldn’t see more than thirty paces ahead of you at most.
“Balqart is very powerful,” Kion said. “But he protects the Crimson Cities and their ships, and we’re far away from the sea, up in the mountains. And this valley is Horto’s domain.” He didn’t mention that Balqart had also just lost to Assan in the battle for Piro. The Crimson People, like everybody else, were sensitive about their gods.
“Even the Helcenaean sacrificed to him,” the kneeling man Sabil had named Stick said.
“They do?” Kion asked. “How do you know?”
“The barbarian… the guide mentioned it,” the man said. “I think the barbarians are angry with the Assanaten.” He gestured in the direction of the Assanaten camp with a half-stacked skewer. “I invited him to eat with us, but he said he had to go back to his village to guide another group. He didn’t look happy about it. Then he saw the alter the Assanaten built and that made him even unhappier. He said something to his friend in their tongue. I asked him what’s wrong and he said even the Helcenaean had given sacrifices to Horto.”
“Why would you want to share our food with him?” Sabil asked angrily.
“Duba said we should invite him if we saw him,” Stick said defensively, turning his pockmarked face to Kion looking for help.
Kion half turned toward Sabil. “It’s because of what you said before.”
“Hm?”
“You mentioned that the hunters of the tribe are supplying a lot of the food. So, it would be good to have an amicable relationship with them.”
“I did? Ah, right!” Sabil nodded eagerly. He was smart enough to understand that listening to Kion’s advice had turned him from a day laborer without any experience as a warrior into a leader of a troop forty men strong.
“The latrines are almost done by the way,” Kion said. “If you want to have a look.”
From Sabil’s expression and the quick glance at the meat being prepared at his feet, it was clear that he had no wish to go and look at a bunch of holes in the ground.
Kion kept his eyes on his superior. “My first troop leader always said, you must always check that your men did what you ordered them to do, or your palisades will just tip over as soon as the enemy attacks.”
“Fine.” Wilting under his stare, Sabil reluctantly turned toward the direction of the latrines. “But if they’re not done right, there will be no food. And don’t start eating without me!” He stomped off unhappily.
The man working the skewers cut another slice of meat into pierceable pieces. “Say Duba, why aren’t you leading us?”
“What’re you talking about?” Kion asked. “I’m no leader. I just followed some good ones before.”
And you would faint, if I told you about them, Kion thought.
“Well, having you with us is very helpful,” the man said, sticking another piece on a spit. “Some of the men have served as guards for local merchants or shopkeepers but none have ever been to war. Most of us have never even been away from Piro.” Murmurs of approval came from the men sitting within earshot.
“Did you hear anything else at the other camp?” Kion asked, ignoring the compliment.
The man shook his head, grinning. He took Kion’s reaction as embarrassment, as he was supposed to. Warriors always talked behind their superiors’ backs. With Sabil in charge, Kion didn’t just stay mostly invisible to the Assanaten but he was also the person that the other men confided in because he had the troop leader’s ear.
He looked in the direction of the Assanaten camp. From here, trees obscured the view, but he snuck out from time to time to observe them. The sixty warriors had erected their tents close to a stream. Their leader kept them busy building a rudimentary defense consisting of a small ditch and a low earth wall studded with stakes.
From what he had been able to learn so far, this was only one of several camps spread out through this site of the valley. The thick forest made it hard to gather a large force in one place. Dividing their troops like this meant that the Assanaten didn’t expect any serious threat.
And yet they fortified their camp and are always on guard, Kion thought, reluctantly admiring the enemy. Saggab’s levy armies weren’t like that. The last great army the previous sar Nasser-Umabona had raised had been destroyed between the failed siege of Riadnos and the Assanaten’s surprise incursion.
A flicker of movement ahead caught his attention. A group of four warriors appeared between the trees. It could have been a patrol, but they made straight for the mercenary camp.
And I sent Sabil away, Kion thought, cursing himself. The others would surely look to him to speak for them.
“Greetings,” one of the warriors said, addressing the man working the skewers. “Where’s your leader?”
“Sabil’s looking at the shitholes,” the man said, uncomfortably. “Duba here is second.”
The Assanaten eyed Kion. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you come with the second group?”
Kion nodded.
The speaker stepped closer, his eyes studying Kion from head to toe. An uncomfortable atmosphere spread through the camp. None had missed that warriors were in full armor, rows of small overlapping bronze plates covering their upper bodies. They carried spears and had axes fastened to their belts. Their leather-covered wicker shields showed the emblem of Assan - a man with four wings and the sun as a head, carrying a bow.
While there were only four of them, Kion had no doubt they would hack their way through half the men before they were overpowered. That was if the untested mercenaries didn’t break and run immediately.
“Can I see that?” the Assanaten asked, pointing at Kion’s chest.
Without taking his eyes off the man, Kion fished out his amulet.
The warrior glanced at it. “Inashtar is a strong goddess.”
Kion nodded.
“Some of our priests say, she’s wife to Assan.” The corner of the warrior’s mouth twitched.
Kion shrugged. “I have heard of different lovers in different places.”
I will remember your face, he thought.
The man looked at him sideways stroking his fist-long beard for a moment before nodding. “True enough. Whom did you serve before?”
“South.”
“Saggab?” The question sounded innocent, but the men behind Kion started to shift nervously. The warrior paid it no heed. A veteran of the strongest fighting force in the world, he didn’t fear untrained rabble.
Kion pushed the goddess’s emblem back under his tunic. “Saggab, yes. But not for long,” he said. “The gods aren’t with Saggab anymore, so I came north.”
The warrior nodded approvingly. Nothing Kion had said was untrue. He had only served in the army for a single battle before being raised to the sar’s bodyguard and Saggab had barely won that massacre. Since Assanadon had slain the previous sar and taken a huge chunk of the empire’s territory every city under its rule and every border tribe thought to test its strength.
“The gods have truly not been with Saggab in recent years,” the Assanaten said. “When your troop leader comes back, tell him that we break camp tomorrow morning.” He turned to leave.
“Where are we going?” Kion asked before he could stop himself.
The warrior half turned, an eyebrow raised.
“If I may ask,” Kion said, bowing his head. “Sabil will want to know.”
“Tell him we’re marching to the mountains in the west. We will establish a new camp.” He turned his back and started to walk away. “Groups from all across the valley will gather there. Eat up! There’s lots of work ahead.”
The mercenaries’ eyes followed the warriors until they disappeared between the trees. Only then conversations erupted. The men were both nervous and excited. Many came to Kion with questions and speculations. He pretended to listen, but his mind was distracted by his own thoughts.
All this time he had tried to avoid being noticed but now the Assanaten knew that a Saggabian veteran was with the mercenaries from Piro.
This is nothing uncommon, he thought. You could find men like that up and down the Golden Road in their hundreds. Every war produced veterans unwilling to go back to tilling the fields. But any day news of the missing troop could catch up to him. Once more he told himself he would break the little rat’s neck if he ever crossed his path again.
“What’s going on here?” Sabil had returned, pushing his way through the chatting crowd of men until he reached Kion.
Kion acknowledged his leader’s presence with a nod while his eyes wandered to the western mountains. “Were the latrines sufficient?” Once he learned where the pass began, he could sneak past the Assanaten and flee the valley.
“Hm?” Sabil frowned. “Sure. The holes will hold a lot of shit. What happened here?”
What Kion had seen would be of great interest to his sar. If the Assanaten were sending a lot of forces north, it might give Saggab a bit of breathing room.
“The Assanaten sent a messenger,” the mercenary next to Kion said, gesturing with another half-stacked skewer. “Tomorrow, we march for the western mountains.”
And beyond the mountains in Riadnos waited the sage. Kion’s jaw clenched. He still hadn’t accomplished mistress Bel’Sara’s mission. But without a guide and with Assanaten and their tribal allies roaming the valley, he saw no way to search for master Mel’Chor.
Next to him Sabil crossed his arms. “Aren’t those Helcenaean villages north of here? By Balqart’s beard, why would we ever go west?” With raised eyebrows, he looked around at the men gaping at him.
Kion
The digging stick pierced the side of the hole, and more earth came loose. Judging that enough dirt had gathered at his feet, Kion held his tool up. After waiting for two heartbeats, without feeling anybody grabbing it, he looked up. “Hey!”
Another dirty man appeared at the edge of the man-deep pit Kion was standing in and quickly took the stick. “Sorry, Duba.”
“Hand me the tray,” Kion said harshly.
“Yes,” the man said, passing him the flat piece of wood. “Sabil is coming back.”
“Hm.” Kion shoved as much earth on the tray as it would hold before handing it to the other mercenary.
The man took it and stepped away from the edge to empty it. “Does it really have to be this deep?”
“Do you want to get sick?” Kion asked, deciding that he had clawed through enough earth for today and started to climb out of the hole. A moment later, helping hands pulled him over the edge.
Coming to his feet, Kion studied their day’s work. “Latrines must be deep and away from the water source.” A couple of paces next to the hole he had just emerged from, another one almost as deep was being dug by two of their comrades. Seeing him, their eyes lit up and they put their digging tools aside.
“What’re you doing?” Kion asked.
The two men froze and stared up at him, nervously.
“Mine is at least a foot deeper than yours,” he said. “Keep going until they’re the same depth.”
“But Sabil is bringing food,” one of the men whined. “The Assanaten sent over meat again!”
Kion turned to leave. “Then you better hurry. The troop leader has a great appetite.”
He was eager to get back to their camp, too. Less so because of the food, but for news which always came with the supplies. Controlling his curiosity, he decided to clean up first.
In his youth, he hadn’t cared about the dirt or smell that came with living on the streets. Serving in the sar’s bodyguard had changed that. In the palace, appearance mattered, and the servants were given the means not to embarrass their betters.
On the way, he gritted his teeth and waded into one of the icy cold streams. It took some time to wash off a day’s worth of dirt and when he was done the cold had seeped deeply into his body. His comrade had waited at the shore, holding his tunic and spear and showing no interest in following Kion’s example.
“Thanks,” Kion said, receiving his clothing. Slipping it over his head, he started to walk back to the campsite.
“Do you think, there will be news about crossing the mountains soon?” his comrade asked eagerly.
“No idea. Ask the troop leader.”
The man fell quiet, chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes wandering up to the mountain looming over them. Despite being able to eat very well, the men didn’t like staying in the Half Moon Valley.
Kion sighted. “I will ask Sabil.”
His comrade immediately looked relieved. “Thanks, Duba.” None of the men liked bothering the big man, since there was always a chance you might get punched. They were grateful to have Kion as a go-between as the veteran was the only one Sabil respected and listened to.
The forty-odd mercenaries had built their camp in a small meadow. Most of the men sat around fireplaces or busied themselves with their chores.
“Duba!” Sabil waved to him from across the camp. Kion quickly walked over to his leader. The big man was standing next to one of the cooking fires supervising the men roasting meat.
“You’ve brought us fresh meat,” Kion said, loud enough for the men to hear.
Sabil nodded, proudly. “Of course.”
Not that he had done more than go over to the Assanaten camp and pick up their supplies for the next two or three days.
“Anything new?” Kion asked joining Sabil at the fire.
Sabil shook his head. “They only said that they’re expecting new supplies tomorrow or the day after.” After thinking for a short moment he kicked the boney man kneeling in front of him, sticking meat on a wooden skewer. “Stick, didn’t you talk to that barbarian?”
“Yes.” The man rubbed the spot Sabil’s foot had connected with but was careful not to show his resentment. Instead, he looked up to Kion. “The guy who guided us here from the mountains was with the hunters that supply the Assanaten.”
Sabil crossed his arms and spat on the ground. “These barbarians and their damn mountain god make me nervous.”
Several men perked up. Their gaze went nervously back and forth between Kion and their leader.
“It’s better not to insult the gods,” Kion said lightly.
Sabil held up the amulet he wore around his neck. “Balqart will protect us. He’s much stronger than some backwater god with barely enough followers to man three ships.”
Some of the men around him started to glance up to the mountain, said to be Horto himself or his seat. Kion wasn’t entirely clear on that. Others looked over their shoulders into the dense forest where you couldn’t see more than thirty paces ahead of you at most.
“Balqart is very powerful,” Kion said. “But he protects the Crimson Cities and their ships, and we’re far away from the sea, up in the mountains. And this valley is Horto’s domain.” He didn’t mention that Balqart had also just lost to Assan in the battle for Piro. The Crimson People, like everybody else, were sensitive about their gods.
“Even the Helcenaean sacrificed to him,” the kneeling man Sabil had named Stick said.
“They do?” Kion asked. “How do you know?”
“The barbarian… the guide mentioned it,” the man said. “I think the barbarians are angry with the Assanaten.” He gestured in the direction of the Assanaten camp with a half-stacked skewer. “I invited him to eat with us, but he said he had to go back to his village to guide another group. He didn’t look happy about it. Then he saw the alter the Assanaten built and that made him even unhappier. He said something to his friend in their tongue. I asked him what’s wrong and he said even the Helcenaean had given sacrifices to Horto.”
“Why would you want to share our food with him?” Sabil asked angrily.
“Duba said we should invite him if we saw him,” Stick said defensively, turning his pockmarked face to Kion looking for help.
Kion half turned toward Sabil. “It’s because of what you said before.”
“Hm?”
“You mentioned that the hunters of the tribe are supplying a lot of the food. So, it would be good to have an amicable relationship with them.”
“I did? Ah, right!” Sabil nodded eagerly. He was smart enough to understand that listening to Kion’s advice had turned him from a day laborer without any experience as a warrior into a leader of a troop forty men strong.
“The latrines are almost done by the way,” Kion said. “If you want to have a look.”
From Sabil’s expression and the quick glance at the meat being prepared at his feet, it was clear that he had no wish to go and look at a bunch of holes in the ground.
Kion kept his eyes on his superior. “My first troop leader always said, you must always check that your men did what you ordered them to do, or your palisades will just tip over as soon as the enemy attacks.”
“Fine.” Wilting under his stare, Sabil reluctantly turned toward the direction of the latrines. “But if they’re not done right, there will be no food. And don’t start eating without me!” He stomped off unhappily.
The man working the skewers cut another slice of meat into pierceable pieces. “Say Duba, why aren’t you leading us?”
“What’re you talking about?” Kion asked. “I’m no leader. I just followed some good ones before.”
And you would faint, if I told you about them, Kion thought.
“Well, having you with us is very helpful,” the man said, sticking another piece on a spit. “Some of the men have served as guards for local merchants or shopkeepers but none have ever been to war. Most of us have never even been away from Piro.” Murmurs of approval came from the men sitting within earshot.
“Did you hear anything else at the other camp?” Kion asked, ignoring the compliment.
The man shook his head, grinning. He took Kion’s reaction as embarrassment, as he was supposed to. Warriors always talked behind their superiors’ backs. With Sabil in charge, Kion didn’t just stay mostly invisible to the Assanaten but he was also the person that the other men confided in because he had the troop leader’s ear.
He looked in the direction of the Assanaten camp. From here, trees obscured the view, but he snuck out from time to time to observe them. The sixty warriors had erected their tents close to a stream. Their leader kept them busy building a rudimentary defense consisting of a small ditch and a low earth wall studded with stakes.
From what he had been able to learn so far, this was only one of several camps spread out through this site of the valley. The thick forest made it hard to gather a large force in one place. Dividing their troops like this meant that the Assanaten didn’t expect any serious threat.
And yet they fortified their camp and are always on guard, Kion thought, reluctantly admiring the enemy. Saggab’s levy armies weren’t like that. The last great army the previous sar Nasser-Umabona had raised had been destroyed between the failed siege of Riadnos and the Assanaten’s surprise incursion.
A flicker of movement ahead caught his attention. A group of four warriors appeared between the trees. It could have been a patrol, but they made straight for the mercenary camp.
And I sent Sabil away, Kion thought, cursing himself. The others would surely look to him to speak for them.
“Greetings,” one of the warriors said, addressing the man working the skewers. “Where’s your leader?”
“Sabil’s looking at the shitholes,” the man said, uncomfortably. “Duba here is second.”
The Assanaten eyed Kion. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you come with the second group?”
Kion nodded.
The speaker stepped closer, his eyes studying Kion from head to toe. An uncomfortable atmosphere spread through the camp. None had missed that warriors were in full armor, rows of small overlapping bronze plates covering their upper bodies. They carried spears and had axes fastened to their belts. Their leather-covered wicker shields showed the emblem of Assan - a man with four wings and the sun as a head, carrying a bow.
While there were only four of them, Kion had no doubt they would hack their way through half the men before they were overpowered. That was if the untested mercenaries didn’t break and run immediately.
“Can I see that?” the Assanaten asked, pointing at Kion’s chest.
Without taking his eyes off the man, Kion fished out his amulet.
The warrior glanced at it. “Inashtar is a strong goddess.”
Kion nodded.
“Some of our priests say, she’s wife to Assan.” The corner of the warrior’s mouth twitched.
Kion shrugged. “I have heard of different lovers in different places.”
I will remember your face, he thought.
The man looked at him sideways stroking his fist-long beard for a moment before nodding. “True enough. Whom did you serve before?”
“South.”
“Saggab?” The question sounded innocent, but the men behind Kion started to shift nervously. The warrior paid it no heed. A veteran of the strongest fighting force in the world, he didn’t fear untrained rabble.
Kion pushed the goddess’s emblem back under his tunic. “Saggab, yes. But not for long,” he said. “The gods aren’t with Saggab anymore, so I came north.”
The warrior nodded approvingly. Nothing Kion had said was untrue. He had only served in the army for a single battle before being raised to the sar’s bodyguard and Saggab had barely won that massacre. Since Assanadon had slain the previous sar and taken a huge chunk of the empire’s territory every city under its rule and every border tribe thought to test its strength.
“The gods have truly not been with Saggab in recent years,” the Assanaten said. “When your troop leader comes back, tell him that we break camp tomorrow morning.” He turned to leave.
“Where are we going?” Kion asked before he could stop himself.
The warrior half turned, an eyebrow raised.
“If I may ask,” Kion said, bowing his head. “Sabil will want to know.”
“Tell him we’re marching to the mountains in the west. We will establish a new camp.” He turned his back and started to walk away. “Groups from all across the valley will gather there. Eat up! There’s lots of work ahead.”
The mercenaries’ eyes followed the warriors until they disappeared between the trees. Only then conversations erupted. The men were both nervous and excited. Many came to Kion with questions and speculations. He pretended to listen, but his mind was distracted by his own thoughts.
All this time he had tried to avoid being noticed but now the Assanaten knew that a Saggabian veteran was with the mercenaries from Piro.
This is nothing uncommon, he thought. You could find men like that up and down the Golden Road in their hundreds. Every war produced veterans unwilling to go back to tilling the fields. But any day news of the missing troop could catch up to him. Once more he told himself he would break the little rat’s neck if he ever crossed his path again.
“What’s going on here?” Sabil had returned, pushing his way through the chatting crowd of men until he reached Kion.
Kion acknowledged his leader’s presence with a nod while his eyes wandered to the western mountains. “Were the latrines sufficient?” Once he learned where the pass began, he could sneak past the Assanaten and flee the valley.
“Hm?” Sabil frowned. “Sure. The holes will hold a lot of shit. What happened here?”
What Kion had seen would be of great interest to his sar. If the Assanaten were sending a lot of forces north, it might give Saggab a bit of breathing room.
“The Assanaten sent a messenger,” the mercenary next to Kion said, gesturing with another half-stacked skewer. “Tomorrow, we march for the western mountains.”
And beyond the mountains in Riadnos waited the sage. Kion’s jaw clenched. He still hadn’t accomplished mistress Bel’Sara’s mission. But without a guide and with Assanaten and their tribal allies roaming the valley, he saw no way to search for master Mel’Chor.
Next to him Sabil crossed his arms. “Aren’t those Helcenaean villages north of here? By Balqart’s beard, why would we ever go west?” With raised eyebrows, he looked around at the men gaping at him.
