Kion
“Careful there!”
“It’s coming down!”
“Finally,” Sabil said, as the tree slowly started to lean sideways. “That took all day.”
Under the guidance of the Helcenaean loggers, they had spent hours hacking through the thick trunk. Finally, the last connecting fibers were ripping apart, sending cracking sounds through the air as the tree fell towards the earth.
The branches met the forest floor first, breaking and splintering but they seemed to soften the fall. Kion was surprised by how quiet the tree’s impact on the ground was. The trees in this valley were so much bigger than anything that grew in the lands of Saggab or its rival cities to the south.
It seems like everything is bigger the further you go north, Kion thought, watching a Helcenaean logger patting Stick on the shoulder.
Some of the men cheered while others just stood there looking at their work with pride. It had been the first big one cut by the Crimson mercenaries. The loggers had been reluctant to share their tools but the work was hard and the help welcomed. The size of the area the Assanaten wanted to be cleared told Kion a lot about the number of warriors they intended to bring through the western pass.
He turned towards the growing camp. In the last couple of days, shelters had been added to the tent village. They had been constructed from young trees holding up ceilings of needle branches.
When he had asked why they weren’t using the big trees, Tatros had explained that it took too long to split them into planks and dry them. In time, they planned to build a couple of log cabins but for now, the Assanaten just needed them to free up space.
“Good work,” a broad-shouldered logger said in Helcenaean. “Now. Cut branches.”
Still elated, the mercenaries followed the instruction without grumbling. They clapped each other on the shoulder, showing big smiles. Logging was hard work and their instructors warned them regularly of the dangers of falling trees. Yet, they had cut their first big one without any accidents. Their spirits were high.
A young Helcenaean, more boy than man, waved to Kion. “Tatros.”
Kion nodded. “Yes.”
Since Tatros was the only Helcenaean who spoke the old tongue, Helcenaean had quickly become the working language. Kion and his fellow mercenaries had learned enough to get along with the prisoners. Even if most of their newly acquired words related to the cutting of trees.
“Sabil,” Kion shouted.
The large man turned his head. “Hm?”
Kion pointed over his shoulder. “Tatros sent a boy. I will see what he wants.”
“Sure,” Sabil said, waving him off.
Stepping out from under the shadows of the daily retreating tree line, Kion felt the setting sun on his face. It didn’t shine as warm here as in his homelands. Hopefully, the goddess would guide him out of these mountains before the winter, Tatros had spoken of, came.
But that depends on me finding the sage’s answers, he thought. And he hadn’t made much progress with that.
Following the youth across the field of tree stumps, a patrol crossed their path. Kion kept his head down, not meeting the eyes of any of the Assanaten going about their business in the ever-expanding camp.
While they left the clearing of the area to the loggers and mercenaries, the warriors busied themselves with cooking food, fixing shoes, sharpening weapons, and the dozens of other chores of camp life.
In one corner a chief of ten drilled his men. Ten pairs, consisting of a shield-bearer and a bowman each, advanced across an open space. It was the shield bearers’ task to cover their partners, while they shot arrows at a row of practice targets made from brushwood. Should enemies try to close in, the shield bearers would use their spears to fend them off.
No wonder they’re able to break armies bigger than theirs, Kion thought. He had to admire the men’s skill. It was a simple idea, but only trained men would be able to fight like this. It required trust and an understanding of your partner and the men around you. Only then could a group fight like one body.
The youth pointed towards the other end of the camp and said something in Helcenaean that Kion didn’t understand.
Turning in the indicated direction, he saw a group of Assanaten coming out of the woods. “New group?” he asked in his broken Helcenaean.
The youth nodded. “Yes. New group.”
Groups of different sizes reached the growing camp every other day. Some only delivered supplies while others stayed. By Kion’s count, the Assanaten had gathered about a hundred and fifty warriors. Not enough to push over the mountains and secure a foothold on the other side, by far.
“From north?” he asked.
The Helcenaean didn’t understand.
Kion pointed at the group. “Village?”
“Ah, yes. From Logger’s Home.”
They reached the craftsmen’s area. Here, sitting on benches or on the ground, those Helcenaean and mercenaries with crafting skills had been gathered to work.
Kion spotted Tatros sitting under a canopy constructed from branches. The old man was carefully attaching fletching to an arrow while talking to a young tribesman squatting next to him.
Walking past a bored-looking Assanaten guard, Kion greeted some of the men he had been introduced to. The warrior wasn’t there to prevent the prisoners from running away. The threat to their families did that. He was only there to prevent the men from taking away the materials and weapons they made.
“Greetings Tatros.”
“Greetings, Duba!” The older man smiled up at him. “Come, have a seat.” He nodded to the spot beside him. “I was just showing Licen here how I prevent my arrows from breaking at the nock.”
“Licen?” Kion emulated the tribesman’s squatting pose. “That’s a Helcenaean name.”
“He is named after his grandfather,” Tatros said, never taking his eyes off his work. “See, the thread doesn’t just hold the fetching. If I wrap it around all the way to the end, it also keeps the nock from splintering. And now we apply a little glue to keep the thread from fraying.” He dipped a tiny stick into a small bowl and carefully applied the thick paste to the butt of the arrow. “Be careful not to use too much or it becomes too heavy.”
Giving Kion a quick glance, Licen asked something in Helcenaean that made Tatros shake his head. “Use the old tongue.” Then he turned to Kion. “He wants to know why the arrow is so thick and long.” The old man held up his work and nodded satisfied.
“It’s for an Assanaten war bow,” Kion said. “They’re longer and heavier than hunting bows. With a good tip that arrow will easily pierce a wicker shield.”
Licen looked at him with doubt, but Tatros nodded. “He is right. Back then half of Saggab’s army was made up of bowmen shooting arrows like this.” A frown appeared on his forehead. “Well, maybe not as well made.”
Both Kion and the tribesman smiled.
“Anyway”, Tatros said, placing the arrow to the side and picking up a new shaft, “Licen here was sent ahead of a group coming from the village.”
“I saw them arrive when I came over,” Kion said.
“The camp leader was ordered to prepare for another hundred warriors’ arriving in the next couple of days,” Licen said.
“That’s a lot of men to camp in this place,” Kion said. Cutting the big trees took a lot of time. Crossing the valley, he had seen much better spots with natural clearings.
“I don’t think that’s the main push yet,” Tatros said, guessing Kion’s thoughts. “If you ask me, they will send scouting patrols deeper into the mountains first.”
“I assume there are more Assanaten camps between here and the south-eastern pass?” Kion asked, looking at Licen.
The tribesman looked questioningly at Tatros and received an encouraging nod.
“Yes,” he said. “It seems there are more arriving every day. Many of our people are concerned about this.”
Tatros turned to Kion. “Looks like our good neighbors made a deal with the Assanaten to get rid of the Helcenaean settlers.”
“I thought you lived in peace with each other?” Kion asked.
“Some in the tribe never liked outsiders in Horto’s domain,” Licen said carefully.
“Ha!” Tatros rolled his eyes. “Say it as it is. The bastards want the timber business for themselves.” Turning to Kion, he waved towards the western mountains. “They figured the Assanaten would take away the loggers and they would take over the trade with Riadnos. But now, more and more warriors are showing up and nobody is leaving.”
“The elders made the decision,” Licen said defensively. “And they sent those of us with blood ties away before.”
Tatros patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. The gods know you’re not to blame.” He sighed. “Duba, the camp leader wants your men to take over the logging here. We’re to leave our tools with you.”
“Are they going to bring you south?” Kion asked. Kion had worked alongside the loggers for days. They were strong and healthy men that would fetch a good price at the slave markets of Piro and beyond.
Tatros shook his head. “Tomorrow, they’re bringing us back to the village. No idea why, but the camp there is bigger.”
Licen nodded, confirming Tatros’ words.
“I will let Sabil know,” Kion said, considering the news. Cutting trees was hard work, but it wasn’t complicated. After working side by side with the loggers these last few days, the mercenaries had acquired enough knowledge to not bury themselves under falling trees when left alone. Hopefully.
This was bad news for Kion. He and the old hunter had become quite friendly. Both veterans of Saggab’s army, they had enough in common. It also helped that the mercenaries from Piro weren’t really seen as part of the Assanaten army. Kion suppressed a sigh. While some of the mercenaries had become friendly with a couple of the Assanaten warriors, he would still lose one of his best sources. Just as I find out that you’re talking to the tribe.
He decided to take a risk. “Licen, have you heard anything about the guy the Assanaten are hunting?”
The question made Tatros look up.
“When they led us to our first campsite, we ran into a search party,” Kion said. “I’ve never heard of who they were looking for.”
Licen nodded. “My brothers say on their way to the logger’s village the first troop found a half-starved man in the woods who told them he had been separated from his companion. My brothers say after interrogating the man the Assanaten leaders suddenly became panicked and insisted that we send out all our warriors to search for the companion, but the elders refused.”
“Probably a good idea,” Tatros said. “We shouldn’t involve ourselves in their concerns.” He held his hand out to Kion. “You should let Sabil know about the new orders. The Assanaten say we are to leave tomorrow at first light. It was good to meet you, Duba. May the goddess protect you.”
Understanding the dismissal, Kion grasped the old hunter’s forearm and rose. “You too, Tatros. Licen.” He nodded to the younger man. “Will you guide them back?”
“He will go south later today,” Tatros said.
“They know their way home,” Licen said, shrugging. “And the Assanaten marked the trail back to the village, so they don’t need our guides anymore.”
Kion’s smile was friendly. “Well, it was good to meet you.” He half turned as if he was leaving. “By the way, the guy they took to the village, was he Helcenaean?” He pointed towards the western pass.
“No idea,” Licen said. “I only saw him once from a distance. But he was dressed like your people.” Then Tatros said something in Helcenaean and Licen fell silent, frowning at the old man.
“Anyway, have a safe trip,” Kion said before finally turning away.
Walking back through the rows of tents he observed the increased activity going on around him. The arrival of a new group meant that slots had to be assigned, additional firepits had to be dug, and tents needed to be erected. This contingent was particularly large and even included a group of priests. Among the warriors, the men couldn’t be overlooked in their long robes and the hand-sized medals engraved with the symbols of Assan hanging around their necks. The moment he spotted them, Kion immediately changed direction, ducking behind the next tent.
No staffs, Kion told himself. The last thing he needed was to run into one of the dozen or so magi that followed sar Assanadon. But while the normal priests didn’t have the godly powers to shake sky and earth that were granted to their seniors, some few were blessed with the ability to see and foresee, earned in countless hours of worship. He had to stay out of their way as much as possible.
Stepping onto the main road which split the tent city into two halves, Kion almost ran into a goat. It was one of six, driven forward by a boy in the rope of an apprentice priest.
“What’s that?”
“…goats,” Kion said, staring down at the small herd passing in front of him.
“I can see that, but what are they doing here?”
Kion looked up and recognized Stick’s pockmarked face. The nickname Sabil had given him had stuck and Kion had forgotten his real name.
The boney man crossed his arms, looking after the herd. “I’ve never seen any livestock in this valley. I could do with some goat meat.”
“It seems the priest came prepared,” Kion said quietly. And I must get out of here.
Spit walked beside Kion, raving about the taste of goat meat all the way back to the worksite.
“My father was a herder, you see. My brothers, too. But I was the youngest. The youngest boy of too many. So, I was sent away.” He shook his head about the unfairness of life.
“Did you hear any news from the new arrivals?” Kion asked, interrupting the flow of words. His mind was still on the threat and on the things, he had heard from Tatros and the tribesman Licen.
“…not really,” Spit said. “They’re coming from the place the Helcenaean call Logger’s Home.” He grimaced, pronouncing the unfamiliar name. “They’re not happy coming over here, I can tell you that. Looks like some of them got to sleep in real houses over there. And they had a whole lake with fresh water right at their doorstep.” He scratched his chest, thinking about the conveniences and luxuries of the Helcenaean village. “I hope they send us over there when we’re done cutting trees.”
When you’re done here, they will send you over there, Kion thought, glancing towards the western mountain range. How much food and water would he need to make it to the other side? In all his conversations with Tatros, he had never asked. Fool.
On their way, they passed groups of Helcenaean loggers coming from the work site.
“Where’re they going this early?” Spit asked. “Hey, where’re you going?”
One of the closest loggers threw his arms up. “Back. Food.”
It seemed the men hadn’t been told why they were called out of work early either.
Even without the more experienced Helcenaean there to guide them, the mercenaries hadn’t slowed down much. Some were already cutting away at a new tree. Others were hacking off the larger branches of the one they had felled before. Overall, the men seemed to enjoy the unfamiliar work. They were fed well and so far there had been only minor injuries.
“Duba”, Sabil came over to him, carrying an axe in his hand, “you’re back. What did the old man want?”
Kion shook his head. “To say goodbye. They will be led back to their village tomorrow.”
Sabil looked in the direction of the camp. “Where their women are?” There was a hint of jealousy in his voice. As simple day laborers, many of the men would never be able to afford marriage. A fate not few probably hoped to change on this campaign.
“They left their tools here?” Kion asked, ignoring Sabil’s pettiness.
The big man held up the axe in his hand. “They were told to. I guess those are ours now.” He smiled.
Kion managed to mirror him. “We’ll have to be careful with those. Swing the way they showed us. We don’t have anybody that can recast them if they break.”
“Sure, sure,” Sabil said, looking with pride at his new property.
Kion didn’t really care. Over time, quietly advising Sabil and the other mercenaries had become natural to him, but that was over now. One or two days, then he wanted to leave.
“Sabil”, Spit waved from twenty paces away, “can you come over here?”
“I told you to call me leader,” Sabil shouted back, stomping over to the small group gathered around Spit.
Kion was happy to be rid of him. He had to start planning. Helping the men to collect the broken and cut branches, he thought through his situation.
The most difficult thing to obtain would be supplies. Dried meat or bread would be best but most days they were only fed stew. Of course, the Assanaten patrols should carry rations.
He shook his head. You’re asking for too much. Inashtar had already shown him enormous favor. It was only by her grace that he hadn’t been discovered yet. Taking on a group of exhausted men when they were spread out across ground only you were familiar with was one thing. It was unlikely that the dark woods surrounding him would give him such an opportunity again. More likely I will get lost myself.
Staring into the depths of trees and greenery, a small shiver ran down his spine. It was such a foreign environment. No wonder the Crimson mercenaries feared wolves and other long-toothed monsters lurking in every shadow.
“Duba,” Spit called, waving. “Sabil wants us to look at something.”
“What?”
Spit shrugged. “Don’t know. More trees?”
What else is there, Kion thought?
He followed Spit deeper into the forest. There was no trail and they had to be mindful with every step. Less than a hundred paces away they, could barely see the worksite behind them. Only the sound of metal biting into wood told him which direction the campsite was.
“The ground is pretty uneven here,” Spit said, making conversation.
“Hm.” Kion didn’t care. He would be long gone before the logging reached this far.
A little ahead a couple of men were descending into a natural pit. Sabil stood at the edge watching them. When they came closer, he glanced over his shoulder. “Look here.”
“It’s going to take many days to cut our way all the way here,” Kion said, stepping up to the edge. There were four men below. And all of them were staring up at him. He frowned.
Then he sensed Sabil move behind him. The troop leader was clumsy, but he was big, and standing at the edge of the pit there was nowhere to evade.
Kion tried to turn and hold on to the other men, but Sabil only wore a loincloth and there was nothing to grasp. For half a heartbeat his right hand clawed at the bigger man’s naked arm before he was shoved backward. Sabil had put a lot of strength into his push and Kion was flung far over the edge of the pit.
Kion
“Careful there!”
“It’s coming down!”
“Finally,” Sabil said, as the tree slowly started to lean sideways. “That took all day.”
Under the guidance of the Helcenaean loggers, they had spent hours hacking through the thick trunk. Finally, the last connecting fibers were ripping apart, sending cracking sounds through the air as the tree fell towards the earth.
The branches met the forest floor first, breaking and splintering but they seemed to soften the fall. Kion was surprised by how quiet the tree’s impact on the ground was. The trees in this valley were so much bigger than anything that grew in the lands of Saggab or its rival cities to the south.
It seems like everything is bigger the further you go north, Kion thought, watching a Helcenaean logger patting Stick on the shoulder.
Some of the men cheered while others just stood there looking at their work with pride. It had been the first big one cut by the Crimson mercenaries. The loggers had been reluctant to share their tools but the work was hard and the help welcomed. The size of the area the Assanaten wanted to be cleared told Kion a lot about the number of warriors they intended to bring through the western pass.
He turned towards the growing camp. In the last couple of days, shelters had been added to the tent village. They had been constructed from young trees holding up ceilings of needle branches.
When he had asked why they weren’t using the big trees, Tatros had explained that it took too long to split them into planks and dry them. In time, they planned to build a couple of log cabins but for now, the Assanaten just needed them to free up space.
“Good work,” a broad-shouldered logger said in Helcenaean. “Now. Cut branches.”
Still elated, the mercenaries followed the instruction without grumbling. They clapped each other on the shoulder, showing big smiles. Logging was hard work and their instructors warned them regularly of the dangers of falling trees. Yet, they had cut their first big one without any accidents. Their spirits were high.
A young Helcenaean, more boy than man, waved to Kion. “Tatros.”
Kion nodded. “Yes.”
Since Tatros was the only Helcenaean who spoke the old tongue, Helcenaean had quickly become the working language. Kion and his fellow mercenaries had learned enough to get along with the prisoners. Even if most of their newly acquired words related to the cutting of trees.
“Sabil,” Kion shouted.
The large man turned his head. “Hm?”
Kion pointed over his shoulder. “Tatros sent a boy. I will see what he wants.”
“Sure,” Sabil said, waving him off.
Stepping out from under the shadows of the daily retreating tree line, Kion felt the setting sun on his face. It didn’t shine as warm here as in his homelands. Hopefully, the goddess would guide him out of these mountains before the winter, Tatros had spoken of, came.
But that depends on me finding the sage’s answers, he thought. And he hadn’t made much progress with that.
Following the youth across the field of tree stumps, a patrol crossed their path. Kion kept his head down, not meeting the eyes of any of the Assanaten going about their business in the ever-expanding camp.
While they left the clearing of the area to the loggers and mercenaries, the warriors busied themselves with cooking food, fixing shoes, sharpening weapons, and the dozens of other chores of camp life.
In one corner a chief of ten drilled his men. Ten pairs, consisting of a shield-bearer and a bowman each, advanced across an open space. It was the shield bearers’ task to cover their partners, while they shot arrows at a row of practice targets made from brushwood. Should enemies try to close in, the shield bearers would use their spears to fend them off.
No wonder they’re able to break armies bigger than theirs, Kion thought. He had to admire the men’s skill. It was a simple idea, but only trained men would be able to fight like this. It required trust and an understanding of your partner and the men around you. Only then could a group fight like one body.
The youth pointed towards the other end of the camp and said something in Helcenaean that Kion didn’t understand.
Turning in the indicated direction, he saw a group of Assanaten coming out of the woods. “New group?” he asked in his broken Helcenaean.
The youth nodded. “Yes. New group.”
Groups of different sizes reached the growing camp every other day. Some only delivered supplies while others stayed. By Kion’s count, the Assanaten had gathered about a hundred and fifty warriors. Not enough to push over the mountains and secure a foothold on the other side, by far.
“From north?” he asked.
The Helcenaean didn’t understand.
Kion pointed at the group. “Village?”
“Ah, yes. From Logger’s Home.”
They reached the craftsmen’s area. Here, sitting on benches or on the ground, those Helcenaean and mercenaries with crafting skills had been gathered to work.
Kion spotted Tatros sitting under a canopy constructed from branches. The old man was carefully attaching fletching to an arrow while talking to a young tribesman squatting next to him.
Walking past a bored-looking Assanaten guard, Kion greeted some of the men he had been introduced to. The warrior wasn’t there to prevent the prisoners from running away. The threat to their families did that. He was only there to prevent the men from taking away the materials and weapons they made.
“Greetings Tatros.”
“Greetings, Duba!” The older man smiled up at him. “Come, have a seat.” He nodded to the spot beside him. “I was just showing Licen here how I prevent my arrows from breaking at the nock.”
“Licen?” Kion emulated the tribesman’s squatting pose. “That’s a Helcenaean name.”
“He is named after his grandfather,” Tatros said, never taking his eyes off his work. “See, the thread doesn’t just hold the fetching. If I wrap it around all the way to the end, it also keeps the nock from splintering. And now we apply a little glue to keep the thread from fraying.” He dipped a tiny stick into a small bowl and carefully applied the thick paste to the butt of the arrow. “Be careful not to use too much or it becomes too heavy.”
Giving Kion a quick glance, Licen asked something in Helcenaean that made Tatros shake his head. “Use the old tongue.” Then he turned to Kion. “He wants to know why the arrow is so thick and long.” The old man held up his work and nodded satisfied.
“It’s for an Assanaten war bow,” Kion said. “They’re longer and heavier than hunting bows. With a good tip that arrow will easily pierce a wicker shield.”
Licen looked at him with doubt, but Tatros nodded. “He is right. Back then half of Saggab’s army was made up of bowmen shooting arrows like this.” A frown appeared on his forehead. “Well, maybe not as well made.”
Both Kion and the tribesman smiled.
“Anyway”, Tatros said, placing the arrow to the side and picking up a new shaft, “Licen here was sent ahead of a group coming from the village.”
“I saw them arrive when I came over,” Kion said.
“The camp leader was ordered to prepare for another hundred warriors’ arriving in the next couple of days,” Licen said.
“That’s a lot of men to camp in this place,” Kion said. Cutting the big trees took a lot of time. Crossing the valley, he had seen much better spots with natural clearings.
“I don’t think that’s the main push yet,” Tatros said, guessing Kion’s thoughts. “If you ask me, they will send scouting patrols deeper into the mountains first.”
“I assume there are more Assanaten camps between here and the south-eastern pass?” Kion asked, looking at Licen.
The tribesman looked questioningly at Tatros and received an encouraging nod.
“Yes,” he said. “It seems there are more arriving every day. Many of our people are concerned about this.”
Tatros turned to Kion. “Looks like our good neighbors made a deal with the Assanaten to get rid of the Helcenaean settlers.”
“I thought you lived in peace with each other?” Kion asked.
“Some in the tribe never liked outsiders in Horto’s domain,” Licen said carefully.
“Ha!” Tatros rolled his eyes. “Say it as it is. The bastards want the timber business for themselves.” Turning to Kion, he waved towards the western mountains. “They figured the Assanaten would take away the loggers and they would take over the trade with Riadnos. But now, more and more warriors are showing up and nobody is leaving.”
“The elders made the decision,” Licen said defensively. “And they sent those of us with blood ties away before.”
Tatros patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. The gods know you’re not to blame.” He sighed. “Duba, the camp leader wants your men to take over the logging here. We’re to leave our tools with you.”
“Are they going to bring you south?” Kion asked. Kion had worked alongside the loggers for days. They were strong and healthy men that would fetch a good price at the slave markets of Piro and beyond.
Tatros shook his head. “Tomorrow, they’re bringing us back to the village. No idea why, but the camp there is bigger.”
Licen nodded, confirming Tatros’ words.
“I will let Sabil know,” Kion said, considering the news. Cutting trees was hard work, but it wasn’t complicated. After working side by side with the loggers these last few days, the mercenaries had acquired enough knowledge to not bury themselves under falling trees when left alone. Hopefully.
This was bad news for Kion. He and the old hunter had become quite friendly. Both veterans of Saggab’s army, they had enough in common. It also helped that the mercenaries from Piro weren’t really seen as part of the Assanaten army. Kion suppressed a sigh. While some of the mercenaries had become friendly with a couple of the Assanaten warriors, he would still lose one of his best sources. Just as I find out that you’re talking to the tribe.
He decided to take a risk. “Licen, have you heard anything about the guy the Assanaten are hunting?”
The question made Tatros look up.
“When they led us to our first campsite, we ran into a search party,” Kion said. “I’ve never heard of who they were looking for.”
Licen nodded. “My brothers say on their way to the logger’s village the first troop found a half-starved man in the woods who told them he had been separated from his companion. My brothers say after interrogating the man the Assanaten leaders suddenly became panicked and insisted that we send out all our warriors to search for the companion, but the elders refused.”
“Probably a good idea,” Tatros said. “We shouldn’t involve ourselves in their concerns.” He held his hand out to Kion. “You should let Sabil know about the new orders. The Assanaten say we are to leave tomorrow at first light. It was good to meet you, Duba. May the goddess protect you.”
Understanding the dismissal, Kion grasped the old hunter’s forearm and rose. “You too, Tatros. Licen.” He nodded to the younger man. “Will you guide them back?”
“He will go south later today,” Tatros said.
“They know their way home,” Licen said, shrugging. “And the Assanaten marked the trail back to the village, so they don’t need our guides anymore.”
Kion’s smile was friendly. “Well, it was good to meet you.” He half turned as if he was leaving. “By the way, the guy they took to the village, was he Helcenaean?” He pointed towards the western pass.
“No idea,” Licen said. “I only saw him once from a distance. But he was dressed like your people.” Then Tatros said something in Helcenaean and Licen fell silent, frowning at the old man.
“Anyway, have a safe trip,” Kion said before finally turning away.
Walking back through the rows of tents he observed the increased activity going on around him. The arrival of a new group meant that slots had to be assigned, additional firepits had to be dug, and tents needed to be erected. This contingent was particularly large and even included a group of priests. Among the warriors, the men couldn’t be overlooked in their long robes and the hand-sized medals engraved with the symbols of Assan hanging around their necks. The moment he spotted them, Kion immediately changed direction, ducking behind the next tent.
No staffs, Kion told himself. The last thing he needed was to run into one of the dozen or so magi that followed sar Assanadon. But while the normal priests didn’t have the godly powers to shake sky and earth that were granted to their seniors, some few were blessed with the ability to see and foresee, earned in countless hours of worship. He had to stay out of their way as much as possible.
Stepping onto the main road which split the tent city into two halves, Kion almost ran into a goat. It was one of six, driven forward by a boy in the rope of an apprentice priest.
“What’s that?”
“…goats,” Kion said, staring down at the small herd passing in front of him.
“I can see that, but what are they doing here?”
Kion looked up and recognized Stick’s pockmarked face. The nickname Sabil had given him had stuck and Kion had forgotten his real name.
The boney man crossed his arms, looking after the herd. “I’ve never seen any livestock in this valley. I could do with some goat meat.”
“It seems the priest came prepared,” Kion said quietly. And I must get out of here.
Spit walked beside Kion, raving about the taste of goat meat all the way back to the worksite.
“My father was a herder, you see. My brothers, too. But I was the youngest. The youngest boy of too many. So, I was sent away.” He shook his head about the unfairness of life.
“Did you hear any news from the new arrivals?” Kion asked, interrupting the flow of words. His mind was still on the threat and on the things, he had heard from Tatros and the tribesman Licen.
“…not really,” Spit said. “They’re coming from the place the Helcenaean call Logger’s Home.” He grimaced, pronouncing the unfamiliar name. “They’re not happy coming over here, I can tell you that. Looks like some of them got to sleep in real houses over there. And they had a whole lake with fresh water right at their doorstep.” He scratched his chest, thinking about the conveniences and luxuries of the Helcenaean village. “I hope they send us over there when we’re done cutting trees.”
When you’re done here, they will send you over there, Kion thought, glancing towards the western mountain range. How much food and water would he need to make it to the other side? In all his conversations with Tatros, he had never asked. Fool.
On their way, they passed groups of Helcenaean loggers coming from the work site.
“Where’re they going this early?” Spit asked. “Hey, where’re you going?”
One of the closest loggers threw his arms up. “Back. Food.”
It seemed the men hadn’t been told why they were called out of work early either.
Even without the more experienced Helcenaean there to guide them, the mercenaries hadn’t slowed down much. Some were already cutting away at a new tree. Others were hacking off the larger branches of the one they had felled before. Overall, the men seemed to enjoy the unfamiliar work. They were fed well and so far there had been only minor injuries.
“Duba”, Sabil came over to him, carrying an axe in his hand, “you’re back. What did the old man want?”
Kion shook his head. “To say goodbye. They will be led back to their village tomorrow.”
Sabil looked in the direction of the camp. “Where their women are?” There was a hint of jealousy in his voice. As simple day laborers, many of the men would never be able to afford marriage. A fate not few probably hoped to change on this campaign.
“They left their tools here?” Kion asked, ignoring Sabil’s pettiness.
The big man held up the axe in his hand. “They were told to. I guess those are ours now.” He smiled.
Kion managed to mirror him. “We’ll have to be careful with those. Swing the way they showed us. We don’t have anybody that can recast them if they break.”
“Sure, sure,” Sabil said, looking with pride at his new property.
Kion didn’t really care. Over time, quietly advising Sabil and the other mercenaries had become natural to him, but that was over now. One or two days, then he wanted to leave.
“Sabil”, Spit waved from twenty paces away, “can you come over here?”
“I told you to call me leader,” Sabil shouted back, stomping over to the small group gathered around Spit.
Kion was happy to be rid of him. He had to start planning. Helping the men to collect the broken and cut branches, he thought through his situation.
The most difficult thing to obtain would be supplies. Dried meat or bread would be best but most days they were only fed stew. Of course, the Assanaten patrols should carry rations.
He shook his head. You’re asking for too much. Inashtar had already shown him enormous favor. It was only by her grace that he hadn’t been discovered yet. Taking on a group of exhausted men when they were spread out across ground only you were familiar with was one thing. It was unlikely that the dark woods surrounding him would give him such an opportunity again. More likely I will get lost myself.
Staring into the depths of trees and greenery, a small shiver ran down his spine. It was such a foreign environment. No wonder the Crimson mercenaries feared wolves and other long-toothed monsters lurking in every shadow.
“Duba,” Spit called, waving. “Sabil wants us to look at something.”
“What?”
Spit shrugged. “Don’t know. More trees?”
What else is there, Kion thought?
He followed Spit deeper into the forest. There was no trail and they had to be mindful with every step. Less than a hundred paces away they, could barely see the worksite behind them. Only the sound of metal biting into wood told him which direction the campsite was.
“The ground is pretty uneven here,” Spit said, making conversation.
“Hm.” Kion didn’t care. He would be long gone before the logging reached this far.
A little ahead a couple of men were descending into a natural pit. Sabil stood at the edge watching them. When they came closer, he glanced over his shoulder. “Look here.”
“It’s going to take many days to cut our way all the way here,” Kion said, stepping up to the edge. There were four men below. And all of them were staring up at him. He frowned.
Then he sensed Sabil move behind him. The troop leader was clumsy, but he was big, and standing at the edge of the pit there was nowhere to evade.
Kion tried to turn and hold on to the other men, but Sabil only wore a loincloth and there was nothing to grasp. For half a heartbeat his right hand clawed at the bigger man’s naked arm before he was shoved backward. Sabil had put a lot of strength into his push and Kion was flung far over the edge of the pit.
