After what we judged a safe interval, and having observed no sign of the Creet force doubling back, we proceeded to follow, but with increased caution. The stand of kakkata the Creet had entered was narrow. Its gloom gave way to increasing light as it thinned and dissolved into yet another patch of grassland. We stayed hidden behind the tree line as we scanned the open area, which reached to the base of the mountains.
This was it. Miras had told us of this mining operation. We stood together, peering out at the engineering process unfolding before us. About five hundred laborers swarmed the rocky foothills of these eastern mountains. They were digging, pounding, hauling, and sweating. They broke, transported, and sifted an endless supply of rock. The men used hand-held tools to pick and hammer, digging out the ore containing the precious metal.
Sakita and Raab slaves worked side-by-side, an unthinkable scenario not more than a few months ago. The Creet had forced these sworn enemies to cooperate while they, the masters of the world, kept a razok’s eye. Creet guards shouted orders as swoks snapped in the hot air, occasionally slicing cuts into flesh, causing blood and salty sweat to mingle.
The Spood had shackled the prisoners at the ankles in groups of three. This forced the trio of men to work in concert, to coordinate their movements. I imagined the linkage also discouraged escape attempts, for how far could three chained men get?
Women and children milled about. The women bore no shackles, allowing them to move freely as they cooked, washed, and watched over their young. For the first time I could remember, I was seeing very young children, even babies. None of the women I had seen in the slave caravans and as slave workers in Grell had carried infants. For whatever reason, I hadn’t noticed that fact at the time. It hadn't registered that the only children making the journey to Grell were of working age.
I reasoned the Spood needed unencumbered workers and not those preoccupied with caring for helpless infants. Yet here at this mining site the very young abounded. I thrilled at the sight of so many youthful faces. There was hope for our tribe; our babies lived.
A bit of exploring revealed a creek at the north end of the mine site. Fenced in near the stream were about two hundred drooves. The Creet guards and priests, combined, appeared to number about the same as the penned beasts.
I was already formulating a slave rescue plan involving the drooves by the stream. The Creet guards, scattered over a considerable distance along the foothills, were each in charge of watching over a small group of prisoners. About thirty or so Spood priests oversaw the operation. They did not concern me. The Creet were the only ones armed, so it was against them we plotted our strategy.
The grove hiding us stretched the entire length of the mining area, and between the mining site and us lay a grassy plain littered with small boulders. The negligible distance across that opening allowed us a clear view of all goings-on. Faces were faintly discernible, so Miras decided to follow the tree line north and seek out her husband, Jalak. She would remain hidden behind our tree line as she traveled the length of the mine operation.
Meanwhile, the rest of us worked on a plan that involved freeing the Creet drooves from their pen. We numbered only thirteen and were up against well over ten times that many armed soldiers. Our strategy would involve using the drooves to attack the Creet. I would employ my bracelet and the droove bone to initiate the attack. With the Creet forced to distraction by suddenly aggressive drooves, we hoped the slaves would rise up and overpower them. We would assist and try to control the outcome as best we could. It was a little vague in the details, but I felt the powerful drooves, if instructed properly, could more than handle the Creet.
I made my way north to join up with Miras and to get close to the droove pen, as I had to be in sight of the animals for the bracelet to work. The rest of our group waited at intervals along the grove, prepared to rush the camp as the attacking drooves passed their sector. I was afraid Brilna, Miras, and two other women with us would not be much help, as none had warrior training. I had to hope the rest of us, three women and six men, were sufficient to accomplish the task.
As I arrived at my chosen location, I spotted Miras. To my shock and dismay, I saw she had foolishly exposed herself to the Creet guards. Two of them had her in tow, and their rough hands pulled her toward a blue-clad young priest.
Someone shouted her name.
It was Jalak, her husband. Miras screamed and Jalak, shackled to two other men, cried out in response. He struggled against his unyielding chains and linked partners to get to his wife.
A Creet guard raised his swok, and as the crack sounded, Jalak howled with pain. The snapping lash did not deter the prisoner’s maddened efforts to reach Miras; he continued forward, dragging his reluctant, chained fellows with him. The swok unfurled and bit again . . . and then again. The Creet guard was in a cruel rhythm and his intent was clear.
I had witnessed this brutal play once before at the burned-down sperza and had been helpless to respond. This time I had my rik-ta and spear. Jalak needed me to act, for he was faltering beneath the relentless blows.
I stepped for a moment into the light of Ra-ta. The distance was greater than it had been for my killing shot to Smerkas’ dark heart, but I had no hesitation. This time I would use the spear. I envisioned where I wanted the weapon to go. Then, I let the lance fly and felt a surge of power sending it on its way. Like a razok homing in on its prey, it sped to its goal, focused and resolute. The sleek bird flew and ended its flight as a razok’s would, in blood and victory. The spearpoint pierced the Creet below his bearded chin. A bloody shaft now protruded from the throat and back of the man’s neck in an awkward and equal balance. He swatted at the new appendage with a futile gesture, as if it were an annoying insect. Within moments, he dropped to the ground, his swok and life’s breath abandoned, his spirit in rapid descent toward the black waters of Fuld.
Instantaneous clamor followed. The aroused Creet searched the immediate area of the camp, no doubt assuming Miras’ accomplice could not have gone far. They did not look to the forest, since it would appear impossible for the throw to have originated there. I saw Miras staring wide-eyed at me as I ducked back into the tree line shadows. Making my way closer to the drooves, I examined their enclosure. The corral seemed poorly constructed and I reasoned the fenced-in creatures could easily break it down to escape. With the camp in uproar, I spoke the commands.
“Drooves in the pen, attack all Creet guards,” I said as I pressed the droove bone in my bracelet. “Protect the slaves from harm.”
The paltry fences were no match for animals with a purpose. They scrambled to get out, breaking through the barrier, splintering the thin wooden crossbars. Cries went up from the mining camp as the beasts burst out from confinement. Panic and confusion reigned, for not only had someone killed a guard, but the drooves were loose as well.
The animals were not just loose; they were rampaging. I mounted my droove and came out of the trees, racing toward the camp to help anyone in need. Izzy, to my right, was also in full gallop. The drooves honed in on targets. I saw one crash full speed into a baffled Creet, knocking him to his back. Slaves swarmed over the injured soldier. The result was not pretty.
I rode along the line of the camp, seeing the same scenario play out. Nothing required my assistance. The drooves were relentless, and the slaves took care of the rest. I glimpsed a contingent of Spood priests attempting to exit the area and rode after them. They were heading for the tree line. Izzy and others also pursued, but the small group was too far ahead and made the woods.
It took us a while to round them up. By the time we returned to the mining camp, the situation there had settled down. The Creet drooves were again placid, since twenty minutes had passed since I issued my command to attack. Slaves were unshackling slaves, thanks to a master key discovered in the now-deceased head priest’s possession. Creet survivors and priests sat on the grass, held under close gu
ard by former slaves. Scattered among the mountain foothills lay a vast number of broken bodies; all were clothed in red-trimmed vests or robes of light blue.
One of the former slaves was now in charge of the Sakitan contingent, and I smiled as recognition came. The mighty hunter had not changed much, though he was perhaps a bit thinner since I last saw him. Semral was issuing orders and I could see how naturally that came to him. He had not noticed our approach yet, but others had.
I sensed eyes on me as we rode along a line of freed Sakita and Raab tribespeople. I heard the murmuring expand as word spread. The banished one. What is she doing here?
We pulled up to a prisoner holding area and released our catch to another’s custody. No one said a word to me, but Lillatta received warm greetings from many, as did others in our little band. If the former slaves wondered what Lillatta was doing in my company, they did not venture to ask.
We dismounted our drooves as Semral approached. I grinned when I caught his expression, that familiar wide-eyed shock. I seemed to have a knack for drawing that reaction from the old hunter. He wore a broad smile as he drew closer, but then an agitated man cut him off.
“Seize her!” the man was saying. “It is the banished one! We cast her out and those cast out cannot return. It is the law. The penalty for coming back is death!”
“Tarsel is right!” another cried. “She should not be here. Our law forbids it. We cannot allow her to contaminate us. She must be put to death—at once!”
The words echoed from several others. The sentiment swept the Sakita ranks, with no one offering a dissenting opinion.
Izzy looked puzzled, then irritated. I gave her a shrug. I had expected this reaction. They did tell me when I left not to come back.
Semral appeared distressed. I knew he wanted nothing to do with this. What they demanded was the law, and he was the current authority. He had no reason to deny them justice. As for me, I did not intend to die to satisfy them. That just wasn’t going to happen.
Tarsel, the agitated man who had spoken first, tried to grab my arm. From behind him, Izzy’s blade was out so fast and at the side of his throat that he was unaware of it at first. He flicked his other hand at it, expecting a bug had landed, only to draw it away bloody. He blanched at the sight and lurched away when he spotted the gleaming weapon in the one-armed girl’s hand.
The crowd bubbled with anger, but none chose to challenge the spike-haired, poised young woman with the threatening glare. Many urged Semral to act, to take charge of this unpleasant situation. I saw confusion among the Raab spectators; they had no idea what was going on.
Then, about ten armed Sakita warriors pushed through the crowd. They were stern-faced and determined. The grim hunters were coming for me, and as they approached the crowd parted. Izzy stepped in front of me, shielding me from their advance. Lillatta went to stand beside Izzy. Both had weapons drawn and ready. Though prepared to fight this battle alone, it pleased me that my friends were standing with me. Oster—to my great surprise—then went to stand next to Izzy. The remaining men from our party of thirteen joined the lineup. Brilna eyed me, as if asking permission to join them. I shook my head to signal no and saw her disappointment.
The armed men stopped. It was apparent they had not expected resistance to carrying out their law-sanctioned aims.
“Move aside,” the hunter Jasten commanded. “Do not interfere.”
“I would stay right where you are,” suggested Izzy. “We came to rescue you, not to hurt you. But you will not touch Sanyel.”
“And you will not presume to speak to me, girl, or to say that forbidden name in my presence!” Jasten spit out. “Oster, what is the meaning of this? Hand over the criminal.”
Oster reacted to the demand by saying, “I would listen to the young woman, Jasten, or she is likely to hand you your head. You won’t be taking anyone. Sanyel—and no, I am not afraid to speak her name—is one of us. She has proven herself a better leader than any of the poor excuses we have had these many years. She saved us from the Spood, all of us who are standing here before you. She has saved you, too, even though you appear too thickheaded to appreciate it. Who do think told the drooves to attack the Creet?”
Jasten shook his head. “What nonsense are you blathering? Only a shaman can control an animal. She is a girl! Have you lost your senses? Why are you spouting this ridiculous blasphemy?”
Words of agreement spilled from several mouths. Then, a commanding figure stepped from the crowd. Everyone turned toward the man and showed their respect by going silent. The expectant tribesmen awaited the great hunter’s words. Semral had been listening to the talk, and I could see he had reached a conclusion.
“You all know me,” the humble, esteemed hunter began.
Vocal affirmations rang out.
“I have lived many years, taken much game, and ended many lives. I have hunted and fought with the best of our tribe. I believe I have earned your respect, and I would ask that you listen without judgment to what I now have to say. Will you do this for me?”
The admiring Sakitans granted the old warrior his appeal by vocal acclamation, though I spotted expressions of puzzlement from many over the hunter’s request.
“First, I must ask your indulgence. I will refer to the banished girl by name, if that is acceptable to you.”
Rumblings of disagreement at once issued forth from many of the diehard faithful, those most inclined to demand strict enforcement of tribal and sacred law. The majority overruled them, however, putting their natural doubts aside as they appeared increasingly curious over what Semral wished to convey.
“When Sanyel was banished,” Semral began, “I approved of the sentence. I approved because I have followed the teachings and the law all my life and believed in them. I voted for banishment because I felt the punishment fit the transgression. But, I also had personal reasons for choosing banishment over death for Sanyel.”
Semral’s words drew a disturbed reaction from the crowd, with many no doubt mistaking the hunter’s “personal” reasons for something salacious.
“Sanyel saved my life,” Semral explained. “Not once, but twice.”
Astonishment greeted that startling statement. For a few moments, everyone was talking, then Semral raised both hands to quiet them and they allowed him to continue.
“The first time, a can-rak tore my arm and Sanyel made a poultice for my wound.”
Voices rose again from the Sakitan crowd, this time with a sharper edge. I knew they recalled the can-rak attack and the speculation that had run rampant as to the identity of Semral’s mysterious savior. They had considered it an act of the unknown and thus evil. My now-revealed involvement seemed to confirm for many the justice of my banishment.
The great warrior again raised his hands to settle everyone down.
“She patched my wounds and I lived,” Semral continued. “You may fault me for not turning Sanyel in for her actions, but at the time I felt she was just innocently copying something she had seen her father do and could not be blamed. On another day, in the forest, my foot caught in a root as a spartok charged. She stepped in front of me, speared the beast between the eyes, and saved my life again.”
This second account stimulated the troubled assemblage again to a buzzing intensity, and I knew many were recalling the spartok event. That it was the banished girl, and not Semral who had killed the beast, I knew no one had even suspected.
“I know few of you will be swayed by any of this,” Semral continued, “but I mention these things in an effort to get you to see my viewpoint on the matter. When someone saves my life—in this case, twice—I can feel only profound gratitude and loyalty. Sanyel is not an evil person. She has much to offer, and so I am asking you to show mercy, to let Sanyel live, to spare her—”
“NO!” Jasten shouted, interrupting Semral’s appeal. “The law is the law! We cannot change it to suit our
whims. If we allow this, then the law would have no teeth. When Balsar confessed to theft, did we spare him the knife? Have we ever pardoned anyone for grievous sins against Ra-ta? No! Never!”
If Semral’s words had been about to persuade any in the crowd to compassion, then that sentiment went flying out the nearest sental, wherever that might be. Jasten had fired the assemblage up to attend once again to their sacred duty; that duty, of course, was to take my head. A sudden impulse for fleet justice seemed to sweep the crowd, rising from a black hole to overtake their minds and bodies. The agitated mob built to a frenzy by chanting praises to Ra-ta, and then surged forward. Izzy, Lillatta, and the rest of my companions readied themselves. I stepped up to the line to join them. I had no desire to fight my people, but their stubborn, self-righteous, and insistent calls for my prompt demise demanded a response.
Semral stood between the opposing forces. He was not yet ready to back down.
“Listen to me!” he shouted to get everyone’s attention. “LISTEN TO ME!” His booming tone with its ring of natural authority had an immediate effect. The riled crowd stopped in its tracks, cowed by Semral’s harsh and challenging command.
“You know I take none of this lightly!” spoke the irate hunter. He glared for a moment around at the familiar faces arrayed before him, inviting any to offer an ill-advised retort. When none did, his angry visage softened and in a subdued tone he spoke words no one expected.
“You seek justice for Sanyel’s betrayal of our sacred laws. I understand that. However, you should know something, something that may turn you against me as well. For in truth, I must also face your justice.”
Voices of confusion emanated from those gathered.
Semral continued, declaring, “I gave Sanyel a blanket to help her survive in the Desert of Bones.”
The staggering admission drew gasps and then numerous cries of denial. This unprecedented confession was the last thing anyone had expected, for the great and beloved hunter was renowned for his strict and loyal adherence to the Sakitan faith and its tenets. Semral’s admission to this crime was equivalent to a baby admitting murder.
“I know the anger and disappointment you must feel,” Semral went on, “but I had my reasons. If you see error in me and in what I did, then I would ask a simple question—what have we become? What have we become when we believe sending a young girl to a cruel death is just? Is this what Ra-ta truly wants?”
Semral glanced around again, his glare a challenge to anyone brave enough to offer a rebuttal.
“I have seen signs that Ra-ta is the champion of this girl, that he is guiding her,” Semral continued. “I have seen her do impossible things, impossible without the guidance of a greater power. In addition, she has survived the Desert of Bones. The blanket given her was not enough to protect her, so we can ascribe her survival only to a merciful act of Ra-ta. If Ra-ta can show mercy to such as her, then what fools are we to blind ourselves to the reasons why?”
Semral paused again to scour the crowd with his penetrating gaze and then continued his speech.
“I believe I know the reasons. I believe now, as I failed to when she was born, that Sanyel’s father was right. She is, indeed, the prophesied one, the one come to save us from those intent on our enslavement.”
The rapt crowd had been listening in silence to the old warrior, but his last few sentences elicited an uneasy rumbling. A skeptical Jasten spoke for all who felt Semral assumed too much in claiming to know Ra-ta’s mind.
“What real proof have you that Ra-ta favors this one?” he asked. His tone barely concealed his contempt for me. “What are these ‘impossible things’ you say you have witnessed her do?”
“I can answer that,” a fresh voice spoke up. The crowd parted to let the new speaker approach. Jalak, bent and in pain from the recent deep cuts of the swok, slowly made his way over to us while leaning on his wife, Miras, for support. It pleased me to see the two had found each other, and I was eager to hear what Jalak desired to add to the debate.
“Miras has told me about Sanyel,” Jalak told the gathering. “How she saved her from evil men in the cells of the Spood. How she, Lillatta, and her friends freed Sakitan slaves in Grell.
“And, she saved me,” Jalak added. “Miras saw her throw a spear from the forest that split the neck of a Creet trying to kill me. I did not believe her at first, but she insisted it was true. From the forest she threw it.”
Hoots and skeptical laughter escaped from the crowd, but Semral quickly stepped in to bolster Jalak’s remarks.
“This is what I have been saying. I have witnessed Sanyel toss a rik-ta an impossible distance and with astounding accuracy. Not even I, on my best day, could accomplish what I saw her do. I know all this sounds absurd, but it is also true, and the only way to prove it is to let Sanyel demonstrate this incredible skill herself.” He motioned for me to step over to him, and then with a somewhat worried look leaned closer to whisper, “You can do this, can’t you?”
I assured him I could, even though aware Ra-ta might choose to prove otherwise.
Semral stepped off a hundred paces to a lone wettle tree, and again I confirmed to him the distance was not too great for me. My confidence that I could hit the circle the hunter had scratched into the bark was unwavering. Well, that’s not quite right, as unwavering might be a bit strong. Reasonably expectant would be closer to the truth, though it was probably something even less certain than that. Nervously hopeful, perhaps?
While the Sakitan and Raab tribespeople watched transfixed, or at least with an amused curiosity, I bounced my rik-ta in my right hand, getting the feel of its weight. I mouthed a small prayer, and then I grasped the blade end, reared back, and let go. As thrilling as it is to witness a sleek object slicing unobstructed and unsupported through air, it is much more rewarding to view it striking and thudding and quivering in the center of a distant mark—especially if your life depended on it.
The crowd responded to the feat with a raucous, explosive outcry, startling me. Sakitan and Raab voices peppered the air with exclamations that were profane, sacred, joyous, bewildered—and as might be expected—fearful. The looks were equally diverse, including awe, astonishment, and again, the aforementioned fear . . . all welcome reactions to evoke from one’s opposition.
Ignoring the rumbling around him, an ecstatic Semral approached and gave me a hearty slap on the back, nearly knocking me into Lillatta, who had also been congratulating me. He then raised his arms to signal his desire to speak to those gathered. When he got their attention, he started right in.
“This is the proof I wanted you all to see. Who can doubt Ra-ta himself guides her hand? No man among us can do what she just accomplished. I, personally, have witnessed even more of Sanyel’s uncanny talents with weapons. In my opinion, this girl has the finest skills of any warrior I have ever seen. I am not ashamed to say she has even bested me in hand-to-hand combat, making me look like an unskilled child in the process.”
The claim elicited howls of disbelief and laughter.
“I speak the truth.”
Semral’s tone did not brook argument as he added, “All who have witnessed her performance this day, and all who know me must grant I would not say such a thing if the facts were otherwise.”
Semral turned to me. He spoke so everyone could hear.
“I did not listen when your father spoke of you as the prophesied one, the one who would lead our people in a time of great trouble. I believe now. I believe Ra-ta himself has allowed you to survive the desert in order that you might return to help us in these trying times. I have witnessed your skill as a warrior and heard your friends speak of your wise leadership.”
Semral paused, and then he spoke as if issuing a proclamation.
“Therefore, as council chief, I hereby name Sanyel as our spearpoint commander in the fight against the Spood.”
A tumultuous vocal eruption emanated from the assembled
Sakitans, and you could feel the unprecedented wave of emotional shock Semral’s words had unleashed. I felt a similar jolt within myself. My father had championed the idea that destiny chose me to do great things. No one believed him and I had only half believed, as I have always had doubts about my purpose and abilities. Now, here was the greatest warrior of our tribe declaring his faith in me and in my father’s fantasy. I felt humbled, proud, and elated. I struggled to keep my composure. Semral’s moving testimony had me on the verge of tears.
Jasten and the other Sakitans did not know how to proceed. They were unwilling simply to throw out laws they had always firmly believed in and upheld. Yet as we stood our ground, standing as a wall before them and the archaic values they represented, their resolve crumbled. Challenging a popular leader was an action few desired to initiate. Besides, this man was Semral, a man they knew, loved, and respected.
The opposing warriors were certainly aware of the astonishing change that was occurring. Semral had just informed our tribe that I would be in charge of bringing them victory over the Spood occupiers. I knew very few would be happy with that. How do you reconcile being a proud warrior with the humiliation of following a girl into combat—a banished one at that. They would not confront Semral, however. They knew it was his right as council chief to name anyone he chose to fill that role. Whether that applied to females or the banished was a question no one was willing to address for now.
Semral stepped forward and then to his right. He turned to face me and held out his rik-ta with its handle toward me. I accepted it by grasping it and then pointing its blade upward. As others around me retreated to give room, I stretched the knife out before me and briefly turned to face each of the four cardinal directions. Then I pulled the rik-ta back in, turned it sideways, and returned it to Semral.
That was it. I was now the spearpoint commander and by Sakitan law, everyone, including Semral, must obey my military commands.
Resentful eyes followed me as I moved along the edge of the crowd. Their forbearance in allowing me to assume a leadership position would not last if I should stumble. I would have to prove myself worthy of the mantle. For now, they were putting their faith in Semral’s judgment. Many no doubt considered my ascendance to be an abomination, a direct assault on their cherished values and beliefs. I would have to prove Semral’s confidence in me not complete folly. I hoped I could.
As I passed by the Raab congregation, I sought out their leader. I hoped to persuade him to join forces with us. The natural enmity between our tribes was still apparent, despite our shared misery as Spood captives. I spoke to him, proposing we cooperate. He seemed reluctant, until I mentioned I knew Javen. It turned out he was Javen’s uncle! That broke the distrust and I received his assurance to help, especially after I informed him of my intent to assist Javen in his already begun quest to free their people.
There were only about three hundred Sakita working this mining site. Before the Spood arrival, we had numbered over three thousand. I knew many had died during the Spood invasion, and I was sure some remained in Grell, for the young man with the family told me of the many slaves yet imprisoned there. Semral mentioned that the remainder of the Sakitans still alive in our lands had worked this mine until a month ago. Then, inexplicably, most of them, along with the majority of Raab, left camp for parts unknown.
Perhaps our prisoners could offer some clue as to their whereabouts. The captives were still on the grass and under guard as I strolled over to them. I added their number in my head and realized, counting the priests, that only about twenty had survived the droove attack. The prisoners eyed me with suspicion as I approached.
“Of course you are all wondering why I asked you here today,” I said. I thought it a rather witty opening, but the weak joke fell on twenty pairs of deaf ears. So much for trying to inject some humor into their suddenly uncertain lives.
I decided on a more direct approach.
“Where have the other slaves been taken?”
They were a sullen bunch, unwilling to acknowledge an inferior’s presence—let alone her attempt to interrogate them. They must have wondered where I had gotten the Spood garment I wore, but no one was about to ask. Their only offerings were looks of contempt and disdain.
They needed an incentive to speak.
“You.” I pointed to a young man sitting up front. “You will tell me what I want to know, or I will have a droove stomp you to death.”
It was succinct and to the point. The man shifted uneasily.
“Where have the other slaves been taken?” I asked again.
The nervous man looked around, as if gauging the level of support of his fellows if he should choose to answer.
“Don’t look to them,” I said. “It is you who will be stomped, so why should you care what they think?”
That persuaded him.
“They were taken north of the big river.”
“Why?”
“Borsar needed them to help plant crops. He ordered our commander to bring them.”
Borsar! The name sent a chill down my back.
“So, the fat priest is there now, north of the river?”
“To my knowledge, yes.”
“How many troops does Borsar have?”
“I do not know for certain. Our commander left here with three thousand, so he has at least that many.”
Three thousand? My god!
“How many slaves went with?”
“I would say around four thousand?” the man guessed.
I had interest in one other subject.
“Do you know of a Sakitan man named Bratar? I understand he became a soldier in the Creet ranks.”
The man shook his head, but then another, a man several rows back, spoke.
“I knew of him. He was here at this camp, but I believe he went with our commander to the north.”
Too bad. I had somewhat hoped the drooves had trampled him. Better luck next time.
Further inquiry revealed this mining operation had been the top Spood priority until a month ago. Discovery of a vein of the rare metal used to mint their coins had led the Spood to divert all of this country’s human resources from other projects. Now, with the vein depleted, priorities had shifted to growing crops, for the Spood wanted to seed the rich soil north of the Raso in Raab territory. The commander here followed orders to bring slaves and the troops to guard them. Another Creet commander, Pelter, left in charge of the mining operation, died in our attack.
I informed Semral that I intended to set the prisoners free and send them back to Grell, unarmed, of course. He suggested I kill them, instead, but I felt no need to travel that path. I planned to spring an unpleasant surprise on the prisoners, one I felt sure would give the Spood the incentive to hurry home.
I addressed the twenty in my sternest manner.
“Get out of this country,” I told them, “and go back to Grell. I hear the Disrupter and the Blades of Sorrow have finally arrived to devastate your homeland. Perhaps you should have been there, protecting your own homes and families, rather than here harassing ours. Do not come back to this land. If you do, we will kill you.”
News of the dreaded ancient prophecy come to life and threatening their homeland caused astonishment and consternation. I pointed them south. They left on foot, hustling with an alacrity that was not surprising. They would have to forage for food and water, and only Ra-ta knew if they would perish or survive. I didn’t care, either way.
We packed the captured drooves with food and drink. There were not enough of them to grant ridership to all. We decided we would switch off, so no one would have to walk the whole way. We were five hundred strong, and somewhere across the river Raso awaited three thousand—or more—to oppose us.
I was feeling optimistic.
**
~~TWENTY-SIX~~