Kion

Standing at the waterline, staring down at his feet, a knot formed in Kion’s stomach.

“Why are we stopping?” Livadios asked from behind him. “I can’t see your raft.”

Me neither, Kion thought. Trying not to show his rising panic, he looked around. Checking his position in relation to the closest boat told him that this was the right spot. This close the raft’s outline should be visible even in the darkness.

Could he risk swimming the distance without the raft? No, he thought. It would be suicide. With only two days of instructions from Tatros, he’d barely reached the beach even when he had the raft to hold onto.

But where could it have gone? He pushed the kindling feeling of despair aside and lowered his head to whisper a silent prayer.

He blinked and took a step back.

Hard to see in the darkness unless you stood right above them, there were tracks in the sand. Something had been pulled up the beach toward the village.

Kion’s head whipped around.

There was no sign of alarm. Maybe there was still time? Making his decision, he readied his spear and started to follow the tracks. Now that he knew what he was looking for he could see the brought line in the sand, dug by somebody dragging the raft after him.

“Where are we going?” Livadios asked panicked.

“Silence,” Kion hissed, thanking the goddess that whoever had taken the raft, hadn’t decided to just run back to the next fire and alert the warriors. If he was lucky enough, maybe he would be able to catch up to the bastard, kill him, and retrieve his property before anybody noticed.

Going passed the row of beached boats the track led up the little slope, leaving the beach. When Kion reached the top, he crouched, pushing down Livadios with his free hand. It was still dark but otherwise, there was no cover between him and the village. The ground had changed but the dragged raft had still left a visible line in the earth in front of him. It led straight to a shack, about forty paces ahead. It stood at the furthest edge of the village with a gap of another fifty or sixty paces to the first houses.

From his current position, the outlines of figures moving in front of fireplaces between the houses were clearly visible. Beyond the village, a sea of tents stretched out in all directions until it lost itself in the darkness. He knew from Licen that the Assanaten had left an open space as a defensive line between the edge of the camp and the tree line, but he couldn’t see it from here.

His new companion shuffled nervously behind him. “Maybe I should wait here? I could hide under the boats again.”

Kion glanced over his shoulder studying Livadios' face in a starlight. His hair and beard had grown too long and were untamed. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out the color but he could see that they were sunk in. Whatever he had experienced, it still seemed to haunt him.

“No,” Kion whispered. “Follow four paces behind me. Unless I do this.” He held his flat hand out to the side, palm facing the ground. “Then lay flat until I tell you to get up again.” He had made his decision instinctively. Depending on what lay ahead Livadios might get in the way but now that Kion had decided to take him, he didn’t want to lose him again.

He returned his attention to the track in front of him. The closer they came to the village, the higher the chance he would be discovered. But what choice is there? He thought. Right now, they were trapped and the only way open to them was forward. If they couldn’t recover the raft, they would have to sneak through the village and camp, hoping to reach the tree line before somebody planted an arrow between their shoulders.

Keeping as low as possible, he snuck forward as quickly as possible, crossing the open space between the beach and the house. When he reached the back wall, he felt a short moment of relief. He was now closer to danger but at least the house gave him a moment of cover.

His eyes on the ground he snuck along the house wall. The line in the dirt led around the corner. How long had it been since whoever had dragged the raft away from the beach, had passed by here? There was no way to tell.

He carefully peered around the corner and his eyes widened. His surprise was reflected in the bearded face two arm’s length away, coming rapidly closer. Without hesitating, Kion pulled his head back and kicked out his foot. The short glance had been enough for him.

The warrior tried to stop but he was already too close, running too fast. Kion’s foot hocked perfectly into his legs, sending him flying. Carrying a shield and spear, the man had no chance to catch his fall.

Kion didn’t watch, his focus already on the other men following behind. He moved without thinking about his Gift and countless hours of training guiding him. In the one heartbeat he had peered around the corner, his mind had taken in everything in sight.

There were three of them – four if you counted the man hitting the ground behind him. But Kion knew he could discount that one for a short moment. He ducked around the corner, taking the initiative.

Surprised by the sudden encounter the next two warriors had come to a sudden halt. Kion didn’t give them the time to recover. Their short hesitation was all he needed to close the distance.

The closest man carried a bow. In the melee he now found himself in, he might as well be unarmed. At least then you would have your hand free, Kion thought, as his spear reached for the man’s throat.

It didn’t pierce. Used to a flat bronze tip, Kion hadn’t put enough force into the thrust. At the same time, his opponent had jerked his hand away. A long scratch was all the sharpened wood left behind, but it was enough to off-balance the man for the heartbeat Kion needed to bring the shaft around to let the third man’s spear glance off to the side just enough to miss him.

Knowing himself out of reach of the bowman’s arms, Kion kept his spear shaft connected to his opponent’s and when the warrior pulled it back for his next thrust, Kion followed. He pushed his enemy’s weapon aside and rammed the wooden spearhead into the man’s mouth. This time he’d calculated his strength correctly and it went through, breaking teeth on its way.

Meanwhile, the bowman had finally decided to drop his useless weapon and launched himself at Kion’s legs, trying to bring him down.

Kion sidestepped him with minimal effort. Instead of retrieving his improvised weapon, he took the third warrior’s spear out of his hands while the man sank to his feet, awkwardly screaming past the shaft sticking in his mouth and out of the back of his neck.

The bowman tried to come back up but his neck was pierced before he made it to his feet. It was at that moment that Kion’s mind finally caught up with everything it had taken in during the short encounter. With astonishment, he turned to the last man.

The last man wasn’t a warrior. It was a boy wearing the robe of an apprentice priest of Assan. A boy whose face Kion knew.

As their eyes met, the boy hissed in recognition. “You!” His unbroken arm reflexively grabbed the one he carried in a sling.

“The little shit,” Kion whispered under his breath. He still had a score to settle with that one.

The boy saw the murder in Kion’s eyes and paled. His eyes darted back and forth, probably trying to calculate if the twelve paces or so between them gave him enough of a head start to get away.

It won’t, Kion thought, thanking the goddess for having him cross paths with the little traitor again. But then his face hardened.

Not having Kion’s Gift, it took the boy half a heartbeat longer to notice. When he did his eyes suddenly filled with hope, fixing on a point behind Kion.

Kion clicked his tongue in disappointment before whipping around and stabbing the first warrior coming up behind him through the neck in one fluent movement.

While he looked into the dying man’s astonished eyes, he heard the boy running away. A moment later his shouts cut through the night.

Shaking the body from his weapon, Kion took in his surroundings. His raft lay abandoned next to the shack’s open door.

Knowing that he only had moments to decide their next step, he considered how long it would take them to carry it back down to the beach. Resolving himself to the inevitable conclusion, he picked it up and threw it through the shack’s door. Then he turned to retrieve Livadios.

The other man hadn’t run. He stood at the shack’s corner, staring down at the bodies. When Kion grabbed his arm, he flinched back.

“How…how did you do that?” he asked.

“As quickly and as silently as I could,” Kion said. “Come. We have to get away from here. Every warrior in the camp will be on top of us in a moment.” He dragged Livadios along, back the way they had come.

“What about the raft?”

“No time.”

“But we can’t swim without it,” Livadios said but didn’t resist.

Kion’s attention was on the village. “Even with it, we can’t swim faster than arrows fly.” Shadows jumped up between the houses. Shouts rang through the nights and were picked up deeper within the camp.

“They know we’re here,” Livadios said, looking over his shoulder. From his voice, it was clear that he was about panicking.

“Yes,” Kion said, as they hurried down the slope. “Soon there will be a hundred warriors down at the beach. If you want to live, be quiet and follow me.” At the bottom of the slope, he let go of Livadios, turned left, and started running.

To his credit, the other man only hesitated for a heartbeat before following after him, trying to keep pace.

On the right, the dark silhouettes of the beached boats flew by. On the other side beyond the slope, more shouts and the movement of a hundred alarmed men sounded through the night.

Another horrible plan, Kion thought. He prayed the great goddess would bend fate in his favor once again.