Stunned, Kovrim eyed the other soldier, refusing to move. He couldn't believe that a mercenary would be so callous as to let another soldier die, enemy or not. The code of war that most companies in the Reach fought by precluded such barbarous acts. "You can't mean it," he said at last, watching the man's face for some sign of his real intentions.
"I do, and we will," the soldier replied. "Now stand up. It's your last warning."
Kovrim shook his head, still unwilling to leave Velati to bleed to death. The young man's breathing had grown more rapid and shallow, and it was becoming moist. There wasn't much time left.
At that point, another soldier standing next to the leader who had been speaking moved next to his companion and whispered something in the man's ear. The speaker jerked his gaze around to look at the second fellow and shook his head, and there seemed to be a quick argument. Finally, the second mercenary shrugged and moved back to his spot as the speaker scowled for a moment.
"I've changed my mind," the speaker said at last. "You will hold perfectly still while my men search your companion and rid him of any weapons. Only then will you be allowed to heal him. But if I sense even one false move on your part, if I see the barest hint of you casting your magic at me or any of my men, you'll be sporting so many arrows that you'll look like a seamstress's pincushion. Do you understand?"
Kovrim nodded and rocked back on his heels, motioning for his captors to do their work quickly. He sat very still as the men surrounding him drew beads on him. Two soldiers trotted forward, removed Velati's sword from the young man's grasp, and tossed it well out of reach. They did the same with a pair of daggers and they thoroughly searched Kovrim. Once they were satisfied that neither mercenary had anything more hidden, they stepped back.
Kovrim gave the leader an expectant glance, one eyebrow raised. The other man nodded once, and the priest moved close to Velati and began to pray, his hands roaming over the wounds, the arrows and bolts still imbedded in his flesh. Feeling the surge of magic inside him, Kovrim yanked one of the missiles free just as he applied the healing orison.
Velati jumped and issued a half-strangled cry of pain, but the gaping hole in his ribs sealed itself in a moment more. Sighing with relief that the young soldier had survived that first attempt, Kovrim applied a second spell, and a third, withdrawing the weapons a split second before finishing the magic. By the third such healing, Velati was gasping and clutching at his body, obviously still in pain but stable enough to remain conscious.
"Now, you foolish boy," Kovrim said when he was finished, "you will do exactly as I say, or I will let these men kill you and be done with your ridiculous notions of heroics. Is that clear?"
Velati looked at Kovrim, licked his lips in fear and relief, and nodded.
"Good," Kovrim said, backing away and holding his hands up to show that he was not doing anything else untoward. "I'm finished," he said to all within range. "He will need help walking, though. He's still very weak."
"That will be your job, then," the leader said. "Now give me that coin around your neck and get him on his feet."
Reluctantly, the priest removed his holy coin and tossed it toward the mercenary leader. Then he helped Velati up so the young man could stand with Kovrim's help.
"Let's go," the man said, motioning for his two prisoners to begin walking back the way they had come.
As the pair of Crescents began to march in the direction they had been ordered, Kovrim spotted a large column of soldiers, all of them wearing the same silver raven insignia that his captors displayed, coming down the beach in their direction. He frowned, wondering why an entire mercenary company would be in the middle of nowhere.
"Where, pray tell, are you taking us, and why are you treating us as hostiles?"
"My orders were to capture as many of you as I could. Anyone who refused to surrender, I was to kill. I didn't question why. Now be quiet."
Kovrim shrugged but nodded. As he walked along, helping Velati keep a steady pace, he considered why someone would have issued such orders to the men escorting them. It didn't seem likely that they would have known the Crescents would be there-unless they are in league with the pirates, he realized. Perhaps they are working for the same people. But who?
Then the priest's eyes narrowed. Lavant, he thought. To get me and Vambran out of the way. Why else would I have been ordered to serve as quartermaster at my age?
The thought that the Grand Trabbar would go to such lengths to eliminate threats made Kovrim's blood run cold. He knew that the high priest had influence, and the evidence he had found suggested that Lavant was putting together an army. But the notion that he would sink an entire ship and destroy a whole company of mercenaries just so he could get two men out of the way was astonishing.
If Lavant ordered our deaths, Kovrim thought, then it's only a matter of time before these men, or those they answer to, realize who I am and try to finish the job.
As the priest considered that, he began to go over other options in his mind. Even without his holy coin, he still had magic at his disposal that could aid him in his escape. But Velati did not, and there was nothing Kovrim could do to assist him that way. No, Kovrim decided, I'll stay with him until there's no other choice. But did I save him only to let him die later?
With such a realization fresh in his mind, Kovrim's thoughts turned once again to his nephew. He wanted to hold out hope that Vambran had somehow escaped, that he had been resourceful enough to evade the pirates and reach the shore, but he feared the worst. The attacks on Lady's Favor and the number of troops scouring the beach were so powerful, had been so well coordinated, that it hardly seemed possible that any Crescent had managed to escape.
Kovrim prayed he was wrong.
As Vambran moved stealthily through the trees, nearing the edge of the forest, he could hear the sounds of a large gathering of troops, just beyond sight. He picked his steps carefully, trying to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves, but he knew he was no woodsman, and every time he scuffed his feet, the lieutenant held his breath, waiting for sentries to come charging through the underbrush toward him. They did not. Finally, when he reached a point where he could begin to see beyond the ground cover that marked the boundary of the forest proper, he crouched down behind the trunk of one of the last sizeable shadowtops and just listened for a few moments.
The typical sounds of an army wafted through the screen of plant life toward him, of some men shouting orders and others laughing. He could hear the sounds of horses whinnying, and those of wagons creaking. The one sound he did not hear, thankfully, was that of prisoners being tortured. He hoped it was not because they had taken no prisoners.
It was growing toward dusk. The seven remaining Crescents had spent the better part of the day evading the enemy forces, and though the army had been thorough, its command had seemed reluctant to drive too deeply into the interior of the forest. Only after his foes had given up and returned to open ground had Vambran crept back to the edge of the woods to scout. The other Crescents had orders to remain well away from the border. If he didn't get back to them by nightfall, they were to march through to the other side and get back to Arrabar as best as they could.
He decided that he had to get closer, see what he could determine of the fate of the Crescents who had not escaped into the woods. He considered trying to sneak into the perimeter of the gathering, but he dismissed that idea again. There would be sentries. If the mercenary officers of that army were worth their salt, they would know that the few who had escaped might at least try to rescue their companions, and the soldiers would be ready. Vambran did not like the idea of getting caught by himself in the open, where a handful of spellcasters could easily overwhelm him. There had to be other options.