crane walked with arms outstretched and his eyes shut as if drawn onward by an invisible force that he alone felt. Dain wondered if they were lost.
That would be foolish. Surely the Tyberons could navigate their own grasslands. They had found the patrols and then vanished easy enough. Obviously they had some means of sensing direction, but his only clue into what that might be was the white-feathered old man.
What is he following?
By midday the Tyberons and captive mercs emerged into a clearing at the edge of a small pond. Ducks, geese, cranes, and other waterfowl watched them, and a pair of shaggy bison stood in the pond’s muddy edge opposite the traveling army.
It was the only break from the green Dain had seen in days. He took a deep breath and heard Nico do the same. Though less than a hundred feet wide, the pond seemed open and vast after the long march.
After drinking their fill, the Tyberons led them away from the water. Dain and Nico again fell in near the front. Arriving at this pool was no accident. Somehow, the lead warrior had guided them here. And if the Tyberons could navigate the grass, Dain wanted to see if he could learn how. This time it was a different man—one he recognized as the crane warrior who had captured him—leading the group. He too walked with outstretched arms in the same manner as the previous guide.
If two can do this, perhaps all of the cranes can—or even all Tyberons, Dain thought.
For much of the time, the Tyberons seemed to fear nothing. They were the grassland’s masters. But each night they posted dozens of guards. Strangely, the guards didn’t look at their prisoners often, but rather faced the grass around the camp. It seemed they were more afraid of what lurked there than the captured mercs.
“What do you think they watch for?” Nico whispered the night after they left the pond.
“I’m not sure. Whatever it is scares them a great deal. Notice how they keep their spears up at all times?”
“I saw one of them putting some sort of poison, juice from an orange root, on his last night.”
They were silent for a moment while one of their captors walked past.
“You thinking of escape?” Dain murmured when the man had gone.
“Always.”
“There’s nowhere to go. We’d be lost in an hour in all this and then end up starving or dying of thirst or found again. The guards don’t even bother watching us anymore,” Dain said.
“Have you any idea how they find their way through here?”
“No. Do you?”
Nico shrugged his narrow shoulders. “A guess or two. I spoke with Jensen today, when we drank at the pond. There have been four different guides in all. It seems likely any of them, any of the cranes, can do it.”
One of the nearby guards turned toward them. Dain closed his eyes and feigned sleep. The rules against talking were even stricter at night than in the daytime.
Some time later he drifted off.
On the tenth day, Nico fell.
They had stopped for water at another of the shallow, stagnant pools and, less than a mile later, he began to cough. Deep, heaving coughs without end. Hands covering his mouth to stifle the noise, he stumbled on. Oddly, the Tyberons hadn’t complained about the noise yet. They seemed unusually relaxed today, even talking among themselves.
Nico leaned down, vomited, and collapsed.
Dain looked down at him, dumbfounded. This morning he’d seemed fine. Tired, like they all were, but otherwise fine. Had Nico ate or drank something that didn’t agree with him? The water. There had been some larvae in the water. Had he drank one?
Dain imagined the emotionless spear coming. If Nico fell, they would both die. He placed his hands on the Pyre Rider and tried to sense the problem. He would have to try healing him.
The merc behind Dain, a big, belligerent man called Ox, planted a muddy boot on Nico’s outstretched arm and laughed.
“Look boys, our protector fell. The big, bad Pyre Rider fell,” Ox bellowed, pointing. His