Free Black Kerthon's Doom by Jim Greenfield

regrets it now. I haven't seen my family since, but I don't miss Nantitet otherwise. I wasn't raised there."
    "Where were you raised?"
    She did not answer and looked at the sun. She shook her head and pushed them faster. She wanted to reach a safe area to camp and at their pace they would just beat the darkness to their destination. The afternoon was cloudy and they were able to keep a good pace. Finally, Mira pointed to the campsite. Macelan and Serada slumped to the ground upon reaching the site. She had to kick them to get their assistance to set up camp. Dinner was meager and cold. Mira watched the stars as Serada and Macelan slept. She slept for a few hours among her captives but they were bound and she could do no more. Besides, she had six rebels in the woods nearby. She was safe enough.
    By dawn they were on their feet again and walking hard. Mira did not speak the entire day and they fell down exhausted at night.
    The next morning they were awakened early by Mira who gave them a wooden bowl of water to wash themselves and a few pieces of ripe fruit for breakfast. She walked them hard until lunch and then they rested for an hour. A couple hours of travel in the afternoon brought them within earshot of the rebel camp although they did not know it. It was dark again when they reached the camp. Mira spoke to a sentry and then led them to a tent where they had fallen asleep when they hit the mats. Neither one noticed anything about the rebel camp at their arrival; they only thought of sleep.
    She stood over them as they ate their breakfast. Then she led them from their tent past several groups of rebels sharing java. The newcomers drew the gazes of most of the rebels. Macelan did not look around, but Serada was curious about everything. They passed through a ring of tents to the inner camp where a large tent had been raised. It was easily big enough for several families and as they entered, they saw more than a dozen figures seated around one large table. Most were drinking wine and paying little attention to the newcomers. At the head sat a burly man with a long iron gray beard, which hung to his chest. He was dressed in a baggy drab green shirt and brown pants and his boots were caked with mud. He was twirling a hunting knife in his large hands and he watched Macelan and Serada as they entered and were brought before him.
    "You are the ones from Dale?" His voice was high and Macelan barely suppressed a grin. Gareth noticed the humor in Macelan's eyes and cleared his throat.
    "Yes," said Serada. "We were pursued by soldiers. They wanted to conscript us."
    "Fleeing from that, eh?"
    "And a night battle in which many soldiers were killed," added Macelan.
    "That is a better tale," said Gareth. "We can use seasoned veterans. If that is what you are. Your fate with us is much the same as if the soldiers had caught you. I need all the soldiers I can find to fight the High King."
    "We do not want to fight," said Macelan. There was a murmur around the table. "We want to return home to help our friends against the soldiers," he added quickly.
    Serada watched his friend with doubt. Gareth did not seem to appreciate weaklings.
    "You have no choice, men of Dale," Gareth said through his teeth. "Here you shall help your friends by defeating the High King and returning the land to its former bliss. There is no other choice for I offer none. I cannot allow you to leave, you know us now and the location of our camp, and if you stay, we cannot support those who do not carry their own weight during war against the High King. You must fight for your lives. We are not a gentle people."
    "I met the High King long ago," said Macelan. There was a murmur around the table. "This doesn't seem to be like him at all."
    "You know the High King?" Gareth sneered. "Do you spy for him as well?"
    "No, my grandmother was a servant for the Royal family years ago and I visited her often."
    "The grandson of a former servant knows the mind of the High King