Free Swords and Saddles by Jack Campbell

fatigues and wide smears of blood. Her head lolled down so they couldn’t see her face, but Johansen thought he saw raw wounds down the sides of her neck.
    “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ariana said. “It’s clearly a procession. That one in the lead, the old Izkop, he’s wearing decorations that indicate very high rank.”
    The small group of Izkop stopped at the gate, then came on another couple of meters with a slow gait that seemed ceremonial to Johansen. Archer’s head came up for a moment as if that gesture took all of her strength, then flopped down once more.
    “She is alive!” Adowa shouted, beginning to rise from her crouch near the door.
    “Hold position,” Singh ordered, his voice as dark and commanding as that of a stern god. Goldera let out a curse that sounded like a sob, and Adowa settled back onto her knees, her face drawn.
    The old Izkop in the lead gestured to the others to halt and then spread his arms wide, chanting.
    “What’s he saying?” Nassar demanded.
    Ariana listened, her expression intent. “Something about…that god I called Horatio.”
    “They think Archer is Horatio?”
    “No. It’s more like his spirit, or example. I’m not sure what the words actually mean.” She looked confused now. “The Izkop…proved…their…purity? But so did…Archer. I think that’s a reference to Archer and…her people. I’m sorry, but he’s using the ceremonial language which is even harder to understand than the common speech.” Ariana shook her head. “I think he’s referring to all of you. The others who came among the…demons. No, thieves. Both, maybe. In the valley. Oh, no, they’re talking about us. The civilians. Something belonging to gods. False…hands? No. Offerings. False offerings. Corruption. I think that refers to spiritual, not physical corruption. Something about that demon god I call Prometheus. Denial. Test. Honor. Test. Strength. True…protectors? Of Izkop. Of the gods.”
    The six Izkop carrying Archer lowered her to the ground, face up, then held up their spears in salute before raising them again, points down, ready to strike. “No,” Adowa got out in a strangled whisper.
    But when the Izkop slammed their spears into the dirt, they did so on either side of Archer. The leader raised his hands, calling out in a voice that echoed across the landscape.
    Johansen had sudden trouble breathing as thousands of Izkop rose up from the surrounding terrain, standing silently, spears by their sides. His hands slid along the shaft of his own spear, suddenly slick with sweat. He heard a low murmuring sound and realized that Sergeant Singh was praying, perhaps a final benediction before death.
    “You put on your damned show, now just do it and get it over with,” Nassar got out between gritted teeth as the Izkop stood silently.
    Then the leader raised his hands once more, shouting another command. Just as the first small group had, the masses of Izkop raised their spears, holding them high canted toward the building, then shouted as one before reversing the weapons and driving them point first into the ground like those already planted around Archer.
    A third command from the leader, and all of the Izkop began moving back, leaving their spear shafts standing like a low forest bare of branches and leaves. The long ranks of Izkop all around as well as the small group with the leader marched steadily away, leaving Archer lying amid the spears thrust into the dirt around her.
    The Izkop had almost vanished over the surrounding ridges when Singh shook his head like someone coming out of a dream. “Nassar, you and Goldera go out there and get Archer.”
    Holding his spear as if that could still help cover the others, Johansen watched Nassar and Goldera hastily shove aside the bodies blocking the doorway, then trot quickly to Archer. Nassar knelt and examined her while Goldera stood on guard. “She’s been cut up quite a bit,” Nassar called back to the others.