Now, Sera thought.
Giving up on any pretense of staying low or being tied with ropes anymore, Sera jumped to her feet and attacked the dirt wall, roughly hewn and filled with places to grab for holds. Some of it crumbled, making her slip several inches at a time, but things stayed solid for the most part. Like a monkey on a jungle gym, she clambered up and reached the top of the pit in no time.
Panting — more from anxiety than the effort of climbing — she didn’t waste even a second looking around to see who might’ve seen her. She spotted a break in a long row of tents nearby, a little alley that led away from the main clearing, where hundreds of people milled about. She headed that direction, sprinting with all the strength left in her body.
She’d made it about halfway when she heard the clamor and yells of the soldiers guarding the pit. Their angry voices rose over the din of the crowd.
They’d spotted her.
DAK WONDERED if he’d ever have a day again where nothing on his body hurt and there weren’t a million things on the planet stressing him out.
Today certainly wasn’t it.
He’d already been tired and sore before crawling across the dirty floor of the pit with his hands tied. Then you added in the nice element of rocks raining down from the sky, a few of them lucky enough to smack him in the shoulders and back. To top it all off, Riq decided to go insane-wrestler-dude on him, jabbing with his elbows and knees in all kinds of places that didn’t feel so hot. Dak had fought back, knowing that it was for Sera — but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
And it had worked. He knew it. He’d seen her disappear over the lip of the pit, and she’d had plenty of a head start before the soldiers started yelling and chasing. He knew his friend, and he wouldn’t even allow the thought of her getting caught to enter his mind. At least he had the pit as a measuring stick — as long as she wasn’t hauled back and thrown in, he had to assume she was safe. Unless . . .
Again, he blocked off his mind from terrible possibilities.
Riq lay on his side, facing away from Dak. The poor guy, Dak thought. Something about him seemed to suggest he’d finally run out of steam. He reminded Dak of a balloon that held on for as long as it could after a birthday party, clinging to the ceiling, but then eventually sank to the floor, a wilted, crumpled heap of rubber. Dak felt it, too, but he still had hope. Once someone figured out they had Aristotle in their prison pit, surely all would be well in the world again.
The Let’s-Throw-Rocks-at-Dak-and-Riq Show had ended as soon as a guard had spotted Sera running away, and most of the guards had left in pursuit. Several returned now, but Dak couldn’t tell from their whispers or body language if she’d been captured. The fact that they didn’t bring her back, of course, was a very good sign. Unless . . .
One of the soldiers lowered a wooden ladder into the pit, steadied it, then climbed down, followed by two others. Dak shifted around to fully face them, sitting on his rear end, feeling like a lassoed pig. The three guards were armed, and one of them actually had his sword in hand, using only the other as he descended. Though Dak held on to the hope that they had come down for some other purpose, it was quickly dashed. They headed straight for Riq.
Riq noticed them at the last second, jolting and squirming as he tried to get away from them. Useless effort, of course. They snatched him under the arms and hauled him to his feet, then dragged him to the closest wall of the pit, where they — very ungently — threw him back down into the dirt. He landed with a heavy thump and a grunt. Next, they came for Dak, who didn’t resist when they did the same thing to him. A few seconds later, he was sitting next to Riq, his backside a little sorer than it had been.
Not surprisingly, Aristotle was their last target, picked up and dragged along to join the two boys with whom he’d arrived at the camp. The soldiers treated him just as roughly, and Dak wanted to hit somebody. Really hard.
Once the three of them were all lined up, the guard who’d come down the ladder brandishing his sword stepped right in front of them. He looked at one of his partners and gave a curt nod. That man came forward and yanked the cloth gags out of each prisoner’s mouth. Dak coughed and spat when his came out, feeling the sweet rush of air — which only made him thirstier. The soldier threw the wet, slightly bloody pieces of cloth onto the ground and took a place behind the guy in charge.
“Listen to me well,” the man said. “You’re the first people to wander into our camps since we heard of . . . ill tidings toward our king and hegemon. On the cusp of the greatest period in Greek history, we have neither the time nor patience to ask who you are or what you want. We’ve been ordered to take the utmost of precautions, and not to trouble our great leader.”
This dude is good at speaking a lot of words without saying anything, Dak thought.
“Do you know who I am?” Aristotle asked, his voice a scratchy rasp.
The soldier’s face showed no emotion. “I don’t care. If you were anyone of importance, you’d know to stay clear of these lands.”
“I’m Aristotle!” the philosopher yelled, as loudly as his weakened condition would allow. “I practically raised the son of the great king of whom you speak! I demand you take me to him so we can clear up all this nonsense. I demand you free my friends!”
“Aristotle?” the soldier barked, looking around at his comrades. “Look, men. The greatest philosopher in all the world sprouted wings and flew here from Corinth. His powers are even mightier than I thought.”
“I can explain, you fool! The hegemon and his son are in great danger!”
The soldier dropped to one knee and leaned toward them so quickly that Dak recoiled, knocking the back of his head against the hard dirt of the wall.
“I know,” the man said. “We know all too well. Which is why we’ve been ordered to . . . deal with lunatics like yourself who come marching into our camp.” He stood back up, brushing dust from his knee. “You have two choices, prisoners. And consider yourselves lucky that it’s not only one. Circumstances allow for a little leniency, when war is on the morrow.”
“What are you talking about?” Dak asked.
The soldier gave him a nasty look, like he didn’t care for interruptions. “Your choices are these: death at sunrise, by the gallows, or fight for your redemption on the front line of the king’s army when we attack our first foe. We’ll need all the bodies we can get up there, and yours will serve justly.”