Secrets of the Swords, Book 1

Chapter 36: Who to Trust and When to Leave

Ulsper awoke to a chomping sound somewhere near his head. Metal clanked in the distance, and an insect was buzzing somewhere above, a low droning hum that could easily lull him back to sleep if he wished.

It was only after a huff of hot air blasted in his left ear, however, that Ulsper fully came to his senses, shooting up from the ground to find that he was sitting in the middle of a hilly field of tall, swaying grass. Behind him, the creature that had been grazing gave a somewhat concerned bleat.

"Patron of the Damned," Ulsper swore under his breath. His leg was shooting pains, and the early spring air easily sliced through his coat and chilled him to the bone. He had lost track of how long he had wandered the previous night, and the last thing he remembered was following a road in the early morning light before exhaustion overtook him. Squinting, Ulsper shielded his eyes with a hand and looked at the sky. Judging by the light, it must have been late afternoon.

After checking that he still had his weapons, he stumbled to his feet, his aching body making even that simple task difficult. The lone sheep that had been steadily drawing nearer suddenly bounded away, startled by his movements as he finally stood up.

Ah, there was that road he remembered.

Ulsper looked down one way, then the other, but for the life of him, couldn't remember the direction he had come from. And there was no telling where Kalasha's squadron was, either.

Ulsper hissed and looked down as his leg gave another painful twinge that threatened to send him collapsing back on the ground. The ripped cloth around his leg was soaked in red.

"Amaká?"

Ulsper's reaction was instinctive – the daggers were in his hands before he even spun to face the owner of the voice behind him, only to find a small wide-eyed boy staring back.

The motion hadn't been good for his leg, and Ulsper struggled to focus as his vision blurred.

"Sorry, you took me by surprise," he explained in Shun Dwo, gently lowering his daggers to show the child he meant no harm. "Do you live near here?"

But the boy merely gazed back at him, the initial fear in his eyes giving way to curiosity as he realized this strange foreigner meant no harm.

"Pá-mali et sosù. Mì lok nu raí?"

Ulsper frowned, taking in the boy's rough woolen clothes and hooked staff twice as high as his small figure. He must have belonged to one of the shepherding families that supported the tapestry-weaving industry on the western slopes. And for the boy to not understand Shun Dwo was not a good sign – it meant they were much farther from Fai than Ulsper had hoped.

"How far, to Fai?" Ulsper tried, stretching his arms out to express distance. "Fai?"

This word, at least, the boy seemed to recognize. "Fai! Mēk-tan mará!"

"No – wait!" Ulsper tried to stop the boy, but grunted in pain as his leg gave way and he stumbled. The little shepherd went darting through the grass like a minnow downstream, and all too soon had disappeared into the meadow.

This wasn't good. If Ulsper wasn't gone by the time the boy returned, he'd most likely be tied up again, and this time, he doubted he could escape in his current condition. The world was spinning, and he tried to take a step forward—

The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, clumps of dirt and gravel digging into his cheek. Ulsper was too tired for any thoughts but one:

Ow.

Grunting, he staggered upright again, bracing his hands on his knees until the spinning in his vision subsided. He faintly registered the sounds of sheep bleating on the other side of the hill, and rubbed at the pressure building behind his forehead. Think!