Rise and Fall by Joshua P. Simon Page B

“You must be aware your situation is hopeless.” He paused, removing the covering from his face and revealing a beard, formed into a thin line against a hard face. The man removed a water skin from his side and took a drink. He held the skin out to Tobin. “You must be thirsty after such tiring work,” he said, trying a different approach as he gestured toward the dead bodies. “You are a talented man. With such skill, you could rise high in Nubinya if you are willing to help us.”
    Tobin spat, tightening his grip on his sword, turning the blade over in his hand so it caught the sun’s rays. “You would kill me the second you got what you wanted from me.” He chuckled. “Many in my clan would take a blade to my heart if they could, but at least they would do so while looking me in the eye. You would wait until my back was turned.”
    The war chief sighed, and moved the water skin back to the place on his saddle. He covered his face again and shook his head. “The choice was yours.” He gestured two men forward, one without any visible weapons, bones rattling with each step. A shaman. “Make him talk.”
    The shaman extended a hand and Tobin felt just as he did at the oasis in Munai, body weak and limbs heavy as if the weight of a mountain rested on his shoulders. He struggled to stay upright, but his efforts were in vain. The other man held a rope tight in his hands. Tobin’s heart raced. A quick death in battle was one thing but if captured, there would be torture first.
    And no one will come for me. Even to Father, I am nothing.
    Panicked, Tobin attempted to raise his sword in a defensive position but his body ignored the command. His head slumped on his wide shoulders, unable to even lift his gaze past a few feet in front of him, just far enough to see black leather boots come into view. A hand grabbed his arm. Silent curses screamed in his mind, incapable of voicing his anger.
    The sun was bright that morning but not so bright to cause the sudden white glare. At first Tobin thought the effect came from the sorcery working against him, but a chorus of yells erupting from the clansmen around him told him there was something more. With head hung low, Tobin blinked away the cloudiness and saw a man collapse in front of him, clutching at his eyes. The rope fell at the man’s feet. Tobin realized that a hand no longer held his arm, and life returned to his deadened limbs. He lunged with his short sword, stabbing the clansmen lying before him through the side. He started for the shaman, but a familiar shout above the confusion halted him.
    He spun and saw Nachun astride a black horse, another at his side. Slung on the empty saddle rested the bow and quiver he had left behind.
    Tobin covered the distance in haste, flinging himself atop the empty mount. Reaching for his bow, he pulled free an arrow.
    “What are you doing? We’re running out of time.” asked Nachun.
    “Then go,” said Tobin as he drew back the bow. Nachun stayed at his side. Taking aim, Tobin fired and watched the arrow sail across the disorder of horse and human, piercing the neck of the Warchief, toppling him from his mount.
    He kicked the horse forward and Nachun followed close behind. Without a word, they raced across the unforgiving desert as fast as the animals and land would allow before reaching the rim of hills that circled Munai.
    Approaching the ridge, Tobin unsheathed his sword once again and holding it aloft, let out a warning to any of Walor’s scouts patrolling the area. They descended the last rise. A horn blew somewhere close by, signaling the others of their arrival. Good.
    Tobin pulled up on his reins.
    “What are you stopping for? We must tell your brother!” said Nachun panting, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat.
    “No,” said Tobin, turning in the saddle. “You go. We stick to the plan. I need to help Walor recall his scouts and organize our archers. Tell Kaz that I questioned one of their scouts. If we believe