Hanstau just knew that his buttocks would be sore for days if he ever got off this godsforsaken horse.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to ride; he’d been taught the basics, and ridden in his younger years when he’d served as healer to the army. But that had been many years ago, before his marriage, before obtaining his Mastery. The Lords and Ladies of Xy rode horses. Craftsmen like him walked, or took pony carts.

He smiled despite his misery. How horrified his wife would have been to see him riding on the Plains, following a Firelander warrior-priestess, surrounded by Firelander warriors.

But she’d have been proud and pleased as well at the bargain he’d struck. Their children were now well placed, in good apprenticeships, holding promise for their futures. A practical woman, Fleure had been. For all that their marriage had been an arranged one, they’d done well together.

It still hurt to think of her death, of the lump in her breast, and her wasting away. He’d been helpless, and Master Healer Eln as well, though they’d tried every remedy they had. All to no avail.

Hanstau looked ahead, where Wild Winds rode, keeping them at a swift pace. If there was any chance that he might be able to learn to heal magically...the very idea took his breath. It was worth it, this discomfort, if there was any hope....Besides, Wild Winds had to be hurting as well, what with that wound to his head.

The horse under Hanstau’s legs huffed out a breath, apparently as tired of Hanstau as Hanstau was tired of it. Oh, for his oxen cart, or the pony carts he rode in Xy, or just to be able to get off and walk for a while. Was there really this need to rush?

Cadr rode next to him, and gave him a grin. “Straighten your legs,” he called, showing by example. All fine and well for him, Hanstau groaned. But there was only so long that he could hold that pose, and they’d been riding for what felt like hours.

He was just promising himself at least three cups of willow-bark tea as soon as they camped, when a buzzing noise went past his head.

“What?” was all Hanstau had time for. Cadr reached over, grabbed his arm, and yanked him from his saddle.

Hanstau clung to Cadr’s arm, hanging for a long moment before Cadr dropped him to the ground. Harder to fall off then he’d thought; he lost his breath and his wits as he hit the ground.

The horses continued on, but Hanstau followed his instructions to stay down, and hidden.

He hunched in the grasses for long moments, breathing hard, listening to the sudden sounds of combat. There were shouts, and horses neighing, and the clang of sword on sword. It took a moment for him to realize they were being attacked.

He raised his head slowly.

Warriors had surrounded Wild Winds and his people, and the fighting was intense. Hanstau jerked back down, but he caught a glimpse of a downed warrior near him, groaning.

Hanstau started crawling.

The warrior was dead by the time he got to her, but there was another close by. Cursing at the waste, Hanstau crawled over.

A thigh wound, a bad one, cut right through the leather. Hanstau got to his knees and spread the edges open further. A clean wound. He took out a small bit of bloodmoss and got to work. The warrior never roused, but he was breathing evenly.

The fighting continued, joined with flashes of fire, and the smell of burning flesh. Hanstau refused to be distracted, concentrating on his patient until the wound was sealed. He dropped the bloodmoss, now pale green. It would grow and sprout for the future, with any luck.

But there was another warrior, moaning, well within reach. Hanstau crawled over, and flipped the warrior over.

It was Cadr, white and pale, his limp, bloody hands sliding away from his neck.

Hanstau reacted without thinking. He clapped bloodmoss over the cut, regardless of its state. It was the boy’s only chance. He slapped a bandage over that, which quickly soaked with blood. “Aid him, God of the Sun,” Hanstau prayed, knowing the wound was beyond anything he could close. He’d done what he could. Hanstau looked at the lad’s pale face with deep regret, then moved on.

The noise around him had subsided, but there was another warrior down nearby. Hanstau crawled again, focused on saving what wounded he could.

But when he turned her, the chest wound was too frightful to close. And the life had already faded from her open eyes.

“Have mercy on her, Goddess of the Moon and Stars,” Hanstau whispered, and reached to close her eyes.

Except a large, gloved hand reached down and grabbed his wrist, wrenching it away and up.

The hand forced Hanstau up onto to his knees. A warrior towered above him, a bloody sword in his other hand. Hanstau blinked into the sun at the large, solid man looked down at him, his blond hair and beard glowing in the light.

“Antas,” a voice called, and only then did Hanstau realize that the sounds of fighting had stopped.

“Here,” the blond called out.

“Wild Winds is dead.” Another warrior approached. “We couldn’t take him alive.”

“No matter,” the blond above him said, his eyes never leaving Hanstau’s. “I’ve found something better.”

Hanstau jerked his wrist, trying to free himself, but the warrior...Antas...just laughed. His white teeth gleamed against his tanned skin, as he leaned down and spoke.

Hanstau’s blood went cold. He knew that word.

“Warprize.”