"It's been two months. She didn't make it."
"Shut up, Frankel." Bylon shot a nervous glance at Tayvis.
Tayvis didn't appear to have heard any of it. He poked sticks into the small fire, staring at the flames.
Rain drummed on the rocks outside, a cold wet that had rolled in a week ago and gave no sign of stopping. Their cave was crowded and smelled of damp and unwashed people. They had two fires burning, built in corners where the rocks were cracked enough to let the smoke escape.
"I wish it would stop raining," Frankel muttered.
"It buys us time," Tayvis said.
"Time for what?" Frankel demanded. "We may as well just surrender. They might let us live."
"As slaves. I think I'd rather be dead."
The others shifted nervously. Tayvis threw his stick into the fire and leaned back.
"We have to find supplies somewhere," Bylon said. "We're almost out of food."
"And we can't eat the local stuff," Tayvis answered. There were problems with metabolizing some of the proteins and enzymes in the local plants and animals. They'd all suffered to some degree when they tried. Two men had died.
"So what are we going to do? We have maybe two weeks of supplies left." Bylon watched Tayvis, asking for reassurance he knew wasn't coming.
"Any word from Will and his men yet?" Tayvis asked although he knew the answer.
"Not from them or any of the other groups. We've got seventy three men. To meet an army of several thousand." Frankel kicked a stone. It rattled across the uneven floor of the cave. "The Patrol isn't coming for us. They don't know we're here."
Another man slid into the cave, dripping and wet. He came to sit by their fire. The rest crowded closer, listening.
"The Trythians are camped at the base of the slope, where the river curves west," the man said. "I counted at least two thousand. They could be here within two days." Someone handed him a makeshift cup full of steaming broth, the best they could do to stretch what food they had.
"The rain might last another two or three days," another man put in. "The clouds are shifting north and thinning a bit."
They all waited, looking to Tayvis for a decision.
"Then in three days we head down the hills," he said. "We take the battle to them. At least that way we have a chance."
"A chance for what?" Frankel grumbled. "To die here? We're going to anyway."
"We could make for the port and steal another ship," someone else suggested. No one paid him any attention. That possibility held nothing but false hope.
The sky beyond the cave was growing darker. Rain continued to drip and trickle from the clouds overhead.
"We take what weapons we have and we attack," Tayvis said.
"At least we aren't wearing collars," Bylon added.
"And we buy time for the Fleet to get here," Tayvis said. "Dace will make it, if anyone can."
"You have an awful lot of faith in her," Frankel objected.
"And I'd trust anything he says about her," Will said from behind them.
They turned to greet him. He was dripping with rain. Mud coated his legs and feet. He sat near their fire.
"We found another hundred or so," he said to Tayvis. "They should arrive soon. They raided an estate and have some supplies."
"Any sign?" Tayvis asked.
"Of the Fleet riding to our rescue? No," Will said, shaking his head.
"Then we need to do something drastic soon. Lilliasa and her army will be here as soon as the rain stops."
"We could sneak away. There are caves further north." Someone handed Will a crude clay mug of steaming broth. He took it and sipped. And pulled a face.
"We can't keep running," Tayvis answered. "We can't live off the land. We have to have supplies and we can't keep raiding their homes."
"We're out of options then," Will said. He blew on the contents of his mug. Steam curled around his face.
"We can attack them, drive them back," Tayvis said. "Make them respect us."
"That isn't likely to happen."
Whatever Tayvis was about to answer was drowned out in a sharp crack, the sound of something flying overhead, very fast. The men in the cave turned quickly to stare out into the dark rain. There was a muffled thump, some distance west. A brief flare of bright light, too yellow to be lightning, lit the clouds from underneath and was gone.
Tayvis was on his feet, staring outside at the night. Will drank the last of the gritty broth and stood with a sigh.
"I'll take a few men and find out what that was," he said.
"I'll go," Vance offered, moving from the dark corner where he'd spent most of the last two weeks.
Tayvis glanced at him and nodded. "Take a dozen. Will, I need you to show me Lilliasa's position."
"Now?" Will asked.
"You're already wet," Tayvis said.
He watched Vance leave. Vance had picked mostly the fighters from the arena, the five of them that had made it out of the port and here, to the dubious safety of the wild hills a hundred miles south of Sylena's estate. Vance was competent enough, but Tayvis still didn't quite trust him and wasn't sure why.
He and Will followed them out into the rainy night, moving east while the other group headed west.
"Miserable night," Will commented cheerfully.
Tayvis didn't answer.
"She'll make it, Tayvis," Will said. "And if she doesn't, Roland should be moving soon. We just have to hang on until the Federation ships make it."
"We don't have another choice," Tayvis said. "I'm not living as a slave ever again."