62

The journey from Kante back to Magna Alto was exhausting. Each morning they awoke, ate a cold breakfast, then began at the fastest pace the infantry could muster. They continued with only short breaks until sunset, then set up camp and fell into deep slumber. The following day they did the same thing, and every day after.

The grueling pace left the entire battalion weakened, but there wasn’t much risk of attack in the middle of the vast Aureumian heartland. And since they were returning to the capital, they did not need to be fresh and ready for battle when they arrived.

As a captain, and one of the few soldiers with a mount, Sebastian was required to ride up and down the line during the march, making sure that none were slacking. He was under orders to immediately punish any who fell behind, and was grateful it was something he rarely had to do.

In addition to the march itself, there was also the matter of keeping guard over the Raízians, supposed allies that they must now treat as prisoners. The Aureumian soldiers seemed able to change their disposition toward their Raízian allies quite easily. Some even seemed eager to do so. Sebastian had a difficult time understanding that.

When he expressed his concerns one afternoon to Marcello, his friend said, “Oh, that’s because you’re not really Aureumian.”

“How do you mean?” asked Sebastian.

“Well, you’re only half Aureumian by blood, and you were raised in Izmoroz. So it makes sense that you don’t think or act very Aureumian.”

“I meant,” said Sebastian, “what does being Aureumian have to do with a blatant disregard for one’s allies?”

“That’s just it, Portinari.” Marcello looked a little frustrated. Or perhaps defensive. “You’re looking at it wrong. People are scared, that’s all. We have to keep these Viajero tied up and gagged. If even one of them were to slip free, it could be the death of us all.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration,” said Sebastian.

Marcello shook his head stubbornly. “You really don’t get it, do you? I guess it can’t be helped. After all, you’re not Aureumian, and you’re a wizard, too. You’ve never had to worry about other people having magic while you have none. Aureumians have always had to come down hard on magic users. Otherwise it would be the end of us.”

“So you’ve always lived in unspoken fear of your allies?” asked Sebastian.

“Well, not fear, of course,” Marcello said quickly. “We’re not cowards, after all. But a certain amount of caution. A man would have to be foolish to think someone with special power wouldn’t try to take advantage of it if they could.”

“I… see.”

Sebastian wondered if he was also among the people the Aureumians viewed with unspoken “caution.”

The tensest period of each day was when it came time to feed the prisoners. The Viajero needed to have their gags temporarily removed so they could eat, which of course presented them with an opportunity to free themselves, and perhaps seek retribution for their betrayal. To discourage this, they were only fed one at a time, and each was heavily guarded while they ate. Because Captain Reyes had been so respected, he was now equally feared. In order to assure everyone that it was under control, Barone ordered that none other than the imperial wizard would guard Reyes as he ate.

“I don’t need to tell you what sort of bloodshed might ensue if you shirk your duty, Captain,” Barone had told him. “On both sides.”

“No, sir. I suppose not,” said Sebastian.

So he sat in the dirt with the man who had so impressed him with beauty and grace and watched as the Viajero desperately shoveled his meager daily allotment of cold porridge between his raw, cracked lips.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Reyes paused for a moment, and gazed at him with weary eyes. “Your words sound sincere, Captain. But your actions belie them.”

Then he returned to finishing his food before his time ran out.

Sebastian felt the hard crush of guilt in his chest as he retied the gag. Of course the man was right. How could he think an apology meant anything when he continued to participate in such terrible and unjust treatment? He tried to tell himself that he was there to keep things from getting worse, but he no longer believed his own self-justifications. Regardless of anything else, he was still complicit.

He had just left the prisoner area when he heard a shout from behind.

“One’s slipped his gag! Look out!”

Sebastian turned back to see that one of the other Viajero had stood up, his mouth open as though ready to speak or sing. There was a desperation in his eyes. A madness, almost. Sebastian watched his chest rise as he filled his lungs with air.

But whether it had been to sing a dangerous magic or merely to beg for more food, Sebastian would never know. Before the man uttered a sound, three swords pierced him. One in the chest, one in the throat, and one in his mouth. The soldiers gripped their swords tightly, their faces hard as stone as they kept the blades in place while the Viajero choked, and gagged, and bled to death.

Sebastian remembered once wishing he could be more like his Aureumian countrymen. Now he was grateful that it still seemed an impossible goal to attain.