The outlaw camp lay a mile ahead, marked by flickering firelight. He leapt off the saddle and a cloud of sand billowed around his knee-high leather boots before the wind carried it off.
Today wouldn’t be the night he lost his life and had to decide if he moved on or stayed.
The sounds of drunken laughter and faint music drifted across the desert. Uthias took off at a run to leave his horse behind a dune; his feet hit the ground with a faint slap and puff of sand. He paused, his body frozen in an arch, as a cry sounded, mournful and throaty: a dead girl’s sobs carried on the wind. No time to worry about souls that couldn’t be saved. He had to focus on the main missions; too many issues would obscure his vision.
The full moon illuminated the outlaw camp where five men surrounded the nearest campfire, each criminal holding an iron mug. Uthias paused behind the first tent. A man vomited inside; Uthias ordered his stomach not to retch as well. Nausea wouldn’t help his sneak advance.
He continued between another row of tents to a different campfire where a young woman danced around burning logs, the light flickering off her pale skin. Sand slid over her toes as she kicked and spun.
“Git movin’, gal. Dance fastuh,” one of the outlaws bellowed, and another guffawed.
Her skirt of faded blue silk twirled around her legs in a blur. She seemed no older than fourteen years, yet her body was little more than skin over bones.
She tripped over the long skirt and fell to her knees, crying out; the man nearest kicked her with his sandal to knock her onto her back. She clutched her ribs where she’d been struck and rolled toward the fire.
He had no time to save her from the camp. Uthias steeled his mind to banish the image of her parted lips and glazed eyes. She would have to survive on her own until he could return another night.
Uthias ran to the next tents, covered with blood-encrusted animal hides and material faded from the desert sun. He dropped to his chest and crawled to the first large tent, lifting the sidewall to peer underneath where colorful silk obscured his sight. “Cursed darkness.” Prisoners wouldn’t be kept in a tent lined with wealth.
From the next tent came slurred laughter and the clanking of iron mugs; a boy’s scream carried over the noise. That one. Uthias shoved inside with his fists clenched, his fingerless brown leather gloves stretching across his knuckles.
The hot air reeked of liquor and sweat. Bulky, perspiring bodies blocked his way. No time for that, either. Uthias shoved them aside and marched to a wooden pole stained with blood, erected in the center of the tent with a boy lashed to it. Skinny cuts streaked his legs and back, and a knife wound glistened on his cheek. Behind him lay the crumpled mass of another man. Lifeless. Uthias peeled back his lips. Life deserved to be cherished, not disregarded and despised.
The torturer let the metal tip slice across the young man’s back to form another cut in the boy’s leather vest. He yelped, writhing against the pole as if it would shelter him.
“ ’It ’im again,” a drunk slurred.
As the torturer pulled back the whip, chortling, Uthias slammed his fist into the imbecile’s jaw. The end of his palm smacked into the nose, snapping it; a flood of blood drenched the sand underfoot and the torturer hollered. Good, let him squeal like a slaughtered pig.
“Uthias!” The bound boy’s face twisted as he attempted to turn.
Uthias wiped his hand across his leggings. If the outlaws didn’t value life, then he wouldn’t value theirs. He crossed the space to his brother, drawing a boot dagger, and cut the splinter-ridden rope binding the boy’s wrists behind the pole.
Chapter 1
Start from the beginning
