Alex held a hand up and yelled, “Sword!” A Winten-ah soldier threw him a sword still dripping with the viscera of battle. Alex caught it nimbly and whirled it in an arc.
Like King Arthur in reverse, Alex lifted the sword high above his head and slammed it into the chest of the commander of the Winten-ah. The armor looked impressive, but the blade of the sword plunged through it and pierced his heart, killing him instantly.
Alex put his foot on the man’s chest and withdrew the sword. He turned to the second-in-command.
The heavier man’s eyes grew wide and he scooted away pitifully, using his elbows and one good leg.
Alex made a single slice across the man’s throat, then stood back from the gushing arc of blood.
Alex pulled a tuft of long grass, wiped the blade, and handed it back to the warrior who had given it to him.
Alex turned to the remaining Lasta-ah warriors. “What do you do with your dead?”
For a long, heavy moment, none of them spoke. Then, from the back, a man said, “We bury our dead.”
“Good.” Alex turned to his own men. “Throw them on the fire, then leave them for the animals. They deserve nothing more.”
Two Winten-ah warriors ran to the bodies and dragged them onto the fire.
Just then, the warriors from below emerged onto the scene, ready to fight. When they saw they had missed the remainder of the battle, they whooped their victory. Then they saw the two bodies on the fire and grew quiet.
Alex released a deep breath, then loosed his grip on his axe.
“It is not good to be an enemy of the Winten-ah.”
“Or an enemy of Manta-ak,” one of his warriors cried from behind him, to cheers from all the other Winten-ah.
Alex cast his eyes around the group of Lasta-ah. Most were wounded. Ten were dead or soon would be. Alex’s eye fell on the man who had spoken earlier. He had been slashed across the bicep in the battle.
“What is your name?”
“Klipta-ak.”
“You are in command of your men now.”
Klipta-ak moved his eyes from Alex to the two charred bodies on the roaring fire.
“Did you take part in killing my friends?”
Klipta-ak took a cautious step back, but knew he was pinned in.
“No. We thought we were capturing them as leverage. They were unarmed when we took them. There was no honor in what we did.”
Alex turned his back on Klipta-ak and approached one of his runners who had approached from below.
“How did the battle in the forest go?”
“Just as you said it would. They chased Ronda-ak into the forest twice.” The young man grinned as if at a joke. “He made a very good rabbit. He even looked scared like a bunny.”
“Since they might have drawn a bow and shot him in the back as he ran, he was brave like a hero. We all get scared, but heroes do the right thing anyway.”
The smile faded from the young warrior’s face. “You’re right Manta-ak, you’re right.”
“Did we kill any of them?”
“We tried to only wound them, as you ordered, but it was a fight...” he trailed off.
Alex laid a hand on his shoulder. “Of course. I wanted to keep them alive if possible, but not at the expense of our own lives. We escaped unscathed, but there are a number of their wounded we are obligated to take care of now.”
In the universal language, Alex asked, “Do you have a healer that can start tending to the wounded?”
“We did,” Klipta-ak said, pointing to a man sprawled open-eyed but dead, with an arrow through his throat.
Alex looked around and spotted Wenta-ak standing over the Lasta-ah prisoners.
“Wenta-ak, are you fast like your brother?”
“My brother was fast like me,” she corrected him.
Alex couldn’t help but smile at the echoes of the boy he had come to love. “I need you to run back to Winten-ah, as fast as you can. Bring Niten-eh, her apprentice, and all the medicine and bandages she will need. Bring all the horses back so we can transport the wounded to Winten-ah.”
Alex half-expected her to claim she could outrun the horses, but she only spun and started off down the hill at a full run.
“What are you going to do with the wounded?” Harta-ak asked.
“We will heal them as best we can.”
“After what they did to you?” Harta-ak looked surprised. “If the roles were reversed, they would have already run your men through and spit on you while you died.”
“I dealt with the men who killed our people. If I kill all these men as well, they will only send another wave of men and another and another. This has to end sometime. I want that time to be now.”
Alex turned to his remaining army. He pointed to another warrior. “Run down to the forest and tell them to keep the Lasta-ah warriors as comfortable as possible. Give them water and try to keep them alive. Tell them they will be safe, and we will care for their wounds unless they continue to fight on. If they do that, kill them.”
That young warrior also disappeared down the hill.
Alex looked at the carnage spread out before him. More than half of the Lasta-ah warriors were dead.
“Find a place to dig a grave, then give them a decent burial.” He looked around at his charges. “Are any of you wounded?”
Not a hand went up. The battle of Prata-ah had resulted in zero casualties for Alex’s Army.
Sekun-ak, who had not managed to land so much as a blow in the conflict, laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“You are getting very good at this,” Sekun-ak said with his deadpan understatement.
“I will be happier when I can fight no more forever,” Alex said, looking at the pools of blood, the dead, and the dying.
Chapter SeventeenKlipta-ak
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