Levi screamed in rage as the boat nudged ashore at his village. He leapt out and sprinted into the smouldering ruins, the rest of his hunting party following suit. Erskine climbed out behind them and walked in, surveying the damage with a critical eye.

The Skjar had come through here about a day earlier. Some of the thicker wooden structures still smouldered, and the scent of burnt wood hung in the air, but most of the village was blackened and cold. They had entered through the docks, burning as they went, but there was little of the telltale scuffing and blood from a full-fledged battle.

On the journey up the river, his leg bouncing nervously the entire time, Levi had explained that only the women and children had remained in the village with a handful of warriors. Not enough to put up any more than token resistance. Erskine hadn’t wanted to point it out at the time, but it was probably a good thing. Without enough fighters to get their blood pumping, the reavers would likely have been gentler with their captives.

And they had definitely taken captives.

All of a sudden the Skjar’s decision to flee into the jungle made sense. It wasn’t just a desperate attempt to put space between themselves and the Calandorians, they were still thinking about money. The raid, from their perspective, had been a disaster. Over half the fleet sat at the bottom of the sea with over half the Jarl’s warriors inside. Even if he made it back alive, reavers would abandon his banner in droves unless he could turn a sizeable profit. And a village of Mardukians would do just that. Erskine knew they fetched an obscenely high price on the slave market; their rarity and strength made them prized slaves for manual labour or even as exhibits in ‘human zoo’s’ in Ader. With the profits split over a small percentage of his warriors, every reaver still living was set to be a very rich man when they returned home. It was just Erskine’s worse luck that this also made his rescue attempt more complicated.

He kept walking through the smouldering village, finding Levi crouched in its epicentre, cradling the corpse of a young man. He was weeping openly, and as Erskine got closer, he realised the dead man was actually a boy, probably no older than fourteen.

“He tried to fight them off,” Levi said between sobs. “He was just a child, but still he fought.”

“And fought well, from the looks of things,” Erskine said, seeing drag marks in the dirt around the boy. The Skjar had taken three of their dead with them.

“But still… my brother deserved more than this.”

Erskine grimaced.

Shit.

“I am sorry, Levi. I can only imagine-“

“Can you?” Levi shouted, turning his head to look Erskine in the eyes. “Have you lost a brother?”

Erskine thought about his brother back home. He was older than he was, and an idiot country hick, but still, the thought of losing him, his flesh and blood…

He balled his hands into fists. Took a deep breath. And loosened them. The reavers had more hostages than just the villagers now, which meant the rescue had become much more complicated. Righteous anger wouldn’t save their lives. Only calm heads, and the measured application of extreme violence. Or diplomacy.

“Levi, we will get your people back. We may be able to seek an exchange with the reavers; our people for their freedom.”

Levi sniffed, gave his brother a final squeeze, and stood. He turned to Erskine, his face dark as thunderclouds.

“They are dead men. They just don’t realise it yet.”

Extreme violence it is, then.

Erskine nodded and held out his hand. “Then we will bring your people back over the reaver’s corpses.”

Levi regarded the proffered hand warily, then finally grasped it.

“And yours as well.”

*

The allied force of Calandorian and Mardukian warriors had tracked the Skjar a few kilometers into the jungle. As the crow flew, it wasn’t far, but it still took them the better part of a day to hack their way through the jungle in the oppressive heat and humidity, even with the way partially cleared by the reavers before them. They passed a few Skjar corpses on the way; one who had been disemboweled by a beast the locals called a ‘wombat’, the others claimed by various other flora and fauna. Erskine said a silent prayer of thanks that none of the bodies belonged to his or Levi’s people.

But while the bodies were all Skjar, the fact they weren’t taking the bodies with them anymore was reassuring on one hand, and concerning on the other. It told him the reavers were getting desperate, trying to keep ahead of their pursuers. But that also meant they would be erratic, nervous and angry, which did not bode well for the captives. It also made him wonder what they were doing with the bodies from the village, and why they hadn’t dumped them yet. He discovered his answer an hour later when the tracks diverged before a large river. The majority of the raiding party had continued straight through, while two smaller groups had split off on either side, dragging the bodies with them.

As Levi’s scouts found a short while later. Or rather, what was left of them. They had used the corpses as bait to draw the drakes away from the crossing.

Erskine and Levi were standing on the riverbank when the scouts reported back.

“Disgusting savages,” Levi said. “Though admittedly, it seems effective. The drakes are vicious, but still just animals. Why work for your meal when you can get one for free?”

Erskine nodded. It was sacrilegious, even for the Skjar, but as he looked out over the river, he understood the logic. The river wasn’t deep or fast flowing, but it was at least ten metres across. He shuddered to think that a drake could be in there now, watching.

Waiting.

“I still find it… unsavoury,” Erskine replied with a grimace. “But how will we cross? Could we swim? There’s a lot of us, the drake in charge of this stretch might hesitate to attack a large group.”

Levi shook his head. “They hunt by sensing the vibrations in the ground, and they’ll accept others in their territory if there’s enough prey to be had. They’d swarm us before we made it halfway across.”

“Then what do we do?”

Levi sighed and scratched his cheek. “We’ll have to build boats.”

“And how long will that take?” Erskine asked, chewing the inside of his lip. He bet he already knew the answer and he didn’t like it.

“Probably the rest of the day, and we can’t cross until tomorrow. Drakes hunt best by night, and they become bolder. We’ll need to wait until dawn.”

He had been right, after all, and he turned to Levi, his brow furrowed. “That’s too long. If they get too far ahead, we’ll lose the tracks.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt they will travel much farther. They have women and children in tow, and they are losing fighters to the jungle as they go. They’ll pick their spot soon, their ‘hill to die on’, so to speak. Though you’ll be hard pressed to find an actual hill in this part of Marduk. Besides, we don’t have a choice, Erskine. Crossing without boats is suicide.”

Erskine growled and turned away from the river. As responses went, it was rude and juvenile, but he was hot, tired and now about to spend the night sitting on his hands while the people relying on him were stuck in the hands of those pigs. He stormed off, ignoring the pointed look from Groth as he went.

*

Sometime around midnight, Erskine found Levi sitting by a small campfire with the scouts he had sent across the river and the tribe's elderly chief. It had been risky, but a few of his warriors had volunteered to sneak across in a hastily built, and worryingly small, canoe while they built the rest of the flotilla, to keep on the Skjar trail and see if they could figure out what they were planning.

“Anything of note, Levi?” Erskine asked, standing a respectful distance from the fire. Levi stared at him a while, then gestured for him to sit with a nod.

“That’s one way of putting it. They’re building a fort.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Pasty Patsy. The Skjar are building a fort about a k beyond this river. It backs onto another broad river. I’m guessing they ran out of bait corpses.”

“Well, I suppose this is good news, really. The chase is almost over.”

“Hold on, I hadn’t finished. The fort has three key areas; the central section is where the Skjar have set up,” Levi said, drawing a sketch in the dirt with a stick, two long lines to denote the sides of the river, and a circle on its bank. “It’s connected by a gate to the section where they have your villagers penned up,” he continued, drawing another, smaller circle next to it.

“And your people?” Erskine asked.

“There is a small island in the river itself. They built a causeway to it, and are keeping my tribe there,” he said, drawing the last circle.

Erskine swore. The bastards knew they were coming and had separated the prisoners accordingly. Not only would the allied force have to contend with the Skjar fighters, if they wanted to rescue the hostages, they would need to split their forces to secure them first. And not only that…

“We have no way of securing your people, Levi,” Groth said as he strode out of the night. Erskine calmly turned to look at his sergeant major, doing a fantastic job of not jumping out of his skin. For a big man, Groth was scarily quiet.

Levi nodded, but said nothing, his face solemn. It would be easy enough to scale the walls and seize the Calandorian slave pens, but the only way to get to the Marduk villagers was through the Skjar themselves. At the first sign of trouble, they’d retreat across the causeway and threaten to execute the captives. Additionally, or so the Skjar probably thought, it would drive a wedge between their Calandorian and Mardukian pursuers. Being able to save one group and not the other had the potential to cause strife in their circumstantial alliance.

“Got any ideas?” Erskine asked Groth. “To rescue the natives?”

While the sergeant major pondered the question, Levi spat into the fire and fixed him with a glare.

“You know, we really don’t like it when you people call us ‘natives’.”

“I don’t mean any offence, Levi,” Erskine said slowly, hands up to show he meant it. It didn’t work, as Levi and his scouts shot to their feet anyway.

“Offence is taken, anyway, Calandorian,” Levi hissed, seizing Erskine by the shirt. Erskine looked down at the broad hand gripping him, then back up into Levi’s eyes. They were wide, angry, and panicked. He probably expected the Calandorians to throw them to the wolves and rescue their own people at the expense of Levi’s. And why wouldn’t he think that? He didn’t know the Calandorians. Didn’t know that they would never do that.

“Then what would you like us to call them?” Erskine asked softly.

Levi narrowed his eyes as he stared at Erskine then, after a few seconds, slowly released his grip and stepped back. “Aluwai. My tribe is called the Aluwai.”

Erskine nodded and motioned Groth to join them.

“I know you’re scared for your people, Levi. But we can save the Aluwai as well,” he said, taking up the stick and scratching in the sand. “A two-pronged attack; the primary force goes over the wall into the Calandorian pens, while a second group seizes the causeway. They can hold the narrow path until the main force breaks through and eliminates the Skjar.”

Levi scoffed and scuffed out the diagram with his foot. “And let me guess, my people will be the second group to go swimming through the swamp? Who’ll lead it? Oh, wait, I bet it’ll be me too, right?”

“No, Levi. I will lead it. And it’ll be volunteers only.”

“As if anyone is going to volunteer for that! It... Is… Suicide!” he said through gritted teeth.

“I will go by myself if I have to,” Erskine replied, standing, walking over to Levi and resting his hand on the man’s shoulder. He looked Levi in the eyes so the Aluwai could judge his sincerity for himself.

They stared at each other for a long while, each man reading the mettle behind the other’s eyes. The truth of who they were and what they would risk for the people in that camp. Finally, Levi nodded.

“Then I’ll go with you. How many do we need? Every Aluwai here will volunteer, turning some of them away will be the hard part.”

Groth sucked his teeth beside them but gave no other indication of his displeasure. He had worked with Erskine long enough to know he wouldn’t talk him out of the risky plan so, to his credit, he didn’t bother.

“If I may, sir?” Groth said. “I think a dozen would be an appropriate number. And we need to make sure some of our boys go too, our armour ain’t thick, but its more than these Aluwai boys have. We can hold the line and Levi’s lads can back us up with their spears.”

“Agreed, sergeant major. Can you get five volunteers, Levi?”

Levi nodded. “Of course. Can you? These aren’t your people.”

Erskine smiled as, beside him, Groth laughed.

“We may surprise you, Levi.”

*

The next night Erskine found himself staring over the glossy black surface of yet another river, a couple hundred metres downstream of the Skjar fort. The plan to swim in a strike team to secure the causeway was risky, but sound, and the only hope they had of saving Levi’s people. But, here and now, Erskine had to admit to some private reservations. The moon was full in the sky, its light glinting off the ripples and eddies, but it did nothing to illuminate the black depths.

Or what could wait for them within.

He had discussed the territorial habits of swamp drakes with Levi, the local assuring him that one reptile ordinarily patrolled a stretch of river up to several kilometres. If they moved quickly enough, they had a decent chance of reaching the causeway before the local beast homed in on their location. But staring at the water, Erskine became acutely aware of just how dangerous a game he was playing. He had gotten lucky last time, dictating the terms of the engagement between the beast and himself. If he were ambushed instead? His chances of survival would be remote. The men behind him, six Aluwai and five Calandorians, were thinking the same thing.

A quiet voice at his back drew his attention away from the water. It was Levi, head bowed and hands clasped before his face, muttering fervently with his eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” Erskine asked. Levi held a hand up for silence while he finished and, when he was done, looked back up at the marine.

“I was praying,” he said, a strange half smile on his face.

“I didn’t think the Pantheon had a large following in Marduk?” Erskine asked, his eyebrows rising ever so slightly.

“They don’t. I wasn’t praying to them; I was praying to my tribe.” Levi replied, his half smile turning bashful.

“Excuse my lack of tact, but aren’t we doing this to rescue your tribe?”

Levi chuckled and shook his head. “The tribe is more than just our people.”

“I don’t follow.”

Levi sighed and scratched absently at his chin as he went to stand beside Erskine. As he gazed out of the river, Erskine turned to face the same direction, both men staring out of the glittering black in silence.

“We believe that the Aluwai is a spirit. A part of the jungle. When we are born, we are a sliver of the Aluwai given form to tend and nurture the jungle, and when we die we return, taking our experiences with us to enrich the Aluwai as a whole.”

“Well, I won’t lie, it’s different to the doctrine I was raised with, but I must admit, it’s a lovely faith, Levi.”

“We like to think so.”

“So, with that said, how exactly is the Aluwai going to help us kill Skjar?” Erskine asked, turning to face Levi again. Levi puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled.

“It probably won’t. Technically if we all die it doesn’t matter. The Aluwai endures. But we have legends; about the spirits of heroes past lending their strength to avatars of the Aluwai, or even the jungle itself lashing out at our enemies. Although the jungle usually does that as a matter of course anyway so it’s probably nothing. Either way, it can’t hurt to pray, can it?”

“I suppose not,” Erskine said with a shrug. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards the river. Levi nodded once, his face set in resolute mask and invited the marine to go first. Erskine took one more look at the water, fighting back his apprehension, and strode forward with a confidence he didn’t feel, plunging his feet into the river, the water icy despite the heat outside. He turned when the water level reached halfway to his knees and looked back at the men still on the bank. Levi was shaking his head, a small smile on his face, while the men around him cautiously made their way to the water’s edge.

“Come now, hurry! We may not have much time until a drake detects us,” Erskine said, gesturing for his soldiers to move faster. The closest man, an Aluwai hunter, had just reached the water when he stopped, his head snapping up, eyes scanning the water’s surface.

And then there was a quiet splash and Erskine felt a sharp pain in his left leg, as though his calf was caught in a toothed vice. Not daring to breathe, he looked down and, as expected, found himself staring into the eyes of a massive swamp drake. Erskine was still close enough to the bank that the drake had needed to expose its head and forelegs to snatch him while the rest of its body trailed away into the black water. It was easily at least four metres long. As their eyes connected, the beast hissed, the sound like tearing paper and a swarm of bees rolled into one. Keeping his breathing calm, Erskine looked back up the bank to Levi’s wide eyes. He had enough time for a single word.

“Go.”

And then, his world went black and cold as the beast dragged him under.