Dak realized something else then, too. It was one thing to be intelligent — to spout facts and figures and generally act like a know-it-all. It was another thing entirely to be wise. And Dak wanted to be more than just smart.
“Dak?” Sera asked. “Are you okay?”
He broke his gaze from the philosopher and turned it toward his best friend. Sera meant everything to him, as much as his parents. Seeing her, still by his side despite everything, and hearing Aristotle’s words of wisdom — it all did something to lift his heart. It was going to be okay. Everything. A-okay.
“I’m all right,” he finally said, his spirits lifting by the second. “We’re close, guys. We’re so dang close to wrapping this whole business up. Let’s get to King Philip’s camp, let’s tell him about that Pausanius dude, get my parents back, and warp ourselves back to the nice cozy future we’ve almost finished creating. Who’s in?”
The smile that broke across Sera’s face was more full of relief than anything else, but she put her hand out like a quarterback in a football huddle. Dak put his on top of hers.
Riq rolled his eyes and said, “No way. But I’m in.”
Dak gave Riq a dramatic glare. “Don’t leave us hanging, dude.”
With a sigh, Riq laid his hand on top of theirs, and the three friends gave a small cheer.
Aristotle seemed baffled by their hand gesture, but his expression showed a trace of excitement. “Let’s find some help for our poor soldier here.” The man’s breathing was shallow, but steady. “Then we rest, eat, and make preparations. When we’re ready, we’ll use your magical device to go exactly where we need to go.”
Two days later, Sera stood with her friends — and the philosopher, of course — on a rise that stood above a huge sweeping valley that seemed to stretch beyond the horizon. It was like a city with no permanent buildings: Tents filled it from one side to the other. Cookfires, temporary pens for animals, and storage sheds for food and weapons dotted the scene, and men and women streamed through the valley.
“I certainly never thought I’d come to this area,” Aristotle said, almost reverently. Sera thought she heard a hint of fear in there somewhere, too. “I’ve been receiving reports about the hegemon and his growing army for some time now. But to see it firsthand . . . it takes the breath away. I don’t like to think about what all those soldiers will do when they march across the continent.”
“We’re not here to judge,” Sera said. She’d struggled plenty with her conscience in the course of fixing the Breaks. She still wondered whether she could have done more for the people she’d met. But the consequences of meddling with history boggled her mind. In the end, all she could do was take the Hystorians at their word, set history on what they claimed was the proper path, and hope for the best.
“No judgment, here,” the philosopher replied after a few moments of considering her answer. “I’m just in awe of the power of an army, and I don’t like thinking about what happens during the horrors of war and conquest.”
“I used to,” Dak said quietly. Sera expected him to say more, but he didn’t.
Riq turned his back on the sight and faced his companions. “Let’s just get the job done. We’ve come this far and we’ve done what we were supposed to do. Let’s finish it. Nothing could be worse than the Cataclysm.”
Aristotle made a harrumphing sound.
“What’s our plan of action?” Sera asked her friends. “What do we do first?”
“Oh,” Aristotle replied, “I suspect that we don’t have to do much of anything.”
“What do you mean?” Sera replied.
The man gestured with a nod of the head toward the camp below them. “You’ll see soon enough. Our hegemon didn’t get to where he is today by letting strangers just appear at his camps without explaining themselves. Thoroughly. Watch and see.”
They all turned to face the valley again, and it wasn’t more than a minute later that a group of horses came galloping out of the mass of soldiers and up the dry, grassy hill, their hooves kicking up dust in a cloud.
One of the animals broke away from the rest of the crowd and charged in, the man atop its back dressed in light armor, his golden helm hiding most of his face. But the eyes and mouth made Sera think the guy wasn’t a very happy person. He looked as if he’d run right over them, but he pulled up his horse at the last second, making it rear back on its two hind legs. Then it settled with a loud neigh and the man spoke in a gruff voice.
“You’ve crossed onto forbidden ground. Down on your knees. Now!”
Aristotle obviously intended on taking no such treatment. “Listen to me, young man. We are here to speak to the hegemon. My name is —”
“I don’t care what your name is, old man!” He pulled out a short whip and slashed it through the air, striking the philosopher across the face. Aristotle yelled out in pain, crumpling to the ground.
“Hey!” Sera screamed. “Do you have any idea who that is?”
The man raised the whip again, and Dak and Riq both jumped in front of her, staring up at the fierce soldier. Sera didn’t know if she’d ever seen them do something quite that brave.
The man lowered his arm, but spat, his saliva splashing on all of them. Then he turned to the others who’d come with him. “Tie them up. Gag them. Throw them in the pit. Tomorrow, they hang.”
Then he rode off, leaving his minions to do the dirty work.
EVERYTHING THE jerk of a soldier had said became true, one detail at a time. Dak just hoped that the final order — being hanged — somehow got lost in a loophole. But so far he hadn’t seen any nice genius lawyers in fancy suits walking around.
They had an awful, awful couple of hours after the original soldier disappeared back into the army’s camp. His men dragged Dak and his friends around and stuffed big wads of cloth in their mouths, making it hard to breathe, much less talk. They tied ropes to their bound wrists, then pulled them along behind their horses. Dak stumbled, fell, got dragged, scrambled to his feet, then stumbled and started the whole process all over again. His friends didn’t fare much better. And Aristotle . . .
Seeing what the kind, dignified man went through just about shattered Dak’s heart. They gave him no better treatment, no mercy, no respect. He’d yelled his name successfully a couple of times before the soldiers finally gagged him, and all four of them had moaned and groaned and screamed muffled screams since then. But “Aristotle” and “We’re friends of Alexander” and “We need to save the king” and “I have to use the bathroom” all came out sounding like “Mrrrrph rmmm gurgggggrle rrrrmph.”