“They had been caught in the middle of the Meridiani pass, just as the fat cook had promised. I wished at that moment that I had slit his throat. From a distance the bodies looked like a string of beads laid out between the wagons, which had been undamaged. The Mighty had not even had time to draw the caravan into a circle. I soon found out why: the F’rar had taken a page from the Mighty’s own book, and hidden themselves in ground traps. A line of these crossed the path of the front of the... caravan, and the Mighty’s body lay here, punctured by many bullets and arrows. Myra’s body lay next to him, similarly violated. The rest had been attacked from the sides and from above. Little One had died at the feet of his master. It must have been over very quickly, and signs of the overwhelming force the F’rar had brought on the little caravan were evident. The rest of the dogs had also been slain. As the sun lowered itself, I cradled the Mighty’s head and said some of his own prayers, trusting that his gods would forgive me for using Noon ceremony ablations at evening. I then buried his body with Myra beside him, and tended to the burial of the others as best I could. It was a long night, and I spent it toiling by the light of Phobos, which kept me company in my labors. I recited one of the Moon ceremony prayers as I worked: O mighty son of the sky, Fierce night warrior, Guardian of the dark ways, Help me in my pursuits If they be worthy ones, And let me not stray From the path of righteousness, From the road of good deeds, And from the way which leads To the well being of my people.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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