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much greater than expected.
    Tobin looked down thoughtfully at Nachun. Our losses would have been much worse without this stranger. Nachun bent over the fallen Kifzo, hand resting over the large gash in his side.
    “Will he live?” asked Tobin.
    “For now. Unfortunately, all I can do at the moment is slow the bleeding. If he survives the night, I should be able to help more, once I’ve rested and regained some strength.”
    “Very well. Do what you can and, if you’re able, treat any others in similar shape.”
    Nachun nodded.
    “What’s going on here?” said Kaz, anger in his voice.
    Tobin looked up and met his brother’s glare as he and several other warriors approached. “This man saved many lives. The villagers had a shaman,” he said, gesturing to the smoldering remains. “He cast a spell that made us unable to fight the fishermen.” Tobin looked down “Nachun came to our aid and killed him.”
    Kaz spat. “And you trust this shaman?”
    “Yes. Even while weak he tries to help our fallen.” Tobin paused and looked at the other wounded warriors near the oasis who, without Nachun’s help, would have died. “Do I speak false? Do we not owe this man?”
    Hesitant at first, several of the men nodded and mumbled in agreement.
    Kaz grunted. “He’ll live. For now. When he’s done here, make sure he’s put in one of the huts under guard.”
    “This man…” Tobin began to argue.
    “This man is still a stranger, Brother .” Kaz cut in. “I will speak no more on the matter until we know his story.”
    The two men shared an intense stare before Tobin once again broke the gaze. “Where would you have me then?” he asked.
    “The village is ours and the huts are being searched. Go help the others with the search.”
    Tobin pushed his way past Kaz, feeling helpless and frustrated by his brother’s reaction. No doubt Kaz will kill the man. He spared a glance back and saw Nachun working on another wounded Kifzo under his brother’s watchful eye. Tobin shook his head. Too bad.
    * * *
    In the battle’s aftermath, Tobin maneuvered through the twisted carnage that littered the ground. He noted that the huts were better constructed here, the stone walls carefully formed and secured with mortar. Roofs even held a basic framework on which the dried grass could rest. Unlike the squalor he’d seen before, this place actually resembled a real village, where one could settle down and raise a family. But not anymore , he thought, as he stepped over a corpse with its mouth hanging open and eyes wide with terror.
    The first several huts he came upon stood empty, already ransacked of valuables. The next was a wreck and smeared with blood. Draped over a small table lay a man with his throat slashed, his lifeless hand gripping a knife more suited for filleting fish than fighting. Against the back wall, a dog lapped up the blood of another victim as it oozed onto the gritty floor. Tobin walked away as the dog tugged at the wound in an effort to pull loose the man’s entrails.
    The next hut was worse still. Tobin walked in on a Kifzo raping a gray haired woman who thrashed under the grunting warrior until a fist came down to silence her. Shamed, Tobin left the hut in a hurry before the image could etch itself into his mind. But he knew it was too late.
    Another one I’ll never be rid of.
    Tobin reached the last hut in the cluster. He peered inside as light crept in from the relit fire pits. A small sound, barely above a whisper, caught his attention and he unsheathed the dagger at his thigh. Scanning the dim room, he spotted the tiniest movement in the back, near broken pottery and overturned linen. Stepping further inside, his eyes focused. A little girl, no more than four sat huddled into a ball, gently rocking back and forth, mumbling to herself. Maybe there is a chance to do some good. He looked over his shoulder then back. He crouched down and whispered. “Do you think you can stay quiet and remain hidden