Through the open gate, Ethan could see smoke rising in the distance. They loaded him onto a wagon, still chained, and surrounded him with six mounted guards. The wagon lurched forward heading north toward Prescott, away from the fighting. Ethan watched the fort disappear behind them and felt nothing. No hope, no fear, just emptiness.
They'd been riding for maybe an hour when the first shot rang out. One of the guards jerked in his saddle and fell, blood blooming across his chest. The others wheeled their horses searching for the shooter, rifles raised. Another shot, another guard down. "Ambush!" someone screamed.
"Take cover!" But there was no cover, just open ground and scattered rocks and darkness falling fast. The guards fired wildly into the shadows, their shots echoing uselessly. One by one, they fell. The wagon driver tried to whip the horses into a run, but an arrow took him in the shoulder and he toppled off the seat.
The horses bolted, the wagon careening wildly over the rough ground. Ethan was thrown against the side, the chains biting into his wrists and ankles. He couldn't brace himself, couldn't protect his head. The wagon hit a rock and flipped, throwing him clear. He landed hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs.
When he could breathe again, he looked up and saw figures emerging from the darkness. Apache warriors, maybe a dozen of them, moving quickly and silently through the carnage. They checked the fallen guards, finishing the wounded with quick efficiency. Then Nashoba was there, kneeling beside him, a knife in his hand. "You are a very stupid man," Nashoba said, cutting through the chains.
"Kael!" Ethan gasped. "Morrison said Kael is alive. He is back at camp. Morrison lied to break you."
The relief was so overwhelming that Ethan almost wept. ""He's alive?"" "Yes, bruised and angry, but alive." Nashoba hauled Ethan to his feet. "Can you ride?" "I can barely stand." "Then you will ride badly.
Come." They got him onto a horse, one of the guards' mounts, and rode hard into the night. Behind them, the overturned wagon burned, set alight by the Apache to cover their tracks. By the time the soldiers realized what had happened and organized a pursuit, the raiders would be long gone. They rode for hours, changing direction frequently, doubling back using every trick Nashoba had taught Ethan and a dozen more he hadn't.
By dawn, they were deep in the canyon country, the fort far behind. When they finally stopped to rest, Ethan slid off the horse and collapsed. His body was one massive bruise, his wrists and ankles raw from the chains. But he was alive. And Kael was alive.
That was enough. Nashoba sat beside him, passing over a waterskin. ""Why did you do it? Trade yourself for the boy?"" "Because it was the right thing to do." "The right thing got you captured, nearly got you killed." "Yeah, well, seems to be a pattern with me."
Nashoba almost smiled. "You are not wrong." He was quiet for a moment, then said, ""The boy thinks of you as family now, as a father. You know this?"" "I'm not his father." "No."
"But you are the man who traded his life for Kael's. In our culture, that creates a bond, a responsibility." Ethan looked at him. ""I don't know how to be a father. I failed the first time."" "You did not fail. You were not there.