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alive.
    He felt weak and sick, both physically and from fear. Tiberius leaned his head back and wished more than anything that Rafe was with him. His best friend had always led the charge into battle, and Tiberius wasn’t sure what he could do in his weakened physical state, but he knew one thing for certain — he had to do something. He had to save Olyva or die trying; there was simply no other option.

Chapter 3
    Olyva
    She had gone into the camp looking for more water. The entire tribe lay on mats just outside the camp or on the ground near their tents. The sickness had come on so quickly that Olyva and the Rogu hadn’t been able to get everyone out of the camp before her helpers fell ill. She had given her elixir to as many of the tribespeople as she could, but there simply wasn’t enough. She was confident that the draught she’d mixed with the bark-like scales she had scraped off her body would cure the illness, but the tiny doses she’d been forced to share wouldn’t work quickly. She’d given the most to Tiberius, dribbling an entire cup of the dark brown liquid into his mouth.
    When the sun rose the next morning, Tiberius woke up and was improving, but it was still a slow process. Lexi and Rafe hadn’t returned by midday, so Olyva was searching for more water among the small dome tents favored by the Hoskali tribe. She hadn’t seen the enemy warriors approaching. She heard footsteps just before they reached her. When she turned, the massive leader of the Kepsmee was sprinting toward her. She froze, paralyzed with fear. Bu’yorgi tackled her, knocking the breath from her lungs and pinning her to the ground with his heavy body.
    “You are mine, now,” he said with a leer.
    Olyva rolled to the side, surprising the large warrior with her strength. He raised his club to frighten her into obedience, but Olyva’s shock had passed. She rolled to her feet and stood up, still struggling to breathe. Her root-like toes burrowed into the ground, and she glowered at Bu’yorgi. The big man stood up slowly, taking notice of Olyva’s unusual body for the first time.
    She was tall and feminine, with a striking figure and a beautiful face, but her hair was disheveled, and the patches of bark and soft brown stems were visible on her skin. Bu’yorgi cursed. Olyva didn’t understand the words but she could see the hatred and fear in his eyes.
    Then another man grabbed Olyva from behind. She screamed, thrashing her arms and bending her body, but the man behind her held firm. He tried to lift her off the ground, but Olyva’s feet were planted in the soil, and she was almost immovable. Olyva had thought that the raiders would plunder the village and then leave, as they had tried to do only a few nights before. She hoped that if they couldn’t move her they might leave her there, where she could tend to the Hoskali still struggling from the poisoned water.
    More men came to help their leader, some grabbing her legs and others bending her long arms behind her back. Olyva spit toward Bu’yorgi, who jumped backward. Many of the men laughed, but not Bu’yorgi.
    “Be careful,” he warned. “She’s touched by the Hosscum.”
    There were gasps of surprise, but the men holding Olyva held fast.
    “Bring a blanket,” Bu’yorgi ordered.
    Olyva screamed again, trying to shake loose from the men holding her. With her feet planted in the ground and the sun shining down on her, Olyva felt strong, but she couldn’t overcome the group of men holding her. Then, before she knew what was happening, a blanket was draped over her head. The blanket was thick and smelled musty. Olyva shouted, but the blanket blocked the sunlight, and she immediately felt her strength diminishing. Ropes were tied around her, holding the blanket in place.
    Olyva struggled to breathe; the blanket was thick, and she guessed it was caked with dirt. It had been used to cover the ground in a sitting or sleeping area. Olyva didn’t see the spear that Bu’yorgi