Mikil stood atop the Igal point, using the eyeglass Thomas had formed from melted-sand glass and a hollowed gourd. “Nothing.” She lowered the glass. “If they are out there, they’re either Scabs or dead.”

“Impossible. I’m telling you right now that we haven’t found their bodies because they escaped the Horde.”

“They might have,” she said. “Or were taken prisoner. Either way, they don’t have enough water to bathe. We found Billos’s horse with the extra water.”

“Then we go after them,” Thomas said.

None of the others knew about the prophecy or the fact that Johnis was marked. Then again, there was always the possibility that the birthmark on Johnis just resembled a circle without any connection to the prophecy. If so, he’d sent a boy to his death for no good reason, an innocent boy who had no business in the Forest Guard.

William spoke on his left. “We can’t risk it, not so close to a battle on the other side of the forests. Besides, you have to know that if the four recruits escaped, they would have headed back into the forests. We’d have found them by now.”

“They could have gone out into the desert,” Thomas said.

“Only fools would do something like that. Were they chosen for their foolishness? And if they did head out into the desert, they’re dead.”

William sighed and turned toward the desert. “Face it, Thomas, these four are lost to the Horde. If they’re still alive, we’ll fight them in battle one day. But for now we should get on with the Horde at hand. We have to return to Middle and coordinate preparations.”

“I could stay with fifty men,” Thomas said.

“Please, sir. The men need their commander to show strength. Their lives are at risk as much as these four. You have to go back.”

Thomas knew his officer was right. Admitting it aloud wasn’t so easy. If it weren’t for the disease, he would mount an extended search for Johnis, Billos, Darsal, and Silvie. But by the time they organized, the four would be Scabs.

“I don’t like it,” Thomas said.

“There’s little to like these days,” William said.

A thudding of hooves crashed in from behind, and Thomas turned to see a large brown stallion bursting from the forest. In its saddle sat Ramos, Johnis’s father, in full battle dress. He reined up on his horse’s frothy bit.

He drilled Thomas with a hard stare.

“Dropped a cactus, is that it?”

William put his hand on the handle of his sword, but Thomas immediately motioned him back.

“I had hoped so. But wasn’t willing to take the chance.”

Ramos studied him, then dismounted his horse and stepped forward. “And?”

They locked stares. Thomas’s heart broke for the man. “We don’t know, Ramos.”

“But no sign?”

“No sign.”