Rya watched intently as Dietrich paced back and forth, his boots creating a steady rhythm against the packed dirt floor. Each step carved a deeper path into the ground, a visual echo of his restless mind.
'Okay. He's pieced together that I'm a healer, and he's bound to run off and inform Jeremiah, which would mean—' She halted her train of thought, realizing with a jolt that he wasn't rushing anywhere. Instead, he was lost in his own tumultuous thoughts, his jaw working anxiously, eyes glazed over and focused on nothing tangible.
'He's not going to tell them?' Rya's heart quickened, a sudden surge of hope igniting within her chest. She forced her expression to remain impassive, as flat and unreadable as a smooth stone. 'He wants me for himself. This could actually turn out to be advantageous for me. I just need him to be foolish enough to think he can wrest that accursed slave device away from Jeremiah.'
As they stood in a taut silence, both ensnared in their own swirling thoughts, the sound of footsteps echoed down the dim corridor, an ominous herald of intrusion.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The sudden sound of rapping on the door snapped Dietrich from his reverie, irritation etched across his features. "WHAT!?" he barked, his voice laced with frustration.
"Rudolf wants the slave ready. We lost one of our squads, and he's worried someone's catching wind of our activities," came a gruff voice from outside, as a mercenary pushed the door open. The dull glow of a lantern poured into the room, spilling light across the earthy floor and illuminating the tension that hung thick in the air.
'Dammit! I have less time than I thought!' Dietrich cursed inwardly, the urgency of the moment crashing over him like a wave.
With a swift stride, he crossed the small, musty room and seized Rya firmly by the arm, gripping her high above the elbow, a hold meant for steering rather than hurting. "Alright. Quit lounging around, slave. It's time for you to earn your pay," he commanded, the edge of impatience sharpening his tone.
'Dammit! He's touching me, and I still can't do a thing about it!... But maybe I can use this to my advantage,' Rya thought.
A hand on her arm wasn't what the powerful slave collar was listening for. It clung to her neck like a relentless vise, a sinister enchantment that held firm, refusing to even flicker in permission for her to defend herself. The tension in the air felt thick, heavy with unspoken threats and dark magic.
Dietrich yanked her out of the dimly lit holding room, his grip firm and demanding. She nearly tripped as he hauled her around the first dark corner, and he didn't slow for it. He marched ahead, clearly preoccupied with his thoughts.
"You seem annoyed?" Rya called out, her tone teasing as she quickened her pace to keep up with him.
"Shut your fucking mouth! I need to think!" he snapped, frustration bubbling just under the surface.
"Fine. Just don't think too loudly. Someone might hear you," Rya quipped, sidling up next to him with a wide, almost mischievous grin plastered across her face. "Unless you want my help—"
"I said shut your fucking mouth, slave…" He muttered, his voice a low growl, barely hiding his irritation.
The playful glint in Rya's eyes dimmed slightly as she retorted, "I guess you aren't as ambitious as I first thought. It would be a shame if someone else knew what you know…" Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, the words carefully chosen to provoke him. She hoped to spark his anger or perhaps ignite his greed, fanning the flames of rebellion that lay coiled within him, waiting for the right moment to strike. Yet, all she succeeded in doing was watching him clench his jaw tightly; his silence was more telling than any answer could have been.
Inside, she mused, 'I think I'm close… But I need this guy to do something really stupid if I want to get out of here.'
Dietrich remained resolutely indifferent to her as they trudged through the cavernous mine, where shadows flickered ominously among the towering rock formations. Mercenaries, clad in rugged armor, were busy stacking sharp spears against the uneven stone walls, their faces etched with a grim sense of purpose as they prepared for the impending war. Nearby, a young smith's apprentice relentlessly ran a whetstone down a glimmering blade, the rhythmic rasping sound screaming of imminent conflict, a stark reminder of the world outside their hidden realm.
***
Finally, they reached an expansive chamber, its high ceilings lost in darkness, and there stood Rudolf and Jeremiah, flanked by a cadre of their loyal lieutenants, all caught in a web of conspiratorial whispers. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation and tension, a clear signal that decisions were about to be made, lives altered, and perhaps, Rya thought, her chance for freedom might just lie within that circle of power.
Dietrich's gaze instinctively fell upon the slaver tool that Jeremiah held in his left hand. It was an object of dark allure, gleaming ominously in the low light, and it held a power that beckoned to him. The very thought of wielding such an instrument, capable of bending the will of the healer to his command and elevating him to the status of Emperor, sent a shiver of temptation down his spine. Yet, the weight of the room's tension snapped him back to reality just a heartbeat too late.
"Don't push your luck, Dietrich," Jeremiah warned, his tone abruptly slicing through the air without so much as a glance in Dietrich's direction. The authority in his voice was unmistakable, dripping with an undeniable sternness. "You've done well to assist in capturing her, but she's not here for your…personal pleasures. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal…sir," Dietrich replied, forcing himself to keep his eyes lowered. He was overwhelmed with a swell of relief that the Kings Slayer had misinterpreted the nature of the desire that had momentarily flickered within him. It was a narrow escape, and he had no intention of pushing his luck further.
Jeremiah then pivoted his attention to Rya, a smirk stretching across his face as he regarded her with feigned warmth. "Hello, slave. Welcome to the party," he said, the word 'slave' hanging in the air like a weighty judgment.
Before Rya could respond, an irate voice cut in. "Enough playing around! Dan and his men have gone missing. They haven't returned since they went on patrol two hours ago." Rudolf's anxiety was palpable as he stood at a large wooden table, flat palms pressing down on a map, cups strategically placed at the corners to hold it in place.
"So the scouts didn't report anything?" Jeremiah probed, a hint of curiosity laced with indifference in his voice.
"My best scout was killed during the test! So don't act dumb with me!" Rudolf shot back, his voice rising with a mixture of frustration and fear as he recalled the chaos of the earlier encounter—the loss that weighed heavily on his shoulders.
"She was too fast for me to—" Jeremiah began, but was quickly silenced by Rudolf's wrath.
"Shut up! We have no idea who took out our men. For all we know, it could be a monster lurking out there. But we can't confirm that so easily…" Rudolf responded, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, his body tense with pent-up aggression as he fixated his gaze on Jeremiah.
"Your man should have been aware of the risks, Rudolf… It's not my fault he let his guard down," Jeremiah replied, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The death of Sims worked in his favor, and he took some care to keep that off his face. He had promised the man to his face that he would end him one day, and he had meant every word, and he had never once been able to work out how. A thrown dagger found a shimmer and empty air. Every man Jeremiah had ever put in the ground had obliged him by being there to do it.
Then Rudolf handed him a dark elf and told him to test her, and Jeremiah solved a problem he had carried for years with a single order and someone else's hands.
He had watched the spike come up through the illusionist's belly, and something in his chest that had been standing on guard since the day Sims joined the company had finally sat down.
Rudolf's face flushed with anger at the cavalier attitude displayed by Jeremiah. In a fair fight, he believed he could easily overpower him; however, the rare talent Jeremiah possessed, a unique ability that set him apart from the rest, kept Rudolf at bay and prevented any physical confrontation.
"So, do you wish for the men to prepare for war?" one of the other lieutenants inquired, his brow furrowing as he understood the gravity of the situation. The implication hung ominously in the air, prompting a collective breath as they awaited Rudolf's response.
"We have no choice but to assume they've been attacked by the prince's men. So we take precautions. Prepare the men. I want to be ready in case it's the prince's army that did this. If so, then we will crush them like ants. I won't lose to some punk!" Rudolf yelled as he stood up tall, and the lieutenants who had been leaning on the table were suddenly not leaning on it anymore.
"We'll get the men together, commander. The sun should be rising soon. We can start the march to war in the morning."
Dietrich stood against the wall with his hands folded and said absolutely nothing.
They were going to spend the morning throwing men at Ironside over a patch of Fiafyr dirt and a duke's grudge, and the only thing in the mine that mattered was standing collared in the corner of the room, and not one of them could see it. Rudolf was going to hand her to Alaric. As an apology. For a dead son.
An apology.
Dietrich had to work at keeping his face still. 'Fight your war, old man,' he thought. 'Get your men killed over a title you'll never live in. She'll still be standing when it's finished. She's always going to be standing.'
With that, Jeremiah started for the door, turning the slaver tool over once in his left hand as he went.
"Come, slave! We've got work to do!" Jeremiah ordered, and Rya followed him out of the room.
Dietrich watched the tool go through the doorway.
Then he pushed off the wall and followed it.