The man stumbles forward. His right side aches and pulsates with each step. It burns. It sears at the seams. He brings his left foot forward, barely willing himself to keep going. One step at a time. That is how he'll be able to make it. That's how he's going to escape. His hand brushes against his side. It stings. It aches. His hand comes back bathed in crimson.
He's bleeding. A bleeding man should rest. But he isn't just any bleeding man. No, he's a bleeding man on a mission. And, a man on a mission never relents, or so his father used to say. He steps forward again. And again. And again. He barely makes it a few steps further before collapsing.
A man on a mission. A man on a mission. That thought lingers as their little column strolls through the woods. They number five at the moment. In the front walks a man everyone calls Grim. A thin and shoddy-looking man, one who wears the various leathers of exotic animals, a wide-brimmed hat atop his head. He walks at a pace so fast that it seems ill-fitting for someone like him. He has sharp ears. Eyes too. And he knows the land. He's leading them south, no map needed, no stars used. He's as good as the rumors say. And he's not as expensive as one might think. Servosh and Aroth walk in the middle, mindlessly droning about which of Dacian's siblings is the most beautiful. Daeia walks by his side, yellow eyes alert, the hood of her cloak pulled over her head.
Right now, Dacian is a man on a mission. And a man on a mission, his father used to say, should never relent. So he trots on, hand on the handle of his blade.
Servosh speaks, voice raspy and a bit too loud for comfort, "Come on! I have known those girls since they were but children and I must say none have grown quite as beautiful as Tysha.".
Aroth, never without rebuke, "That's where you are wrong. Ranna is obviously the fairest maiden. I ain't never seen someone as beautiful as that one, and I have seen lots of people.".
Servosh spits before continuing, "I think I have seen more people than you. Say, Dacian, which is most beautiful?".
"None. They are all rotten.".
Grim raises his hand. All movement ceases. He motions to advance slowly. A break in the trees, overlooking a valley gouged in between the hills. A long column advances, a few men on horseback at the sides. A bird circles just above the slow trickle of people.
"Fucking ibarrans...", Servosh mumbles, eyes narrowing with a frown as he gazes on the people below.
Dacian's gaze narrowed on a person toward the back of the thin line, "Slavers? This far south?".
Servosh spat again, this time in disgust, "That looks like way too small a party for a raid. I imagine these must be escaped slaves from the outer provinces.".
Ibarrans. Dacian knew well what they were. Servosh was once taken as a slave. He heard that tale hundreds of times in his youth. Dacian stepped forward, hand still on his blade, slowly making his way down the hill.
"Come. We have to go that way anyhow.".
The people in the column looked ragged. Torn clothes. Bloody feet. Hands tied at the wrists with rope. At least two dozen people led by six horsemen. Whips in hand, screaming and shouting and pushing any who may lack behind. Dacian stepped forward, Servosh and Grim in tow, Aroth just behind the two of them. They were accosted by a woman atop a black steed. She wore a jacket studded with metal, elbow-length leather gloves and knee-high greaves. She gazed about them with as much pleasure as one might show when looking at a turd. A whip in hand. A sword by her hip. Mounted. Could prove a problem.
"Stop right there!", she roared, trying to make herself sound authoritative. "What business have you?", she spoke in the high tongue. Dacian spoke it too, but he surely wasn't going to act like he understood her.
"Does she seem like a fool to you? How likely is it that she understands the common tongue?", Dacian threw a glance towards Servosh.
"Not very likely. They think they are too good for that.".
Dacian could feel a smile cracking. This will be fun, "Then, play along. Tell her we are just passing towards the south. Ask her about the slaves.".
Servosh did as he was instructed, standing as straight as possible, speaking the high tongue with an accent much akin to the woman's. Had this been the first time Dacian heard Servosh talking, he would have believed that he was truly from the north. The woman's expression slowly morphed from a stern frown into something more relaxed, the lines on her face drawing clearer and her shoulders slumping.
Servosh nodded towards the column, she threw a glance in its direction before speaking. What she had to say didn't matter, a small figure amongst the line of people already caught Dacian's attention. A girl. Slightly younger than him. Hair slick with grime and pressed against her head, eyes that shone like two little lanterns, piercing through the muck and filth with a gaze of utter defeat. Her clothes were in tatters. Feet bleeding. Her wrists, too. Burns from the ropes. Scabs upon her neck and collarbone from where her torn top hung. Too thin. Too young. He could hear the sword calling to him. Calling for justice, strangely enough.
"What's gotten into him?", the woman spoke before turning her gaze in the same direction as Dacian's. She smiled before dismounting and marching away. "This one your young lord likes? Truth be told, I can see the appeal.", she took the girl by the arm and dragged her out of the column, "Young thing. Pretty. Healthy. I'll let you have her for ten gold pieces.".
Ten gold pieces? That is how much a human life is worth to these people? Grim's getting paid twelve gold pieces a week for his services. Dacian glanced towards Servosh, fingers tapping on the pommel of his sword, "You told her we're looking to buy?".
"Yes".
"How rough will she have it?", Dacian's eyes narrowed slightly, he could feel his heart tighten.
"Can't say for sure. Given her age and her looks, she'll end up being sold as a toy of some kind. There's no telling what the sick bastards might do to her.".
That's true. Some yearn for pleasure. Others yearn for screams. In the meantime, the captain was slowly growing restless. How his hand ached to draw his sword and sever her head from her shoulders. Her eyes. Steely. Fierce. A fine woman, if not a bit insane. Or so she looked to Dacian. But was he really any better than her? Aren't his hands just as dirty?
"Come on. Ten gold pieces. She's barely used.", she scoffed. The girl looked like she was ready to burst into tears at any moment.
"Grim, how far are we from the nearest village or town.".
"A few days' march.".
"If we head there, we won't meet our target in time, right?".
"No.".
"What about the second one?".
"We will reach, with a day or two to spare.".
That settles it then. Six versus four. Poor odds. Even worse still, considering that their opponents would be mounted. Dacian had to do something to even the odds. He could feel the eyes of the other soldiers on him. All men. All wearing light armour, shortswords on their hips. Scouting equipment. Light feet run faster, it seems. Just running them off wouldn't do any good. They would hound them on horseback all the way to the next town. Dacian's eyes slithered upwards only to see the bird fly overhead and toward the forest. Daeia was in position. Time to put her endless drills to the test.
"Servosh. Tell them that they are in deep shit for daring to cross the plains with slaves in tow.", Dacian gave the order, doing his best to keep his voice steady and stern.
The woman's reaction wasn't exactly what Dacian was hoping for. She burst out laughing at his words, a lively and confident laugh. "Oh, is that so? And who might you be?", a confident smile spread across her face as she spoke. A smile he'll make sure to wipe off.
Dacian raised his hand before anyone else could speak. Five arrows fell from the sky, all in a neat line, landing by the captain's feet. Daeia was always a wonderful shot. The woman's expression morphed in surprise. The girl shrieked in terror. The men on horseback froze as their horses reared back.
Servosh was smiling, he knew where this was going. "You are surrounded, fools. We were to head towards the south and trample some scales, but you will do just fine.", he spoke as he pointed his spear forward, spooking the captain's horse just enough for it to trot away. The woman was cut off from her peers. Any surprise that overtook her was already gone from her face. She threw the girl aside as she drew her blade. A fine thing. Pretty. Elegant. A duelling spade. It's tip pointed straight at Dacian's heart.
A challenge.
Daring.
Foolish.
Dacian cocked his head back in laughter. His eyes fell on the woman. A cut or two for her to learn her lesson. Maybe three. Or four. He held his hand out with trembling fingers, "Give me your spare blade, Servosh. And tell her that after I trounce her well, the slaves will be free.".
Servosh did as he was told. Taking the short sword in his hand, Dacian could finally let go of the blade underneath his cloak. He spun the blade around, tossing it from hand to hand as his men stepped back. It was an old and ugly thing, with a heavy edge, perfect for cutting rope and such. The horsemen lay as still as statues. The horses gazed about with eyes as dark as charcoal. The woman took her stance, blade pulled up by her side and feet placed far apart.
He let the blade fall to his side, no point in standing stiff as a board. She lunged first. A quick swing, no wasted motion. No opening either. She stepped in deeper, cocking the blade to her side. Dacian pulled up his sword, looking to deflect as he stepped away. But, the blow never came. A feint. A good one. She thrust her blade forward with quickness. Not quick enough.
Dacian swatted the blow to the side, before stepping in and lashing at her with his short steel. Even while off-balance, she still managed to parry it. Quite impressive. Confident too. That smile. All the more sweeter to make it disappear. She stepped in again. Same setup. Dacian stepped in too, meeting her blade with his. The surprise on her face when he swept her off her feet was delightful. She fell face-first to the ground. The woman scrambled to her feet as Dacian slowly circled her. Blood gushed thinly from her nose. Her smile turned into a grimace. That look suited her much better.
She came on with a fervour. Blow after blow. All the finesse she showed was gone, only raw aggression remained. She swung and swung and missed and missed. Her blows felt like gentle wind against his blade. Her steps turned laboured and slow. Her arms and body trembled with each slash she had to parry. Eventually, she swung too wide. Dacian swept the blow to the side before delivering his own. His blade bit into her thigh, just above her knee, sending her tumbling to the ground. By this point, her men grew visibly worried, and the column was growing restless. The young girl looked on with a stunned gaze.
The captain barely willed herself to her feet. Blood running from her nose. From her thigh. Growling in an attempt to keep from crying. She raised the blade to her side once more. So obvious. She was staking everything on this blow.
The blood was finally flowing.
She lunged forward, her feet wobbly and unsure. She swung with all her might. Even a blind man could see such a blow coming. Dacian anticipated the arc of the blow, thrusting his blade forward as the woman slashed. The tip buried itself in her forearm. Deeply. She squealed in pain as she dropped her blade. Dacian's blade remained lodged in her. He twisted it as he pulled away, tearing a large and horrid gash where flesh and muscle used to be. Blood poured out as flesh pulsed and tears ran down her face. Dacian could have taken her hand, had he the need to. Besides, she hurt more this way. Her men looked on, horrified and stunned, none dared to move. Too proud or too afraid to do so.
He threw his blade down and lunged forward. Grabbing the wench by her hair, a punch knocked her straight on her chin and made her crumble. Standing over her, fist raised high, he could hear it. His master. Calling for blood. For pain. He threw one punch. Then another. Both eyes pummeled. He raised his hand again. He held it there for but a moment, twitching with uncertainty. His mouth grew sour as he brought his fist down on her nose, he could feel it fold under the force of the blow. He wanted to stop, but he could not. His body was not his own. He could feel everyone gazing at him. With fear. With contempt. And he only stopped as he was pulled away by Aroth and Servosh, both screaming in his ears, their words were but whispers in a sea of chants.
Looking down, the woman lay in a bloody mess. A pretty little mess.
His fist hurt. His heart trembled. He could feel bile build up at the back of his throat.
"Tell them to take her away and to scram, lest they want to end up the same.".