One of the men dismounted and helped the woman up, carrying her much as one would carry a fallen hero. Under all the blood, a spark of defiance still shone from below the swelling around her eyes. Still conscious. Still lucid. She spoke, in between gasps and coughs. "I...hereby...swear...on the name of house...Canthir...that you will pay.", was all she could muster before being dragged away. The soldiers helped her to her horse while Dacian slowly bent down, picking up the captain's blade. A slender steel. Well balanced. He could tell it cut well just by looking at it. He flipped it in his hand, catching it by the tip and offering the blade back to the woman. She took it from atop her horse, sharing one last spiteful glare before slowly trotting away. The soldiers followed suit.
"You think they'll be trouble?", Dacian asked while watching the riders slowly trot away.
"They'll be. Not now. She swore on her house that she'll get you, and she will. Ibarrans are proud people, they don't forget. She'll challenge you again. Worry not for an ambush because it won't be coming. The bastards find them too dishonourable.", Servosh spoke, arms crossed, his gaze as steady as always. He had about him an air of pride.
The same could not be said about Aroth. The silver-tongued devil was finally rendered mute. No rebuke. No retort. Just silence and an uneasy glare. He wouldn't meet Dacian's gaze. He slowly twirled a dagger between his fingers, the steel glinting thinly in the sunlight.
The people they freed weren't happy either. Broken. Hounded. They gazed about, confused and afraid. It wasn't surprising. Dacian would have been scared too, had he been in their shoes. They believed they were to serve him from now on. Dacian had Servosh and Aroth go and cut each of them free. The slaves numbered an even twenty-six. More than two dozen mouths to feed. That was a problem. Dacian was too hasty. He failed to consider the logistics of this rescue. They had on them food for a few days, food meant to feed five mouths, not twenty-six. They initially planned to move south, foraging while they still could and only eating their provisions once they reached the plateau. But plans change.
"Nearest town is eastwards. It's a market used by traders coming from the east.", Grim spoke, the large bird lay nestled atop his hat. A white head and black beak. White wings stricken with black, a grey body befitting ash. A familiar. One he used to scout ahead. A small locket hung from its neck.
"Then, let's head east.". That they would. But not now, only the day after. Right now, everyone was too tired and too hungry to march on. They split the food the best they could and fed the people with the little they had. Come tomorrow, Daeia and Servosh were sent to scout ahead, foraging the best they could so the pack won't starve. They built large fires and set them alight, keeping the rabble warm and calm was their greatest priority at the moment.
Try as he might, Dacian couldn't get a wink of sleep. He couldn't get her out of his mind. The look of horror on the girl's face as he beat the woman to a pulp. He could still feel that lump at the back of his throat. His tummy rumbled with a hunger that he was bound to endure for the next few days.
He couldn't sleep so he sat. Cross-legged, blade across his lap, gazing at the moon that splintered the dark abyss of the night. The wind ceased some time ago. No sounds except for the thumping of his heart.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?".
A sudden voice. He would have jumped to his feet had he not recognized it. Aroth sat down on his left, looking up at the moon with eyes as cold as a blizzard. "Feeling well?".
Dacian didn't respond. He couldn't tell the truth but he didn't feel like lying either. So he sat there. Silent. Twiddling his thumbs. Looking at the moon. Acting like nothing happened.
"Got nothing to say?", he spoke softly, "Fair enough. Truth be told, you got me pretty speechless too. I never thought you'd grow up into such a fine man.".
"Is that so?".
"You did a good thing today, you know? I never thought I'd see the day you'd fight nice and proper, but I am glad I did.".
Lies and lies. Back then, his eyes told a different story. But that mattered not. For now, Dacian will play along. He'll dance to another's tune. Like he always had. "She had it coming. They all did. Next time I won't be as lenient. Next time they will pay in blood.". Coming to think of it, that would be a nice outcome. The only good slaver is a dead slaver. It was for the best.
They spoke for a little longer before Dacian urged him to get some rest. The moon kept him company for the rest of the night.
The next day was a little better. Ragged as they appeared, these people were hardy and marched well through the heat. Even as the wind lashed at them with sand, and the sun beamed down with merciless persistence, the people dared not stop unless it was fully necessary. All throughout the second day of their journey, the girl gazed at him with the curiosity of a newborn kitten. Stealing glimpses towards Dacian whenever he wasn't looking, or so she thought. She had about her the look of a confused child who's only learned to count to ten and yet was asked how many apples a man has if you add nine to his three. She would jerk her head away whenever he turned, her gaze falling to the ground whenever Dacian walked past her.
The foraging party did pretty well. Considering Daeia's skills when it came to tracking and Servosh's spear, they managed to fell a dusky boar, alongside a few hares. The two parties met up along the main road, just before exiting the plateau. There, they decided to make camp for the night. A fire was made. The smell of roasted meat hung in the air. Dacian sat away from the main group, sword on his lap, slowly rubbing an oily cloth on the blade. He didn't eat.
He couldn't help but smile while looking at the blade. A sword like no other, that he was sure of. A blade made from the darkest of steels. A blade that curved akin to a serpent's tail. The handguard resembled the mouth of a great viper, agape and hungering. Fangs pointed inwards, towards the blade that made up its tongue, a beauty of a handguard. On either side of the guard sat red jewels, akin to blood-drunk eyes, gazing perpetually with fervour that drove a chill up even on Dacian's back. A hilt of soft leather and a pommel as hard as the steel it was forged from. Balanced. Nimble. A beautiful flamberge. A cursed blade. One he was never meant to wield.
Steps echoed thinly through the dark. Servosh came, bearing with him a torch, the lines on his face drawn in a smile, "Our hero? Here? All alone? Stroking his sword all by his lonesome?".
"Ha ha. What is it?", Dacian turned his gaze back towards his blade.
"Someone wants to talk to you.".
"Bring them", he nodded in approval. He raised the blade, bringing it up to his face, watching its black edge glint in the moonlight. When he turned around, he was surprised to see the girl in front of him. As soon as they looked at one another, she shied her gaze away. Hands clutched together, eyes fell on the floor, she looked like someone trying to come up with something to say.
"I-I wanted t-to thank you...but you can't understand me, c-can you?", he could see her tiny hands shaking.
"I understand you just fine.", Dacian spoke back in the high tongue, his western accent making each word heavy and bothersome to the ears. The girl raised her head, looking back with a stunned expression. He could see a little glint light up in her eyes.
"You can understand me?", her voice grew a bit sturdier with each word.
Dacian nodded as he turned his attention back to his sword. He started wiping it again. Each stroke rang out with a hiss against the silence that hung between them, the thin moon above their only witness.
"Can I ask you something?".
"Go ahead.", he didn't look up.
"W-what do you plan on doing w-with us?", her gaze fell to the floor, hands rolled up into little fists by her waist. Looking up at her, Dacian could tell that she dreaded his answer. Her frame shook ever so slightly.
"Haven't my men made it apparent?".
She didn't look up as she spoke. She didn't have the courage to. "There's talk amongst the others, you see. Everyone fears that you are the same as the others. They fear that your words may be as hollow as our freedom. They talk of slipping away in the dead of night.".
"What about you?", he set his sword aside as he gazed up at her, already knowing the answer to his own question, "Are you afraid?".
She cringed at her own words. They came out weak and ragged, barely crawling out of her feeble throat as she clasped her hands together by her waist, as if in prayer. "It's hard not to be. Please, I am grateful for what you have done but...but...", with each word, the girl was slowly losing her composure.
Dacian hung his head, waiting for her response. It would be a little while before the girl would gather herself enough to continue, each word choked up in between thin gasps of quiet, tiny sobbing. "Please. Tell me. Are you the same as the others? Will you...", her words slowly died out.
Dacian stepped forward. The girl closed her eyes, her head hung low, expecting to be struck at any moment. That fear. That terror. Dacian could feel his spit sour. Looking at her made him regret that he didn't end those ibarrans properly. He spoke as he gazed at her, "I can't blame you for being afraid. I can only give you my word. Do with it as you like. Trust it or not. It makes no difference to me. But, rest assured, you and your lot will have your freedom proper once we reach our destination.". She gazed up at him with tears in her eyes, confusion and fear mixed into one. He offered her a hand. He offered her a promise. She took it with trembling fingers.
She wiped at her eyes, a sigh of utter relief leaving her lungs. He shooed her away before turning and reaching for his blade. He slid it back into its scabbard, only to look back and see that the girl was still there.
"You know, it gets very cold at night.", her clothes were tatters, no wonder she would feel cold.
"Give one a hand, and they'll take your entire arm.", he chuckled to himself, "Ask the man who brought you here for my coat. He'll give it to you. It might be a bit too big on you, it'll keep you warm anyhow.".
She thanked him as she bowed deeply.
The next few days passed much the same.
Initially, she kept her distance, lowering her head and walking quietly whenever Dacian was marching among her people. Even at night, she made sure to keep her distance, daring not to look at him any longer. Eventually, growing more relaxed with Servosh and the others, the girl became willing to gaze his way, without the usual reluctance he had observed before. Her cheeks were more colorful, her tone livelier, she was no longer scared to approach Dacian, asking him questions one would seldom think to ask. The coat was way too big on her, her body like one solitary arrow in the empty quiver of a longbow.
On the last evening before they were due to arrive, Daeia finally approached him, just beyond the bounds of their camp. Ever since they rescued the slaves, Dacian could tell something was wrong. His actions must have bothered her. She was a drow after all. Unfeeling and uncaring, he can't be like her. No matter how angry or unhappy his actions might make Daeia.
Her eyes burned yellow from below her hood, "No more unnecessary risks. No more distractions. Don't forget what you promised me. Nothing good will come out of helping this trash.".
Dacian could feel his spirits flaring, his heart thumping louder than usual, "We helped you and your family back west, did we not? Weren't you trash when you came to us after your home was put to the torch by the half-drakes?. Had we been the ones to seek refuge in your undercity, I would have ended up in chains, no doubt about it. Thankfully, we are not the same.".
Her face morphed into a scowl, his words cut into her. He knew it. He didn't want it, and yet, his mouth spoke regardless. Daeia didn't talk back. She was never one to do so. She was never allowed to. She was never allowed to show her anger, or her fear. She was not allowed to feel. She wasn't allowed to live. Not as she wanted. Not in her family. Anything deemed rebellious would warrant a beating from her sisters. That's how it used to be. Before they joined the court as refugees. Since then, she's lived by Dacian's side, having just as much freedom as him. Detaching herself from her old life, from the culture of intrigue that breeds within drow society. Little by little, she became closer to what he would consider normal. But, even then, some distasteful sides of her former self remained.
"Point taken. I'll make sure not to step in again.". He let his head hang.
She shook her head, hood falling back in the process. Deep marks under her eyes, hair slick with grime and eyes steeled to a fault as she spoke. "That's not it. We should have taken them from the shadows. Swiftly and painlessly. No witnesses. No need to put yourself in danger.".
Dacian could feel his heart tighten, his posture slowly deflated, "I see. Sorry for that lashing of the tongue I just gave you...". She was right, as always. And him? Rash and reckless. If only Seera had beaten that out of him during their youth.
She rolled her eyes before shrugging.
"No. I mean it.", he let out a sigh as he stepped forward, bringing them face to face. Her height was distracting. He had to look up to her like he used to look up to Aroth when they were younger, "Tell me. Have I been up to par lately? Be honest and be straight.".
"For the most part.".
An acceptable response. Better than before. Better than useless. Better than how everyone else saw him. There was still someone who viewed him as worthy. That's all that matters, he slowly nodded to himself, hand on his chin. The two spent the night together even as unease hung in the air like the smell of a rotting corpse.
"Did you mean it? What you said about your sisters, a few days ago.", Daeia spoke, her head lying on Dacian's chest, the pair gazing up at the night's sky.
"No. Seera isn't like that. I could never call her that.".
"I see.".
The next day, they reached the small town. Luckily for them, the church of Aurelthia had already laid roots within this part of the world. The whole altruistic lot seemed eager to take all who would listen to their teachings, providing food and clothing and safety for all willing to learn about their beloved Goddess and for all who were willing to join them in their way of life. Dacian could not make heads or tails of their ways. Their system seemed rigid, and yet, it proved quite efficient when it came to dealing with the downtrodden and the poor. All one has to do is keep an open mind and be willing to do their share of work, and they would be welcomed into the fold, thus creating a self-sufficient cult.
That was it. The slaves were free and safe. He could finally turn his gaze elsewhere. His men were around him, ready to set out for the hinterlands. But as he stepped away, wearing the same coat he had given the girl, he felt something tugging at him. Looking back, the girl was there, clutching at the black leather with thin fingers, a shy smile under tired eyes. "Um...If I...", she muttered quietly.
"Go ahead.".
Her eyes shone with emotion, a mix of fear and faint hope, "May I come with you?".
Stunned at the unexpected question, Dacian scarcely found his words before he spoke, uncertainty heavy on his breath. "No.", he shook his head as he turned away. The girl's young. Their path will be bloody and slow, not one she should witness.
She didn't let go. Neither spoke for a moment, both sharing the same confused gaze.
"Please take me with you.", her hand had grown steadier, her grip firmer too.
He tore his coat free of her clutches, as he turned to face her. "Return to your family. Find love. I don't care what you do. Just live your life.".
"I have no family. They...are...gone. All gone, alongside my home. No one is waiting for me.", she held her hands bunched up into fists by her sides. She stood tall and straight as an arrow, trying to appear as big as possible. "I have nothing.".
"Now, why would you want to come with us?", he gazed about but not at the girl. Daeia. Servosh. Aroth. Good people to him. Horrible enemies to have. They all have blood on their hands. "You saw what we do. What I do. You saw the blood. You'll see a lot more if you tag along.".
Hand on her chest, her eyes seemed as hard as steel for a moment. "Blood doesn't scare me. I have seen my share. I have shed some, too. Besides, the priests are lying. They must be. They always do. There's no one watching over us. I won't follow them. There is nothing for me here.".
She spoke convincingly, wrong as she was. Someone is looking over her. His gaze is anything but kind. His presence is anything but merciful. But, he is there. Watching. Measuring her worth. Trying her ragged soul. Finding worth within her suffering. She'll make a good addition to his vision. She would, but that would be for the worst, Dacian knew that only he rightfully earned his master's love. Bringing her along would only further her pain. Only blood, only death will accompany him where he is going. He could already see it, how the life would drain out of her following an unfortunate incident. It made him sick to his stomach.
But then again, her words were making him ponder. Her resolve was unexpected, her courage showing. People like her, hurting and wanting, are prone to rash decisions, such as he was. Leaving the girl behind might spark her to follow them without their knowledge. The world is unkind, and she would be sure to perish without him around. Dacian could feel his expression turning into a smile, she was putting him in a precarious situation. "You don't have to keep to the sect. Choose a good master and serve them well. That is the freedom that you have been granted.".
Looking at her. Young. Nothing left to lose. It was as if he were looking in the mirror. He was much akin to her, not so long ago. Lost. Alone. Scared. The only thing that kept him going was Daeia and his dream of living beyond the ridge, beyond that crooked desert. Away from spite. Away from hate.
"Then, may I choose you as my master?", she said a bit too loudly for comfort. Dacian burst into laughter. Servosh did too. Aroth was too busy petting Grim's familiar to give any reaction. Daeia stole a glance their way but spoke not. She rarely does. Dacian can already feel the cold shoulder she'll be giving him for the next few days.
"Fine. Let us get you something to wear first...".
They set out for the road the following day. The hunt could finally begin. The smell of blood will lead him to his marks, both fated to die by his hand. His master calls. Dacian is a man on a mission. One ready to prove himself worthy.