The Fall of the Riders

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Li Ming Xia

There were some moments in life where it felt as though the world had lined up perfectly to give Galene a giant middle finger. It felt like one of those moments when she woke up, disoriented and sore and trapped. She tried to move her limbs but found that she could not; she attempted to move her body and found that she couldn't, that something was keeping her perfectly still.


Her mind remembered the trip to Crubia; the tightly packed carriage and the reek of others crammed next to her, suffocating her. They were all bare, stripped down to nothing but thin fabric shielding their privates from touching one another and for a second, the confusion caused her to scream, thinking she was back in that hell, where they tossed out the dead and left them to rot at the side of the road without a second thought, where the sick were left with the healthy until a suitable burial area could be found, where they had dragged her like a piece of cattle to be sold in front of on-lookers, staring at the foreigners from a place that put strength and victory above all else.


After a moment of panicked squirming, the wind whistled and blew and the cold reminded her where she was. Galene let a sigh of relief escape her and she craned her neck upwards at the girl above who was shouting at her.


"I am not an idiot," Galene shouted back, continuing to writhe. "I'm just stuck."


The girl muttered something at her in a language she could not understand and Galene's eyes narrowed at her as Ming Xia crawled over to her stomach, staring down at her.


"You cannot squirm and get out," Ming Xia said. "Remember that end of the rope you were supposed to tuck in next to you?"


Galene fidgeted a bit to find it. Ming Xia sighed above her and Galene watched as she shuffled to the end of the branch before flipping over, hooking her knees over the branch. She slid her arms out after a second and began to work at the knots before sitting up straight and hauling herself back up onto the branch. Galene frowned at the scene, finding it difficult to move at all in her tightly bound furs.


"The rest of you demolish the huts," Ming Xia said, beginning her descent down the tree and staring down at Galene, who was still working her way to the edge of the branch. "Take the pelts and pack them up once more. We walk to find food; there is no use waiting around. Find your dragons."


With that, she nudged Galene off the branch, earning a yelp, a swear, and a glare. She had managed to hook her knees over the branch and dangle upside down for a bit before slipping out of the cocoon completely, sitting up to unbind the furs.

Hardeep Passi

Orien

Whatever crisis that Galene had managed to momentarily trap herself in passed and she was once more scrambling down the branch, landing without a fuss on the ground. Hardeep took the fur handed to him and gave Irene a curt nod, tossing it over his shoulders before heading back over to Ming Xia, who fished out the sack with his armor from a hole in the tree. He quickly redressed and glanced up in time to see the glint of purple and red, meaning the dragons were approaching. They landed a ways away from the group, snorting and looking greatly unhappy.


"Did you sleep well?" Orien asked as he collected the furs back to the pack, looking groggy.


"Not entirely, but better than you."


"Quite," Orien snorted and Hardeep raised an eyebrow but said nothing.


Ming Xia stomped out the fire using the rocks and kicked down the huts. She packed her own things rather rapidly, taking the furs and pelts that were sewn together and binding them with rope once more before cramming them into her seemingly bottomless pack and hauling it onto her shoulders.


"It will be a while to walk if you do not hurry," she commanded.


"We can fly," Hardeep said, handing a pack to Orien to carry, one to Warren, and hesitantly, one to Irene.


"No," Ming Xia said, shaking her head. "We will walk. Flying will do you no good here and I am sure your beasts do not like the cold, either."

 

[Lenaara]

Warren, seemingly disappointed, stepped away from the tree and retreated back to the huts. Behind him, Galene was unwrapping herself from the tree and did not need his help at all, just as Irene suggested. It irked him that she was right, that Galene did not indeed need someone doting on her to untangle herself from a problem of her own making. He refrained from saying anything to the woman, the sight of his master being whole and well was enough to drive out any worries that he might have had last night.


Last night, Warren had not slept for at least an hour at first. Orien was in his arms. Orien. They were so close together that Warren was trying his best not to touch the male slave at first, only being near enough to leave a few inches between their bodies thinking that that was enough to share warmth. Ming Xia had scolded his master not hugging the slave woman that night, and Warren was close to saying that no one would wish to hug a pile of bones but his sanity kept any insulting remarks at bay. Instead he only grumbled under his nose and shifted the furs around Orien, tugging the slave in as much as it was possible without freezing to death himself.


Though it wasn’t the cold that had kept Warren up. Truthfully, he did not know what was more on his mind. Orien, or his master sharing a bed with a woman who more likely than not killed his father. So Warren worried about both and missed not having a sword strapped to his hip. In the case he needed to leap to attention and protect Sir Hardeep and also because he had to put his palm on the pommel of his weapon as the smoothness of the carved eagle’s head calmed his mind at times like those.


The worries had lulled him to sleep and Warren had a night full of dreams that he could not decipher. Jagged images of battles in a forest, then snow covered ground tinted with orange from a flame, a body lying beside him and squirming in his arms, and he could have sworn he was flying on a dragon again. Needless to say, the night was odd.


He did not even realize that he had pulled Orien closely to himself during the night. So when the scream coming from the edge of their camp had woken him, Warren was so quick to hop to his feet, not only because he wished to help and do his duty, but also because he wished not to see Orien’s face once the man woke up being wrapped around in many furs and pulled closely to Warren’s chest.


At the memory Warren groaned under his breath and ran both of his hands through his hair. He sat down onto one of the furs that he pulled out of the hut on accident, reached into the hut and retrieved parts of his armour. He laid the metal plating onto the ground, pulled out an oiled cloth that he kept in a small pouch strapped to his sword belt, and began to polish his armour.


It was his tradition to polish his armour and weapon every morning. One that he adhered to every single day ever since he was taken by the Passis as a boy to be their guard.


Usually tending to his gear kept his mind at ease, pushing away the unwanted thoughts that he wanted to deal with later. Now, instead of focusing on how the oiled cloth rubbed circles on the smooth metal, Warren was on edge. He kept glancing up to see Orien and check if the man was aware of how they spent the night, and he also was looking at Irene to see what she was doing and where she was going.


When he looked up for the fourth time, Warren watched Irene turn on her heel and head towards the huts but her gaze was focused on something to the side. Warren followed the direction where Irene was looking at and the patch of trees seemed somewhat familiar to him. Then it clicked. It was where the two of them had left the night before; where she built that odd contraption out of two sticks and a rope.


***


Irene got dressed quickly, the only items of clothing at her disposal being the jacket and the sash to keep the loose fabric in place. She shrugged on the jacket, wrapped it around herself, and then took two long furs from within the hut. A fur was draped over each of her shoulders and tied to her body at the waist with a sash, making a vest. It was warm like this – warmer than without the fur, in the very least – and she did not have to keep pulling on the pelt to keep it wrapped around herself.


Warren, his fingers busy tying the metal plating to his chest, had been watching her intently from across the dead fire that only glowed in dim orange embers now. The guard gave Irene a look of disapproval, obviously not liking that Irene had taken a fur without asking for permission, but said nothing. Irene ignored his glare.


Galene had begun to climb down from the tree when Irene quickly gathered up the remaining furs into a bundle and left them, leather-side up, beside the hut that Ming Xia collapsed moments after. Moving helped keeping herself warm, the furs were pleasantly weighting down her shoulders. Keeping warm, however, wasn’t Irene’s goal.


She wanted to check on the snare.


With the furs put away to the side, Irene turned in time to be given a pack by Hardeep. She took it from him without a change in expression, and then set it down onto the ground.


“I will be back in a moment,” she said to him and lowered her head in a respectful bow. An ever loyal servant. If their exchange the other night had changed something between them, Irene did not show it.


With a respectful nod towards Hardeep, Irene turned and started heading in the direction where the trap had been set up just some hours ago. She remembered the patch of trees that she passed that night, their silhouette much less menacing in the dawn’s light, and kept it as a marker to lead her to the possibly caught game.


There was rustling of fabric behind her and something clanked. Footsteps followed, stomping the ground quickly as the owner tried to reach Irene before she entered the forest.


“Where are you going?” Warren asked. At least he had the decency not to yank her arm back this time to grab her attention.


“To check on the snare.” Irene stepped over a patch of shrubbery and circled around a pine.


“Shouldn’t you ask for permission?” Warren grumbled and ducked beneath a branch. It rustled and some fresh snow had fallen onto his shoulders from the disturbed canopy.


“Not enough time and I’m not going far.”


Warren grumbled a “Hmph,” and continued to follow Irene in silence. Relative silence. If there was a twig or a patch of dry leaves on which Warren didn’t step on, Irene would be severely surprised.


At first, it was impossible to see the snare. A shadow was cast over the spot where she had set it up and some snow was disturbed. Irene neared the area quietly and slowly, her heart beating in her ears in anticipation of seeing whether or not the snare worked. Irene knelt down.


The snare was gone.


She cursed under her breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose.


“No hare?” Warren behind her asked and she heard the leaves rustle as he shifted his weight from one foot and to another.


“No hare.” Irene got up and pressed a hand onto the ground for support. She glanced at the ground, knees half bent as she got onto her feet, and paused.


A few feet from them just past the path of damp moulding leaves and dirt, was a patch of melting snow. The snow had been disturbed the other night. There were traces of something that slid against the ground, light and nimble, being pulled by something that had left little dents in the snow. The dents were filled with melting water and disappeared past a bush ahead.


Irene got up and followed the path, rounded the bush, paused and stared at the ground. There, hidden beneath the bush, was a hare. It had dragged the snare behind it once it leapt through the loop, and the rope tightened around the animal’s neck. In panic, Irene assumed, the animal tried to lose the rope and darted into the bush, a branch caught the rope and tightened the noose. The animal was hidden from the predators by the very same piece of shrubbery.


Irene immensely brightened at the sight. There was a sparkle in her eye and a hint of a smile curved her lips as she reached down, eased the branches out of the loop, and picked up the hare by its hind legs.


And paused.


She did not have a knife to skin it and save both the meat and the pelt. The animal guaranteed either a warm piece of fur or a meal, or even something else if she managed to trade it in at the village. But there was no way to hide the animal from Warren on the way towards the village, as she guessed the guard would follow her for a while yet, and he would question why she had paused by the bush and go check out the spot himself. The animal would have to be shared between their group, the meat and the fur given to Hardeep. Or Ming Xia.


With no other choice, Irene stepped around the tree just in time to see Warren heading towards her. He halted and stared at the animal.


“It looks like a desert cottontail,” he said and raised an eyebrow.


“I suppose. Bigger though.” Irene offered the hare to Warren and he hesitated before sliding a hand over the dampened fur.


On the way back, Warren had spent a great amount of time looking at the hare and paid little attention to his surroundings, if he ever did. Twigs continued to snap beneath his boots, his packs – his own and the one given to him by Hardeep – dragged branches behind him, and he grunted each time a particularly protruding root was in his way as his armour prevented him from being anything near agile.


They entered the clearing and Irene headed towards Hardeep. On the way to him she picked up the pack given to her earlier that she left on the damp ground.


“It’s a hare,” she said as she offered the animal to Hardeep, still holding it by its hind legs. With her other hand Irene pulled the pack over her shoulder without so much as a wince or a heave. “If my Lord wishes it, I can prepare it.”


It would have been best to hand the animal to Ming Xia, as Irene guessed that Hardeep knew little of how to skin a hare and cook the animal, but Hardeep remained the one she was supposed to answer to. And so she did. Ever the most loyal servant.


Though the idea of handing away freely a piece of nice pelt and a meal did not sit well with her.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Hardeep Passi

Orien

Hardeep cocked his head at Irene as she set the pack down and left for the forest, watching Warren follow her shortly afterwards. Orien appeared by his shoulder, ever quiet.


"He is a loyal guard," Orien said.


"Quite."


There was a silence between them, a mutual sense of dread and doom around the statement. Both of them knew that loyalty was fleeting in most relationships and that those who stuck through thick and thin were rare. It unsettled them both; perhaps it was the blood that stained both of their paths that made them wary of those who followed without question. For Hardeep, he knew that those who followed commands like dogs thought nothing of consequences and only in the moment, only for themselves and their momentary justice and law. For Orien, Hardeep had managed to garner that the loyal were blind, that they followed with seemingly no choice, like slaves.


"They must return soon or we leave," Ming Xia's said, her voice cutting through the air like a sword. She was dressed, her layers wrapped around her body and her array of weapons once again tied around her waist. "Calm your beasts and send them to the air to follow us. They will trample anything else," she continued. "I suspect that a majority of the riders have also arrived at the village; it is, after all, abandoned."


"Why was it abandoned?" Hardeep asked warily.


Ming Xia only stared back at him.


"Did people die?" Galene asked.


"Many," Ming Xia said, but offered no more explanation.


Galene stared at Ming Xia for a second longer.


"Why?"


"Death comes for all of us," Ming Xia said, though her sentence was sharp and pointed, making it clear she did not want to continue the conversation, her eyes narrowing at the other girl.


"Sometimes, it comes in shapes," Galene said ominously.


"What are they speaking of?" Hardeep asked Orien in a low voice, earning only a shrug from the other man.


There was a sudden heavy gust of cool wind and Hardeep turned to see a bright flash of scales. Kydoimos had already gotten Cordath into the sky and air, flying around in circles and circles above them, peering down at his master. Hardeep wandered over to Slytha and patted her.


"Fly," he commanded and she obeyed, kicking up snow and dirt and rocks as she tore into the sky and away from the chill.


Around that time, Irene had reappeared. Galene and Ming Xia were locked in some sort of battle where Galene spoke to Ming Xia and asked questions while only getting a blank stare and a look of boredom as response.


"A hare?" Hardeep asked, taking it from Irene's outstretched hand as Orien peered over to stare at it. The legs felt thin.


"What use is a hare?"


"You have no time to prepare," Ming Xia said, turning away from Galene to stare blankly at the rest. "We must begin walking now. Take the hare and skin it at the village. We must stop wasting time."


With that, the girl turned and began marching up the mountain. Hardeep gave the hare back to Irene. "Keep it for now. We'll see what use it has for us in the village. Apparently, it is abandoned."

 

[Lenaara]

Irene looked at Hardeep and Orien as if they had lost their senses. The question of a hare’s usefulness, however, was asked with outmost seriousness. Both men looked at the hare with confusion, Hardeep outright peering down at it as if that was the first time he had seen such an animal. Warren shared a similar expression.


“You’ve never seen a hare before?” Irene sounded genuinely puzzled.


Of course. Hardeep had said he had never flown far from Nuru. He probably had never seen most of the animals that prowl these lands. No wonder none of these men knew what a hare was good for. Well, they were in a surprise if they would ever to encounter one. A hare was the most appealing to one’s eyes creature that called these forests its home.


“You skin it,” Irene said hesitantly. “Its pelt is warm and the meat is good.”


She chose to speak the truth and not lie of what a hare was good for. Ming Xia would have explained it to the men at some point, anyway. Irene accepted the hare and quirked a brow at Hardeep’s comment. She looked at Ming Xia, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and lips pressed into a tight line.


“Villages in these parts do not get abandoned easily,” she said quietly.


Warren, who had been following Irene closely up until now, had fallen back and stood a respectable distance away. The ground seemed to fascinate him all of a sudden, as the man refused to lift his gaze for more than a moment to scan the area. During those moments, Irene noticed, Warren had been looking at Orien as if searching for something and before he could be sure he looked away. Like a love stricken teenager.


The group started moving. Warren had fallen back behind the group, one hand on the straps slung over his chest, the other on the pommel of his sword. Ming Xia had entered the forest by the time the rest of the group set foot to follow. There was no animal path to guide them, not that Irene could see, and she had to manoeuvre over the shrubbery, protruding roots and the surrounding trees with care. The snow from the night before had melted and froze in a thin layer of ice over the ground in certain spots. A cover of damp leaves and moss made the ground relatively soft and the group’s footfalls might have been silent, was it not for the grunting at the far back of the procession. Warren was displaying an agility belonging to a giant bear. No, a bear was far more agile than the broad shouldered man clad in armour and juggling two bags on his shoulder.


Irene had been walking closer to the front of the group. It was not a rigorous trek, all things considered. The furs kept her warm, the ground gave a spring to her step, and the cool wind could be considered rejuvenating. It was much easier than working in a field under a scorching sun, in the very least, and Irene was grateful for the change. The numbness that coated the tip of her nose and her fingers was nearing nostalgic. Still, navigating the shrubbery with a hare in one hand and a pack slung over her shoulder was no easy task. At least she hoped she did not appear as crude as Warren in her steps and kept her footfalls silent out of habit more than out of precaution. Warren’s grunting and wheezing through the bruised windpipe scared off half the animals in the forest and alerted the ones who couldn’t be called animals by a long shot.


Clothing rustled and metal clanked, more twigs crunched beneath a marching gait of a soldier that Warren stuck to out of habit, more than for show. He picked up the pace and neared Hardeep.


“Sir, if I may,” Warren said and tried to keep his voice quiet. The silent forest did little to muffle his voice. “How was the night? Did she give you any trouble?”


Irene only sighed through her nose and stepped over yet another root of a pine. Ming Xia was in the lead, walking through the forest with an ease that Warren could only dream of. That any of them could dream of. It gave a distinct impression that Ming Xia knew the trees like she knew herself. A skilled tracker, too, surely; learning the secrets of animal tracks and the hints of something much more sinister was what ensured survival in these parts. It was both admirable and troublesome. Escaping could prove to be hard and preparing for the escape even more so.


Irene quickened her pace until she was walking a step or so away from Ming Xia. “What attacked the village?” Irene asked. “It wouldn’t be abandoned otherwise.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Li Ming Xia

Galene

Ming Xia walked forward, her eyes following the line of the trees, the sun's path, and the stones on the ground. She knew where to go, had been there before a lifetime ago, when the world was young like her and she knew a boy with golden eyes and a smile brighter than most sunny days, when she could call out the name of a girl with wild curls and she would come to her with a hare already slung over her shoulder and a twinkle in her eye, when she had friends that were truly so. Now, she had only herself and memories of bloodied hands and knuckles, of stained ground, of a creature staring at her with blank, black eyes as it passed over the ground quietly, its tendril-like fingers moving towards her. She could still smell the toxic breath of whatever it was that had come for them, still see the blood bubbling at the corner of their mouths, the wheezing sound of their last dying gasps and the way their eyes became hollow.


Most days, Ming Xia would hunt, her bow cocked and her eyes waiting. She would allow her hands to do what they knew best in building a fire, constructing a snare, digging a whole to trap something she had seen earlier that day and kill it. Her mind could be focused on the task at hand or wander to the dark caverns that inhabited it. Most days, she could crawl into the present snow and smell the earth and trees instead of blood and sweat.


Being alone meant she had to focus more every second, to pay attention to the creaking branches and crunching snow. A single delayed movement could mean she was a meal or she missed her own. A single quickened movement could draw the darkest out from their corners in the forest to consume her.


She hadn't realized how annoying it was, however, to be inhibited from thinking about anything and relying on instincts when a shrill voice was jabbering on in her ear.


"Do you know where things are by signs that you see or by instinct?"


"Do you believe in gods?"


"Do you have gods?"


"Where'd you learn to speak Crubian?"


"Do some of you have dogs or cats to aid in catching prey?"


"Do you know of a land called Vanguard?"


"Do you know the mountains called Jistila?"


"I know where to shove my knife into your throat so you will shut up," Ming Xia snapped at the other girl at one point, pausing in the midst of her walking to look around. The tree line was below them and the higher up they went, the steeper the incline. She knew where the village was, had been there to burn and bury bodies, hands working as quickly as possible to lessen the threat of creatures crawling out to consume and her own mind from absorbing the image of bleeding bodies and blank eyes. Thankfully, nothing had found them during their time of mass burial but she knew that something would arrive soon enough, whether or not they had buried quickly or slow.


"And I know where to fling a rock so that it hits the ground," Galene responded. "What's your point?"


The village was on relatively flat terrain, which meant their ascent would have to pause and they would need to begin walking with the tree line in sight. It ought to be somewhere close by.


"I know where to shove my knife into your throat so you will shut up," Ming Xia repeated.


"Alright," the girl said slowly, quickening her pace as Ming Xia hurried along. The man at the back, the guard, was also being annoying, trampling over the ground like a wild beast. It was making it difficult for her to diffuse where the noises were coming from and her eyes were now being cast with increasing frequency towards the trees now that she could not rely on her hearing.


She heard, in the back, the guard ask the dragon rider a question, which was responded to in a short, "Well. Your concern is unneeded," in a tone that implied nothing but neutrality.


Ming Xia might have analyzed the situation a bit more if she cared to do so or if the woman had not suddenly appeared to ask her questions as well.


"Things," Ming Xia responded calmly.

 

[Lenaara]

Irene raised an eyebrow at Galene, or rather at the questions that continued to spring into existence. When an answer wasn’t given, she switched to another question that seemed harmless enough but was ignored still. No wonder. Ming Xia did not only look to be the chatty type but also seemingly was uninterested in anything but the forest around them.


Their group was anything but stealthy. Warren was stepping on every twig in existence. Statistically, he should have stepped onto the soft mossy ground at least at some point. He didn’t, or the softness of the forest floor did little to quiet his footfalls. Galene was shooting one question after another at Ming Xia like arrows released from hands of an experienced ranger.


Only Orien and Hardeep appeared to be quiet enough. But they always were quiet, Irene had noticed. The two rarely spoke and looked at each other even less. Whatever relationship they shared, it was no more. Or they were just good at hiding it from everyone else.


Irene snorted after yet another question was asked and Ming Xia had snapped at the younger girl. It was all too familiar to Irene. Merchants and other such charges of hers were also plagued by immense curiosity when it came to the warrior woman guarding their wares or guiding them from one town and towards another.


It would have done better for Ming Xia to answer vaguely and in short words. Irene had found that tactic to be the most efficient. Though the topic at hand, and the situation, distracted Irene enough not to give advice on how to entertain traveling companions.


“You know what I meant,” Irene said calmly to Ming Xia and matched the younger woman’s pace to walk side by side.


At her back, Hardeep replied to Warren and Irene thought on his words for a moment.


Well. That was one way to put their conversation from last night. In the very least, he did not go on a rant about how the slave woman prevented him from getting any sleep because she had a nightmare. But did it mean that he did not mind it? Or that he respected her unvoiced wishes to keep their talk a secret, if it could even be one? They did not share anything that could implicate either of them, but some might view sharing memories of dead mothers and views on politics, topics not meant to be shared between a slave or a master.


With the morning’s arrival, both of them resumed their respective roles. Irene had rebuilt the mental defensive walls around her memories once again. She only wondered if Hardeep felt regret at sharing something that he obviously was not used to talking about.


Warren had been silent for a moment before he said, “Understood.”


Irene pushed the thoughts aside for the time being and pretended not to have heard the fleeting exchange between the guard and her master.


“Things can be anything. A group of thugs, in which case the village would scarcely be abandoned; its new hosts wouldn’t let us closer than a stone’s throw. A creature of fang and claw. An Uphir. I can go on. If it is a place of horrid death,” Irene hesitated and glanced at Galene for a moment, <<it can be a Vrees.>> She chose the name commonly used in Riverside and the surrounding areas to address the demon – spirit, creature of darkness, the embodiment of darkness, it was unclear – that fed on fear and pain, both physical and mental. She hoped Ming Xia understood what sort of monstrosities could be lured to a lingering feeling of dread and suffering. “If you are leading us to a place where a wraith is lingering in the shadows, I’d rather be prepared for it.”


After another glance at Galene, Irene added, <<answer me and I entertain the girl to give you peace.>>

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Li Ming Xia

Ming Xia paused in her walking to look around dropping down and examine the ground. She pushed aside some dirt and felt the tiny strands of moss pulling towards the sun. She frowned at it, ignoring Irene and her questions and statements.


The threat to them, personally, would be minimal so long as they kept their wits about themselves and did not decide to shed blood that would stain the dirt or hack up a lung. The creatures that roamed the mountain were special to the mountain itself. Wherever the slave had come from, Ming Xia did not know and did not care. After all, she was getting paid in golden coins to keep two out of the group she had been given alive. The others did not matter, not to the people who were giving the commands at least.


She stood up after a second and continued walking, though at a slower pace. The plants were supposed to have grown back by now, covering the ground as they walked but it had not. In fact, the grass was still sparse as they approached the settlement which meant that it had been cleared by someone, in order to make allow footfalls to be easily spotted.


As Ming Xia drew closer to the location of the village, she heard voices and saw dragons overhead, spinning in great circles and breathing fire.


So it was not abandoned.


It appeared to have many people in it and Ming Xia managed to spot several children running about, carrying armfuls of logs and branches, shouting at one another as they ran to aid their parents. There were older men and women walking along the dirty paths between homes, calling to one another and passing wrapped loaves of bread, cloth, and other necessities. Many people who were walking around wore armor like the two riders.


<<Ah, so you have also come,>> a voice told Ming Xia.


<<This was abandoned.>>


<<You are Ming Xia, aren't you? Hui Hua's youngest daughter.>>


<<Yes.>>


<<You're the one who wanders,>> the man in front of her said in a knowing tone, nodding his head. Ming Xia narrowed her eyes. <<You brought many with you.>>


<<Only two are riders.>>


<<They will fit into a home, then>> the man said, pointing at a wooden cabin. <<Perhaps they will be better off in there?>>


Ming Xia beckoned the others without a word, leading them past to the wooden cabin. The man was already eyeing Irene's hare but quickly shuffled off. Hardeep seemed to take note, as he turned to Irene, glanced at the animal, and then back at the slave.


"Deal with... that," he said, waving a hand at it before following Ming Xia, who was watching carefully. Orien, Kydoimos, and Hardeep disappeared into the designated cabin for a moment before Ming Xia appeared, handing Irene a knife to skin the animal.


"Trade carefully," she warned and went back inside.

 

[Lenaara]

Irene arched a brow at Ming Xia. The girl appeared to have enough knowledge of the mountain to stay alive and to continue living off of what the mountain provided. But she was no guide. Or, in the very least, a very bad one. She was more of a lone wolf than a person fit to deal with groups of people to lead them to safety. Irene understood the want to keep one’s personal life private, the need to stay clear of building any sort of bonds with one’s charge, the need to keep everything professional. But this was not professional. Had this been Riverside, Ming Xia would be hired only if no one else was available. And there was always someone available.


But this was not Riverside and they were given no other guide. Knowledgeable of the creatures of the mountain or not, Irene doubted she was any more fit to lead the procession than Ming Xia was.


Yet, the woman in Irene who had once built a good repute in Riverside frowned at Ming Xia inwardly.


In the very least, the girl could have explained what had driven all life from the village.


Irene chose not to pick up where Galene had left off and start pestering Ming Xia with questions. Instead, Irene fell a step or so behind the young woman and continued to follow her through the trees that began to dwindle the further they went. The first sign of a settlement being nearby.


When they had arrived, Irene looked at Ming Xia quizzically, wondering if this was the supposed abandoned village or they were going to pass through it and continue. They stayed and as they passed by the mountain folk homes, Irene craned her neck to look at the dragons flying around the area.


Dragon riders being cramped up together wasn’t going to end up well in the long run.


More than just one man looked at Irene’s catch. People went about their daily tasks, passing items to one another and saying words that Irene could scarcely understand. Their eyes darted to the fresh kill, looking at it to see if it was bloody or mangled. The hare was uninjured and that made the hide much more valuable. Irene shifted the hare closer to herself and wished she had a knife on her belt.


A knife was given to her soon after and Irene took it without protest. She hooked the knife into her sash, careful not to cut either the thin fabric or the furs, and looked around until she spotted a well.


“Here,” Irene passed the hare to Galene. “If anyone comes over to take it, run into the cabin.” She doubted anyone would try to take a catch from a slave of a dragon rider, but Irene knew that people driven by hunger were capable of anything. Galene was smart, or appeared to be smart in the very least, so Irene’s warning was probably unneeded.


With the hare given to Galene, who Irene hoped wouldn’t do anything strange to the animal out of curiosity, Irene put down her bag and headed for the well after taking a small wooden basin from beside the cabin. It took some time to pull up a bucketful of water and pour it into the basin. The water was ice cold and splashed over the rims of the bucket when Irene pulled it over. Finally, she returned to the cabin, put the water basin onto the ground, reached out a hand towards Galene in a silent request to have the hare returned, and once the animal was given to her Irene crouched down onto the ground and began to work.


She bled and skinned the animal quickly. This had been done countless of times before so it took only a moment of thought to remember the process and let her memory guide her hands. By the time Irene was done the water in the basin was bloody, a pelt lay beside her on the ground, and she reached up to hand Galene the skinned carcass of the hare.


“Take this to Ming Xia, ask for salt to cure the meat. I’m going to go trade in the pelt for food,” Irene said as she dipped her hands into the water to clean off the remaining blood. Afterwards she wetted the blade and dried it over her pant leg.


Warren had been standing by the cabin’s entrance, his hands clasped behind his back and his bags missing. He must have gone inside to leave the bags and brought Irene’s pack too. As Irene skinned the animal Warren had been watching intently at first but turned around after some time, probably not enjoying the sight of something akin to a cottontail being treated this way.


With the meat given away and her hands washed, Irene dumped the rest of the water behind the cabin and returned the basin to its original spot. Warren had taken a step from the main entrance, intending to follow Irene into the village no doubt.


Great.


“Galene,” Irene called out. “Want to go with me?”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Galene was slightly perturbed the silence offered to her by the other girl. Why was she so quiet? Did she really think that her silence would aid her in any way? Guides, as far as Galene was aware, were supposed to be helpful, informing their charges of what was to come in order to better equip themselves. Granted, anything that Galene may have needed was going to come from Ming Xia but even so, it would be much more useful if the other girl at least offered some information instead of the silence that helped no one.


Irene handed her the meat to cure and Galene frowned at her before entering the cabin. It was a rather large and spacious single room, enough for all of them to fit though she somehow doubted they would all be allowed to sleep in it. In one back corner, there appeared to be a fireplace, as that part of the wall was made of stone and a stone semi-circle jutted out from the wall. There was a piece of rope tied to the ceiling that Galene figured was used to open what appeared to be a trap door to allow smoke to leave the cabin. A few windows were cut out of the walls on every side, covered in animal skin instead of drapes and with a wooden panel underneath them, most likely to slide into place when the storms came through. She handed the meat off to Orien, who took it and stared at her.


"You need to cure it," she said simply. "Rub salt into it and soak it in a mixture of salt and water in order to keep it from going bad."


She heard her name being called and turned to see Irene. Frowning, Galene walked out of the cabin once more and approached the other woman.


"I suppose," she said, though a single glance could tell her that Warren was eyeing the other slave once more, planning on following her.


"Actually yeah, let's go," Galene said, gripping the woman's elbow and beginning to walk along as quickly as possible. The guard made her uneasy; he knew his place and was a type to force her into her own.

 

[Lenaara]

Irene let Galene lead them away from the cabin and enter the main ‘street’ of the village, if it could be called as such. The village itself was small, divided into smaller parts with dirt roads and fences of either thin branches or shrubbery.


“Thank you,” Irene said as she glanced at Galene and then over her shoulder to spot Warren. The guard had retreated back to his post, albeit hesitantly, and looked over his shoulder as if to confirm if it was alright for Irene to leave without an escort. He remained quiet, however, and only stared at the departing women.


They followed the dirt road until they spotted its centre. A crossroad where a well stood covered by large wooden boards. People congregated around it, each offering something different. Irene had spotted a man at a stall – a narrow wooden table by the edge of the road – with all sorts of pelts laid out; fox, hare, wolf, even a giant bear pelt that he was selling to a man in a guard’s armour tinted bronze and orange, a crest that Irene has never seen before sewn to his chest plate. Further on, Irene could spot similar stalls – one sold wooden cutlery, another cured meat and down one stall, some bread. Irene headed for the one that sold bread. It looked stale even from a distance but the food was getting passed over fairly quickly.


Last time Irene had bartered was years ago. Hisraad rarely let her go into the market and after his downfall his wife or the kitchen staff – one elderly cook and her granddaughter that lived a short distance away – was the one that did most of the shopping for the estate.


Well, it certainly would be interesting.


Irene pulled up the collar of her jacket to hide the leather wrapped around her neck, smoothed out the furs and lifted them ever so slightly to reach her jaw, and stopped by the stall.


The man at the other side of the table – which was only a structure of two wooden planks on top of firewood – eyed the hare’s pelt warily. He lifted his eyes to Irene and raised one finger.


“Half bread,” he said, his accent so heavy Irene could barely understand what he’d said.


<<Worth two bread minimum,>> Irene replied as she lifted the pelt higher up and turned it, to show the uncut fur.


The man’s eyes bulged in realization that the woman at his stall could understand his people’s language. He eyed her warily and then said, <<Half of a bread loaf. No more.>>


<<Two,>> Irene insisted.


Well, it was certainly going to remind her just how much she hated bartering for goods.


***


Slow. Everything was so damn slow.


The people were slow. The words uttered underneath their shallow breaths were slow to reach Colden’s ears. The way they all moved about their daily lives was slow. Shifting, stepping from foot to foot, turning to check on something or other over their shoulders. Their furs and pelts got pulled up slowly, as if afraid that one sudden movement is going to tear down the leather.


Even the snow – or was it rain? It was something in between, icy cold and dripping down his hair already – was falling slowly.


He was going to go insane.


At his side, Ammon stood still, arms crossed over his chest and half of his chin hidden beneath the fur lined jacket strapped to him by a variety of wide belts. Air fogged in front of his charge’s nose and parted lips, staying there in a mockery of the mist of the early morning that lingered beneath their feet. A droplet fell from the eaves of the thatched cottage behind them and landed on Ammon’s nose. He flinched, surprised, and then brushed it off by dipping his chin further into the fur until the collar wiped off the stray droplet.


“I never thought I’d say this,” Ammon began as his eyes skirted over the village before him, “but I miss the desert.”


“Easier to hide here. Lots of shadows, huts, trees. Better than digging yourself under the sand to observe,” Colden replied. “I prefer this climate.”


There was no hint of emotion to his voice or his features. They were as cold as the icy needle like droplets of rain – or was it hail, maybe? – that fell onto his hair, matting it down, and slid beneath the brown tightly fit leathers.


Colden picked a spot between the cottage and the adjacent shed. A thick fence circled the little living area, going up a couple of feet and then disappeared beneath the low branches of a pine. Shadows fell over Colden like a blanket, soaking into his dark leathers, wrapping around him in a safe protective embrace. He slid a hand over the baldric strapped to his chest, where four throwing knives found home, their hilts of a matted dark leather and their blades polished and sharpened to perfection.


“You would have liked Riverside, then. Had I chosen to take you with me, you would have made good coin on assassinations and spy work. Perhaps earned some coin by participating in the pits. I hear they are quite popular in Anderfell.”


Colden stayed silent and would have shrugged had Ammon actually been able to see the movement. Ammon rarely looked at Colden, either to keep his bodyguard’s position a secret or because he refused to let his eyes strain with effort as he looked into the shadows that clung to Colden like second skin. Colden didn’t know and never bothered to ask. It was easier this way to keep his presence a secret from the prying eyes of the passersby.


“A red haired rider arrived earlier. Guide is Hui Hua. She lives in a cabin on the other side of— Ammon?”


Over the years of knowing Ammon – approximately twenty-two years, to be exact – Colden had learnt to pick up on his charge’s changes in behaviour. They were slight, like an arch of a brow at some phrase or the other, or a very minimal narrow of his eyes that made the fine lines fanning at the corners of Ammon’s eyes stand out more than the usual. Others never noticed the changes. Ammon was always still, always calm. Even his voice always retained a calm tone to it, changing only when Ammon was excited more than the usual. That happened rarely. Ever since he came back to Crubia from traveling the nations in his younger years, Ammon had changed so much that those who knew him from ten years ago would not recognize the current head of the Darnell family.


And Colden? Colden was taught to notice these things. Taught to see the minimal quirk of a brow or a curve of a lip. Frequent blinking or a change in one’s voice. He was taught this ever since he could remember. Perks of being bred like a dog, he supposed, to serve a family he’d never met until he turned thirteen to be assigned to the first born son of the Darnell.


Most would have hated such a life. It was not an assumption, either. People commented frequently on the odd relation between the Metz and the Darnell. Pity was always offered, words like “I’m sorry” or “You must hate your life” were uttered more often than one would believe. Colden never reacted to those words. What was the point? It was his life. His destiny; his purpose. It was a life that held guarantee of what the next day is going to bring and by whose side he’s going to meet it.


And Ammon never proved to be troublesome. Indeed, the two of them had surpassed the relationship of servant and master long ago. They trusted one another. They talked to one another. They were the only friends that their lives ever offered them.


So over the years of literally being Ammon’s shadow, Colden got accustomed to his charge’s behaviour. He could always guess what Ammon was thinking, what he was doing, what sort of lies he had been spinning into the words told to the family that thought they controlled the head of the Darnell dragon riders.


Now? Colden had never seen Ammon stare so intently into the distance, his eyebrows raised as far as it was possible and then furrow as if in concentration.


Colden shifted in his position to see where Ammon had been looking at. In the distance, down the dirt road and between the wooden cabins, he could see all sorts of people. After living in this village for a little bit over a day, after their guide – fifteen-year-old child by the name of Manwe, whose cabin was at the far side of the village six houses and two sheds from where Ammon and Colden were currently positioned – had received them, Colden had found out a great deal about each and every village resident. It was his job to listen, to report. And so he did.


There was a woman in an old fox pelt wrapped around her neck trotting down the road, her hands clutching a wooden tankard and a loaf of bread wrapped in a piece of linen pressed between her stomach and forearm. Colden knew her name and that she had just found out she was with child. Behind her were two children, both around the same age and both sporting dark hair pulled into three braids at the back; their mother was sleeping with two different men, none of which was her bonded with lover. Further ahead was the makeshift market that the villagers had put up the day before to trade in the goods with the arriving riders.


Ammon was looking at one of the stalls, where a tanned woman with a long braid was bartering a hare’s hide with the stall’s owner. At the woman’s side was a younger girl with dark skin that stood out from the others due to her posture and overall demeanour. The man at the stall had braced a hand on the wooden planks that made up the table, leaned forward and reached for the woman’s collar intending to grab it; his other hand curled into a fist. He pulled on the furs around her shoulders.


Even from the distance Colden could see a flash of metal as the woman drew the knife with a flicker of her wrist and pressed the tip between the stall owner’s ribs. He froze, looked down, the woman said something and Colden focused on her lips. It was in the language that the mountain folk used. He knew little of it, only the basics, but the meaning of the woman’s words was clear.


<<Release me. Bread. Now,>> she said.


The assassin glanced at Ammon.


“Know her?” Colden asked.


“I thought not first. She is thinner, darker, and not wearing the usual attire that I’ve grown accustomed to seeing. Strange,” Ammon replied and began walking down the path towards the stalls.


“Strange?” Colden followed, shifting from one shadow towards another, soundless and completely hidden by the darkness of the early morning shadows.


Ammon only hummed in response.


A cabin blocked Colden’s path and he circled it, going around the back and jumped over a fence to enter the overgrown with weeds backyard. He shimmied up a shed, pressed a hand over the triangular roof, slid down the wooden planks, and landed softly into a roll on the other side. Not a soul had seen him, most villagers congregated on the other side of the village where the arrived guests were. The low branches of the nearby birches and oaks hid him beneath the shadows and the thin canopy.


When he once again had the stall area in sight, he noticed the tanned woman shifting her attention to the direction where Colden and Ammon were moments before. She furrowed her brows, as if searching her memory and straining to see so far into the distance to spot approaching dragon rider. Genuine surprise twisted her features as her slim brows rose and her lips parted to either gasp or mutter a curse, Colden couldn’t make it out.


“Follow and observe,” Ammon commanded as he passed a small alleyway between two cabins.


Ammon was already midway to the woman, one hand resting on the curved dagger on his belt and the other at his side. Colden followed, unseen and silent. As always, Ammon’s shadow.


***


Irene rolled her neck and sheathed the blade into the sash. The stall owner proved to be stubborn. He simply refused to trade at the beginning, then claimed the hare’s hide – despite its pristine condition – was barely worth half of a bread loaf and he was being generous to have offered at least an entire loaf. Of course, Irene did not back up and continued to push for two loafs, threatening to go and trade with others. It was then that the man eyed the fur with such intent to grab it that reaching for the knife given to her by Ming Xia was a matter of instinct. By the time the man gripped Irene’s collar, the knife was already pressed between the man’s ribs.


A hand had to be raised for Galene to stop any intervening actions or words. The knife was hidden from the girl’s sight by Irene’s torso, as she angled her body in time to block the view.


The threat – however empty, Irene had no intention of gutting someone just to get two cold as stone loafs of bread – worked and the man retreated back to his original position and pushed the requested bread towards Irene and Galene. The stall owner was not happy in the slightest. Indeed, his face was contorted with anger and he took over the hare’s hide with trembling fingers that could curl into a fist at any second.


While Irene reached out towards the loafs of bread she glanced to the side, aiming to see if any of the men in the area could be called in by the stall owner to retrieve his loafs from a woman armed with a small knife. None were called and the stall owner did not gesture to anyone. And still, Irene froze, her hand hovering in mid-air as it reached towards the food.


It was a flash of pale green at first, a blur of colour that reminded her of the sea. In the distance she could only spot the leather vest lined with fur, tucked over a tunic of seafoam green and pastel blue. The early morning light fell upon the man’s chest and the broidery gleamed brightly in a silver thread.


She knew the man. And, apparently, the man had recognized her as well as he had been intently heading towards her, his eyes never wavering from Irene’s face.


Irene cursed vividly in Izmarian and considered her options.


Running was impossible, Galene was with her. Acting like a fool? Lying? Hiding?


Forcing her attention away from the nearing man, Irene turned to Galene and stepped closer towards the girl.


“Play along. Please,” Irene said and turned back towards the main road just in time to see the man clad in dragon rider’s armour – but without the metals that were present on Kydoimos’ and Hardeep’s attire – pass a stall that offered thicker fabrics; only one more stall separated Irene and Galene and the rider.


In her mind, Irene thanked the Mountain for having her furs and jacket pulled up high enough to hide the slave’s collar.


“Ammon?” Irene added genuine surprise to her voice as she took a few steps away from the nearby stall to take position a relative distance away from the one with whom she had just bartered. “What are you doing here?” She willed herself to smile and hoped it looked genuine and not at all forced.


It had become a habit to bow to the dragon riders and those above her station. Which covered everyone but the slaves alongside whom Irene worked. She did not do it out of respect, rather to put a show that guaranteed a punishment free day. So when Ammon came into clear view, and she was certain that the crest on his armour was indeed a family symbol, Irene squared her shoulders and lifted her chin up instead of down.


“Is that a way to greet an old friend?” Ammon snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.


“You’re hardly a friend,” Irene replied.


“Perhaps. Huh.” He cocked his head and looked at Irene, a slight crinkle to his brow. “You’ve lost weight. Pity. Those purple robes would have appeared to be a jester’s attire on most. Have you decided to follow my suggestion and wear something less decorated with precious metals?”


“I see you changed your rags. I never thought you to be a rider. You lacked the pompous armour last we met,” Irene said and jerked her chin at the silver thread decorating Ammon’s leather west. There was a motif of waves of a great sea sewn into the thick brown leather.


“Ah, indeed. Last we met, I was no more than a commoner in appearance. My attire then was a touch more modest. Never meant to boast my rank in those parts.”


“So you chose to boast it here? Careful. Those furs might get stolen. You were a lousy fighter.”


Ammon laughed at the comment. It was a bright and cheerful sound. “Still am, I’m afraid. Your spear did quite a number on me, as you can see.” He gestured with his index finger up to wave at his face. A scar, old and healed but still deep and tinted red with the cold, marred his face over the bridge of the man’s nose and the cheekbone. “Where is it? You refused to go to bed without it being an arm’s reach from you.”


“It got broken,” Irene replied calmly.


“Oh? Do tell. You yet live, I see.”


“I am too stubborn to die.” Irene shrugged. “Got attacked. Clothes got taken away, spear broken into two.” It wasn’t exactly a lie or a full truth. Ammon could fill in the gaps himself, she hoped.


“This why this one is wearing a bear pelt instead of clothing?” Ammon nodded at Galene. “Who is she?”


“You never answered my question.” Irene shifted to the side, blocking Ammon’s clear view of Galene.


“Neither have you,” the corner of Ammon’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “You could say this is,” he looked to the side to look at the wooden cabins that comprised the village, “a vacation, of sorts. It appears I am no longer the sole rider in these parts. Interesting.”


“There will be more?”


“Looking for a job?” Ammon’s eyes gleamed, the corners lifted in a smile that was only lingering at the corner of his lips.


“Perhaps. Riders pay well.” It was pure speculation. She’s never worked for a dragon rider, and Hardeep was hardly her employer. Her master, owner more like, and he would probably choke at the idea of paying her a wage.


“Ah. I see. So this one, you’ve never introduced us. The suspense is intriguing.” Ammon mused and Irene stopped herself from wincing. She’d hoped he’d forgotten about Galene and would let them be. “The bear pelt adds mystery.”


“My charge,” Irene said before Galene could so much as blink in response. “We lost our belongings separately, I was not around.”


Ammon didn’t seem to have noticed the slave collar around Galene’s neck yet.


“Oh? Please do introduce us.”


“Trying to steal my employer?”


“Hardly. Call it curiosity.”


Irene sighed through her nose and stepped aside from between Galene and Ammon. She looked at Galene and hoped the young girl would retain her usual calmness when it came down to conversing with the dragon riders. Galene appeared to be smart and beyond curious. Irene only hoped that she was not completely loyal to the dragon riders who fed and clothed her, and was a decent liar.


Ammon tilted his head ever so slightly. “Quite young, are you not? What is your name? I hope Irina is treating you well.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Galene had watched the exchange silently, frowning slightly. She had had to barter at times by the docks in her homeland, trading golden coins for books and swords and beautiful fabrics alongside necessities such as herbs and food and metals to be tested for armor. She used to be good at it; you started with higher than what you expected or wanted and slowly cut the price down. But that was in Vanguard, with men and women with nations on their chests and stamps of approval conducted by those in dusty grey robes signaling their importance in the bureaucracy that surrounded almost all aspects of her life. Here, it was whatever they wanted.


They spoke in a language she did not grasp until something happened, quick as a flash and Galene leaned away from the scene, her eyes glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed the commotion. Apparently not; she herself was not wholly sure what happened and it appeared as if a threat was being enacted as payment.


As Irene grasped the food, her head turned and Galene followed it, spotting a man she did not recognize, his skin far too pale for those she was surrounded by in Crubia, a land where the desert tanned flesh and the flesh of those who had lived in it were far darker than some of those she had seen back in Vanguard, their skin white by powder and by birth.


Hers had always been dark. It was darker now from the sun and the desert but it had never been light, always closer to her father's hue than her mother's. He said it was because she would be strong and swift and quick, like the night and the moon that guarded it.


She had clearly not been quick enough to end up as a slave with a leather mark forever on her neck.


Irene's request was strange but Galene only formulated questions to ask later, to use as potential leverage. It had been a while since she had played a game of power, of lies and deceit; the slaves in the Makhai household were all slightly dull, fearful, poor, born to be slaves or at least broken that way. She knew that the Makhais and many other riders considered her troublesome and unbreakable, seemingly full of life in the face of not being able to have the one that she had been born into.


Their conversation almost made Galene raise her brow but she did not. She did her best to arrange her face as her mother and her tutors had once told her. Calm. Collected. Neutral.


She pulled the bear pelt closer around her, covering the leather with the best of her ability. She would have to avoid him in the future, or at least avoid standing around Hardeep in the future. That man would not do good for her cover or for her potential to whittle questions out of Irene, at least better than how she had tried to whittle them out of Ming Xia.


Charge.


Her eyes flickered to Irene briefly before glancing over her shoulder at the other man. Galene had heard that only a few times before, when her parents whispered of sabotage and politics and disasters. When they spoke to her to never look at a man for too long lest they remember her face, that her eyes would always be her mark and no matter what, she had to be quick on her feet.


But she also could never cower in fear. If they saw she had fear, then they would think she was easy. If she appeared tall, confident, looming with authority before she had it, they would be slow and think twice. They would delay and give her time to escape. Those that were important made many hesitate.


She lifted her chin slightly, peered at the man with a sharp frown on her face.


"I have been told age is nothing more than a number if you know how to use it," Galene said, her words lilting at different points and her tongue trying to find the Vanguardian accent she had nearly lost. "And isn't it impolite to ask a lady her age? Surely, a man of your stature would have learned this already."


She did not give him a smile.


"My name is--" not her real one, that could easily be traced back to her. A simple lie then, one that she could rely on easily. "--Naomi."


There were no Naomi slaves here. Unlikely someone could potentially tell him that the girl he spoke to was truly a slave and not whatever it was she was pretending to be at the moment.


"Yours?" she asked.


"My business is mine," she added, "though I do wonder how you could possibly have known someone like this one. From what I hear, those in her business do not make friends easily, not without a little coin at least."

 

[Lenaara]

It was foolish to say that Galene was her charge. It was foolish to even stay and wait for Ammon to come closer. They should have turned around, slipped behind one of the cabins and then disappeared.


No. It was foolish to even think that running away and hiding in a village comprised of two roads and about a dozen houses was going to work.


And yet, as Ammon asked his questions and Galene was standing right before the man, Irene willed herself not to tap impatiently on the hilt of the knife, that wasn’t even hers, in annoyance at her own stupidity.


Shifting her focus to the side, Irene played the role of an ever loyal bodyguard. To all outer appearances she was scanning the nearby shadows, watching the people, armed or not, move about doing their daily tasks. It was gloomy, the early morning light dim and barely penetrating the canopy of birches that hugged certain cabins closely. It was easier to look at anything that could be a potential threat to her charge – a fake charge – than look at Galene in expectance for her to play the assigned role that she never asked for.


And Galene played it, and played it so well that had Irene not squared her shoulders and focused on holding the acquired cold loafs of bread, she would have stared at Galene in surprise.


Galene was playing along. She was lying to a man, a dragon rider, whom she’s never seen. One could only guess why she chose to take up such a risk.


Ah.


Information. The girl was curious. Ming Xia had been assaulted by the barrage of questions on the way to the village and gave up. Galene could easily hold this encounter over Irene as a threat of revealing what had happened to Hardeep, Kydoimos, or even Warren. It was doubtful that either of these three would take the news of Irene’s choice of trade from years ago calmly.


Galene had already found out more than enough from Ammon. The scar marring his otherwise handsome features was Irene’s doing. A weapon was mentioned. And Irene, foolishly, decided to give Galene the first role that came to mind – her charge.


And Galene was asking for more from Ammon.


Irene gave Galene an icy look but said nothing.


“I do get told quite often of my lack of proper manners when the topic is related to the weaker sex. Of course, the question is only an insult if the woman does not know how to use the number.” Ammon cocked his head; his faint smile continued to play across his lips even if Galene did not return it.


“I am Ammon Darnell,” he continued. “The current head of my family.”


“I thought you a spoiled noble, not a rider.” Irene gave Ammon a side glance.


“Ah, you were not far off,” Ammon said as he looked at Irene and then shifted his turquoise eyes back to Galene. “Coin is the true reason we met, surprisingly. Well, she was in it for coin. I, in my younger years, wished nothing more than a warrior’s fame and more kindling to my ego. In the end, I received this,” he gestured at the scar, “and she left with the winnings.”


Ammon glanced at Irene, perhaps expecting some sort of a reaction or added details from her part, but Irene remained still and silent, ever vigilant.


“The circumstances of your meeting intrigue me. This location is,” he paused, searching for an appropriate word, “interesting, if not rustic. Perchance, we could meet before your departure. Are you staying here long?”


Irene did not look at Galene, though she did shift from foot to foot and accidentally tapped the girl’s foot with the tip of her shoe, urging the girl to continue with the lie as best as she could.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Galene gave Ammon a tight-lipped smile when he remarked about Irene and the scars she gave him.


"Well, I suppose I should be grateful she won," Galene said simply, "given that I spent gold on her talents, it would be reassuring to hear she does them well."


So Irene had been some sort of guard, potentially a mercenary for hire before she was a slave. An interesting past, one that was probably like hers in a way; not very common but more so than one thought. Many suspected that there were royals among the slaves, taken from burned kingdoms and noble houses that sacrificed a body or two to keep intact with some power and gold, and many thought it possible that a mercenary or a guard may have fallen in the midst of battle. After all, some didn't run when the tide turned, full of themselves and their skills and choice. They were humans and humans lost. Even in legend, the gods lost to each other, to hearts full of love and eyes blind to the truth.


"A woman hardly divulges her secrets," Galene said, her lips curling in a sly smile, one she had seen her sisters offer to men who came to them for information and for perhaps a night with them. A smile that offered little but intrigued, one that made men lean in closer to find a dagger near their throat or bared teeth by their lips. Her sisters were never gentle and the world obliged. "But we are staying as long as we must, as I am sure you will be as well. I've hard that tragedy has made itself frighteningly prevalent down in the desert." She clucked her tongue in pity. "A fearsome time it must be. I don't suppose you have come here for reasons of safety?"

 

[Lenaara]

“Ah, I heard all sorts of tales about Irina’s talents here,” Ammon said as he tilted his head to the side.


Irene looked at Ammon from the corner of her eye and willed her fingers to loosen the hold on the knife’s hilt. The situation was dangling on a thin thread, ready to snap at a wrong lie or comment coming from either of these two silver tongued individuals.


“They were exaggerated,” Irene said as she tapped on the hilt impatiently.


“Only for the best effect, I am sure,” Ammon cooed.


This was taking too long. They were out in the open, standing at a crossroads between three squat cabins and a well. People moved about quickly. If at first only a few glances were thrown to the three unmovable figures wedged between two stalls, then now even the stall owners outright stared at the dragon rider and the two women before him.


Unwanted attention was only part of the problem. Time, that was the issue. How long had passed since Irene was given the knife and told to go and take care of the hare’s hide? A half an hour? An hour? If Hardeep doesn’t notice the absence of the two slaves, then Kydoimos might; they and Galene shared a relationship that Irene could only guess the length of. Warren, without question, is fidgeting more than usual whilst watching the roads intently to spot the two women.


Intending to end this charade, Irene looked at Galene with the intention of signalling the girl that they must go, and felt shivers run down her spine at the sight of the smile that curved the younger girl’s lips. She was enjoying this. More so, she felt completely comfortable in this situation. Well, at least one of them was.


Ammon’s own faint smirk never faded, his demeanour unchanging despite Galene’s smile that promised both an interesting night and a dagger in one’s back.


Irene had seen such smiles before, worn by the nobility and the upper classes of Riverside that played the game of power and lies to further their agendas.


Who is she?


“Have you?” Ammon did not so much as flinch at Galene’s words. If he was surprised, he did not show it. “I am here for reasons of health. I hear that mountain air and scent of evergreens is good for one’s soul. After a disease had taken the life of my dearly departed sister, my family has been keen on tending to me. Though I am curious of the troubles you’ve heard that plague our lands to warrant a rider’s presence so far from Nuru. Certain knowledge is scarcely at a public’s disposal. Unless, you are privy to certain information?”


Not good. Too much was said. Galene should never have mentioned the ‘tragedies prevalent in the desert.’


“We should go,” Irene said matter-of-factly and looked at Galene.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Galene gave a soft, "aw" of pity at the mention of his sister's death, her smile turning briefly into a small frown. "How tragic," she said in a soft tone. "A parent should never have to bury a child. As for me, well, my family has been living strongly in Edone you see." It was a far away enough land, with few dragon riders but a hub of merchant activity. There were those whose pockets grew fat on the coins of others and as a result, there were always itching fingers and jealous eyes. A daughter of a wealthy merchant could be on the mountain to be trading for pelts and meat to be sold at exuberant prices to those that thought such things were delicacies.


Thank the gods she always ran to the ports, examining the names and the items and the men and women that disembarked, their faces round and their egos large. Her parents had tried to tell her not to several times but her feet were quicker and her enthusiasm boundless. So she saw the names, learned the cultures, and picked up on their shifting eyes and their fat fingers, always wanting more. She knew the cities that grew fat on books and scrolls and the families that loaded themselves with pelts and gold to take back.


"Now, you must know how rumors fly and how the common folk waggle their tongues, especially as they roam the streets while purchasing goods. They never seem to understand that their voices carry and that their words have weight. I'm surprised you didn't hear any of the whispers about dragons falling out of the sky, of men dying as they flew." She tutted to herself, shaking her head.


"Women always fret, you know," Galene added, deciding to pull on something else. Her mother always said that there was always difficulty in getting what she wanted because she was female, because her skin was dark and no amount of coin would change that.


"Play them," she would say. "Play on their ignorance and burn them."


"Many women wail before men do about how dangerous life can be, don't they?" she added to Ammon, peering up at him. "Gossip flies about and we always seem to think the worst and then suggest the worst to men, who never seem to listen. I would have thought that with the deaths that were already being told, many would have wanted to be safer. But of course, it would have taken much longer for any of them to decide that safety would aid them in such a situation and that perhaps hiding themselves would be best for their health. I had thought that some of the riders had finally taken some advice and decided to come here for safety and apparently, they have."


She turned her head when Irene suggested they leave, a slight frown on her face. "I suppose," she said, sighing heavily and turning back to Ammon. "It has been a pleasure meeting you, Ammon," she said. She lifted her arms slightly, allowing the bear pelt to flare out like a cape. Her right foot dragged around to the back of her left and she bent both her knees in a slight curtsy. Bowing would make her appear a slave.


With that, she turned on her heel, sweeping the pelt around herself and walked off.

 

[Lenaara]

“You’ve gone quite a way, I see,” Ammon said. “Pity you were not received with care. I am sure Irina had called it character building or some other prosaic phrase.”


Shifting her weight from one foot to another, Irene had let go of the knife’s hilt and hooked her thumb into the sash on her waist. To avoid looking at either Ammon or Galene – whose conversation made her feel uneasy – she focused on the shed across the street. With her brows furrowed and lips set into a thin line, Irene appeared to not have been paying attention to the conversation.


But she was. And she would have called the loss of one’s items as character building. Not that Ammon would ever be told that he was right in assuming correctly.


Before her, Ammon regarded Galene with a smile that appeared colder now, forced. Or, maybe, Irene was seeing fake expressions and veiled lies where there were none. Ammon had always been good at hiding his true thoughts and feelings, more so now than years ago when they met. Then, as much as now, the eternal calm gave him a certain charm. While his words held half-truths and never outward lies, for a rider (back then she thought him a noble) he was polite. For a rider, he lacked the fury and gluttonous hunger for power and wealth.


That is how he was to all outer appearances, in the very least. That is how he was years ago. Now, as the duel of words continued between him and Galene, Irene could only guess behind his sudden wish to talk to a woman who had scarred his face and humiliated him years ago.


“Ah, I am afraid my presence within the homestead has been a requirement for quite some time now. Rumours tend to have their wings clipped when they are about to reach the ears of those whose potential deaths they mention.” Ammon lifted a hand to press the fur lining of his collar closely to his neck. It had gotten colder as they spoke. The sun’s bleak disk was visible through the thin cover of greying clouds. It was going to rain soon.


“Women are to be thanked for choosing a refuge so comfortable and welcoming?” Ammon added a hint of laughter to his voice. “Perhaps the rider’s health and safety is more at risk here than in the desert whilst being threatened by a faceless enemy that could be nothing more than unfortunate accidents of too much datewine before a flight.”


At the curtsy Ammon merely smiled, a slight curve to his lips that emphasized the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Irene only stared at Galene and willed herself to retain a neutral expression. It was impolite to stare at one’s employer. Even if the employer, in all actuality, was a slave who was wearing a bear pelt over thin linens, and whose master was hidden within a warm cabin only a short distance down the road.


“I do hope we are to meet in the future. Perhaps, share tales of Edone where I have visited in my youth,” Ammon said to an already turning around Galene and gave Irene a smile that could have meant anything from I-wish-you-good-day to I-know-you-are-lying. Maybe she was being paranoid.


“I must go. It was,” Awkward? A cruel twist of fate? Horrible? “nice to see you again, Ammon,” Irene said as she glanced at the departing Galene.


“We are to see each other again soon,” Ammon said and, as Irene furrowed her brows quizzically, added, “It is a small village.”


Somehow, it sounded like a threat.


They followed the dirt path and left the crossroads. In case Ammon was observing their departure, Irene kept a step or two behind the girl. A glance over her shoulder was enough to prove her suspicions wrong; Ammon was gone by the time Galene and Irene passed the stalls. So Irene directed her attention at the girl around whom she no longer knew how to act.


What could be said? There were so many questions. Who was Galene? How did she lie with such ease to a dragon rider who was a part of the people who owned her, as the leather collar around her neck suggested? More importantly, is encountering Ammon going to cost Irene more than it would have, had it been Warren at her side and not the girl who, Irene used to assume, was nothing more than a curious about the world child?


Irene stifled a groan. Now they had to play the roles of a bodyguard without any weapons or armour, protecting a woman from Edone by the name of Naomi. In a village of a couple of roads and barely a dozen of hovels. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.


How did she expect it to go, anyway? No outcome was promising.


And now Galene knew of Irene’s past or could assume it based on the vague truths that Ammon so generously provided. Escaping would be more problematic than Irene ever thought it to be.


It was time to drop the charade, then.


“Does Naomi from Edone even exists?” Irene asked, wishing to avoid the question that flashed vividly in her mind – What is your lie going to cost me, exactly?


***


While Ammon conversed with the two women whose names Colden only understood from the exchanged words – one, the tanned woman with observing eyes and a look of someone strong trapped in a frail frame, Irina; the other, a dark-skinned young girl with calm that only Ammon could rival, Naomi – Colden had hidden himself within an empty shed a short distance from the crossroads.


He was wedged between a wooden armoire and a pile of sacks filled with, he assumed from the painful pressure against his thigh, potatoes. With his back pressed to the wall, Colden had to tilt his head and melt with the shadows by the narrow opening between two boards that he used as a way to observe the streets.


It was loud and not all words reaching his ears were what he wished to hear. He listened to the stall owners barter and the customers complain or make small talk. He listened to the children run about, playing some game that was as simple as catch the one referred to by a word that Colden had never heard of before. Despite all attempts to mute out the unwanted sounds, they still grasped his attention. With no other option, Colden focused on the lips and the expressions of the two women and his charge as they spoke.


When Ammon moved, so did Colden. He slipped out of the shed unseen and kept close to the shadows and cabins as he followed Ammon, careful not to attract unwanted attention of the passersby. It was relatively easy. All the villagers were long out of their little hovels, it being close to midday now, and they all had their share of tasks to complete before the day’s end. No one had seen Colden as he slipped around a hut, squeezed through a narrow fence of birch branches, and met Ammon halfway to their cabin across the village where they were given lodgings.


Once, Ammon used to jump in surprise when Colden appeared out of the shadows, silent and dark, and fell into step beside Ammon.


But over twenty years have passed and Ammon seemed to have accepted that Colden was never going to change. It made things easier, anyway. This way, Colden assured Ammon before, no one would ever suspect someone constantly lurking in the shadows as even Ammon would be uncertain which shadow exactly has given refuge to his bodyguard.


“What do you think?” Ammon asked without so much as looking at Colden and continued down the dirt path to the cabin hidden from the rest of the village by a patch of birches and a fence of greenery. “Is what they said true?”


“Yes and no,” Colden said.


“Oh?”


“One did not lie. I did not see the change in her expression when she spoke. She was on edge and kept looking around. Maybe expecting to see someone.” Colden hesitated in contemplation for a moment before adding, “The other I am not sure of. She did not look away from you when answering. There was hidden hostility.”


Ammon lifted his collar closer to his neck and furrowed his brows. “The entire conversation was odd.” When Colden did not comment he continued, “Irina’s behaviour differs from what I remember. It has been years, yes, but no one changes from a health obsessed woman who could take down a seasoned warrior and rile up a crowd to this…thinned husk who never smiles. The one she supposedly guards piqued my interest. She’s heard of the attacks on the riders.”


“Many have,” Colden offered.


“Indeed, and they are at Nuru. Our refuge had been decided upon less than five days ago. It takes much longer than that to hike up this mountain, especially if traveling from Edone’s direction.” Ammon paused. “We must deal with this nuisance at a later date.”


“Why did you talk to them? There are other ways to obtain information,” Colden said.


“It wasn’t for information.”


“Then?”


“It does not matter. Observe the other riders.”


Without a word, Colden obeyed the command and turned to slip behind a nearby cabin.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

There was a slight buzzing in Galene's ears as she walked away, a bit of adrenaline coursing through her. It had been so long since she played a game of lies and deceit, unraveling threads that did not exist and spinning wild tales that she would have to pick apart later and wrap around her fingers to remember.


"She may or may not," Galene said, "though I highly doubt it. There are few Naomis in Curbia and I have yet to have met one from--"


She halted herself from saying Vanguard.


A missing princess was still a princess and a missing princess from Vanguard meant payment for her return. Even if Irene was in no place to ransom her, someone probably would be. No matter what house she came from, they would be wealthy and could offer them anything; money, a favor, possibly even her own hand in marriage...


"--Nuru, so I doubt one exists in Edone."


She was silent for a moment before asking, "Who was Ammon, truly? You said he was a nobleman or something of the sort when you first met."

 

[Lenaara]

“A more common name might have worked better. Though your appearance doesn’t match those of the mountain folk. Not many Crubians here, either,” Irene said and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Thank you for lying, either way.”


They should never have bothered talking to Ammon. Their cover was flimsy, at best. A Naomi, a woman with dark skin and an unknown background, though educated and well known with the rumours circulating Nuru, coming from Edone? They should have pretended to be milkmaids working for Hui Hua. That cover, albeit humiliating, would not have been mysterious enough to warrant any unwanted attention.


No. What was done was done. They had to deal with the consequences of their lies. Pondering on what could have been done wouldn’t help the situation.


It has been years since Irene had undertaken such a risk and faked her present position. Never a fan of the game of lies and deceit, she steered clear of nobility and royalty all to avoid any power-play that could lead her to a scaffold. It was too saturated with corruption, with half-truths and veiled lies, with people that could use you to their advantage and then get rid of you to tie up loose ends.


Not that she was bad at lying. On the contrary, growing up it was the main skill she had to acquire. She just preferred to rarely use it and instead chose to reveal little or nothing at all.


So when Galene had asked Irene of Ammon, she was silent and wished not to speak of how she and the rider met years ago. It was personal information, and she preferred to keep her private life just so.


Galene can blackmail it out of you and hold the meeting with Ammon over your head until you spill enough secrets to satisfy her curiosity.


With no other choice, Irene sighed.


“I thought him to be a nobleman’s son. A spoiled brat who wished to acquire fame through combat. It is common in the parts where we’ve met. No soldier or peasant could sport such pristine skin and hair as he did then, or be so fascinated at the idea of being beaten up,” Irene said.


Someone walked by and eyed the bread pressed closely to Irene’s side. The narrow dirt path was getting quite crowded, the village bursting with life with the midday’s arrival. Children ran about and bumped against Irene’s leg more than once. Men, armed with bows and arrows and axes, left into the forest with dark scowls and bowed heads. Women stayed close to the huts or left for the stall area of the village, tending to their daily tasks whatever those may be.


The path was no place for conversation. Irene glanced around, searching the surrounding area for a quiet enough spot to go to. A squat cabin had caught her attention. Overgrown with weeds front yard was empty, save for a long and narrow wooden bench beneath the eaves of the thatched hut. Darkened by the brief rain from the early morning, the bench was near impossible to see through the tall grasses. Poison ivy wrapped its leaves around the cabin’s front wall.


Irene placed a hand on Galene’s elbow to stop the girl in her tracks and nodded towards the side of the path where the bench stood. “We can talk there.”


The conversation was inevitable, anyway.


Irene headed towards the cabin and sat down on the bench. Elbows on her knees, she leaned forward and held the loaves of bread in her hands. She waited patiently for Galene to follow her.


Once the girl was close enough, Irene looked up at Galene and said, “What are you going to do with this information, if I decide to tell you anything? You must have guessed who I was before,” she let go of the bread for a moment to tap on her neck, “this.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Galene turned to glare momentarily at Irene for commanding her to follow but said nothing, sliding into the spot next to the woman, folding her hands in her lap and pulling the pelt higher so the leather was more hidden. "Mountain people trade with individuals from all over," Galene said. "If he was stupid, he'd just let it lie and assume that I came to trade with the individuals here for pelts to sell to the highest bidder. If he is smart, I will simply have to tell him if he asks."


She leaned forward as well, her own leather mark suddenly itchy. It was the one thing that even Kydoimos would not bargain with her for; she would wear it and she would wear it always. It was her mark, her punishment for a crime she had not even committed, a crime she did not even know of. It was her mark of servitude and failure and it was the mark that would haunt her until she had power once more.


"Information is valuable," Galene said simply. She would learn and store it, keep it in the back of her mind to either whittle more information out of Irene or put pieces together that might appear at her feet. All information was valuable and false lies could still be picked apart to find half truths.


"Besides, companionship requires some level of knowledge about the other, no?"

 

[Lenaara]

Irene snorted at Galene’s response.


“Companionship? Though I suppose we are stuck in this mess together. Ammon lives somewhere in this village. He is bound to see us again. You might as well know what sort of bodyguard you’ve hired.” She nudged Galene’s side with her elbow.


Irene looked at the road ahead and watched the people drift by, going about their daily tasks. A moment of silence passed, interrupted only by the hubbub of the busy morning and the occasional bird’s song from somewhere behind the cabin.


“It was about six years ago,” Irene began. “We’ve met in a little town north of Crubia, near the border. Those parts are littered with towns that make good coin on fighting pits. Slaves, who do not get sold in Crubia or the surrounding areas, are sent there to fight for freedom. They all die, even if they win.


“You see, those towns make profit off of travellers too. A tall fence is built around each town, impenetrable and with only two gates; one north and one south. Both gates are guarded and you must pay when you enter and when you leave. The slaves who win, however rarely, in the pits are given nothing. No coin, no clothing, no weapons. Whatever they had is taken away. So they cannot leave and either beg for coin or search for jobs. Since a pass through either of the gates is astronomically expensive, no one spares a single copper on a beggar. No one wishes to hire a thin and battered slave, either. In the end, hunger and cold take their lives sooner or later.”


The memories of those towns were unpleasant. Even now Irene could remember the stench of rotting flesh as the corpses lay unattended to in the streets, decaying and poisoning the air. Beggars who could not leave the towns after the entry were sitting right beside a week old corpse. All begged for coin and food. It was a horrible sight.


Without realizing it, Irene had furrowed her brows and set her jaw.


“Travelers, on the other hand, get to keep a share of the profits. Those who cannot get out of the town by any other means, fight for the coin. The fights are altered to make it harder for you to win against the slaves. Hard to justify the entire event as fair, but they try.” She shifted her shoulders in a shrug and set down the bread onto the sole dry spot of the bench between herself and Galene.


“I was passing through one of those towns on my way to Crubia to find work. I was low on coin and couldn’t pass the gate out. No one would hire a woman mercenary based on a weapon in her hand and a promised word that she could fight. So I signed up for the pit. Thought it the best way to earn some coin and show my skills to get hired by someone wealthy enough to pay for my pass.


“Ammon and I faced off in the last round. We were not allowed weapons till then. Had to fight armed with dull and rusty swords and axes slaves. He was intent on killing me; the pits were to the death, not to surrender. In the end, I won and gifted Ammon with that scar. We, ah,” she cleared her throat, “had a rematch in his quarters later that day.”


Their meeting was scarcely a secret. Galene had proved to be skilled in the duel of words, where one slip up meant information ready to be pieced together to build a secret of great value. What Ammon had said, Irene had merely added to, fleshing out the story that Galene probably already could have guessed. In the event of Galene and Ammon meeting at some point in the future, the story would have come up anyway and it would have been told similarly, if not the same, by the scarred dragon rider.


Though the story revealed more than just the meeting between a dragon rider pretending to be a commoner and a woman who wished to leave a cesspit of a border town. It revealed Irene’s old trade.


“I used to be a mercenary. A bodyguard, a guard, a guide. I refused to kill for coin, so my services centred around protection. Ammon knows this and now you know this. I’d prefer to keep everything between the three of us. Question is,” Irene looked at Galene, “how can it remain so?”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

"A drab place, to be sure," she said calmly, folding her hands on her lap and staring at Irene. She furrowed her brow at the remark about a rematch.


"I do not understand," she said simply. "If you were to kill him and he survived, how did both of you walk out alive? And what is the point of a rematch if you've won the coin? Why would you even agree to that?"


It was illogical.


"You refused to kill for coin?" Galene asked, raising an eyebrow. "How quickly did you run out of eager participants?" Even the guards in her own home would kill if given enough money and there was plenty of money to go around, from her parents' hands to her siblings' hands to the hands of merchants and sailors and extremely effective trappers and farmers and hunters. "There is safety in death for some. I have hardly found an individual eager to hire someone without a blade that has been wet before."


She shrugged at Irene's next question. "I do not know. We will simply have to see how things go from now on. That's the fun part of it, mm?"

 

[Lenaara]

So many questions.


Irene had expected them and yet it took her a moment of hesitation to gather her thoughts and go back to the day when she and Ammon fought in those pits. Not the most pleasant of memories.


The ground had been damp with dirt and covered by a thin layer of hay to give the fighters some footing. The pits were just that, pits. Giant holes dug into the ground and reinforced during the later years with iron bars and walls of stone. A tunnel led into the pits, barred with thick iron rods to prevent any participant from changing their mind and running out. Weapons were thrown onto the ground by the pit masters, and the participants – overly eager travellers or desperate slaves – ran for the sharpest looking piece of iron they could find gleaming beneath the sun.


Disgusting place. It stank of rot, sweat and blood.


“The fighting pits are a show. A way to attract more business and slaves and make coin off of every living soul. But people get bored easily. Weak slaves strangling each other gets dull for some. Commoner men boasting their prowess is only entertaining for so long. Ammon and I were different; the crowd liked it.


“The two of us racked up quite the betting pot. No one expected a woman to go past the first round. Ammon gave the audience a good show. Everyone thought us, a woman and some spoiled noble dressed in silks, to die. In the end, the betting changed. People were betting on whether or not I spare Ammon’s life as I did others. And Ammon? Everyone wondered if he’d fight past a minute. It was all a show. Had I been forced to kill Ammon, it would have upset the betters.”


Irene shrugged. “That is a theory. All I remember is that I was given my coin and left with my head on my shoulders. Maybe there was another reason.”


Someone did try to take the winnings away afterwards. A group of thugs with weapons no doubt stolen from corpses or stranded travellers. Exhausted from the numerous rounds in the pits, Irene had to lose them in the labyrinth of the city to avoid active confrontation. Thankfully, she was hired a day after by a fabrics merchant on the way north from Crubia. Thus, she’s never visited Crubia all those years ago.


At Galene’s question regarding the rematch Irene stared at the girl in disbelief, wondering if it was a joke. Galene did not look like she was joking. Indeed, the question was most serious.


“Ah,” Irene snorted and closed her lips into a thin line, masking the smile. How could she even begin explaining what was meant behind the ‘rematch’? “No. It was a bit more complicated than that. Nothing serious. At the time it did not seem to be a bad idea.”


But it was. Maybe all those years ago Ammon did not know what the ink on Irene’s chest was. He never bothered asking for more detail after she’d said it was “Just a memento from my homeland.” Now she could only guess as to whether Ammon had found out the Mark’s true purpose. Whatever the reason was to their conversation earlier, if Ammon found out her current position in the society…


No, she told herself. Ammon sought adventure years ago, freedom, he just lived. The years have changed him, but she doubted he turned into someone like Hisraad.


“Quickly enough,” she shrugged in response to Galene’s question. “Fear and humiliation are powerful tools. Some prefer death over a disabling wound.”


Not that she crippled anyone in the fighting pits. Dislocated limbs are easy enough to fix. Broken bones less so. It was still a matter for debate whether or not leaving a slave with a broken arm was more generous than ending their life. She refused to think on it; a little over five years ago she rarely contemplated the consequences of her actions.


Irene’s smile at the question of the rematch remained hidden for so long. It faded and was replaced by a cold blank expression and eyes that stared into the distance. Silence stretched on, interrupted only by the hubbub of the busy village.


“The blade has been wet before,” Irene finally said and tilted her head to look at Galene. “Taking life is easier than sparing it, surprisingly.”


She raised her eyebrows at the girl’s response. Fun? “You are awfully calm about this. We must be careful, stick to our cover. That is going to be more problematic than fun. You, Naomi from Edone, scarcely look like a merchant. And I am not in shape to be anyone’s bodyguard.”


Striking a deal with Galene was risky. They did not know each other. They were slaves. While she could easily be spared by Kydoimos – their relationship was not that of a common slave-master – Irene doubted that either Hardeep or Warren are going to overlook an ex-mercenary in their midst who talked back to a head of a dragon rider’s family and slept with him after gifting him with a scar.


Mountain bury us all, this is a mess.


And yet, this mess brought forth an opportunity. A chance to prepare for an escape without arousing suspicion.


“If,” Irene began, trailing off in contemplation to whether or not a deal should even be made, “you keep Warren off my back, I can get back into shape and acquire you enough items to prove you are here for trade. This isn’t your mess. I involved you in it. You can back out if you wish.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

"Fear drives most," Galene murmured to herself. She could have explained more of why she knew what she knew, why she did what she did but she remained silent. Irene did not need to know, as much as Kydoimos did not know. No one knew fully her story, her graces, her skills. Those were items that they could not take from her, could not strip away unlike her clothes and her name and her stance in life.


"I am as much in this as you are," Galene said sternly, frowning at Irene. "Slave that I am, a lying slave is scorned by many and a lying slave that is bad at lying is even more at risk to find a dagger by their neck in any situation. Warren will be easy enough to distract, I would think."


Orien would come in handy every now and then and the risk of potential attackers would keep the guard near Hardeep. If Hardeep became annoyed, she could suggest that Kydoimos use protection and displace the guard once more, or have him follow Orien if he was sent out on a quest.


"And after all, if you die, where will all my interesting stories come from then?"


She stood up after a moment, arranging the pelt around her shoulders. "We should head back," she said seriously, "we have been gone for a while and I can only guess what effect that will have on the next time we leave."

 

[Lenaara]

Irene quirked a brow at Galene. “Somehow, I doubt you are that afraid of being scorned by the riders. You speak to Lords Kydoimos Hardeep as easily as you are talking to me. Perhaps with more hostility to the latter.”


Most, Irene supposed, would have asked Galene of her story. The young girl was no ordinary slave. While the children of royalty and nobility were sold into slavery more often than not during wartimes, such slaves rarely lived good lives afterwards. Only some could afford slaves with pristine skin and hair, with education and superb manners. Women, especially, were sought after. Those who could afford such slaves rarely bought them for fieldwork or some hard labour.


Whoever Galene was, a noble or a royal or just a relative of a well-off family that could afford to give the girl education, asking who she was once was not a priority. She was that girl no more, even if she retained certain aspects of the life before.


If one day the girl would speak, Irene would listen. Before then? It was doubtful Galene would ever reveal a single thing. She’s been careful when conversing with Ammon; she would be careful again when talking to anyone. People such as her were everywhere in Riverside, guarding their secrets as much as they protected their coin and other such wealth.


Even if Galene called them companions that should share personal backgrounds with one another, Irene did not wish to ask for such personal information. Personal life was private and it should remain just so.


In the event of a successful escape, growing close to the girl would prove to be problematic, anyway.


It was selfish and Irene hated even thinking such despicable thoughts, but escape was so close. There was an opportunity to get strong again, to prepare. Two years of slavery under a man who wished for power so strongly that he killed the only ones weaker than him was enough. This life had tried to break her and it nearly succeeded. She would be a fool to pass on an opportunity to free herself from the shackles.


Irene set her jaw and entwined her fingers as she stared at the ground between her knees. Elbows rested on her lap, she bowed her head, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.


Focus on escape. Is that not what you want?


It was. But involving Galene felt wrong.


Irene had not looked up when Galene spoke. When she opened her eyes she could see the girl stand up and adjust the pelt. She snorted at the young woman’s question that could be nothing but rhetorical.


“So I am your pass to the land of adventure?” Irene chuckled, not quite feeling the humour for the situation. A smile ghosted across her lips and she shook her head, frowning at the idea and shaking off the remaining doubts from her mind, pressed her hands against her knees and pushed herself off the bench. As she straightened she picked up the two loaves of bread that were cold and hard to the touch.


“I am too stubborn to die,” she added and passed by Galene, nodding in the direction of the cabin where they were led by Ming Xia earlier. “Warren is probably pacing back and forth in front of the threshold. I doubt any of the others noticed our absence yet.”


She began heading towards the cabin, staying closer to the edge of the dirt road to walk side by side with Galene and avoid running into the villagers as they scurried about.


“Early before dawn I am going to leave and scout the area. There must be a secluded spot where I can train in peace without running into someone unpleasant. Hunting can be given as reason for my departure, I suppose, if anyone asks. Warren is going to be a problem. I,” Irene hesitated and rubbed the bridge of her nose as she held onto the bread with her other hand, “nearly broke his windpipe upon meeting him. He suspects me to be more than what I claim. To ease his suspicions, I can take him with me tomorrow and hunt. Mountain help me, the man is beyond loyal to his cause. That is my part of the cover. What are you going to do? No offence, but you scarcely look like a trader in these rags. I can sew but it would take a while to make you a presentable garb.”


There was also the issue of a weapon. All Irene had was that little knife given to her by Ming Xia and she doubted the young woman would let Irene keep it. Stealing from Ming Xia was out of the question, she was far too careful and kept her belongings literally over her shoulder in that bottomless bag.


“Kydoimos could help you acquire warmer clothing,” Irene offered hesitantly, unsure of the relationship between the rider and the girl.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

"I wasn't worried about the riders," Galene said, though she did not elaborate.


The salves would be who she interacted with the most and since most would want to save their own skin, they would not be willing to associate with a woman that was known to get herself into hot water with the riders. They would want to stick with those who were calm, collected, and less troublesome, probably desperate to get back to where they came from, where they knew the roads and the language and the heat would welcome them more than the cold. It was the slaves that she was more concerned about; they were here in larger masses, already shivering as they drew closer the thicker wool rags that they wore, their riders marching ahead of them with confidence and lifted chins. If they thought that she was troublesome, she would become an easy target for theft. She had learned this early enough.


"A source of curiosity," Galene said, "that seems willing, or at least I am able to convince you to share your stories with me."


She allowed her smile to rest on her lips for a second before following Irene. The threat was not a true one; there was nothing for Galene to gain by ousting Irene, but there was plenty for the woman to loose. It would be done if there was suddenly a threat to Galene, too, a threat that may have required the older woman's cooperation. She doubted that not getting stories was enough of a threat and tucked the knowledge of the mercenary turned slave into a corner of her mind.


There was still gaps in Irene's story, gaps as to how exactly she came to loose her weapons, her status, and to be dragged to Hardeep. She had been bought recently in this condition, which implied that she had been a slave for a while. Perhaps the last man or woman she had guarded had been on the wrong side of a fight? Galene, herself, had been on the wrong side of a wall when she had lost it all.


"Hardeep would want to be alerted," Galene said. "It would be better, perhaps, for you to ask Ming Xia if there are any early morning tasks that may need tending to and use that as a lie, as it would have some truth behind it. She arched an eyebrow at her statement about Warren. "I doubt bringing along that man would be of any use. He sounds like a bull, running through the forests.


"Ah, my clothing," she said, glancing down at herself, "well, I will see what Kydoimos can salvage for me and what perhaps Ming Xia has to offer."


They arrived at the cabin as Kydoimos was leaving it, looking surprised to see them.


"You've been gone for a while," they said, stopping in front of Galene.


"Well, bargaining is hard work," the girl offered.