The Fall of the Riders

[Lenaara]

The mountain was cold and dangerous in more ways than one. Freezing winds were frequent, carrying with them snow, hail and icy rain that threatened to pour down at any moment and soak the world beneath. Hunting was easy in winter, with no more canopy and shrubbery hiding the game; snow had left enough tracks to follow if one was skilled enough not to alert the forest to their presence. But that was only one aspect of hunting, as the forest could easily turn the roles and turn the hunter into prey for a creature prowling the bare skeletal trees.


The only safe refuge was one’s home. A cabin, a hovel, a hut, even a tree. Whatever you chose to call it. It offered safety from the cold and dangerous world outside.


So was it odd that upon seeing the cabin – their new home – and the guard standing before its entrance, Irene felt more at risk and exposed than she’d ever felt in the forests full of dangerous creatures?


She supposed it to be paranoia and nothing more. Anxiety given birth by the fact that walking by her side Galene knew who Irene used to be and that another man, a man who was also a dragon rider and her one-time lover, was somewhere in the village and will more likely than not meet Hardeep.


The guard, an ever vigilant loyal watchdog, was not pacing back and forth by the threshold as Irene thought. Indeed, Warren was as still as a statue. Almost. One hand hooked into the belt at his waist, he tapped with the other on the pommel of his sword. His entire presence screamed impatience despite his calm expression. With eyes darting from one shadow and towards another, Warren scanned the area and looked like he was expecting trouble.


The sight was unnerving.


Mentally, Irene prepared herself for talking to the guard and assured herself that Galene did not say a word yet about Ammon or their conversation, and Warren could not have talked to Ammon as the rider did not know where Irene lived or whose slave she was. The slave collar with the Passi symbol was hidden by the furs.


She willed her expression into that of neutrality and walked past Galene after giving a respectful nod to Kydoimos. Warren had noticed them arriving from afar and watched Irene as she neared the cabin.


“Took you a while,” Warren said as he eyed the bread.


“Had to barter,” Irene said and stepped towards door. She lifted the bread to show to Warren that it was, indeed, bread and not some weapon or any other suspicious item.


“All that time wasted on two stale loaves?” Warren quirked a brow and knocked on the bread to prove a point.


“They don’t know our language. I had to speak in theirs and I barely remember it,” she said. “Let me give this to the Lord. We have not eaten since the day before.”


It was doubtful that any of the bread would be shared with her and Galene, or even with Warren. The hare was given away as a token of loyalty that she did not feel. A way to prove that she was nothing but a slave, with no intention of disobeying. It was not done lightly and Irene still felt uneasy at the thought of giving away food that is so scarce so come by on the mountain in winter.


But it had to be done, so when Warren hummed to himself and frowned his brows but stepped aside regardless of his disapproval of the acquired food, Irene pushed the door open and stepped inside the cabin.


A current of warm air enveloped her upon the entry. It was a welcome change to the numbing cold of the outside. Irene continued across the room and presented the bread to Hardeep. Somehow she doubted that a rider, born and raised in wealth, would be content with cold and hard bread that was anything but fresh. Even Warren eyed it with displeasure.


“This is all I could trade the hide for. Other riders are taking most of the food from the villagers. I can hunt more in the morning if given the right tools.”


It was best not to mention that she could barely hit a stationary target with bow and arrow, let alone a leaping over the ground hare or hidden by the trees doe. Hunting was the best excuse to use if she wanted to scout the forest for a spot to store any acquired items and prepare.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Hardeep Passi

Orien

Li Ming Xia

Hardeep and Orien had unpakced most of their items, untying the twine that held their packs made of leather and fur together. They laid them out flat on the floor and sorted through the clothes that they had brought, most now appearing too thin to actually offer any protection. There were a few pairs of pants that were made of thick, rough cotton that could offer some warmth; a few pairs of thick, woven socks made of material he did not know of; a few sets of leather shoes insulated with fur that Hardeep had handed to Orien to wear and pulled a pair on himself over the socks; and various shirts of Passi house colors that were distinctly not thick enough to fend off the cold. Hardeep pulled out furs and pelts instead, examining them with a falsely critical eye, as he had no idea what he was looking for. Ming Xia stopped by him and stared.


"The creatures that you have made these out of were not in this climate," she said, pinching the furs between her fingers and rubbing them with a frown that had not moved. "This is not thick enough to protect you from the cold and any rain or snow that hits it will melt and make it soaked, leading to more chill. It is not even good for heavy work; the layers are still too thin to aid in trapping any heat escaping your body."


"Then what do we do?" Hardeep snapped, glaring at the girl. "Throw it away?"


"Trade," Ming Xia dead-panned. "Not with us folk; we have the right things. Trade with the merchants that are here as well. They can give you gold and food that you can exchange for pelts."


"Why would merchants want these?" Hardeep asked, turning the pelts and furs in his hands.


"Why did you want them in the first place?" Ming Xia asked before she went over to the small fire burning, stoking it with a practiced hand, tossing kindling and poking the logs with a thick branch every now and then.


Hardeep went on to the next roll that Orien had been working on, leaving the now separated piles to distribute to Warren and Irene when they appeared. Orien had sorted out the few weapons that they had brought; a shining knife that had the Passi symbol engraved on the handle and was about twice as large as Hardeep's hand; a sheathed sword in case Hardeep's or Warren's became dull in an elaborately designed case with golden dragons painted on it; an angled khopesh with a leather wrapped handle; and a few plain knives with no engravings that were thinner than the first. Throwing knives perhaps, or daggers.


Next to the weapons lay a few stone bowls which Hardeep had not understood why they had brought.


"To trade, perhaps," Orien offered to Hardeep's look. "Or to carry water to heat, since we will have to cook by ourselves by the looks of it."


Hardeep only hummed in response.


They both looked up as Irene entered and placed the bread down by Hardeep's feet, who only stared at it. Orien picked them both up and gave Irene a half-smile, with little enthusiasm behind it.


"Hunting tomorrow will be good," Ming Xia, said, standing up from the flames that seemed to now be climbing higher. "I have been given rations for tonight. Mostly oats that you will have to stew in water to become edible and a few dried fruits."


"Where did you get those from?" Orien asked.


"I could ask you the same about the bread," Ming Xia said, plucking a loaf out of Orien's hand and turning it over. "Poor quality." She looked up and stared at Irene with a critical eye. "Like you left it out in the cold."


"Why don't you go bargain?" Orien asked, neither demanding nor asking.


Ming Xia stared at the slave for a good few seconds before turning to Irene. "I will say that this is what you got and what you're going to have to feed yourselves."


"Can you even hunt?" Hardeep asked, his voice almost breaching on accusatory, his body hunched over as his fingers still rested on the furs and pelts that had been laid out in front of him and was examining the items. His eyes weren't narrowed but his face was blank, as if guarded.


"I would like my knife back," Ming Xia added, a point that they had no weapons to call their own.

 

[Lenaara]

Irene looked up at Ming Xia. The young woman had a couple of inches on Irene, standing taller and stronger than the slave before her. Regardless of being better off than Irene was currently, she stared back at Ming Xia and, without looking down, flicked the knife out of its newfound home in her sash. She let the blade turn on her palm and held it by its tip, handle facing Ming Xia.


“It is cold out there,” she said matter-of-factly. “A half a loaf was offered at the beginning. The stall owner was generous enough to give me two.” It was better not to mention that fleeting confrontation that involved a knife to the man’s abdomen. “It is good bread. Add the meat on it or throw it in with the oats and the taste of masked.”


What did it matter that the bread was cold? It was food. Not the best for health and one’s physique, but it was hardly the location to be picky. It put something in their bellies and gave enough energy to use as they went about the rest of their day. Sure, it was bland and hard to chew on, but most of the slaves out there wouldn’t see any food for days yet. The village was too small to accommodate for such an influx in traffic.


Ming Xia’s assessment of the bread did not offend Irene. It was Hardeep’s words that hit close to home. They did not sound accusatory but felt like it. Quirking a brow at the question, Irene looked down at Hardeep whose face she could not see. With a bowed head he examined the items laid out before him and seemed to be more interested in them than the brought to him food.


“I caught the hare,” she said hesitantly. How can one prove that they could hunt? “Snares and traps are easy enough to build. I can use a bow and arrow too,” she added and glanced up at Ming Xia though her words were still directed at Hardeep, “if I was given them.”


And miss half the time. The aim was the reason why some nights she was unable to eat as the prey that she hunted had run off, spooked by an arrow that found home in a nearby tree.


“Should I prove my skills in some way?” Irene lifted her hands, palms up. People always needed proof. More so from a woman who claimed to do something that only someone of a fit complexion could accomplish. It was expected. She only thought the hare was enough to prove her skills to a man who had probably never hunted in his life.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Hardeep Passi

Orien

Li Ming Xia

Galene

Kydoimos Makhai

"Bargaining is necessary," Ming Xia, said, taking the knife without flinching, "not an achievement. That goes for all of you," she added, turning to stare at Orien, who was sorting through a few more items, unrolling them from their positions.


"I am glad you did well," Orien offered to Irene, taking the bread back and holding it in his hands briefly before putting them into a metal pot he had conjured out of somewhere, possibly found tied up in one of the bound leathers that Hardeep was now poking in, doing his best to avoid speaking to Irene as well as anyone else in the room. He did not feel lighter after his conversation with Irene, rather, he felt heavier and empty. As if he had simultaneously given away a part of himself and at the same time, been saddled with more truths than he could bare. He would have to see the other riders soon, see their skill and what they could bring. Perhaps they would aid in clearing his mind, even if their own were cluttered. He stood up abruptly as Orien spoke again.


"Perhaps we can use the oats to soften them," he said as he turned to Ming Xia, who only stared back at Irene.


"A bow and arrow are tools for the hunt, yes. I am not giving you mine," the other girl said crisply.


"How do you expect us to hunt, then?" Orien asked.


"Trade for your own or perhaps come with me," Ming Xia said dully, her eyes turning to the slave as Hardeep gathered himself slowly.


"I'm leaving," he said abruptly.


"Don't die. I won't get paid otherwise," Ming Xia called after the dragon rider as he left.


Orien looked half amused by the other girl, who seemed to care less for the rider's personal issues and more so for his pulse and its link to coin. Kydoimos and Galene entered the cabin then, the other girl still wearing her bear pelt.


"I heard talk about a bow and arrow?" she asked, blinking at the scene as Kydoimos went over to their own pile of items, sorting through them. There were considerably fewer clothing items, though they generally looked thicker and they passed a few items to Galene, who nodded in thanks.


"This one claims she can hunt," Ming Xia said, her gaze returning to Irene.


"So?" Galene said, her voice neutral.


"She believes her own words enough to get me to give her weapons," Ming Xia said, turning to stare at Galene who only stared back, the two girls locked in some silent exchange.


"Can she prove it?"


"If she finds weapons."


"You have weapons."


"My weapons."


"You gave us a knife to skin the hare."


"Yes, and it brought you two stale loaves of bread."


"I don't see you trying," Galene shot back, her eyes narrowing slightly.


"I am not required to try," Ming Xia said, her voice revealing no emotion still nor any signs of irritation. "But she elected to."


"Bargaining once isn't an indication of every interaction."


"But it is a sign," Ming Xia said, turning to face the other girl completely, her arms folding over her chest. "There isn't time here to learn how to bargain and hunt."


"So let her prove she can hunt," Galene challenged.


"Or perhaps we let Ming Xia do the hunting and we don't tear each other's heads off," Orien offered, glancing between the two.


"I can shoot a bow and arrow," Galene said quickly, glaring at Orien momentarily for interjecting in the exchange.


"Can you?" Ming Xia said coolly.


"Yes," Kydoimos said, their head now turned to the altercation, their eyes alight as they stood slowly, a knife clutched in hand. Ming Xia seemed undaunted by whatever intimidation the rider was trying to perform and only viewed them as they had viewed Galene; with apathy and neutrality. She had no sympathy or empathy, no rage or sadness, only a blank stare that seemed to swallow all emotions reflected at her.


"And your word means something," Ming Xia stated in her voice, ever monotone, with no indication that she was speaking hyperbolically or asking a question.


"Yes," Kydoimos repeated, moving so that they were standing behind Galene, slightly off to one side. They had an inch over Ming Xia and from their distance, the other girl would have had to tilt her head back to look at Kydoimos eye to eye. But she did not, instead simply shifting their eyes as if the energy to tilt her head was not at all worth it.


"Perhaps we should go out and see?" Orien offered, standing up slowly and glancing between the two sides, sensing trouble where there should not have been any in the first place. "Take your bow and let her shoot targets. If she proves helpful, then they can bargain for a bow and arrow and aid you in future hunts."


"Bow and arrows can be carved," Galene said just as Ming Xia turned to look at Orien and perhaps say something to the slave.


Her head turned slowly back to the slave girl, who was only stared back, one hand clutching the pelt closed at her throat as Kydoimos rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it briefly in some sort of symbol or gesture of sympathy.


"Fine," the other said, walking over to her own pack which was still bound tightly. After a moment, she produced a bow and fished out a handful of arrows, clutched tightly. "Let us go then."

 

[Lenaara]

“Thank you, Orien,” Irene managed to say, as she glanced at the slave and gave him an appreciative nod, before Ming Xia spoke and Irene had to look back at the young woman.


Ming Xia displayed about the same amount of emotion as the knife that she’d taken back from Irene. Cold, sharp, at times deadly and with a blank side to it. The entire time Irene looked at Ming Xia, expression of neutrality on the slave's features and a voice that displayed no emotion save for slight puzzlement at Hardeep’s question. But at least she displayed some emotion.


Less than a day ago Warren had commented on Irene’s lack of expression. It was an over-exaggeration on his part, as she did emote. The events of the past few days did little to warrant any light moods or laughter. Arrival on the mountain was not full of sunshine, either, as they all were met with freezing cold, no shelter and little food. But this was now.


When she was hired as a guide the situation was different. She was different. It was a job that she enjoyed, that she wished to take and perform.


And Ming Xia looked like nothing at all could pull forward any sort of positive emotion.


If Warren was still convinced that Irene lacked personality, conversing (or not, given how the young woman ignored most questions) would change his mind.


Warren was nowhere to be seen. Probably still standing by the cabin’s entrance and avoiding butting into a conversation that didn’t involve him. His words might have given merit to Irene’s, as he was there when she’d built the snare, but even if he had entered the only room in the cabin he would have been silent. Ever the loyal guard.


As much as it should have annoyed her, it didn’t. Warren’s behaviour was understandable and his personal vendetta with her was nothing more than annoyance. Unless Hardeep ordered her death, Warren would not act unless provoked. She hoped.


Irene quirked a brow at Ming Xia’s ‘warning’ to Hardeep.


“Why did you take this job if you are going to be mediocre about it?” Irene couldn’t stop herself from asking. Claiming that Ming Xia was professional was as saying that she enjoyed dancing and singing in the rain.


Her question and Galene’s was voiced at the same time, and Irene’s words were quiet. It didn’t matter anyway. Ming Xia would have either ignored her question or responded with something as bland as, “Because coin.”


For the remainder of the conversation Irene was silent and looked at Ming Xia until giving Galene a wary glance as a silent warning of watch-what-you-are-saying. Mountain forbid the girl claimed something along the lines of, “Irene was a mercenary, she knows things.” to back up her argument. Galene was smart, or appeared to be, but Irene trusted the girl as much as she trusted an enraged bear not to make dinner out of her.


Thank the Mountain, the conversation veered off into a different path. Irene, seeing herself be politely excluded from the argument, had stepped away from Ming Xia and stood by Orien. Her arms crossed over her chest she watched the remainder of the exchange. Hardeep had left by that point.


The man’s behaviour could have been normal. She had only spoken to Hardeep on a handful of occasions and during those brief moments he did not seem to be in the mood to converse. Except for last night.


Being in a position of a slave prevented her from going after Hardeep and asking for his state of mind. They couldn’t be seen speaking. Those were their roles – he was to command; she was to serve. Last night erased those boundaries and allowed them to freely speak to one another, even if for a short while. She highly doubted that another such moment would happen any time soon or that he’d wish for it.


When the door swung open and Hardeep left, she could see Warren’s silhouette against the bright background of the morning light. He held a giant bundle wrapped in a cloth that seemed maroon red but could have been lighter was it not for the shadows obscuring Irene’s vision. She watched the guard politely stop Hardeep and bow to the rider before presenting the bundle to him. What words were said she didn’t hear and the door was pushed to a close after Galene and Kydoimos.


Apparently some sort of a show of skill was agreed upon and Irene felt a tinge of relief at not being involved in it. She thought that mentioning being able to use a bow and arrow was enough to warrant permission to hunt. It’d have allowed her to be gone for prolong periods of time during which she’d prepare. Snares and traps would have taken care of the game. She’d have even agreed on a time limit to go and catch something to prove her worth. Instead, Galene chose to show skill for…what purpose?


As they headed out of the cabin, Irene increased her pace momentarily to walk side by side with Galene. She placed a hand on Galene’s elbow and squeezed to grab the girl’s attention as they walked.


“A word?” Irene slowed her pace and pulled on the girl’s arm to let them walk at the back of the group. Once they were an inconspicuous distance from the rest, Irene quietly said, voice bordering on a whisper, “Your role is a trader not a huntress. This is hardly the time and place to boast skill.”


The words were not accusatory. Instead, Irene sounded puzzled, genuinely wondering why the girl wished to play Shoot-the-Target at a time when Irene wished to gain some permission to move around the area freely.


***


The bundle was huge. It weighted at least twenty – if not more – pounds and was soft when he pressed against its sides. Wrapped in a red cloth with a dark bronze hem, the package sported a bright with yellow sigil that Warren eyed with suspicion. Broidered onto the cloth with a skilled hand, a part of a lily lay beneath two semi-circles and displayed beautiful detail on the petals. It tugged on the guard’s memory, urging to be remembered.


“What is this?” Warren finally asked and lifted his eyes to look at the young girl who had given him the bundle.


Dressed in thicker fabrics that he had never seen before, the girl had barely twenty years past her brow. Young and chipper she was, not a single hint that she was tired and cold as the guard was. Her raven black hair was pulled tightly into a bun at the top of her head and she looked at Warren with deep green eyes from beneath groomed dark brows. With her olive skin and long dark hair, the young girl reminded Warren of Irene. Same people, he supposed.


She did not appear to be a servant and did not carry herself like one.


“I am a lady-in-waiting for Lady Azar Sohrab, who had recently arrived,” the girl began. Her voice was heavily accented. “My Lady wishes your master and those under him a comfortable stay. A generous heart, my Lady thinks fit to share warmer garbs for all those with us in this village.”


The girl bowed, a respectful bow that a rider would receive but not their guard. Warren gaped at the girl and seeing that she did not leave yet, cleared his throat.


“I will bring this to Sir Hardeep’s attention,” Warren said and wished he sounded less like an uneducated boor.


“Pardon my rudeness.” The girl brought her hand to her lips. “Is this the Passis abode?”


She did not know? Warren thought the purple tint to his armour was enough of an indicator.


“Yes,” he replied.


“Is the master in, by any chance?”


“Yes.”


The girl, not bothered by the lack of a wordy reply, smiled. “Brilliant. Please do let Sir Hardeep know that Lady Sohrab wishes to converse with him.” The girl bowed again and stepped back, ready to leave.


“Why?” Warren raised a brow at the girl.


“That is not for me to know, I am afraid. My Lady is a generous and kind soul. Perhaps she wishes to offer condolences and support in your master’s future endeavours? My Lady resides with a woman known as Hui Hua. I bid you farewell.” Again the girl bowed and turned before Warren could so much as reply. He watched the girl pull the thick cloak around her shoulders and brushed a stray hair from her eyes; she turned a corner and disappeared in the crowd.


He realized she was not wearing a slave’s collar.


Warren looked down at the bundle and squeezed its sides, feeling for the items wrapped within. They felt soft, some even sleek to the touch. Furs? There was leather, too, and fabrics that felt to be about as thick as the cloak around the Sohrab servant’s shoulders.


A shadow shifted in the guard’s side vision and he straightened. The cabin’s door was pushed open and someone had walked out. Sir Hardeep. Warren looked at his master and then glared at the bundle, wondering if he should bring the package to his master’s attention now or after Sir Hardeep will have come back from whatever personal reasons he had left the cabin for.


“Sir?” Warren called out, deciding it was best not to stand and loiter. “If I may…” He raised the package and presented it before Hardeep on outstretched arms. “A servant arrived carrying this. She claimed this is from one Lady Azar Sohrab who,” he recalled the girl’s words, “wants to share thicker clothing with us and is looking forward to conversing with you, Sir. She is staying with Hui Hua in this village. Should I…we keep this?” They were in need of warmer clothing. Orien, for one, was dressed in linens not fit for this weather and Galene clutched to the bear pelt. The rest had armour protecting them from freezing dampness that was this wretched mountain.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Li Ming Xia

In truth, Galene had spoken for her talent simply to do something, to prove something. If she could shoot a bow and arrow, perhaps Ming Xia would find her useful and bring her along for a hunt, at which point she could potentially speed up the process with felled animals to trade with. Granted, few women from Edone could know how to fire a bow, as it was still Crubian traditions that ruled, but it could be imagined.


"If Ming Xia sees my usefulness," Galene said to the woman, "perhaps she will be more willing to work with me. Then, I could always rope you in. After all," her voice lowered, "a mercenary uses knives and not a bow and arrow." She stared at Irene for a second before pulling back and following the crowd of people moving past the few houses lining the streets and out towards a dark forest, its trees clustered together tightly. Ming Xia offered the bow to Galene, who took it alongside an arrow out of the quiver the girl carried. There was the sound of chirping birds, of scratching woodland creatures, of life and an eerie silence she knew was natural to a place where death was also so close.


"We will go in," Ming Xia said, "as fewer people will cause fewer noises."


Galene gave the other girl a side-eyed glance but said nothing as they entered the forest, her eyes adjusting to the darker surroundings.


She knew it would take time to find anything, stepping over roots and branches gingerly, her eyes scanning the ground for any sounds that might indicate a fearful creature that knew more of the land than she did. She held the arrow loosely against the bow, not yet taunt or prepared.


A sharp cawing sound made her lift her head, a bird of dark colors staring down at her. She lifted the bow and arrow, pulling the string so that it was taunt, and peered down the shaft of the wooden arrow. The bird cawed again, tilting its head.


Galene lifted the bow ever so slightly, a bit higher than where the bird was and let the arrow fly.


The bird lifted its wings, prepared to take off as something soared towards it but made a movement too late, the arrowhead already embedded into its neck and the dull thud of its body hitting the ground, blood leaking out and staining the thin layer of snow on the ground.


Galene walked over and picked up the bird, showing it to Ming Xia.


"A demonstration of skill, yes," the other girl said, her arms folded over her chest and her stare critical, "but that will not provide for food."


"You don't know how to cook birds?" Galene asked.


"I elect not to."


There was something there, some hint of emotion behind her words but prying it out would take time.


"I can cook birds," Galene said simply. "It is like cooking chickens."


"I do not know what that is," Ming Xia said flatly.





Galene sighed heavily and shook her head, removing the arrow from the bird's neck and taking the creature by its legs.


"I have some food now," she said dully. "Is that good enough for you?"


Ming Xia turned on her heel and left. Galene rolled her eyes and followed, though she thought the heard a flapping of a wing. She turned and thought a shadow passed over head, large and broad winged.


She hurried after the other girl and appeared at the forest edge, carrying the bird.


"You shot a crow," Kydoimos said, eyebrow raised.


"You can hunt," was Ming Xia's conclusion as she took the bow back from Galene, her eyes blank. "A useful trait."


Her expression turned to Irene. "And you?"

Hardeep Passi

Hardeep turned to see Warren and the package he was being given, taking it gently and frowning at it.


"A gift?" he asked. "One without stipulations?"


Who bothered with those sorts of things anymore?


"There is no reason to refuse it," he said levelly. "Perhaps we should take a gander at this Lady Azar Sohrab. I have not heard the name before and perhaps she will offer us some insight as to what exactly she wants out of us."

 

[Lenaara]

“Spear,” Irene corrected. When Galene stared, she clarified, “Knives are better with a shorter physique and faster reflexes. I prefer a spear. Works better with a female wielder.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if they were discussing latest weather changes.


There was no time to explain that knives were weapons of assassins, of people who killed for coin rather than protect. Mercenaries used a wide array of weaponry. Throwing knives, axes, scimitars, swords, shields…A bow and arrow was as common as a sword.


Irene chose to let the conversation drop before she launched into a spiel about the different aspects of weapons and what mercenaries preferred to use. There was no point in holding back information that Galene would try to pull out of Irene at some point after, either out of curiosity or for some other reason, and Irene cared little if the girl knew what weapons were for what purpose. The most important information was out, anyway.


She followed the group silently and just so waited for Galene and Ming Xia to return from the forest. With her arms crossed over her chest to conserve warmth and not let her fingers go numb from the cool wind, Irene paced by the forest’s edge.


The hubbub of the village dulled out most forest sounds. Birds sang from above, the canopy creaked with each gust of wind. Galene and Ming Xia’s footfalls grew silent moments after they disappeared behind the trees. Through the thickly clustered trees it was hard to spot any open areas.


The girls returned soon after; one of them carried a crow. Irene looked at the bird with a raised brow and then lifted her gaze at Galene.


So, the girl could shoot. Interesting. Peasants rarely had the coin to buy arrows and a bow and even if they were easy enough to craft, most preferred to tend to the fields and cattle. Hunting was only useful in certain parts.


“Good shot,” Irene said, a smile of approval ghosting across her lips. Hopefully, Galene’s plan is going to work.


When Ming Xia spoke, Irene turned to the younger woman without a hint of the smile. The girl was not an annoyance; on the contrary, she appeared strong and knowledgeable of the forest and how to survive within it. It was the attitude that was disconcerting. It was impossible to play on her compassion or fears. The only way to prove a skill was to show it.


It made Irene feel uneasy. It reminded her of Leon.


She did not wish to take the bow and arrow and go into the forest to show a skill that was near laughable. But it was the only way to show she could hunt.


“I did say I can hunt,” Irene said coolly. They already had this conversation before. “I snared the hare.”


The hare did not matter, apparently. Unless she had brought a bear in the morning, Ming Xia would not have believed Irene’s words that she could hunt. Though it was doubtful anything could impress this girl.


“You are not going to believe me unless I show you, so why ask me?”


***


Warren took the bundle back from the rider. “Of course, sir,” the guard and turned towards the door leading into the cabin.


“If you wish, sir, I can accompany you to her…temporary home. Someone has to know where this Hui Hua lives,” he said warily. It was not the Lady Azar Sohrab that worried him, rather the villagers. They had hungry eyes and walked quickly, huddling close to one another and to the leathers and furs wrapped to their thin frames. They were a threat and they were many.


“Unless,” Warren added quickly, realizing his boldness, “you wish to see her alone, sir. If you wish to see her.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Kydoimos Makhai

Li Ming Xia

"You are a slave," Ming Xia said plainly, staring at Irene. "You have no say in your own actions most of the time. Why should I believe anything from you?"


"She's still a person," Galene said uneasily from being Ming Xia, who did not turn to look at her. "You took my word."


"I took the word from the rider," Ming Xia said simply. "Not yours. You may believe things about yourself and your skill, but no one can see themselves clearly."


"You can't either, apparently," Galene shot back.


"I never said I could."


Galene nudged Kydoimos in the chest and glanced up at them purposefully. They only stared back at her. "What?" they mouthed.


Galene jerked her head towards Irene.


Kydoimos shrugged again, looking confused.


"Ming Xia will listen to you," Galene hissed, "no one else. If you say that Irene deserves a chance, she'll get one."


"I don't know Irene," Kydoimos whispered back.


"But you know me and I can tell you that she'll do well."


Kydoimos gave Galene an uneasy glance, clearly questioning why she had suddenly decided to trust the other woman. Their guide, however, seemed even more deeply rooted in the idea that slaves were useless than the common folk, which unsettled them.


"I'm sure Irene can prove herself just fine," Kydoimos said.


Ming Xia turned to stare at them, quirking a brow.


"Do you believe it?"


"We can only assume until its proved, can't we?" Kydoimos said, glancing at Galene who only nodded firmly back.


Ming Xia turned back to Irene and offered her bow to the older woman. "I give you two shots to kill something," the girl said, pulling two arrows out of her quiver and handing it to Irene. "No more. Show me how you track and how you fire."

Hardeep Passi

Li Hui Hua

"Give the bundle to Orien," Hardeep commanded, "and let him unpack it. I'd rather you stay here and keep guard of our items, as the rest of group seems to have left."


He narrowed his eyes at that. "Watch over our items and ensure that none of it is stolen."


Not bothering to check and see if Warren had obeyed, Hardeep set off into the village square, glancing around for a familiar face that had been spotted earlier, alongside the guide they had that seemed about as warm as a block of ice.


Ming Xia was an interesting character, completely chilled and unreadable. She acted like the world was an enemy that she could not let her guard down to, or that they were all a bunch of idiots that she didn't need to spare any time or thought towards. Her eyes were blank and cold, reflecting nothing and Hardeep wondered why the hell she even decided to take up the mantle of a guide. She had shown so little concern that it was disturbing.


Eventually, he managed to spot the tall but somewhat thin figure of a woman, walking through town with a certain grace that made all the other men turn their heads to observe her. She was speaking to someone, a basket balanced on her hip. A laugh that he remembered from a day ago cut through the air and he paused be her.


"Excuse me," he said and her head turned to confirm that he was not mistaken. "I was given a message from Lady Azar Sohrab that she may want to meet."


"Ah," the woman said, looking surprised. She pointed towards a cabin a few ways away. "That is where I am currently staying with my youngest son and his father. There will be other children about, too; they are my grandchildren. Don't be alarmed by them."


"Thank you," Hardeep said awkwardly, shuffling off as the woman smiled and turned back to her conversation, smoothly moving into the language she had dropped to speak with him.


Hardeep arrived at the door and lifted a fist to knock awkwardly, listening to the sound of scuffling and words in a language he could not comprehend.

[/bg]

 

[Lenaara]

Irene’s eyes had turned stone cold and narrowed at the young woman. Bright and silver they bore into the girl. Curling her hands into fists, Irene pressed her lips together tightly into a line.


As much as Ming Xia was right about a slave’s position in the society, she was wrong. There was so much more to a person than their status. It defined them, sure, gave a base from which one could begin to build who they are. But people were individuals behind a status, behind some name. To be objectified to something because of a strip of leather? When there is so much more to a person, to their life? To judge someone just because they had a piece of leather strapped to their necks like some cattle was…


Irene took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm. Telling how blind Ming Xia was would prove nothing. She was raised on a mountain where strength was valued above all, where being a servant meant that you were not strong enough to fight back. Understanding this, however, did not stop Irene from viewing Ming Xia as nothing more than a lifeless husk of a person, one without goals and a drive to achieve something other than to survive another day.


What a sad way to live, to exist.


Kydoimos vouching for her had earned a quirked eyebrow in the rider’s direction. That was not expected, though one look at Galene had given enough of a hint of what happened. In the very least, Galene proved to be a useful ally. If she could even be called as such.


“What is the purpose of lying about a skill,” Irene began as she took a step towards Ming Xia, “that can leave me dead if I do not have it?”


The bow and arrows were heavy in her hand. Suddenly she felt like a teenager again, training in front of Leon to show that she’d gotten better. She did not enjoy it then and now, a grown woman, it felt even worse.


Holding the bow and arrow in one hand, Irene turned on her heel and headed into the forest. A different path was chosen, south from the one that Galene and Ming Xia took just a short while ago. It would have been better that she went in alone – the game wold not be as hard to track and there would be no witness to her humiliating aim or her pacing the area to find an open location – but voicing her preference to Ming Xia would have been useless. So Irene bit back the growing annoyance with the girl and continued onward.


With careful and silent footfalls, they continued into the forest. Irene had readied the arrow into the bow but held both loosely, with the bowstring pulled back an inch. Roots were stepped over, large tree trunks circled around; the mossy ground was soft with dampness and the moulding leaves provided little to no trouble in hiding one’s steps and noise. There was some snow on the ground, melting ever so slowly and turning the ground beneath and around into dirt that clung to Irene’s shoes as she passed by. Her gaze shifted through the area, scanning it.


There were little dents in the snow from a hare, some little prints of a bird’s paw. Both were small animals and Irene did not bother with the tracks. Even if she spotted hare or a bird, she doubted she’d be able to land a single shot. The prints were given a brief look only and Irene moved on, searching for bigger game.


It meant going deeper into the forest. The trees loomed above them with dark skeletal branches and dense canopy of evergreens. No animal paths led from the village, no trails or abandoned dirt roads. Nothing to lead to an open area that Irene was searching for alongside an animal. If she’d failed the test now, at least she was given the chance to scout the area even if for a little while.


They passed by an oval patch beside a wide trunk of an old oak. Ground, dark and slightly damp to the touch, was devoid of any snow that circled surrounding area of the tree.


Another patch of snow had caught Irene’s attention. It was a few feet ahead and was dotted with narrow holes an even distance from one another. Silent and quick, Irene trotted to the patch and knelt down on one knee to inspect the snow closely. Holes, distinct and dark against the melting snow, with little dents at the front. Deer tracks. They appeared fresh.


Smiling to herself, Irene looked up to follow the direction which the animal had taken. The tracks meandered around the trees and shrubs. She pushed herself up to her feet once more and neared one of the trees. Letting her right hand hold the bow and arrow, she reached out towards one of the lower branches of a birch tree. The branches were scraped, the bark uneven and the leaves were missing. The animal was browsing for food.


Following the tracks closely, Irene readied the arrow once more. Not giving up on the quest to search the area, either, she looked around as if with the intent to spot the deer. Neither the deer nor an open enough area was visible, however she did hear a distant sound of a stream to the west from their position. She’d have gone to check on it, but with Ming Xia following and assessing Irene it was impossible.


The deer tracks went on for a while still and Irene had already begun to give up on ever finding the animal when they neared the edge of a glade. A small opening it was with a batch of birches in the middle. In summer the glade would be filled with bright flowers and tall grasses, but now it was only an expanse of melting snow littered with fallen leaves and broken twigs.


Irene halted and lowered herself on one knee behind a shrub. Less than thirty paces away stood a doe, not yet scrawny from the beginning winter but desperate enough to wrench bark from a tree in the clearing. It tugged on the branches of a birch, chewing on them lazily; its large dark eyes were not alert, neither were its ears. It appeared not to have noticed the ones on its trail.


Irene drew back the bowstring, the fletching nested itself into the string. Keeping her movements minimal, efficient – anything to avoid the doe being alerted – she aimed at the animal.


A thought crept into her mind – she should have gone with Galene to see how the girl held the bow. Maybe it would have given her some insight into how to aim.


The doe was blurry in the distance and Irene had to squint her eyes to focus on the animal. Still resting on one knee, Irene held the bow with steady hands that did not tremble despite the cold that bit at her skin and the dampness that seeped into her leg from the ground. It was a perfect stance, repeated many times and drilled into her mind until her muscles moved on their own.


Just one shot.


She pulled the bowstring back further and adjusted her aim. It was hard to focus on the doe. It was too far away from her to see clearly and squinting helped little. The second arrow was tucked into the sash on her waist but it would help little if she missed. The doe would run off, spooked by the first arrow.


One


Heart beat loudly in her ears. The forest stilled, silent. All that mattered was the doe. It would give them food, pelt. It would prove her worth. It would be the first step into preparing for her escape.


The doe froze, ears jerked about.


Shot


Her grip released and the world narrowed down to just the arrow and its target. One object alone moved and Irene’s sight trained on its aim, watching as it cut through the freezing air.


With a dull thump, the arrow found new home in a birch tree a good foot above the doe’s belly. Spooked, the animal moved and galloped across the glade. By then the second arrow was nocked into the bow and Irene aimed it some distance ahead from the animal’s path. Released, the arrow sailed across the glade and hit the doe into its chest. It did not even stumble and moments after disappeared into the forest, carrying the arrow with it.


Irene reminded herself to breathe. Still clutching the bow in one hand, she leaned back on her knee. There was no point in running after the doe. It meant going deeper into the forest where the scent of blood would attract creatures much more dangerous than a pack of wolves.


With a clenched jaw and cold eyes, the woman got up onto her feet and crossed the glade to pluck the arrow out of the birch. The only arrow. This foolishness with proving her worth cost Ming Xia an arrow. It surely did not win her any favours with the girl. If anything, she’d be adamant in never believing Irene’s words again.


She returned to Ming Xia and handed the bow and the only arrow back to their owner.


“I assume I failed your test,” Irene said calmly. An apology was in order, she supposed, but it would sound hallow. Sorry I lost your arrow on the Mountain was more insulting than comforting.


***


Warren bowed as deep as the bundle in his hands allowed him. “Of course, sir,” he said politely and did not move until his master turned on his heel and left.


With his side, Warren pushed open the cabin’s door and strode in, carrying the bundle on his outstretched arms in case the items inside got damaged. The bundle felt as soft as a pillow but much heavier, as heavy as the bags that were brought with them to the mountain. It called forth a question – how many bundles like these were there? Did this Lady Azar share any more of such gifts with other riders?


It was generous and Warren felt curious at what exactly was within.


He crouched down onto the floor and set down the bundle.


“I got this from Lady Azar Sohrab,” Warren said, explaining to Orien. “Sir Hardeep chose to keep this. Help me, ah,” the guard looked up at Orien and cleared his throat, looking away with haste. “Actually I will unpack this. You do…” He glanced about, looking at the nearly unrolled packs that they brought with. “What you do.”


The events of the previous night still were vivid in his mind. He still felt shame at remembering how he treated Orien. It was expected that they held each other closely for warmth. Ming Xia said so, did she not? And yet, it felt wrong to hold someone who used to be close to Sir Hardeep before, or maybe even still. Moreover, Warren was still on duty. Frolicking about with servants was not on a part of his job; it wasn’t why he was brought to this wretched mountain.


Shaking his head to push back the thoughts of how troublesome he must be to Sir Hardeep and Orien, Warren focused on the bundle.


Not tied by anything, the bundle was wrapped tightly in the deep red cloth marked with, what he assumed, was the Sohrab crest. Carefully, with about as much grace as his armour allowed him, Warren unwrapped the cloth and stared at the bundle’s contents.


There was so much. Furs, thick and warm, grey and dark brown in colour from animals that he could only guess the origin of. Pelts of thicker hides that had little holes with thin leather straps at the edges, no doubt used to tie the garment around oneself. There were two jackets, folded and lined with fur similar to the hare’s that Irene had caught in the morning. Some pairs of pants, also of thicker fabric. A large cloak of deep brown was wrapped around a pair of calf length leather boots. Everything was of good quality and not of Crubian origin. He had never seen such thick leathers before and the jackets and pair of boots were of good but foreign craftsmanship.


Warren leaned back and lifted one of the jackets. It was of a man’s size and could be strapped to a close with a leather belt sewn into the leather. No sigil or crest market the clothing, but he doubted that anyone else in the village had anything similar.


“Here,” Warren held the jacket to Orien. The fur lining was warm, Warren felt it even through his gloves. “You must be cold.” Warren held Orien’s gaze for a moment only before bowing his head and shifting his attention back to the bundle. Anything was better than looking at Orien. Gods he felt ashamed. “I…ah,” Warren stuttered and lifted a hand to run it through his messy hair. He took a deep breath wanting to get the words out as soon as possible. “I apologize for last night. It will never happen again,” he said quickly and sternly, as if speaking to a dragon rider and not to a slave.


***


At first the door did not open. There were voices heard from the inside, murmurs in a language that was muffled by the hubbub of the outside streets and the howling wind that begun to pick up speed as the day progressed past noon.


Footsteps followed and the door was pulled inwards to reveal a face of a young woman with dark skin and a bun of tightly curled hair. Dressed in a dress of thick wool with a tightly fit jacket lined with grey fur, the woman looked almost elegant given the location. Her eyes skirted over the man and shifted down to inspect him from head to toe. The moment that the bright metals of the man’s armour reflected in her eyes, the woman stepped back and gracefully bowed before the rider.


“Greetings, Lord Passi,” she said in perfect Crubian. “My Lady will be most grateful that you arrived so promptly.” She was not wearing a slave’s collar and her posture and mannerisms was that of a woman of noble birth. Straightening, the girl lifted her chin and stepped to the side.


Cabin, warm and spacious, was full of activity.


To accommodate its new hosts, the main room was divided into sections by barriers that were nothing more than bags stacked on one another. Each bundle was still being unpacked and some were taken out to be given into a new home. Everything was wrapped into a fabric of deep red and the bronze broidery gleamed and glittered in the candlelight and the cool white light shining through the opened windows.


A warm scent of cinnamon and oranges shifted in the air. Smoke from the incense rose up to the ceiling and turned and twisted there, forming a myriad of labyrinths and patterns. The scent of spices from far away was welcoming and it dulled out the stench of moulding wood and dirt from the streets outside.


Voices murmured to one another, different languages filled the spacious cabin.


Only two figures were still in the cabin. Immovable like statues, the two guards stood ever vigilant at the sides of the door. Their armour of thick leather tinted dark red was pulled onto a tunic of mellow yellow colour and metal plating the colour of bronze was strapped tightly to their chests. It was warm in the cabin but the guards did look not uncomfortable in their layers upon layers of protective garments.


The guards had shifted ever so slightly and their armour clanked. In unison, they lowered their hands from the pommels of their swords.


“This way, please,” the young girl urged Hardeep and stepped back to lead the man around the stack of packages.


They veered to the left, where orange firelight lit the room in a welcoming warm glow. There, sitting upon a short chair, sat a woman no older than twenty-five. The metals of her amour gleamed beautifully as they shifted with each subtle action. Carved into small triangles and layered on top of one another, the armour resembled that of a snake’s skin coloured deep bronze on a background of maroon red. Around the arms the armour was loose and fell to the woman’s elbows in wide sleeves decorated with skilful and tasteful broidery; the sleeves were tucked into long elbow length gloves.


She raised a hand and brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Against the background of the firelight, her hair appeared like a crown of wild flames that framed her features and made her caramel skin glow.


Beside the woman knelt another; her woollen dress was deep red lined with white. At the back the skirt was decorated with a broidery that depicted lines and curves that formed a pattern close to what appeared to be a vast mountain range.


A light laugh filled the room with its warmth. The woman was murmuring something to the boy and appeared to be amused by the child’s words. The child was waving his arms about, as if trying to show something that his words could not describe.


“Madam,” the young servant called out. “Lord Passi has arrived.”


The kneeling woman had quickly turned her head to look at Hardeep and hurried to her feet. Despite the length of her dress she stood up without so much effort and curtseyed. The dress was decorated with more broidery at the front, all sewn onto the fabric with a white thread. Despite the cold weather outside, the woman’s dress revealed her bare collarbone.


“Thank you, Morvarid,” the one on the chair said to her servant, a smile still tugging at her lips. She looked at Hardeep for a moment before turning her attention to the boy. “I will just be a moment. You can tell me the rest of the story when I come back.” She put a gloved hand on top of the boy’s shoulder, gave it an apologetic squeeze and stood up from her chair.


“Lene,” the woman said and the girl by her side looked up. Her smooth dark hair gleamed against the firelight and the tanned skin was smooth and unmarred by blemishes.


“Yes, Madam?” She asked in a heavily accented Crubian.


“Please prepare some tea for Lord Hardeep. He must be cold.”


Lene respectfully bowed her head and hurried past Hardeep. Morvarid stepped towards the fire and placed her hands onto the boy’s shoulders and murmured, “You can tell me a story while Lady Azar is with a guest,” into his ear. She urged the boy to step aside and they disappeared behind a partition of not yet unrolled packages.


Azar, now left alone with Hardeep, turned with her back to Hardeep and looked at the fire. “I presume you’ve received my gift,” she began, her tone light. “Do you like it? While our families were never close, I thought it appropriate to show support at a time like this. Lord Balin will be deeply missed.”


The armour gleamed like liquid fire around her when she turned around to face Hardeep. “I suppose I should have called you here for a much more important reason than to converse over tea, but,” she lifted her hands, palms up, and gestured at the room around them, “I thought you needed a distraction as much as I from this.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Li Ming Xia

Ming Xia watched the woman in front of her stalk across the forest, glancing down at the tracks underneath them as she wandered about, searching for something. Her stance was alright, and she held the bow correctly, but there was a large part of Ming Xia that did not agree with the way the slave was supposedly "hunting". Hunting meant being able to seize any opportunity, as a single one could slip away. She ignored hares, birds, and smaller wildlife were shameful, really. Ming Xia herself focused on them and dealt with the larger ones through traps and heavier weapons such as knives tucked away in her clothing, bound in leather and pinned to her sides. Hunting in the forest, in the darkness where any amount of noise gave away a position that led to death, was different than living on the edge of civilization. Here, there were no humans to aid. Here, there was no one around when you screamed.


She knew that well.


Ming Xia folded her arms across her chest as she watched the slave attempt to fell a doe. She missed the heart on the first shot and it caused the animal to lunge away. Ming Xia didn't arch an eyebrow as she was handed back her bow and her arrow, the one that had not been lost.


Without a word, Ming Xia turned to walk back towards civilization, sparing no critique for the slave. She stepped over roots, branches with a practiced foot and hardly a glance, knowing the way through the trees. She kept her eyes and ears tuned for sounds that could mean trouble or a potentially meal.


There was a sudden skittering noise to her left and Ming Xia turned her head to see a white ball of fur, poking its head out from behind a bush, its nose twitching. A hare, trying to find its next meal.


Ming Xia notched her own arrow, still standing, pulling the string back. She needed her own meal, after all. The slave failing to get one did not mean she was forced to suffer, though a large game would have been preferable to many small ones.


The hare turned its head upwards, sniffing once more as if sensing danger. Ming Xia directed the arrowhead towards the neck, stretched out and fired.


There was a small squeak and a dull thunk as blood began to spill on the ground. Ming Xia picked her way over quickly and quietly. The arrow had gone through the creature's neck, pinning it down. Gripping the soft fur around the wound, Ming Xia pulled the creature up the arrow, exposing the buried arrowhead and yanked it forcefully out of the ground before sliding her own dinner off, examining the arrowhead to see it slightly chipped from two impacts that day.


She'd need to sharpen it.


Her own dinner secured, Ming Xia continued on her trek back towards the forest entrance, hare clutched in one hand to avoid getting blood on her own clothes. Galene and Kydoimos were waiting, speaking to one another in hushed tones.


"Is that Irene's?" Kydoimos asked and Ming Xia noted that Galene's grip on the rider's wrist tightened slightly, as if a silent signal to keep quiet.


"No," Ming Xia said blandly. "I am going to skin this and prepare my own dinner. You can head back to the cabin. If you need my bow tomorrow, ask before you go to sleep tonight."


And with that, Ming Xia headed off towards the center of the town without another glance back.

Orien

Orien glanced up from where he was sitting, unpacking more items and laying them out. He needed to find water to use for cooking, to use the bread and the oats and make something somewhat edible. There had been packs of rations for long nights; bits of jerky, dried fruits, spices. Orien figured they'd be more useful for trading up in the cold than for them to actually eat until Warren came in with another pack.


Orien took the items from Warren's outstretched hand and turned them over, stroking at the softness and warmth. "I thank you," Orien said. "I'll be making the meal for tonight; the rations given to us and the bread could make for a thick porridge, which is unfortunately not the best but will have to do for tonight."


He frowned at the guard's remark about some lady that he didn't know but declined to comment. He'd work on that line of thought at another time, speak with Hardeep about whoever it was he was to meet.


"There is nothing for you to concern yourself about," Orien said quietly. "You slept, didn't you?"


He hadn't, at least not well, but that was hardly anything to complain about. He had had worse, much worse, the first few weeks he had been a slave. The crammed single room where he was to sleep with the other slaves had been suffocating and the memories of the slave market, where the men shouted about the people that he was selling still rested in his mind. The stink, the sights, the sobbing. It was all so clear. It still was.


"It is of no concern," Orien said.

Hardeep Passi

Hardeep took in the scenery, the women, the guards, the piles of clothing. The child that turned his face towards him briefly as he was being lead away, bright and full of life and curiosity.


This had to be Hui Hua's grandchild or perhaps son. It was slightly jarring to see a face like that, so youthful and graceful when Hardeep had encountered another with only death written in its wrinkles. They couldn't be too far apart in age and somehow, Hardeep knew that the face he looked at could have easily been Ming Xia's in another time.


The tragedy of life, he supposed.


His gaze snapped back to the lady in question when she spoke of Balin and for some reason, it made his stomach churn.


Once more, Balin lived on in a legacy that was only his. The Passi family was never as kind as he was, his mother surely was not and what little he remembered of his grandparents told him that Balin was alone in the way he treated those around him. The man had created a name for himself, a name that did not translate to his house.


"I thank you," Hardeep said finally. "Kind gestures are hard to find."


And are hard to understand. Cruelty, Hardeep knew. He had seen it first hand in flames, in beatings, in the way Irene had spoken of Hisraad. He had been cruel during his own life, had been reckless as well. Kindness was difficult in a world that would not foster it, that prized burning buildings and screaming men, roasted alive in metal armor. What made people kind confused Hardeep. Orien had been kind, had been gentle and soft for so long until it hardened him, turned him to dust and ash in a shell of a former man.


"Warmth is always better than cold," Hardeep said, staring at the woman. "If I may be so bold, how did you hear of my father? His name travels far and wide, I'm sure, but everyone seems to have their own story."

 

[Lenaara]

Without a word the bow was taken and its owner turned on her heel and walked away. Just like that. Not a single reprimand or scolding for having lost a valuable arrow. No narrow of her eyes or a purse of her lips. Not even a clenched jaw. Nothing.


Ming Xia was about as demonstrative as a rock. The girl regarded Irene with the blandness of a particularly featureless boulder, then walked away.


Stunned by the silent treatment, Irene hesitated at first. Anything would have been better than that cold stare. It could have meant anything. Did she do good? Bad? Was there supposed to be something more to show?


Not knowing what the verdict was – but guessing it already, thinking it was not what she wished to hear – Irene followed the girl through the forest. Even if she did not impress the young woman, at least she could still observe the area for a while longer. Only for a brief moment Irene shifted her gaze from her surroundings and observed Ming Xia shoot down the hare. No comment was offered and Irene looked at the girl’s stance and how she had aimed the arrow at the little animal in silence.


Finally, they arrived at the clearing where Kydoimos and Galene were waiting. Irene would have winced at the rider’s question had she not been looking intently at Ming Xia, waiting to hear something, anything. Instead, she was utterly ignored. The offer of the bow was directed at Galene.


Feeling her heart beat loudly in her chest, Irene narrowed her eyes at the woman and increased her pace until she could reach out towards Ming Xia and grab her by the elbow.


“Wait,” Irene said sharply. There was no anger in her voice but it was as cold as the howling wind. “I tracked the animal. I shot at it. What more proof to you require?”


She did well, did she not? She tracked the animal and shot it. The posture was perfect; the arrow was nocked into the bow just so. Yes, the aim was bad, and yet—


Stop justifying your mediocrity.


Leon’s words echoed in her mind and it felt like it was her mentor was the one before her, not Ming Xia. Both only accepted proof of one’s ability, overlooking the overall picture and only focusing on the end result. She’d accepted it from Leon; there was no other choice. She wouldn’t accept such treatment from a girl who was so close minded and devoid of any life.


“Or were you too enclosed in your bubble of self-pity to see anything?” There was no point in holding back the words of anger. If this girl was any more like Leon, no sort of arguing could sway her to change her mind. Especially not from a slave.


***


“I can help with preparations,” Warren blurted before he could stop himself. “With the meal, I mean.”


He did not look up at Orien and continued moving the items about. Wanting to keep his hands and eyes busy, the guard began to move the pieces of clothing into neat piles that could be given out later. It wasn’t much but it was certainly better than they brought with them. The thicker linens would do little to protect from the cold. Even Warren, wrapped tightly in his leathers and fabrics, shivered as he stood vigilantly by the cabin’s door. He could only guess how cold Orien and the others were in their thin attire.


“No. It was my fault,” Warren insisted as he pulled another bundle towards him. It was their pack this time, still waiting to be unwrapped and emptied. He did not lift his eyes to the slave, figuring it was easier to speak like this. Without having to meet the other man’s eyes, Warren found himself stuttering less and the memories of the other night did not flood his mind in shameful imagery.


“You were cold and I tried to keep you warm—“ He winced as if in pain and sighed. “This sounded much better in my head. But I am sorry. It happened on accident. No, not on accident. Rather I was not in control. I mean I was asleep.” Apparently even when looking away from Orien, the endless babbling of a lovesick teenager did not stop.


The guard ran his hand through his hair and looked up. “I would never allow myself anything more than what is needed.” That made no sense. “I mean, no matter what I might feel, there are limits, you know? It is my duty to protect. To not be a hindrance. So I am sorry for being troublesome last night.”


Feeling his cheeks heat up, Warren looked away and ran his second hand through his hair. Gods, it was hot in the cabin. They ought to open the trapdoor above the hearth.


“Let me apologize. Make it up to you, somehow.” Warren fell silent for a moment and glanced over his shoulder. Sir Hardeep and Sir Kydoimos had left, the other slaves were gone as well. Where and for how long the guard could only guess. “Let me prepare the meal and you can sleep. I can take full responsibility for this. I mean it.”


He pushed himself onto his feet and headed towards the hearth. “Or I can stand watch as you rest. You need sleep.”


***


Azar lifted her brows at the question. She certainly did not expect it.


“It is as you say,” she began as she turned to Hardeep with her side, folded her hands and watched the flames flicker below. “Word travels far and wide. It was only rumours that I heard, I’m afraid, both of good and bad. They mostly are the stories of a man who was kind and strong, with many dragons and a strong son. Many a rider claims such a life. Then, the less pleasing to one’s ears words were whispered in the dark corners of my homestead.” The woman watched the flames through hooded eyes and then lifted her gaze to look at Hardeep. Against the background of the hearth, her eyes appeared all the more like amber. “My family speaks rarely of him. I apologize if this is not what you wished to hear.”


There was shuffling of clothing and one of Azar’s servants – the one in the broidered with white, red dress – had appeared carrying a tray of polished wood. Atop it sat two mugs filled with an aromatic with many spices tea, freshly brewed. The servant had set down the tray onto the sole chair by the fire and stepped back, ready to leave when Azar spoke up.


“Lene,” she said, “please bring a pelt to lay down onto the floor. The location does not call for etiquette to enjoy tea.”


Lene bowed once again and disappeared behind the partition of bags. She did not go far, as Azar could hear quite clearly how the girl pulled down one of the bundles from the pile, unwrapped it and brought over the requested item. The bear pelt was set down onto the floor and smoothed over between the chair and the hearth.


“Thank you, Lene,” Azar said and the servant bowed her head and curtseyed respectfully to both of the riders before she hurried off.


Without hesitation, Azar sat down cross-legged onto the fur and waved a gloved hand at the spot beside her; a silent invitation for Hardeep to join her.


“I must apologize for Lene’s lack of proper manners.” Azar reached towards one of the mugs and took the second one as well by its rim, holding it out for Hardeep. “She comes from a land that is not far from here, but its isolation from the outside world proves to be troublesome at times. Though you must be accustomed to such behaviour. Lene tells me one of your own slaves is from Izmar, the one with a braid?” Azar pressed the mug to her lips. “The rumours surrounding that woman are not true, are they?”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Kydoimos Makhai

Ming Xia gave very little indication that she had heard Irene, continuing to walk forward without turning back to look and respond. Galene watched their guide fade into the masses of the small town, the stoic and cold girl swallowed up by more active members.


"Didn't go well?" Kydoimos said lightly before Galene jabbed them in the stomach, earning a mouthed "What?" from the rider.


"You did catch the hare, yes?" Galene said, turning back to the girl. "If you can't have a bow and arrow, maybe Hardeep would lend you a... weapon?"


Kydoimos shook their head, eyes trained on Irene. "Doubt it. If Sir Hardeep is wise, he wouldn't give out weapons so easily, especially to a slave he hardly knows."


Galene tossed them a look of ire, clearly unhappy with the idea that Irene would be considered untrustworthy but the look soon faded, her head ducking downwards to stare at her shoes. After all, while Galene might know more, the riders certainty didn't. What would become of them if they learned that the reason why Irene could hunt was because she used to work for coin, to guard and to kill?


"Why must you hunt so badly?" Kydoimos questioned, frowning. "If you are concerned with food, Galene and I can always go out and get enough for all of us."


"I can," Galene said pointedly, staring up at the rider with a wry expression. "You trample over the leaves and branches like a horse and scare off all the prey."


Kydoimos rolled their eyes before turning their attention back on Irene. "Galene can hunt for food and I suspect that Ming Xia would provide herself as some form of help or use."


Galene snorted, leaning against the rider and earning a slightly irritated look as they were trying to figure out a reasonable hunting party for their meals.


"Who do you suggest?" Kydoimos asked, pushing Galene into an upright position.


"Well, you know I can hunt well," Galene said smoothly. "Perhaps I can test Irene's prowess."


"You think you can get that past Hardeep?" Kydoimos asked, eyebrows raised.


"We can try," Galene responded.


Kydoimos sighed and glanced up at the sky as if wishing for strength. "You can try," Kydoimos said, "but you must remember that his father just died and whether or not you believe that Irene has killed Balin, many do. Hardeep may be among them."


Galene fidgeted for a second, eyes downcast and face pinched as if trying to figure out a way to circumvent the problem. Kydoimos huffed another breath and pulled the girl closer, pressing her side to their chest.


"I'll go with you to hunt tomorrow," they said, stroking her hair absentmindedly to calm her. "Though," Kydoimos added, glancing up at Irene, "I still wonder why you're so intent on learning to hunt."

Orien

Orien might have chuckled, if they were anywhere else. Might have laughed nervously. Might have told Warren that it was alright, might have told him that he ought to simply calm down. But they were on a mountain, after Balin had died and the scars were still not healed between Orien and Hardeep.


"Warren," Orien said wearily, "I am a slave. My duties involve whatever Sir Hardeep gives me and he gave me the task of sleeping beside you as he slept beside Irene. You performed your duties, as did I and neither one of us ended up worse for wear."


He stood up, taking a stone bowl in hand. "If you would like to help, you can help me get water from a well. I thought I spotted one while we were walking in. Unless someone needs to watch over the items, in which case you can get the water; carrying a stone bowl is not appealing to me."

Hardeep Passi

Hardeep watched the flickering flames too, though with apprehension and a tint of fear. He did not like the flames, though he knew their necessity. They drove away the cold, warmed the bones, boiled the water used for cooking. A flame roared in his own cabin, provided by a stoic guide that seemed to lack her own fire for life. Heat was a welcome thing in the mountains, where snow permeated every last bit of earth. But heat could also consume.


Pushing back the thoughts and staring at the woman before him, Hardeep allowed himself a moment to admire her. She was beautiful, with flowing ruby hair and if Balin was alive, he would surely be telling Hardeep to speak with her more, get to know her, perhaps ask about her own family and if they could possibly use another dragon rider among their number. But Balin was dead and Hardeep was never a man for marriage.


Hardeep sat down next to Azar and took the mug from her grasp, nodding his thanks and bringing it to his lips to sip. It was warming, like the fire, but had no flame and it filled his rather empty stomach for a moment. It almost reminded him of Estzar and the teas she would brew for him, to make him grow strong when he was ill or give him something to calm his nerves when a battle was said to wage. But hers were always sweet and filled with fruit and flowers and she had died so long ago.


Hardeep paused when the woman made mention of Irene.


"Your sla--servant recognized her as someone from Izmar?" Hardeep asked, turning to stare at her. He had been unaware. Hell, he had hardly noticed the dark marks on her shoulder that everyone else seemed to stare and point and whisper at, too locked in his own world to care. "Was it the mark on her shoulder?" he asked, thankful that the night's talk had at least allowed him to view that part of her better and recognize it briefly on the other servant's dress.


"Ah," Hardeep said in reference to the rumors. "I do not know how much truth are in the rumors. By the white robed men's assumptions, they say she couldn't have killed. By the slave's own rage, they say she did."

 

[Lenaara]

A strong sense of déjà vu prickled at Irene’s mind. She’s seen this before – a departing back of a silent individual who was strong and she was not, carrying with them unsaid words of disappointment or maybe no opinion at all. Before it belonged to a man with broad shoulders and strong arms, a tall athletic body of a young man that appeared to be the sole stable point in her life. Now it was a lanky frame of a girl who was akin to a decayed tree, wrapped in layers upon layers of clothing.


This happened before. When she ran after Leon for years, demanding that he trained her.


Irene did not follow Ming Xia even if a part of her screamed in rage that doing something, anything, was better than staring at the guide. And yet, she continued to follow the young woman with her gaze for a moment longer, even after the guide disappeared into the crowd of mountain folk that even with their ashen faces and tired eyes, with their worn and torn rags, looked more alive than the husk of a human being that was Ming Xia.


Irene’s hand hovered in mid-air for a moment longer, left there when she let go of the young woman when she did not even halt her steps to pry her arm free of the other’s grip. Coiling her hand into a fist, Irene quelled the urge to hit the nearby tree in frustration.


“No,” Irene replied to Kydoimos’ question without so much as glancing at the rider. Her eyes were trained on the crowd where Ming Xia had disappeared into. “Apparently, I did not. There is no impressing that woman.”


Raising both hands up, Irene willed herself to uncoil her fists and ran her hands through her hair. Her fingers contracted with the bone comb hidden in her braid and she flinched, forgetting it was there. It was still the only item at her disposal.


While Galene and Kydoimos spoke, Irene looked to the side and stepped towards the large oak at the edge of the clearing. Its roots protruded from the ground, going a few feet up in a twisting labyrinth. Irene sat down onto the roots and leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees.


“Lord Hardeep has doubts of my hunting skills. If the Lord is told by Ming Xia that I failed…” Irene shrugged, her hands folded before her. “I doubt he’d risk sending me out to hunt, let alone lending me a weapon.”


She doubted Hardeep believed that she could wield anything but a butter knife, in any case.


The repeated question had caught Irene’s attention and she looked up from her hands and regarded Kydoimos with a cautious stare. It did not appear that he suspected her of anything. Yet. Hopefully, Galene would crush any suspicions if they ever took root in the rider’s mind.


How far the companionship between Galene and Irene went was still a mystery. Relying on the girl’s handling of the rider was risky, especially if Irene’s hunch was correct and they shared more than just a bond of servitude.


A sigh escaped the woman’s lips and she looked away, watching the crowd of the village folk drift down the dirt path.


“I know how to hunt. It is the only thing I know that is useful here.” Other than the ability to defend oneself, but she couldn’t confess being trained in the arts of combat to a rider. “The winter is nearing. The forest is dangerous, more so now. Villagers in these parts get ready for winter for an entire year. We,” she looked up at Kydoimos and corrected herself, “You, my Lord and Lord Hardeep,have only some weeks before snow sets in. Game is going to be scarce then. There will be food shortages. Many are going to die.”


The winter was the reason why she was so anxious in acquiring free rein in the forests. Only some weeks were left before snow would begin to fall endlessly onto the ground, coating the mountain in a blanket so thick it could easily reach a man’s waist. Escaping would have to wait until after the snow will have melted, and how long would that take? Three months? Five? They could be allowed back to Nuru at any point, back to that cage of stone, sands and a scorching sun.


Irene glanced at Galene, taking in the girl’s physique. She was tall and lean, but the mountain had a tendency of stripping away any muscle and fat. A slave and still so young, Galene would be under a lot of pressure. “A lone hunter cannot provide for a group of six.”


It was the truth.


There were selfish reasons behind her wish to hunt; many of them, in fact. All centred around her wellbeing and eventual escape. But the approaching winter carried dangers of its own, even now the cold was biting at exposed skin with a numbing touch. If there was no way to sway the riders – both Kydoimos and Hardeep – by claiming to have skill, the only other option was to show their lack of a choice in the matter. If they wished to survive, they had to prepare; something Ming Xia did not seem fit to mention.


And there was Galene. The only one in their group who knew of Irene’s background and did not judge it, despite knowing better. There was no hatred in her eyes or suspicion in her voice. The girl could be driven by reasons of her own, but it was refreshing to have someone to call an ally, even if they did become companions through a mutual lie.


“If you were given a chance to prove yourself, your worth, and you did but were shot down regardless, would you fight or accept defeat?” Irene asked Kydoimos as much as she was asking herself the very same question. How long was she able to fight the current that threatened to pull her down under and drown everything with it?


“Do you believe me better fit for another task, Lord Kydoimos?” Of course, the rider wouldn’t believe her capable of lifting his sword, let alone hunting in the woods. If only he knew.


***


“I am sure the task involved rest,” Warren said with a frown and shook his head.


There were two piles on the floor and Warren knelt by one of them. It held a bundle of clothing so thin he could see the outline of his hand as he lifted the linen. In comparison to the gifts that Lady Azar had sent them, their own belongings appeared meagre and not fit for the weather conditions. Still, Warren dared not pull one of the gifted jackets into the pile that he assumed was left for him to claim.


He pulled out a scarf from the pile, a shawl of brown cotton, and wrapped it around his neck. Standing in the street had made the tips of his ears numb. It had never happened in the desert and it unnerved him. Was it normal to be this cold in broad daylight?


“Yes. The well is over—“ Warren looked up from the pile and stared at Orien with furrowed brows. “A stone bowl?” That made no sense. His eyes drifted down until he noticed the item in the slave’s hands.


Warren snorted and leaned back, his hands on his lap, and regarded Orien as if the slave had just made a very amusing joke. The slave, however, appeared most serious.


“That is a mortar,” the guard pointed out and searched for signs of recognition in Orien’s features. There was none. Warren blinked in confusion, all signs of a smile vanishing from his lips. He looked away and ran a hand through his hair, causing more than one uneven strand to poke out at an awkward angle.


“It is, ah,” he began and lifted both hands to show a size of something no more than a few inches in length, “used with a pestle. This small club looking object. You mash medicine or food with it. Spices, too. You put some into the bowl and crush it.” He made a circular motion with one hand, showing the process while the other hand held an invisible bowl. Realising how silly he looked, Warren stopped and settled his hands on his lap once more.


“My mother uses these,” Warren clarified. “It is not to carry water around. It’d take you ages otherwise. Ah, unless you use it as a regular bowl. That is fine too, I suppose.”


Willing to leave the cabin as soon as possible to cool his face, Warren stood up and turned towards the door. The well was not far from the cabin, he had seen it on the way to their new lodgings and watched Irene intently when she headed there to bring a basin with water to skin the hare. There were several wooden basins by the cabin and he could bring several inside for later use.


A sudden realization had stopped Warren mid-step and he turned to Orien.


“You don’t know how to use a well?” The question was nearing accusatory. Realizing that, Warren rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. No. I mean, you thought a mortar is a bucket. So I am curious, is all.” He nodded at the door. “I could show you but,” he hesitated, “Sir Hardeep had commanded that the belongings are guarded.”


A frown twisted his features and Warren turned around, his back to Orien. He reached towards the door and said, “I will be back in a moment,” and left.


Warren had come back a little while after, kicking the door open with the tip of his boot. Cool howling wind blew into the room, pushing Warren against his back as he carried inside a large wooden basin filled almost to the brim with water. The pommel of his sword caught onto the doorframe and Warren stumbled, glancing down with a wince at his not so graceful entry. He twisted to the side to free the pesky sword and strode into the room.


The basin looked heavy. With a dull thump it was set down onto the floor by the fire and some of the water sloshed over the rim, splashing the floor by the kindling. Warren rolled back his shoulders.


“You carry water in that,” he said matter-of-factly. “There are more by the cabin. Do you need more?” He was already mid-step to the still open door. “Or I can help you cook.”


***


Azar took a sip from the tea. It had a faint smell of flowers, creamy and sweet, and tasted bitter but with a faint taste of spices that she could not quite pinpoint. It warmed her palms even through the thin leather of her gloves as she held onto the mug with both hands.


“Lene claims recognition, yes.” Azar said and arched her thin brows at Hardeep. “A mark? Did it look like anything in particular? I am afraid I know very little of Izmarian culture. Their isolation proves to be quite troublesome even for those curious in building alliances. Lene can tell you much more than I; should we call on her?”


Separated from the rest of the cabin by the partitions, the area before the hearth was dimly lit and empty save for the two riders. It was completely private. There was shuffling to the side. Clothes rustled, someone’s muffled words were barely audible over the crackling of the fire. The atmosphere was warm and comfortable, with a soft bear pelt beneath that absorbed the fire’s heat.


It felt like a little island of spice scented warmth hidden in the middle of the cold mountain village.


Azar took another sip from the mug and settled it down onto the chair now used as a miniature table.


“You are in a position to choose any truth and deem it such. The woman yet lives, though I sense you have not chosen which side you want to take,” she said quietly, looking into the dancing flames. “Slaves are invisible; they hear and see things we cannot. Do not disregard their opinions, for more often than not they are the least obscured by veiled lies and threats that is our world.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Kydoimos Makhai

Kydoimos glanced down at Galene, tilting their head down at her as if waiting for her to confirm the other woman's statements.


"It would be beneficial for more than one person to be hunting," Galene said slowly. "We can't count on Ming Xia for much at this time aside from rations and potentially telling us where to go, though even then I doubt she would be helpful unless the situation becomes dire. Even weapons she is quite hesitant to give."


"It's weird, don't you think?" Kydoimos said. "That someone who's supposed to be a guide is so uncaring."


Galene shrugged. "We're in the mountains. If something were to go wrong, she can say that anything could have killed us." The girl eyed the forest they were still close to uneasily at that statement, almost as if she expected something to leap out from its depth and drag them in to eat.


Kydoimos snorted.


"She's an idiot if she thinks that anyone would buy something like that."


"I would," Galene muttered lowly. She pulled the bear pelt closer to herself and looked up at Kydoimos. "See if you can't catch Hardeep and ask if we'd be allowed to hunt. He brought weapons, I'm assuming?"


"Not a bow and arrow," Kydoimos said. "We don't use those often."


"But a knife is among your weapons, isn't it? I can carve one out of wood if need be."


Kydoimos thought for a moment.


"I will try," they said uneasily. "Though I doubt that anything I say will sway Hardeep, especially the way he is right now."


Galene hummed her agreement; Hardeep had seemed slightly off the past few days, more closed and curled up on himself.





Kydoimos gave the woman a sharp glance at her questions, lips pursed. They clearly didn't like the questions and Galene could wager a guess as to why. The philosophical and the hypothetical were not their strong suit, preferring things that could be grasped with both hands and rooted into place. And as for being proven strong and powerful, Galene knew that there were expectations for all of them. For Irene, she was to be a slave. For Galene, the same. And for Kydoimos.


Well.


A half-slave was practically a dragon rider and a slave all at once. There was so little to prove and so much. They could accept their fate as a slave, accept their view as a lesser being but she knew that they had tried to be a rider, tried their damnedest to be someone made of fire and scales but it had never worked.


"Your worth will be decided by Hardeep," they said stiffly, eyes narrowing at the woman. "You are his, after all."





Galene gave Kydoimos a glance but said nothing about the statement. "Perhaps we should head back," she said carefully.


"Perhaps," Kydoimos said, and turned to follow the other girl back to their cabin.

Orien

Orien glanced over at Warren's comment about a mortar and pestle. "Indeed it is," he said coolly, "but seeing as our supplies are low and we have seemingly a single metal bowl, a stone one will have to do. If you find anything of more use, do tell me."


He hadn't spent much time in the kitchen since he had been sold to the Hardeep's household. Back when he was younger, when he and Hardeep might have been friends in other ways, he had spent some time in the kitchen with the cooks, peering into steaming vats of soup, staring at the flickering flames that roasted meat, stealing pastries that had been left alone, and watching the gardeners bring in baskets of fresh fruit and herbs from the garden outside. He had spent years sitting outside, soaking up the sun, surrounded by gently swaying leaves, brushing against his skin. His father would have told him to come inside, to study more and read his books.


Orien regretted not spending more time in the garden instead of obeying his father and reading. It did nothing for him now; his ability to read did not help him wash the stones and dragons, did not help him clean the cloths that his masters wore, did not help lessen the tightness of the leather around his neck. It was only the garden that remained in his memory to aid him when times grew hard, when Hardeep's hands were cold and his gaze colder, when even Balin raised an eyebrow and turned up his nose, when the other slaves stared at him as if he carried some brand on himself of shame.


For a while, he was. For a while, he believed that whatever had occurred between him and Hardeep had been a mistake, a seduction, a confused boy's attempt at discovering himself through a slave that would not be able to resist. After all, Orien had once been like Hardeep; rich and wealthy and a boy who was expected to take after his father. Perhaps he had wanted that again, to imagine it during the months that Hardeep did seem to love him, taking him out to the city to buy datewine that they sipped on his bed afterwards.


The true reason why Hardeep had taken him to bed was simply that; he needed someone to take to bed. He wanted another body, another person to fill the void of affection that his mother had left behind.


Orien would have laughed at that if he had still been the boy he was. Nowadays, he understood.


Learning to cook had been something else Orien had did, to keep himself rooted somehow to his roots of a home on the edge of Nuru, where the soil was actually fertile and there were no servants or slaves. He had spent time (how long he had not been sure) in the kitchens with the slaves and servants there, pouring over the fruits and vegetables that were brought in, sweating more than he ever had as the flames roared and the desert was relentless. The metal pots burned his hands and the glances of the older servants showed their dislike of the small boy in their number. So he had left the kitchen.


It was strange, being spoken to as if he knew nothing. Orien suspected that Warren meant nothing by it but it felt strangely like an insult as the guard asked him questions.


"A well?" Orien said as levelly as possible. "I know how to use a well."


How else did they wash the clothes they were given?


"Though given that this is the mountains, I do not know if their wells would be the same," Orien said as an afterthought, turning back to the single metal pot he had found and the loaves of bread that he had tossed in. When Warren returned with the water, Orien nodded in thanks and was slightly surprised at the fact that it was a wooden bowl. He poured it into the metal one with a grunt, watching it fill the pot about half-way.


"We need some more," he said, turning to give the wooden bowl back.


He paused.


"Please," he added.


There was no reason to be cruel when Hardeep could be cruel for all of them.


Above the flames was a large metal pole, perfect for hanging the handlebars of a metal pot on. The pot they had had no handle already and as such, Orien took a piece of rope from the pile that Ming Xia had made the other day and wetted it, stringing it through the holes and with a grunt, hefted the pot onto its metal bar, the flames licking at its sides. He stood up and glanced in, going back to the pile of items and finding the pestle part of the mortal and pestle. He returned to the pot and mashed the bread as finely as he could, hoping that it could become more like oatmeal than gruel, though he had no guarantees.

Hardeep Passi

"Perhaps," Hardeep said in response to the request for the girl that seemed to know something. "I am sad to say that I did not study Izmarian culture much."


My father never liked it.


He didn't know if the unsaid words hung before them heavily, or if his own warped mind was the only one that had plucked them out and laid them bare.


He sipped on his tea gently, humming at the warmth it gave him, unlike the datewine he sometimes drank which made him feel looser as well as warm.


"This tea is quite lovely," he said, pulling on manners that he had let slip, "I thank you for it. Did you bring it from your home?"


He took another sip from it and glanced down at the teacup. This woman was clearly more prepared, with sacks of clothes and supplies that he had failed to account for. There were probably no tea cups in his sacks; hell, he'd be lucky if there were bowls.


Hardeep said nothing to her comment about slaves but sensed that perhaps she knew more than she was letting on. Slaves did go unnoticed most of the time, their feet quick and their bodies small. Who was to say there weren't spies among them, spies that had nothing left to loose and everything to gain. He thought of Orien and the way he sometimes looked at Hardeep, thought of Galene and the sneer she gave Yulink at times. They did not even have their names anymore.


He drank his tea to avoid answering.

 

[Lenaara]

“You are his, after all.”


The words cut the air with their coldness like a sharp knife. They spoke the truth and it did not hurt, but rather worked a reminder of a status that Irene refused to accept. So her eyes narrowed for a moment only at Kydoimos and her lips thinned. When they spoke again and turned to follow Galene, Irene regained her calm and looked at the ground for a moment, palms on her knees.


Hunting was not a skill that she was not sure of. It fed her for years. Leon, among many others, had taught her how to set up snares and dig traps. This was not something one could learn overnight and it was a skill that had to be perfected over the years, when food sometimes was scarce and its lack would serve as a warning that it could happen again.


Galene knew how to hunt. Or rather, Irene thought the girl did. She had shot a crow, not tracked it. Arrows and a bow was never a weapon that Irene preferred, thinking it too unpredictable and slow, but perhaps it was her own inability to actually hit something that made her not like the weapon.


Still, personal feelings aside, Galene was allowed free rein in the forest to hunt. And Irene was not.


No matter, Irene thought as she pushed herself up and followed Galene and Kydoimos, staying a few feet behind them.


There were other ways to prove her worth. Hunting was but one of the skills needed on this mountain. There were others, ones that would not arouse suspicion of her past. While Galene was a useful ally, Irene trusted her as much as she trusted a rock to fly far on a windy day.


The first year with Hisraad was the worst of her life. Worse than the first few months of when Irene’s life had drastically changed and she had to flee her country to save her life, dragged by Leon who never spoke and never looked back.


So Irene planned, waited and fought in the end only to be shot down, literally. By an arrow that marred the back of her shoulder in a scar that should have been much less in size had they removed the bolt before it started to rot and spread infection. After that foolish and rash attempt of escaping, she’d stopped. Stopped caring. Stopped planning and keeping herself in shape.


Time had eaten away at her strength and her will, and so she waited and took on a passive role of an obedient servant. Not truly choosing to run or stay, Irene balanced on the edge and hated herself for it.


Hated herself for being one of those indecisive people that she’d always looked down upon.


Even now, she chose to go with the current and see where it took her. Not truly choosing to plead her case to Hardeep, thinking it was a waste of breath. Not truly trying to prove her worth, choosing to rely on Galene’s power of persuasion.


It was time to end this.


One glance at the forest and the skies above was enough to prove her suspicions correct. The snow was soon to fall in large flakes, burying the ground and the forest, giving freedom to creatures that lurked in the snowstorms and fed off the corpses of those who died from intense cold. A few weeks, no more, and then they’d be stuck in that little village with limited food and watchful eyes. It would be impossible to escape. It would be suicidal to escape.


It was time to take a more active role.


The question that she’d asked Kydoimos, as rhetorical as it was, was given an answer on the way to the cabin as they passed through the village. Among the mountain folk, dressed in layers of hides and furs and waterproofed leathers, were others. Riders and their slaves became a common sight and Irene kept her eyes down and listened, instead. Many languages surrounded them, some she’d recognized instantly and others she had to listen to and search her memory.


Hunting could wait. She’d arrange something else, plan for a loophole. Bargaining was a different matter. She knew most of the languages that the merchants used and by their appearance alone she could determine where they’d come from and what they were offering. There were not many, only three or five different men, but it was enough to trade goods with. Had there been only one, she’d pester him enough to trade with her.


It was time to fight against the current and do it on her own, otherwise she’d hate herself for having lost an opportunity to escape.


Are you willing to use others?


Irene looked at Galene and Kydoimos, their backs to her they continued towards their little cabin. Both were so young and shared a relationship forbidden by most, if not all. Both naïve to a certain extent. Both possibly good people with their own principles and morals, their past.


She chose not to answer this question.


When they neared the cabin, Warren had just arrived to its door. Carrying a large wooden basin in both hands filled to the brim with water, Warren had halted to a stop and splashed some of the basin’s contents onto the porch. The blush that coloured his cheeks did not look like it was from the cold. Looking back and forth between Kydoimos and Galene, the guard seemed to have been wondering if it was appropriate to bow and let them pass, or go in first to bring in the water.


Bowing as much as the basin permitted him without splashing water on himself, Warren quickly entered the cabin. Irene followed suit after Kydoimos and Galene and, once inside, watched Warren put down the basin by the fire. There was a pot above it and Orien was working with the pestle, mashing something inside the pot. Warren had straightened, put his hands onto his back, and cracked it with a sigh that he was careful to mask as Kydoimos was nearby.


“Do you need more?” Warren asked and flexed his fingers, probably tense after pulling the bucket from the well and carrying the basin back and forth to the cabin.


The guard turned around and eyed the crow in Galene’s hands. His lips pursed he turned around, no doubt thinking it disgusting to eat such an unappealing animal. He rummaged through some bag and held it open for Warren.


“The…” Warren glanced at Irene as if in thought and then turned back to Orien, “hare can be cooked. Should we?”


The meat would be a good addition to their meal. It had been a while since Irene’s had it, hare or any other kind of game.


Ignoring the empty pit that was her stomach, Irene crossed the cabin room and was about to settle down onto the floor, when Warren had looked in her direction and pointed to a pile of clothing.


“It is yours,” he said coolly and turned back to Orien.


Blinking in confusion at the man, Irene doubled back and knelt by the pile. Clothing lay stacked there, all folded and intermingled with furs and some pelts. Everything was thin to touch and Irene would have frowned at the given items had she not been admiring the colour.


She let her hand slide under a piece of fabric and looked at it lie on her tanned arm, its violet contrasting with her olive skin tone. It was a lighter colour than she used to wear once, but it mattered little. The thinness mattered little.


A warm feeling spread through her chest and Irene felt as she did when she was flying with Balin. Hopeful.


Standing up, Irene chose several pieces of clothing and stepped back to lie them down onto the floor by her feet. She’d picked a blouse and jacked with a high collar, partly for the tattoo on her chest and the slave’s collar at her neck.


Though before she undid the sash, Irene thought it better not to undress before so many possible viewers. Nudity was not an issue, but not everyone could react to the scars on her body and the ink on her chest with a calm demeanour. Mountain knows, Galene would have a heap of questions after seeing either.


So Irene had picked up the chosen clothing and entered one of the rooms on the side, feeling Warren’s wary look in her direction. She’d returned a short while after, wearing an attire that was a layering of clothes that sat surprisingly well on her. Loose and free, the attire consisted of two blouses layered on one another, tucked into a thicker pair of pants and then finished off with a long to her mid-thigh jacket secured by a wide sash coiled around her waist.


The bone comb, usually hidden in her braid, was now wrapped into the folds of the jacket and hidden by the sash, away from anyone’s prying eyes. She’d have to find a better place for it later.


Experimentally, Irene rolled back her shoulders to confirm that the clothing didn’t tug or pull, she ignored the fact that it was several sizes larger than her. Oddly enough, it suited her.


Or maybe, it was the way she wore it. Irene had almost brightened at having changed into something different than the usual crème coloured linens that slaves wore. She appeared almost…confident. Like how she used to be, before the leather was wrapped around her neck like a noose.


Turning around, she noticed Warren staring. Quirking a brow, Irene cocked her head. Warren opened his mouth and closed it again, after having thought better not to say what he was thinking. Instead, Irene was the one who spoke.


“Do you have a thread and needle?” She asked.


“Uh,” Warren muttered and blinked in confusion, certainly not expecting such a question. “Yes. My mother’s given me some. There is…light purple thread in that bag. Why?” Warily, he eyed Irene as if she’d thought of some vile way to use a needle and a thread.


“Embroidery,” she said simply.


“What?” Warren looked taken aback by the answer.


“It is a part of my tradition. Is that a problem?”


“No. But you should ask Sir Hardeep for permission.”


It was doubtful that Hardeep was going to decline the clothing given to a slave being broidered, but Irene simply said, “Alright,” and headed across the room towards the pile of clothing that was now hers. She’d folded her previous outfit and brought the pile towards the wall. There lay several pieces of clothing of superb quality; its leathers sturdy and lined with thicker fur.


“What is this?” Irene asked hesitantly and waved a hand at the leathers as Warren turned to look at her.


“Lady Azar Sohrab had generously gifted us these. They are for Sir Hardeep and Sir Kydoimos,” Warren said sternly.


“Gifts?” Furrowing her brows, Irene regarded the items in confusion. No one gave us such good quality items without expecting something in return. Whoever this Lady Azar Sohrab was, she was either immensely stupid and naïve, or cunning.


Warren only shrugged. “It is not for us to decline them. Sir Hardeep accepted the gift.”


A simplistic way of dealing with the situation, but there was no other. Warren was doing his job.


The words of the gift’s origins had reminded Irene of another rider was more of an immediate threat than a woman who might possibly be not all too bright. Throwing a glance at Galene as Irene had set down the pile of clothing, she wondered how to get the girl’s attention.


“Galene,” Irene said, “can you help me bring more water in?” It was the best excuse that Irene could come up with. “There might be someone there who’d wish to do me harm.” That was a valid reason. Several slaves had already looked at Galene and Irene, wearing their warm pelts, with hungry eyes full of envy and resentment as they shivered in thin linens. Not that Irene needed protection; Galene knew as much.


Irene only hoped that Galene would get the hint that someone was no other than Ammon, a man to whom they lied for no other reason than to protect Irene’s pride.


“I can go with you,” Warren said.


“You need to protect Lord Kydoimos.” Irene tried to sound as calmly as she could and looked at Galene and nodded at the doorway. “Let’s go.”


***


Azar had given Hardeep a warm smile that transferred to her eyes and made them gleam. Maybe it was the firelight reflecting in the amber of her irises.


“Lene should prove useful, then,” Azar said calmly. “It brings her immense pleasure to talk about her homeland. I sense sadness there, too. Talking of the land she left eases that pain.”


Easing closer, Azar leaned forward while still holding the cup against her thigh with both hands. “I must let you in on a secret, Lord Hardeep,” Azar began, a smile still on her lips. Her voice had become quiet, a playful whisper. “I listen to her speak those tales for no reason other than to improve her accent. Sands of the desert, that accent is hard on the ear.”


Leaning back, Azar had lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip while still looking at Hardeep. The corners of her lips were still curved in a genuine smile. They sat so closely to one another on the bear belt that their knees brushed against one another with the smallest of movements.


“Indeed I have,” she answered his question. “It was sent to me by a relative of my dearest aunt. Bai She Suzhen of Anderfell, in Riverside. That woman comes from a land far east from here and sends my aunt gifts of tea. Selfish as I am, I thought it best to take this gift with me. To keep myself warm during cold winter nights.”


Setting down the cup onto the small chair, Azar pushed her hair back and it rippled like wild tongues of flame. “My ladies-in-waiting believe it to be a way to take a piece of home with me. Romanticising my selfish actions, no doubt.”


Glancing away from the man at her side, Azar straightened and craned her neck to cast a glance around the room. Separated from the rest of the cabin by the partitions, the area was dimly lit and empty save for the two riders. It was completely private.


There was shuffling to the side. Clothes rustled, someone’s muffled words were barely audible over the crackling of the hearth.


“Lene.” Azar did not lift her voice though it was authoritative and cut crisply through the air.


Shuffling of long skirts and faint footsteps alerted the woman to the servant’s presence. Lene circled around the partition across the hearth and stopped a respectable distance away. With hands folded before her, the girl bowed her head and said a quiet, “Yes, Madam?” under her breath.


“Do come closer,” Azar said. The servant obeyed and stopped when the soft orange firelight lit her features. Shadows danced across her skin and dress; the orange light lit her silky hair in an auburn hue. Lene knelt down onto the floor and kept her back straight as she smoothed the skirt over her lap.


“Lene, Lord Hardeep has asked me a question which I cannot answer for lack of knowledge. It regards the slave woman of whom you’ve told me about. The Izmarian one.”


Lene lifted her eyes and glanced at Hardeep. “I meant no offence, My Lord,” she said in a heavily accented Crubian and let her eyes focus on the floor once more. “It is surprising to see another of my people in these lands.”


“How did you know she was from your homeland?” Azar took the mug once more and pressed it to her lips, taking a sip. “There was no clothing like yours on her shoulders.”


“The skin and eye colour, Madam. I was not sure for the lack of a second braid. Our tradition forbids women from wearing our hair short before marriage, and the braids must be no less than two in number. One is reserved for the men of the Warrior Caste.”


“Does that mean she was a warrior?” Azar glanced at Hardeep, recalling her inquiry about the rumours.


“No, Madam. Women are forbidden from wielding a weapon. There are no women in the Izmarian Guard.”


Azar was looking at the mug that she’d set down onto her lap. Little bits of herbs floated at the top of the tea. “When you were brought into my homestead, you insisted on wearing red and white for these are the colours of the Izmarian nobility. Is that correct?”


“Yes, Madam.”


“What are the colours of the Warrior Caste?”


“Purple, Madam. Purple broidered with gold. That woman was not wearing them, for she is a slave.”


Azar hummed and looked up at Lene. “Of course. There is one other matter. Lord Hardeep has mentioned a mark on the woman’s shoulder. Did you recognize it?”


The entire time, the servant girl remained calm and composed. However, at the mention of the mark, a gasp escaped Lene’s lips and she leaned back and lifted a hand to her mouth. She settled the hand just below her neck and looked at Azar with wide eyes that appeared black as the firelight danced across her green irises.


“You do know of it?” Azar lifted her brows at the servant.


“Pardon my rudeness, Lord Passi, but did the mark look like this?” Lene asked quickly and looked at Hardeep with an ashen face and wide eyes, her lips parted and hand clenched over her chest.


Lene stood up promptly and turned around; the skirts of her dress flared and settled down. White broidery depicting a very detailed mountain range stood out vividly against the red background. The thread weaved through the fabric in curves and angles, intricate in its design with many details that caught the eye of those willing to look. It depicted a beautiful mountain range, nearly identical to the mark on Irene’s chest.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

Kydoimos Makhai

Orien

Kydoimos frowned at Warren as he seemed to struggle with himself before he entered, Galene stifling a snicker behind her hand as she watched the guard fumble with formalities. Her own casualness made her question the guard's action, his unwavering loyalty and harsh propriety making things substantially more awkward than they had to be at potentially all times. She said nothing as she watched Orien glance up, taking the bowl from where it was set and pouring some of it, leaving some behind.


"The hare will work, yes," he said, glancing at it. "Would you mind cutting it up for me? We can add it to the stew." He looked up at the others that had entered. "I've mashed the bread in to make it thicker. Other times, I would use dried corn or potato and grind that up to thicken the water but we'll have to deal with the bread for now." The man stood up from where he was kneeling by the fire and picked through a few small pouches, in dull colors that he picked through before finally landing on one he wanted to find. He walked back over to the fire and loosened the strings holding it shut, tossing in a few red flakes that Galene could see.


"Are any of you good at scavenging here? We could potentially use a few leaves of vegetables," Orien said, glancing around the group.


Galene had, meanwhile, been examining the so called gifts. Kydoimos had wandered over as well, picking them up and running their fingers over them.


Galene's eyes narrowed.


Gifts.


Gifts were never gifts, they were favors, the first in a long series of them. People would exchange gifts with the intent of picking them up later in a different form, in a hand for marriage even if they particularly lavish.


A lady of all people would know that a gift had strings.


The riders, however, never had to return a gift. They had dragons of fire and their gifts were the life of those who came for them.


But the dragons were missing, tossing themselves towards the heat and the sun more than the cool winds that would suffocate them. They had no power here and as such, a gift was more dangerous.


"How kind of her," Galene said coolly and Kydoimos glanced at her in confusion at her tone. She said nothing more to the rider but continued to look somewhat concerned over what had been given.


Orien request meshed with Irene's and Kydoimos' eyes flickered between the two.


"We can get vegetables as well," Galene said to Orien. "There probably will be a few edible leaves by the village anyways."


Kydoimos wrapped their hand around her wrist and pulled her closer to them, their lips brushing against her ear. "Stay cautious," they warned and she felt something cool being pressed into her palm, glancing down to see the dark black of a hilt of a dagger, made of metal melted by the heat of a dragon.


Their eyes did not view Irene as innocent and no doubt believed that the woman would rope Galene into trouble if she didn't do it herself. The fact remained hat she was already in some sort of trouble and would have to find her way out of it somehow.


She tucked it into the leather strap that held her thin shirt closer to her body and nodded tensely against the rider.


"You as well," she added, before turning to follow Irene out.

Hardeep Passi

Hardeep made no motion or movement when the woman moved close or drew away, simply sipping on his tea to give some kind of response. The way she moved reminded him of the flames crackling and spiraling, something most riders forgot but he could never. Dangerous and warming, something to draw one in before burning them alive.


Hardeep listened to the questions asked without a flicker of recognition or confusion. He had the feeling that he knew why Balin had so despised Izmar. His mother would never have flown there and he would have been devastated. It did make him wonder what Irene had learned, what she was supposed to have learned. Would she be of any use at all to him? Perhaps she could cook.


"Ah," Hardeep said as he was shown the pattern. "Yes, it looked similar to that."

 

[Lenaara]

Before they left, Irene headed for the clothing that was now hers and took out two long furs. Draping each over her shoulders, she’d secured the furs in place on her waist as she had done so before, careful not to disturb the item hidden within the sash. Galene and Kydoimos in the meantime had been talking to one another, or rather whispering and Irene let the scene be ignored.


Such exchanges should have been private between a rider and a slave but it was not for her to judge.


Though a quirked brow was directed at Galene as the girl turned and headed towards Irene, who had stood by the door then, one hand on the rough wood and the other hooked into her sash.


Warren in the meantime had fished out a dagger from some folded piece of fabric and took the hare’s meat in his hands. He stared at the little animal quizzically before he began to tend to the task given to him. When Irene and Galene had left the cabin, Warren handed several stripes of meat to Orien.


With the door closed behind them, Irene waited until they were a good dozen feet away from the cabin before she looked at the girl at her side. They were walking towards the edge of the village, where shrubbery framed the clearing surrounding the settlement. Forest loomed ahead of them, dark and menacing, and Irene could not stop herself from scanning the shadows gingerly. It was midday but rarely did such dim winter sunlight stop creatures from poking their noses – if they had any – out of the forest to grab their prey.


“You’re a good shot,” Irene said. No jealousy coated her words, rather they seemed more congratulatory. “You’ve impressed Ming Xia. That’s an achievement on its own.”


Calling Ming Xia’s reaction as being impressed was an exaggeration. Though getting any kind of words from the young woman was already enough to think that you’ve done well. Mountain knows, the girl was about as demonstrative as a particularly bland patch of snow.


“She used to be much more kind and energetic as a child,” she added quietly.


Standing at the edge of the clearing, Irene scanned the shrubbery to find any edible herbs. The early frost had coated the tall grass and bush, but several herbs were still bright and green, ready to be harvested. Irene had crouched down by an herb with white flowers on it, their petals wilting and falling to the ground. Brushing a hand over the wood sorrel’s leaves, she frowned. The cold was killing the herb.


Sighing through her nose, Irene looked up at Galene.


“You are allowed to hunt now. It is good.” Pressing her hands on her knees, Irene got to her feet. “Though I doubt that Hardeep is going to allow me to join you. He doesn’t believe of me not being involved in his father’s murder. Ming Xia need only say a word about my lack of skill when it comes to bow and arrow to give him true reason not to lend me a weapon.”


Leaning her back against an oak trunk, Irene pinched the bridge of her nose and wrapped an arm around her waist.


“With you gone hunting, Warren is going to be breathing down my neck. If Ammon sees me with an escort in the face of a guard from the Passis household…” A frown creased her features at the outcome of a possible event. “I’ve dragged you into this mess and won’t let either of us be caught on our lie.”


Not when it meant losing her chance to escape. Not when it meant dragging Galene into a mess that she should never have been a part of. The girl knew too much. But she was still a girl, an innocent. And someone who was smart enough to wriggle her way out of trouble if Ammon ever found out the truth.


Silent for a moment, Irene looked at the damp ground in thought. The frown was gone when she lifted her eyes to look at Galene.


“Thank you,” she finally said. “For helping me try to prove myself. Even if it did not go as I had hoped. You did not doubt my skill when everyone else did. I appreciate it.”


Irene looked over Galene. The girl could have been from anywhere. Her skin and hair colour was not all that rare outside of Crubia, though Irene was certain the girl was not from Riverside where people powdered their skin and hid behind parasols to keep their skin as pale as possible, nearing translucent. There were not many people of darker skin living in the city states of Riverside.


During their talk with Ammon, the girl had tinted her words with an accent that was hard to pinpoint correctly but it did sound Vanguardian.


“Do you know Vanguardian? Or any other language. One that we can use to talk openly without coming up with excuses to leave. My imagination for secret rendezvous only goes so far,” she snorted and shrugged. “Warren is bound follow us sooner or later. The man’s loyalty knows no bounds.”


***


Lene turned around and took half a step back, a hand on her chest. Eyes wide and cheeks drained of all colour, she stared at Hardeep with true horror written on her face.


“Mountain bless you, My Lord.” She struggled to breathe, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I urge you to get rid of the slave. Nothing good will come of her. Spare yourself and your family from divine punishment that is sure to befall you for having the likes of her in your midst.”


Muttering something in a language that Azar could not understand, Lene set her eyes down to gaze at the floor and then gestured a symbol in the air in front of her. Three triangles, with a big one in the middle and framed by two smaller ones at the sides. The odd sign was drawn out with a practiced hand. Lene’s thin fingers trembled ever so slightly as if she was mortified by just being told of the mark on the chest of some slave woman.


“Calm down, Lene,” Azar said. The words were that of an order than a comforting plea. “Do you know what the mark means?”


“Every Izmarian does. It is a Mark of the Exiled,” Lene said with a trembling voice. The heavily accented Crubian made it hard to understand what the servant was trying to say.


Azar remained silent, not giving any indication that she had or had not heard of the strange mark. A moment passed before Lene pursed her lips and lifted both hands to her chest and sat down onto the floor once again, now a bit farther from Hardeep. Slowly, she set the palms of her hands onto her lap and smoothed the skirt of her dress.


“It is a punishment,” Lene said as she looked down at the floor, her voice but a whisper masked by a crackling flame behind the riders.


“A punishment?” Azar asked.


“Yes, Madam, for leaving the embrace of our God.” A shaky breath was taken before Lene continued, struggling to regain a calm composure to continue conversation. “Kind Leonidas the Fifth – may the Mountain allow save passage from the world of spirits and into ours once more – had issued it to save my homeland from poverty and death. Those who wished to leave my blessed homeland of Izmar were cursed with infertility and forbidden from ever returning within the God’s embrace. They are never to see the realm of spirits and their souls are to be trapped in the tunnels dug by the rockworms beneath the Mountain as divine retribution.”


Azar did not appear to be at all taken aback by the words. If this ‘punishment’ bothered her as it did Lene, the female rider did not show it. Instead, she asked, “Were? It is not practiced anymore?”


“No, Madam. Kind Radburn the First – may his reign be prosperous and blessed with the Mountain’s protection – abolished it three years ago. The Cursed ones are forbidden from returning, still. A fitting punishment for abandoning our land.” There was genuine anger in her voice and she hissed the words Cursed Ones through gritted teeth.


“How do you not have the Mark? You’ve arrived four years ago.” Azar cocked her head.


“It is…different,” Lene stuttered, her eyes darting around as if searching for an answer. “I have left with a permission from our benevolent King Radburn. No cursed Mark appeared on my chest when I left.” As if to prove a point, Lene straightened to let orange firelight touch her collarbone. Unlike Irene’s, it was clear. “It was in the God’s wish to let me leave untouched by the curse of sterility and shame.”


Turning her attention from Lene – who was still looking at Hardeep in alarm – Azar raised her cup to her lips and took a sip from the tea that was growing cold.


“Unless Lord Hardeep has more questions, you are free to go Lene,” Azar said calmly as she set the cup down onto the chair.


“My Lord,” Lene leaned forward, a hand sliding from her lap to rest on the floor as she looked at Hardeep, “I beg of you, spare us the god’s wrath and get rid of the slave. A barren woman with no country is all she is and will be, as she’d chosen selfishness over her motherland.”


Azar had shot the servant a sharp stare but did not reprimand the young girl.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

"You think I've impressed her?" Galene asked, a tint of surprise in her voice. "Well, I suppose I hadn't offended her, which is an accomplishment in itself."


She bent down, the bear pelt still around her shoulders and examined some of the green leaves reaching out towards the sky, a few paces away from the treeline. There were some that she did recognize from her life before, with jagged edges that were tinted a slight purple and had arranged themselves in a circle. They would be rather salty, which she supposed would be a good addition to the soup. She wrapped her fingers around the base of the plant and pulled, shaking the roots out as best as possible before turning to Irene and peeling the leaves off of the stem, placing the leaves into the bowl. She figured they could wash the leaves when they went to the well. Bending down to start working on another stalk, she paused and glanced at the older woman when she mentioned Ming Xia before.


"Hui Hua recognized you," Galene said, stating it as a fact and not a question. "And Ming Xia did not. You visited here when she was younger?"


Galene glanced back at the leaves that she had known.


"I am sure you would know as much as I, and as much as she, that a few years can change plenty in one's life."


She pulled up two more plants before finally responding to Irene's about hunting and Ammon and Vanguardian. She paused when the woman mentioned the place she had once loved and been a citizen of, one that wore pretty dresses alongside riding pants, one where she ran through the streets and fumbled across rooftops. She had seen her older siblings married in ceremonies of flowers and seen the people her parents called allies buried in the earth, wrapped in rope and covered in sweet flowers to return to where they had once came.


"I know Vanguardian, yes," Galene said calmly.


<<I'm afraid Warren is a problem swayed only by Hardeep,>> she said, speaking the language for the first time in three years, having left it behind so long ago. It felt almost clumsy on her tongue. <<And I cannot sway him as easily as Kydoimos. Kydoimos may have a difficult time swaying him, for all intents and purposes. I say we concern ourselves with the first orders of business; how we met and how much coin I owe you.>>


She peeled the leaves off and left them in the bowl, dusting the soil off on her pelt. There were now a few fistfuls in the bowl and she figured they would be enough.


<<As for your skill, I assume that one of us being exposed would ensure our mutual punishment,>> Galene replied. <<A mercenary is a mercenary, and you had to have lived for very long.>>


She paused for a second, staring at Irene, her face frowning.


<<And of course, the Exile would have forced you to pick up some traits, no?>>

Hardeep Passi

Hardeep listened to the servant ramble on, his face blank.


Balin and Estzar were typical dragon riders, believing that no god could chain them down. They were invincible on the earth, the domain of man. The gods frolicked in the skies, in the dirt below, but where the dragons rode and man touched, it was theirs and theirs alone. The gods could not trespass on their land for it was not where they were created and as such, they had no control. When people died, they turned towards the domain of the gods, spiraling upwards into the sky on the wind, turning to ash and fading into the skies and the stars.


"A curse," Hardeep deadpanned. "A curse on a family I no longer have." It was true; his father was dead as was his mother and he had known no uncles or aunts.


"The gods are busy individuals," he continued, "and have much to care for. Crubia believes the god's domain rests in the sky and in the earth beneath us. I have been told Vanguardians believe the gods completely removed, hovering elsewhere and fighting their own wars. What say your god, that is so close to us mortals here? What say that the gods that the mountain people here believe are the only ones allowed to touch this place?"


He sipped his tea.


"Any wrath," he said, "that you may face caused by my slave will be my burden. Come to me with any concerns and I will righten them with my own hands as a rider, not a god.


"And," he added, his eyes narrowing, "some leave lands for reasons beyond their own will and reach."


He sipped on the cooling liquid, remembering what his father said about Estzar, and the family she had left behind.


"There are many reasons why she left. Her own safety among them."


"I have no more questions for you," he said, trying to muster up any form of politeness to a woman who clearly believed the stories instead of the sights. "But your statements have been... interesting and unique."


Not enlightening for sure.


The woman stood hastily, bowing to them both, her lips pursed and hands clasped before her, clearly taking Hardeep's lack of action as an insult or slight to her own land.


No matter.


He had a sword when she did not and if she thought it best to rid the mountain of the so-called cursed, Hardeep would find it amusing.


"Quite an interesting character," Hardeep said to Azar. "How did you come across her?"

 

[Lenaara]

Irene had crouched down onto the ground as well and slid the palm of her hand over a stalk of taller and thinner grass. Wrapping her fingers around it, she pulled and through the dampened ground the wild onion emerged easily. The excessive dirt was shaken and brushed off from the root and the vegetable was put into the wooden bowl alongside other herbs that Galene had collected. Green petals of the wood sorrel – the ones less wilted and darkened by frost and cold – followed suit and lay scattered on the bottom of the bowl.


A short distance ahead she’d noticed familiar greens of dandelions and several acorns scattered on the ground beneath the oak that she’d been leaning on moments before. Standing up, Irene stepped towards that area and began to gather the leaves of dandelion plant and acorns, piling them in the hem of her jacket that she lifted up.


Galene’s question about having visited this village did not surprise Irene and she did not look at the girl when she spoke.


“Yes. Some fifteen years ago. I was traveling with my uncle at the time and we stopped here for about six months,” Irene said and stood up, carrying the found acorns and leaves towards the bowl. She let them fall from her jacket into the bowl and dusted the fabric to get rid of the dirt.


“Hui Hua was the one who gave us lodgings,” she continued. “My uncle hunted the creatures here for a while. Helped the villagers protect their homes. We waited for a merchant to pass by and hire him as a bodyguard or a guide so we could continue moving. A young woman then, I had just began training with my uncle. There was little skill to my aimless swinging, however,” she chuckled at the memory. “So when uncle left for the forest, I was left to deal with Hui Hua’s children. Ming Xia was one of them. I remember her little; her other siblings are a different matter. I tried to duel them constantly and ended up face planted into the dirt as a result.”


“I am sure you would know as much as I, and as much as she, that a few years can change plenty in one’s life.”


Irene did not respond to the statement but merely looked down at her hands in silence. She had been reaching towards another stalk of wild onions when Galene had said those words. Though it was not the tall grasses that attracted Irene’s attention. It was her hands. Thin and calloused, much more tanned than they’ve ever been before.


Indeed, a few years can change a life. But Ming Xia was not as Galene and Irene. Slaves they might be, but they were alive, with some fire of life and personality behind their actions. Ming Xia was a husk, an empty shell of a person with dull dark eyes that were unnerving to look into.


What happened to Ming Xia was worse than being sold into slavery. The people of the mountain did not break down easily.


Another batch of wild onions was pulled from the ground, shaken a bit and then brought to throw into the bowl. Galene spoke when Irene had stood up again, the language foreign to her ear and she had to focus on it to remember the words. It had been years since she’s used it, though she remembered it better than the harsh language that the mountain folk used.


<<Warren is only doing his job,>> Irene said with a soft sigh. <<I do not judge him for it. Even if his attitude towards me is overbearing. Those threats and accusations are more than just his job speaking. He is so loyal it is frightening.>>


Stepping back from the basin, Irene leaned against the oak once again and lifted her hands to brush them through her hair. Tucking shorter strands that got pulled from the braid throughout the day by the tree branches and cold harsh winds, behind her ears, Irene slid a hand over the braid at her back. It would have to be redone once they returned.


<<Even Hardeep might not have the power to sway Warren. Not while he thinks I killed Balin.>>


Warren had shown signs of weaknesses to Irene, signs that made him human. But just as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished only to be replaced by the cold gaze that promised certain death if she misbehaved or acted in a way that would endanger Hardeep. The guard was not bluffing when he warned her the other night. If anything was to happen to Hardeep with her around, Warren’s judgement would be swift.


The thought was chilling.


Pulled away from the unnerving thoughts of Warren, Irene looked at Galene for a moment before letting her gaze slide over the ground in thought.


<<Well, I usually put a job notice at a tavern. That is how people found me and hired me. We can claim we’ve met like this in Edone. Half of the promised coin was paid up front to prepare for the journey. The rest you owe me until our return. How much time is it to travel from Edone to these mountains? A month? The promised coin will depend on the time spent traveling.>>


It wouldn’t be that out of the ordinary to be traveling to Edone, Irene supposed. Ammon wouldn’t question her sudden change of heart when it came to preferred place of work. Riverside was far away, though Ammon wouldn’t possibly know that she hasn’t been around those parts for nearly three years.


Pure speculation.


Ammon did mention that he had been in Crubia, taking charge over his homestead for some time. A head of a rider family wouldn’t get news from Riverside and its missing mercenaries.


<<Many mercenaries only know which part of the sword is used for stabbing. Hunting is rarely a skill they rely on. Taverns and inns with ale is all most care about.>> Irene shrugged and folded her arms over her stomach, tucking her hands into the sides of the furs draped over her shoulders. <<Even I spent most my evenings there. Forests are too dangerous to hunt in often. Unless my charge demanded it, we never spent the nights there. I used to travel with provisions and when I ran out, I stopped by a town to buy more or work for coin. It was a life of constant travel and I was rarely alone.>>


A hint of nostalgia was present in Irene’s words, sadness that she tried to mask. <<Don’t think I don’t know how to hunt. Snares and traps is the extent of my abilities.>> Another shrug and Irene snorted, the corner of her lips curving into a sad half-smile in mockery of her own skill. <<I hate using the bow. No matter how much I copy the other’s stance, never will the arrow hit what I want it to. Maybe I was never cut out to be a bowman.>>


Galene’s question made the smile disappear from Irene’s lips almost instantly and she looked up at the girl with raised brows. Surprised at the mention of Exile, Irene regarded the girl in confusion mixed with a slight tint of shame. Though the young woman’s words did not sound accusatory, even if she was frowning.


At least she didn’t spit at Irene like any other would who knew what the ink on her chest meant.


<<It forced me to do much,>> Irene said calmly as she let out a breath that she did not realize she was holding. <<The traits I picked up centred around travel, the constant need to move. My job became my life. I know little else because I never wished for something different. I loved it.>>


There was much that she had learnt. Languages, traditions, dances and songs. She met many people and visited many places. She’s seen the world as much as it permitted her. On the mountain it all mattered little. Strength was the most important currency and Irene lacked it, for her muscles were no longer strong and quick, but rather dried from the scorching sun.


Looking away from Galene, Irene was silent. There was no sadness in her words as she spoke of her life, other than a hint of longing that transferred to her eyes. The life of a mercenary was accepted wholeheartedly and Irene never deviated from it, finding purpose in it that she wished to fulfil. Being sold into slavery turned into an obstacle that she’d overcome one day. One day.


<<Don’t tell anyone else of what my Mark is,>> Irene said as she took a deep breath and looked at Galene. <<While my own people think me cursed, others think me an opportunity to earn coin or a good time without consequences. And there are enough people on this mountain who want either. Especially riders.>>


It was not a secret to the slaves that dragon riders were careful when it came to intimacy. Hisraad was over the Mountain happy with having obtained Irene before a rider had caught wind of a woman such as her being sold on the slave market. One day he even dared explaining the reasons for his lifted spirits, claiming how the riders avoided intimacy with slaves for one reason – so no half-slave half-riders were born from the intercourse. Even the slaves talked to one another, whispering rumours of contraceptive herbs that the riders used only to avoid “accidents.”


Hardeep’s calm behaviour was surprising. He had never looked at the Mark with recognition lingering in his eyes. If he did not know what the ink on her chest meant, it was best to keep it that way.


<<You know a lot about me,>> Irene said as she stepped towards Galene. <<Any other sell-sword would have threatened to kill you to keep you quiet.>> Another step. Only a few feet separated Irene from Galene, and behind the girl was a tree trunk of a large willow. <<It is surprising you did not tell anyone of my past, my Mark. What is more surprising, is that you think I will not be like any other sell-sword and end this charade.>>


The words were calm, though the threat lingered in the air. She was bluffing, thinking to scare the girl into silence by threatening to be an immoral mercenary. Not one to play the games of schemes, lies and deceit, Irene preferred to steer clear from the people whose lives revolved around veiled threats and insults. And Galene appeared to be someone who was from such a world.


Lifting a hand, Irene rested it against the tree trunk above Galene’s shoulder and pinned the girl in place with a cold stare. The two of them were almost the same height. Irene was thinner, though she stood confident and straight in front of Galene, seemingly sure of her skill to overpower the girl despite their weight difference.


The silver of her eyes was dark; her face a stone emotionless mask. A moment of silence passed. Not even birds chirped above them, as if silent in anticipation for what was to happen. Then, Irene looked away from Galene, closed her eyes as if in contemplation and sighed through her nose. Stepping away from the girl, Irene turned to reach down and take the wooden bowl in her hands. When she looked at Galene again, the cold was gone from her eyes.


<<Don’t worry. I won’t,>> she said as she pressed the bowl between her side and forearm. <<I do not kill, whether you believe me or not.>> Taking another step back, Irene turned towards the village. <<Tell me your price. For your silence. Unless you wish me to teach you how to fight, there is little else I can offer.>>


***


Azar had been sipping on her tea and avoided looking at her servant. Lene had glanced at Azar more than once, her green eyes darting from Hardeep to the woman beside him. Confused and insulted, the girl had looked at Azar in the end with hope in her eyes, no doubt expecting some support from the woman who brought her to this mountain. No support was offered. Azar never looked away from her tea and continued to sip at the brew.


Only when Lene disappeared behind the partition did Azar look at Hardeep. No hint of being insulted at having her own servant reprimanded for her beliefs, no matter how silly they were, was shown. Indeed, Azar appeared completely calm as if the entire conversation was no more than a poorly executed amusing performance.


“Indeed,” Azar agreed with a soft chuckle. She set down the empty cup onto the chair. “She is a marvel to converse with, as long as the topic is non-religious. It is unfortunate that the conversation had taken such a turn. I never imagined that...Mark to affect anyone so poorly.”


Reaching forward, Azar had added some more kindling into the flickering flames. Shadows shifted and moved, dancing across her smooth skin and lit her hair in a shining halo.


“Lene arrived to Crubia five years ago through an arranged marriage to a distant cousin of mine. I believe she was thirteen at the time. I have accepted her as my lady-in-waiting a year after, as per my aunt’s request. Truthfully, I believe that Lene simply wished to be away from her dearest husband. The man has never been good with women, or so the rumours claim. No wonder he’d entered the series of talks to find a young wife outside of Crubia.”


Turning to Hardeep, she placed a hand on his thigh for a moment only. “She is not going to be a nuisance to you, I assure you. You are burdened with enough troubles as it is. If you need support, a friend on this wretched piece of cold rock, I am here.” Her hand slid down and rested on the floor. “Though perhaps I should ask Lene to wait outside during your next visit,” she added with a smile. “Maybe she can offer you more interesting and unique statements.” Playful mockery tinted her words, the ones that Hardeep had used himself to describe Lene’s words that were more ravings of a madwoman than something enlightening.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Galene

<<This should be enough,>> Galene said in reference to the vegetables. <<We should perhaps take them to the well to wash.>>


She said nothing about the other woman's interactions previously with Ming Xia, simply raising an eyebrow and stating, <<It must have been interesting, seeing her again like that.>>


Galene snorted, rolling her eyes to the sky. <<Loyalty is the death of humanity,>> she said, <<at least loyalty to mortals and immortals, to people and subjects instead of ideals. If you would follow someone to the ends of the world, than you are exploitable until the end of time. Exploitable people are pawns and malleable.>> She had known this from the games the adults played in Vanguard, pushing guards and servants hired for coin in a direction with the promise of glory, of hope and then watching them burn from afar. She watched her mother play the game and watched the fire rain down from the sky as the dragons came for their retribution. She had watched men and women burned alive, skewered by bows and spears, and she had watched blood run down the street from her castle up high, the maids running amok in an attempt to control something, anything.


<<Edone is a little over a month's ride here,>> Galene said. <<I am the daughter of a merchant and my father is ailing so I have come here instead with his wares to sell. I intend to perhaps find a healer with a potential cure and have hired you as protection in that tavern you so said, having decided that a woman would not fare well in a foreign land, no matter how many times she had seen her father go.>>


Irene's remark about what her job as a mercenary entailed made Galene suspicious, but only slightly. Truth be told, those that followed coin worried her as much as those that followed others until the end of the earth but she knew better than to leap to conclusions. As loyal as Orien appeared, she knew something had occurred between Hardeep and Orien, a fissure deep enough to drive them away from each other but not too terrible that Orien had lost power. Or perhaps the gap was wide enough that Hardeep did not care to say the man's name, to dismiss his power because he figured the slave so insignificant.


In that case, wouldn't Orien be angry?


His smiles were emptier, though.


<<Do not fret about your mark,>> Galene said, <<I have no use for it to be revealed.>> If Irene feared its truth, than Galene had power by holding onto it tightly.


<<A good time?>> Galene asked, racking her brain for a reason why. The Exile prevented the individual from reproducing, if her memory served correct. And it was a mark, to show that they could not return to their homeland of Izmar, one to spin people into a frenzy. Vanguardians would have laughed at their assumptions, chortling at the idea that the gods gave a damn.


"A mountain," her brother Barrin had said, a man of the army already and a marriage on the brink of arrangement, "Can you believe they think of a mountain as a god? Pray they don't see what the drunkards do on the mountain!"


Their oldest brother had smacked him across the head for the comment, supposedly more read.


The memory was almost painful now, in a land she did not know, on the mountain that was worshiped (she thought, she could not longer remember or pinpoint where anything was anymore like she used to), standing by a woman who had once slit throats and may have held a dagger to one of her house before, or perhaps guarded someone who dangled coin and prestige in front of them.


The other woman's approach and threat made Galene stand up taller, folding her arms over her chest and jutting out her chin, reflecting a pose she had seen her mother do when the men tried to beat her down for not accepting them at face value. Her own silver eyes stared back at Irene's unblinking and unflinching, mouth in a frown and jaw set. <<You know why you have not threatened me?>> Galene said tartly. <<Because you are smart. You are a slave, if you have forgotten, one recently bought and still on watch for murder, even if I do not believe it. You are smaller than the usual mercenary and have no weapons of easy access. If I was found dead, Warren would assume you and Kydoimos would burn this whole damned place to the ground to kill you, even if they did not know your face.>> She tilted her head at Irene, eyes narrowing. <<You know better than to kill. If I was with a stupid mercenary, I would not have come out to such a secluded space, away from potential protectors.>>


When the woman left Galene did not relax, continuing to gaze at her back. <<Learning how to fight may prove useful,>> she said, <<though I say not now for the simple reason that leaving the cabin will be difficult and Kydoimos has their suspicion still on you, as does Warren. Too dangerous now, but I will take you up on it one day.>>


She followed Irene back into town and to the well. She watched the other woman operate it for a moment before attempting herself, having always had water made by the maids and butlers that kept her tidy when her mother was busy. Being a slave had taught her to appreciate the underlings, that they did more than she had assumed originally.


Cleaning off the dirt was a quick task and soon enough, Galene was hiking back to the cabin with them in the bowl, pushing open the door and setting them next to Orien, who turned them over in his head before nodding his thanks and taking a knife to shorten the leaves and slice open the onions, tossing them into the pot.

Hardeep Passi

"Some believe the rumors told by most," Hardeep said simply, finishing the last of his tea. Hardeep didn't move at the statement of an arranged marriage, though he did wonder what the woman meant by "been good with women". It could mean that he was horrid at treating them, though Hardeep hoped that most of the riders still adhered to their code of ethics and were half the man that Balin was publicly. Or perhaps it meant he was not faithful or preferred men to a degree higher than Hardeep himself, though not out of the same reasons as Hardeep more than likely.


Glancing only momentarily at the hand placed on his thigh, his eyes moved back to Azar and her face and he paused to think.


A gift and some tea were not a stable ground for friendship or alliance. The mountain was cold and someone had killed Balin, somehow, on a dragon.


"I am sure," Hardeep said, a smile not quite making its way across his lips. "But for now, I believe I must go and check up on my own. Safe travels and I thank you for the gifts and the tea. Perhaps I will come back for some more."


He stood and bowed slightly to the woman, to give a sense of propriety before leaving and heading back to his own cabin, where Orien appeared to be making a meal with Galene hovering near him.

 

[Lenaara]

The cabin was made as comfortable as it was possible. With little at their disposal, decorating the living area divided into three rooms by walls so thin their role was that of partitions and nothing more, the task of unpacking was finished promptly and the items were laid out around the main room.


It had become colder now; the wind whistled through the gaps in the walls and the narrow windows more often as the day progressed towards the evening. It had begun snowing outside. Floating lazily in the air the snowflakes fell onto those outside their protective homes. Coating the shoulders and the heads of the villagers, riders and slaves alike, the snowflakes melted quickly.


It was the reason why Irene sat as close to the hearth as possible to dry her thin clothes and damp hair. Droplets of water coated her forehead and cheeks after having left the cabin again after she and Galene returned.


The need to fetch more water from the well was only partly an excuse to get Galene out of the cabin to talk privately. They still needed some fresh water within reach, if not for consumption then for cleaning. It remained a question whether the mountain folk were going to allow riders to freely use their bathing house. Even if they did not, the riders had blades and dragons at their disposal. If the villagers did not bend to their guests’ will now, they would sooner or later. Strength was valued and the riders had it. Not the slaves, however. It was doubtful that the bathing house was going to fare well with the increased traffic. Slaves might not be given the chance to wash themselves from the dirt and dampness that seemed to be everywhere on the mountain.


Two more basins were brought into the cabin and put by the hearth. One was carried over by Warren as he tagged along with Irene when she left after having said that she was going to go to the well. It was not surprising that Warren chose to go with Irene though she suspected his eagerness to go fetch more water to be influenced by something else other than his suspicions of her.


The guard was blushing. More than that, he kept fidgeting. More than once he’d run a hand through his hair or rub the back of his neck or the pommel of his sword. He had helped Orien with preparing the meal. Maybe that was the extent of his ability to keep a cool head around the man whom he fancied.


Irene had been kneeling by one of the basins, her hands dipped into the ice cold water. The basin was put near the fire though it did little to warm its contents. She had to set her jaw and bear with the cold as she rubbed off the accumulated from the day’s events dirt from her fingers.


Behind her, Warren was unwrapping some bowls that they brought with them from the fabrics that protected the thin clay from cracking. After having unwrapped a bowl, he gave it to Orien who in turn poured some soup into the dish. The first bowl was given to Hardeep, then Kydoimos.


Rugs were spread over the floor by the hearth, as close to the fire as it was allowed. They sat in a semi-circle around the hearth, all given their share of the meal that smelled oddly pleasing and promised a good taste.


The soup was surprisingly good. It was warm and thicker in consistency, resembling a porridge of oats mixed with herbs and bits of meat. It warmed Irene’s palms as she held the bowl as she sat beside Warren, legs crossed under her. Warren had eyed the meal sceptically at first, poking at the meat with a wooden spoon that was given to him. The scepticism had left his features, however, when he took a spoonful and paused, chewing at the porridge. The way he finished the rest of the bowl was enough to see that he was enjoying the meal.


Irene had finished her own share quickly; it was a habit to eat one’s fill before it was taken away. No pebbles were found in her bowl. It was doubtful that Orien would ever stoop so low as to add stone to her food as a prank or a threat.


“Orien,” Warren said quietly to the slave as he set the wooden spoon onto the bowl and then placed it in front of him onto the rug. “It was, uh,” the guard cleared his throat, “it was good. The meal. It was delicious.”


In the orange firelight it was impossible to see clearly, but Warren was blushing. Even the tips of his ears, hidden by the strands of his hair, had taken on a hue of pink. Maybe it was the cold.


“It was,” Irene added as she set down her own empty bowl. A faint smile played on her lips as she glanced at Warren, seemingly amused by the guard’s attempt at complimenting the other slave.


Warren had been very quiet around Orien before, allowing only glances in the other’s direction and an occasional greeting. This was good progress, even if it was awkward and seemed jerky. At least Warren stuttered less. Though an occasional glance or two was thrown at Hardeep, as if Warren was unsure if his words were appropriate.


The meal had warmed her, lifted her spirits even. It had been a while since they ate last. It was warm by the hearth, the scent of the porridge still lingering in the air. The crackling fire was calming and protective, warding off the howling winds that have picked up speed outside.


Irene waited patiently for everyone to finish their meal. It was best to ask Hardeep the question that she had already knew the answer to when he was alone. The question of whether or not she’d be allowed to sew some embroidery onto the clothing given to her. Warren would not let her near a needle or anything resembling one before his master had given approval.


Lifting her arms and careful not to bump anyone with her elbow, Irene pulled her braid to the front and freed it from the leather tie that secured the braid at the end. Long and surprisingly straight, her hair fell over her shoulders in a curtain when she freed it from the braid and then prepared to retie it once again. At her side, Warren had eyed Irene with furrowed brows.


“Why don’t you just cut it?” He asked, his eyes following her fingers as they slid through the strands to untangle some knot or another.


“It’s against my culture,” Irene said simply. She was swiftly tying the braid, the action practiced dozens of times before. At Warren’s question Irene eyed the braid with slightly pursed lips and her fingers halted for a moment.


The hair was getting long. It already reached her hips. Before, she viewed it as a mark of strength, the proof that she’s never been defeated in battle. It mattered little to others. The custom only applied to the men of the Izmarian Warrior Caste, anyway. While Irene chose to follow the rules as any other man would, others would not view her hair to be anything but a sign that she was not yet married. Such long hair in Izmar on a woman would be nothing but shameful; she was no royal to keep her hair long and beautiful.


Now, it mattered little. A slave’s life was not full of battles and duels. It was doubtful anyone knew of the Izmarian customs. It was doubtful anyone knew what the braid meant. Izmar was never a nation to boast its culture to others.


While her fingers slid through her hair, dividing it and pulling at the strands, Irene looked at Galene. Back at the clearing where they searched for the herbs, no response was offered to the girl’s statements. There was nothing to say even if the younger woman’s comments made Irene uneasy and tense.


The girl was not wrong in her views; indeed, she was smart. Moreover, she was educated. And educated as a noble would, in the very least. There were hints of Galene’s upbringing in her attitude, in her words as she spoke about loyalty and how it could be used against those who swore to follow someone. That comment alone was enough to make the alarm bells in Irene’s mind ring loudly.


With ease the girl took the role of some Naomi woman from Edone, a daughter of a merchant. With ease she lied about it to Ammon, a dragon rider.


Positive that Galene was not born into slavery, Irene wished not to think of who the girl used to be before her life had taken a drastic change. A young woman of a wealthy family who exploited weaknesses of others, no doubt. Who manipulated and lied as if it was a part of their being. Who gathered information and then held onto it like it was gold, a currency ready to be used against others.


It was not out of the ordinary for nobility and royalty to be sold into slavery. Though Irene wished not to entertain the idea that Galene used to be a part of the family that sat on jewel encrusted thrones and spoke in lies and threats as innocents were pulled into their petty squabbles and died as a consequence of their actions.


Maybe it was better not to think of such things. It wouldn’t change the present predicament. It wouldn’t change the fact that Galene knew of Irene’s past and held onto the information, waiting to use it if needed. Irene met enough of such people in her life to know that sooner or later it was going to happen. She only hoped that day would never come.


By the time that the braid was done, tight and heavy in her hand, most had finished their meal. Warren had pushed his bowl towards Irene, a silent command to take on the task of cleaning up. Then the guard stood up and quietly excused himself, claiming he must go back to his post at the cabin’s entrance. On the way out he grabbed his sword that was left to lean against the wall, and strapped it to his belt. Cold wind shook the flames in the hearth when Warren closed the door softly behind him.


Taking Warren’s empty bowl and putting it inside of her own, Irene stood up and began collecting the remaining empty dishes. Holding the stacked bowls in one hand, Irene knelt on one knee behind Hardeep; her hand reached towards his bowl though not yet taking it.


“Lord Hardeep,” she began quietly, “am I allowed to broider the clothing given to me? Warren can give me his thread. Unless I can use the one you brought with.”


Looking up at the man, Irene wondered if he’d inquire about how the hunting discussion had gone. After all, Hardeep left before the group went for the forest to show proof behind Galene’s claims of being able to use a bow. Maybe he’d ask Ming Xia instead; the girl seemed more inclined to talk to the riders who hired her, her words held more weight than Irene's.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Hardeep Passi

The snow that was coming down was concerning, if only slightly to Hardeep. The chill was something he was wholly unused to and the fat flakes that melted on his furs soaked them more than he'd expected. He remembered Ming Xia, some time ago, shedding furs when she had to work manually and wondered if that was the reason why she could withstand the cold. He watched the others around the room interact; Galene and Kydoimos talking as they did, like children; Orien laboring over the hot fire though given the temperature, perhaps it was not too much of a labor; Warren fidgeting near the slave, an action that made Hardeep quirk an eyebrow and resent whatever fumbling would no doubt come; and Irene.


He had said nothing to her, made no mention of the mark. There was no need to for him, since he had thought it had some importance of a culture he did not know of. But now?


Even though the other servant had sounded like a fanatic, there was weight in her words. Whether Hardeep believed it or not, she believed it deeply enough and it had been important enough to be abolished, as if it did contain some power that could not be allowed to move along the bodies of others. He frowned and stared at the flames, seated a good distance away from them. Even if they were to warm him, he knew they could burn him as well. The others had huddled close to it, warming themselves as the winds blew in, their cabin far shabbier than the others Hardeep had seen.


For a second, he became bitter. If Ming Xia had done her job properly, than they would not be so chilled. If the mountain girl was here perhaps they would have been able to find more pelts and furs. For a second, he considered demanding more from her.


But she was a brick wall, an empty void, staring back with only blank eyes and a lack of anything. The bitterness faded to mild annoyance that he had been saddled with the one that seemed to care least of all, face distant and expression never shifting.


The soup was a welcome reprieve, filling him warmly. The spices reminded him of home and while it was more akin to the thickened porridge the slaves ate and nothing like the delicate soups he drank himself, it was good with what they had. The meat of the hare was soft enough to chew and the flavor close enough to the desert rabbits that it did not upset him too much. The leaves and the seeds gathered from outdoors were not bitter, though they were not tangy and the only flavor he could summon out of them was salt. But it was a meal, and the broth that had been created was one that he drank completely, anxious to taste a bit of Crubia after nearly two days of not being able to taste the food.


"It is done well with what we have," Hardeep said and Galene turned to frown at him.


"I think it's delightful," she said to Orien in a voice that seemed to suggest that she viewed her compliment better than his, which was probably true but irked him nonetheless. He narrowed his eyes at the young slave before Kydoimos rested a hand on hers, causing Hardeep to scrutinize the rider instead.


Before he could consider snapping at the girl or at the rider for being the way they were as if nothing had changed, Irene spoke to him.


He turned his head towards her and frowned.


"Ah-- yes," he said. "I have thread that may be used. Though I must request something from you in the meantime."

 

[Lenaara]

A subtle glance was cast at the other rider and the slave at his side. It was doubtful anyone missed how Kydoimos rested his hand atop Galene’s. The gesture was scarcely hidden, as if the two cared little in hiding such hints to their forbidden relationship.


Irene supposed it was not forbidden for a rider to take a slave to their bed. A slave was a slave; no way around it. Many of power believed that hired help and indentured servants were to do tasks beyond cooking and cleaning. Hisraad was one such example, albeit not a rider. Still, it was behind closed doors. It was doubtful any rider would boldly claim to have slept with many slaves and servants. Moreover, no rider would claim to have started an open romantic relationship with a slave. Even friendship between such individuals would be judged harshly and disapproved of.


There were boundaries to adhere to. Social limits. As long as those were followed, the not so approved relationship between Kydoimos and Galene might stand a chance. Perhaps. It was not for Irene to judge them or to give them advice on such matters.


Still, she did furrow her brows for a fraction of a moment at seeing the physical contact between the younger girl and the rider. Lifting her eyes, Irene scanned the room for any looks of disapproval. None had voiced a single comment; only Hardeep appeared to have given the two young people a scrutinizing look.


Well, Irene thought, as long as those two were sharing such moments in private – and she assumed this cabin to be the most private place in the entire village – then they had little to worry about. Perhaps she should speak with Galene on the matter. It would attract too much attention if her so called ‘charge’ was to be known to be frolicking about with a rider in public.


Irene took Hardeep’s bowl and put it inside the ones she already held in the other hand. Lifting her eyes to look at the man, a faint surprise creased her features. It was not his answer that caused a faint hint of panic to take root in her chest. It was his request.


Did he find out? Was he suspicious?


No. It was doubtful he’d stay so civil if he found out of Irene’s past or her lies to Ammon. He’d cut down the slaves who dared be between him and the bathhouse on the day of his father’s death. He’d nearly cut her down, and probably would have had he not liked the words that she offered him.


Irene did not let that slight hint of fear show. Hardeep’s request was nothing out of the ordinary. Though she did hesitate for a moment before responding to his words.


“Thank you,” she said and took a breath to say that she was listening to what he wished to ask of her, but looked down at the stack of bowls in her hands. “Let me put this away first.”


Leaning back, Irene stood up and balanced the bowls easily with one hand as she quickly collected the remaining dishes from the rest of the group. The stack of bowls was left by one of the water basins by the hearth for washing up. She supposed it’d be her task, since Orien, Warren and Galene were mainly the ones who prepared the meal. It was better that way, too. Her cooking skills were never great and she cared little for the taste when she cooked for herself, however rarely. Maybe it was Leon’s influence; the man used to eat for the sake of acquiring energy than to enjoy the taste. Lacking a house to cook in had only made her cooking skills deteriorate even more.


Standing up, Irene brushed her hands over her thighs and headed towards Hardeep.


“You wished to request something?” She asked when she neared Hardeep.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Hardeep Passi

Hardeep frowned, watching as Irene cleared the bowls. Galene glanced up as well but said nothing as Orien grabbed the large metal pot and stood.


"I am taking this to the well to clean out," he said.


"Warren can accompany you," Galene said suddenly, causing Hardeep's gaze to once more shift towards the younger girl, but he said nothing. He supposed it made sense, though the fact that she had called on the guard made him feel as though she did not want to be the one to go, as if pushing the burden off would aid herself. Maybe she did not like Warren? Or perhaps she had noticed the flustered guard and had wanted him to become even more so.


It would be somewhat entertaining.


But.


"Galene, how about you go with him?" Hardeep said, his voice calm. The young girl frowned and seemed to want to protest. "It is your role," he continued, "to serve, after all. Don't forget it."


There was a beat of silence where Hardeep's gaze locked onto Kydoimos' and the two seemed to engage in some kind of staring contest, waiting for the other to back down. When Galene finally stood up, furs shifting around her and followed Orien out, the contest broke.


"I have thread in my bag," Hardeep said, standing and walking over to a leather pouch that was his own, full of little objects that he had thought to bring. He pulled out two spools of thread, one in each of his house's colors and a needle. He turned to stare at the woman before beckoning her follow into a corner of the main room, near the door that he had claimed his earlier. He glanced over at Kydoimos, who had stood and gathered his items to enter their own room.


"Before I give you any of this," he said, "I must ask; what does that mark mean on your skin?"

 

[Lenaara]

Irene followed Hardeep towards his bag silently, her head turned to watch Galene leave the cabin after Orien.


It was strange that Galene wished for Warren to accompany Orien instead. Maybe it meant nothing. Or maybe, the girl wanted those two men to finally talk, define their relationship somehow. As entertaining as it was to watch Warren fidget and blush, it was growing tiresome. Perhaps exposing Warren to Orien was going to push the guard into being less alert around Irene, though she doubted that an infatuation with a slave who used to be his master’s lover was going to lessen Warren’s loyalty.


It did not occur to her that only she and the riders remained in the cabin until Hardeep gestured for her to follow him to the corner of the main room, of all places. They were headed to the door that she assumed to be Hardeep’s room now, as Kydoimos had disappeared behind the doorway of the second room. Perhaps Hardeep wished to take an item or another from his room.


They were alone. Galene and Orien had went outside; Kydoimos was in his room; and Warren was standing guard outside.


Just as Irene was about to reach towards the thread and needle that Hardeep promised her, Hardeep spoke and his question stopped her from so much as lifting her hand.


Well. That was something she did not expect to be asked so suddenly. Though it was perhaps not that surprising. There was no recognition in Hardeep’s eyes when he had seen the Mark just the other night. She assumed he did not know what it meant. And she wished to keep it that way for as long as it was possible.


Still, why ask this now?


Questions flashed in her mind, theories of events that sent chills down her spine on spidery legs. Did he speak to Ammon? Did Ammon see her with Hardeep? Did the two of them know of her and Galene’s lie? Ammon knew of the Mark on her chest. He’d seen it, touched it even. Though he did not know what it meant; Irene assured him it was nothing but a tattoo and he did not question her further.


She’d always given people the same answer if they ever asked of the Mark. At times it was impossible to hide it; a lie was all she’d given those who had seen it and did not recognize its true meaning.


A lie was better than the truth.


So a lie was that Hardeep was going to get.


Irene masked the hesitation in answering by genuine surprise. It was asked out of the blue.


“It is just a tattoo,” she answered simply. “A memento from my homeland.” She lifted her hand, palm up, waiting for the spool and needle to be handed to her. “It means nothing.”