by Kris Kramer
***
Hagrim left a guard with us, a man named Atan. I know this because he introduced himself by crouching down in front of us, pulling out a long hunting knife and saying “My name is Atan. I’m here to make sure you don’t cause trouble. If you do, I get to use this.” He pointed his knife at us. “And I like using this.” The man had the charm and personality of a viper.
“Great,” I replied, eager to test my boundaries. “I’d much rather talk to you than him anyway.” I motioned to Riose.
“You will be silent. A word from either of you and I start cutting.”
“No you won’t.”
Atan pounced over me, and held the knife to my neck. “Are you questioning me?” Whoever this Atan guy was, he knew how to look menacing. But I had enough confidence to stare back defiantly.
“Go ahead, cut me. Then see if Hagrim is happy trying to sell damaged goods.”
Atan’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and I swear his chin trembled. I don’t know what he looked like right after that, though, because he punched me in the stomach. Hard. Twice. While I was doubled over, trying to get air back in my lungs, he grabbed me by the back of the neck and jabbed the point of his knife in my neck. “I don’t need to cut you now. I can always wait until after we’re done. Remember that.” He stomped away, forgetting in his anger that he was supposed to watch us.
“Well played,” Riose mumbled, trying not to obviously talk to me. “You do know how to make friends, don’t you?”
“Didn’t you hear Atan?” I said, still catching my breath. “He said to shut up.”
Riose glared at me. "We need to escape. We can't end up in Ochaia."
"I won't. You probably will, though. Sorry."
"Will you stop being a child? If we work together we can get out of this."
"You're the reason we're here."
"No, you're the reason we're here. I told you Hagrim was in the area. You're the fool who threw himself off a cliff, shouting like a bard and letting everyone in the forest know where we were. I’m surprised the elves didn’t come down from up north just to see what that racket was all about."
I shrugged. "I remember doing just fine until you decided to come after me."
"I was doing my-" Riose clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, tired of talking. Which was fine because I didn’t need his help to escape anyway. By now, Saras must have realized something happened between Harfort and Raven’s Crest, and he would be out here looking for me with his father’s men, who probably already knew Hagrim was back as well. Hopefully they would find me, but if not, I’d figure out some way to get out of here on my own. And once I did, I’d leave Riose behind. Let the gods of fate get him out of that jam without me.
The rest of the day came and went. We were given a little bit of food and water for breakfast and then again at dinner, but other than some unnecessary scowling from Atan, who'd returned to resume his watch, we were left alone, and I got a pretty good look at how Hagrim went about his business. He had a reputation for being ruthless, fearsome and brutal, but after spending a day in his camp, I saw only a good-natured man who knew how to keep his men working with a combination of stern lectures and rollicking laughter. When he wasn't raping, killing and stealing, he seemed like a decent enough fellow. Not at all what I’d expected.
We slept that night sitting up against the trees, which meant we didn't sleep very well, and by the time morning came, I was tired, sore, and cramping. Everyone else in camp seemed edgy, though for a different reason. Hagrim told his men to be ready to move as soon as the auction ended, so I guessed they weren't comfortable staying in one spot for as long as they had. The only thing keeping him here now was me, and the thought of what he could get for his new prize. That meant I couldn’t really rely on anyone finding me, unless they showed up today.
Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened. Shortly after mid-morning I heard the whistles of the camp's sentries, a warning that someone was arriving. I looked up and saw a few of Hagrim's men appear from the trees, with a captive in tow – the youngest son of the Lord of Raven’s Crest. Or, as I knew him, Saras.
"No," I groaned, watching in defeat as he was led through the camp, alone. It took him a moment to find me in the crowd, but when he saw me, I couldn't tell if the change in his expression was relief at finding me, or shame at being caught. It didn’t matter. The gods of fate had struck again, only this time they’d dragged my only hope of rescue into the trap with me.