“What are you doing?” David didn’t know what Phel was talking about, but it wasn’t time to make this fearsome man an enemy.
“I demand to know, what in creation is that sorcery?”
“What do you mean?”
“That…blue glowing on your arm.” Tentatively, he touched David’s arm. “Is that a curse or charm?”
“Just a tattoo.” David didn’t have time or the ability to explain the brand to someone who had never seen one before. “Can we keep moving? Before it’s too late.” He tried to step forward.
“Bleeding witch, take me. I ain’t a superstitious one normally, but that’s no ordinary tattoo, my strange farmer. Better start explaining this sorcery before I cut your arm off.” Phel reached for his sword. “That blue glow had better be off before we start sneaking around at night. Hunters will spot us a mile away.”
Point taken. David had never snuck around in the woods at night before. Or anywhere at night. He didn’t do illegal things, and apparently he wasn’t very good at it. Yet another lack of ability to add to the increasing list of incompetence. The brand glowed softly. “Didn’t realize how bright it was.” He tried to downplay it, stalling but looking at the sword hilt nervously. Would Phel really cut his arm off?
“I’ll put the fire out and leave you here as a beacon to draw the predators in,” the warrior growled, the campfire flickering on his face. “Or I cut your arm off. You pick.”
Multiple lies equal a solid truth, David thought. I can’t explain the Xchange stock market baby production to someone from Storyworld. So instead he said, “My parents gave me this tattoo for mystical protection. A magician from the wild Independents clan, real spiritual loony from the coast caves, burned this onto my body at my parents’ behest. It’s a part of me.” David bent and scooped up some mud and rubbed it all over his left arm. The blue glow disappeared behind the sludge. “Better?” It had been several weeks since his last rebranding, and the brand’s effects were wearing off, its promptings dim. He needed to get rebranded soon.
Thankfully, Phel nodded back and released him. The knight pushed a cold metal object into David’s unsteady fingers. “Know how to use this?”
David cut himself as he tried to see what it was. “Ouch, a dagger.”
“Seems like I won’t have to cut your arm off for you.” Phel chuckled at his clumsiness.
“Gods, that hurt.” David tucked it away.
Phel gave him a stern glare, saying, “Not just any weapon but my lover’s dagger. I mean to return it to her and free her this night, if we can find a clue as to where the slavers are hiding their prisoners.”
David looked intently at the ornate hilt under the moonlight. He gasped. The symbol of the Moonz was on the handle, and a blue gem was mounted on the pommel.
“Let’s go find and free them,” David said, and sighed in relief at not being left behind. The two men, the warrior and the office manager, snuck among the trees until they saw the cottage in the clearing. It stood silently, too quiet, and looked a lot more menacing in the dark. The white stone reflected the moon, and the dark chimney stuck up above the structure. It looked like a tombstone. The haggard knight led the silent invasion of the cottage, his footsteps deliberate and hushed. They circled three times, listening for sounds of a trap. The only sound David heard was a mournful owl hooting at the night sky. Droplets of fear began to drip from his brow.
Reaching the door, their backs pressed against the tombstone-like walls, Phel held a finger to his lips. “Wait ten seconds, and then follow me inside.” He waved his fingers to reiterate “ten” before shifting his hand to his sword but instead settled on a dagger. Dagger in hand, the knight entered the cottage, tiptoeing. The door opened with a squeak, splinters hanging loose from prior struggles. The knight listened intently for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dark room and then disappeared into the dark, gaping doorway.
Screeh! An owl, a dying cat, or a slaver? He didn’t know, but it scared the shit out of him. David looked around outside, fear growing. “Screw ten seconds.” He hurried into the safety of the cottage to avoid being alone. But too soon, Phel cursed as David collided with him. The two toppled with a bang. The wood floor was rough, and David felt rough beams as he tried to get up. “You clumsy oaf,” Phel whispered in a curse.
Just as the two attempted to get up, something leaped out of a dark corner. The attacker swung an arm wildly. The three bodies went down in a tumble. David felt a foot kick him in the ribs. He grunted in pain. He lashed out with his left fist because his stronger right arm was pinned against the floor. He hit something hard, and his hand buckled—a crunch to his finger. His finger felt broken.
Phel was the strongest of the three, and David heard him pin the thrashing assailant after a brief struggle. “Are you alone? Don’t move, or I’ll cut your throat,” the knight growled fiercely.
“Ouch.” David stood in the darkness, holding his fingers gingerly. At least two must have been broken.
“Stop moaning and find a light,” Phel ordered, still landing blows on their assailant.
“If it’s one of those slavers, then kill it,” David replied as he searched for a light.
“Nah, we should torture him first,” Phel answered.
“Wow, relax,” the prisoner tried to say, but Phel punched him in the stomach so hard that the air left the man’s chest in a gasp. Gulping, gasping sounds filled the room. Phel, dagger at ready, stood up as David found a lantern and lit it with the matches that were beside it.
“By the Creator. David, is that you?” David looked around Phel and saw that their attacker was Patrick.
“Patrick, alive!” He hurriedly reassured Phel, “He’s a friend.” Phel dimmed the light and went to inspect the cabin.
Patrick stood and then collapsed. “Ankle’s twisted,” he explained, putting on a brave grimace.
“What happened, and why didn’t the slavers take you?” He battled relief and curiosity.
“We entered for banana bread, but that woman set us up. She jumped to the side, and those black-robed monsters surprised us. That redhead was behind the door, and she killed our bodyguard before he could move. The other guy hit me over the head. Musta been a wooden beam.” Patrick felt the back of his head and flinched uncomfortably. His hand came away soaked in blood.
“We’d better stop that from bleeding.” He sat on the chair, and David inspected the wound. A rustic bandage, ripped from a bedsheet, stopped the trickle of blood for the moment. “That’s the best we can do for now,” David said.
Patrick continued his tale, “I was knocked out. I woke up about thirty minutes ago. Was getting ready to leave when I heard you two coming.”
“They must have thought you were dead. They killed Arrod. Slit his throat and kicked him out the door. Two other robed men were in the forest. They stabbed Bitt in the back.”
“Gayle?” Patrick realized she might be dead. His face clenched in shock, preparing for the worst.
“She is alive,” David hoped. “We think.” Patrick let out his breath. “But they took her.”
At that point Phel returned with a map, crudely drawn, that excited him. “The black robes only appeared in these parts several days ago. Never seen them in my life. Slavers of sorts, I think. They’ve been randomly kidnapping men, women, and children. Rumor is these attacks are scattered around the kingdom.”
“Why? What’s the purpose?” Phel asked.
“They take Moonz and Sonz alike. Maybe wanderers are experiencing the same thing, but I haven’t heard.” Phel’s face got angry as he recounted how Mastan had been attacked. “They don’t kill more than they need. Just a couple as examples, and they only take one or two people during each attack. It is as if they are doing it to terrorize people. They scream insane things like ‘Fear the night’ and ‘Slavery has come.’”
“Any idea where they’re taking people? We have good reason to believe they have Patrick’s wife,” David said as he pointed at Patrick. “They also have my A
bigayle.” He gulped.
“Map looks like a torn bit of a larger one, shows a spot that might be their base. It’s only a thirty-minute hike from here, but into some rough hills. Very few people travel to this region.” The small smudges on the fading map gave hope to Phel and, by extension, his partners. “Take some of the gear from the dead men. Look for weapons, matches, water vessels, emergency food supplies, cloaks, and anything that might help us.”
One hour later, with Patrick’s ankle supported, the three men looked out over a hidden valley. “Dawn’s an hour or two away.”
“How do you know?” David asked, his sense of time and location gone.
Phel pointed. “Position of the moon. The moon is our guide in the darkness.”
“Is that a Sonz or Moonz theory?” David asked.
“Jillian taught me that. The Moonz believe life is a walk in the dark for a human. A journey with the moon as our guide.” David found it interesting how much of the Moonz thinking this young Sonz warrior seemed to integrate into his speech. Phel continued, “Let it rest. I’m a very confused man. Heart in both kingdoms.”
“I don’t think you’re the only one, Phel,” Patrick said a bit ironically. He patted him on the shoulder for assurance.
“Maybe the land of Alexoria would find peace if more people understood both ways of thinking,” David prompted.
“All I ever believed was Moonz people were evil.” Phel paused reflectively, perhaps thinking about the day he’d ridden away from the kingdom of Alexoria on his first proud assignment as a knight. “And some of them are. Certainly most are brutal in war. But their code is different from the Sonz’s.”
“Well, the Moonz invaded Alexoria. Evil conquers all.” David was curious about the sentiment of the people.
“Maybe there was a reason,” Phel mused. He didn’t seem to know. “Look, we should be close. That’s the stream coming from the hill country shown on the map. There is the split in the cliff face that should lead toward a camp.” The three scrambled up the rocky face to the west of the gap in the cliffs. Their plan was to avoid what might be the usual entrance to the camp. They reached a vantage point. The cold rock pressed hard against his body, his bandaged finger aching, as he lay on the edge, looking out and straining to see into the darkness below. Was Gayle there? Where his products there? Was Grandpa Greg waiting for them? So many unknowns.
The insignificant, barely habitable valley was nestled amid a rocky forested glen. Small stone structures were built against a hundred-foot cliff at the edge of the dark valley. From their perch, they could see several narrow, winding paths leading into the heart of the enemy camp. An orderly arrangement of large firepits burned brightly and guarded the perimeter of the large camp. Dogs barked, howling at the moon and sending shivers down their spines. Phel pointed out three trees with their tops cropped off and guard lookouts stationed in them. The guards shifted in their positions sluggishly every minute or so. “Might be falling asleep,” he said.
“Looks like they don’t expect an attack, but that place is lit up too well,” Patrick said in a worried tone.
“Don’t need to be ready for an attack. No one knows where they come from or where they go or who they are. Most of the kingdom hardly knows this camp exists,” Phel explained.
“What do they do with the people they take?” David asked.
“No idea,” Phel said.
“Maybe breaking and selling people. I think that’s what slavery usually is,” Patrick said.
“Who would start buying slaves? The Sonz and the Moonz don’t trade in slaves traditionally. Maybe the Moonz started,” David said. He’d watched enough seasons to know the Moonz were violent invaders. “Maybe they’re selling them to the Wind Wolves.”
Phel looked at David askance. “Don’t be racist. Not all Moonz are evil. There are some Moonz prisoners down there too.”
“The kingdom of the Sonz would never sell and buy Alexorian people. It’s against their moral fiber.”
“Don’t cross anyone off when money and power are in play—people become stepping stones,” Patrick warned. “History says as much.”
“You both seem to know a lot about beliefs and peoples in Alexoria for farmers,” Phel said, looking at David, prying with his piercing, intelligent blue eyes. The moon shone off his face.
A scream from below saved David from having to explain his expertise in Alexorian civilization. Patrick shook his head at David, warning him to be careful with what he said. The scream turned into a shriek. A horse rode into camp. A wide-shouldered, monstrous man dismounted and started yelling at guards.
“Let’s get down there and see what’s happening,” Phel said. The bushes on the cliffs provided them with cover as they wound their way into the valley. More screams and yells emanated from beyond the dark tree line, which now hid the men from the camp. The three men shuffled slowly into the trees, avoiding the lookout spots and guards posted there.
The foliage was damp from condensation. As they approached the edge of the camp, David slipped and fell violently. He hit his body on a rigid form. Cold steel clicked. Something shiny moved with lightning speed and clamped on David’s right arm with a thud and bang. David gasped and sucked in the evening air.
“Ahhhhhwl,” he howled in pain. He curled into a ball, clutching his arm, moaning like a beaten child. “By the stock, by the bleeding stock. CEO himself!” he cursed. Mud, leaves, and branches churned around on the forest floor as he jerked and twitched helplessly.
Phel responded by kicking the steel trap to the right and then diving on top of David as he writhed on the ground. “Shut up, fool,” he whispered. Phel held David down and clamped his mouth shut with a gloved fist.
Patrick, David, and Phel froze and waited to hear guards searching for them. Nothing. Patrick waved and inched his way on his stomach toward the tree line at the edge of camp. He looked into the camp, now fifteen feet away from their hiding position. He waved that they were OK and wiggled his way carefully back to the others.
“So much commotion in camp, no one heard you.” He glared at David, who stopped making noise, accepting the pain. The three inspected the arm. A broken steel jaw attached to a rusted chain lay next to them.
“That thing should have taken off your arm,” Patrick remarked in awe, rattling the chain with his foot. “That would have stopped a bear in its tracks. Like a grizzly.”
“How does your arm feel?” Phel shifted David’s arm and stopped as he swore and swallowed a scream. “Broken for sure?”
“Think so—stock, it hurts.” David pinned his arm against his body and shifted two feet to his left to where the moon shone through the tree branches overhead. His shirtsleeve was torn fully off. The arm was swollen with an angry red color from his elbow up. The CEO armband, still attached to his forearm, had teeth marks in it. They all inspected the device in awe.
“What is that made of?” Phel said in awe. Tapping his knife blade against it until David moaned in pain.
“That stopped the trap from taking your arm off,” Patrick said again.
“Tie the wound up with this.” Phel handed him a leather strap.
Patrick helped secure the arm to David’s side. “Got to keep moving.” Patrick motioned toward the slaver camp. Shouts, yells, screams, and dogs could be heard just on the other side of the trees. “Let’s find Tara and my people.”
“And Gayle.”
“And Jillian.” Phel looked at David. “If you are lying to me about her being sold out, I’ll let her kill you herself one day.”
The three men crawled to the perimeter of the forest, David squirming like a wounded fish on land. In a clearing at the center of camp, several soldiers were dismounting from horses. Five figures in black robes pulled a set of prisoners, all chained together, into the light. “Get the new prisoners ready for inspection. The lord wants to inspect them himself.”
“Is he coming from the cave or from the hill country manor, sir?”
“Don’t ask questions. The
lord comes and goes without our knowing. Carrier pigeon says he arrives tonight to host something special.”
“Plans for our little prizes,” another figure in black chuckled.
David pointed out that the group of slavers from the cottage were present. “Same ones.” The others nodded in agreement.
The red-haired woman from the cottage walked up at that point, slapped one of the men on the arm, and handed a long rope to him, saying, “Boss is comin’—you better finish your last assignment.”
“Why does the manager insist on old-fashioned hangings? Other weapons exist.”
“Messy for sure, but stop moaning and finish your chores, or it’ll be your neck.”
“It’s disgusting, tiresome, and takes damn ages.” The man quit complaining when the others laughed hoarsely at him. The guard in question took the rope from the redhead, tied an iron weight to the rope, tossed it over a tree, and then hauled a sack across the ground until it dangled from the tree. The sack wriggled in the firelight.
“Jutan? God, no.” Patrick said what David was thinking. Their instructor, Jutan, dangled and died, strung up to the tree in a gruesome display.
“Grandpa Greg, may Orns take him.” David shuddered inside at the site. “What kinda monster would do such a thing?”
“And get away with it,” Patrick added, looking around for danger.
“Enough reminiscing about a corpse.” Phel stopped them. “Look over there—the ginger whore’s on the move?”
The redhead sauntered away from the man hanging Jutan over to three steel manholes that stuck out of the ground like tin cans, each about two feet tall and probably entrances to pits. The ginger looked inside and laughed with wicked delight. “Ready to meet your master again, future people?” Her laughter turned to a giggle. In any other situation, she would have been very beautiful. Here, she was pretty in a wild, terrifying manner.
“Gem, stop talking to the master’s property and pull them out. Chain them to their posts.”
“Shut it,” Gem shouted over her shoulder. “Master told me he’ll break the white-haired one himself—must have some sort of freak fetish. I’m to train the one with the shrunken foot and that goofy walk. I do need to work on my whip routine.” Her wrist twisted in the motion of a whip as she tugged on a hidden trapdoor.
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