“How do we take back your lands from your brother and stop this war?” Estin asked.
Raising a finger to have Estin hold his thought, Turess went to a simple painting of the region on the wall. He studied it briefly and tapped a spot, mumbling, “Jnodin here.” Tracing the area around the city, Turess stopped at another spot far to the west. “We go to old enemy. Enemies from then become friend now. We can go no other way or bright cloud destroy, yes?”
Estin stretched his aching arm, finding the bones moved properly again and much of the pain was gone. He would likely be able to swing a weapon soon. “How long is the journey and when do we leave? I don’t want to stay anywhere near the mists.”
Turess shrugged and sat on the rug, smiling absently as he ran his fingers across it. “Eight days until go and two week to arrive. We wait for dark moon so archers do not put more holes in you two. Only so many holes can be closed before they shoot me, yes? This time I stay dead, and do not want this yet. Do like breathing.”
Sighing, Estin flopped back on the lavish bed, feeling almost as though it were too good for him to be reclining on after so long on the road. He felt filthy and knew he was still covered with dried blood, but it felt so good to relax, even if he knew he should be ready to run. He closed his eyes and attempted to lose himself in sleep, but the bed suddenly bounced.
Sitting up quickly, Estin saw Feanne was standing on the bed, kicking the blankets Estin was not on top of into a pile. She flopped on them, twisting and fidgeting as she tried to get comfortable. After a moment, she grumbled softly, pulled an armful of blankets off the bed, and threw them on the floor between the bed and the wall where Turess was sitting. She climbed down onto them and curled into a ball, smiling.
“My wife same way,” Turess noted as Estin got down off the bed to sleep beside Feanne on the floor. “Bed too soft, she say. Ten year sleep on floor as great ruler of much nations. Gave beds to servants instead. Was happier on ground with her than alone on bed.”
Seeing the haunted loneliness in Turess’s expression, Estin felt sympathy for him for the first time. There was more he and this human had in common than he had expected. Perhaps they could work together after all.
“Another’s Pain”
“Raeln, wake up,” Dalania insisted. She touched Raeln’s arm, snapping him out of the restful state he had put himself in. The physical contact jarred him. “They’ll come for us soon.”
Sitting up, Raeln groaned as his aching back objected. The lash marks had faded for the most part after days of rest and light work, though his muscles remembered the wounds all too well. The clan’s taskmasters seemed to genuinely want their slaves to heal and be capable of working, though that had not helped him much. Punishment such as the whipping was allowed to fester and linger to teach a lesson, but even those wounds were eventually healed by the preserver who tended to the slaves, once they were sure he had suffered long enough. In his case, Yiral had come back after four days, tending to him around the time he had begun to wonder if they would let him die of infection. The delay had left him with deep scars all across his back, where he doubted the fur would ever fully regrow.
Most of Raeln’s current pain came from tired and pulled muscles, which was something no magic tended to do more than ease. Each day of the last two weeks had been identical, with the three of them waking before dawn labor in the woods. Dalania and Yoska, being of lighter frame, had been assigned tasks using small hatchets to remove the bark from the fallen trees and strip away any branches. Raeln had not been so lucky, and his duties ranged from dragging the trees to an open area to be chopped up or felling them himself. A day or two of that would have been easy for him, but weeks were beginning to leave him with pain that likely would not fade for quite some time. He could only imagine how he would feel after doing this for a lifetime. Making matters even worse, a tree had fallen atop him due to another slave’s carelessness the day before, breaking three of Raeln’s ribs. Yiral had healed the damage, but his body still ached, not having had enough rest to fully mend. Even the best healers could do little for the lingering pain he suffered.
A second after Raeln sat up, the door of their hut opened and one of the other slaves came in. The stout dwarven woman grunted a simple greeting to each of them before nodding curtly at the door. “No work today. Preserver Orls wants us all indoors during the council’s visit. I’m the only one allowed out right now to let everyone know.”
“The council is coming here?” Raeln asked, feeling his skin go cold and his ears flatten back. From first-hand experience, he knew the council was dead, after having been taken over by Dorralt. Even their undead bodies were gone now, after they had tried to follow Turess against Dorralt’s wishes. Whoever was coming would be acting on that madman’s behalf. At best that meant a brutal death for Raeln and the others; at worst, it meant the entire clan might be wiped out.
“Not the bloody council itself,” the gruff woman answered, snorting. “They send a couple goons out to check on the clans every month or so to be sure they’re ready for war if we’re invaded. You three get extra roommates while the preservers rearrange the damned huts for their visit. Gotta hide the unwanted slaves, you know. Look respectable and whatnot. They see yer tail and we all get whipped.”
A dark-skinned human woman with greying hair and the markings of a Turessian stepped into the hut behind the dwarf, keeping her head low as she moved. She wore the beaten rags of a slave despite her tattoos, and Raeln could see from the way she tried to hide herself in plain sight that she had served the clan a long time, though he could not remember seeing her at the lumber camp. He had to assume she was a house servant, which would probably be why she was sent down to the slave camp only during visits by the council. All she brought with her was a dirty sack he guessed contained any spare clothing she had, with a bedding mat tied to the outside.
Behind her, a green-skinned orcish man and woman followed, their attention sweeping over the people already in the hut. They were far more confrontational but gave no indication they intended to cause trouble. The two of them practically pushed past the human, moving together to claim a section of floor between Raeln and Yoska’s mats. When Raeln looked at them, both orcs snapped to attention and glowered at him until he turned his attention to the Turessian. All he managed to gather about them before looking away was that both appeared far stronger than he was and had shaved their scalps smooth, something On’esquin had also done for reasons Raeln had never thought to ask about.
While the human woman glanced around nervously, searching for a place to go, Raeln saw Yoska’s attention pique, but he kept quiet. He had said little since the brand had been burned onto his arm. To Raeln, he seemed to be biding his time or trying to get over an anger he could not cool. That likely meant a knife in someone’s throat before he was back to normal.
“Keep quiet and don’t draw attention to any of us,” the dwarven woman warned, pointing an accusing finger at Raeln. “If your fuzzy ass gets us whipped…”
“I won’t do anything,” he told her firmly, folding his legs under him atop his mat. “I learned my lesson.”
The dwarven woman’s eyes narrowed and she snorted again. “I wasn’t born here, wildling. I know that look in yer eyes. Yer a damned fool, and you’ll do something stupid sooner or later. I can see it in you. If you don’t, yer friends will be stupid. New foreigners are always the worst. Yer gonna be the idiot that ruins everything around here.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Turning to the Turessian woman, the dwarf added, “Call me if they get touchy. I’ll bash their heads and remind ’em who’s the boss when the masters are away. The orcs tend to keep to themselves, so don’t expect no chatty days with them. They will protect ya if they have to, but mostly they just don’ care.”
Smiling demurely and bowing her head a little lower, the Turessian said nothing. She moved into the hut and took a spot along the wall where she would not intrude on the space of the others.
The orcs pointedly ignored everyone, huddling together for warmth in the frigid hut.
As soon as the dwarf closed the hut’s door, Dalania slid over to the newcomer. The human woman cringed slightly and hugged her sack to her chest. “We won’t hurt you,” Dalania told the older-looking woman. Every so often, Raeln had to remind himself that Dalania was easily a hundred years old, if not older. She was likely the oldest person in the village, despite appearing little more than thirty if she were human. “None of us will. Can you tell me your name?”
The Turessian brushed a loose strand of her long hair out of her face and studied Dalania for a long moment before answering. “Ceran. I will only be staying until the council leaves…”
“You can stay as long as you need,” Dalania offered, smiling warmly at the woman. “Would you mind talking about the clan or the council’s visits? We don’t hear much down here. I’m guessing you’ve been around longer than we have.”
Ceran shook her head and clutched her sack more tightly.
From the other side of the room, the orcish man said gruffly, “She doesn’t like talking to strangers. Tried prying information out of her myself on the way down, but she wouldn’t say anything. In case you were going to bother asking, I’m Ildorn and this is Vertin. Born and raised in the next clan over…until a council visit, when they kicked us out last month and sent us here. Not that you asked.”
Raeln looked to Ildorn, who stared at him unblinkingly—the usual orcish greeting—and then over at Ceran, who was making an effort to avoid staring at anyone. To his surprise, he caught her glancing his way repeatedly. He wondered at that but forgot as Yoska suddenly spoke loudly.
“Will be long day, yes?” asked Yoska, leaning back against the wall. “I spend many years to be this old and lazy. Working here may ruin my boyish figure, no? I think we all wish for easier life now.”
Ceran stifled a soft laugh as she pushed the bag behind her up against the wall. Once the sack was no longer within reach of Dalania, Ceran seemed to relax immediately. The simple behavior struck Raeln as odd. He had thought she was nervous just being with all of them, but the change in her looked more like she was trying to hide something. It reminded him of how his sister had acted one day when she had accidentally burned his bed to ash and was trying to keep him from going near his room.
“If we need food or anything during the day,” Ceran began, glancing quickly at each of them, “the wanderer or fae must go. The council would be unhappy to have the dog outside during their visit. The orcs will likewise be punished or killed. The council is very unpleasant of late.”
“And what about you?” asked Dalania.
“I should stay right here,” Ceran answered firmly, without explaining why.
Yoska sat forward, drawing her attention. “What is plan for day, then? We sit and play cards with no cards or tell old stories? What do other slaves do during visits?”
“They wait quietly until they can resume their duties, wanderer. We should do the same. We do not want attention on this hut. Sit back, close your yapping mouth, and wait.” Ceran met Yoska’s gaze with one stern enough that Yoska actually lowered his eyes and backed off, clearing his throat. Raeln no longer had any way to guess at her motivations, watching her rapidly shift between shy and confrontational.
The two orcs muttered agreement as they settled in to sleep on the bare floor. Raeln realized that in months past, he would have seen them as rude. But after working years—or possibly their whole lives—for the Turessians, a day of rest probably was the greatest reward they could receive. Orcs were not the most open of people to begin with. Every orc he had ever met had been gruff, though a good portion of the impression they left seemed to draw from both their bulky, muscular builds and the large tusks that poked out of their lower jaws, making them seem rougher than they might actually be. On’esquin had actually been one of the more gentle people he had ever met, though he had looked even rougher than these two, having had a few hundred extra years to harden.
After no more than five minutes of silence, Yoska hopped to his feet and walked across the room, causing Dalania to scoot back to her mat to avoid being too close to him. Ceran watched him come over to her with curiosity, clearly trying to figure out what he was up to. As an afterthought, she dropped her eyes to the floor when he took a knee in front of her.
Preparing to grab Yoska by the neck if needed, Raeln realized the two orcs were watching from under their thick brows with the same watchful stare. There was something in their eyes telling him if Yoska tried to hurt Ceran, they would intervene quickly. They did not need to know Raeln had already shifted his weight to lunge himself.
“Bandoleer Yoska,” the gypsy announced, making a grand bow as he tried to take Ceran’s hand. She flinched away from his touch, looking around at the others nervously. “Is only proper I introduce myself to latest lovely woman to share my home, yes?”
“Sit down…Yoska,” Ceran told him, eyeing his offered hand. She slowly slid her hands under her legs, as though to keep them as far from him as possible. “I said wait quietly, not with proclamations.”
“This is quietly for him,” Dalania said with a smirk as she reclined on her own mat. “You have not dealt with many gypsies?”
“The wanderers do not come this far north, so he is one of the first I’ve seen. I have heard stories of their obsessive need to talk and touch.”
“Is as though you have spent your life around us,” Yoska replied, grinning shamelessly. “Would you have me be quiet or live as I always have? Is not a true introduction if I behave different from who I was born to be, yes?”
Ceran’s pleading glance toward Raeln did not escape his attention. In that one look, he saw a wish that she had picked any other hut. After taking a deep breath, she told Yoska, “Sit quietly. Beyond that, I do not care what you do. I will listen, but do not expect me to humor your need to touch hands.”
Sitting right in front of Ceran, Yoska lowered his voice to a whisper. “I tell you of my wilder youthful days to pass time while we wait quietly…”
Hours passed as Raeln slowly managed to relearn how to ignore Yoska’s incessant yammering. It had not taken Raeln more than ten minutes to realize Yoska was enamored with the Turessian woman, and given how infrequently Raeln realized such things, he had to believe Yoska was going overboard this time. Judging by Ceran’s uncomfortable stare, she had no idea how to bluntly tell him to go away…or she had fallen asleep. Raeln would have to rescue her sooner or later, but with Yoska merely telling stories of carousing during his childhood, he could not justify dragging him away. Besides, the orcs were still on guard, ready to help the woman too. He chose to watch them subtly, instead.