(669 A.C.)

Ott shared hushed conversation with Wanily for a while longer--until one of the bandits shouted at them to shut up. Ott, not eager to find out what the consequences were for breaking the unspoken curfew, bid Wanily goodnight and laid down. It took some time for him to fall asleep though, as his thoughts were preoccupied by his curious new companion and his burgeoning plans.

He asked her how she had gotten captured, and she told him about how she had been traveling with her friend through Telldor about a week ago when they were jumped by some of the bandits. They tried to fight the bandits off, but there were too many of them. Wanily had watched the bandits bind her friend, and when she had started struggling again, the bandits knocked her out. She woke up in the bandit camp, and during the time she’d been working in the mines, she developed a rudimentary escape plan.

That was when she got dodgy with the details of the plan and what had caused it to fail, only saying that she hadn’t been able to get her friend free before she was spotted. Ott allowed it, chalking it up to a wounded sense of pride or something of that nature.

He asked how a Nanshee girl ended up in Telldor, and she had the boldness to look him in the eye and say she wasn’t from Nanshee. Which--some women traveled to Nanshee just to give birth to a child with golden eyes, so maybe Wanily considered herself just born in Nanshee, not from there. But then, when he asked where her parents were, she huffed and said she didn’t remember them. She was out traveling the world on her own, with just her friend at her side for the last year or so. They were helping each other learn magic, she said. She would be the Archmage, she said.

Ott didn’t know how that worked, the helping each other learn magic bit. New magic was the kind of thing you memorized or otherwise learned from books or a teacher. Not the kind of thing you could wander around and learn by happenstance. But Wanily had green hair--something she was doing had to be working.

She then told him that her friend was being kept in the mines. A lot of the prisoners were kept down there, apparently. The bandits tended to swap people out, splitting them into day and night shifts, and Ott just hoped that he and Wanily would be kept on the same shift. It would make scheming together much easier.

That was about the time that they were interrupted. “We’ll get your friend out, too,” Ott had promised, whispering as they had the whole time they’d been conversing. “Just get some rest for now.”

Wanily had nodded and settled down to sleep. Ott had followed suit after risking a few extra minutes observing the bandits, trying to get a feel for the cliques, the hierarchy, the overall social order in the camp. He didn’t get much to go off of in such a short time, but he noticed that there were several small groups around the camp and one large group around the still-raging bonfire. His bandit captor, Freun, stuck with one of the smaller groups along the wall walk, smoking something and making quiet conversation. The large group around the bonfire drank what was undoubtedly booze and ate meat they’d roasted over the fire, lips smacking loudly between bites and voices climbing over each other to be heard. Esseli sat at the head of this group, smirking as she talked to anyone that addressed her and her glowing sword laid across her lap. Ott had noticed her hands were conspicuously empty of any drink.

There were other bandits, too, patrolling the wall walk in duos or standing guard around the prisoners. The building in the back or its watchtower must have acted as a barrack, too, as Ott hadn’t seen any of the bandits sleeping out here. They definitely weren't big enough to house all the people that Ott saw, so the group had to count on at least half of their people being awake and out while the rest slept. Or maybe there was more room for them down in the mines they’d mentioned. He would find out soon enough.

He had finally laid down after that, drifting to sleep listening to his captors drink and be merry. He tried not to think about the werewolves hunched by the gate to the camp, guarding their only means of escape and eyes glowing red in the darkness.

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When morning came, Ott was awake even before he heard the footsteps approaching him from behind. He rolled over just in time--instead of getting kicked in the relatively fleshy shield of his back, a heavy boot connected square with his sternum! Ott groaned, curling up into a tighter ball and peeked up at the bandit that kicked him. Freun stared down at him, lip curled.

“What’d you do that for?” Freun asked, distinctly unimpressed.

Winded, Ott grinned. “Helps get the blood flowing,” he wheezed. “To certain places, if you get my drift.”

Freun, who at first looked like he was readying himself to lash out again, suddenly backed up a step. He scowled, hawking before he spat on Ott’s cheek. Ott grimaced, sitting up and swiping the glob of saliva from his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” Freun snarled. “I don’t want to listen to your shitty jokes today.”

Ott held up one finger with every intent of saying, you’re in luck because all of my jokes are golden, but a voice sounded from behind him. “You can’t treat him like that.”

Ott froze, watching as Freun’s attention slid from him to the--apparently stupid--teenager behind him. “What the fuck did you say to me?” Freun said. He moved past Ott, and Ott twisted around, grabbing Freun by the leg of his trousers just as he brought his foot back for a kick. Wanily stared up defiantly, kneeling on the ground and her bound hands clenched in her lap.

Freun whirled back on Ott. Good. Better his ire remain on Ott than on Wanily. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped, yanking his leg back. Ott halfway expected a blow to come his way, but Freun just backed away again. “More trouble than you’re worth,” he muttered. “Should’ve just slit your throat and took your valuables.” He kicked Ott’s leg, not too rough but hardly gentle. “Come on, boss wants to see you.”

Uh oh. That couldn’t be good, but Ott hardly had a choice in the matter. He climbed to his feet, groaning softly at the dull aches in his body from laying on the packed earth of the camp. Freun didn’t give him a moment of reprieve, though, snatching his lead and marching toward the entrance to the watchtower. Ott was forced to rush after him or risk falling.

He glanced back at Wanily. She remained on her knees, bottom resting against her heels, and watched him go with no small amount of concern. As touching as that was, he was going to have a little dialogue with her when he got back. She couldn’t be going around antagonizing their captors if she wanted to escape attention--or escape at all.

Ott cast a furtive look around the camp as Freun led him along. There were fewer bandits standing guard around the clearing. Were the others out looking for more bodies to add to their operation or just resting during the daylight when any escape attempts would be more foolhardy? Possibly both.

An escape attempt during the day might prove easier then, especially when Ott spotted only one werewolf by the gate of the encampment. It was curled up on its side, slumbering away. In theory, even if it were awake, it would be less vicious than if it were night. At the same time, Ott had never seen tamed werewolves before--he had no idea if the time of day or night even made a difference to them anymore.

While Ott was dragged to the watchtower, a few bandits came out of the adjoined building and began shouting at the other prisoners. The prisoners roused themselves quickly, climbing to their feet and keeping their heads bowed. Any that didn’t stand fast enough were given a swift kick to the ribs, and if that didn’t get them up, they were pulled to their feet by their hair.

Most of them were directed into the building in a single file line under the sharp-eyed supervision of the bandits. Only a few of the prisoners were brought to the gate, chaperoned by a handful of bandits. One of the bandits distributed small sacks to the prisoners while the werewolf got up and pulled open the left side of the gate.

Wanily had been part of the first group. Ott noted that none of the prisoners being led out the camp had their hands bound. That was all he was able to see, however, before he stepped into the watchtower and Freun closed the door behind him.

There were a couple of windows on the bottom floor of the tower, but it was still much darker inside than out in the burgeoning morning. Ott blinked as his eyes adjusted. There were a few bedrolls laid out around the room, but only one of them was occupied by a snoring bandit. To the right, there was a staircase leading up to the next floor and a doorway that led into the other building, allowing Ott a glimpse inside.

Mining equipment hung on every inch of the walls, ranging from pickaxes to lanterns to hammers. The line of prisoners inside shuffled forward slowly, one by one packing onto a platform sectioned off with some railing. A lever sat next to the platform with a bandit watching over it. The elevator down to the mine, Ott surmised.

He didn’t spot Wanily, but as she was part of the group farthest from the building, she would probably be one of the last inside. Still, Ott noticed that any of the people with their hands bound had them freed right before they were pushed to stand on the platform. He tried to commit the faces of those ones to memory--troublemakers like them would make good allies in the days to come.

Freun shoved Ott toward the staircase. “Go on, then,” Freun snarled. “Boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Ott eyed the staircase before easing his weight onto the first step. He didn’t trust anything built by a bunch of bandits, but though the wood squeaked, it held the pressure without bowing more than a fraction of an inch. Grimacing more on principle than anything, Ott continued up.

Freun followed him up to the second floor, which, much like the first, had bedrolls strewn about the room and not much else. Most of these ones were filled with slumbering bandits, and when Ott stopped on the landing to the level, Freun pushed his shoulder.

Ott grumbled but kept going up. At the top of the staircase, a closed door waited for them. Freun, on the step just below Ott, leaned past him to knock on it.

“Acknowledged. Leave us, Freun,” came Esseli’s voice from inside the room.

Freun grunted and turned to clomp back down the stairs. Ott considered his options of waiting for Esseli or trying to run down the stairs past Freun and two rooms of sleeping bandits--in other words, his options were none. So he stood outside the door until Esseli finally opened it.

She smiled at him the moment their gazes met, dressed in a simple, white wrap that barely kept her decent. Though, Ott had the inkling that the idea was to be indecent.

“So good to see you,” she practically purred. “Tell me, what’s your name?”

Ott threw on a charming smile of his own. He imagined for a second that it was just as lifeless as hers, but then, he was the much better actor. “Ott, bard extraordinaire, at your service.”

Her smile shifted to a smirk as she hummed. She opened the door more fully and motioned him inside. “Oh, you’ll be at my service, alright.”

Ott carefully kept his smile from souring to a grimace. He chuckled, stepping past Esseli and sweeping his gaze around the room. All in all, it was rather homey. There was a four post bed shoved into the corner equipped with blankets and pillows. The windows on each wall were framed by thick curtains, tied back at the moment to allow sunlight to pour inside. Between the windows, there was a wardrobe, a weapon rack, a desk and vanity, and just next to the open doorway, a werewolf curled up.

Its ear twitched when Ott set his foot next to its massive head, but it otherwise didn’t stir. Ott gulped and hurried past it into the open middle of the room.

Esseli laughed. She closed the door and knelt down to rub the werewolf right between its ears. Its red eyes cracked open, and the tip of its tail wriggled. “There’s no need to be scared, right, Hush? So long as your mama doesn’t give you the order, you don’t attack.”

Ott watched the two warily. Esseli gave Hush one last pat before standing, cocking her hip and resting her hand on it.

Ott forced himself to relax and nodded to Hush. “How’d you manage that? I know of a very short roster of monsters that can be tamed, and werewolves don’t tend to fall under that.”

Esseli laughed. She strutted over to her weapon rack and tapped the hilt of her glowing sword where it rested between a longbow and a mace. “Oh, I think you’ll find with a harsh enough strike followed by a kind enough caress, most beasts can be made to heel.”

She smiled, as beautiful as it was dangerous. “You don’t know who I am, do you, Ott?”

Ott felt his own smile dim despite himself. He glanced about the room once again, noting the fine furniture and amenities, the general neatness, the weapons, and the werewolf. When he met Esseli’s gaze again, something clicked. “You were part of the army, weren’t you? For the Empire when they were at war with Fris.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Esseli grinned like a pixie that caught a rat. “So close, little bard,” she sang. She prowled closer to him, and Ott took a step back for every one of hers. All the way until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

Esseli only stopped advancing when there was barely a hair’s width between them. “You might know me by another name,” she murmured, so close that Ott could feel the puff of her breath against his face. “I earned my fame under the title of general. General Pikerman.”

Ott’s eyes widened. He did recognize that name.

And, well. Shit. This just got a whole lot harder.

General Pikerman. The general in charge of bringing Fris under the heel of the Empire’s boot. The general who released monsters into Fris camps at night, the general who tortured prisoners of war and civilians alike for even the slightest hint to her enemy’s tactics, who laid siege to every city--an entire nation--and prevented any goods or outside help from entering the country. The general who had turned Ott’s homeland into a wasteland.

Yeah, before, this was just another of his attempts to be a bard like the ones of old. A hero to the people, spreading the joy of freedom and love. A rebel fighting against tyranny.

Now? This was personal.

“You know, I do think I’ve heard of you before,” Ott said as casually as possible. “You’re the bitch that ruined Fris.”

She had the gall to laugh in his face, shoving on his shoulders so that he fell back onto her bed. From what softness Ott could feel, it was stuffed with feathers, not straw. “You’re mouthy,” she breathed with a smile, which was better than her spilling his guts for the disrespect. “If you’re interested in remaining alive, I know a better way you can use that.”

Ott gulped, but forced on a smile. “A song? Or perhaps a story? One of the tales of old?”

Esseli leaned down, her hands splayed on the mattress on either side of Ott’s head. Her long, silver hair slipped past her shoulders and tickled Ott’s face. “You do pretend to be rather dense, don’t you?” she asked, though Ott didn’t think she was looking for a response. She smiled. “But for all that, you are easy on the eyes, and I’m sure you’ll make a good bit of fun. After all, you are a--what was it? Bard extraordinaire?”

Ott could fight this. He could grip Esseli’s silver locks and yank on them, could try to flip their positions and start bludgeoning her with his bound hands, could make a break for one of her weapons and use that to defend himself. But he didn’t think he’d be able to overpower her lithe muscles that portrayed power and her military background that promised the technique to back it up.

He didn’t know how the famed General Pikerman had come to be the leader of a bunch of bandits, but Ott would destroy Esseli and all she had built here. And to do that he needed to bide his time.

For now, that meant letting this happen. It wouldn’t be the first time Ott used his body to get what he wanted, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time that someone took that choice from him, too.

His hands were still bound, so the only thing Ott could do was smile. “For a pretty lady like you? Born to entertain,” he agreed.

Esseli stood up straight once more, slowly shrugging out of wrap, her eyes bright and hungry. She kept them trained on Ott’s face as the piece of fabric fluttered to the ground and crumpled around her feet, leaving Esseli in nothing but her undergarments.

She rested her hands on Ott’s knees and began to slowly push his legs apart. Ott swallowed hard, unable to continue meeting her gaze and instead looking up at the drapery supported by the posts of the bed.

A knock sounded at the door. Esseli stopped and scowled. Ott very carefully did not let out a breath of relief until she straightened and turned her ire away from him. “What?” she demanded, loud enough for her voice to pierce the wood.

There was a bit of shuffling on the other side of the door before a nervous voice answered, “Got someone that tried to escape, boss.”

Esseli frowned, finally stepping away from Ott and the bed and marching over to the door. She yanked it open, and Ott hesitantly sat up, peering around the post of the bed. A bandit Ott didn’t recognize stood on the landing of the stairs and very clearly snapped his gaze to Esseli’s face the moment the door opened. His dingy, rugged features dusted with pink, not that Esseli seemed very worried about that.

“Who?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Erm, one of the, uh, foragers for the day,” the bandit stammered out. His eyes slid from Esseli’s face to Ott, his expression hardening when he spotted him. Born of a desire to appear more intimidating or jealousy? It was something to ponder on later, Ott decided, when he continued, “Bashed a rock against Hiren’s skull and made a break for it.”

“But they were caught?” Esseli asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Esseli grunted. She glanced over her shoulder at Ott and sighed. “Today’s your lucky day, bard,” she muttered. Stepping over to her weapon rack, she gripped the hilt of her enchanted sword and hefted it up. She whistled sharply as she did so, and Hush immediately woke and climbed to its feet. “Iren, bring Ott here with us,” she ordered, addressing the bandit again. “It appears our guests have forgotten their place.”

Ott stood as Iren moved into the room. He looked Ott up and down, an unimpressed sneer smeared across his face, before he snatched Ott’s lead. He didn’t bother saying anything to Ott, just pulling on the lead as Esseli and Hush began to descend the stairs.

Their small group made their way back down the tower and out into the bright morning. The scene that awaited them was almost exactly what Ott was expecting, but that didn’t make it any less upsetting.

There were more prisoners huddled together in the middle of the camp, all of them obviously trying to sleep despite the harsh sunlight bearing down on them. The crew that had been working the mines through the night, Ott surmised. As Esseli marched past them, she used her free hand to snap at the bandits guarding them. “Get them up,” she ordered. “I don’t want them missing this.”

Shouting filled the clearing as the bandits rushed to obey Esseli’s orders. The other prisoners were forced to climb to their feet and look ahead, toward the gate leading out of the camp.

Shush had closed the gate and sat in front of it, knees drawn up to its chest and long arms resting on top. Hush padded over to similarly sit beside its counterpart. A small group of bandits had gathered in front of the gate with a larger congregation watching them from the wall walk. Ott was fairly certain the ones on the ground were the ones that had led those few prisoners out earlier that morning, though Ott counted one less among them. Was this Hiren dead or possibly just injured and being treated? That remained to be seen.

Knelt on the ground in front of the bandits was a middle-aged woman with brown hair. Her hands hadn’t been bound that morning, but they were now, and already one of her eyes was swollen shut. Ott winced in sympathy.

Esseli, still barely dressed in anything, crossed the clearing until she stood in front of the woman. Ott was brought off to the side of them with Iren, so he had a clear view of the proceedings. Esseli stared down at the woman, glowing sword gripped in one hand.

The woman did not look back up at her. Tears silently streamed down her face from her good eye.

Ott’s gaze flitted from Esseli to the woman and back. A hush had fallen over the camp, bandits and prisoners alike watching in silence. Finally, Esseli’s hand shot out, gripping the woman’s hair and yanking her head back so she was forced to look her in the eye.

“What is your name?” Esseli asked, her voice ringing loudly in the quiet.

Ott was able to hear the woman’s hushed response, though he doubted it carried very far. “Veresa.”

Esseli tugged on her hair hard enough to make Veresa cry out. “Louder.”

The woman let out a choked sob. “Veresa,” she repeated, practically shouting this time.

Esseli did not smile. She did not laugh. One fist still full of brown hair, she stepped to stand beside Veresa and address the prisoners. “Veresa tried to escape this morning,” she told them, as if there was any doubt. “Do you understand what I have given all of you?” she asked, gazing out over the gathered. Most of the prisoners kept their heads down though Ott saw many of them sneaking glances up at Veresa and Esseli. “I am not unnecessarily cruel. I don’t relish in your pain. You work, you get fed. You work, you get to sleep. I’m as gracious as I can be, but I do what I must to maintain order.”

Esseli moved behind Veresa. Ott knew what was about to happen--if everyone here didn’t, at least Veresa did, too. She squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, “Mother Amera, please--”

There was no further warning. Esseli kept one hand threaded through Veresa’s brown locks and used the other to cleave through her neck with her sword. Blood sprayed across the dusty ground and coated Esseli’s mostly bare body. Veresa’s body slumped forward, tilting as it fell to land on its side. The jaw of Veresa’s head worked for another moment, like she was still trying to finish her prayer, before going slack. Her lifeless eyes stared ahead unseeing, reflecting the blue of the sky and nothing else.

The bandits cheered as the prisoners averted their eyes and choked back their own sobs. Ott could see it--the way they brought hands up to their mouths to stifle cries, the tears that ran silently down their faces.

Esseli stabbed her sword into the dirt by her bare, bloodied feet. “This is no cause for celebration,” she called. The bandits fell silent as effectively as if she’d threatened them with death. “We do what we must to those who disobey.” She turned to face Ott and Iren, then. “Who else was in the foraging group this morning?”

Iren nodded to Esseli and walked over to the prisoners, leaving Ott behind. He pulled forward four others from the gathered, forcing them to the front of the clearing and onto their knees. Three men and one other woman in varying stages of shock, grief, and rage.

Ott knew how things like this went. He almost couldn’t bear to watch, but he forced himself to.

Esseli stepped closer to them, still holding Veresa’s severed head, dripping blood. “You all were with Veresa this morning?” she asked. Like this was a trial, and she wanted them to admit their guilt.

None of them responded. The closest thing Esseli got to an answer was one of the men breaking down into sobs. She stared down at him for a moment before striding over to stand in front of him. She crouched, grabbing the man’s chin and tilting his face so that he looked at her, as gentle as a lover. “Don’t cry,” she said. “You were with her, but you didn’t try to escape. Not even when she ran. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” the man choked out. “I swear, I didn’t try to escape. I stayed right where I was and did exactly as I was told. Please,” he begged her. “Please don’t kill me.”

She did smile then, patting the man’s cheek. “I’m not going to kill you,” she said, still loud enough for those amassed to hear her. She let go of him and stood. “I’m not going to kill any of you,” she continued, sweeping her gaze over the four kneeling prisoners. “You were obedient. You were good.

“Iren,” she said. Iren had taken up a position behind the kneeling prisoners, and he stood a little straighter as Esseli addressed him. “See that these ones get extra rations for the next week. They are to be rewarded for their good behavior.”

Iren nodded. When Esseli motioned for them to go, Iren got them standing and walking back into the group of prisoners until they disappeared in the throng. Their expressions, from what Ott could see, were ones of shock. Something that he imagined matched his own face.

She hadn’t killed them. Ott had every reason to believe she was going to kill them for being guilty by association but she hadn’t. It made her statement from before ring in Ott’s ears. A harsh enough strike followed by a kind enough caress.

It was a dangerous game she was playing. If she started treating certain prisoners better than others, it was sure to brew discontent. But maybe that was also part of her tactics--if the prisoners were too busy hating each other, they wouldn’t be focused on their true enemy.

Then again, Esseli was only giving a reward to those who had demonstrated their obedience. It was something very achievable to all the prisoners. The sentiment was clear: don’t act out, don’t lash out, and keep your life. As miserable as it may be, at least they weren’t dead.

“Dismissed,” Esseli called, and the bandits made sure to separate the gathered prisoners into their groups before letting them curl back up to go to sleep. Ott watched them with something like dread curling in his gut. They looked afraid for the most part. Some of them aggrieved, perhaps, but very few of them appeared anything resembling determined or angry.

Esseli walked back over to Ott, Veresa’s head swinging in her grasp. Before she reached him, she stopped another nearby bandit walking by. “Give Veresa’s body to Hush and Shush,” she told her. “String up the bones when they’ve been picked clean. I want this to be an example to all of them, not just to the night crew. Let the werewolves keep the femurs though. They like to crack them open for the marrow.”

The bandit nodded and headed to Veresa’s body to start dragging it over to the werewolves by the gate. They seemed to know exactly what was about to happen, licking their chops and noses twitching.

Ott swallowed and stared up at Esseli when she stopped in front of him. “We were interrupted,” she said, “and I don’t want to keep you for long. You’re here to work, not to sate me. I could get any number of my men or women to help me with that, but I’ve found the only thing bards are actually good at are a quick fuck. Oh well,” she said, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “I’ll get Freun to bring you to the mines so you can get to work. Who knows--maybe you’ll last more than a couple of days and we can try again then.”

Ott chuckled, unable to keep himself from glancing at Veresa’s head again. “Right,” he said.

Esseli smirked and strolled away. Ott watched her as she waved to Freun, who was up on the wall walk, before jabbing a thumb back at Ott. She didn’t say anything, but Freun obviously understood what she wanted. He clamored down the nearest ladder and hurried over to Ott, glaring at him when Ott offered a smile.

“Let’s go, then,” Freun muttered, not even bothering to grab Ott’s lead and just pushing him toward the building.

Ott started toward the entrance to the mine without another word. He continued to watch as Esseli did not go back to the watchtower but instead called for a spear. One of her bandits quickly handed her one, and Esseli marched just to the right of the door leading into the building. She jabbed the spear into the earth and took Veresa’s head and jammed it right on top. It squelched loudly enough for Ott to hear it still a dozen paces away.

With that done, Esseli strode back over to the doorway of the watchtower. “Someone get me some water,” she called to seemingly no one in particular. “I need a fucking bath.”

She disappeared inside the tower, and by the time Ott was ushered into the adjoined building, she was nowhere in sight. Ott waited for Freun to come around and undo the bindings on his hands--which he did. Ott winced as the rope came free, pinpricks of blood welling up where it had rubbed too harshly.

“Go on,” Freun said, nodding to the platform of the elevator. Another bandit still stood watching over the lever that raised and lowered it, and he, too, motioned to the platform with a jerk of his head.

Well, with no other choice in the matter, Ott stepped onto the platform and waited. Freun moved to stand beside him. The bandit by the lever heaved it from the right to the left. There was whirring and a bit of grinding before the platform jolted. Ott stumbled slightly, grimacing, but after another moment, the platform began to descend down into the earth.

One way in, one way out, Ott thought as he watched the automated pulley system run beyond the edges of the platform. Soon, though, there wasn’t quite enough light to make out the details of the mechanism. There was only the steady sound of it bringing them down.

The platform didn’t go down very quickly, from what Ott could feel. It gave time for Ott to reflect on the morning and all that had happened. Esseli was actually General Pikerman, famed war criminal. He didn’t know how she came to be a bandit leader, but for now, it didn’t matter.

She was working hard to keep those imprisoned here on a tight leash and coax any fight out of them. That would make Ott’s goal here a bit harder to achieve, but he would be able to figure something out. The only other alternative was to be the prisoner of a bunch of bandits until he worked to death or Esseli grew bored of him and killed him.

Ott was going to bring down this whole operation. And he’d take joy in every second of it.