THE ARROW FLEW STRAIGHT AND TRUE, piercing the throat of its hapless victim in a spray of crimson. The man was the advance scout of a sizeable group of people, lined up in a long column struggling up the mountain trail. More lethal shafts followed, each marked for the procession's protectors. Not that the armed escort was formidable. The only difference between them and the bedraggled people they were guarding were the weapons they bore, and the motley collection of battered leather chestplates and laughable excuses for helmets. Then the attackers swiftly emerged from thickets around their quarry.

The few surviving protectors were speedily disposed of by men far better trained and armed than they were, aided by surprise and the ferocity of the attack. The Royal Border Guards of the Kingdom of Virmaere might not be regular soldiers, but most were veterans and knew how to kill. People from the column fled, returning the way they came, only to find the way blocked by more uniformed men wielding spears and swords. Amidst loud threats and the brandishing of weapons, they made the wretched survivors kneel and tightly pack themselves in a formation three rows deep, leaving ample space for the victors on the narrow trail.

Terror mixed with abject hopelessness marked the faces of every man, woman, and child as they looked upon their captors. Behind them was the forest and before them, past the width of the dirt track, was a vast chasm. There was nowhere to escape. The woods were filled with more armed men watching them. Several cried out, sobbing for mercy, only be met with steely gazes and gestures to keep quiet. After a few minutes, many of those who didn't obey the order were dragged out of the group, and their throats swiftly slit. The twitching bodies, gurgling for breath and still alive, were pushed over the cliffs. As they dropped, blood spurts sprayed the air and followed their desperate, flailing descent down to certain death.

With that horrific display of enforcing discipline, the terrified crowd struggled to keep its silence, though many were now visibly quaking in sheer terror. All throughout the frightening event, their captors didn't talk except in quick whispers and subtle gestures among themselves. The only time they addressed the mass of prisoners was when instructions were given to compress the formation. Earlier attempts to plead for mercy or to communicate were met with blunt, quick strikes from the long batons the guards carried. It was a violent, unheeding reaction that induced more fear among the miserable survivors. Men and women had their hands over the mouths of children and others who couldn't stop themselves.  A resigned, waiting silence, broken by muffled crying, eventually ruled the captives.

Finally, a tall, burly man, clad in leather and scale armor, stepped in front of the bewildered, frightened throng. He took a long, hard look at the cowed column. A pair of warriors moved to his sides. He hardly noticed the archers who covered his flanks. His eyes were on a trio cloaked in dark blue robes; the hoods pulled over their heads. One of the three was holding a glowing ball of blue fire, floating above his hands. Another held a large crystal up to his right eye and was scrutinizing the refugees.

The man tore his gaze from the three watchers and returned to inspecting their prisoners. He drew his sword and swept the blade across the mass of panicked humanity. As he unsheathed his weapon, the surrounding guards all prepared their various arms—archers nocked arrows, guardsmen also drew their blades or battle-axes, and spearmen readied their lances. The actions of the guards didn't escape the watching captives. A quiet panic rippled through them and they huddled closer to each other.

“Varians. Refugees. Illegals. I am the Captain of this border detachment. My job is to stop people like you. You risked your lives trying to cross into our kingdom. Tired of your lords? You're lucky none brought god plague, otherwise, my men and I would have been busy burning your corpses instead. You've come this far and know the decree of our King regarding Varians attempting to cross our border without permission. But before we decide your fate, one last test,” boomed the voice of the detachment leader. Even without a headcount, the captured column easily ran into two hundred wretched and bedraggled souls. He glanced at cloaked figures. One of them was busy whispering to a guard, then the man sped toward him.

Stolen novel; please report.

The speaker shook his head. It was going to be another delay. His gaze swept up the surrounding mountains. Whoever was responsible for this attempt would have observers watching them. From what he knew, the responsibility of the Varian side of the business included the safe crossing of the mountains. The Virmaere partners came into the transaction once the human cargo had been successfully smuggled across the border. They won't be busy today, thought the Captain.

The guard arrived and whispered to the officer, with the bowmen listening to the report. The Captain nodded to the waiting archers. Immediately, they let fly arrows against a man crouching in the second row several feet to their left. The target already got up when the missiles caught him in the head and torso. His body fell back against the people behind him, drenching them with his blood. Those who bore the dead weight and bathed in it didn't move, already frightened beyond their wits. Three guards waded into the crowd, lifted the dead man by his arms, and threw him off the cliff. The Captain looked back at the gathered prisoners.

“You tried to sneak into Virmaere and brought a spy with you,” he declared loudly. At his words, the captives visibly cringed as one, fearing the fate of the dead spy.

“Not your fault, though. An uneasy truce between the Empire and the five nations meant such attempts would continue. We're still fighting in some contested areas in case you don't know. War has never stopped for us. But to business,” announced the man, giving a signal to the waiting border guards.

The captors started combing the ranks of the prisoners and dragged elderly men and women out of the crouching mass of humanity. Numbering about twenty, they were set aside from the rest. Then the Captain addressed those remaining to organize themselves according to family. After they finished reforming, he moved to the man in front of him.

“Your mark. Show it,” he ordered.

The man lifted his arm and rolled back his ragged sleeves. A brand was burned into the bicep.

“House Devan. There's a lot of you fleeing from that deranged family. What is it this time? Beaten half to death? Hunger? You failed to bow?” asked the officer, a mild curiosity underpinning his tone.

“We would die through overwork, not only from the beatings and abuse. Too many have fled, leaving fewer to do the work, master,” replied the man fearfully.

“And you stole what you could to pay for passage and tried to escape to the west,” said the Captain who noticed the man's startled expression. He grinned. “Heard the story before. Many times. But you must know what's waiting for you in Virmaere.”

The prisoner nodded and instinctively clasped his son and daughter tighter.

“We've heard. But even if capture meant the royal mines and farms, that would let us live a life in those enclaves. And my children will become citizens of the Kingdom. That's a risk I am willing to take,” murmured the man.

“If they live and survive. There are rules for gaining citizenship. But you hoped to lose yourself in the cities and towns. There's an enormous demand for labor considering many are in the army and the guards. Not your lucky day,” said the officer. “We better move on. It's a long walk down to the nearest receiving station.”

The Captain drew back and examined the arrangements for the prisoners. The captives had been searched thoroughly for knives and sharp objects. Whatever worldly possessions they had remained with them. They'd be stripped of such belongings when they reach their destination. They tied the hand of each family member with thick cords and connected it to another relative, then the rope went to the next group. The captives won't be able to run with everybody fastened to one another. Guards were spread alongside the formation. Any escape attempt would be rewarded with the death of every member of the family.

He gestured with his sword, and the entire column started moving forward along the mountain path. Except for the group of elderly captives. They remained where they stood. The Captain's last glimpse of them was as they were being lined up facing the deep ravine. The Kingdom had no need for new slaves unfit to work. They would just be useless mouths to feed, clothe, and heal.

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