Valerna closed her eyes, trying to distract herself from the small army of miners who had decided to take up residence in her skull. What golden nuggets of insight they might be seeking, she hadn’t the slightest idea, but she hoped that they would be picking up their pickaxes and chisels and moving on to someone else’s head; their presence was making it terribly difficult to keep quiet.

A loud crack ran out through the forest, snapping a dead stick and a small portion of Valerna’s sanity. She held in a hiss and clutched to Caj’s sword so tightly that her fingers went numb, she gently leaned her head back against the trunk of the tree she was hiding in. Valerna could almost her the sarcastic voice of Natty, scornfully informing her that physically exerting yourself, like say, climbing a tree wile wearing clothes so soaked you could ring a small river out of them, was the last thing you were supposed to do with a concussion, especially one as apparently bad as Valerna’s. Thankfully, the voice didn’t actually sound, as too much more noise would likely drive Valerna to screaming. If it did speak, though, it would have had a point. What that point was Valerna wasn’t certain… she paused in thought for a moment. Ah, yes, the point of the spike that it would likely drive into her brain with the merciless precision of those sewing needles Natty so loved.

Valerna almost giggled, remembering at the last minute to hold the sound in, because there was a scout directly below her who would hear, yes, but more importantly, because a sound that close to her own head would be like a couple thousand sewing needles all at once. When the scout heard her, those needles would kindly embroider her las will and testament, would most probably consist of extensive and aggressive profanity. Fortunately for all the innocent souls in the whole of Whoid Stria, the world would not have to be sullied by such words that should never see the light of day.

Climbing the tree had seemed like a good idea when Valerna came up with it initially. She’d been spotted by the men with the slanted eyes and strange swords. Their country had a name, she knew, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember it. She had ducked away, but the had been on her heels, so she went up the biggest tree she could find. Her head had hurt less then, before the exertion of climbing the tree high enough, fast enough, to find cover from prying eyes.

A woman has to have her privacy after all, Valerna mocked her situation internally, It wouldn’t do to let a man see me indisposed. My governess would be so proud. She tacked the last on for good measure, as she wouldn’t miss any opportunity, she could to curse her tutors.

There was a shuffling below her, the sounds of two people hissing whispers back and forth in a language that Valerna didn’t recognize. She was grateful that they were whispering, as if they spoke any louder, they’d likely make her give away her presence by screaming. Unfortunately, Valerna was unable to express her gratitude, as any sound made on her part would likely make her scream too, completely invalidating her current achievements. She briefly toyed with the idea of climbing down so that she could whisper her thanks to them, and avoid the fate that screaming and revealing her presence would bring. She blinked when she realized how abysmally stupid that idea was, even for her. The miners in her skull added their laughter to the beats of their pickaxes. She heard footsteps moving away, but she was too far gone to care. She slumped over and would’ve fell out of the tree if not for the density of the branches in this old sentinel of the forest.

***

When Valerna awoke, she knew she had slept for at least half a day, as she could see the sun rising in the east. Her headache was considerably better than it had been, although still present. It seemed that at least some of the miners had moved on, thank the Reaper. She leaned back and took a long pull from her waterskin, conveniently looted from the corpse of the ‘not-concussed’ man on the beach. Her headache eased slightly with her thirst, and she lost herself in the sound of birdsong. She lost herself, that is, until she heard a hacking cough from below her. She froze, and peaked through a gap in the leaves. Below her, she spotted a lone scout, probably a few years younger than her, studying the ground, and muttering to himself under his breath, probably about how damned cold it was for autumn. Valerna shivered a bit herself, both at how chilly the morning was, and the fact she had almost been caught. She shivered so much, in fact, that the sword in her hands, along with the sheath that fit it poorly, slipped, and alighted with all the grace of a dollop of cow dung atop the head of the scout, who passed out in a heap.

Valerna cocked her head. Had she done that on purpose? Hmmm… Yes, she decided, she definitely did that intentionally. That, was why Valerna Mathilda Noblis was an absolute badass, thank you very much. She smirked cheerfully as she scrambled down the tree, pushing the image of a doubtfully dubious Natalia from her thoughts.

After successfully robbing her second foreigner in as many days, and feeling damned good about it too, Valerna donned the man’s coat, then bound and gagged him with materials no doubt meant for her. Valerna frowned at that idea, and used the inkpot she found in the scouts map-pouch, and a finger to write across the scouts brow exactly what she thought of that idea.

“Stick it where…” she murmured gently, biting her tongue as she went so that she got the lettering just right.

It was after she finished writing that she realized that these foreigners would likely possess little to no understanding of the Strian language. She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged, bending over and opting to illustrate what she thought of their scouting operation in explicit and hard to misunderstand terms. When she leaned back from her work of art, she smiled, satisfied with her work. Some things bridged language gaps.

With that, Valerna bent over and slapped the scout awake. When the man woke up and realized that he had been stripped practically naked, and that all his belongings were now being worn or caried b the very woman he was looking for, he let out a muffled curse, un-hearable due to his gag. Valerna smiled cheekily at him and wiggled her fingers slightly, before strutting westward, being certain to put a bit more sway into her hips than necessary, in order to remind the scout he had been beaten, stripped, and robbed by a woman. Men could be ridiculously sensitive about that sort of thing, and Valerna loved to gloat.

Once she left his line of sight, she made a wide arc back to the east, cutting deep into the Doverton Forest to avoid being seen. Hopefully, the scout would point his counterparts in this direction when he was found, and they would lose time here. Valerna was certain to stick only to the harder patches of ground in order to leave as little trace as possible. She admired the red’s and oranges of the leaves in the canopy as she went, distracted by interesting trees and odd sounds, though not so much as to detour to softer ground. So started her journey for Swallows Rest, to the east. Hopefully, she could get help there.

***

Caj’s face ached at he leaned on his shovel in a ditch whose steep sides were a little taller than himself. To be completely honest, the rest of him ached too, but the face was what attracted his attention. Sweat stung the freshly stitched slices in his left cheek and right brow. Further-more, there was some sort of red liquid that the mercenary commander had laced his razors with when he cut Caj, something that was supposed to ensure scarring, Robert told him. Caj didn’t particularly care, other than that it hurt.

He stretched, looking around. The Vencheng had them digging for the past couple of days, making defenses. Caj had though this might be an opportunity to escape when they had started, but had been quickly disillusioned of that idea when he had seen the bowmen at the digging site, and the ball and chain that went around each of their ankles. The ball could be moved with, if push came to shove, but running with it was out of the question, even if there weren’t archers keen to get some target practice in not even five meters away.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Caj’s section of the ditch had, predictably, been finished well before his counterparts. He did, after all, have more experience wielding a shovel than any of them. He had never dug a hole this large before, however, and he was slightly out of practice. The last grave he had dug had been Narm’s. He frowned. The normally soft ground had been so frozen at that time that he had needed a pickaxe to break it up. A pickaxe would be of great convenience at this juncture, he thought, looking at the shovel and holding in a sigh and grimace, knowing that both actions would pull at his still-healing cuts.

While a pickaxe would be a better weapon, that wasn’t Caj’s reason for grimacing. In that regard, he was probably better off with the shovel, since he was both more familiar with the tool and it was closer to a polearm, his secondary weapon specialization. In a fight, Caj would probably take the shovel, just because he trusted himself to more effectively leverage it to maximal effect. What he could leverage the shovel to with maximal effect, however, was to break the thrice-damned chain around his left leg. No, a pickaxe was the job for that. A foreign voice, speaking in a language Caj didn’t know stole his attention.

“Wūhuì!” Caj knew it was him what was being called upon before he turned around, as the voice had used the title for himself. The other captives were just called Nùlì, or slave, as it was said in the Strian tongue. Wūhuì, meaning filth, was reserved exclusively for him, however. He wasn’t complaining, it made it easier to know when he was being referred to.

­ Caj turned in the direction of the voice, to face one of the mercenaries who had the unfortunate habit of neglecting hygiene. Fortunately, Caj was far enough away that he couldn’t smell the man’s breath. He looked in the direction the grimy finger was pointing, towards one of the other captives who looked to be well into his late middle age, with the physique of a retired soldier; that is to say, a well-muscled, but somewhat pudgy frame. He obviously hadn’t been here for too long, since Caj was certain that with the bare rations that they were given, the man would be losing that pudge soon enough.

It was obvious that the guard wanted Caj to help the man, so he moved towards him and started to dig with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, getting a grunt of appreciation from the older man, but no further acknowledgement. They dug until that man’s ditch matched Caj’s for width and depth, approximately two shovels high and two across, then moved on to help the next slave, then so on until their half of the moat was fully dug. The soldiers were digging their own half-moat on the other side of camp, which was considerably more organized, with picket lines and evenly spaced tents, and even a place for the horses that they had captured with Caj and his companions. This half-moat would meet with what the captives had already dug on behalf of the Merc’s, who were supposed to be doing half of the work. When finished, the captives were roughly pulled out of the pit by the Mercenaries, and finally given blessed water.

Two whole mouthfuls. Caj noted sardonically, but swallowed without complain. Well, it’s twice as good as one, I suppose.

Most of the prisoners didn’t seem to share his sentiment, cursing the mercenaries, who laughed as they pulled the water away. Even Robert muttered a few choice words about the extensively shared lineage of their captor’s parents, before shooting an apologetic look at Caj, who just shrugged. The Knight Captain wasn’t exactly on duty right now, so he hardly needed to worry about politeness.

The Mercenaries were taunting the prisoners now, dancing just out of their reach with the water skins. Just then, another mercenary arrived with as large basket of hard biscuits that were meant to be saved for the prisoners’ food. Then the lead of this little squad of Mercenaries spoke three heavily accented Strian words.

“Want food? Fight.” He then cast the biscuits in the basket all over the dusty ground.

The effect was an immediate free-for-all. Five of the swifter prisoners bolted forward and grabbed a biscuit or two from the edge , then dived away before they could be sucked into the quickly ensuing fight. Another seven, including the two Vencheng slaves, simply slumped to the ground sullenly, obviously knowing that they hadn’t a chance for food tonight. The Mercenaries would feed them at some point in order to keep them alive, so this fighting business was pointless to them. Caj and Robert stood, slightly shell-shocked, observing the scrambling brawl that the last eight of their number had entered into. Most of the biscuits on the edge of the circle had been filched already, and the rest were pushed further inwards by the clumsy scrambling of the prisoners. There were only so many biscuits, and one of them was hardly going to be very filling.

Caj watched with a cocked eyebrow at what had to be the most pitiful excuse for a fight he had ever seen was. Two of the men realized that wrestling so close to the edge of the moat was a bad idea several screaming seconds too late, and brought the object of their disagreement, a single biscuit, over the side with them, much to the amusement and scord of the watching Mercenaries. The pudgy veteran proved to be quite the pugilist, putting the beatdown on three of his remaining five competitors, and scaring the rest away, before drawing all the food towards himself with a smile.

Ah, Caj realized, That’d be why he’s still pudgy then.

He glanced at Robert, who looked confused and somewhat disgusted, then at the hungry men surrounding them. HE shrugged, then walked forward as leisurely as his ball and chain would allow. The other’s had been relieved of this burden, but he was apparently just too loved by their captors for them to take this valuable character-building experience away from him. When he reached the pudgy man, he gently set down the ball, then tapped the man on the shoulder. The man turned towards him hesitantly, obviously not liking that he had been interrupted just when he was about to consume his feast of hard, stale biscuit. Caj spoke, holding his hand out for a shake.

“Hey, friend,” he said, keeping his face and voice neutral, “I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier. I’m Caj, it a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The man hesitantly shook Caj’s hand, releasing it quickly and replying in a gravelly voice:

“Name’s Fergus. Nice tae meetchya.”

Fergus’s voice was distinctly marked with the southern brogue of Whoid Stria, not unlike Rai’s, but his accent was more properly southern, relatively unmarked by the coarse lines and rough consonants of the lower docks.

“Say, Fergus,” Caj said easily, “What say you share some of that food you’ve got there with the rest of us?” Fergus shot him a glare that was almost petulant in nature, looking out of place on the middle-aged man’s face.

“Nae.” He said solidly.

“No?” Caj inquired, tone neutral.

“Nae.” Fergus confirmed.

“Okay.” Caj said evenly, with no traces of a smile, so as not to scare Fergus. Then, he punched Fergus in the side of the head once. Caj caught the man just behind his ear, so the soldier went down quick and quiet, passed out like a toddler after mealtime. He even had the smushed expression to seal the look, what with his face pressed against the ground and butt pushed up into the air. Caj cocked his head to one side, considering, then pushed the man onto his back, and put two biscuits on his chest. He rather liked Fergus, Caj decided. The man might be a glutton, but he was brave enough to say no to Caj, someone whom the rest of their captors obviously treated as someone dangerous. Caj gathered the rest of the bread into the basket, then carried it back to Robert, and plopped down next to him. Robert looked between him and the basket, then the fallen Fergus, and the now dispersing squad of Mercenaries who were leaving the prisoners to the watch of their guards.

“What just happened?” Robert asked.

“Well, Rob,” Caj said, shortening the Captains name the way he had taken to doing since their captivity. “I asked that man,” he pointed to Fergus with the hardened piece of bread in his hands before taking a bite, “If he would kindly share his bread with me.” He took a sip of water to wash down the hard biscuit before continuing, “After some negotiation, we came to an agreement.”

Robert was giving Caj a flat look now, lips pulling his new scars down slightly as they frowned, sending a few drops of blood tracing down his cheeks. Caj shrugged.

“I’ve never been one of haggling.” He admitted. Robert snorted then motioned at the basket.

“And this? Why bring it here, to me?”

Caj smirked, sending his own set of red droplets sliding down his cheeks and chin. The feeling reminded him of weeping blood, and the mild headache and ever-so-slightly heavier weight that settled upon his shoulders since then. He didn’t stop smirking though. The pain just meant he was alive.

“Isn’t it obvious Captain?” he asked evenly, “That, is your goodwill gesture to the rest of these people.”

He spread his hands widely, including all of the slaves who were now staring hungrily at the basket, the exception being those who were passed out and the two who were still, presumably fighting over their one biscuit at the bottom of the moat. One would hope that they had figured out that the smarter move was to help each other over the side, but Caj wasn’t willing to bet on those two’s intelligence.

Robert grinned, then picked up the basket and marched over to the others, distributing a biscuit to each of them, and getting a grateful nod or word from each of them in turn