Caj was thirsty. Thresh, thirsty didn’t begin to cover it. He was as dry in the throat as a sea in the Pewhoasil dessert. But then, that wasn’t the true novelty in his discomfort, that would be reserved for the bruises on his newly healed face and chest, and the new cut across his stomach that had so been so graciously provided at the end of a Vencheng shaving razor as an addition to his growing collection of scars. So, really, he was more focused on those pains, as the lack of water over most of the last two days had tempered him to the feeling to the point that he had stopped noticing it aside from the wooziness. He was pretty sure he remembered Narm saying something about that being a sign that a man wasn’t far from the end. That should probably have seemed important, but at this point he was too tired to care.
The mercenaries were fighting men, and when fighting men are forced to sit in the same spot for a period of months, two things occur: One, they get bored: Two, they get mean. So it was that two days prior, at about noon, a bet was placed. Caj was far from fluent in the Vencheng tongue, but two weeks surrounded by those speaking primarily that language, along with some covert instruction from Rob, was enough for him to discern the words; ‘I wonder how long the Wūhuì can go without water? I say two days for one-and-a-half rations’. The bets began falling fast and hard, in the way only wagers and fists could.
For the first eighteen hours, it had been fine. He’d been thirsty, yes, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He had been certain to mask his discomfort, knowing that watching him suffer was his captors’ motivation, and not willing to give them the satisfaction. That turned out to be a stupid idea, a fact that Caj was certain Nat could’ve told him if he had bothered to ask, or she had bothered to speak to him. But he didn’t and she hadn’t. So, when morning arrived and he still wasn’t begging for water, the guards decided to kick things up a notch.
Caj had tried to resist when they chained his wrist’s together, he really had, but there was only so much that one unarmed man could do against ten armed ones. It didn’t help that he had been subsisting off of three biscuits a day for the past two weeks of imprisonment, or that he hadn’t had any water in close to a day. So, he’d resisted, and his paltry efforts had been slapped aside like the batting of a chicken’s wings as it was taken to the chopping block. Chains had been wrapped firmly around his arms, stretching from bicep to wrist, tight enough to bruise and cut off circulation.
After he had taken advantage of the fact that they left his feet unchained to try and kick one of his attackers in the chest, they remedied that mistake too, wrapping him from waist to ankle in tight chains. After that they decided the best place for him to be was hanging upside down by his ankles on one of the trees that dotted the outer edge of the clearing. That was when they had started hitting. He’d been braced for it, but it hurt all the same. Fists, boots, knees, elbows, and riding crops all found their way to his bare torso. Fortunately for Caj, they had ignored his head: they wouldn’t want to damage him to the point that he wouldn’t be able to grunt and cry out in pain, or accidentally kill him. Still, by the end of it he was well and truly out of it, and was certain he had at least two broken ribs, and a couple of cracked ones to boot. He had picked up the cut to the stomach at some point, although to be honest, he was a little too hazy to remember when. As it was, he couldn’t be bothered to care. Caj leaned his pounding head back against the wooden bars, too tired to return the curious and sympathetic gazes of his fellow prisoners, or the worried ones of his travelling companions. Robert sat next to him, not speaking, but offering his silent brand of support. Caj had accepted, taking the time to rest and not watch for threats, trusting the Knight Captain.
The heavy thud of boots drew Caj out of himself and he realized he had been sleeping. He heard a gruff tsk, and then a thump of a stool, and the weight of something landing in his lap. He opened his eyes to find a waterskin, full to almost bursting, laying there. His body moved without his control, snatching it up and taking three huge gulps before he regained control and restraint over himself and slowed to small sips. He looked up at his benefactor, and was surprised by what he saw. Before him stood the only lightly-complected member of their group of captors. Gray streaked his long blonde hair and beard and his bright blue eyes sat deeply in a face so craggy and weather-beaten it might’ve been a mountain peak. The Northerner.
Caj was immediately on high alert. He’d never seen the big sailor fight before, but from what he remembered of Narms lessons regarding those who made their home in the frozen wastes of the Vencheng empire, Caj would be wise to be wary. The man carried that big bearded axe with the same familiarity that Caj carried his own blades. The Vencheng sad down on the ground opposite the stool with a heavy thud and grunt, pulling a rolled piece of leather from under his arm along with a small leather bag. Then the big man turned to Robert and said something in Vencheng that Caj had trouble following. Robert’s brow creased before he turned to Caj.
“He says is name is Sven, and that he is sorry about the Mercs, but there isn’t much he can do about it. He also wanted to know if you are willing to learn…” Robert paused for a moment and said something in a questioning Vencheng tone. The big warrior responded, and Rob turned back with a bemused expression. “He wants to teach you a game called ‘The Kings Table’, if you’re interested.”
Caj looked at Rob blankly, then began to chuckle, remembering the very day Narm taught him how to play that game, and how he so hated it, and insisted he would never need to know how to play it again. His chuckle turned into a laugh that hurt his bruised abdomen, but he didn’t care. Both men looked at him askance, but he waved them off, taking a pull from his waterskin and grunting in broken Vencheng:
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“I know how play.” He met the Warriors surprised gaze, that turned gleefully predatory at his next words. “I know how win.”
***
It turned out that Caj, did not in fact know how to win, which the old sea-goer gleefully showed him several times over in the next hour. The mercenaries had been upset by the ruining of their continued batting regarding how long the Wūhuì would last without water, but some glares from the Northerner shut them up, although Caj was certain some complaints would be making their way up the crooked ranks that were the mercenaries’ chain of command.
Caj had decided not to worry too much, electing instead focus on enjoying the game in front of him, and the deep chuckles of his captor. That was dangerous he knew, as he might yet have to fight this man, and he had to assume that it would be much harder to kill a fellow you liked than one you hated. Unwise though it might be, Caj couldn’t particularly be bothered to care he was so terribly tired. This beating hadn’t been the first gifted to him by the Mercs, although it was easily the worst, and he had grown detached from the goings on around him, holding only to the worry that the mercs would mave their cruelty to the heads of those they thought he cared for.
That detachment and worry led to the protracted silence between Natalia and himself, and the growing distance between himself and Maxim, and lengthening shadows of pain between himself and Emma. There was only one person he interacted with on a regular basis; Robert. Robert out of necessity and because he was the only one Caj felt certain would be able to take whatever pain the mercenaries offered up to him.
This though, this game with the enemy, a simple leather Stones board was safe. Well, not safe perhaps, but safer than interacting with those under his care. In this, he could become a semblance of human once again. So Caj played, and lost, and played some more. He got slightly better as time went by, but the Northerner was obviously a master of his trade, skillfully slipping his King past Caj’s stones and cleanly into one of the corner pockets when he played defense, and handily decimating Caj’s forces and taking his King when their roles were reversed. Caj ate the losses gladly, happy to be occupied. He might have to kill this man later, yes; but for now, Caj would play this game, and be glad for the distraction.
***
It had been three days since the beating. Three days since Caj had started playing that game with the big yellow-haired man. The man with the knife. Emma shivered slightly, remembering the feel of that knife against her throat. The coarse words of the man. Stop. Death.
Emma had never been one to flinch, but that particular encounter was a little too close for comfort. Caj, however, seemed to be enjoying the man’s company. Emma wondered if she would’ve liked the man, if not for their being on different sides of this particular struggle. Probably, she admitted to herself. He seemed like a likable enough fellow, especially when he and Robert were chuckling at Caj’s broken attempts at Vencheng speech.
Emma drew her attention back from where the current game was taking place, at the same time as the games during the last two days, following the same pattern of Caj consistently losing, with Captain Robert doing little better whenever he chose to participate. Emma sat, thinking. She had met with Mother Jamia four times since that first time, and they had made some progress in bringing the slaves together. Emma was far from being the brains of the operation, but she understood the basics.
The idea was the same behind any con, or manipulation of individuals, whether that was in order to pick their pocket, or spark an ideal: distract the mark with something eye-catching, then slip your idea into their head like a knife between the ribs or a hand into their purse. Of course, in this sequence of events, there honestly wasn’t a darker motive lurking, just a push for unity among the captives in order to make escape easier.
Emma would waddle up to one of the small groupings of two or three men, looking pitiful and hungry, and three years younger than she actually was. Invariably, Lord Maxim and Lady Natalia would come scurrying after her scant seconds later, apologetically pulling her away from the men while trying to avoid showing the suspicion they held for their fellow prisoners. Their haggard, drawn faces, deep concern, and parental scolding of Emma brought smiles to the faces of their fellow prisoners; a spot of normalcy to be found in such a place, and the men soon grew moderately protective of the small group they saw as a family unit. In this way the Noblis siblings helped Emma and Mother Jamia’s work along, never realizing all the while. Emma suspected that Natalia knew something was amiss, but the woman was too distracted by thinking dark thoughts about Caj to pay too close attention.
If any of the men weren’t starting to rally around them, then the dark looks Caj shot anyone who thought to harm them was enough to keep them in line, and it helped that the Noblis family was easily the highest ranking of those taken prisoner, the rest just high-ranking counts or minor lords. In high society, that translated to them instantly being at the top of that particular hierarchy.
Emma was certain that Mother Jamia was contributing to the arrangement in her own subtle ways, through favors and flirting, a whispered conversation here, and a understanding voice there. IT was starting to come together Emma saw. It might not be the noble gathering of men with a unified purpose as would be ideal, but it would work. At the very least, these people would work together when the time came.
Emma looked back at the board game as she heard a rush of words from the three men surrounding the board. Apparently, Caj had just won a game, much to the surprise of the other two, who were taking the time to poke fun at Caj. Caj looked as unflappable as ever, making some quip in Vencheng that was still obviously broken and unpracticed. The other men laughed, the big one with wry amusement, and Captain Robert… Emma frowned. Captain Robert laughed with something dark in his eyes. Not evil, no, more resigned. That was almost more worrying. She would have to inform Mother Jamia tonight, and see what she thought. Emma turned away, pretending to stare blankly out the side of the cage like a somewhat dull child who happened to be terrified. It wasn’t as hard as it should’ve been. That worried her.