“I want you to take me with you?” Xander imitated what Kiur said in a mocked laugh. Then he turned hyperborean. “You can’t be for real, can you?”

The change of tone took Kiur off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean? She handed me that letter and-” When Kiur tried to pull out the piece of parchment, Xander immediately stuffed it back inside Kiur’s shawl.

“Are you nuts? Slave or not, she’s a Reiszer. What if someone fabricated the letter? It could get us killed!” His whispering voice was anything but discreet.

The other prisoners were staring.

Kiur pushed Xander away to get some space. “Don’t be so cheeky,” he said out loud, which earned them a good laugh from the prisoners and an embarrassing look from Xander. “It’s real papyrus, written in Navarrien characters. Both things are only native to Navarre. Besides, the syntax is distinct and hard to learn. It can’t be fake.”

“Well, but,” unable to come up with a rebuttal, Xander relented. “Fine, point to you, but I still don’t trust that girl. She and the other forced labourers are suspicious.”

“We will find out about it tonight, then.”

“You agreed to meet them!?” Xander pulled on his navy-blue hair, frustrated by Kiur’s decision-making.

“If you had listened to what I was saying, you would have known!” Kiur yelled back, and he grabbed the hem of his robe; his heart stung.

His breath was ragged. Sweat rolled down his face. Kiur clenched his chest tighter. His heart was burning. “Am I having a heart attack!?”

The heat was immense and travelled up to his lungs, setting them on fire. The back of his head throbbed; Kiur saw double.

“If this ends badly, I’ll pretend not to know you.” Xander went off to the other side of their caged wagon, pretending to sleep.

“What was that?” Kiur’s mind was racing, his heart rate returning to normal. He had to lie down.

Dusk came, and people went to sleep without else to do. Kiur lay there awake, recovering from the sudden experience. Xander didn’t sleep either. They waited for the girl and the messenger to arrive.

“They’re here”, mumbled Kiur and took a breath.

The light of a lantern navigated between the wagons carefully. A small hooded man came into sight with the slave girl in tow.

Kiur was nervous.

“What if it was a trap? What would happen then?” Questions like these lingered in his mind, but it was too late. They had to face them.

“Ergh, he’s here too?” The slave girl looked at Xander as if she looked at literal garbage. Not a reaction Kiur expected to see.

“I should have known it was you.” Xander held his nose, heightening the sound of his voice. “The air smelled rancid, and birds dropped dead.”

She grimaced at him. “You smelled yourself and your stupid clothes. You look like a tangled fur coat.”

“Keep quiet, you two. How do you even know each other?” asked Kiur, trying to break the two up before they alarmed someone with their bickering.

“She threw my food at me,” Xander replied bitterly.

The girl glared daggers at Xander. “He kicked me in the face.”

“You did what!?” exclaimed Kiur.

“I love seeing a fight breaking out, but I am on a deadline here,” said the cloaked figure, talking in the native Navarrien accent Kiur was all too familiar with. Removing his cloak was a bearded dwarf dressed in greyish-white leather armour and beige robes.

A scout similar to their brothers from Idaris, but in different colours and patterns.

The dwarf asked, “I heard you can communicate in various languages, can’t you?” Kiur nodded in confirmation. “Great, name’s Jeorg, reconnaissance scout from Navarre. We’re in dire need of someone who can communicate between the prisoners. I belong to the joined scout troops, and I need you to pass messages between everyone here.”

“Me? Why me? Can’t you find someone else?” asked Kiur, unsure if he wanted to expose himself to this form of danger. What if he got caught for suspicious behaviour?

Call him cowardly, but he wasn’t sure whether he was the right person for the job.

“Unfortunately not.” Jeorg’s response was blunt and direct, typical for dwarves. “I understand if you don’t want to take on the risk, but we are running out of time. The Reiszer are preparing to leave and return to their territories. Things are already underway, but we still need more people to learn about it. There are more people to rescue than we can handle and too many languages to cover. We need help and more forces on the inside who will assist us.”

“What about the Western Kingdoms? What about my home country, Hellas? They should be able to help since it involves their people as well,” interjected Xander, but the dwarf made an indifferent face. “Why are you making that face?”

Jeorg held the bridge of his nose, trying to find the right words. “Forget Hellas,” responded the scout, exasperated. “We’re on our own.”

“What do you mean they won’t- b- I- Hellas won’t just abandon us-” Xander had his mouth closed by Kiur before he could shout any further.

“Since you are from Hellas, you know exactly why you can’t expect help from them,” answered Jeorg harshly, containing his anger. “‘Humanitarian Aid’ is not their style, despite them coining it, so give up.”

Dejected, Xander retreated to his corner silently.

Kiur wanted to say something, but the dwarf drew his attention back. “Navarre and Idaris will do the best they can, but it won’t be nearly enough. Some labourers agreed to help, like this girl. Use her as a liaison between us.”

Kiur glanced over at Xander again. Hearing how his own home country refused to do anything must have shaken him deeply. “I’ll help as best as I can. What do you need me to do?”

Support.

Finding people with combat abilities and marking vulnerable groups. A basic understanding of the demography of people from their age to their injuries.

How many children and elderly were there? What was their approximate number?

They needed to gather and communicate around the entire caravan field before they departed further to the west. The moment they entered Reiszer territory, everything would be too late.

Despite his feelings about it, Xander understood the direness and swallowed his feelings.

He and Kiur spent the entire week talking with the various people in the wagons when they moved around.

With Kiur’s translation skills, they got a fairly good grasp on the situation, though there was still too much to do.

Though they also needed a break, which Xander used to annoy Kiur.

“What do you mean by you can’t use magic?” asked Xander the day before the escape. “You can’t or you won’t?” he pressed.

“I can’t,” confessed Kiur with reluctance. “I lost my ability to control it a few years ago. My main element is earth, but it won’t be of any help.”

“Great, just great,” sighed Xander and slumped down, becoming increasingly worried. “I can’t use my magic to the extent I am used to. Being a water mage restricts my abilities here.”

“I don’t understand what you are moping around,” said the slave girl, who was hanging around them more and more when she was off duty or simply slacking off—guess which one was more likely. “I can’t use magic at all, though I wish it would be different.”

“Ha, haha,” Xander cackled derisively. “Doesn’t surprise me, coming from a slave girl.”

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

He only shut up when Kiur and the girl hit him both against the arm.

“There are still not enough people. Do you think we could convince more of the labourers? Or some other unit?” The Reiszer girl turned her head away.

Particularly in the direction where the humble tents of her group were. Hugging their legs and resting before another task got thrown on their heads.

On another side were the slave warriors. They were just as heavily burdened as the labourers but took no time to rest. Instead, they honed their skills, instinct and will, unlike the soldiers of the camp.

There was a much greater camaraderie between them than anyone else. They competed and supported one another, being more of a group than anyone else.

“They won’t help, and most of the labourers are too tired to help. It’s just me.”

Raising an eyebrow, they couldn’t help but feel suspicious about this statement. “How can you be so sure? What makes you so different?”

“I’m not a fanatic,” she responded with ice-cold intent, similar to one of the Reiszer warriors. “Many of us turned to slaves when the Western Reiszer expanded their lands further east. Many gave up and live like husks. While others, such as the slave warriors, are fanatically clinging to a purpose.”

She gave a ragged breath and tired breath with a shiver running down her arms. “We all want to survive, but I want to live, no matter the cost.”

—☽—

Not able to catch her eyes, Kiur and Xander could feel the determination emanating from her. Kiur recognised it.

It was the same one Hessian gave off when he hunted and fought Kiur.

An iron will to do whatever was necessary and never breaking. Her grey eyes carried a storm waiting to be unleashed.

He had seen Hessian in action and feared what that girl was capable of when you let her.

“Where will you go then? Navarre has strict regulations against Reiszer, just like Idaris,” asked Kiur, worried about her future after all this.

“I will not take her with me home,” snarled Xander, as unsympathetic as ever. “Sure, we are more lenient with potential Reiszer, but I don’t like her enough to let her tag along with me.”

“Don’t worry. I’d rather bite the dust than go with an obnoxious smartass like you,” she hissed. Xander hissed back with childish conduct.

Those two would never get along. Kiur was stuck between them.

“Did you get a word from the children, ehm-” Kiur then realised he still didn’t know her name, despite them working together to escape. He looked at Xander for help, who merely shrugged in response—not caring enough to remember or ask for her name.

Staring at the two of them, she waited for Kiur to finish his question, who by now was too embarrassed to ask. He hoped she would catch—she didn’t.

He took a breath and felt his face reddening. “What’s your name?”

Crossing her arms, she raised an eyebrow. “Really? I expected that from Bluebeard here and not from you.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Kiur apologised, not paying attention to Xander panicking over his growing stubbles. “It’s, I don’t know how to talk to you outside of what we are doing here, and my mind is full of stuff I- No, this isn’t an excuse for anything, I’m sorry.”

The girl sighed. “In the last couple of years, not a single person has asked me for my name. I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t remember it anymore,” she answered in such a mundane way that Kiur could only feel sorry for how quickly she dismissed the topic. She was younger than him.

He wondered, “What kind of life has she lived?”

He didn’t know whether he should pity himself so much then, or her. None of it would have been fair.

“I doubt we’ll get to know each other after this, but if you insist, it’s Cyliane.”

Kiur smiled faintly. “It’s a nice name. Nice to meet you, Cylia.”

Taken aback by the nickname, Cylia didn’t know how to react as her face became a sea of crimson with a genuine smile. “Only the girls in my village and my mother called me that. I don’t know why, but I find it comfortable when you use it, Kiur.”

Shaking her hand, Kiur felt a strange tingle travelling up. Her hand was cold but not unpleasant though it made his heart shiver.

“For your information, I forbid you to call me Xander, you understand?” Xander crawled out from his corner to join the conversation—unable to bear the thought of being left out.

“I would never dream of it, Bluebeard,” she snickered at her snarky remark. Kiur shook his head.

“That’s it!” Xander’s face grew red. “The next sharpest object I find will be used as a shaving tool!”

As the two kept bickering, Kiur remained seated, watching the arguments and insults unfolding. He was just happy sitting in between this strange beginning of a friendship.

One he didn’t have since he broke up with his best friends after that incident.

He only remembered them when he saw Cylia and Xander bickering the same way they did.

In this strange position as a prisoner, Kiur felt content, but he longed for more than that. He wanted to make up with his friends, see his family again, and keep his mind back in order.

“It would have to wait,” he thought. “I can’t achieve any of that just yet.”

Kiur’s delusions were back.

Dark thoughts telling him he didn’t deserve such happiness—serving as a premonition of something to come.

This time, the shadow had a much more tangible form with clear grey melancholic eyes, furrowed eyebrows and quivering lips.

She was unhappy, but about what? And why did she have to transmit her emotions to Kiur?

He followed with his eyes where she was wandering off to.

Her dark watery figure held onto the metal cage of a waggon. She stood still, her mouth agape.

Kiur tried to follow her directions—then shock plastered his face.

“Ninda!” Kiur cried out so loudly that no one could have missed it.

“Woah, what’s wrong with you, pal?” asked Xander, trying to calm Kiur down before he drew in the wrong kind of attention.

That didn’t stop him from rattling on the iron bars like a caged animal.

“Ninda, it’s you, isn’t it? Please turn around if you hear me!” Kiur hammered violently against the metal cage. No one could have missed that by now, but Kiur didn’t care about it.

It was Ninda; he was sure of it.

The moment she turned around, he knew it was her. Tears flowed down her face. It was her. His joy at seeing her alive and well was indescribable.

He hadn’t abandoned her; his consciousness was clear. “I need to help her.”

“What’s with the commotion here?”

Cylia and Xander hid away to not draw any attention to them, though it was too late for Kiur. “You, come out,” commanded a soldier.

They threw Kiur out on the dry orange grass with a knee on his neck while pressing his face to the ground. He could barely breathe.

Kiur thought of police brutality but couldn’t explain why—it simply entered his brain.

“This child is making a ruckus, too.” They threw Ninda right in front of Kiur.

“Ninda, are you alright? Where’s your brother?” asked Kiur, ignoring the stinging pain in his head and neck.

“Kiur,” she sobbed, holding the hem of her robes. She wasn’t doing well. None of them were. Anger flared up inside him at how they were all treated. “They took Hazir. I don’t know where he is.”

Kiur could hear a piece of string strain behind his eyes.

“What are they talking about?”.

“No idea. I don’t speak their-.”

“Hey,” Kiur’s tone startled the soldiers. “Where did you take her brother?”

“Huh? What do you care about?” wondered a soldier, unintentionally easing the pressure against Kiur’s neck.

“I care because I promised to protect them. How dare you separate siblings!?”

“Then you should have taken better care and protected them if you cared so much about it.”

Another voice approached. One which Kiur couldn’t forget, even when if he tried. Kiur’s entire being shuddered. The blood flowed into the wound on the back of his head.

Even his delusion was shivering in fear, amplifying it to the max.

“Hessian,” slurred Kiur and noticed something on Hessian that only flared up his anger. “Why do you have this?”

Hessian wore something Kiur held deeply, a present from his mother. How he didn’t notice it was missing from his possession, he could never explain.

The lion emblem adored Hessian's rough clothes dramatically, like a trophy—accentuating his rough edges and evil grin.

“Hm? You mean this?” Hessian unclipped the emblem from his collar to dangle it before Kiur’s nose. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice it was gone? You are so uncaring, aren’t you?”

“You-” Kiur was seething, his heart throbbing faster with emotions. Angry at the man and himself for not noticing his mother’s last present had been gone the entire time.

“Hey, soldier.” Hessian barked and unsheathed his sword. “Take off that guy’s manacles.”

“Huh? Why should I listen to a thrall-” The soldier shut up when Hessian’s sword was inches away from his throat. Hessian’s comrades’ hands hovered over their weapons, ready to draw them. “Suit yourself. I don’t care!.”

Unshackling Kiur from his restraints, Hessian threw his second sword at Kiur. It amused him that Kiur picked it up without a fuss and understood the notion.

“I have a bad feeling about it,” worried Xander. Cylia watched closely nearby. She wished she knew how to help him.

“How about it, win against me, and you get your precious little thing back.” Hessian’s smile was provocative and bold. The other slaves chuckled at this.

He was mocking Kiur and clipped the emblem back on his collar to taunt him further.

Kiur gritted his teeth.

His eyes went red, and his heart was beating like a war drum in his ears.

“Give it back,” Kiur’s voice twisted in his throat. Tears flowed from his eyes, shutting up everyone from the pressure leaving his body.

Hessian’s hackles raised; he put up his guard.

Kiur tightened his grip on the sword. The worn-out blade burst from the pressure Kiur unconsciously willed into it.

The earth shook from Kiur’s cry. “Give it back!”

Character Profiles

Name: Cyliane “Cylia”

Age: ~17; Gender: Female; Race: Human

Magic: None (so far)

Cylia is a slave from the eastern part of the Reiszer Nations. A young woman who tries to survive the rough conditions of enslavement. Agreed to cooperate with the scouts to free the escapees and get her freedom.

Has an unpredictable and relentless soul. Her hair is a tangled mess.

Likes: Eating spicy food, listening to songs, watching fights, cereals with hot milk