Wezley Bennett sat, one hand toying with Nathans’, light, ashen hair by the fireside. “I’m sick of the sight of you all.” He said somewhat vehemently. Ice-cold gaze leveled at the real object of his distaste and dilemma, Carlos. As the captives were shuffled by him in chains.

He was tired of the struggle after owning such a compliant and clever slave in Nathan, and close to abandoning his project of many years. However, he could never quite find it in himself to completely just give up. He gazed long and hard at Carlos’ retreating back, he looked taller, prouder, or was he simply imagining this? He shrugged and turned back to the boy at his feet, he probably was.

With the onset of finer weather, Bennett felt a weight lift from his shoulders, at least in part, for he had many ongoing concerns. Perhaps the lumber they had stockpiled would last for a time after all, and their exodus could be delayed. He was thankful because he was not remotely ready. In the vicious cold, the tribe had been burning fuel in copious quantities in recent weeks. While they had waited for news from the north.

With the realization the extreme weather had abated, he had ordered the three male captives removed from the cave. He grew tired of them in his living space, with all the clan so tightly quartered, and had his men inter them, fettered in chains to the prison of the cattle trailer. He had plans for Renard. He just as yet had not formulated them. Though he was really not so sure what he would do with the others when the time came to leave.

He was at that moment remembering television, as he watched the coals and the blackened vessel simmering heating water before him. That far distant time of his childhood. He did not choose to revisit those moments in his life often. These memories were for the most part very unpleasant. The plethora of Hollywood shows and movies all glorifying violence, and yet no man in real society was allowed to be that way inclined. Instead, the endless procession of pumped-up fakes of actors, pretending to the masses they were special. He had not found them convincing then, and he scoffed at the idea of them now.

These action flicks he had clamored to watch as a youth, he was always the bad guy in his mind, rooting for the villain to win. It was an era of foolish ideals he reflected. The social climate of that time was strange to him, people not knowing if they were even men or women. Ridiculous all of it, and he was glad it was long done with.

Bennett as an individual had only really begun to exist after the war. The time he had truly come into his own, born of blood and fire. He tugged on the mop of pretty platinum hair in his careless grasp, pulling the boy's face up to look into his own. Nathan’s eyes shone with repressed longing. Bennett felt powerful, invincible, the emotion swelled inside him. Followed by burgeoning lust. Later, he mused, later. There were other matters, that must as always come first.

The vicious leader hoped that his three men would soon return from their foray north and with them some inspiration as to how they could move forward. Despite that Bennett was seeing shadows. What would happen if they never returned? The idea that they may not appear worried at the big man, dampening his heady feelings of the moment prior. He was emotionless on the exterior, but quietly that was his biggest fear.

So few men he ruminated, capable, but so few. It seemed his options grew less with each passing season. Only seven fighting men left, and of those he was not sure he could completely count on Sven. The big man seemed to have lost his lust for blood completely, unlike the others. Perhaps he should just leave him behind with his small family when they departed, Bennett conceded. There was Gareth and Dwayne, presuming they returned, and Will, Pig, and Todd. They were the only survivors of a very difficult year. It would do no good to be leader soon if there was no one left to lead.

How could his fighting force be replenished? He chafed at this hurdle that he must overcome. In recent years there had been no one worthy to join them, and attrition had taken its toll. The only tried fighting force he was aware of was housed in the Wolf Lord’s fortress. The chances of them joining him were none. Not in his present capacity. He must find leverage, some power of impossible persuasion. He knew he grasped at straws. But a good leader never gave up, he knew this. Perhaps there would be some good men to be had from the farmlands of Renard’s Father as a possible ransom for his son. Yet he was unsure how this deal would even bear fruit.

What did he have that could persuade anyone to join him? Gone were the heady days of discord and strife. People were now trying to rebuild. Were his days numbered like the dinosaurs of his past? A War Lord was nothing without followers, without the rudiments of war. He could feel his grip slipping and it left a bitter taste. He would hold on to the idea that Gareth would indeed return and bring him something of worth, something to rally his clan.

*****

The three men didn’t know exactly how they would plan to escape, but since their relocation, the task would be easier. They would be less observed here, and they could even confer and plan some, without the ever prying eyes of their captors. Renard still had secreted in his possession the cutthroat razor that Raissa had in her fright overlooked to return. It was not much of a weapon, but beggars could not be choosers.

Carlos likewise had hidden the valuable stainless steel pin, pushed into the hem fabric of his torn shirt. The sundry item was so pivotal to their escape, and in the darkness later that evening while everyone was engaged in eating the evening meal. He attempted to pick the padlock that closed the gate of the trailer. The other two men held their breath as they watched on. Again in his skilled hands, he had it open in seconds. Renard and Darius nodded in approval, carefully they closed it once more to wait for the opportune moment.

Lissa knew she must assist Renard, yet she was unsure how she could be of any real help. Growing up in the farmlands of her people though, she had learned a thing or two about plants and their uses. She was no apothecary, but she had learned many facts about the plants that grew locally and their properties, thanks to her mother. Probably not as much as Raissa did healing-wise, but she knew enough to be dangerous.

There was a small ragged tree growing near the well she recalled. The goats did not eat it for a reason, and she knew why. The leaves were when the weather had been warm a feathery, lush green, and the pretty sprays of pea flowers white, that smelled heavily of honey in the late spring. Black Locust, Lissa knew all parts of the plant were poisonous. A dose would not be life-threatening but could be debilitating if ingested. She felt she had her answer. Now to employ her plan.

With this thought, Lissa had been down to visit the gnarled little tree earlier in the day, on the endless errand to fetch yet more water. A well-worn path had been etched into the hard-packed earth by the women’s feet as they went on this errand many times a day.

The unassuming plant sat at the edge of the fallow corn field and looked for the most part like all the others. Twisted and gnarled, devoid of its leaves. Its bark was woody and dark, and the smaller branches terminated into prickly canes that could cause one's fingers to swell in pain if accidentally pricked by them. She could spy no seeds strewn about at the base of the tree. She was not surprised, truly this had been a terrible year for the plant life and this was a little tree. Fortunately, that did not matter, leaves seeds, or bark, they would all serve her purpose equally. She had to work hard to acquire enough of the tough bark, she would grind it up later in secrecy.

She preferred to enact this bold plan of hers before the return of Gareth, Dwayne, and Warren, the less men in camp the better. The trio had been absent a considerable length of time. The talk amongst the slaves was the three men may not return. Lissa did not want to chance waiting much longer, if they did arrive home, the extra men may complicate matters. Her mission was going to be difficult enough as it was.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Supplies had dwindled these last few months. There was little to eat for the slaves, they were by now mostly existing on cornbread and thin soup. In the evenings the warriors took all the choicest cuts of meat, a separate meal was prepared for them first. There were often as of late no leftovers even for camp favorites. This would play into Lissa’s plan, well almost.

There was one problem with this poisoning scenario, and it ravaged Lissa’s conscience, what about the child? What would happen if little Eirik was fed some of the laced meal? Black Locust shouldn’t kill, she knew that. However, she did not know what it may do to an infant. Sven often fed his child lovingly holding him by the fire in the evenings, and she didn’t want the death of an innocent baby on her conscience. She fretted over this but decided to persist with her plans and work out how to mitigate that problem, if, and when it arose.

So much could go wrong, she didn’t have the experience to know what dose would be appropriate, and the quantity would have to be an educated guess. She was hardly a poisoner, and in her previous, comfortable life never had any reason to be. Not enough of the bark and her plan would go awry. The men had to be debilitated enough to want to sleep and be less watchful than they were now. No easy task with men who had lived like wild animals for a large chunk of their lives.

She had not told Renard, the less that knew of her idea the better. No one would suspect her, in all her captivity here the men had never had any cause to complain at her behavior. They thought her domesticated, and meek, and she was not about to dispel that myth. To begin with, she had been afraid, but with time she realized that she had to act. The fate of her friends had been cast firmly into her hands. Perhaps she should have taken Renard’s previous offer of escape, she rued that hasty decision now, however there was no looking back.

*****

An apricot and lemon hue brightened the dawning sky. There was a slight chilly breeze that promised a fine day once the sun shone. The shadows still long in the valley, all purples and dark grays. Lissa had tied her rampant auburn curls back with a strip of cloth, however even this measure could not tame her unruly locks. They fell, tumbling into her chocolate eyes and down her back, like a burst of wildfire. The young woman’s heart was racing, pounding in her chest, it would be today she had decided.

She approached the cattle trailer holding a chipped enamel bowl in both hands. The men's morning water ration. This was a routine she had kept religiously every dawn, and would not arouse undue suspicion. The farmer’s daughter was not a brave woman, however, she knew she was the only one there who might perchance grant those men rescue and freedom.

Darius accepted the water eagerly and smiled at the pretty redhead. Carlos ignored her arrival as he watched the sun slowly lighten the easterly sky. Reclining with ease despite the chains, one leg stretched straight before him, the other angled inward. His straight, black hair had regrown swiftly, already falling into his intense, dark eyes.

Renard stepped forward, perhaps Lissa did not know it, but she was easily the best part of his day. He smiled a genuinely warm smile as Darius handed the bowl off to Renard. He sipped lightly at the water and handed it back to Darius who hovered next to him.

“Now listen.” Lissa whispered, her pale freckled face pressing close to the two men, voice no more than the timbre of the slightest breeze. She could ill afford to be caught, and the sound in the valley carried easily to unwelcome ears. “Tonight I am going to lace the men’s food with something that should make them ill. It won’t kill them, but I am hoping they will be so sick that you guys will have a chance to escape.”

“Lissa No…. I can’t let you take this ris...”

“Shush” Lissa admonished. Cutting Renard off. She was unused to being this assertive, her cheeks were flushed with her conflict. “I am doing this tonight, so be ready. There are supplies hidden behind the old big rig by the cabins. I hope they are enough. I must go.”

She had half turned to leave, Renard now reaching through the bars to tenderly touch her on the shoulder. She pirouetted to face him once more.

“I have to go.” Was all she mouthed in an almost voiceless whisper, but not before Renard tenderly stroked the side of her face with his rough and filthy hands. His gesture meant so much more, and he was unsure if she felt his meaning. Yet he desired her to.

“We will be back to rescue you I promise.” His voice trailed off.

“I hope so, Sarah and Kate's lives depend on it.” She whispered as she darted away.

Never did Lissa appear more beautiful to him as she had in that moment, even with her torn and dusty clothing, and her unwashed state, she was all he desired and more. He would do right by her and her friends, he swore on his fast-growing love.

*****

The evening meal was served, Lissa saw to that task herself, a stew of very few ingredients. Some beef, some corn, and a few sad onions mostly. She hoped that the finely ground bark she had added did not have an unpleasant taint and that her ruse would remain undetected. After all, there were no exotic spices here she could add to mask flavors.

Nervously she served the meal waiting for the slightest sign that something was amiss from the warriors. Yet there was none. She began to fret then that perhaps she had not added enough of the locust bark, as she watched the men eat hungrily while she hovered filling their cups.

She was gratified as she saw Bennett hand his leavings to Nathan, the youth picking up the bowl and drinking its entire contents. She was sure he had been spying on all of them for months, even if she could not prove it. Things were progressing well.

Every man there but Sven had consumed the stewpot’s contents. For a fearful moment, Lissa believed that the big man would not partake, as he cradled his son in his immense arm by the fireside. The child had become his life and joy, she could see that plainly. Her heart jolted in her chest as Sven signaled to her wordlessly he wished to eat the stew. Lissa's worst fears were realized. She knew it was his habit to share his repast with the small boy. Lissa trembled and hoped the men had not detected any more than the usual submission that Lissa gave off when she was about them.

Now was not the time for the faint of heart, she must push forward, and not let fear rule her. She had to serve him or he alone would thwart the escape, her conscience tore at her. What to do, what to do, her mind in fright railed. So trying to steady herself she dished out a large portion making sure there was no more in the pot to be had, and handed it to the grizzled warrior.

He sat and ate one handed, still cradling his son. Lissa hovered close by, torn at the situation she had put into motion. The big man consumed most of the hot broth, letting the remainder cool for his son. The moments seemed frozen, stretching on forever in a tension filled silence. Her blood reverberating in her temples, as she watched in horror as Sven lifted the bowl towards the fat little hands of his cherubic boy.

No! Lissa’s mind screamed this cannot happen! As she moved swiftly to prevent disaster. All she could think of was to feign clumsiness, and she fell, knocking the bowl from Sven’s hands, and pouring its remaining contents onto the sand.

“You stupid whore!” Sven shouted in retaliation, and Eirik began to cry.

Raissa came running to grab the now unhappy baby as Sven stood. His gray eyes leered at the cowering Lissa beneath bushy blonde eyebrows and his wild mane. She felt the sting of his slap and the rush of wind in her hair as an accompaniment.

“Stupid bitch,” he muttered under his breath as he turned away. “Raissa!” He shouted, “get the boy some meat!”

The other men looked at Lissa scornfully, however, she had done as she had intended. The little boy was safe, even if her right cheek would be bruised tomorrow. She picked up the fallen bowl and remaining plates and left the fireside to wait.

She did not have long to worry about her sense of quantities. The men began to feel unwell shortly after the conclusion of the meal. Complaining that perhaps the beef had been less than fresh with the griping in their bellies. Some vomited, and most just lay down to rest like lions that had eaten a rancid meal. Her risky gambit had worked and she savored her victory in silence.

*****

The most difficult to execute part of her plan actually arrived the next morning. Lissa had to feign realistic surprise that the prisoners were all gone when she returned from giving them water. She didn’t consider her self much of an actress and hoped that the men who were still very under the weather would believe her, fortunately, they did.

Bennett was furious, the last horse had died some weeks back, and the captives had an easy twelve hour start on them. There were he hoped other horses still in a condition to follow, but they were all pastured at the oasis. The gods had frowned on him and his ragged band, as during the night the wind rose erasing any trace of their departure from the sands.

Moot really, as Bennett knew where the escapees would head, Renard would lead them to his home. Perhaps if they gave chase they could run them down. They were on foot and weak and hungry after all.

Exasperated Bennett knew to follow would be of little use. All the men in the camp were in no condition to pursue, and Lissa’s part in the escape was never suspected. Bennett had lost his bargaining chip, and he had to concede this time he had lost.