The verdant green shoots were the most wonderful thing to appear before Stephan’s eyes. He bent downward, leaning heavily on his staff, and brushed his hand across the velveteen field. The emerging new grains were soft as they bent under his gentle caress, only to rise again like a regiment of green soldiers, and the elderly man smiled with deep satisfaction.

“Thank you Lord, thank you for healing the land, and bringing us your grace.”

He rose and cast about him, truly there was much to be grateful for. He meandered down the side of the field, smiling and waving to his neighbors. The sickness will pass, the earth will mend, and God will provide. For the first time in many months, Stephan felt optimism and true hope.

The apple orchard lie dormant. The skeletal trees branches almost interlocking, down the well-ordered rows. The elderly man examined the branches carefully. Swollen buds, a hint of life. Order would return anew. Humans had not killed the world. Life was good and Stephan was grateful, he leaned on his cane and took a long look at the beautiful land he had the fortune to call home.

“Sir, Sir!” came a voice far to his periphery.

He turned to see John his assistant, waving his straw hat to draw his attention at the end of the orchard row. It appeared as though he had been running and was somewhat winded.

“You are wanted Sir, back at the house, there are visitors from the wastes.”

The white-haired leader was somewhat taken aback by the announcement, perhaps he had misheard. His hearing was not as good as it had once been. Cane in hand he turned to make his way down the orchard rows back towards his home.

As he entered the arbor that nestled close to his front door, he could see the fine green traces of the first swelling grape buds and he smiled. Yes, life was good, now to see what all this fuss was about?

There was an excited crowd already assembled in the parlor, guardsmen, farmhands, craftsmen, and servants. All pressing about the three ragged men who had arrived from the outside. The elderly leader pushed forward, his stick tapping a staccato on the terracotta tiles. The three visitors sat, they almost looked bewildered, the dust of days on them and their faces a mask of hungry and thirsty desperation. They were clad in rags and undernourished. As Stephan entered, their haunted eyes looked to him, one of the men stood, and through the grime and the dust recognition dawned.

“Son!” was all the elderly man said, the two men embraced as silent tears flowed.

Anna who had just entered joined the embrace, the little family held one another for long moments.

“Oh my son, we had but given you up for dead.”

Stephan took a step back from his son to gaze upon his gaunt form. Anna was weeping with joy, clutching at her husband's sleeve for support. Stephan was almost overcome by emotion, he had hoped fervently for this moment, yet he felt it may never come. With effort, he then spoke to his people.

“Everyone please, these men need rest. There will be time for their story after they have rested and eaten.”

The elderly man waved the onlookers away, urging the household staff to make provision for the new arrivals and to send for the physician.

*****

Renard had slept only a few hours, but at the next rising of the sun, he was already awake, driven by the anxious desire to impart his terrible news to his parents. It felt good to wear clean garments again, the rigors of his captivity and the desperate march across the desert to reach home had taken a stark toll on his body. He looked into the tall standing floor mirror as he buttoned up his shirt. He hardly knew the man he saw there, gaunt, with dark shadows under his eyes. His old clothes were ill-fitting and hung on his frame shapeless. However, he was home, though in many ways this would not be a happy homecoming.

The kitchen was warm, almost overly so, with the ever-burning cast iron stove that dominated the space, and delicious scents of breakfast food permeated his nostrils. Bacon, eggs, and freshly baked bread. This was a pleasantness he had always remembered even in his darkest moments, and to be here today felt comforting.

“Good morning,” he said greeting the kitchen staff as he passed them by, they smiled at him and replied with friendly greetings of their own.

Through the kitchen and into the large vaulted dining hall Renard went, and as he had guessed his Father and Mother were both seated at the highly polished table. On his entrance, they both stood. His mother embraced him for long moments. Renard noted his father’s difficulty rising from his place at the table, and his increasing reliance on his cane for support. It hurt and frightened him to see his parents aging, and even worse to return with such terrible news.

"Sit, please Sit”, he said to his father, the three of them taking their places at the end of the very long table.

A breakfast spread was brought and laid before the trio. Oatmeal with honey, ham, bacon, and eggs, and perfectly browned toast with butter.

“You must tell us all that has happened.”

Renard nodded at his Father’s words. He hardly knew where to begin. So he started slowly, revealing the easy stuff, working his way toward what he really meant to impart.

“The two men who arrived with me are my companions Carlos and Darius. I take it they are still resting and the physician said they were well?” He took a sip of the rich full cream milk in the brown, glazed, pottery mug before him, it tasted divine after life without.

Stephan nodded in affirmation, his dark eyes never leaving his son's haggard countenance.

“We were all held captive, the conditons were bad. Carlos has been captive for a very long time, some years, Darius was recently taken in a raid.” Renard continued.

“At the fort?” Stephan questioned.

“No Father, in the mercenaries settlement to the north. Unfortunately the double cross we enacted didn’t quite go to plan, Bennett and a core of his followers survived, but they were much depleted.”

Stephan issued forth a troubled sigh. “Do you think they will now move to attack us also?”

Renard shook his head, “I cannot say for certain, but Bennett had enough troubles of his own, there was after the defeat lots of infighting, and they number now very few.”

“Well that is something at least we should be thankful for. So then my boy how did you escape?”

“If it was not for the brave actions of Lissa…”

“Lissa Bateman? Arnold's daughter?” His mother interjected.

“Yes Mother, she still lives. She laced the men's food allowing us to escape, I don’t know how she did it, but we all owe our lives to her.”

“So she is still there, with the savages?

Renard nodded, his face a mask of calm that he did not feel.”

“What about the other girls?” Stephan asked.

Renard shifted uneasily in his tall backed chair, wanting to skirt the worst of the news he knew he must soon share. Bravely he continued, taking another gulp of milk to fuel his resolve.

“Kate and Sarah are gravely ill, I fear they have little time if they do not get medical care very soon.”

Anna put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of horror but did not speak. The repast that sat before them was untouched, going cold.

Stephan sighed in frustration, lifting his head to lock eyes with his son. “And your sister?”

There it had been said, and he must reply. Yet he had not the words. Renard shifted in his chair and looked away from his father’s probing stare, averting his gaze to the tabletop. The action gave him the resolve to vocalize the terrible news he must impart. How to tell them, he again fumbled beginning to speak woodenly.

“Frances...she...” He choked on the sentence. “I failed.” His voice quavered. “I... I…”

Uncharacteristically he was crying, he tried to regain his composure, wiping the wet tears away with his shirtsleeve. There was a rustle of a long dress from somewhere behind them, and a servant who had walked in on the intensely personal moment, embarrassed at the intrusion, had turned to exit the room hurriedly.

Renard put his hands over his face, his mother had risen and was comforting her son.

“It’s all right Son,” she said quietly, holding him as he vented his anguish. “You don’t have to tell us more, we understand.”

Stephan did not wish to cause his son any more undue grief, they could speak again later when he felt more composed. Renard’s response had told him all he needed to know.

*****

Carlos woke and stretched his lean frame on the bed lazily like a big cat. He looked about the rustic surroundings for a long while. The knotted wood on the ceilings, the hanging lights burdened with rings of homemade, white candles. This cozy room was built into the side of the home, it was long and completely lined in wood, and to one side many rectangular windows ran with a wide view of the fields and orchards beyond. It was peaceful here.

There was a wood heater on the opposite wall, and the fire danced behind the mica glass, giving off a pleasant warmth. He was shocked a little that he had not even registered the servant's intrusion to fuel it as he had slept. Years of wakefulness and watchful care had been his lot, he was surprised he had let go so quickly.

He was undecided if the bed was comfortable or not, he was very unused to sleeping in this fashion. Perhaps it was too soft he thought, his body sinking down further into the mattress made of straw and feathers. He again put off the inevitable rising. Pulling the blankets up over his head, and closed his eyes to think.

To his keen ears honed by the need for constant preparedness, the sounds of the house carried. Pots being placed on the stove, the murmur of voices speaking of everyday things. A dog barked, not the sound of warning of an intruder, but of playfulness. Could he exist in this ordered world? Even his distant upbringing had been more chaotic than this, the crime, the drugs, the streets.

After years in captivity, he was unsure just what he would do now he had found his freedom, but as he again pulled back the covers and looked outside he knew this would not be it. He could no more see himself as a farmer, or belonging to this pathetic little militia than he could being shackled to a cruel master.

Though he would be fed and physically very comfortable in this community; this was just slavery to him of a different nature. Chained by the seasons and the expectations of others. Those who had never suffered what he had lived through.

Carlos had seen much and knew he could never settle here. He would rest a while, restore his strength, and then he would inform the others he planned to leave, he intended to go south. There had to be something of worth there after all the passing years. Perhaps he could join a private army in one of the reforming cities, or join a larger more powerful band of men who would accept him for his prowess?

*****

Gareth, Dwayne, and Jormugar had traveled the best part of three weeks and sighted not a soul. The northern regions had become a place of desertion, first the extreme heat, then the cold, contorting and withering all but the hardiest of life. The return pace had been slower than Gareth had wished, but it was apparent that the horses were becoming exhausted. All the warheads must reach the valley. So they had rested more, and walked slower, skirting about the worst terrain to spare the flagging animals.

Dwayne had not been his carefree self since he had witnessed the terrible, invisible death claim Warren. It was not that he felt any pity for the man, he was after all only a slave, and weak besides. The clan had always carried him. Weak reeds like Warren perished all the time. No, it was not that, Dwayne had to confess he feared what they transported in a way he had not feared anything since he was a child.

He constantly walked ahead of the canisters, scouting the terrain up front. Those last few tortured moments of Warren’s life were indelibly etched into his mind, they replayed like a bad film reel. Dwayne could not clear the vision from his mind. Those events had even begun to morph into terrible dreams. Ones he woke from with a start. Dwayne wanted to be nowhere near these weapons of insidious death. Ruing the day they had been found.

The lithe young man had gone quite far ahead. He paused to stand quietly at the crest of the dune, leaning on the arch of his bow. The day was patchy sunlight. The desert vista before him was startling in its savage beauty. The varied textures of sand and rock, the colors, bright where the sunlight strafed, brooding where the shadows hung. He could see for miles, across the tops of the dunes, even to his simple mind this was breathtaking. He looked down in avoidance of the thorny box bush, the plants reminded him of portrayals of Jesus’s crown of thorns. The vaguest hint of vibrant green. Dwayne peered closer to see small waxy leaves emerging, he smiled away his troubled thoughts, this indeed was a good sign.

*****

That evening they had finally reached the oasis. The plant life there had made a great recovery in a short span of time. There were still healthy cattle and horses milling about the pond taking an evening drink. Dwayne shot one of the smaller bovines for dinner and spent the remainder of the daylight dressing the beast. It was a deliberate move on his behalf, as he wanted nothing to do with handling those warheads.

The tired horses were unloaded very carefully by Jormugar and Gareth and released to hopefully recuperate. They would take fresh pack animals tomorrow, perhaps a cow or two if things were looking fortuitous.

The beef was very welcome, a young animal, and a choice cut. Jormugar tore at the rare, succulent flesh hungrily. Things were going well despite his recent slip-up. He still sometimes felt twinges of lingering illness, he was most unsure why, but just as soon as the mysterious biliousness would arrive it departed, or Jormugar got busy and he ignored it. The bounty hunter and slave spotter reasoned this was all just a short fall sideways, and possibly hardly a fall at all. Though he regretted the loss of his dog greatly. It seemed he was fitting in nicely, though he hadn’t built enough trust yet to be returned his weapons, he had been treated well and as an equal in all other matters.

“We probably won’t get there tomorrow, but definitely the day after.” Gareth announced, chewing a mouth full of food as he looked at Jormugar levelly through the haze of the hot burning fire.

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Jormugar nodded and took some more meat. He was already thinking of money. Once he could grasp the position of this war band, and view its strengths or weaknesses he would slip away. He was sure Master Jacques would be very pleased with his latest reconnaissance to the north. Though initially a loss, perhaps his misfortune could be greatly redeemed?

Dwayne was quiet. He filled his belly and lay down. It would be good to be home again, and good to rally the clan with their victory, but at what price?

The hardened Gareth was jubilant. Just two easy days from home. He had done what his leader had asked and returned with the fabled spoils. Life would continue to get better for him, he was headed upward, and he could feel it. His slave girl would taste sweet, as would his newly cemented rank in the clan.

*****

Though the weather had turned and it was less bitter than it had been. Bennett's dwindling clan had not placed a man up top on steady watch for some weeks. No human life had been detected in the vicinity of the valley for a very long time. Mostly the threat that had dogged the men had dissipated. The archer had only been one woman, and surely she had been captured and met a well-deserved demise?

The hour was still fairly early, and most of the men free of duties chose to sleep the cool mornings out. Preferring to stay up late into the night to tell stories and drink by the fire until almost dawn. Will, however, had been up and about early feeling restless at the lack of a woman in his furs. All the good females were taken. He had gone for a brief walk about the valley basin and noted movement at the head of the valley path. A single man making an agile descent. He put his hand up to his eyes and strained better to see. The familiar black mop of hair, white of bone adornments. It was Dwayne. Will was torn, he longed to approach the returning man and learn the news first. Yet he felt a duty to report the return to his superior. Duty prevailing he turned to seek Bennett, who he found still in his furs, his captive sleeping beside him.

“Dwayne is returned.” Will relayed quietly to Bennett's keen interest.

The big man at once dragged himself from his warm repose and pulled on his heavy hide jacket, the metal on it made an almost musical sound. The others had overheard Will’s announcement. The warriors along with Nathan, and the other slaves who had the freedom to wander behind at a respectful distance assembled to await Dwayne's news.

Bennett stood tall out front of his people, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his faded and scratched leathers, a black and metal-clad pillar of strength. Scintillant ice chip eyes never left Dwayne’s advancing form. Though jubilant Dwayne cowered before his leader, head lowered. He had always been afraid of this man and with good reason. He wished Gareth would have chosen to present the initial report, however better this than to wait topside with the frightening payloads.

“We have had success Sir.” Dwayne spoke to the scuffed toes of his leader’s boots, his posture one of careful humility. “We located the silo, and we have secured some of its weapons. There are many more should we wish to return, hundreds!” Dwayne trembled as he witnessed the look of cruel triumph cross his leader’s square-jawed visage. The other warriors muttered excitedly in the background.

“This is very good news,” Bennett said more to himself than anyone about him in the expectant throng.

“We managed to transport eight of the heavy armaments Sir. We thought it best if I report, and then you can decide how we store and secure them Sir?”

“Good. I wish to hear all of this discovery. I will have the strongest men go topside and we will bring them down. Bennett looked behind him to his warriors and pointed his black-gloved fingers to Sven first predictably, and then at Will. The rest of his tribe were not deemed fit, nor trustworthy enough to transport the valuable prizes.

Lucy stood quietly to one side of the excited gathering, fly away, mousy brown hair carried aloft by the breeze that often blew from the head of the valley. The woman’s exterior was one of calmness, however inside she was in churning turmoil. So much so that she felt sick. The middle-aged woman was hearing and seeing the returned man before her, and yet it was as though she were distant, trapped in some kind of a bubble. Unable to act out nor ask the one question that was burning to be uttered.

Today her fears would be answered, she knew that. She kept gazing up toward the head of the narrow pathway longing to see her love again. Fingers calloused from hard work, torn nails rubbing her bottom lip as she nervously peered into the distance. She shook her mousy mane, now interspersed with the occasional shot of gray, and semi-smiled to no one but herself. Lucy had been so very sure Warren had just told stories, but today here was the proof that what her beloved had claimed was very real. Lucy’s heart swelled with pride. Warren, the savior to the clan, she could hardly believe it.

Sven started up the path, unsure what to make of it all. Was this a boon to the clan? Perhaps this discovery would assuage at least for the time the bitter divisions and the discontentment that had plagued them all. If his leader was more content would his own family feel safer, and his own position in the tribe be less precarious? He sincerely hoped so.

Having a family weighed on Sven heavily, balancing the responsibility to his son, and the men he fought alongside hadn't been easy these last few months. He often felt endangered. He had longed to walk away from these constraints, but his family obligations had held him in check. The wastes were no place for a woman and a child.

As the heavyset warrior crested the rise just ahead of Bennett and Will with Dwayne trailing in the rear. He was met with the familiar acne-scarred face of Gareth who leered at him triumphantly. Four fidgeting horses, a red bullock tied by the horns to one of the pack animals, presumably brought for slaughter, and a vital, dark-eyed young man he had never sighted before. Who appeared to be unarmed.

Gareth ignored Sven, he was after all deposed and of little consequence to proceedings. Immediately presenting himself before Bennett. Sven halfheartedly listened to the men exchange accounts of the mission. He wandered over to look at the cylindrical canisters more closely. His usually firm constitution did flip flops as he ran his fingers over the numbers printed on the grayish-green metal housings. ‘D696’ He had not forgotten. He had expected the trip north to be entirely fruitless, at best the recovery of projectiles, explosive materials, but not this, no.

“This is Jormugar, we found him at the site. He claims he is a bounty hunter?”

Bennett eyed the young man through a suspicious, slitted gaze. Jormugar having the good sense to avert all direct eye contact and incline his shaggy head. He knew how powerful and ego-filled men like Master Jacques liked to be treated, and employed it today to his advantage.

“I see,” Bennett responded.

He took his leather-gloved hand and forced the young man’s clear chocolate gaze to look at his ice one. Mixed feelings arose in that initial eye contact as the hardened leader felt the man though young seemed to hold little fear. If he messes up he will learn it, Bennett thought as he searched the man's face for any traces of dissidence. He found he could read very little of any emotion there.

“Well here unless I say otherwise you will attain the rank of one just above slave. If you prove yourself, you will achieve warrior status, if not slavery will be your lot. Do you understand?”

“I do Sir,” Jormugar replied humbly.

“Good.”Bennett then turned his attention to the warheads.

“So what are they? Bennett's gloved palms were already exploring the smooth gray armaments with meticulous care.

“It was difficult to ascertain what was in them Sir.” Gareth scratched at his chin with his thumb while imparting what he knew.

Bennett nodded. “I see the weakling didn't return?”

“He died Sir.”

Bennett noted the uneasy look on Dwayne’s face at the curt announcement of Warren’s passing. Good leaders missed no uneasiness in their men.

“We wished to be doubly sure of what the missiles contained before transferring them here understandably. So we tested them by shooting at one in an open quarry.”

Sven looked across at the men ashen faced. None paid him any mind. He was little more these days but a beast of burden himself.

“So what did you discover?” Bennett prodded.

“It was not pretty Sir. It didn’t explode like we imagined. The thing just sat there. We thought that it may have been a dud, because I knew I had hit it when I fired. So we sent Warren to investigate, and in seconds he was coughing and vomiting and squirming on the ground. He was dead Sir in a few moments beyond that, his skin and eyes looked all burned, and ulcerated. Whatever it was it was totally invisible, we couldn't smell it, see it, nothing.”

“It’s Sarin gas.” Sven spoke up. He was standing defensively arms crossed, back to the slate gray missiles, that lay nestled in a web of rope-work tied to the back of the nearest beast. The creature hung its head tired beneath the deadly burden.

A smile bordering on lunacy lit Bennett's face. Sven had to work hard to control his disgust. This was for Sven the veritable straw to break the camel’s back. Madness spiraling out of control. Nerve agents, colorless, odorless, and deadly, right here on his doorstep. If he was meek over this he would be endangering his family, and if he was vocal? He may be as well. However, he could not let this pass. No one else there seemed to understand, so he steeled himself and spoke up.

“This is madness, Sir. These warheads are old, quite possibly unstable. If one of these leaks the gas will go to the lowest point and stay there. It’s odorless and colorless and kills in moments. You two saw what it was capable of.” Sven turned to entreat Gareth and Dwayne.

Gareth merely shrugged his tattooed shoulders, he seemed too stupid to care, and perhaps he was, but Dwayne looked to the sand with unease.

“We can’t keep this stuff here, if it got loose in the valley it would most likely kill us all!” Sven was far from calm now, and all the men turned to look at him. Some with thinly veiled disdain, others in worry.

“These will be our salvation,” Bennett patted the canister so roughly that it made a hollow sound. It was obvious their bold leader had little fear of their contents or the stability of them. Sven was not so naive, he was no stranger to the sweeping and nonselective death wrought by such weapons, and the specter of it playing out right here sickened him to his stomach.

“You cannot store them down there Sir. For the love of G…”

“You dumb clod.” Bennett admonished, striking the heavyset man on the jaw with his fist. Sven took the blow and did not move. “They are too valuable to leave here. With these don't you understand, this is our way out! The Wolf Lord will bow to us, we can take his city. We can hold the farmlands to the southeast hostage. They will pay us homage in food and fuel and we will never want again.”

The majority of the men were nodding in agreement, not comprehending their peril. Though Sven could see that Dwayne clearly, was not with the general jubilant consensus.

“Either we die here slowly of attrition as we have, or we take the risk. I damn well know which alternative I prefer.” Bennett snarled. “Take those bombs carefully, and put them in the empty shipping container. I want them under lock and key.” Bennett commanded. “I won’t hear anymore from you.” He pressed a gloved finger hard into Sven’s chest. The blond man's solidarity gave way very little beneath the threatening pointer.

“A locked shipping container won’t…”

“One more word...” Bennett hissed, his hand straying now to the butt of his holstered revolver. Sven wanted to scream. He fought with all his effort to control his feelings and his mouth. He could not be part of this, yet he could not rightly walk away. “Pick that shit up and put them where you are told.”

Sven paused and looked at the black-clad man defiantly. Gray eyes simmering with fury, lips drawn in a hard line. This was as close as he could afford to walk the path of defiance with Bennett he knew, any further hostilities would most likely see him perfunctorily shot. He had lost, at least for today. He hoped there would indeed be a tomorrow in this madness.

The warheads were stowed in the empty shipping container without incident. Expectantly Lucy had watched from the sidelines, as the men and their array of deadly prizes were ferried past her. On Dwayne's arrival, she had longed to rush to the crest of the high valley, along with the designated men. Often in the heat of the moment, she forgot her place but was mercifully ignored because she was a woman.

Today though she held back, her tired eyes strained upward looking for a man she failed to see. She attempted to catch the gaze of Gareth, seeking her answers. He completely ignored her, as too did the young lithe stranger she had never sighted before. She pressed forward toward Dwayne, he did catch her gaze and nodded in silence a stoic ‘no’ to her mutely voiced question.

Lucy stopped mid-stride, shoulders hunched. She turned to watch the men pass, arms dangling uselessly at her sides. Torn and threadbare skirt rustled by the cool wind. Gazing long on their backs as the men toiled to secure the hard-won prizes. A bounty her beloved had died to secure, to give them all a brighter future. Slowly she sunk to the dusty earth, hands covering her face. He was gone her beloved Warren, gone evermore.

Maya had watched Lucy sink into the dust in a silent display of bereavement. However, she did not go forward to offer her sympathies as Raissa did. Fear struck the girl's heart rendering her all but frozen, she dearly desired not to be noticed. Though she knew she would be later, it was unavoidable. The man she despised had returned, looking to the young woman more unappealing than ever. Why could it have not been Gareth sent to die? Maya thought in a flash of hateful spite, something that had recently manifested inside her like black vitriol. She could not bear another slap from his hands or him to touch her carnally again. The thought of what she could not evade drove her into a wretched desolation.

*****

A man has needs, and Gareth’s needs were pressing. He did as was expected of him, though he was tired and somewhat distracted, seating himself by the fireside, speaking at great length to the others of the recent reconnaissance. There was much to relay. Clearly basking in his leader's approval, which was a very rare blessing to be bestowed on any man.

However, he had only one thing on his mind. His furs and the prized woman he wished to share them with. Maya had dreaded this moment but could not foresee a way to avoid it. Running away seemed the only alternative that provided avoidance, and that seemed rather drastic.

Gareth's calloused and dirty hands were greedily caressing the sides of Maya’s face, devouring her youth and unspoiled prettiness. He had thought of her much during the time spent away.

“You’re not nervous? He inquired in a cracked-toothed smile that did little to enhance his handsomeness. The girl shook her head. “Then my sweet, you must be cold?” Moving to situate her in his furs. He would tolerate her games for only so long...

No... Maya again shook her head in lieu of an answer.

“You’re trembling.” The harsh man countered, sliding his index finger slowly down Maya’s spine from the nape of her neck, barely touching flesh at all, lower and lower, all the way to the crease of her derriere. The girl’s breath caught in her throat, and goosebumps rose up all over her exposed flesh.

“Why are you trembling, then, little one?”

“I don't know.” Maya said in a timorous, almost whisper.

“Yes you do.” Gareth rasped, breath warm against Maya’s ear and the side of her face. A rough pinch in passing to one of those upstanding nipples. Maya squealed and tried to evade him.

Predictably Gareth was unmoved. “Okay. So…let’s talk about us then, shall we? Why do you fight my wishes, Maya? Why can you not be a good little girl and just...?”

Maya bit her lip and leaned away from him, as he tried to kiss her.

“You do know.” He said quietly. “Don’t lie to me.” Maya involuntarily flinched as she felt his stubble brush her shoulder.“Now. Tell me why do you defy me, avoid me, shrug me off, sidestep my wishes?”

Why? Maya could not confess. It was not a tangible dissidence. Her mind reeled. Why do I fight? Say it...But she didn’t…She couldn’t…and the seconds ticked by.

The pretty woman knew Gareth would lose his cool and strike her shortly. She wanted to answer, turning her head blindly right and left, as if seeking but finding naught. She had to answer, quickly. Maya’s mind shouted. Say SOMETHING! Anything! Maya’s lips moved for a moment, but no sound came out. “Because…I want…I want…”She didn't rightly know what she wanted. Too late...

A sharp pain in her cheek, redness, and heat spreading. The sensation was most unwelcome to the bewildered girl. Maya gasped and held her face, brutally aware the others by the fire were mostly watching amused. There was little privacy here from the many eyes of the clan.

Blood was in her mouth. Gareth said something, but Maya didn’t hear it all. What she heard was “… I don't understand you.”

Tears sprang to Maya’s eyes, this man was not the golden Aran, the one she adored. The one they had sent away. She hated him.

Gareth undaunted said her name calmly, quietly, again, Maya didn’t hear him. He said it louder as if his pretty captive were an idiot who couldn’t understand, which did result in her turning her face in the general direction his voice emanated.“Are you frightened?” He asked. Maya shook her head no. She lied.

Gareth never a patient soul, grabbed his prize by a fistful of moon-touched hair, pushing her beneath him. He would have that which was his right. Lithe Maya tried to roll over and squirm away, attempting to push herself upright, but Gareth’s solid hand lobbed squarely in the small of the woman’s back, pushing his prey roughly to the ground again.

The men by the fire smirked at the antics of the foolhardy lass as she played her losing hand. Raissa collected her son and made herself scarce. Lucy may appreciate her company tonight anyway, she was very uncomfortable watching these episodes of violence and sought to avoid them as much as possible. She had learned long ago it was far easier to let men take what they wanted. It hurt less if you were willing, Maya would learn it in time just as she had.

This time Maya could tell Gareth was angry, his superior weight thwarted her flight. He pressed himself against her lower body and slid his heavy physique along her slight form. Thwarting her kicks by pinning her legs beneath him and holding both of them with his thigh. Then he grabbed one of Maya’s wildly flailing arms and pressed it behind her back with a practiced expertise; pinning it beneath his chest, while he secured her remaining hand. Then using one hand to pin both of her wrists together tightly behind her back.

Maya shook her shoulders right and left as she struggled. However, Gareth was so heavy she found her fight was all but exhausted in a few shrugs. He pulled her arms back sharply. The pain caused Maya to immediately cease all movement as her shoulder sockets were on fire. The struggle had left the girl exhausted and out of breath.

“Where exactly did you think you were going to run to anyway?” Gareth's laughter was cruel.

*****

Jormugar gazed casually about him at the knot of humanity this valley housed, espresso gaze assessing beneath dark lashes. He was only thinking about profit. It was easy and somewhat satisfying to sit back and appraise his latest mark with leisure. None presumed him any threat. A captured, weaponless man who seemed very compliant.

There were many able-bodied men here, strong backs, possible pit fighters too, his employer would be pleased. However, best of all there were women, three very good specimens most certainly, one with an infant, living children were a rarity these days, and any woman that could conceive would bring a very high price. There were also other women of lesser value, though they seemed worn and ill. Possibly redeemable though if given better food and conditions.

The slaver made mental notes as he desired to impart all to Master Jacques. Jormugar had been close to this valley many times in his frequent travels north, yet this deep and sheltered cleft had completely hidden its secrets from him. That was until now. His dark eyes scanned all there was of value, on the surface it did not seem much. However, to a human trafficker, it was a goldmine.

Later he would slip away, grab a horse, and leave. He didn't wish to get involved intimately with anyone here. Forming attachments with one’s quarry was a serious impediment to his profession and he must not let it happen. This seemingly small slip-up was looking to be a positive boon.