Chapter 20:
The Ingredients of Opportunity
Semõìn was waiting outside the habitat tent as Deros was escorted out into the cold air of very early morning, Azrom not yet risen but its light still casting a glow from the east. It seemed he’d be chasing after it yet again.
“Oda, oda!” Semõìn exclaimed as he approached, arms out wide like he was greeting a true friend. “It’s my kampriço! Did you miss me?”
Deros just frowned and shook his head, not wanting to deal with it that morning. He noticed another Ironblood was loading up the Sylmex Azakan atop a rekas as Deros was being handed off to his long-lost keeper.
“Sylmex Azakan!” Deros called loudly, which caused the man to look over. “Luck be with you.”
The man nodded back. “And you, Miracleman Azakan.”
“Quiet, tribals!” barked the guard behind Deros’s back as he was being led over to Semõìn’s rekas.
Deros — in a dark mood and imminently tired of that particular command — turned almost all the way around to snap, “Quiet your skrófing face down a ponthole, you trail of worm slime!”
Every Ironblood but the one insulted erupted in laughter. The latter spun around and took a step back toward Deros. “What?! You kessa, I’ll-”
Semõìn jerked Deros backward by the arm and interposed himself between the two in conflict. “You’ll what, no-stud? Patrol him to death? He’s under my protection.”
The guard certainly stopped short. He rolled his shoulders, shrugged. “Whatever. Nok. Ought to cuff him, though, mouthing off to his betters like that. Tribals not put in their place get bold.”
“Is that right?” Semõìn made a derisive noise. “Et, I guess unblooded do-nothings know all there is to know about handling tribals.” He hooked Deros up to his waist tether as he spoke. “Too bad this is no mere tribal, you foolass pontsekú! This is Big Man One Ball Prettyboy Tribal Good Luck Deros of Miracle Land!”
Into the stunned silence, Semõìn lifted Deros onto the rekas and mounted up himself, then turned back to the guard. “So guess what, sadsack?” He pointed a final warning finger at the speechless Ironblood. “You’re nokzeû!”
They rode off at that, no doubt leaving confusion in their wake. He did notice the Ironblood that was handling the Sylmex had not left, lingering to observe the altercation. The Sylmex eyed Deros in amazement, clearly unsure of what he was looking at.
My names and glorious legend precede me — truly I am a prince among slaves. Aerion would like that. He’d add to the list. Something ridiculous. Aerion. Be safe, my friend. Be free. Please.
The camp was active though not bustling in the early morning, Ironbloods going to and fro. One he spied escorting two unbound Hamaleen looking like servants, laden with cleaning implements, perhaps. He also noticed several soldiers unloading supplies, several more packing them up, one utilizing a large cart, almost a wagon, pulled by two rekasí. The wheels were wood-spoked but had a comparatively thin, dark substance stretching across the actual wheel that would contact the ground. Some other version of their miracle material, he imagined.
“Semõìn,” Deros called over his shoulder as they rode on. “How is Palamera? And please, please be straight in answering.” He held his breath.
“She’s fine,” Semõìn replied dismissively. “Right as a root, boyo. She got lucky with Paetas. She’s ti big softie, especially with the cute girls. Went and visited her a few times — not easy, either. She knows one of the attachés of the habitats. The greenies.”
Deros breathed a sigh of relief at the news, but said, “Visits? What a privilege.”
“Oda, come on kampriço, don’t be like that! I actually tried, you know. The greenies are usually strict, they told me to nok off, basically.”
“Must not have been strict enough to keep that giant murderer Raetmus out. He paid me a visit and swore again that he’d kill me. With my own spear.”
Semõìn shifted uncomfortably. “What?” After a pause, he let out a breath. “Nok me. That pont-rat. Oda, look, he’s bluffing. Terrorizing you for the kick of it. He’s been given specific orders, no way he’d risk his entire career and life as an Ironblood just to off some tribal. No offense, kampriço.”
“And here you were, singing my praises a moment ago! Besides that, you’re underestimating how crazy he is. He made up some elaborate nonsense about drugs kept in the beads of our necklaces, just so he could take mine. Must’ve gotten in by talking about me being a provocateur, escape artist, something like that. That keirtum lady said he was a madman, and he sounds it, looks it, speaks it. He mentioned his oath again. Tell me, is there something about him that means he takes oaths especially seriously?”
His keeper didn’t say anything for a long spell. Finally, with a subdued tone, he said, “We won’t let it happen, Deros. Alright? I stick to orders, and I’m supposed to keep your sorry ass alive. If that nokieuri le parta tries something, he gets the splat d'tõì. If that’s not enough, I’ll put a carbine slug through his eye. That big kessa will go down like any other, then. Zeko?”
Deros wasn’t entirely sure he believed it, but he said, “Zeko. Thank you, Semõìn. I trust you’ll tell this to the others? Kerrick? Paetas? The group with my party needs to know, too.”
“Et, et. It’s all the same group, now, under Keirtum Soriel. She’ll know. Maybe she’ll just detain the noki bastard immediately. Eh. Might be dreaming, there. Protocols. And any nokieun over on Raetmus will ruffle some high-class feathers.”
“I’ll take what hope I can get.” Raetmus could just deny things, or give his fake story about drugs. Lying and conniving to see an oath through…
I’ll do the same, though for a better cause. More oaths than one to live up to. Whatever price is necessary.
Out past the gate and the quick, half-hearted calls of ‘oda, lâs merîen,’ they rode in the direction of the river, and likely the ferry he’d been across a few nights before for his ‘meeting.’
“What is so special about Raetmus, anyway?” Deros asked. “That he’s from Corzakus?”
“Ah, so you heard that much,” Semõìn mused. “Nokieu. Then you didn’t hear this from me, but et, he’s special there, kampriço. He’s ti damn hero. Fighter, ah, gladiator, you know? Then a war hero, too. His mentor and whatever else that your friends killed is loved there too, but he isn’t Corzakûssian. Raetmus is the only one from his homeland here, and it’s ti big ass deal. Strings got pulled, big sign of ah, integration. Cooperation — between them and Cerovuâ. Political bâvâ. He’s not really one of us. Not really Cerovuân.”
“Bâvâ,” Deros repeated vaguely, hollowly. I’ve stepped in a mountain of bâvâ. Not just a madman: a hero. Someone with clout and status above his rank. A problem to persecute without proof and witnesses. He avoids the blatant violations, aims to do it under doubt, unseen.
Deros’s cold deductions were framed by the dread he felt, knowing the bastard was not bluffing at all. Too many things added up to him being intent on murder. Foremost being that he was a monster and a murderer already.
When the ferry came into view… it was actually no ferry any longer, exactly. A long, long row of wooden constructs of various kinds — including a few ferries — snaked across the river, all bound together and floating. A floating bridge. Most of the constructs were of the dark wood he saw the Ironbloods favored, with some other solid, amber-colored material underneath the top planks. Deros saw several parties making the trip across as he marveled.
He must’ve made a noise, as Semõìn snickered and said, “What, never saw a floating bridge, kampriço? I’m more surprised you primitives can’t make stone bridges or something.”
“We can,” Deros replied. “They can. Where they’re needed, unlike here. We don’t move a boat’s worth of supplies per warrior like you do. There are two bridges in Sylapoor Mexis, though. Many elsewhere.” He didn’t want to offer details on Miracle River. The Springs had no need for a great bridge, but Foundersplace had a magnificent one worth going just to see. Boats downriver went under the colossal thing.
Would that the Ironbloods never sully it with their big, ugly boots.
Semõìn didn’t comment any further as they made the trek across the wooden decks, the path with a slight bow to it from the water’s current. Multiple long, taut cords of the alien manufacture kept it all bound together securely, and their ‘meager’ weight didn’t cause perceptible rocking as they crossed over the planks.
They passed some scattered few waiting Ironbloods at the end of the bridge, then headed up the same way Deros had been in the night, up a pass and through a gate to a courtyard surrounding the central keep. A large party was gathered around, many of them apparently just waiting and chatting. A cluster of them were who Deros identified as Semõìn’s compatriots, though he failed to see Paetas and Palamera among them. Closer to the gate, a keirtum and a vaetor he thought must be Kerrick were atop rekasí and close together, conversing.
“She’s coming,” Semõìn said, forestalling any questions from Deros. “Paetas should be around shortly with your girl. Anyway, kampriço, I’m going to go chat with the bosses about things, et?” With that, he dismounted.
“I’m in strong agreement,” Deros replied.
Patting his rekas on the neck and head, Semõìn murmured, “Ous evrie, Neki. Stay, girl.” With that, he walked over to the two ‘bosses,’ waving to get their attention.
Deros glanced down at the beast under him. Neki. Thankfully, his hands were bound from the front, likely by Semõìn’s oversight. Reaching his hand over to the rekas’s massive neck, Deros patted it with two hands. “Neki, Neki, good girl, Neki…”
The animal craned its neck around as much as it could, eying him, he was sure, though Deros couldn’t see through the helmet’s iridescent, oval lenses — or whatever they were called. Deros also felt a slight sway or movement, so he looked behind him, to see the long tail flicking around, almost wagging.
Hmm. Pack animals, despite the discipline? I suppose I shouldn’t hate the poor beasts, after all. This one doesn’t hate me, perhaps considers me part of the pack…
Deros eyed the knobby handle in front of him, sticking out of the plates of the saddle-like construction. He hesitantly touched it, watching the beast’s face and saying, “Go, go, Neki?”
The head, still staring at him, started slightly perhaps, but also let out a little, low growl. It wasn’t tremendously aggressive. It might’ve been almost a ‘no,’ but there was some aspect of warning to it.
Deros nodded, smiled without showing his teeth, patted the beast on the neck again and said affirmatively, “Good girl, good Neki, yes, et, stay! Good, good.”
The rekas made some other ghost of a noise, almost a whine, tossing its head as it wanted to get closer. Deros envisioned a nuzzle in his mind. Well… that was dangerous, but it was a nice gesture.
I think this beast would hesitate to kill me. Does that mean Semõìn would? Small victories, but something, I suppose.
His father’s voice came, as if answering him: ‘When you have nothing, make something, make a trap out of the scraps left to you. Others will still see nothing, and you will see the secret ingredients adding up to your victory, to spring at the appointed time.’
Secret ingredients…
The three ahead were still conversing, the keirtum — whose raised voice he recognized as Soriel indeed — holding her head up to the sky as if unbelieving, shaking it. Not happy.
Deros looked behind him, seeing the tail flicking around. He racked his brain for- what was it Sem said- ah. “Mel-tesaun? Neki?”
The tail clearly hesitated its wagging. When Deros turned back to Neki’s head, it was turned sideways at him. Confusion.
Say it like Semõìn. The accent. “Good girl, good Neki! Et, et! Ous evrie. Meltesón, Meltesón.”
Other than a little whine, the beast froze. Deros looked back to see the tail not flicking at all. “Good girl,” Deros whispered low, calm. “Good Neki.” He looked back at her head and nodded slowly, deliberately. Encouragingly.
Bloody god bâvâ! I don’t know how, but that’s an ingredient, maybe. Still, she’ll never pick me over her true master…
Even as he was thinking it, Soriel gestured emphatically in Deros’s direction as she was barking something, to which Semõìn turned around, whistled while waving, and called, “Come, Neki! Esiet! Esiet so.”
Neki made a brief whine but turned her head forward and down, then waltzed over to Semõìn. Deros murmured more encouragement for the animal to show his agreement with Semõìn. Yes, we’re aligned, Neki. So very, very aligned. One happy pack.
As they came close and Semõìn made the rekas stop, the keirtum looked Deros’s way and said in airs of frustration, “So you said Raetmus came and threatened you. I’ll have a talk with him a-”
“Your talk is going to mean jack all, with all due respect, Keirtum. He’s absolutely plotting to off me along the route — he said he’d kill me with my own spear, which I-”
He was interrupted by Kerrick’s mocking laughter. “You stupid tribal,” he grated. “Stupid, or lying. I tossed that worthless spear already, and nowhere that big bastard would get it. This is all a bunch of pointless noki pont.”
“What?” Deros was momentarily stunned by the revelation, but he quickly grew suspicious. “Wait, no, you’re lying! You gave it to him, didn’t you? You want me d-”
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“Quiet, boy!” commanded the keirtum. “On second thought, I don’t want to hear even another word from your twisted lips, or I’ll cuff you myself. I will see to you and your side of this later. And rest assured we aim to see you to our destination alive. No one murders useful assets as they like in my camp.”
“And for the last time, Semõìn,” Kerrick said angrily, “bind that piece of pont’s hands from the back, right now and from here on-”
“Belay that order, soldier. The last thing we need is him breaking his neck in a fall, and I hear he’s prone to fainting as it is. I’ve heard nothing about him being trouble, except with his mouth. You’re already two mouthfuls of pont, Semõìn, so I’m sure you’re handling it just fine.”
“Too true, keirtum,” Semõìn replied. “And no, he’s been easy, honestly.”
“Wonderful. As you were, then.” She rode off, past the nearby group, in the direction of the eastern gate which led to the next fortress.
Kerrick sat his mount and… with the helmet, it was hard to literally see, but Deros knew the man was glaring daggers at him, seething inwardly. “I’ll let you two suck each other’s asses,” he snapped, then rode off, not really after the keirtum nor the group. Just off to himself.
As Semõìn came over to remount, he muttered, “Look who’s talking, suck up,” too low for anyone other than Deros to hear, and him just barely.
What is Raetmus going to say? Deny he mentioned the spear? Why would I make that up? He has it, I know he does. They need to search him for it… but he’d figure that too, wouldn’t he… damn it.
There was something deeply unsatisfying about ratting every little detail to his captors to get them to fight the battles for him, but he had no other option until he escaped entirely. The more barriers they created the better. He wished he could just challenge Raetmus to a death duel or the like, but that was both out of his nonexistent rights and his capabilities of winning. He already knew how that would go.
When Semõìn turned his rekas in the direction of the crew, Deros spied Paetas and Palamera approaching. It was beyond good to see her, though she looked dirtier and more unkempt than he was used to seeing her. A small thing, but he knew her well enough to understand she’d hate it. She was unharmed, though.
“Deros!” Palamera called as they neared, her eyes looking him up and down, as though inspecting. “Are you alright? You look pale.”
Paetas and Semõìn exchanged simple greetings with one another, then said a few rapid-fire things in their own language.
Despite Palamera’s words, Deros was simply glad she wasn’t spitting in his face. But she knows precisely nothing, fool. “Poor sleep, “ Deros replied, but knew he had to add more a measure of truth than that to pass her keen intuition. “Worried. Afraid. This list goes on and on. And you?”
“The same.” Her countenance indeed was painted with worry as she eyed him. “I hope you haven’t been pushing yourself.”
“Not at all. In fact, I’ve been able to simply stew in my ire for things, laying around as never before in my life. A true privilege.”
Behind Paetas, another Ironblood came through at speed, calling out anxiously, “I’m not late, am I?” Enna.
Kerrick barked a loud, sharp command. “That’s the last! Or it better be. Move out!” He pulled his mouth-plate down and brought his strange horn up to the opening once more. That low, low call, inaudible to Hamaleen ears.
The great clusters of Ironbloods began making their way to the eastern gate, while two others with the painted triangle at their breast approached Kerrick instead, conferring.
Three vaetors? And maybe thirty total Ironbloods. He tried looking for other Taldecs but failed to see them. Then he saw the Sylmex Azakan again, ahead — somewhat surprisingly. The Ironblood carrying him must’ve come in when he wasn’t paying attention.
Paetas and Semõìn approached the gate, slowly as it became apparent there was a slight bottleneck for the huge rekasí to pass through, one-by-one — two were just possible side-by-side, Deros deduced, but it would’ve been a squeeze and none bothered.
One of the Ironbloods waiting ahead turned to wave at Semõìn, then held up a clearly mocking fist to call out, “One Ball Deros!”
Semõìn and a few others did the same cheer, to scattered laughter. Once more, the white-haired Sylmex eyed Deros in bewilderment.
“Thank you, thank you,” Deros belted out dramatically. “Your totem, your mascot ‘tis I, bringing cheer, bringing luck to you all! Do keep me alive, why don’t you? And my fair assistant, Palamera, too. I hear that great buffoon, Raetmus, aims to see me dead. A tragic loss that would be for the world, maidens, me, and last but certainly not least, you scum, who love me so dearly.”
Scattered laughter answered his words, then someone called, “Et, a tragedy! I’ll tear up.”
Another scoffed. “That big sack of Corza parta takes issue with a quari? Crazy idiot.”
“He doesn’t even belong here…”
“Et, et, we’ll protect you from the unstoppable giant, don’t worry!” Sarcasm.
“Oda, you better,” Semõìn added, “because it would be ti mutinous action betraying orders and the Ordení themselves to murder our kampriço, here. Besides, we have to see Big Man One Ball Prettyboy Tribal live the quari high life in some palace, making servant girls and court ladies swoon, like a tribal prince!”
A mixed response of ‘tsks,’ snorts, sarcastic agreements, and other exclamations answered Semõìn’s charge. Deros found himself temporarily subdued from any follow-up, as the words were far too close to the offer he did not want to think about.
It doesn’t matter, now, anyway. I’ll either get away or be killed before it can resolve. No way am I talking to Palamera about it. The idea of trying to relate the meeting with Eklásia to her made him want to laugh in hysteria. He’d rather swim a river of serpents upstream.
Eventually, they filtered through the gate along with the rest, and followed a kind of gauntlet over narrow walkways and chokepoints, through fortress gateways one by one, to get out. Twisted Bend had been considered unconquerable due to that gauntlet. No longer. Deros got a close-up look of the battle damage and breached walls, usually near a gate, and it looked more as if a section of wall exploded than was hit with a projectile. But some was still what he imagined siege weapons would cause. Utilizing makar’osa a bit, he identified many somewhat smaller impacts randomly dispersed along the walls, with metal lodged inside the stone.
Their bigger guns can damage reinforced stone. At least the ‘mere’ handheld varieties don’t seem to.
He finally saw one of their larger weapons thanks to a separated parapet not traversable from the walkway but connected down within a lower fortress, the spot providing an angle of fire down the gradual decline. Deros utilized his enhanced vision to see the details of a polished metal gun similar to their others but built on a larger frame, and instead of the strange hinged rotary piece in the middle of the gun that gave them more shots, the device had multiple entire tubes that seemed to rotate via a hand crank on the side. The heavy weapon was mounted on a solid, adjustable frame with two great wheels to either side, with a heavy anchoring tail.
The soldier standing next to it — seemingly on lookout — was slightly different than he’d seen. The suit had no horns and was dark brown, possibly smaller-framed like the green ones. The figure had a pair of binoculars hanging by a strap from their neck.
“Semõìn,” Deros queried, “who are the browns with no horns?”
“Non-rank-and-file,” Semõìn answered. “Rare, out here. That one’s an engineer. About the only noks that can aim artillery well. I say ‘well’ loosely in this ponthole. Trial and error to hit what you want. Math, numbers. That’s war, eh, kampriço? They put up a fight here, from all I heard. Catapults, ballista, burning oil. We took some casualties.”
Artillery. He recognized the word from the dictionary once he heard it. And he recalled the other: cannon. A big gun, basically.
“It wasn’t enough,” Deros muttered, eying a wall that had surely been battered by their war machines.
“I’m surprised you primitives didn’t figure out gunpowder by now. Or keep it.”
“I’m not convinced we ever had guns… or if we did, not for long. They’re like some magical legend of the South. I only know of them from a dictionary. And a few unlikely stories from caravanners. There was no entry for gunpowder in the dictionary, as far as I’m aware. If it’s so surprising we don’t, then what is it?”
Semõìn laughed. “Ah ah, nice try, kampriço! Can’t tell you that one.”
“What does it matter, at this point? As if you know to begin with.”
“I do know, boyo,” Semõìn taunted, bemused. “Required knowledge for the studded. The composition, mix ratios, the how-to, potential sources in the field… though nok me, I admit that would be a pain out here, depending on… ah, better not say.”
“What a tease, kampriço.” Mix ratios? Some sort of complex recipe, then.
They passed the final fortress and across a drawbridge that resided over a moat. The water below it was formed by a relatively shallow stream bypassing the river’s otherwise sharp turn wrapping around the fortresses. He supposed that it technically made Twisted Bend an island. Deros craned around to look back at the gradual rising rock and fortifications designed to cause endless attrition to assail. He had to shake his head. Gunpowder. If not for that, Twisted Bend would have likely never been taken physically. It would’ve needed to be starved out. Whether that was possible, he wasn’t sure.
“Did she fight, Semõìn?” Deros asked. “Eklásia. Did she partake in the battle here?”
“No, kampriço. The Ordení won’t sully their pretty hands out here unless absolutely necessary. They are better at closer ranges. Then it’s a bloodbath if the other side is lacking. I’ve noki seen it — once.”
There was a sobering pause before Semõìn continued. “Small-scale, a skirmish out in pontnok nowhere, ti young Ordení shows up unexpectedly, right? Wearing the black Krae enõìve. Says he’ll run support for personal experimental reasons. These rebels make a push through a natural bottleneck, he calls us to fall back, cool as ice. We do, and this smudge in the air stretched from him and that enõìve, just as the enemy breaks through… well, they didn’t break through anything… it was like they rode through a web made of nokieun razors.
“Limbs, heads, slices of rekas flew everywhere. Screaming. Blood and gore was all that was left of, ah… two-thirds of a hundred, I guess. Some routed in the back, got away. And two of our own got chopped in half by accident. When it was done, he just walks up to the keirtum and says, ‘Thank you, that was enlightening. Carry on.’ That’s it, he just leaves, and we have to clean up his noki mess. Worst pont I ever had to do in my life. Worst day, period. I’ll never get it out of my head. Et, kampriço, they’re terrifying. I’m happy if they stay out of the fight.”
Deros didn’t respond for the lump in his throat. I guess that answers the question of her capabilities. Eklásia could’ve executed all of us up on that ledge, in one stroke. She’s a walking death engine.
The party, having gotten past all the chokepoints of the fortresses, clustered together irregularly on their way beyond, approaching a fairly immediate, gradually ascending pass up the canyon. He could see perhaps sixty or seventy rekasí already climbing up it and partially over. He utilized his enhanced vision to look for those he recognized and made out four that were carrying Hamaleen with them. One he thought was Thalamon or Olarius from the flash of Azakan tans. He wasn’t sure about the rest. He looked for Raetmus, but couldn’t identify him.
Hopefully as far ahead and away as possible. Ultimately Deros had to drop the energy-draining makar’osa, as he was certain to need his strength. Maintaining simply the farsense was likely the smartest thing, to give him that slight advantage of reaction speed in case of trouble. He needed a good reserve, regardless, and he promised himself not to overdo it.
Azrom greeted them on the horizon once they came over the lip of the canyon, and the day wore on in the familiar cadence of travel through the desert, gradually smoothing out from rocky, bush-strewn hills over the duration. The route heavily meandered around the tougher portions to stick to the easiest terrain, and he saw why in flashes of the group ahead of them: dozens of carts and wagons were being pulled by rekasí, laden with supplies. They had to have been waiting on the higher ground, as he hadn’t seen them make the climb.
Deros felt some measure of derision for the excess they seemed to require — it was staggering for their numbers, many multiples of what it would be for Hamaleen. But he wasn’t sure exactly what they were bringing or why. Perhaps stores of water, if they were traveling far. He had no idea if there were many viable watering holes east of the Talqua, but he doubted it. Perhaps with the storms.
The pace was significantly better than a typical caravan, thanks to no one actually being on foot and the rekasí being strong and tireless to the task. Deros was well-rested at least, to face the grueling ride. It helped to have his hands no longer behind his back. As the hours passed, he put up with it rather well. He kept an eye out for Raetmus but never saw him.
If Soriel is serious about keeping me alive and him away from murder angles, she’ll keep the maniac close and in sight at all times. Not that he’d be obvious about it. What is his plan to do it, yet get away with it?
As they passed over lightly rolling hills, Deros asked over his shoulder, “Semõìn, when will I be separated from you again?”
“Kampriço, already feeling anxious?” As usual, his tone was unserious. “I’m touched, you’re so attached to me, you worry all the time about us parting!”
“No, you mush-brain! I’m worried about being murdered. I want to know what his windows of opportunity are.”
“None, really. Et, you sleep in a special tent we don’t sleep in, but there aren’t many quari with us total. You’ll have as many guards as quari inside, plus one, then two outside. No chance.”
“It doesn’t fill me with confidence… couldn’t he bribe them to let him do it?”
“Come on, kampriço — I think, six guards? And you violently killed?”
“He could just take me, make it look like I escaped. Stab me and leave my corpse to rot out in the desert. With absolutely no proof he did it.”
Semõìn laughed and shifted in his seat. “Your imagination is something! No shot. He’d be held responsible, still. He’s been warned. Then he pulled another nokieun threat. Should’ve kept his mouth shut if he was going to do that. Everyone’s going to hear about it, no one is going to take the risk. Even if one did, five pontin others altogether? No.”
“He might deny it. He might take the chance if he can avoid proof, counting on his status on Cajhor to save him.”
For a brief spell, Semõìn said nothing, and Deros thought he might be shaking his head. Then the Ironblood said, “He’s getting in your head, kampriço. Don’t let him. That’s what he wants.”
Too late for that. If that’s all he wants, he can have the victory of my suffering. I’m not going to underestimate that bastard. Not for a second.
Around mid-day, the heat growing in almost entirely wide-open terrain, the whole caravan stopped for a break, generally hopping off their rekasí. Deros did the same, while Semõìn walked over to some pack beasts and chatted with the others gathered around, as he procured some things from a distributing Ironblood. Small sacks and such. Deros took the opportunity to speak supportive nothings and pat Neki’s neck, while also trying the ‘meltesón’ command again, eyes shifting to make sure no one was watching. The same reaction of Neki suddenly freezing worked like a charm, and Deros congratulated the animal with genuine joy.
A rather chipper Semõìn returned laden with sacks of various sizes. Deros found himself dodging for his life from sharp tusks, as Neki turned quite anxiously all of a sudden to face her master, tail flicking around. Semõìn, laughing, tried to calm the animal down, but he was quite quickly trying to manipulate the animal’s mouth area and maneuver one of the sacks over. Deros gave a wide berth but angled so he could see, as some plate was slid down and the special sack with a peculiar head was inserted and twisted into a locked state. With that, Semõìn began squeezing the rather full sack, and the telltale sounds of an animal munching on moist food could be heard.
It did not take long for the sack to empty and begin going flat. Neki tried to lift the bag up and away — to Semõìn’s firm admonishments — as if to try and get out the remainders herself. She whined but relented to lower her head so her master could remove the sack and recap it. He tossed it on the ground, then slid the mouth plate back up with a final snapping sound.
So they eat, after all. Meat, I bet.
Another small sack, looking less strange than the others, was thrust into Deros’s hands. Semõìn also wrapped a small waterskin around Deros’s shoulders. “Here,” he said. “Drink as needed. Eat.”
Deros nodded and sat down in the sand in order to manipulate the sack with his hands still bound. Inside were some sort of savory eel cakes like little crumbly disks. He had no idea what was in them, but they were delicious. He ate as he watched Semõìn do something similar with a sack that was a small mirror of the one fed to the rekas. A few squeezes and it was over. While Deros was still eating, the Ironblood picked up the spent sack on the ground and stuffed it all in a saddlebag.
Tidy. Hospital-like, sanitary behavior. Controlled exposure.
“Where’s yours and Neki’s water, Semõìn?” Deros had to ask.
Semõìn reached an arm to pat his back, right behind the shoulder. “In the enõìve, kampriço. Little tube feeding into the crown. In the morning we put ice in, too, and it cools for us as well as melting into the reservoir. Two birds, one stone, et? It helps, anyway. What the Ordení call orchestration. Many solutions together for one problem.”
“Right.” Deros saw the great lot of Ironbloods beginning to move out, so he rose. “Let’s orchestrate my ass to a tomorrow, Semõìn. Less corpse-like than desired by giants.”
“What you say, we do, Big Man Deros.”
Deros nodded with a sardonic grin, his eyes running over all he saw before him. Neki, her every part and component, and each piece of plate and gear. The cord, stirring memories of long rope leads and lassos. All the leeway he’d chanced and earned. The underestimation and illusion of hapless obedience he cultivated. All tumbling down to some conclusion, win or lose.
I just need the right set of circumstances. Just need an opportunity. I’ll take my shot at freedom and go from there. Even a riverrat has his day, someday.