“Oh, who’s this?”

A small man, even shorter than Desire, with grey hair and pale eyes that bordered between light grey and white, asked them when they arrived down to where the Chaos skiffer lay.

Yuriko looked at the vessel. It was roughly fifteen paces long and about five wide. She wasn’t even sure if the thing would fit all five of them much less an additional two passengers.

“Yuriko Davar,” she answered after a moment. “This is Ash…Desire. She is my…er, bondswoman, I suppose.”

“Whatever you wish to call me, Master.” Desire bowed with a slight smile.

“That’s a Chaos Lord,” the man said flatly.

“Of course, she is,” Sheamus answered placatingly, “but she bound herself to Miss Davar, so she should be safe. More importantly, is the skiffer usable, Pavo?”

“Maybe if we have enough materials and one of us is a Runeer,” Pavo answered sourly. “As it is, we’re going to have to salvage what supplies we can and head back to Delovine.”

“Huh. I’m heading to Rumiga,” Yuriko said, then turned to Desire. “Do you know any Chaos Channel we can use safely? Or a Tidelands?”

“Of course, Master…”

“Er, call me Yuriko, please.”

“Of course, Master Yuriko,” Desire answered with a decidedly teasing smile. “There is a Tideland near the north pole. It’s in between the Telurian and Asheron Court, so nobody has claimed it. We can enter through there if you wish.”

“I think I’d rather head over to the nearest plane instead of trying to go back to Delovine on foot,” Sheamus said ruefully.

Pavo and the other two scouts, a tall muscular man with a polearm and a cold woman with blue hair, glanced at each other then shrugged.

“Well, all of us are irregular. Which of you slobs actually volunteered for this?” The blue-haired woman asked.

“Not me!” all four said in unison. Then they turned to look at Yuriko and their gazes grew warm.

She shifted her weight fitfully, uncomfortable with the sudden regard. “You want to come with me?” she asked with some surprise.

“With all due respect, Lady Davar, you just wiped out nearly a dozen Chaos Lords and captured one,” Sheamus said with a chuckle. “I think we’ll be safer with you than wandering on our own. And,” he said when Yuriko was about to protest, “we’ll take your orders as long as you don’t lead us to death.” He glanced at the other four firmly.

Kalla shrugged and said, “You’re an Imperial, aren’t you? A Knight, at least.”

“Yes.” Without bothering to clarify the misconception, Yuriko added, “I came from Realmheart but I lived in Rumiga originally. I’m trying to get back to my family.”

“Oh, not a military action?” Pavo asked sharply.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Well, that complicates some things,” the tall warrior muttered.

“What do you mean?” Yuriko asked.

“We could be charged with desertion. Hunted down and captured. Probably executed,” Sheamus said. “Unless we’re under the command of the legions or the militia. From your outfit…” Sheamus trailed off. “Yeah, you’re not wearing a uniform. Huh. I guess you’re so dazzling that I didn’t even notice. Those are adventurer clothes, aren’t they?”

“I don’t…well, I bought these specifically to travel,” Yuriko muttered, “but I am not part of the legion or the militia.” She was surprised at the bitterness behind the words though. She shook her head. “I suppose I’m closer to an adventurer than anything else.”

She looked at the five of them and was lost in thought. She could use some help since she was likely to appear in hostile territory. But if she took them under her command, she would be honour-bound to protect them, both from harm and any legal repercussions. She supposed she could lean on the Mishala Clan to smooth things over…

Oh! There were enemies in Rumiga and she was fully intent on helping out however she could. Her mental gymnastics took a few more minutes before she rationalised that they could aid her and she could write a letter to the local militia that they helped in Rumiga’s defences.

“I’ll write up a letter for each of you stating that I took you under my command. My clan should keep you from getting into trouble for coming with me,” she offered.

“That’s good enough for me,” the warrior said. “I’d rather not go back to Delovine only to be sent back to the front.” He grunted. “We have to talk of pay, however. Since you’re not of the legion, they won’t be paying for our time.”

“You’re getting paid, Nathan?” Sheamus laughed. “I’m serving time. Well, whatever, I suppose you can give us some coin upfront?”

Yuriko shook her head. “I don’t have that much coin on me, but I do have some Chaos Shards. And we can loot the rest of the Wyldlings here. I’ll give you my share.”

“Good enough.” Nathan’s gaze sharpened. “How about you give us a share of loot of whatever we kill in the plane?”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Yuriko shrugged, “I suppose.”

“Alright, Miss! Please write the letters. We’ll gather the loot,” Sheamus said enthusiastically.

Yuriko and Desire shared a glance. The shorter woman grinned and bowed. Yuriko sighed and sat down on a boulder.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got paper with you? I didn’t bring any.”

It turned out that they did have some inside the Chaos skiffer. She did as they asked and after a couple of hours, they left the Waypoint and headed straight into the Tidelands north of the plane.

_________

More of the women had succumbed.

Gwendith was feeling the pressure herself, but she wouldn’t relent. Her Heritage was of the Empire and no amount of suffering she received from being a captive would make her change her mind.

There were less than twenty in the kennels now. Jamari Lucinde, the legionnaire from the Stormwalker Century, had grown gaunt. When she coughed, there were blood flecks on her hands. Gwendith snuck in as much of the blue-veined grass juice to the woman, but rations had grown even tighter over the past weeks.

Right now, she was back up on the plateau hunting for more of the grass. The Season of Fire had a light touch on the northern lands, and even now, it was snowing lightly. She tramped on the snow, lacking the energy to manipulate it to make her walk easier.

The heat of anger wasn’t enough to really warm her, but the constant simmer was there to make sure she never gave in.

Just last night, she got dragged out of the kennels and into the Iron Skin chieftain’s son, Thaer’s, room and had been forced to serve him. The boy wanted a massage after his marathon baby-making session with his primary wife and concubines and since Gwendith had been claimed as his, she’d been the one forced to serve.

She had to oil up his disgusting body and kneed his muscles until he fell asleep. He didn’t even bother to cover up. Ugh.

The primary wife, the daughter of one of the tribe’s strongest warriors, Frida, commanded Gwendith to help clean her up as well as the room. It had been nearly dawn by the time she had finished catering to their whims and she only got an hour’s sleep today.

There was no break for her, no rest. She needed to get up to the plateau and harvest blue-veined grass or she wouldn’t be fed. On her way up to the tunnels, she was stopped by a barbarian from the Fleetfoot tribe. He wanted her to serve him in his room, but she pointed at the braided cord on her arm. Thaer’s mark set him to scowling and he allowed her to go, but not before grabbing her bottom and squeezing hard.

Gwendith swallowed her protest, knowing that even if she caused a scene, it would either be ignored or invite more molestation. She was also pretty sure Thaer had started losing interest in having her converted. He hadn’t said anything last night and his eyes held nothing but apathy. But then again, he’d just been with half a dozen women, so maybe he was just tired.

If she lost the protection of his mark, what would happen to her? She swallowed bile coming up her throat.

Burning Moon. She loathed the man for everything he did, but he was the one thing that made sure she wasn’t abused whenever the others were feeling frisky. For a moment, she felt thankful, but the next instant, she nearly howled from rage. Why? Why would she feel that? She wouldn’t give in! She cannot!

Why hasn’t her House sent a rescue party? Even negotiating for her release would have been something. But no, there were no attempts. Lately, when she looked across the valleys, she couldn’t see the light coming from the Imperial camp. What happened?

Rumiga had enough troops to wipe out the barbarians! All they needed to do was send a legion! Even half of one would put up a good fight? But no, they opted to try starving the barbarians out of Ouera Bo.

It wouldn’t work. There was a Tidelands nearby and maybe they had drilled a hole into the Veil inside the tunnels. She didn’t know, but the barbarians’ food never ran out. Well, it was barely enough to feed the horde, she supposed, but it was enough to ensure survival. They sometimes sent small raiding groups out into the valley, and to skirmish with the Imperial troops.

Sometimes they were able to send raiders beyond and disrupt logistics. One time, Gwendith and the other captives were given Imperial ration bars for dinner. The familiar taste grew sour in her mouth when she considered how the strategy had failed.

No, the barbarians weren’t about to be starved out of Ouera Bo, so that only left an assault. Into leagues of dark and twisting tunnels filled with battle-ready and tough barbarians. No wonder an attack hadn’t happened at all.

Perhaps the only way to drive out the barbarians was for Legate Brygos to take a hand. The leader of Legion Agminis, Rumiga’s home guard, was a Knight Dominus. She could easily handle the numerous barbarian leaders here.

Gwendith wondered if she would ever reach that height. Even now, she hadn’t made much progress and was still at the Apprentice level. Even if she’d inlaid her next Facet, she didn’t have enough Animus reserve to trigger the change. That didn’t stop her from using the new technique she unearthed though. It’s been what’s keeping her alive in the frigid tundra.

A glimmer of green caught her eye and she couldn’t help but cheer. She hadn’t found one in a while and she worried that her day’s quota would remain unfilled. Plus, the graininess of her eyes and the snow blindness didn’t help.

The grass was near an overhang and a small copse of trees. She hurried towards it, and once she saw the tips, started digging with her hands. Surreptitiously, she squeezed the snow into ice and forced it to the side so that the snow wouldn’t collapse back over the tufts of grass.

There were nearly two dozen blades! Oh, thank the Ancestors. They wouldn’t starve.

Gwendith began to cut the leaves near the root. She couldn’t harvest all of it, since the group would die. They desperately needed it though, and she was seriously considering it. After all, what use would several blades be if there was no one to harvest?

Take all and eat well, or take less, eat just enough to live and be able to harvest again in the future?

She didn't want to just survive now. She wanted to live long enough to see the entirety of the barbarians put to the sword. Grimly, she harvested three-fourths of the number and left the rest to grow back. She squeezed out the sap from one and let it drop into the snow. She gathered all of the blue ice and ate it, quenching her thirst and easing her hunger. The cold spread throughout her stomach, but her Facet made sure that she took no harm. In fact, that pocket of cold was wrapped up in Animus and laid aside for use later.

Satisfied, she covered the grass with snow and rose up to her feet.

A large hand clapped down on her shoulder and spun her around, making her squeak in surprise. The same barbarian from the Fleetfoot leered down at her.

“So here you are,” he mumbled, his breath stank of beer. “No one will stop me here.”

He muscled her down into the snow, and pressed himself on top of her. His hand reached down to her belt while the other grabbed her throat.

Gwendith’s heart pounded in fear and anger, but his hand at her throat stopped her from screaming. His fingers tightened, cutting off her ability to breathe. His fingers were clumsy and he lost patience with the knots of her belt.

Distracted, he tried to rip her pants down off her hips, and in that distraction, his chokehold loosened slightly, allowing her darkening vision to recover.

Fury burned away fear, and any thought of the consequences of fighting back was drowned by that singular emotion. Her hands clenched on the snow, and her power suffused it, shaping it.

Right when he managed to rip her belt and pull down her underthings, he looked back at her face, smirking in triumph. Gwendith ignored his breath, ignored what his fingers were doing, and glared up at him. He leaned down, as if to bite or lick.

And that was when she slammed the ice knife into his eye and shoved it right into his brain.