We stopped on the edge of a massive canyon.

Turns out we were only one of three slave wagons in the caravan.

Systematically, with the day of travel apparently coming to and end, all three of the carts were circled up a good ways away from the cliff face.

For a time, the sounds of chains being jostled drowned out the surroundings, but eventually I caught the sound of rushing water. Was there a river at the bottom of the gorge?

Two of our wagon's guards came to fetch those of us who had apparently been deemed unable, or too important, to walk with the rest of the slaves.

The sick woman from before had to be all but carried by two of the slavers, of who exchanged knowing glances that made a pit form at the bottom of my stomach.

As I also waited to be taken from the wagon, a bearded man of probably around twenty-eight or so came up from beside the two mercenaries.

He had what appeared to be a chain-link whip of some kind and a frilless looking scabbard hung from his other hip.

[Mercenary Captain, Level 8 Fighter, Level 2 Rogue]

[HP: 75/75]

For what it was worth, his armor looked to be about the same make and quality of his men's.

That wasn't a good thing for me. It meant he prioritized the overall good of his subordinates. It was an earmark of discipline and good leadership. The mercenaries likely wouldn't just behave or fight like trained thugs.

If each of the wagons had six guards, that meant I had a minimum of nineteen armed jailors to contend with if I wanted my freedom.

"Come on, girl," the serious looking warrior said to the young, red-headed slave girl.

The little girl quickly jumped up to stand; her head didn't even touch the canvas of the wagon-top.

"Um, coming!" she said quickly.

"Thank you," he said as the little girl climbed down to stand beside him.

After watching his ward obey him, the captain returned his eyes back to the wagon's human cargo.

"Wardancer, let me," he said and held his hand out.

Nazanin grunted and slowly started to stand. It took her some effort and I only then noticed the tight wrapping of bloodied rags around her right calf.

"I will hold myself upon my own two legs, Captain," she said with a warrior's pride.

I watched the statblock upon the elf's head fill in with more information.

[Nazanin, Level ??? Wardancer]

[HP: 45/74]

So that was her class then? It sounded like a Fighter subtype--she certainly held herself like one.

My mind drifted back to James' Battlemaster class and its practiced control.

Perhaps Wardancer was an Agility based melee specialization, but there was no real way to know without seeing it in action.

But, with Nazanin's injuries, I doubt she'd be giving any demonstrations any time soon.

My Intelligence stat slowly furnished me with the observation that her HP had been at 50 HP just hours earlier. She was getting worse.

"I will continue to allow you your decision," the captain replied and lowered his hand. "But my offer stands: I'll buy your contract if you join my warband."

"I can not," Nazanin replied dryly, clearly weighing her words. "I would die a slave before I allowed others to do so by my hand."

The captain said nothing; his face revealed little of his thoughts or true feelings.

"Let's get you food, girl," he told the little redhead beside him.

"Okay," the little girl replied somewhat nervously and looked up to the man.

The pair turned away.

"I can only protect you for so long before you're too weak," the captain added. "They won't keep you on the wagon for the entire journey, no matter what I say; eventually, they'll realize that you won't let me buy you out and that will be the end of it."

"Boy," he looked at me before finally leaving. "Help the injured woman once you're unlocked. But sleep deeply tonight, you will be walking tomorrow."

One of the the two guards who had come to continue clearing the cart, who were notably not the two who had taken the woman from before, climbed into the wagon and unlocked the rest us from the floor of the vehicle.

The guard made himself busy helping the remaining, very pregnant woman, to exit the wagon.

I turned my gaze to Nazanin and offered her my own hand. "He doesn't seem happy with you."

She hesitated, but eventually allowed herself to lean upon my arm and my significantly smaller frame. "Nor I with him, young Castien."

I helped her hunch and limp her way to the end of the cart, before I jumped off and guided her down to the ground.

For what it said about her, she barely winced, but I could see the sweat forming on her brow from even the small exertion.

A new status appeared above her head as I began to learn the true extent of her injuries.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

[Nazanin, Level ??? Wardancer (Crippled)]

[HP: 44/74]

She'd lost a point of HP already. I didn't know how long she'd last.

"This way," the guard who remained below, with a hand on his blade, led us away.

I watched as a number of the mercenary band hammered long and heavy spikes into the green-brown, dried earth with hefty sledges.

We were quickly linked together with the rest of the slaves and, as a group, we were all eventually attached to one or another of the large stakes. Like cattle.

My mind scanned the interior of the wagon-enclosed circle.

There were the three slave wagons and two more that looked much less austere.

One was laden down with bags that hung from its sides; compartments and cabinets could be seen on its outward facing body.

The other was more of a travel coach and I imagined that this was where the employer of the mercenaries spent his days.

My initial estimation of the number of guards was slightly off, though that was to be somewhat expected depending on where they prioritized distributing their manning.

By the time the sun had started to set in earnest, I'd managed to count fifteen guards minimum.

I noticed that no campfires were lit and the mercenaries seemed to be settling down out of our reach.

Those horses they had--which appeared to be one for every mercenary and two for every coach--were tied off to the slave wagons as they went about making a minimalistic camp.

Even if all these women and children had been captured soldiers instead, mounted warriors would decimate us even if I somehow managed to get the some fifty slaves to all follow a ten year old stranger into attacking our captors.

I had my work cut out for me.

However, I did have the beginnings of a plan.

----------------------------------------

(Scene switching to mercenary guard #1.)

I'd been with Captain Allister since the platoon had left Stodholm's garrison. He kept us fed enough, but times were getting rough.

Most of us didn't want to take the job escorting the slaves and would much rather be fighting in the conflict between Shvaz and Mordeaux.

Border cities weren't rich, but they usually bled the money they needed for warring from their monarchs; they paid their bills at least, right up until the last months of losing, and that was what mattered.

But we'd crossed the wrong person.

Lord de Romanet had ordered us to burn and loot a small little village to draw troops from a strategic fortress that needed to be seized.

We'd done the like of it before, but for some reason Captain Allister had refused this time.

Our contract was voided. Our reputation ruined. And he didn't even give us a reason; he still hadn't.

A lot of us left not long after that. Those of us who stayed were those who had been with the captain the longest; we were loyal, or just didn't have anywhere else to go.

Me, on the other hand? I'd been hoping he'd turn this whole thing around.

If we built up enough credibility with these easterners then we might be able to get back onto a proper battlefield again.

A lot of rumors said their magistrates were richer than any lord of the Barsilians.

As it went, the Myzantines hoarded their jewels, gold, and silk, and only paid them out to grand architects in times of peace and to vast armies in days of war--armies which often relied heavily on foreign mercenaries willing to slay their brethren and rivals for coin.

I wasn't so sure he could do it anymore, though.

Some of his choices had been solid recently. Trying to make the slave traders and merchants of Nazd accept us was a good move; it got our foot in the door with these strange people.

But then he'd bought the girl. An investment for the future he'd said. Yeah, maybe it was true, but it'd cost us all the money that didn't go into equipment that we'd made in the past eight months--and I'm pretty sure we still owed payments on her.

So, here I was, thinking of finally leaving the captain and his troop behind.

It wasn't my guard shift yet and, despite being saddle sore, I wasn't too tired.

I just needed some time to think and the river was beautiful.

With the last little rays of sunlight, I could see the gushing water misting the lush dessert trees and bushes with crystalline droplets of cold.

I'd have to bed down soon, we'd be up early, but--

I heard a whisper.

"Trespassing," the words were distant and I could barely make them out.

I started to pull my legs out from over the edge of the steep cliff face.

"Not yours," another whisper came from the darkening valley below. "Shouldn't be here."

I stood up and put a hand on my well-used blade.

Then my blood ran cold.

"Behind you," something quickly whispered in my ear.

I spun immediately, while drawing my weapon, and was greeted by the sight of a beautiful, glowing face.

"Who are you--" I started to say.

The floating women's hair spilled into the growing moonlight. Her eyes were lakes of calm.

She didn't reply, but instead slowly started to reach up to almost touch my face.

"Be at peace, warrior," she said.

My heart calmed somewhat.

"In death!" she screamed; all at once her visage became fury and demonic rage incarnate.

She lunged for me and the sight of her rows upon rows of now sharpened teeth barreled towards my face.

I screamed and stumbled back. I heard the sound of the earth cracking below me.

How? What was happening?

The panic made me lose my footing. I swung my arms and tried to grab for something, anything, but the ghostly woman merely passed right through me. My hands failed to find purchase on anything but air as I grabbed for her gown.

It wasn't a peaceful fall. I'm sure my shrieks were already echoing throughout the camp.

My last thought was of the pretty little barmaid I'd been meeting in Nazd every time we'd made our deliveries.

I should've retired last trip. I think she'd loved me.

----------------------------------------

(Scene switching to Nazanin.)

I'd felt worse pain, but I knew my leg would soon fester. It already wasn't healing right.

To be captured in battle and sold to slavers? How weak I was.

Even now I could likely fight my way to at least an escape, even with the number of warriors present, if the heat of fever were not burning on my brow.

If only my convictions allowed me to join this Captain Allister. I'm sure he would offer me whatever aid he had at hand--likely a potion or two.

But I could tell, while likely a man of his word, that he wasn't the kind to waste resources on unmade agreements.

I watched the two guards who had taken the sick woman away as they returned. One of their blades was still drawn and, while others might not notice, I could see the remaining unwiped traces of blood upon the weapon.

My eyes slowly turned in a growing curiosity to the boy, Castien, who was chained near to me.

He held in his hand the small bit of hardtack that we'd been given to sustain another day of travel, but he was not focused on the eating of it.

The boy's eyes were off somehow. Not evil or wrong, but far too aware for a normal child. Perhaps he had seen much, but it seemed to me that the world he'd experienced had to be far crueler than even my own to create such an aged gaze in one so young.

He was momentarily watching the same guard I had been. Somehow, he knew, as I did, just what they'd done.

To my surprise, his eyes slowly turned to me.

"Can I trust you?" he asked.

I hesitated. The way he had seemed enraged at the sight of the other slaves, the children and defenseless innocents, I had heard a desire for it to be righted in his tone before.

"You are a child," I said. "To speak of much anything aloud here is either dangerous or pointless."

"I know. Just answer my question," the small boy encouraged.

I had no loyalties to anyone here. Could he trust me? A strange question.

I examined his resolute gaze once more. Yes, I believed he was more aware than his age might suggest, but I saw nothing in his eyes that did not deserve acknowledgment.

"Yes," I replied simply.

The boy nodded and then turned his head to the distance. I followed to look towards where he was observing.

"Good. I got distracted for a second, but," his voice paused and I watched a figure on the edges of camp stand as if in a panic.

What was that light in front of the man? It almost looked like... a ghost? She appeared from the very air itself, but she was gone as quickly as she'd come and so too did, to my shock, the guard just as quickly tumble from sight.

The inevitable screaming came next, and it raged loudly for but a few moments--until it didn't.

"I just killed one of them," the boy finished his sentence as I turned to gaze at him in disbelief.

"Quiet yourself," I said.

"Only you can hear me," he replied.

What? I stared at him without understanding, before realizing that his lips hadn't moved when he'd spoken.

How had I missed that?

Who was this child? What was this child?