Traveling in the covered wagon was monotonous. Jax had tried striking up conversations with the gongs, but they dismissed his attempts. After his third attempt, Durg fixed him with a stern glare, and Jerg, without even looking at him, muttered, “Soft meat, you talk too much. Unless your whining is useful, stay quiet.” Jax took the hint, sat back, and put on his new shoes. They weren’t enchanted, but they were comfortable enough.
And that’s how the rest of the day passed. Jax was surprised by how few people they encountered. Over six hours in the wagon, they only passed two dwarves, who stood well off the road smoking outside a hovel.
As dusk fell and the moon began to rise, the wagon finally stopped. Without preamble, the two giants stepped out. Jerg hopped down and turned to Jax, saying, “Come.” As before, Jax felt a compulsion to obey, and he climbed down to join them.
The scene outside was draped in moonlit darkness. They were flanked by farmland on one side and had pulled up next to a house, its wall caved in, looking abandoned. From the front of the wagon, Jax could hear Gelkrin unsaddling the mare.
As he stepped down, Durg handed Jax a piece of bread. Jax took it with a nod, surprised that he wasn’t particularly hungry or thirsty despite the long day. It struck him as odd, given that on the job back home he’d usually need over a gallon of water a day, especially if he was working hard. Still, he bit into the bread without ceremony. To his surprise, the bread—given by what felt like a minion of Sauron—was warm and unexpectedly delicious.
Durg had produced the bread out of thin air, one of the less strange occurrences of the day. Jax nodded at the giant in gratitude, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to think of Durg as anything more than a fellow slave, even if he held some rank. True, Durg was more powerful, but he was still a thrall like Jax.
They stood in a quiet triangle, Jerg chewing on a piece of meat, waiting for Gelkrin, their “owner,” to speak. The concept of being owned unsettled Jax deeply. He could cope with being on a strange planet, but the idea of servitude or slavery grated at him. Gelkrin had bound him, forcing him into a life of subjugation, without choice or recourse.
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After some time, Jax looked at Jerg and, after a moment’s hesitation, asked, “Jerg, how am I to be useful?”
The giant gave him an even stare before replying, “Soft meat, we go to battle. You shall fight. That is enough.”
Meeting Jerg’s gaze, Jax pressed, “I’m new to this. How am I to fight?” He held up his empty hands as if to make his point clearer. Jerg looked at his own hands, then back at Jax’s, as though slowly comprehending. After a moment, he turned to Durg, who finished chewing and frowned.
“No point asking the dimwits questions like that, ladie,” came a thick voice from the darkness. “And besides, why would a dead man need to fight?”
Jerg and Durg reacted instantly, searching for the source of the voice. A whine came from the front of the wagon, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. The two giants moved toward the sound.
Unsure what to do, Jax dropped into a defensive stance, feet shoulder-width apart, hands raised. He scanned the darkness near the broken wall, but saw nothing. He turned in circles, searching for the source of the voice. Slowly, he backed up, hoping to reach the stone wall for cover. Yet, when he thought he’d feel solid stone behind him, he felt nothing. Turning, Jax realized that half his leg was inside the wall.
He dropped into a crouch just as a blade slashed above his head. The strike had come from within the illusion. Without thinking, he pushed forward into the wall’s illusionary surface, breaking through it.
Inside, he came face-to-face with a young man. Above the stranger’s head floated the title “Level 2 Assassin.” He wasn’t a large man, and he held two blades with an unpracticed grip.
Jax lunged forward, trying to pressure the man. Fighting an armed assassin barehanded was a terrible idea, but his adrenaline was coursing and fear was driving him. His Marine Corps training kicked in, and he pushed into the assassin’s range. The man slashed at Jax’s outstretched arms, leaving a gash on his right arm. Blood splattered across his chest, but Jax’s left hand clamped onto the assassin’s shoulder.
Jax stepped in closer, narrowly dodging a stab to his neck, though the blade lodged painfully under his shoulder blade. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Jax kneed the assassin’s elbow, forcing him to drop one of his knives. Wrapping his free arm around the man, Jax pulled him into a tight, crushing embrace.
In the chaos, Jax did the only thing that made sense: he bit down hard on the assassin’s neck, aiming for the jugular.