The trip through the woods was peaceful, the only sounds being the light clopping of the horse's hooves on the ground and the creak of the cart’s wheels turning. Birds flittered through the trees, singing their afternoon songs all around us as the wind rustled the trees. It was a nice day; some may have said a perfect day. Sunny, comfortable temperature, and a light breeze, yet we all sat in silent, grim contemplation.
We had a day, just a single day left before we were surrounded by those who were considered the enemy. I know that they all said they trust me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some thoughts about my ability to lead this mission. They were putting their lives on the line after all, it was only natural to have concerns about the abilities of the person holding them.
In the middle of all our ruminations, a small figure emerged from the brush a little ahead of us. The sudden appearance had spooked the horses a little and everyone jumped in surprise as Holdrem calmed the animals down. Standing in the road was Dart, who I had actually somewhat forgotten was part of this mission as well.
After everyone had calmed down from his emergence, he started to walk towards the cart, giving the horse a light pat on its foreleg as he passed. He said nothing until he climbed into the back of the cart and sat down on top of a crate.
“The road ahead is clear of any patrols for the next several miles.” He sterilely stated.
The rest of the group stared at him with dumbfounded expressions, and I realized that they probably didn’t know who he was. I took it upon myself to introduce him. “Everyone, this is Dart, he will be our scout and message runner.”
Everyone seemed to relax a little as they realized that he was supposed to be here. Jorn had something to say about it though. “Didn’t think to tell us about him before?”
I scratched the back of my head. “I kind of assumed you had been told by someone else, sorry.”
Jorn just shrugged and waved it off. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Having the extra body here watching our backs actually makes me feel a little better.” There were some light head bobs from everyone as they apparently agreed with the sentiment.
With a shrug of my own I just gestured for Holdrem to continue onward, and he cracked the reigns again to comply. I decided to strike up a little conversation with Dart just so everything didn’t fall back into suffocating silence again. “So, you scouted out the path ahead of us?”
“Yes, I got up earlier in the morning to make sure we wouldn’t run into any problems for the first leg of the journey. No sign of Thrainians and even our own patrols were not in the area. There should be no interruption to our journey for a while, so I will rest if you do not mind.”
He never was one for extended conversation, so I just nodded to him. He folded his arms, sat with his legs crossed and dipped his head down as his eyes closed. I guess he was used to sleeping while on the move because that seemed like a very natural transition for him.
True to his word, there were no interruptions during our travels. We kept our stead pace in the cart for the most part. Occasionally we had to get out and push in order to get across the difficult terrain that was the dilapidated roads of the wildlands.
We moved until the sky started to turn orange as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The fading light would quickly become a problem, so we picked a flat area a little off the road to make camp for the night. Tents were pitched for everyone, and a small fire was started to help cook some of the rations.
As we sat around the fire eating our meals, I decided to start a conversation. “Hey, you guys' mind if I ask you a personal question?” Everyone seemed to consider for a second before gesturing for me to continue. “What made you all join the war? What’s the story behind it? If it’s a sensitive subject, you can just ignore me.”
Jorn spoke up first. “Not at all.” He looked at his brother next. “Do you want to, or me?”
“I guess I got it covered.” Otar answered before turning towards me. “My brother and I come from a family with a history of military service. Our grandfather served in the Ulgor army before this war even began. He pressed upon our father how much better things were before Alathos whipped the Thrainians into a narcissistic power-hungry frenzy. He is a snake that poisoned them against us, and like any dangerous serpent, you must cut off its head before it can do any more damage.”
“Our father still serves at another base, and our mother is back home in our village. We haven’t seen them in a long while, which is sad, but if anything happened to either of them, we would hear about it, so at least we know they are still safe.” It seemed like a fairly normal story all things considered, and I was glad that they didn’t have to go through any heartache.
With their story seemingly over, I looked to the next person in line, Holdrem. He took a moment to realize that it was seemingly his turn to share. “Well, my story is a little sourer than theirs.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” I reassured him.
“It’s fine, it’s all history now. My life when I was young was a lot simpler than it is now. I lived with my father on our farm, and we toiled away at the land to reap what we could from it. Whenever we weren’t tending to the crops we were fishing in the river, pulling the bounty of the waters from its flow. The small community we lived in was peaceful, disconnected from the war and deep in the wildlands. While no official armed force from the Thrainians would go that deep into the wildlands, there were the opportunistic.”
“It wasn’t any army or soldiers who came to us, it was slavers and their hired thugs. They showed up in the dead of night, the screams from the families they got to first woke the rest of us. They started fires in the fields, trying to box us in so they could round us up. It was chaos as people were yelling, panicking, and trying to get away from the slavers. My father was leading me by the hand through all the smoke that choked my lungs, trying to find a break in the flames so we could escape.”
“It wasn’t meant to be though. The slavers were after us, and I was slow. They grabbed me, started trying to tear me away from my father. He turned on them, ripped the throat out of the one who grabbed me with his teeth. He screamed at me to run as the others came towards us with their weapons drawn. I didn’t know what else to do, I ran, listening to the fading sounds of struggling as he held them off so I could have a chance to escape. Eventually I found a gap in the flames near the river, and I jumped in, swimming as fast as I could. I didn’t stop until I was forced to crawl out of the cold river and slump down unconscious on its banks.”
“I traveled along the river for a whole day before I was found by a neighboring village who saw the smoke and went to investigate. I carried the grudge of what happened that day for a long time, which eventually led me to join the fighting. Nowadays the fires of revenge have died down somewhat, doused by the blood I've shed in that time.”
Holdrem fell into a silence that signaled he was done reliving the past. I didn’t really know how to respond to that. Sympathies would probably feel empty, and he has most likely heard plenty of them in his lifetime already. “I get the feeling that stories like that are more common than not,” I eventually managed to say.
Holdrem just nodded. “Yes, it is an unfortunate reality of war, particularly a war driven by a sense of superiority.”
The silence that hung over us killed the conversation for a minute. After the quiet had a chance to stew, Holdrem decided to signal the continuation of the story telling by looking towards Dart. Dart’s expression was a mask of neutrality that was the norm for him. He ended up releasing a slight sigh, like it was more of a bother than anything else, and started talking.
“Very well, I shall share too. My past would also be considered a tragedy by most standards. I was born a slave in a noble’s house, technically a bastard child as my owner had a habit of experimenting with ‘selective breeding’, as he would call it. He, too, was a merchant of wayward souls, interested in creating a better quality of slave to sell. My mother was a personal project of his, and whenever she wasn’t being used for his experiments, she would serve as a regular household slave”
“She cared for me as often as she could while still performing her duties. It was admirable of her, and she had true strength not found in many. Eventually I grew to the point where I too was put to work, learning how to care for the house and the master right alongside her. I knew no other life than that, but I loved my mother, and I saw it as helping her with her work, so I was more than eager to do so.”
“One day, when I was but eight years old, the master came back screaming and raving something about not being understood and how his work would revolutionize the trade or some such nonsense. He was drunk, and apparently had been quite humiliated by other nobles who saw his projects as disgusting. So, like any person with power who had been snubbed by society, he lashed out.”
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“My mother hid me under the bed and told me not to make a sound, and I obeyed her dutifully. The master burst into the room and started yelling at her, saying that she wasn’t good enough, that if she was only of better stock then they would see the value of what he was doing. She tried to calm him, but he just hit her, and hit her, and hit her again. In his drunken rage he beat her until she finally broke, laying lifeless and bloody on the floor.”
“I watched from under the bed, staring into the lifeless eyes of my mother as the master shuffled out of the room. As a child I was justifiably horrified, and I cowered beneath the bed for the whole night with her staring at me. The next day they took her body away and found me under the bed in a comatose state. The only thing that broke me out of such a state was the idea that I would be discarded like she was for being seen as useless.”
“I started working again with a newfound purpose. I wanted him to see the value in me, to keep me close, not throw me away. Years passed where I worked diligently to impress upon him my skills, and he took notice. He gave me additional tasks, more advanced labors, and even had me attempt to sire a few children. I became very proficient at keeping my presence to a minimum when he was in a foul mood. The master eventually called upon me for most tasks, making me his most trusted servant. He believed me to be a perfect example of how his selective breeding had created the perfect servant”
“I reveled in the trust he afforded me; it made it all the easier for me to stab him in the eye. My duties in the kitchen allowed me to take one of the knives from there, making sure to replace it with a cheap imitation. I waited for a night when he came home drunk from a party before enacting my long-thought-out plan. Stealing into his room after he had fallen asleep, I climbed atop his bed and stood perched above his sleeping form. With a single deft thrust I plunged the knife through his eye and directly into his brain.”
“He shot awake just to go ridged and twitching, occasionally releasing a garbled noise. I took his other eye next with a second thrust, didn’t need them staring at me as well. After I had confirmed his death, I burnt his house to the ground and stole away into the night. A long trek towards the wildlands later, I was picked up by coalition forces and joined the fight, quickly establishing my skills as a spy. The rest, as they say, is history.”
Jesus fuck! I could tell by the looks around the campfire that the others were of a similar mindset to me. It was important to note that he told that whole story with barely even a hint of emotion in his voice. I could only catch a little bit of warmth when he spoke of his mother. Note to self, do not piss him off.
After that slightly horrifying story that everyone seemed to want to just move past, Kala ended up telling her tale as well. She was met with some sympathetic looks as she finished her story, particularly from Holdrem. Surprisingly, or maybe not so, I was even dragged into story time as well.
I couldn’t, or perhaps more accurately didn’t want to, give them the complete story. In the end I just used the partial version that I was used to. Born magicless, possessed by magical entity, experimented on by the Thrainians for it. There were a few cringes going around as those more emotionally inclined imagined the torturous experience I went through, though what they thought of wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg.
After everyone knew each other's backstory, there was a moment of quiet as we all stared into the fire. Eventually Jorn let out a loud sigh. “I think I need a drink. Do you guys want a drink? Cause I'm getting a drink.”
At first, I was a little confused, but I watched as he walked over to the cart and opened one of the boxes. There was the clink of glass being moved around before he reemerged with a bottle of wine. “Isn’t that supposed to be used for trading with the Thrainians?” I attempted to reason.
Jorn smirked. “I won’t tell them if you won’t.”
Before I could even say anything else, he pulled the cork out of it with a resounding pop and took a swig. I just sighed a little. Nothing could be done about it now, so I just held out my hand for the bottle to be passed along, which he did with a victorious grin.
The bottle was passed around the fire with each person taking a drink from it as it went. Dart was the first to stop after taking two drinks, stating that his head must be clear for tomorrow. Logical, but there wasn’t enough in a single bottle for everyone to get drunk, maybe buzzed.
The mood around the fire improved as the bottle decreased in volume. By the end of it, everyone was much more relaxed than they had been. Instead of the heavy stories about our past and how we ended up joining the war there was instead some general conversation about the inane. As the fire got low, and everyone had their fill of conversation, we retired for the night to our small tents. I fell asleep listening to the slight creaking of the trees in the night and the smell of cool damp earth.
The next morning everyone quickly broke down camp and packed everything up again. We ate some fruit for breakfast and got back on the road to continue towards Thrainian territory. We rode along for a couple of hours before Dart spoke up from the back of the cart.
“I think this is the moment where we must now separate. I will continue to monitor your progress from afar, but we are close to the border now, so we must all assume our roles to their fullest extent.” They all nodded at him with a somewhat stony expression. I was wondering why they looked so morose, but that was answered quickly when Jorn grabbed a sack that clinked with metallic objects.
I watched with a slightly shocked expression when he removed slave collars from it and handed them to everyone else. My shock was only short lived as I realized that these were indeed an important aspect to their disguise, no matter how distasteful they were. Even so, I needed to ask an important question.
“Are those real?”
Dart was the one who answered that. “In terms of function, no, but they are modeled after an older design for collars unlike the modern ones that don’t have the option of coming off. Do try to think of a good excuse for their use should someone ask you about that.”
“Right.” Was all I could manage to say as the group looked at their collars with obvious disgust. Eventually, Jorn, Otar and Holdrem all wrapped it around their necks and clicked the locking mechanism shut on it. Kala was the only holdout, still staring at it like it would decapitate her if she put it anywhere near her neck.
“Are you okay, Kala?” I asked her.
She took a measured breath before she responded. “James, could you help me put this on?”
My brow raised and threatened to leave my face entirely. Something deep within me revolted at the idea of collaring Kala and put a sick feeling in my stomach. “I... I don’t...”
“Please, James, I think I could handle it if it was you.” This was not easy for her either. Her grip on the collar was like she was trying to crush the metal using her bare hands. It was clear that she could not do it herself, and if I could ease the process for her, then that was reason enough.
I shifted into the back of the cart and squatted down in front of her. Taking the cursed imitation of oppression from her, I looked her in the eyes. She nodded to me before closing her eyes and tilting her head back, exposing her neck. It felt like a giant glob of acid was sitting in my throat, and as I reached up with the collar, it only got worse. The metal touched her neck, causing her to recoil slightly and take a shuddering breath. That almost made me stop, but I struggled through it and clicked the collar shut around her.
Her hand came up and gripped around the collar as she breathed like she had just got done with a run. I placed my hands on her shoulders in a firm, comforting grip, thumbs giving her a light rub. “It’s not a real one, Kala. It can’t possibly hurt you, and even if it could, I would never let that happen.”
She looked me in the eye and took a deep, controlled breath. She nodded at me. “I’m okay, I just never thought I'd have to wear one again.”
“Well, with any amount of luck, this will be the last time.” I reassured her.
As I finished helping Kala, Jorn got my attention. “James, the rest of what’s in here is for you. Oh, and this.” He handed me the now significantly less full sack and something long that was wrapped in a cloth.
I started with what was left in the sack, opening it and fishing inside for its contents. There was a smaller pouch inside that jingled and clinked. It was fairly easy to guess what was inside, and opening it confirmed as much. Money, lots of silver coins and I think I even spied one or two gold ones in there as well. I could probably buy a lot with this much cash on me. Before I put the bag down, I checked to see if there was something left inside. Turns out there was.
It was a key, attached to a bit of leather string. I puzzled out what the key went to for a second before it stuck me. “Is this for your collars?”
Jorn nodded. “Yes, keep it on you and try not to lose it. It will be a pain in the ass to get these things off if you do.”
I nodded and threw it around my neck and tucked it under my shirt, shivering a little as the cold metal touched my skin. With the sack now completely empty, I put it down and started unwrapping the second item. The moment I got the first part of it undone I recognized what it was.
A sword, and not just your run of the mill one either, but a well-crafted blade with a certain amount of beauty afforded to it that you wouldn’t find in others. The handle was wrapped in clean black leather, the pommel was circular and etched with designs that resembled Celtic knots, and the cross guard was well polished metal that tapered slightly at the ends. The bladed end was about two and a half feet long when I removed it from the sheath, coming to a neat point at the end with a fuller running down its length.
It had been a long while since I last held a sword, and the weight and balance of it were much different than any practice blade that I had used. Even with all the little aesthetic pieces to the sword, there was no doubt that it would still be able to kill someone. It was first and foremost an instrument of war.
The sheath for the sword came with a belt for holding it and I wrapped it around my waist, sinching it down until it was a snug fit. The sword slid effortlessly into the sheath once more, I was now strapped and ready for a fight, though the goal would be to avoid one as often as possible. The money pouch was also tied around the belt, and I made sure to double knot it so there was no chance of it falling off.
With everyone now sporting their designated look in completion, Dart chose this moment to say some parting words. “Very good, you all look the part. I must now bid you farewell and go into hiding. I wish you all good luck.”
“Good luck to you as well. See you around, Dart.” I replied to him.
“Hopefully you won’t,” he said before taking what he could carry on his back and jumping off the cart, disappearing into the brush a moment later.
Was that a joke? It was hard to tell with his way of speaking, but I got the feeling it was meant to be one. There was nothing left to say, we just continued on down the road, now much more alert for Thrainian activity. It would be a little awkward trying to explain to a patrol what we were doing in the wildlands, but I could probably come up with some excuse about trying to find rare goods to sell or something like that. Regardless, we must now proceed with far more caution.