The entire situation was a farce. When they left the dig site, Niven and Maanica were exhausted, hurt and somewhat scared, but they both laboured under the notion that Beorg is going to handle the entire situation and they were going to safely get as far away from the entire mess as possible.

His current situation couldn’t be further away from the truth. First, he was abruptly awakened when his wife was unceremoniously thrown on him, and before he could react, a mug of this 'Olga' woman, whom Beorg fought a few days earlier, appeared as if from nowhere. She had a swollen nose and purple shadows under her eyes, but it was her. He could recognize her everywhere, this boisterous expression underlined by a bone-headed confidence and, let's be honest, stupidity. Also she was taller than him, and that was a rare sight, especially among the short haired blonde midlanders.

Then she restrained his hands, quite tightly. He was just hopeful that all this rough handling didn't hurt his wife - she seemed to be in a terrible shape and certainly required immediate attention even if for now she was just content to fall asleep straight away, but Niven wouldn't bat an eyelid. He had to maintain at least some awareness about what was happening to them and where they were being taken, even though there wasn't much he could do about it at this precise moment.

So, he quietly observed from his vantage point on the hay pile, and it fortunately wasn't that hard. Olga drove the cart cross-country, in a straight line through the steppe, always north - east - northwards, ignoring the discomfort this caused to her unwilling passengers. Later on she found a road, or rather a narrow animal path, winding its way around a massive formation of red and brown rock, and stuck to it for quite some time. At some point she abandoned even this pathetic excuse for a road entirely, and turned into the desert, which by that time started to dominate the landscape. Niven lost his bearings some time ago and he didn't have much chance of regaining it in this open land, but after a while he realised that the woman followed some, barely visible tracks, made by horses or maybe camels. They went in the same direction they were travelling now and were not that old. Days maybe.

The Bivos was already high in the sky, when Olga finally stopped the cart. Niven strained his neck to see what's ahead and noticed they were at the mouth of a narrow rift in a cliff face. The rift could fit a horse, but definitely not a four-wheeled cart.

-”Getchar arses out, were gon go.” - barked Olga.

-”Weh duh yuh tek us!?”- asked Niven, hoping to extend the conversation and maybe learn something useful.

-”Dunno whatcha babblin! Getcha arses out! An getta yer broad as well.”

-”Mi gwine need mi han dem free tuh help har. ” - he said, wriggling suggestively.

-”What?”

-”Han dem. Free. Yuh Dummy!”

-”Oh! raheet." - Olga theatrically slapped her forehead and then fished out a narrow knife from one of her riding boots - "But one false mowve, ayn' yuurr sliced. Orr shotte. Bai eem!" - with that, she pointed up, towards the top of the cliff, where a turbaned head was sticking out from behind a rock, right next to a barrel of a musket. - "Y'all know ay ken do this here.”

She then proceeded to yank the islander out of the cart, in a way one would unload a sack of potatoes. After much shoving and pulling, Niven finally tumbled out the back and straight away his injured leg gave way and he fell face first into the dirt. Or rather he would have fallen if not for Olga, who caught him by the vest.

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She then made a move to take his restraints off, but at the last moment she hesitated and looked with badly concealed suspicion at the islander.

-"Y'all just wanna get your hands fri to bosh me." - she belted out with a cunning smile - "Clevurr. But not Clevurr enuff."

And with that, Olga effortlessly jumped back on the cart and nudged Niven's, at this point still fast asleep, wife with the tip of her boot.

Maanica sat up abruptly and looked around, dazed and confused. She tried to shield her eyes from sharp bivlight, only afterwards realising that her hands are tied. Then the next kick came in. Niven's vision darkened and he felt red hot anger rising in his chest. He involuntary lurched towards the cart, but a sight of bright blade pressed against his wife's neck stopped him dead. He backed off slowly, with an exaggerated limp.

Maanica slowly got up to her feet, staggered off the cart and all but fell onto Niven when jumping off. He looked her up and down and with relief he contended that she seemed in a much better shape now. Her eyes, same as his, were narrowed with rage, and their oppressor's conceited demeanour only seemed to fuel it even further.

When Maanica was more or less on her feet, Olga unhitched her own mount from the cart and violently slapped the asses of the draft horses. The animals took off, carrying the cart in a random direction. Along with the artefacts, the rest of their supplies and, what's worse, the entire collection of Maanica's pistols and Niven's priceless stelandian rifle. For a moment he considered sharing this information, but he wasn't quite sure which scenario was worse, the one where this primitive brigand lays her hands on their treasure or the one where their prized possessions disappear in the desert. In the end he decided to keep quiet and only stare at the southerner with murderous glare.

Once she was certain the cart was gone, Olga returned her attention to the islander couple.

-”Go!” - she pointed in the direction of the rift. Maanica and Niven reluctantly entered the narrow passage. The midlander followed them closely, with a pistol in one hand and her knife in the other.

The rift was narrow enough to allow touching both walls simultaneously, if they could outstretch their hands that is. A sliver of clear blue sky was just visible overhead, and at this time of day Bivos cast its rays almost all the way to the bottom. They walked the rough, but surprisingly clear of obstructions, path, which, after perhaps few dozen mers, doubled in width and soon after, it widened even more, up to a canyon a few dozen mers wide, and at least fifty mers long, buried between the two rock faces, of which one dangerously overhung the opening, creating a nice, shaded, semi-cavernous area. The middle of the canyon was adorned with a narrow stream falling, or rather dripping unsteadily, from the overhang, creating a picturesque waterfall. Its waters fed a small pond near one of the walls, which then disappeared somewhere in the cracks between the rocks.

All around the pond, in complete disorder, there were canvas tents and shacks, and, stacked against the walls, numerous crates and bundles in a variety of shapes and sizes. Right in the middle of this mess stood a small cauldron, precariously perched on top of a couple of large, roughly rectangular stones, between which there was something resembling a lit campfire. Sitting around it, on yet more crates and bundles, were five men, currently busy eating something from wooden bowls. When they noticed the newcomers, one of them stood up, dusted his clothes and walked towards them.

-”Welcome! Welcome to our temporary abode!” - he shouted. He spoke with an easily detectable south sorresian accent, not too dissimilar to Olga’s, albeit not as heavy as hers. He was of average build, and, in comparison to her, seemed rather short. He was wearing a stained white abaya tied with a black cloth belt - “I am Alexei Novikov, and I am your new host. So very sorry that we have to meet in such a circumstance.”

-”Wah duh yuh waan fram us?” - asked Maanica in an angry voice. Alexei's face dropped and he blinked a few times, needing a moment to adjust to her accent. Then he smiled again.

-”Nothing at all. I want you to sit, relax, and wait here for a few days. Then we will release you and all is going to be fine. I promise.” - the man then put his hands together, leaned towards them as if he had something confidential to say, and considerably lowered the pitch of his voice -”Provided you don’t make anything silly.”