I pushed away the memories. They did me no good now. I had to harden myself. From what the guards said, we were only two weeks from our destination. A Warlord named Del Roya. I tried to block out thoughts of the future. They did me no good. I could feel the iron warming in the afternoon sun. It was high above us, making me sweat. I was sure I smelled awful.

Living in a small open air wagon with over a dozen others for weeks would do that. We were given just enough food and water to keep us alive. But not enough to put some fight in us.

“Elise,” a voice croaked from beside me.

I turned, seeing Tracy. One of the others from Dunweld. We weren’t friends. Had never been. Rivals maybe? But here in this wagon, that didn’t matter. We were just prisoners.

“Yes,” I asked, my voice hoarse. It hurt to talk. My throat was dry, parched.

It was hot in the glare of the sun. The road traveled across the plains, not the forest. No shade.

“What will happen to us?”

I wanted to yell at her. How should I know? I had no idea where we were going. I knew why we were taken. Just more people to produce materials for another Warlord. One that I knew wouldn’t be as nice as Von Hilding had been.

Instead of yelling, I turned, putting my back to the wooden side wall of the wagon, sliding down so I was sitting next to Tracy. I pulled my legs up tight, arms wrapping around them. My dress was torn, ripped, dirty. But I didn’t care. We were all like that.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “We’re Tier Zero. We can be anything.”

“I’ve heard of what can sometimes happen to pretty girls,” she said, staring straight ahead, over the heads of the others, out past the iron bars. I looked that way. Seeing more of the same. Trees, hills, mountains.

Others in the wagon turned to look at us, glaring. I ignored them.

Back in Dunweld, Tracy had been strong. A natural leader, the others had flocked to her. Like they had to me, which was probably why we had been rivals. Her choice. Not mine.

“I don’t want that to happen to me,” she said.

“It won’t. I won’t let it. I promise.” I told her, not sure why. Because it would make her feel better?

She sighed, leaning back and closing her eyes. Shifting to find a better position to sleep. Looked kind of peaceful, like she accepted my promise as truth.

On the surface at least. She knew the reality. Same as me.

It wasn’t something I could promise.

I did it anyway.

Just another stupid promise.

Another I couldn’t keep.

But like my words to Tracy, the promises helped me.

I knew it was false, but they still helped me.

*****

The wagons stopped at night. Which was how we knew it was feeding time.

They’d pull us into a circle, leaving the wagons on the edges, gathering the horses and all the men inside the barrier. With the fire, the food and the safety. I didn’t know exactly where we were, but all the wilds of the world were unsafe.

Especially at night.

Just one more complication in the world. Villages like mine, we were good for nothing but resources. Harvested for it all. Food, lumber, ore, people. But the creatures in the world around us, they would take some of those resources for their own. The Warlords, they didn’t just have to deal with fighting fellow warlords, they had to deal with marauding tribes of Orcs, goblins and other things. Even dragons.

And more natural creatures like wolves.

I never understood why anyone would want to be a Warlord. There was so much stress and danger and for what? Power? Wealth? Stuff that could be taken away at a moment’s notice?

No thanks.

I had no desire to be anything like that.

I would have been happy just being a crafter in the village.

Well, maybe not.

I don’t think I could have settled down to a life of just producing for someone else.

But being a Warlord? No thanks.

Not that I’d have any kind of a choice now.

There was still some daylight left. The slavers didn’t waste any time. Once the wagons were circled, they went out into the trees around us to gather wood. Some of the prisoners were let out to start cooking supper and to clean the slaver’s gear. I hadn’t been tasked with that yet.

I was glad.

Someday soon I’d be a true slave, forced to do someone else’s bidding. But not yet. I’d resist as long as I could.

But it would have been nice to get out of the wagon for a little while.

Just a chance to stretch.

They released us, one wagon at a time, for about thirty minutes, once every three or four days. Just a chance for us to walk around, under armed guard of course. They didn’t want our muscles failing when trying to sell us.

But that was just walking in large circles. Getting out to cook or clean, that would be a break from the endless monotony.

No. I couldn’t think like that. It was giving in and I refused to do that.

These bastards had killed Ma and Da. For no reason but Ma was Tier One and Da resisted.

I wouldn’t do anything for them.

The flames flared up, the guards that weren’t on watch sitting down around it. The ale came out, only a keg. The Captain ran a tight operation. Just enough to unwind after a day guarding slaves, but not enough to get them drunk.

Slaves brought food to use, sliding it through a slot in the bottom of the door at the end of the wagon. The first couple days, there had been fighting over the food. But the guards put a stop to that. Two stood to either side of the wagon, long staffs in hand. If anyone grabbed more than their one plate, the staff would find some sensitive part of the body. Had to keep all the future slaves healthy.

My fellow wagonmates grabbed their plates and moved aside. Tracy stayed slumped against the side of the wagon, not going for her food. I grabbed my plate, a stale piece of bread and something that looked like meat covered in gravy. No spoon or fork. Glancing back at Tracy, she still wasn’t making a move toward the plate.

I grabbed it, seeing one of the guards shift, the end of the staff coming down. Holding the two plates, I nodded at Tracy, hoping he got the message.

He took a step closer, enough that I could see he was missing some teeth. I crawled on my knees closer to Tracy. Took him long enough but he got the idea, giving a curt nod before stepping back, still glaring at me. He didn’t take his eyes off me until I handed the plate to Tracy.

It took some pushing but she finally grabbed it, half-heartedly spooning some of the meat into her mouth with her fingers.

“You need to eat,” I told her, grabbing a chunk of whatever it was. I took a bite. Cold, fatty and tough. But it was food. “Need your strength.”

“What’s the point,” she said, barely loud enough for me to hear over the sounds of the camp settling in for the night. “They’re just going to work us to death.”

I opened my mouth to answer, to tell her that wasn’t true. But I didn’t. I just didn’t say anything, leaning against the side of the wagon and eating my food, letting the silence fall.

She was right.

No matter what roles we took on, we were just a resource to the Warlord that would end up buying us. Our only reason for existing was to be used until we had nothing else to give. Then we’d be replaced.

I wanted to argue. To say that as long as we were alive, there was always hope.

But was that true?

Would there always be hope?

Would it be worse for Tracy if I gave her false hope?

Gave myself false hope?

Because that’s what I really was doing. I wasn’t saying things to Tracy for her. It was for me.

I didn’t want to give up but it was hard not to.

So I tried to tell myself that there was hope.

Not much. But some.

I tried to hold onto that idea as I shoveled more of the cold whatever into my mouth.

*****

The night wasn’t cold.

That was good.

Or was it and I’d just gotten used to it?

Didn’t matter either way.

The slavers kept the fire going all night, the guards throwing more wood on it throughout the night. That kept them warm, and kept those of us sleeping on that side of the wagon. I wasn’t one of them. For those of us that were on the outsides, we got thin blankets and whatever warmth we could leech off others in the crowded wagon. At least laying or sitting below the sidewall, we were out of the worst of the wind.

Another benefit of the fire was that it kept the night beasts away.

They were there. I heard them howling throughout the night. Not sure if it was that noise that kept waking me up or sounds from the camp.

But something kept waking me up.

Not just me, but others.

There was a lot of shifting around, groaning and mumbling.

Heads lifted up, looking everywhere.

The moon was starting to set, low in the western sky.

I heard noises in the woods. Footsteps, branches breaking. I sat up, facing the dark forest. I couldn’t see anything, the light from the fire behind me didn’t help.

Leaning forward, I grabbed the bars.

There was something out there. I couldn’t see it or hear it, but I knew it was there. A shadow darted from behind a tree, disappearing behind another. Dark, a lack of detail, but it was man sized and shaped.

It moved quick. Not one of the guards.

I heard a thud, something falling to the ground.

“What..,” I said aloud.

“Shut up,” someone in the wagon growled.

I ignored it.

There wasn’t just something out there, there was someone.

Wondering what was happening, I watched the treeline, seeing more shapes appear from out of the deeper shadows. They moved slowly, carefully, but in this direction. Coming closer, still silent, I could start to see details.

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There were three that I saw. All dressed in dark leather, masks over their faces. Weapons kept tight to their bodies to keep them from shining in the moonlight.

Who were they?

Some other slaver band? Bandits? Another Warlord’s forces come to save us?

I didn’t believe that last one.

They couldn’t be Lord Von Hilding’s men. He wouldn’t have caught up to us. Not that I believed he would have tried. I guarantee that he was already rebuilding Dunweld and filling it with new people. Couldn’t have the supply lines dry up.

What should I do?

Shout out to the guards? Let them know about the ambush?

Not say anything and let these people hopefully free us.

By free I meant we’d still be prisoners but with different captors.

Would these newcomers be better than the current?

I had no way of knowing what was happening.

So I stayed silent.

One of the newcomers saw me watching. I could see his eyes through the holes in the mask. Not hate filled but there was no compassion there either. The way he gripped his dagger tighter, I knew if I said anything, the point would find its way into my throat.

I nodded, showing I understood. I wouldn’t be saying anything.

Someone else did.

A couple wagons down, a voice screamed. Couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.

The camp behind me erupted into chaos.

There were shouts, curses.

Outside the wagons, now that their ambush was found, the newcomers rushed forward. They passed between the wagons, charging into the center and the mass of still confused guards. More came out of the woods.

A lot more.

Inside the ring of wagons came the sounds of fighting. Metal on metal, grunts and cries of pain. Something kicked the fire, logs rolling out. Flickering flames cast weird shadows everywhere.

All the prisoners were now awake, all watching the fighting. Everyone moved away from the inside wall of the wagon.

Everyone but me.

I moved closer.

Grabbing the bars, I pressed my head tight against them, feeling the warmth they had picked up from the fire. The blaze was high, roaring, bright flashes in my eyes. I watched the fighting. It wasn’t a battle, just pure chaos.

Black clad ambushers against lightly armored slavers. It looked like the slavers were losing.

I jumped back as one of them slammed into the wagon, causing the thing to rock. He swung his sword, trying to push the black clad attacker back. The other dodged, stabbing forward with his own sword, catching the slaver in the stomach. Crying out in pain, the slaver dropped his sword. It landed on the ground. The attacker sliced his blade across the slaver's stomach before running away to find another victim.

The wagon shook as everyone moved to the opposite side as much as they could. Scared.

Not that I blamed them.

I was scared too.

But somehow instead of paralyzing me, the fear spurred me to action.

I lunged forward, slamming into the bars, my arms reaching through. I grabbed at the dying guard, my left hand catching his shoulder, trying to hold my grip before he slipped to the ground. I grunted as the hard leather started slipping, not finding anything to grab.

My right arm flailed at him, trying to get a hold of anything. It was hard to see, the flames almost blinding me, ruining my night vision. My right hand grabbed him just under the shoulder.

The guard stiffened, confused, but the loss of blood prevented him from doing anything. He just hung there, limp.

“Someone help me,” I growled, glancing behind me at the others in the wagon.

No one made a move.

“What are you doing?”

I ignored the question.

“Help,” I growled again, my voice pained as I struggled to hold onto the guard.

He was heavy and I wasn’t that strong. He was slipping.

My fingers ached, arms burned.

Eyes closed, I tried to keep him up. I was losing him.

And then I wasn’t.

The weight against my arms was gone.

Eyes open I saw a man next to me. He was straining, reaching awkwardly to keep the guard from falling. I thought I recognized him from the village. Crawford I think his name was. A lumberjack or a miner?

“Whatever you are planning,” he grunted, arms extended at an angle. “Do it now.”

I nodded, letting the guard go. Crawford grunted as he took the full weight, but he held.

The fighting was still happening, but it had moved to the far side of the ring. It looked like the guards were chasing the black clad attackers away.

I had thought the guards were losing.

Guess not.

Which meant I had to work faster.

I pushed myself as tight to the wagon as I could, shifting so I could reach down with my left hand. I could feel the guards leather armor. Cracked and worn. Then my fingers grazed the belt. I was surprised I could reach. Feeling around, I found the dagger in its sheath.

Cursing I realized it was on an angle, the hilt pointing away from me.

Getting into a crouch, I pushed tighter against the bars, trying to get every little inch of reach that I could.

Grabbing the hilt, I started pulling it from the stealth. My arms hurt, the angle wrong. I barely had a hold of the hilt.

Praying to the Goddess of Luck, I pulled the dagger out slowly. Bit by bit.

“Hurry,” Crawford growled, the guard slipping.

Which almost made me lose the dagger. I felt it slipping, somehow grabbing it tighter. Breathing a sigh of relief, I continued to pull it out. Finally the tip slipped free, surprising me. It was off balanced, dragging down. Already at a painful angle, I almost dropped the dagger.

But I held on.

Lifting my hand, I rotated the blade to get it through the bars.

Crawford let the dead guard drop. The body hit with a thud. Crawford stretched his arms out, working the pain out of the muscles.

“Now what?”

I smiled. I held the blade in front of my eyes, seeing my shadowed reflection in the dull metal. Even in the dark and the flickering flames of the fire, I could see the rust spots on the blade. Whoever that guard had been, he hadn’t taken care of his weapons.

The folks in the wagon were still on the far side, which gave me access to the door. Standing up, I took the couple steps to it, feeling the weight of the dagger in my hand.

I hoped this would work.

I’d never done anything like it before. The whole thing was new to me. I had no clue where the ideas were coming from. I was just going through the motions of some plan that I’d come up with.

Crouching behind the door, I flipped the dagger around in my hand, tip pointing at me. Slipping the hand with the dagger through the bars of the door, I fumbled around until the tip found the large lock.

I was no thief but I knew how locks worked.

The larger the lock, the simpler the mechanism.

This particular one had a large key that unlocked it. I was hoping the knife would work.

I watched the fighting as I worked the tip into the lock.

No clue what I was doing, I just kept digging at the lock. It was nothing special. I’d seen the guards struggle to close it, which meant the connection wasn’t solid. They didn’t bother fixing it because there was no need. None of us had anything we could pry it open with.

Not until now.

With a very loud click, the lock popped open. The hinges squealed as I pushed the door all the way open. I paused, not yet stepping out, eyes looking toward the fighting to see if anyone had heard. I couldn’t see much in the shadows on the other side of the raging fire, which had now escaped the hastily dug pit, spreading across the dry grass.

Something else to distract the slavers.

I couldn’t see past it and hopefully they couldn’t see this way either.

The sounds of fighting still raged. No way to tell who was winning. But they were all distracted.

Standing up, my back protesting, legs shaking, I stepped onto the wooden stairs off the back of the wagon. Dagger in hand, my feet touched the grass, glad that the slavers had let us keep our boots. They had taken us in the clothes we’d had on when captured.

For me that was a simple brown woolen dress with belt and boots. The dress was soiled and torn now but the boots were still good.

Stepping away from the wagon, toward the trees, I stopped and looked back. It was creaking as Crawford followed me out. He stood to his full six foot height, a good six or seven inches taller than my five foot three. Two more people followed him out. A man and a woman. Robert and Deidre, a baker and his seamstress wife. Three others came behind them, leaving nine in the wagon.

Those looked scared, eyes looking from the door to the fighting.

What were they scared of?

I’d rather face the unknown in the woods then become a slave.

At least they weren’t yelling, calling attention.

“What about us,” someone from another wagon asked in a hoarse whisper.

I looked that way, moving toward the wagon, but Crawford’s big hand grabbed my shoulder.

“No time,” he said, looking toward the fire.

The noise was dying down, not as many grunts of pain or clash of metal on metal.

I cursed.

“Come on,” the man in the wagon said, others starting to get agitated.

They were crowding the bars, adding their voices to his. The noise was getting louder.

“At least give us the dagger,” he pleaded, reaching his hand out.

I thought about it. I really did.

But this was the only weapon we had. We needed it.

Crawford was right.

There was no time.

Not if we wanted to escape.

I turned away from the wagon.

There were shouts, cries and curses. All getting louder.

I saw that another four had come out of my old wagon, joining us. They were all rushing toward the woods. Crawford stayed in step, not letting me change my mind.

I could hear the cursing growing louder, rough shouts from farther back. Someone had noticed the spreading fire, it wouldn’t be long until they saw the open wagon door.

I picked up the pace.

It was dark and we were entering an unknown forest.

“Stay together,” I said, loud enough that hopefully all ten would hear.

Were they my responsibility?

I was the youngest, someone like Crawford should be leading. But he seemed content to follow.

The group ahead didn’t seem like they knew what to do. They gathered in a clump at the edge of the woods, almost afraid to enter.

I pushed through, scanning the faces, trying to memorize who was here. They all looked scared but there was some hope there as well. Barely. Just below the surface.

We had more now then a couple minutes ago.

Tracy wasn’t in the group.

I glanced back at the wagon, hoping to see her stepping out, wanting to call to her. I could see shadowed shapes moving past the fire.

It was time to go.

Tracy would be the first of my promises that I failed to keep.