Caj’s head ached like he had just come off a five-day bender with the bright idea to try and headbutt a mountain for dominance. The rest of his body wasn’t much better, come to think of it. If someone had told them that he had just finished arm-wrestling a bear three times, right after losing a footrace with a wolf, and a shouting match with a banshee, it was even odds that he’d believe them. Deep-set muscle pain and fatigue was already setting in, and exhaustion was making his bones feel heavier than they actually were. Narm and Bietre had warned him about this, the lash-back from a near-death situation. Hazily, he heard Narm’s voice, remembering one of the last conversations he and the old man ever had.

It’s all well and good to be able to fight, Caj, and it’s fine and dandy that you know which end of a sword is which, but that doesn’t mean you comprehend those things. Don’t look at me like that boy. I’m not a senile old man and you know it. There is a difference between knowledge and comprehension. Knowledge is knowing how to slice a man’s throat from behind, while holding his mouth shut so that his friends sleeping in the next room don’t hear. Comprehension is mucking it up once or twice because your hands are shaking so threshing much that you can’t hold the knife steady, then realizing that if you don’t your squad is going to get killed. Knowledge is the clinical ability to identify that the best action you can take is a thrust to a man’s diaphragm, to thoroughly scramble his ability to breath. Comprehension, that’s knowing what if feels like to have his breath rattling up body of your blade and into your hands, and still having the state of mind to pull you blade out and move on to the next fellow. Knowledge is in training, Comprehension, in doing. Your first time will probably be easy. You will be as high on adrenaline as a fire-root addict, and unable to focus clearly. What comes after though… You will comprehend what you’ve done. Over, and over, and over again. Your body doesn’t want to do that, so it will try to make you sleep. Sleep and be dead to the world. You get used to it after a while.

Caj remembered the look in his old caretaker’s eye when he went off on that little rant. A thousand-yard stare, he’d heard it called by Count Isaac. Caj thought that described it accurately enough. He leaned back into the gaggle of prisoners he was bound to with a sigh, his back bumping up against Knight-Captain O’Donnell. The Knight-Captain spoke.

“Rest, MacDouglas.” He said softly so as not to wake the others, “Reaper knows you need it. I’ll take this watch.” his voice was oddly calm, though laced with the same weariness Caj felt. Caj couldn’t see O’Donnell’s face, they were back-to-back for one thing, and there were black hemp bags over their heads, but he could almost picture the drooping face of the exhausted man, bright green eyes dulled by fatigue, cheeks covered in a days growth of stubble, and the dark bags under his eyes. He didn’t have the heart to argue though, no matter how tired his counterpoint might be, so he grunted his assent, and fell into a deep well of darkness and dreams, trading the unpleasant reality for an unpleasant un-reality.

At least I get to experience some variety… He thought semi-lucidly, before dropping off the edge completely, and plummeting into the void.

***

Caj woke to discomfort, pain, and a small child latched to his side. His hand tried to reflexively reached up to pat Emma’s head, in an attempt to comfort the girl, but were abruptly jerked to a stop by the too-tight manacles and ropes around his wrist. Caj personally felt like both manacles and rope was a bit excessive, but he also had never taken anyone captive before, so this might just be standard procedure for all he knew. He was fairly certain it wasn’t though. He couldn’t blame his captors too much, he supposed, for their caution. He must have looked like some kind of demon, weeping blood as he had been. Speaking of which, his eyes felt like they had been turned into raisins, ripped to shreds, then molded back into a shape that was a semblance of what they were supposed to be.

They itched with crusted blood, but he was unable to reach them due to the thick iron bands on his wrists. His ears rang like someone had decided to use his skull as an anvil, his nose was clogged with the scent of iron, and all he could taste was the remnants of blood. These conditions were no doubt exacerbated by the sack over his head, making him sweltering hot in an odd counterpoint to the rest of his body; stripped and beaten, left to the not-so-tender mercies of Whoid Stria’s autumnal winds. Nothing in Whoid Stria was famed for its mercy, and its weather was no different.

Scything razors of wind swept over his skin, shaving away any warmth, and daggers belonging to the chill breeze lodged themselves firmly inside him, bypassing his skin and blood to make their home in the marrow of his bones. It was not unbearable though, as it was only Autumn and not Winter. In winter this would’ve been a death sentence. In Autumn, it was just a tortuous one.

Caj shifted, trying, unsuccessfully, to make himself more comfortable. He was careful not to shift to quickly, so as to not wake Emma, who was stuck so tightly to his side that she might be tar on a rope. He held back a hiss as the rope that encircled his wrists in addition to the manacles further burned them. He managed not to wake Emma, but jostled everyone else in the process. Maxim and Captain O’Donnell, at his back and to his right respectively, jerked awake, while Nat, on the other side of Emma, stirred slightly but remained asleep. The sixth, unknown prisoner between Maxim and O’Donnell let out a low feminine grunt, before wiggling upright a little more and going silent once more.

“Apologies.” Caj said softly, mindful of the presence of both the eleven-year-old girl using him as a pillow, and the hostile presence of sailors nearby.

Maxim grunted in a terse acceptance of the apology, while O’Donnell remained silent. The Sixth member of their group let out another grunt. O’Donnell replied just as softly, the weariness in his voice even more exacerbated than before.

“I am going to sleep now. Your turn to take watch.”

“Will do.” Caj replied. He thought it best to limit their conversation, guessing that their captors wouldn’t be so accommodating as to let them openly speak to one another.

That thought turned distractedly towards their captors then. Vencheng, he was confident, just going on his remembrances of the former day’s excitement. He hadn’t had time to ascertain their status as mercenaries or soldiers, as he’d been somewhat distracted. He had to guess, that based on the disciplined quiet of the boat that surrounded him, that they were at the very least high end merc’s, if not soldiers. He wasn’t sure which he preferred. Vencheng Mercenaries were famously effective at what they did, if you were willing to look past their… questionable moral compasses. That could imply that they were just dealing with some very twisted politics, and that they might still be able to get loose from this situation and never have to deal with it again. On the other hand, anyone the Mercenaries caught that weren’t included in their contract were free game for slavery, which was all the rage in the Vencheng Empire. Their entire political and economical structure was built off of it. That was a major negative of that potential eventuality.

On the other side of the spectrum, Vencheng soldiers were famed for their odd sense of dignity and honor, meaning that Nat and Emma would be safe from unwanted advances, and that they were much more likely to be ransomed. However, if these were soldiers, it opened a completely different can of worms, on an international scale. A group of Vencheng soldiers this far int Whoid Strian territory could only mean one thing: war. Caj suddenly felt himself hoping that he was wrong about them being Vencheng. Maybe they were just really tanned Strian’s, or very light-skinned Elforians, with slanted eyes.

Yeah, right Caj, He muttered internally, of course, there’s a mix of weather-beaten old Whoid Strian farmers roaming the country with a bunch of Elforian Noble’s who have never spent enough time outside to develop a tan. Oh, and they all just magically became proficient with Vencheng weapons and developed slanted eyes. Definitely. An image of Narm raising his signature eyebrow, and Bietre shrugging with his ever-present smirk etched on his thin face entered Caj’s mind, both seeming to say ‘What are you gonna do? Sometimes life is like that.’

Caj sighed. This whole situation was about as doomed as a glass butterfly balanced on the end of a needle. If the needle didn’t move, the butterfly would be fine. Unfortunately, however, the butterfly was attached to the waving hand of a distressed toddler. Caj really wished he could rub his eyes in frustration, but shackles made that somewhat difficult. He tried to think through each of the encounter he had from the day before, dwelling on each detail, trying to eke out every last bit of information about their captors. The first man he killed had been with his dagger. Straight to the hollow of the throat, just like Narm taught him. Unfortunately, he had lost his knife when the man stumbled back, leaving him unarmed, as his longer blades were not suited for the narrow passages between stacks of crates. He remembered the look of surprise in the young man’s eyes, probably a year or two his junior, as he stumbled back. The shock in his angularly delicate features…

Gradually, his mind slipped out of his objective state, and back into the moment, and his muscles tensed. He smelled blood, and this time it wasn’t just the hood reflecting the scent of his own back to him. His dagger in a man’s throat, his thumbs in another’s eyes after losing his knife, the snap of ribs under a viscous punch… The sensations kept coming, going past the five men he killed with his dagger and hands while confined in the maze of crates at the front of the ship to those who came next. Fighting as his headache got gradually worse, the stinging of his eyes as they began to produce blood, the comforting feel of his longsword in his hands. Lashing out in wide arcs to gain room, realizing on some level that there were just too many… too many… His sword entering a man’s shoulder and sending him overboard. Yelling to Rai to run…

Caj broke from his trance at the thought of Rai. He had almost forgotten the boy’s absence, conspicuous though it might be. He knew the lad escaped at the very least, due to the bodies they pulled forward. Rai’s hadn’t been among them. He hoped that both Patrick and Braxton survived also, despite Patrick’s abrasive nature, and Braxton’s studied detachment. He wondered where Rai was, and if the boy was okay. He almost snorted a laugh. Who was he kidding, the kid probably thought this was an exciting adventure or some bleeding chaff like that. Caj gave it even odds that Rai was laughing at him getting his ass caught, and contriving some stupid plan to try and save them. Caj smiled, ignoring the discomfort from his dry and thirsty lips. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of the hull of the boat scraping against stone, and the sounds of the captain cursing the sailors in the Vencheng tongue for damaging the boat. He was immediately alert to the sounds around them, and he felt O’Donnell stiffen behind him, no doubt just as aware of the development. As they were jerked roughly to their feet and shuffled forward, Caj felt Emma clinging tightly to his arm, ignored for the most part by the soldiers. Caj spared one last thought for her brother. Wherever Rai was, Caj hoped that he was reasonably comfortable, had food in his stomach, and was on his way to the nearest settlement to get help.