Knight Captain Robert O’Donnell woke to the sound of wood scraping shoal, and sat up straight with a small gasp. He knew instinctively that he had been asleep for too long. What little light filtered through his hemp hood told him it was dawn, and he knew that it hadn’t been but two hours past twilight when he fell asleep. This time of year, with the nights getting longer, that meant he had slept for more than six hours, a cardinal sin when in enemy territory, as it had been drilled into him by his instructors at the Knightyard.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he growled at Ser Caj, who was also stirring awake. Lord Maxim answered his question, though, his mildly amused tone a mis-stitched thread in the tapestry of misery that they found themselves in.

“He tried.” Lord Maxim said in his Edralian drawl. “When he couldn’t, we decided it was my watch.”

“How’d you come by that?” Robert whispered, leaning forward a bit and listening to the bustling activity around them. He could hear the sounds of horses being unloaded off of a boat, so he guessed that they had taken the original transport captive as well as it’s occupants.

“We counted as high as we could.” Ser Caj replied in an equally hushed tone. “He capped out at that pretty fast.”

“Didn’t make it past thirty, poor thing.” Lady Natalia added helpfully.

“Hey!” the young nobleman said, in a voice that Robert was certain was too loud. “What do you mea-” before Robert could tell the Lord to shut up, a resounding smack did it for him. Lord Maxim’s words cut off, then started up again, this time muttering dazed curses in Edralian. There was another smack, and this time, nothing but silence followed it. A grunt, then footsteps proceeding away from them at a sedate, comfortable pace.

The gait of a man not in chains… Robert thought wearily, Untroubled.

After the sobering reminder of their situation, they all sat very still. Very still, and very quiet. It gave Robert entirely too much time to think. Time to think about the Reapers famed judgement and retribution. Time to think about his sins, his failures. Time to remember what taking a man’s ears felt like. Time to wonder if this was justice for him.

He had tried to distract himself at first, making wild hopes that the others that weren’t with them had survived. He hadn’t much hope for Valerna, as she’d gone over on the side with the rapids, but he hadn’t seen Braxton at all, and knowing the cagey old soldier, Robert would bet that he had gotten out just fine, and gone to get help. He knew that Rai and Patrick had gotten off the ship from the conversation the guards had in his earshot afterwards, until an officer noticed him listening and showed up to give them an earful. Robert had learned some very colorful Vencheng invective that he had not previously known from that particular interaction. They weren’t technically supposed to talk in front of prisoners, he knew, but most Whoid Strian were not fluent in the Vencheng tongue. Fortunately for him, he was. He’d had something of a fling with an immigrant from there a few years back, and he already had to learn a language in the intelligence department of the Knightyard anyways, so he had picked it as his language of study.

Eventually, though, his thoughts drifted away from the well-being of absent companions, and to the futility and injustice of this situation. Robert felt that this was probably his due. The Reapers way of paying him back kind for kind for what he had done. What bothered him was the fact that the others had gotten sucked into it. Drawn into this mess like and unsuspecting ship into a whirlpool. Additionally, even if it was his due, he didn’t feel particularly like dying. He sat there, stewing in his thoughts, and steeping in his depression until he heard footsteps approaching, and was yanked roughly to his feet.

The six of them were herded down the gangplank like cattle, swatted and prodded with hands towards the right direction. After that they walked. They walked for about ten minutes in the darkness of their hoods, tripping and stumbling all the way, before they stopped. At this point Robert experienced the nauseating sensation of being spun in a circle until he was do dizzy that telling up from down was difficult. Then, his hood was yanked off, and he was shoved stumbling to the ground. The ground, he discovered was remarkably person shaped. He reflected on that for a moment before he realized that he had landed atop Maxim and their sixth, unintroduced guest, now revealed to be a swarthy-skinned Elforian woman. He hurriedly shoved himself to his feet, then found a thornbush to puke in.

After that their frog-march persisted, at a more brisk pace, almost a jog. Poor Emma, the little mute girl, was practically running to keep up Robert saw. That didn’t last for long, as Caj proceeded to awkwardly scoop the girl up and to his chest, in what must have been a remarkably uncomfortable carry with his hands bound and shacked as they were. Ser Caj gave no indication of discomfort though, no indication of anything really, aside from the hard look he had shot the young guard who had initially taken issue with his carrying of Emma. That one look, not even a glare really, had set the boy back so far on his heels that he looked ready to fall off the edge of the world.

Their trip proceeded smoothly after that, and three hours of speed walking later, they found themselves in a large clearing filled with tents and semipermanent structures. One half of the camp had the unmistakable feel of a military camp, with the ordered tents, picket lines, and weapon racks, while the other looked like something that a toddler might spit out of its mouth in a fit of disgust at the taste. Disordered, chaotic, and rambunctious were the kindest words that Robert could find for that half of the camp. When they arrived, they were lined up alongside a large wooden cage that held ten other prisoners, all male and dressed in the remnants of fine livery and surcoats. The cage had space for what looked like 15 more, and beside theirs was another just like it. Both looked well worn, although the second cage probably held only five or six people as permanent residences at the moment. Looking across the clearing, Robert saw where the rest of them were. Across the way, 22 men stood, tied together by the throat. He had a sinking feeling all of a sudden, only reinforced by the argument that was clearly taking place between the three men he pinned as the commanders. He couldn’t hear all the words being said, but ‘slave’ was definitely being thrown around a little too much for his liking. As the commanders of the men who took them in turned and stormed towards where Robert stood, he saw that they were fuming, his heart sunk even further, burrowing its way into his stomach. Scratch that. A lot too much for his liking.

***

Caj didn’t know more than a handful of words in the Vencheng tongue, so he didn’t know what, exactly, had led to the yelling match between the three leaders of the camp, but he figured it probably wasn’t anything good for him. When the warrior with gray-streaked blond hair, the one who had held a knife to Emma’s throat, spat to the side with a sneer Caj recognized the look on the man’s face and held in a groan. It was the same look Bietre got whenever he was called to Stormholme estates, or the magistrate office.

Politics. He thought to himself miserably.

Caj wasn’t particularly fond of the subject at the best of times, as in his experience, it didn’t normally go all that well for him. Now, he was a prisoner, along with Natalia, Emma, Maxim, Robert, and the mysterious Elforian woman. He wasn’t sure what internal politics meant for them, but based on the sympathetic expressions of the people in the cage beside him, he wasn’t particularly hopeful. As they arrived, the man who Caj took to be the overall leader of the expedition ran a hand down his weary face, and then spoke in lightly accented and slightly broken Strian, much to Caj’s surprise.

“Look. I keep this very short.” He gestured over his shoulder at the haphazard grouping of tents, then the ordered ones, and the rather clear dividing line between the two. “We soldiers.” He gestured expansively at himself now, obviously aware that his Strian was broken, if understandable. “They, killers of payment.” His frown deepened, like an anchor in deep water, and Caj felt like a man with his ankle tied to that anchor, sinking further into darkness and uncertainty with every passing moment. “No coin. No payment. Some you be payment for safe-ty of others. Understand?”

Caj felt Natalia’s hand latch onto his arm at the same time that Emma’s arms tightened around his neck, nails digging furrows in his skin with her panicked grip. Maxim’s face had gone even paler than usual, and Robert seemed right there with him. Caj worried that he might be the only non-panicked one, which was concerning, because he had absolutely no idea in hell what to do in this situation. But then, Robert took a deep breath. In through his nose, and out through his mouth. His hands stopped shaking. Caj watched the change come over the man so quickly that if he hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all. Then, Robert spoke. His voice was steady and chilly, but not particularly scared or angry. More… resigned than anything else.

“How many.”

It was a question, but the Captain’s voice was so flat and hard it might’ve been mistaken for a brick. Those two words seemed to hit the commander with the same weight as a bag full of those bricks, causing the thin, well-muscled man to wince. He held up two fingers.

“This many.”

Caj watched as the Captain’s temper seemed to fight to surface, like flames surging for fresh air. In that moment Caj almost thought he would finally get to see Robert fit into the stereotype of a redhead. But then, the man took one deep, deliberate breath, his lungs snuffing out the bonfire of rage like it was nothing more than a candle. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Caj furrowed his brow, thinking. It seemed like Robert was employing some sort of self-control technique. That was interesting, but ultimately unimportant in this situation. Caj refocused.

“I see.” Robert said.

Caj waited for him to say more, but silence reigned with ironclad authority for several long moments. Long enough that he grew concerned. He had already come to the conclusion that it was best to let Robert to take the lead in this situation, rather than try to seize control himself in some misguided fit of desperation. This was Robert’s area of expertise after all, diplomacy and intelligence. In the long walk here he and Caj had shared a number of wordless looks and meaningful glances, coming to the unspoken understanding that Robert would be the brains of this operation. Just because Caj could hit people harder than O’Donnell didn’t mean that he was better suited to directing this situation. Quite the opposite most probably. Just as Caj was about to give the green-eyed captain a subtle kick of encouragement, the man spoke.

“You will take MacDouglas and I.” Robert said, pointing uncaringly at Caj. “Leave the others.”

In that moment, there was no doubt that Robert was an officer in the king’s army. An officer who had in no uncertain terms just issued an order. The commander’s eyes narrowed at the obvious lack of a request in Robert’s tone, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he pointed at Natalia, Maxim, and Emma.

“Who are them?”

Robert responded to the question without even a blink, obviously having expected it.

“Lord Maxim Noblis and Lady Natalia Noblis, children of Lord Bietre Noblis, and Lady Emma Noblis, daughter of Lord Maxim, and granddaughter of Lord Bietre.”

Caj felt Emma start to shift in his arms at the obvious lie, but he pinched her ankle twice, hoping she got the message to play along. She did, disguising her movement by sliding smoothly out of his arms and running over to Maxim and clinging stalwartly to his leg. This eliciting a small throaty chuckle from the Elforian woman, and a briefly confused expression that passed over Maxim’s face in less than a heartbeat. He immediately covered his surprise by mussing the young girl’s hair with a grin that was a little too tight to be real. The commander looked doubtful.

“She is his?” He asked, pointing at Maxim somewhat incredulously. “Not be-long-ing to him?” his finger changed direction to focus on Caj. Robert looked ready to speak, but Caj cut him off. He let out the biggest, most Narm-like grin that he could channel, and was gratified to see the commanders jaw twitch, and eyes widen.

“She’s his.” He said, locking his eyes on the commander. “Don’t you see the family resemblance?”

The commander looked at Maxim’s light brown hair, dark green and brown eyes, hooked nose, he looked at the features that were so sharp they might be used to whittle bone. Next his eyes turned to Emma’s cherubic face, upturned button nose, grey-green eyes, and platinum blond hair. His eyes flicked between the two individuals who looked about as alike as a dog and a cat, then back to Caj’s grinning face. He cleared his throat.

“Yes. Yes, I thinks I see it.”

Caj retracted the fangs of his smile with a nod, satisfied that they had drawn blood. Robert shot him an annoyed glance, and Caj shrugged. What could he say? Sometimes being able to hit harder than the other guy was an important part of diplomacy. Something Narm had once said echoed in his mind, followed by Bietre’s voice.

Diplomacy is much like combat: never underestimate the man with a hammer.

Lesson 10: Always watch man with big hammer. Trust me Solnysko, it saves many headaches. Always watch.

Caj had always found the advice amusing, but it was probably accurate. He reeled his rambling mind back in, refocusing on the happening around him. The conversation had predictably forged on forward without him. The commander was asking another question.

“Bietre Noblis. Like, sword man? The Whisper?”

“Yes.” Robert replied evenly. The commander’s eyes widened and he exchanged a look with his second, the man from the far north of the Vencheng empire. He nodded once, and so did the northerner.

“It is done.” He declared, then shouted something in his own tongue.

Everyone except Caj and Robert were dragged into the empty cage, and two men came up on either side of them and ushered them over towards the grouping of mercenaries and slaves. As they walked, he noted that each of the slaves looked to have been rougher men. Sailors, dockworkers, soldiers and the like. About half were Vencheng, while the others looked Strian. The Vencheng ones were all in the possession of a tattoo under their right eyes, most having three curving black lines meeting at a point just under their lip, while a couple of others had only two lines. When he looked closer at the Strian soldiers, he saw they possessed the three-lined mark, but it took the shape of three scars instead, adding to the illusion of claw-marks. Well, that was going to hurt.

Ah well, Caj thought, Narm always said I could use some beauty marks. Besides, it builds character.

When they arrived at the group, the commander branched off to talk to the leader of the mercenaries for a few moments. He pointed at Caj specifically several times, making him somewhat uncomfortable. Robert, who was now right next to him winced.

“Uh, Ser MacDouglas,” he said, getting Caj’s attention.

“We’ve been kidnapped and sold into slavery Captain.” Caj replied drily, his gaze still fixed on the two men who were obviously talking about him. “I think we’ve passed the ‘using-each-others-first-name’ stage of our relationship.”

“They’re talking about you.” Robert said, ignoring Caj’s laconic response. Caj arched an eyebrow, but didn’t look away from the two men who were obviously talking about him.

“I gathered that.” He replied.

Caj wondered how much raising his eyebrow would hurt after they marked him. Probably a whole threshing lot more than it did right now. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to be overly concerned about it. What happened would happen, and it wasn’t like there was a single blasted thing he could do about it.

“Well.” Robert said, brow tightening like he was about to give bad news. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Caj sighed.

“Spit it out Rob.” Caj said, finding that he liked the feel of the Captain’s shortened name. “Are they going to string me up or not?” Robert sighed.

“Nothing like that. You just make them nervous is all, after your display on the ship.”

“Can’t blame them for that.” Caj muttered. He suddenly wished very much that he had Narm’s old pipe. It had been broken in the fight on the ship, and it seemed like the time for a smoke. Robert grunted agreement to his words, and continued.

“They’re giving you an Honor Mark.”

Caj stopped looking at the two commanders and looked Robert full in the face. Robert nodded, apparently assuming that Caj knew what the blazes an ‘Honor Mark’ was.

“Rob.” Caj said, “I don’t know what the blazes an Honor Mark is.” Robert stopped nodding with a sigh, running two chained hands down his face.

“How familiar are you with Vencheng slave culture?”

“I know there is Vencheng slave culture.” Caj replied evenly, noting Robert’s frustrated expression. “Please, do enlighten me.” Robert rubbed his jaw in a movement that was made awkward by his chained wrists.

“I’m sure you saw the marks on the others?” he asked. Caj nodded in response. “Typical slave brand for them. They have some fancy name for it, but basically, one line means that you are a house slave, two, a yard slave, and three,” he grimaced, “A fighting or sex slave. A slave for the baser desires.” Robert looked pointedly at all of the slaves surrounding them, of which only three of the Vencheng slaves were in possession of only two lines. “On the opposite end of the spectrum, are the individuals with an Honor Mark. It is an exact opposite to the Slave Mark, in more ways than one. It arcs from the top of your left eyelid to your temple. One line signifies that you are a capable aristocrat, two, that you are an accomplished merchant, three, that you are either formidable in beauty or war. Sometimes both.” Robert paused a moment before continuing, “The ultimate insult is to have both a full Honor Mark and a Full Slave Mark. They call it a Sullied Mark. It marks you as having great potential, but having been taken in hand. It is the greatest dishonor in their society.” Caj snorted.

“You could’ve just told me they were going to cut me twice, Rob.” Caj muttered as the two commanders broke off conversation and started in his direction

Welp. Caj thought, This is going to hurt even more than I thought it would.

***

Emma sat in the cage, next to Maxim and Natalia, looking over at Ser Caj and Captain Robert’s sleeping forms. They had come back from that group of men with fresh cuts and bruises, the most notable of which were the cuts under their right eyes, and over Ser Caj’s left eye. Other then that, the mercenaries had just roughed them up a bit. Mostly Caj, since every man in their band wanted a go at him for some reason. She thought it had something to do with why he had two sets of cuts, but wasn’t certain of that.

She tore her eyes away from their sleeping forms, and scanned the occupants of her cage, all of which were asleep except two. Herself and the Elforian woman. The Elforian woman was pretending to be asleep, but she didn’t fool Emma. Children knew more about pretending to sleep than most, after all. Emma ignored her for now, though they would need to speak later, and turned her attention to the camp. The cages were on the far west side of the camp, near the latrine pits. A stupid decision in Emma’s opinion, as they would’ve been wiser to put them in a more central area, so providing less means of escape.

They would escape, she was sure. Ser Caj wasn’t the type to take a beating for no reason, and Captain Robert didn’t seem foolish enough to blindly go along with this. If she had to guess, they were playing for time, as Rai would put it. Playing for time and setup, so when they played their hand, no one would see the Liars Jest cleverly hidden in its folds. She would play her part, she decided. She didn’t speak Vencheng - well, she didn’t speak anything - but at the very least, she didn’t understand Vencheng, a fact that she fully intended to rectify as soon as feasibly possible.

What she did understand though, or at least liked to think she did, was people. She understood people enough to know that they could be manipulated. Let Captain Robert worry about the Vencheng, he was the only one who spoke their tongue, after all. No, she would prepare the prisoners. She would need help, however. Emma was an eleven-year-old girl, small, and mute; not a particularly inspiring figure. That was fine, she had resources.

Emma stood, and made her way over to where the Elforian woman lay, and rudely nudged the woman’s side with her foot, before dropping down to the dirt beside her. Emma lay her head back against the wooden bars, and the woman sat forward with a smile.

“You always were too clever for a maid.” She said, watching Emma’s face. Emma’s expression had already fallen into her dullard’s mask, and though she wanted so desperately to snort at the woman’s comment, she didn’t. The woman’s smile turned into a smirk, and then a snort of her own. “Too clever by half.” She muttered.

Emma shrugged, not gratifying that with any more of a response, although she did drop her dullard’s mask. The woman in front of her would see through it in an instant anyways. The woman looked at her for a moment longer before smiling softly again and leaning back against the cage too. They sat in silence for a moment, before she spoke again.

“So, Emma, how long do you think we have to whip these prisoners into shape? And who do we need to do it?”

Emma leaned forward and looked Mother Jamia in the eyes. She pointed one finger at the middle-aged woman, and one at herself.