t has been eight months since Baruch set her free; for all that time, she has been searching for the whereabouts of the slave trader who had owned her and her younger brother, before she was sold alone almost seven years ago. Her journey has taken her all the way from the Apamea fiefdom back to the capital of the Myrmekion fiefdom, where she had been sold. Tracking down the slave trader to the Dodona fiefdom's second largest city, Erythrae, she was now finally on the trail of finding her brother.

Pulling the hood lower to avoid unwanted attention, Lahya headed towards the market near the town center. At the Southern corner, the shadiest place on the plaza, she found what she was looking for: Stalls of slave traders, showing off their "merchandize" to people acting uninterested, who would repeatedly pass by to scrutinize the wares on offer casually. Her target was one of the more prestigious slavers, with a large tent in front of which he had some of his more average goods lined up. Interested customers would be discreetly invited in for refreshments and shown the full assortment. In front of that tent stood a man, framed by two men of the physical type, asserting his presence to any passersby who looked remotely rich.

Markos, called "The Sly" under the breath, was a middle aged man with a slim build, wearing lavish robes similar to a noble's, but with excessive embroidery born from the false perception of luxury only a person of common birth could hold. Seven years only served to increase the varied accessories adorning his ears, neck, wrists and fingers, while his skin has grown paler inversely proportional to the amount of time he had to spend outside to make a living. The bodyguards were testament to his success stemming from the reinvigoration of the slave trade following the invasion of the Ljosalfar territory and the enslavement of those who were not massacred straight away.

Approaching the tent while holding back her anger, Lahya came to a stop mere steps away from Markos. From under her hood she peered up at the man, her sapphire blue eyes fixed on his brown ones without betraying a hint of her thoughts. For a moment, she remained motionless, as the slave trader's expression bordered on confusion; before it could turn into suspicion, she spoke up.

"I would like to see your merchandize," Lahya whispered, just barely audible to her opposite. Markos' face cracked into a wide grin filled with understanding and greed; this was a customer who sought to talk business in discretion.

"Please, come on in," He invited the secretive girl into the large tent, where the slaves in his possession were sitting on wooden chairs, chained together. When the owner entered, they all hurriedly stood up to put themselves on display, as they have been taught. There were men and women, small children and even a beardless Dvergr, most likely a very young child. Seeing them churned Lahya's stomach, but she had come prepared to see worse, such as back when she was still in Markos' possession. As expected, her brother was not among the current merchandize.

"I would like to discuss something with you in private," Lahya said quietly. Markos looked surprised but then made an all-encompassing gesture into the room. "Do not worry, their presence is of no consequence. They will remain silent until allowed to speak. Just treat them as part of the tent's furnishing."

Looking about, Lahya noticed the absence of a will in all the slaves' eyes, causing her to nearly bite her lip in boiling rage. Holding back her feelings, she nodded to Markos and finally removed her hood, to reveal pointy ears extending horizontally at twice the length of a human's sticking out from under her shoulder length silver hair: She was a Ljosalf, called Light Elf in the new human tongue.

For a moment, the slave trader stood in perplexed silence, his mouth open in astonishment at the beauty before him; however, his expression lacked recognition, showing his ignorance as to her identity. Lahya knew that a slave trader treated merchandize the same way a fruits merchant treated his apples and pears. Once sold, the memory of the goods would fade even before the next customer could come along. This also meant that most likely he would not be able to recall her brother, and whom he was sold to.

Judging that he needed incentive to jog his memory, Lahya drew one of the rapiers hidden under her cloak in a rapid motion and pointed it right at Markos' throat. It took the man a moment to realize that he was suddenly being threatened at the other end of a sharp weapon that could take his life with just a slight motion. Stepping forward, she directed his back against one of the pillars holding up the tent, stopping his backwards escape route, the blade only millimeters away from his skin.

"If you call your guards, I promise you won't be able to finish whatever words you use to do so," Lahya muttered in a tone that left no room for doubt in the fact that she would make good on her promise swiftly. "I have four questions for you. Answer them truthfully, and you may yet live."

Markos was shaking, looking at the Alf threatening him, with wide eyes. He nodded ever so slightly, fearing that a motion too big may drive the rapier into his flesh.

"First question: Do you remember me?"

The slave trader was visibly racking his brain to recall Lahya's features. She knew that in the past seven years she had grown up and changed greatly, but she had vainly hoped that he would remember her the same way she had engraved his face into her memory to one day enact vengeance on him. Suddenly, his face lighted up in realization, eliciting Lahya's eyebrow to twitch in surprise.

"You... I remember you. You were my sla-... I mean, you were with me a long time ago. It's been what? Four, five years?" Markos changed his words when he felt the cold steel touch his chin.

"Six years, nine month and three days, Markos the Sly," Lahya pressed out from between her teeth. Her statement was telltale of her feelings about having been a slave in his possession. "Second question: Do you remember my brother, Nerous?"

"I... let me think... ah yes, I... acquired you two together. He was two years younger than you, I recall." "Four years."

"Ah yes, four years younger. He and you were both such preci-"

Lahya's cold murderous eyes shut him up.

"Third question: Do you remember who you sold him to?"

Markos showed recollection straight away, but went deathly pale at the same time.

"You do. Now tell me."

"To... to a noble from the south of Pandosia, not far from here. His name is... Prokopios of Gornia, a repeat customer. When he heard that the Elves had been subjugated he came all the way to Myrmekion to aquire a..." Markos swallowed.

"Continue."

"... to aquire a young boy Elf."

Lahya's eyebrow twitched again, this time in displeasure. She was very well aware of what his words implied, and it caused her anger to very nearly boil over. Composing herself, she went cold to the core.

"Last question, and think hard about this one: How much is your life worth to you?"

Markos' eyes widened.

Lahya exited the tent, the hood covering her hair and ears again. The two men standing guard outside were surprised to see her leave alone and one of them immediately went into the tent to check on their employer. Markos was sitting in a chair with the back towards him, seemingly brooding over something on the table. The bodyguard approached and made his presence known - to no avail. Sensing that something was wrong, he rounded the table to discover that the slave trader was staring blankly into nothingness, drooling and flapping his mouth silently like a madman. No matter how much he shook his employer, no sign of consciousness returned to his features. Shouting and running out of the tent, he and his colleague were too late to apprehend the girl, who had disappeared into the crowded Erythrae market.