The people locked in the cage, observed in horror the grizzly scene, that much was plain to see. By the looks of it only those who did not resist had been captured as slaves. As a result, most of the men had been slain, less than Martell had expected. Having fewer captives would have made the Slayers’ task easy to accomplish. They did not have the patience and resources to move a large number of people. Not to mention that they have no need for slaves.

He observed the captives as they huddled together. The older women and the two men who still remained pushed the younger ones behind them. The fools. Such a simple thing would not change Regis’s mind. He would have them all burned so that they could get him a proper direction to his goal. All Martell could do was wonder who would be tasked with breaking the natives. Would it be Os? Or would it be Vor?

The Second spared a glance at the torturer as he and Sigismund stood guard at the cage. The marks the Faceless One would carve into the captives would scar their unborn children. If only they could see the ruin behind his leather mask, they would cower in fear. On the other hand, seeing how they recoiled from Sigismund and his flaming sword, perhaps the former knight would achieve an interesting result if given the chance.

Martell had to constantly remind himself that this was Scoria and what he and the Slayers thought to be common sense did not apply. Strange superstitions, mistrust of everyone who came from across the sea, trading with orcs, a culture of warfare centred around obtaining slaves, only to release them after a few years. It was all infuriating, almost as if everyone had lost their minds.

He looked at the flimsy silk robes the caged locals wore, the same as the slavers. What fools. Sweating like a pig was a small price to pay for not getting his gut sliced open. Leather and iron were worth the discomfort. The idiot slavers had proven that point quite well. Though, Martell pondered on how lucky the Slayers were in this case. If they had arrived while the fight was ongoing, it would have been impossible to tell who was who. At least, now they had someone new to question. It was very unlikely, but perhaps this time Regis will have some answers that would put an end to his obsession.

Immortality was a tempting prize, but there was a reason the Gods refused to share it with the races. Every legend Martell had ever heard spoke of terrible consequences for anyone who was foolish enough to obtain it. However, if there was anyone who could do it, it had to be Regis. The man had a habit of making the impossible possible. In less than ten years he had turned the Slayers from a group of vigilante bandits into the Hester Dynasty’s favourite tool. Big Uhr’s arrival broke the Second’s contemplation.

“That was no fun.” The large man grunted. “Couldn’t make a single kill.”

“You killed the horses,” Os rasped letting out a gurgled sound that was supposed to be laughter. “I’m sure they put quite a fight for someone of your skill.”

“If you have something to say, say it, Os!” Big Uhr loomed over the torturer. “And I’ll twist your head off!”

It could have been because his blood was still hot from the fight, or it could have been because the Faceless wore his leather hood that gave the large man enough courage to stand up for himself. There were only two people with who Big Uhr avoided picking a fight – Os and Martell. So, it was very strange to watch him do it now.

Stirred by the noise one of the children began to cry softly. This caused all four of them to look at the captives inside the cage. At first, they thought the slaves were up to something when they saw a small frail-looking girl go down on her knees. It took them a moment to realise she was begging the child to quiet down in their strange tongue.

She was doing a terrible job of it, they all could sense the fear in her voice, it was no wonder the child began to wail. At that moment, as if on command, two of the older women dropped down next to them in an attempt to calm the child down. There was clearly some hierarchy in play here, but Martell could not figure it out. He made a note of it nonetheless as something they could exploit.

It would have been quite comical if Lily had not chosen that exact moment to come to check on them. She looked as bored as ever. However, Martell knew better from how her semi-long black hair was clinging to her head and neck from the heat. It was written in the way her one blue eye stared at the crying child. She was frustrated and angry. The sound of crying kids kindled a fire in her heart. One born of pain and loss. One the Second did not care for, but in such a mood, she could become a problem. He knew there would be trouble, from the way the scars left on the right side of her face got brighter as her face became red.

Just a few steps away, she unfastened the triangular wooden shield strapped to her back and picked in both her hands. Without hesitation, Big Uhr stepped in front of her, determined to accomplish the order given to him by Regis. This was going to be interesting, and Martell could see more of the Slayers stop looting the dead to see how the altercation would play out.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Lilly.” The boulder of a man barked trying to sound confident.

“Step away.” She answered softly.

“The fuck you say? You lost your mind?”

“You heard me you, oaf. Step. Away.” Lilly‘s voice did not rise above a whisper and tightened her grip on the shield in her hands.

“I can’t do that. Regis said not a single one of them is to die.” The giant crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then, can you make the screaming stop? No! You can’t… None can make the screams go away…”

“Two bits she floors him in one hit,” Os whispered to Sigismund.

“I’ll cover that bet. He floors her on the counter strike.” The blonde man said with a grin on his face.

Neither Lilly nor Big Uhr could hear them, but Martell was close enough and allowed a small smile to creep on his face. On one side was the insane physical strength of Big Urh and on the other, Lilly’s unpredictable approach to fighting. At least the Second would have to deal with only Lilly once this was over. And the outcome was determined by the bear of a man’s next words.

“Just fuck off. No one cares about your burned kids…”

What else he had to say was left unfinished by a loud cracking sound as Lilly crushed her shield in the side of Big Uhr’s face. The man fell down in the sand, blood covering his head as she stepped over him as if nothing had happened. She dropped the broken shield and reached for her blade.

While Os and Sigismund exchanged coins, Martell stepped in. She had pushed far enough. Everyone among the Slayers had issues from their past to deal with. However, Lilly was the only one who flipped out whenever children were involved. She felt awful about snapping at her comrades afterwards, but right now she was like a different person. Her only goal was to stop the crying.

“Enough!” Martell barked in a commanding tone, hoping that it would be enough.

That got her attention, although it was not enough to remove her grip from the hilt of the sword at her waist. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Lilly backed down, sanity returning to her one good eye. As she turned to leave, she uttered a single word, a name - Nina. It was the one wound she knew would hurt him the most if she pocked at it. And it was enough to push him over the edge. The Second flung out his left arm and turned her around only to bury his right fist in her face. She fell next to Big Uhr and spat blood and broken teeth.

Martell had missed that the other Slayers had gathered around them. They wanted a show, but things were taking a turn for the worse. Without a word, Os and Sigismund grabbed him and dragged him away, while Kurt and Nadine pulled at Lilly’s arms. This left Mekset and Sarduk to carry Big Uhr to Till’s wagons which were rolling over the dunes.

Regis observed the commotion among his people and the reaction among the slaves. Like the great wolves of Mardaar he observed them talk, cower and plot. He could see the confusion on their coppery faces. It was there alongside the fear. The leader of the Slayer could see the resignation in their eyes. He just had to push them a bit more and they would turn on one other. He would know who amongst them was a servant of the Hollow Gods of Scoria.

After a while, he could see clearly who was in command of the group of captives – an old man. Yet he was deferring to the counsel of a young girl. The structure of the local tribes was an utter mystery to him. Although in general, even among orcs, elves, dwarves and all others, the elders were the ones in control. Perhaps she was the one? No, that was incorrect. She lacked the signs which Kala had when they found him. This could mean that the girl was someone of importance for the older women to be pleading to her. A young girl, just coming of age, with such a burden on her shoulders. She would break first.

Regis allowed the slaves to continue their conversation for a moment longer before motioning for Vor and Asmund to be ready. Without a thought, he removed the armour from his chest and let the setting sun bathe his already burned skin. Out of habit he traced the dragon tattoo on his breast and walked towards the cage.

Once a couple of steps away he smiled and spoke softly.

“I guess it would be too much to hope that any of you can speak the common tongue? Yeh… That would have saved me so much time. You, shits, have no idea what I am saying, do you?” He paused and flashed them a charming smile.

He waited for a moment longer, observing them, but it was clear that they had no idea what he was saying. He turned to the two berserkers and called them to his side. It was time for them to play their part. If he had been honest with himself, Regis did not care anymore for the atrocities that would happen because of his commands. The blasted sun of Scoria had burned away any pity he would have felt like it had burned away his patience with people who called this cursed land home.

“Sonya, bring the slave,” Regis added as an afterthought.

Actions alone would not be enough if the captives could not understand what he wanted of them. He could wait a while longer. Soon enough he could hear the archer’s footsteps and the tell-telling rattling of chains to know she was not wasting any time. Without ceremony, she shoved the slave in the sand next to Regis, happy to be rid of him. The commander of the Slayers did not need to see her emotionless face to know she hated the black-skinned man. Something in the way he spoke and the way he moved really ticked her off and Sonya had told as much at every occasion.

“Let’s get this done before night comes, shall we?” Regis smiled as he squatted next to Kala.

“I know you speak their tongue. Repeat to them my words and I might consider removing that chain from your neck.” A nod was all he needed from the slave.

“Good.” Regis continued. “Introduce me.”

He waited for the slave to finish speaking. It was interesting to see the exchange between him and the copper-skinned old man in the cage. Something was said and Kala flinched and spat something back. Clearly, the conversation had shifted away from the introduction he wanted. The Slayer smacked the slave in the face with his fist. It was getting hard to keep his anger in check.

“I don’t want you talking with them!” He barked. “I want to know who amongst them bears the mark of the Hollow Gods. That is all. Do you understand?”

Words were traded again. This time the conversation was kept short and not before long Kala turned his head to Regis.

“Master Regus, these are Sand Roamer people. They roam the sands, not stay too long one place. They are hard people, Sand Roamer. They speak not. Tribes that are Sand Roamer worship the gods too much,” Kala summed up the conversation clearly not pleased.

For a moment Regis stood still and closed his eyes. He had given up trying to correct the people of Scaria when they mispronounced his name, and although it bothered him, it was nothing compared to the frustration he was feeling right now. Maybe Mar has the right idea? Regis wondered. Slowly he turned his head at Vor and nodded towards the cage. The berserker lifted his axe and with a single strike broke the lock on the wooden cage and kicked in the small door.

Without a word he grabbed one of the women by the hair and made an attempt to drag her out. A younger girl, still a child, broke through the bodies encircling her and bit the muscular arm. He only looked confused and pushed his victim back. At the same time, Vor embraced the child with his large hand while the little girl screamed and kicked, trying to escape.

“You little shit!” Quickly and violently, he threw the girl to the ground as she bit him once more.

As soon as she hit the dirt, the northerner kicked her with all his might. The child skidded over the sand for a good three meters before curling in a bundle. The villagers rushed at the open door but were met by Asmund’s murderous gaze. Arms crossed before his chest he dared them to try and exit the cage. In a way, it would make Regis’ life easier if they did so. From the corner of his eye, he could see the other Slayers were itching for the opportunity to vent their murderous desires.

The captured Sand Roamers could only look in horror as Vor stepped over the poor girl and lifted his axe. The blade came down and bit deep into the child’s left leg. A blood-chilling cry of agony followed the weapon’s kiss. The jagged piece of metal reflected the setting sun as it was lifted up and come down again. The second blow severed her leg. By the time the third swing of the axe came, the poor child had stopped making any sound. That did not prevent Vor from severing each limb and picking what remained of her in one arm.

With ease and a savage grin, he threw the mangled body inside the cage. The berserker’s original victim jumped at the ruined body of the girl, only to be caught and pulled out of the cage by Asmund’s mighty arms. With a slight toss, he gave her to his brother. Not wasting any time, Vor pinned her under his foot, he tore her dress and reached for the dismembered arm of the child.

“You should enjoy this!” He snarled in the girl’s ear.

With one hand, he pushed her legs apart, breaking one of them at the hip in the process with a loud cracking sound. The grin on Vor’s face grew bigger and the flames of madness burned in his eyes. Regis had to agree with his Second’s opinion, the man was turning into a problem. Murder and brutality had their place in the ranks of the Slayers, but the sadistic pleasure he was seeing now was a sign that Vor was starting to lose control of his sanity. Still, Regis did nothing to stop him, as the man shoved the little girl’s severed arm between the woman’s legs. He would deal with his subordinate at the appropriate time. Now, however, the leader of the mercenaries needed answers.

The young girl Regis had been following with his eyes screamed and rushed the door of the cage as soon as the woman’s feral howl split the air like thunder. She yelled and pointed feverishly at one of the curled women at the back of the cage. The slave’s actions were met with yells, punches and kicks from two of the older women near her.

“Vor.” The single word from Regis was enough to stop the man from finishing the atrocity he was dedicated to seeing to the very end.

A single gesture was enough to send the two brothers inside the cage. Asmund dragged the screaming and kicking woman, while Vor made sure no one got in his way by pushing and punching anyone who dared help her.

Without a word, Martell stormed from behind Regis and entered the cage. He shoved away the group beating the young girl and grabbed her by the foot, dragging her across the wooden floor and onto the sand. Considering what fate awaited them all, the leader of the Slayers did not see any reason to reprimand his Second.

At this very moment, Regis couldn’t care less about the other slaves. He wanted the young woman in Asmund’s arms brought to Till so that they could examine her.

“You can have this one Mar. The others are free to choose anyone else they like.” He stopped long enough to turn to his second and issue his command.

“And Mar, they can do whatever the fuck they want with their slaves. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Martell replied in an emotionless tone.

Before Regis left with Vor and Asmund, he observed the Second turn towards the chained slave who was in the process of helping the girl stand. As she kicked away the offered hand, Martell pinned her to the ground and loomed over her. Nimbly he yanked the slave’s chain and spoke viciously at him.

“Inform her, that from now on she belongs to me. I have made my claim. Tell her, she has my word that no one will harm her.”