Kelton was in the middle of his third turn at cutting for the day. Taggert had relieved Filgot and was returning from scouting ahead on foot. The sun had replaced the storm from the day before and heated the jungle with a vengeance, causing thick dampness to permeate the air. With it, came the smell of wet, rotting vegetation.

"Another stream ahead," Taggert announced. "The downslope is gentle enough, but the water is running deep. He held up the stick he was holding, a notch cut marked the depth. Almost knee-deep. The bleed from the storm was still draining away.

"How wide?" Kelton asked.

"I can jump it," Taggert said as he held his hands wide to indicate the width.

"Are the banks steep?"

"Nay, the water hasn't dug too deep into the hill. I think the wagons will make it without planks."

"Best if Filgot agrees," Kelton said. Taggert nodded in agreement and went to confer with Filgot. Borlin, who was usually teamed with Kelton, smiled at the exchange as he swung his blade.

"I wonder who he thinks is owner," Borlin whispered, adding a chuckle.

"I am teaching him to scribe, is all," Kelton said. "He and I both know my place."

"You do not have a place," Borlin said. He took a swipe at a thick bush and laid it flat. "Not like the rest of us. Even Master defers to your word."

"Master respects all," Kelton said and cut the vegetation in front of him. "He has drawn the line with me many times, as he has with all his property." Borlin smiled his disbelief at Kelton's words. Kelton was about to argue the point, silly as it was, when a feeling of being closed in came upon him. He stopped cutting and signaled Borlin to do the same. They stood quiet, only hearing the sound of the wagon movements far behind.

Kelton looked off into the trees, seeing nothing beyond what had become ordinary. He turned slowly, scanning up to the canopy and back down. It was an odd feeling, almost as if a shred of his sense of others had returned, yet nothing defined. What was devoid before, was now pushing at him. It felt thickest forward and weaker to the sides. Behind, his normal senses noted the sounds of his party, and that overwhelmed the fog of what he felt in the other directions.

"Why have you stopped?" Taggert asked. Both he and Filgot were coming upon them.

Kelton turned about again, then faced Taggert. He was sure though it was not perfectly defined. "We are not the only ones here." Filgot drew his sword with Taggert duplicating the movement as if they had practiced.

"Where?" Filgot asked.

"All about, more so to the front," Kelton said, pointing down the path.

"I do not see them," Borlin said, taking a few steps backward toward the wagons.

"Nor I," said Taggert, though he remained in a defensive posture.

Kelton closed his eyes and tried to feel out the oppressiveness that filled his mind. There was no definition, only a cloud of something surrounding them, like a smell that had no source. More of it weighted forward. "It is strongest there," he said, pointing forward again.

"Kelton, there is no..." Filgot began, then stalled as a figure silently emerged from farther down the path.

The woman moved with a grace usually seen only in animals, effortlessly missing the growing greenery and leaving no disturbance in her wake. She was lithe and taut, moving with determination. Short-furred leather was bound tightly to her body. The unknowing would think it sensual, yet Kelton recognized its purpose was to free the movements of a warrior. She reminded him of Yanda.

"Good day," Filgot called out, exposing the palm of his hand in greeting.

The woman replied with unknown words and kept approaching. Her face was grim, and dark green lines were etched upon it; sets of curved stripes wrapped like weaves over weaves. They traveled down her face, along her neck, shoulders, and arms. Two pommels were resting above and behind her shoulders. Leather straps crisscrossed her front holding the swords to her back.

"I say, good day," Filgot repeated.

She stopped ten paces distance and spoke with strange words whose meaning was visibly not-friendly. Kelton's mind picked at the unknown words, their inflection and pronunciation were wrong, or right and what he knew was wrong. She was speaking too quickly, though he was sure it was the words of the Nagada. He picked out a few sounds as they flew at him. Something about devil or evil. Something about a decision or a choice. There was no connotation for him to break it down. The last words, before she reached for her swords, were about something final, or finished, or done.

Kelton raised his hand, palm forward, as the woman drew her blades in a flowing manner that spoke of her expertise with the weapons. He tried to think of a word, anything he could attempt to stall what he saw coming. His mind jumbled with everything Korvin taught as the warrior in the woman made itself known and sped forward with blades moving in practiced flowing arcs.

"All-Father," Filgot yelled in surprise and braced himself with sword forward.

Taggert did not stand still. He moved forward with the purpose of meeting the woman before any other. Borlin dropped his rice blade and ran toward the wagons. Kelton yelled for everything to stop, but the world ignored his plea.

Taggert yelled and confronted the woman with his sword thrusting forward. With an ease like a willow in the wind, the woman drifted away from his blade, and her swords spun impossibly. Taggert's body jerked in odd directions, and his weapon spun off into the trees. She moved again, and her blades shifted independently, spraying blood into the air. A deadly dance to a rhythm only the woman knew. Taggert's body dropped as if it were a sack of grain.

The other guards were running forward from the wagons, and Filgot growled for them to form a line. The woman showed no fear of the growing numbers and stepped forward.

"Vec'qu!" Kelton yelled and grabbed Filgot's shirt when he tried to advance. It was hard to pronounce the word through a thickening throat. Taggert wasn't moving. "Vec'qu!" Kelton hoped he pronounced 'stop' correctly.

The woman stalled her advance and tilted her head. She spoke too quickly, her blood-stained swords held to her sides as if she was not worried about her ability to counter an attack.

"Vec'imal," Kelton said. Taggert still wasn't moving. He held out his hand and gestured in a manner he hoped supported the word for her to slow in movement and speech. He wasn't sure he was pronouncing anything correctly, but Taggert wasn't moving, and he needed her to stop.

"Vec'IMAL," the woman repeated slowly, her emphasis on the last part, not the first part as Kelton had been taught. She pointed her sword at Kelton and spoke slowly. Kelton caught some of it. She was asking if he understood her words.

"Bir," Kelton said, hoping it was how 'little' was pronounced. He dropped his rice blade and moved forward. The woman seemed unperturbed by his advanced, her blades remaining still. He ignored her and walked straight to Taggert.

The woman spoke slowly like she was bored with what had occurred. The word for 'dead' and something that resembled 'freedom' or 'let go' were in the mix. Keltons knowledge of definitions became fluid and no longer fixed as they were with Korvin. The structure of the rest was still too fast. Kelton knelt in a pool of blood and rolled Taggert over. It was a horrible mess of death, his insides leaking out, and no breath moving in. He knew then that Taggert would never move again. Kelton's eyes filled, and grief-fueled anger took his mind.

"She killed him," Kelton spat. He stood as the thoughts of Taggert's desired future hit him full force. All of Taggert's aspirations taken in a moment and thrown away like rubbish. He could feel the wetness running down his cheeks when he rose to face the woman. He didn't care about her swords, nor her words.

"Ar' lin," the woman said again. 'Freedom.'

"Is that what you call... Ar' lin?" Kelton yelled as he pointed at Taggert. He angrily thought she imagined she had freed his soul. Some kind of native cleansing.

The woman shook her head and pointed at him with her sword. "Ar' lin." Kelton scrunched his eyes and tried to understand. She indicated Taggert's lifeless body. "Toti." The word for death.

"Enough," Filgot said. He moved forward, his blade ready. "There is payment due." The other guards moved with him. They meant to avenge Taggert.

The jungle seemed to grow toward them as many figures emerged as if they were separating from the plants themselves. Men and women, each with the same grace and dual swords strapped to their backs. Although unique, all had the same type of green etchings on their skin. Filgot stopped, the guards forming into an odd defensive formation that attempted to cover every direction.

"Toti," the woman repeated, her sword pointing at Filgot. She voiced the same word over and over, each time indicating another guard. There was no question as to her desire, and the only emotion that appeared on her face was one of disgust.

"What is this?" Tarvakian yelled. He and the other coppers were being guided forward by the Nagada that appeared in the rear.

"Toti," the woman said louder, pointing at Tarvakian.

"No," Kelton said, then repeated the Nagadian word for it as best as he could. "Nee."

"They killed Taggert, sir," Filgot said. "I think they mean to kill us all." The guards shifted to try and cover everyone. If all the Nagada used their swords like the woman, the battle wouldn't last long.

"Kelton?" Tarvakian asked, his question clear without words.

The woman said something quickly, and all of the Nagada drew their swords with the same perfection as her. The movements of each were identical as if they were one.

"Nee," Kelton said again and stepped in front of the woman. "Nee toti," He crossed his hands back and forth. It was bad enough Taggert lay with his life spilled out. Now they expected him to watch the others fall.

"Kelton!" Tarvakian said as the Nagada moved closer.

"Toti ai nee," Kelton said, remembering the word constructs were opposite, or at least he hoped they were.

The woman paused and said something Kelton didn't understand. The Nagada, as a whole, stopped advancing. She freed a hand by placing both swords into one and stepped toward Kelton. She reached up and grasped the copper band about his neck and spoke slowly. He could only grasp a few words. It was all happening too quickly, and he didn't have time to coordinate her pronunciations with what he understood. It was something about 'not this land' and 'devil or evil' and more words about 'death' and 'final' or 'last.'

"I think they know what being collared means," Kelton said to Tarvakian and the others. "I only understand bits, but I think they have passed judgment on those not wearing one." He looked at Tarvakian. "They do not accept the idea of property here, Master."

"All-Father," Tarvakian cried out. "We will leave. There is no reason to kill another."

Kelton used his hands and his poor knowledge of the language to indicate they would turn around and leave. The idea angered the woman, and course words were exchanged with the other Nagada. There was some kind of agreement between them, and the little Kelton understood was not positive. She voiced as much to Kelton.

"They see you, or the idea of property, as evil, Master," Kelton said. "They mean to kill it. It is what is done here."

"But we will leave," Filgot said. "Surely, they see the waste of it."

"We will not return here, nor will others," Tarvakian said. "I'll see to it."

'I am not sure I can word that, Master," Kelton said. "I think they are why the rice houses that owned property failed. They do not allow the idea."

"You must word it," Tarvakian said. "I'll not see everyone die here. Tell them to take me and leave the others to return."

"No, sir," Filgot said and raised his sword.

Tarvakian pulled his arm back down. "Tell them," he said to Kelton.

The conversation that ensued was arduous and near useless. The concepts discussed were beyond Kelton's language ability, and gestures only served to confuse the issue more. Twice, Kelton had to stop the judgment from continuing. Once, by using his body as a shield against the woman's physical progression. They seemed to value the life of anyone who wore a collar.

In time, the woman whose exasperation began to show, indicated all should sit. One of the Nagada left at a run at her insistence, though there was an argument about that between them.

"How does it go?" Tarvakian whispered to Kelton.

"I do not know, Master. They are sending for someone. Mayhap, a leader or such." Kelton shook his head. "I'll talk no better with them then I do now. The words are different from what I learned."

"Will they let me cover Taggert?" Tarvakian asked. "At least until he can be buried proper."

It took Kelton awhile to get the idea across. At least gestures were useful since it was a physical concept. The woman agreed to allow such a thing. Kelton began to rise, then was pulled back down by Tarvakian.

"It is my house he died for," Tarvakian said. "It is my hand that will cover him."

The woman signaled to a tall Nagada man who rose and followed Tarvakian. Kelton supposed they expected Tarvakian to run. It surprised him when the man helped his master cover the body. At least they respected life, even if they ended it with such fervor.

Water was passed around, and relief could be sought in the trees. Coppers could go unattended, guards and Tarvakian were chaperoned. Kelton gave up trying to converse. It did more to sow confusion than resolve anything.

It was late in the afternoon before the situation changed. From the trees, the Nagada who set out earlier returned with an older woman who wore bore none of the etchings the others did. Her legs struggled as she walked, though her expression did not register any complaints for the task.

The woman who killed Taggert rose and talked with the elder in a quick burst of words that Kelton couldn't follow, though he had been identified by the warrior's gesture.

"You have stalled judgment," the old woman said to Kelton. "They wish to know why?"

"You speak our language?" Tarvakian asked.

"Aye, owner, though it is not you I speak too." She pointed at Kelton. "Why?"

"Judgment for what?" Kelton asked though he gathered a hint of it earlier. It was a crime to own others in this land. He was stalling as best he could.

"You seek to stop what you do not know?" She asked incredulously and looked around at the guards, and sneered at Tarvakian. "Does freedom frighten you so?"

"Death frightens me, my lady," Kelton said, he pointed toward the covered body of Taggert. "He may have been my guard, but he was foremost a friend. A good mind cut down for simply placing his blade between us and your kind."

"My lady?" The woman snickered as she sat down with a struggle. "You will call me Upul. What should I call you?"

"Kelton," he replied. "And this is the master of our house, Heralic Tarvakian."

"I care not for owners, Kelton," Upul said, ignoring the introduction. "You will find them, and those that support them, have no standing here. Their ways are not our ways. It matters not your liking of them."

"You are Nagada?" Kelton asked. Her skin wasn't the olive color of the others, nor was she covered in the etchings that swirled on each of the warriors.

"Not by birth. I am a healer who happened upon them long ago. They had need, and I stayed and absorbed their ways over time." Upul indicated Tarvkian without shifting her eyes. "It is an easy thing to discard the ways of slavers. Here, all are free, and it will be kept so."

"We will leave and never return," Tarvakian said. "I have some say with the King, and will see to it that none pass through here again."

"He speaks again," Upul said with disdain to Kelton. "I ask, did he give you a choice when he shackled your neck? Was it you who requested the lesson?" Her eyes moved to Tarvakian. "Speak again, and I will see to it that your judgment is less...swift."

"As you must," Tarvakian said, ignoring the warning. "If it is my life that must be forfeited, then so be it. My guards are not to blame. Allow them to return to their homes."

"Owners," Opul said to Kelton as if it were a curse. "They do not listen and speak as if they are the All-Father."

"He is not to blame for the kingdom's ways," Kelton said.

"Aye, he is," Upul disagreed. "He, his guards, and all who support such things. How long do you think your king would sit on the throne if all refused to follow such laws?"

"Moments," Kelton admitted. "And how many would die when chaos cames to pass at that moment. It is better to drift toward better than to destroy the good with the bad."

Opul smiled. "You have a good mind." She turned toward the warrior woman and they exchanged words. Kelton made out a few things, including his name being passed.

"Your plea has been denied, slaver," Opul said. "Your ways are anathema. A curse upon the world that will be cut out."

"No," Kelton said. "He will free us and end the guards employ. Then death would hold no purpose."

Opul laughed. "You are free now, and we will end the guards employ through death. It is our purpose." She shared the same with the warrior woman, who smiled for the first time.

Kelton's mind went into panic mode. The cost of freedom was too high. He looked to Filgot, then across the faces of the other guards, and came to rest on Tarvakian. Kelton gambled, "Is that how the treewalker would see it?"

"What do you know of the treewalker?" Opul asked, her face becoming serious.

"Little," Kelton admitted. "I only ask if this judgment would be the same if the treewalker were here. Would the treewalker dispense death freely to all whose ways differ? Would the treewalker not consider better solutions?" Using deities was a weak tactic, especially for someone who questioned their existence.

A discussion commenced with many of the Nagada participating. Kelton couldn't sense any anger in the words, just accelerated talk between parties.

"What is this treewalker?" Tarvakian whispered below the din of the Nagada.

"A prophet, or some such, that their beliefs say they wait for, Master," Kelton replied. "I am hoping it makes them consider more."

"I do not believe I am master to anyone anymore," Tarvakian corrected. "I ask only that you do what you can to save the others. My word does more harm than good here."

"I am sorry for..."

"Save the others," Tarvakian interrupted. "It is my last request of you. Do not worry on what cannot be altered." He looked over to the covered body of Taggert. "Think in sums," he sputtered as his eyes filled. "The profit lies in less dead."

"Aye," Kelton said, and wiped his own eyes clear. He had to turn away and try to forget about Taggert. There was the living to consider.