Tarvakian's story of the negotiation caught Filgot unprepared. He laughed so hard the water he was drinking started to leak from his nose. He turned away to wipe his face and attempt to finish his interrupted swallow.

"I thought owner Hagon's eyes were going to pop when I told him I was going to visit the village," Tarvakian continued. "I do not know how I remained innocent and not let on that I knew the truth. It was a good ruse, most entertaining."

"And profitable, sir," Borlin agreed. All but three guards and Filgot held a mug of wine. It wasn't their first of the night. The fire they surrounded burned knee-high and chased away the jungle's night.

"Aye, Borlin. It was profitable in more ways than one," Tarvakian said, lifting his mug. "Our purses are full, and we are a day ahead of what was planned." He chuckled. "And we turned advantage on its head. I am sure Hagon's mind is still swirling as if in a storm." He raised his mug again. "To the Borlin tempest." Agreement rang out, and everyone drank.

"And to my first Mistress," Borlin said, raising his mug. "May her memory forever bring us such joy."

"To my Tina," Tarvakian agreed with the glow of the grape in his eyes. "She would have enjoyed this day." He pointed his mug at Borlin. "And she would have seen your mind for what it is. I have been slack in appreciating the skills of my property." He laughed as one who has had too much to drink. "I mean..." he waved away his words. "Not property - not mine anymore - your property - I mean freemen." He sighed at his attempts to reword his statement. Everyone chuckled at the fumbling.

"What if the ruse continued, sir," Borlin asked. The wine-induced chuckling stopped, and all who once wore the collar looked at their old master.

"You have another deal in your head?" Tarvakian asked. He started to laugh at the idea, then stopped as he noticed the seriousness that surrounded the fire.

"We have been talking, sir," Borlin said. "As Kelton has said, most of us know no other home." He looked around the fire as nods greeted his words. "There are some who will grasp their freedom and run. More will be like us. We cherish being free, yet desire warm beds and knowing that tomorrow's meal will be there." He shrugged. "We do not relish what awaits us as the newly freed. This land sees property as cattle, and we will have broken over the fence."

"You wish to be owned...again?" Tarvakian asked. He was missing something in Borlin's argument.

"Nay, sir," Borlin said. Some snicking from around the fire supported his denial. "We desire the world to believe we are owned."

Tarvakian squinted at Borlin, thinking the drink was fogging his mind. Around the fire, he saw the others looking at him, expecting a response. To what, he did not know. "Filgot, do understand this?"

"Nay, sir." Filgot looked equally confused. At least he was sober, so Tarvakian knew it wasn't inebriation that limited his understanding.

"It is odd, I know, sir," Borlin continued. "What if you were master outside of house Tarvakian; Inside the gates, you are but our leader. Think of the things such a ruse could do." Tarvakian stared as if in a trance as Borlin continued. "It is your skill at profit that we will latch onto. An agreement as to shares and such could be devised." Worry filled Borlin's face at Tarvakian's silence. "Do you not think it can be done?"

"The scale of it, sir," Filgot said with sober shock.

"Chaos," Tarvakian whispered to himself. He was thinking about the free deciding as to when and where to work. There would be no final word that steered such a large ship. Would anything get done? It was why free houses were small and mostly composed of family who were of the same mind.

"Chaos?" Borlin asked. His expression noted his confusion at the word.

Tarvakian cleared his mind with a deep breath. He set down his mug on the ground as a symbol of ending the celebratory nature of the discussion. After he struggled in his mind, he voiced his reservation. "How can one run a house of our size when all do as they desire?"

Borlin smiled. It wasn't humor that made it to his eyes; it was something akin to admiration. The look befuddled Tarvakian.

"You do not know yourself, sir," Borlin said. The others around the fire each wore an odd grin. A joke that only they understood.

"You are playing," Tarvakian said with some irritation.

"Nay, sir," Borlin responded. "You used the words' house of our size.' How many owners would say such a thing? It is always my and mine with them." Filgot smiled.

"Still," Tarvakian said, holding up his hand. "How does such a house work when all decide what is best?" He shook his head. "No two see things the same, much less many upon many."

"I am free," Filgot said, his smile continuing.

"Aye," Borlin said. "Cannot we all be paid." He began traversing down the fingers of his hand in a count. "In meals, in quarters, and some in coin." He opened his palms to the sky. "And the world need not know you share profits."

"Chaos," Tarvakian repeated. "What if one of you decided they were wronged?"

"Aye, sir," Borlin said. "If we felt you were doing us wrong, we could take flight." Bolrin shook his head. "It is not your way. In all things, you are fair. Unlike us." He looked around and collected, knowing looks from around the fire.

"I am missing something," Tarvakian said.

"Aye, sir. As I am now free, as we are all free, it does not pain me to tell you that work in your house is not...strenuous." Borlin smiled. "As you may well know from the kuzzles."

"I am still missing things."

"Kuzzles are made mostly on your time, not ours," Borlin admitted. "There was no profit for us in working harder, except when it came to the kuzzles."

"I set high quotas," Tarvakian argued.

"My sorrows, sir," Borlin said. "They are based on experience, are they not? Experience of our work."

Tarvakian stood. Anger at being fooled hurt him more than thinking he had been cheated. He turned and looked into pure darkness, his eyes long blinded by the fire.

"Think of what can be," Borlin said. "If we see profit in your profit, things will be different. Mayhap, much different."

"This trip is a curse," Tarvakian said. "It goes up and down like a sickness of the gut." It was the disloyalty that hurt him the most. He struggled to put himself in their place, but all he saw was everything he had done for them. It made him feel foolish and weak.

"It is truth I give you, sir," Borlin said with some irritation. "It is not meant to give you pain. Do you think I cherished the collar around my neck?"

Tarvakian turned to find Borlin standing as well. "Nay," he said with a quietness meant to lower the useless boiling in his blood. It was difficult to let go of superiority, especially if it was unearned and given at birth. "It is hard to be your equal," Tarvakian said in surrender.

Borlin laughed. "I shall never be your equal, sir. We only wish to learn and gain coin through your name." He waved his hand over those seated around the fire. "You lead, we will follow. Imagine if we have an interest in the outcome." He displayed his mug. "Another bolt of cloth means another mug of wine, two means a thicker blanket for cold nights, three means more sweets for my daughter."

"You have a daughter?" Filgot asked.

"I am free," Borlin replied. "And it is my desire to please a daughter." He smiled at Filgot. "A wife I have yet to procure."

"Kelton was right," Tarvakian said. "It is all happening too fast." He wished Kelton was here so sums could be calculated. Kelton's mind worked such things so quickly, able to find solutions in any waste deep mire. Borlin's idea was at least something to cling to, as odd as it was. Prior, Tarvakian felt he was walking blind, praying for the All-Father to roll back time.

"Mayhap, morning would be a better time to consider, sir," Filgot said. It was an apparent reference to the amount of grapes consumed.

"Aye, good thought." Tarvakian said. He smiled and remembered the profit he pulled from Hagon. At least it was a happy thought. "Tonight, we salute shared profit, and tomorrow we will discuss lazy property and earnest freemen." He picked up his mug and passed it down the line to be refilled. "Mayhap, we will all find what we are looking for."

They drank, and Tarvakian found he enjoyed his property more as free. At least while the wine flowed.

Tarvakian rode on the wagon, ignoring the growing pain in his backside. His legs were exhausted from walking and demanded his arse take the load for a while. For two days, they traveled the path, unhindered by vegetation that had been cut down on the previous pass.

Borlin's plan was festering in his mind. It went against everything the kingdom stood for. It depended on secrecy. A covert way of life that would be difficult to hide. Borlin was sure most would agree. The others, the ones who desired full freedom, could be convinced to hold their tongues. Houses were constructed to gain profit. Now, Borlin saw that profit trickling down and filling the pockets of those who labored.

Filgot was correct; it was not so different from guards. They worked for coin, though it was different work. Guards are respected for their duty. Is there respect in dying cloth? Those who controlled others that earned respect. The cloth does not respect the dyer.

Tarvakian found himself missing Vasco. He saw reality and would be able to list out the problems such a plan would have. And Kelton would see the promise such an idea offered. Tarvakian smiled to himself. They were a good pair: one seeing the complications, the other finding the positives. Between them, there was a satisfactory solution. Add in Zello's dreams, and there was nothing that couldn't be solved.

The memory of making Yelvin smile entered Tarvakian's thoughts. Yelvin was the future. A grandson of a great house. The grandson of a king. Every other thought paled in comparison. A free house could not hold one such as him, not in this kingdom. If a vow must be kept, then a route must be chosen that preserved Yelvin's future. A monumental ruse, one that fooled the kingdom must be initiated. No other option maintained Yelvin's standing. Or his grandfather's. Tarvakian closed his eyes and wished he weren't so vain.

Filgot rode up and pulled his horse aside the wagon. "The Nagada gather ahead. I did not see Kelton among them, but they sent a runner."

"Good. I'll feel better when we are whole again," Tarvakian said. "Well, short Taggert, of course."

"Aye," Filgot said. "I as well."

Tarvakian found the Nagada sitting across the path as the lead wagon approached. There were six of them, all with dual swords strapped across their backs. He thought the green etchings on their skin disconcerting. He knew they were thoughtful people, but the designs on their skin yelled chaos. It incited fear, and he imagined it was meant too.

The woman, Opul, wasn't among them. Tarvakian had to converse with useless words and almost as meaningless hand signals. After a struggle, it was made known that the runner Filgot saw was summoning Kelton, and it would take some time. Tarvakian found it odd that they were submissive in their gestures. The last encounter was marked by their determination. Now, they seemed almost apologetic. Perhaps they required a leader, like that woman that Opul deferred too to the first time their paths crossed.

"If it is going to be awhile, mayhap, a meal break, sir," Borlin offered.

"Aye," Tarvakian said. He smiled as Borlin began organizing the stop. The man assumed command and the others deferred to him without thought. The fact that he asked Tarvakian was just as noticeable. Tarvakian would lead, and Brolin would follow. If the ruse faltered, it wouldn't be because of Borlin.

"He reminds me of Vasco, sir," Filgot said, coming up from behind.

"Aye, and a bit of Kelton as well," Tarvakian said. He turned to Filgot. "Do you imagine this working, this ruse of ownership?"

"It is an odd change, sir," Filgot replied. "I am a guard, and before this day, earned coin to keep property in." He smiled. "And now I will earn coin to keep others out and away from seeing the truth. It is not a bad change from my position."

"And the other guards?"

"Their loyalties follow mine," Filgot said. "And mine, follow yours."

"It could all fall, and you may feel the weight of it."

"Aye," Filgot said. "And is it any less weight than what you held? You could have preserved all for your son and grandson. I think you would have if me and mine weren't at risk." He looked at the Nagada sitting patiently ahead. "Their blades move like the wind. Death would have been swift, no matter my desire to avenge Taggert, nor your desire to maintain your house." He shook his head at the memory. "Nay, we will do what is needed to see house Tarvakian survive."

Tarvakian had long finished his meal before anyone new emerged from the jungle. To his disappointment, Kelton wasn't among those who appeared. Two etched Nagada and their blades, Opul, and a small girl emerged from the trees.

"Where is Kelton?" Tarvakaian asked after greeting Opul. He worded it as a calm query, though his bones wanted to demand. He was tired of these people.

"This is My'taa," Opul said, introducing the young girl. Tarvakian looked at the girl, her one leg scarred horribly below the knee, yet she moved as if it weren't a bother.

"Well met, My'taa," Tarvakian said to maintain decorum. He looked back at Opul. "I ask again, where is Kelton?"

My'taa began to speak. The words were faltering, as if she had not thought of what she was going to say. Tarvakian listened at the incomprehensible language and looked back at Opul. He began to feel that something was very wrong. When he looked back at My'taa, there were tears in her eyes.

Opul spoke. "My'taa says, fire-head tried to warn her. It was her fault he leaves, and she wishes it was not so." She paused a moment. "I assure you, it was not her fault." Opul's eyes began to water as she spoke.

"What is this?" Tarvakian asked. "Where is Kelton?"

"My'taa lives because of him," Opul said, her voice breaking. "A vic'aven...a beast...attacked My'taa and another."

"What?"

One of the other Nagada spoke. There was an authority in his words.

"Lin'cy says fire-head." Opul sputtered the words then regained her composure. "He says Kelton has killed a vic'aven to save a young one. The elders have proclaimed him Nagada and the All-Father will welcome him as one. He will live forever in the hearts of the warriors."

"You mean he's dead," Filgot interrupted. It sounded like an accusation.

"Soon," Opul said, shaking her head. "He lingers still. The vic'aven claimed much before it died."

'He will return to my house," Tarvakian demanded. There were healers he knew — ones who must have more skill than this one, who had gone native.

Opul shook her head. "To move him would speed him to the All-Father. Would you wish him a painful end with useless travel?"

"I will judge for myself," Tarvakian said. Opul had words with the one named Lin'cy. He nodded and spoke.

"It is agreed," Opul said. "It is good that those who know him best decide. Know that the Nagada offer him all, for he has given all."

After a brief argument, it was decided that Tarvakian and Filgot would follow the Nagada. The rest of the party remained with the wagons.

Tarvakian soon realized he was not built for traveling through the jungle. They followed no set path, yet moved as if the correct directions were written on the trees. If the Nagada had decided to leave Tarvakian, he would walk in circles and probably die of starvation ten feet from where he started. It all looked the same.

The climbing over deadfall, and sliding down slopes, was a young man's game. Sweat dripped down Tarvakian's face as he struggled to climb a ridge. What bothered Tarvakian the most, was that Opul moved with little difficulty, only her slow speed marked her age. At least Filgot wore a sheen of sweat, though he moved at a more confident pace.

My'taa stuck close to the one called Lin'cy. Her legs took two steps to his one, yet she didn't complain. Only once was she lifted, and that was to traverse a rather large dead tree that had fallen across the chosen path. Tarvakian groaned as he half-climbed, half-rolled over that one. The Waitland continued to prove itself his least favorite place in the world.

On the last climb, huts appeared out of nowhere. Tarvakian had begun to believe they were being led to oblivion when the vegetation opened, and a village appeared. Bundled straw was used as paving stones, laid out along paths between homes. Near a central fire, a large group of young ones worked with hides. Others were busy with different tasks, such as cooking and care of infants. Though condensed and primitive, it didn't look like it ran much different than house Tarvakian.

"Kelton lays in my hut," Opul said. She pointed to one of the grass structures off to the side beneath two large trees. One of the cross supports was anchored between them, bound by many revolutions of rope. The Nagada paused in their work to examine Tarvakian and Filgot. It was only for a moment, and then they returned to their duties. Tarvakian took it as a sign of efficiency.

"All-Father," Tarvakain sighed as the pain of Kelton's form seeped deep into his eyes.

"How does he linger on?" Filgot said. He turned his head and wiped his eyes. Tarvakian knew it wasn't just sweat he wiped away.

Kelton lay naked on a bed of hides. The right side of his chest was torn open in places; the shoulder raw with puncture wounds ripped wide. His thighs were a mess; gaps in the skin were glistening an aggravated red which surrounded a brown mush that was layered in the wounds. The only grace was Kelton's face. It looked calm, eyes closed as if he were asleep.

"He is as we laid him three days ago," Opul said. "The wounds treated as best we know how."

A Nagadan woman spoke. She had been kneeling next to Kelton. It wasn't until her voice reached Tarvakian's ears that he noticed her presence. Her speech continued as moistness filled her eyes. The left side of her face was heavily scared, newly scabbed, and still moist.

"Her name is Farni," Opul said. "She says she has chosen to bond with Kelton, to see him through this life and the next. She owes her breath to him, and it will be repaid."

"Bond?" Filgot asked.

"It is the Nagada way," Opul said. "Many who are old, or those who take a sickness and cannot fend for themselves, have a bonded one. She has declared that Kelton's needs are her needs. When he leaves this life, it is she who will demand the warriors of old take him to their breasts and give him a home." Opul gave Filgot a weak smile. "The tribe will do the same, but she will lead the way."

"He cannot be moved," Filgot whispered, as he examined Kelton further.

"Nay, he cannot," Tarvakian agreed with sadness. Movement would tear what little healing had occurred. There was little doubt that the pain of travel would kill him if blood loss did not.