Sharpened Claws & Broken Chains

[Thalrick]

The morning after Khavin's death had been an unpleasant one. Jon awoke to find his old friend was dead, but then the body had been so disfigured and mutilated that he initially thought it wasn't even the same person. He had cursed a lot, shyke this and petch that, and then went to work with his whip, lashing at Thalrick and Armin until their clothes barely existed any more. Thalrick's cloth tunic had been ripped to shreds, the bone colour turned a black-crimson from all the blood that seeped through. Armin had forsaken his own shirt. It hung in shreds over his lean, lacerated shoulders, and so he disposed of it. Jon questioned them for hours that morn, on how it all happened, who had done it, and where the other slaves had gone. To save their own skins, Armin had made up a hasty lie. ''The innkeep came in, and told us to run. Khavin heard him and so he attacked him, but the innkeep set a dog on him. It was a huge hound – master – enormous for a dog. It ripped him to shreds. The rest all fled, but we knew you are too smart; we knew you'd find us if we ran. The slaves all ran north, and the innkeep well. . . I don't know, master, he just ran into the night like the rest of them.'' The state of the body made the lie believable, and it also put them in good standing with the fat oaf. He whipped them all the same, but he didn't kill them, so Armin's lie had worked. Thank the gods for his quick tongue. . . Thalrick had thought as he was taking the whipping, clenching his teeth so he did not bite off his tongue or scream. Thankfully, Jon was too bent on reaching Sunberth to care about where old Tom had gotten off too. After he was done lashing and cursing, Jon buried his former companion in a shallow grave beside the stable. It was not very deep, and he was barely beneath the surface; partly because Jon had been too lazy to dig, and partly because he was in a rush. He told the slaves he would do it himself, as to not dishonour old Khavin's memory. He didn't want their filthy hands burying one of his friends. ''Ya bury the dead yaself, if you have any respect for them. Not let filthy petches like you handle the diggin' and the buryin', that'd disrespect his memory, it would.'' He had told them as he began digging. As soon as Khavin was covered in the wet dirt they began the journey again, the following day the opposite of its predecessor. Where the day before had been dark and cold and wet, the following was sunny and bright. Harmless, white, fluffy clouds lined small sections of the sky, a much more comforting sight than the black shroud that threatened to swallow the world the day before. The fields still remained quagmires, the roads still long trails of mud, but as the day progressed, so did they become less sticky and wet. By the time the sun was at its peak, the road was dry enough to walk on without sinking, and the water in the fields had begun to evaporate. The cold had gone away, replaced by a humid temperature that made Thalrick reek of sweat. Jon went red, even atop his courser, and began to sweat as if he had been carrying the horse, and not the opposite way around. He spent more time drinking from his waterskin than he did barking commands and threatening his slaves. As the afternoon began to fall, and they had walked without rest for hours on end, through hills and trees and fields, Jon raised an arm to tell them to stop. They were inside a light forest at that point, surrounded at all sides by tall soldier pines. The ground was covered in the fallen needles of the pines, which made enough of a sheet across the forest floor to stop the rains from creating an abundance of thick mud. It was the first place they had walked that had not been turned into a pigsty, courtesy of the day before. The light breeze whistled through the forest, and it had made Thalrick felt cooler, slightly freeing him of sweat. Jon had stopped them inside a large opening, where the trees gave way to a small, needle-covered field. The trees were close enough that they granted some shade at the perimeter, but for the most part, the field was open to the sun. ''Stop 'ere, I need to piss, and I need to fill up me belly. Got some bread and cheese from that inn before we left, that'll go down bloody nicely.'' The slaver licked his lips as he climbed down from his horse, walked over to a tree, undid his laces, and began pissing down the trunk, whistling all the while. When he was done he turned around and approached the courser, reaching into the sack that hung from the saddle. When he noticed the two boys staring at him, Jon cracked a wicked laugh. ''What're you sorry petches lookin' at? You ain't getting none o' this, I'm starved,'' he took a bite of the cheese, ''and it's too damn tasty to share. We're two days from Sunberth now, I'd wager. You two can wait til' then I'm sure, you're doin' nothing but walkin' anyhow. . .'' But Armins knife will be shareable, fat oaf. He'll share it with your heart, and then your throat, and then I might share it with your eyes and your cock . . .

[Thalrick]

After Jon had finished eating, and making a point of it, they continued on. Watching his fat neck be stuffed with cheese made Thalrick wish he could open it more. He was not hungry at the time, courtesy of his midnight meal, but knew by the time they arrived in Sunberth he would be starved. He had heard Armin's stomach growl on several occasions, but the tall blonde boy tried to act as if he did not even notice it. He was stubborn, and braver than even Thalrick. He spoke back to his masters without any fear of the whip; even if Jon had given him several lashings for speaking out already. Still, every time he was commanded, he had something to say. When Jon had told them they wouldn't be eating until Sunberth, he had told him they would not make it that far without any substance. Jon had whipped him. Then, when they had left the light forest of soldier pines and Jon had told them how good the cheese had tasted, Armin asked for a bite of his own. Jon had whipped him, twice. When night began to fall and Armin suggested they should find shelter as opposed to sleeping in an open field, Jon had whipped him twice more. Keep your mouth closed or he'll cut off your tongue. . . Thalrick thought after he suggested shelter, though Armin was too stubborn to show pain as the whip came down upon his bare chest. They slept that night without any food, using bedrolls as beds and the wet, mildew covered grass as pillows. It was far from comfortable, for the mud had dried here and there, but never all over. Sometimes when he rolled over he began to sunk, other times he felt a jagged piece of mud snap as his hip rolled over it. He woke up several times through the night, to the sound of owls hooting from the trees, or wolves howling in the distance. They howl because they know. They know we're close to freedom, and they howl for me, and for Armin. They're encouraging us . . . He lifted his head and looked over at the sleeping slaver, his ugly mouth left open, drool rolling from one corner. Armin's knife was tucked away in his pants, out of sight from Jon, but Thalrick could see it. He could see the iron hilt poking out from his breeches. Grab it, take it, and stick the fat bastard with it . . . A voice in his head urged him on, but he could not do it. Not tonight. The wolves howled again, and he fell back to sleep. The next morn, Armin's knife was nearly discovered when Jon had woke them up, for the hilt had been exposed through the waist line of his breeches. He managed to push it down into his under garments right before Jon kicked him in the back of the head to wake him. Thalrick sat up before Jon got to him, but he still received a kick to the chest, only because he had tried to avoid one. ''Two days, less even. Then I'll be rid of ya, sell you off to a friend o' mine, if he's still about in the old city o' tents. Crueller than me, that one. Cruel and unforgiving, he'll teach ya both some bloody discipline, proper discipline. . . Sell my horse too, and I'll have enough coin for a boat all the way to Zeltiva.'' He smiled a toothy grin, his rotten yellow teeth harsh on the eyes. ''Now get up, ya shykes. We got places to be and people to see, har!'' The slaver climbed back onto the courser and urged them on, and so on they walked. Through more fields and more hills, and down into a span of brooks and creeks that stretched out across the wildlands like a hundred fingers made of liquid and pebble and stone. They were allowed to drink from several, but Jon allowed no more than a mouthful before they had to keep moving. A mouthful was all they needed to soldier on. Whether they killed him or not; soon they would be rid of Jon, soon he would be gone. Though the prospect of a crueller master irked them both, Thalrick and Armin needed to only exchange a glance to show that. By the late afternoon, they had finished the great expanse of brooks, now forced to trek through another forest of soldier pines. This one, however, had more than just frayed needles upon its ground. . . ''What's this?'' Jon asked abruptly, looking down at a dull metal object that was half-embedded in the dried mud. He ordered Armin to fetch it for him, and so he did. The blonde boy had a hard time yanking the object from the mud, but eventually he did. ''A. . . helmet,'' he said observantly, turning the dull sallet around in his hands. Jon yelled at him to pass it along, and so he did. The slaver looked at the sallet for a moment, his beady eyes squinting in confusion. The top of the helm had been dented, a dent so drastic that it would have caved in the head of the man that was wearing it. He turned it over and looked inside, expecting to find pieces of flesh and brain and sinew, but there was none, only a dried splat of blood. Jon threw it back at Armin like it was a curse. ''Rhysol's arse, what happened here?'' he asked, as if the two slave boys would know. They continued on, but it was not long before more armaments began appearing, all scattered through the forest. Swords and spears and helms and banners, and occasionally a severed hand or leg. Thalrick had trod on one, mistaking it for a root, and nearly heaved at the sight of it. It was a leg, severed above the knee, all rotted and black. Beside it he found a banner, torn and frayed so much he could not make out the sigil upon it, only the yellow colour it once had been. A battle had been fought in those woods, but who between? They did not know. And unless they found a survivor, Thalrick doubted they ever would. Judging by the condition of the severed limbs, he assumed there would be none left alive; the battle had been fought weeks, mayhap months before. Still, the mystery lingered on in Thalrick's mind as they continued through the war torn woods, dodging and weaving their way around the corpses of horses and men, some so rotted that they were half-flesh, half-skeleton. The sun had begun to set, emitting a warm orange glow over the wildlands. It usually soothed him, gave him a sense of hope; for when the sun set, a new day would follow. But yet, Thalrick could not shake off the awry feeling of the woods. It was as though the dead watched him as he went by, their lifeless eyes staring out at him in desperation. Their mouths were shut, but he could hear them pleading for help, for rest.

[Thalrick]

The next half hour was spent in utter silence. The sun had completely set, so a darkness now loomed over the forest; making everything eerier than it had been. It was a queer feeling, Thalrick was surrounded by death and yet the night did not allow him to see any more of it, even with a full moon in the sky. Occasionally a corpse covered in mail, or a damaged helmet or weapon would catch the light of the moon, but that was it. The rest was him relying on his senses; using his ears to follow the footsteps of Jon's courser. The fat slaver did not want to make camp, not yet. For once Thalrick agreed, the place was all too queer for his liking. ''We should strike tonight,'' Armin had suggested when he believed himself out of earshot to Jon. It was a brave notion, but a smart one. Jon had been vulnerable, shaken up at the sight and smell of all the corpses. It was a perfect plan. Finally, I'll be free, Thalrick thought, nodding to Armin. ''We should. Fast, we have to do it fast.'' He reminded him. Jon was fat and hopeless, but he was much stronger than either of them. If he caught them before the knife caught him, they were dead. If they were too do it, it would have to be swift, so he felt nothing but the knife enter him. ''Aye, quick and painless.'' Armin agreed, though the thought of a painless death made Thalrick frown. He wanted the fat oaf to suffer just as he made them suffer. But either way, killing Jon was killing Jon; no matter the method. Thalrick would have been content as long as he stopped breathing. He had pictured it in his head countless times, conjuring up ways to kill the slaver. There was suffocation, a slit throat, beaten bloody with a stone, stabbed all over, and countless others. A painless, quick death had not been his primary choice, but it meant death all the same. ''I'll do it, I'll stick him with the knife,'' Thalrick suggested, breathing heavily. His palms started to shake, and his legs felt like they would cave out from under him. He was nervous, but he was ready. He would be the one to kill Jon, for all the pain he'd put him through. Armin shook his head, though Thalrick did not see through the dark of the night. ''No, Thalrick. I fear you will lose yourself, in rage. Allow me to deliver the killing blow, I have less hatred for the man, and so I will not be as clouded in my judgements.'' For a boy of fourteen or so, Armin spoke with a tone well beyond his years. In the dark, he sounded like a man who'd seen thirty odd years, not an oversized young boy. Thalrick wanted to disagree, he wanted to argue against it, but he did not. He knew the blonde boy was right. He'd be too clouded by his anger to make a clean kill, and anything but a clean kill would get them both killed. The sound of the coursers hooves crunching needles suddenly stop, and then Jon called out, ''Shut it, you two. I didn't give either of ya my blessin' to talk. Besides, these woods will eat us alive if we're caught in 'em, I'm bloody sure of it. Best we get out o' here as soon as our legs let us.'' The courser started its walk again, this time faster. Thalrick and Armin did their best to keep pace, following the silhouette of Jon's fat body in the moonlight. ''What do you think happened, back there?'' Thalrick asked in a hush voice, quieter than even a whisper. Armin shrugged, and rolled his tongue around in his mouth as he thought. ''Brigands, I think. Brigands and, well, some sort of knight. Thats what it looked like to me – surcoats, banners, mail, swords, helms. They must have been knights but . . . did you see anything else? There were only corpses of knights and their horses, none other. No boiled leathers or roughspun, no crude-made wooden shields. It was all too peculiar, I think. I don't think it was a fight at all, more of a slaughter.'' After he spoke, Thalrick thought for a moment. A long moment, that went for for than just a single moment, but a matter of minutes. Brigands, bandits, thieves. . . How did they kill those knights? Those men were mounted, armoured well, and armed. . . Could it have been an ambush? Maybe they struck from the forest, it's wooded and hilly enough for the brigand to find cover but. . . His thoughts trailed off as Armin shot a hand across, and covered his mouth. He urged him to be quiet, for a flickering orange glow soon appeared in the not-so-far-distance. There was only one at first, and then another, and then three more. They waited for more to appear, but none did. There are five of them, five men. Probably the brigands, perhaps knights. Either way, Jon will not react well. Without any more thought, Thalrick pushed Armin gently toward a hill, where the torrential rainfall had chewed away at the side to create a small cave. It looked old, as roots and weeds hung over it, but it would hide them well enough. They both crawled on hands and knees beneath the roots, shaking as the torches got closer. They heard Jon's courser rear up in fright, and Jon utter some profanities. As the torches drew near, Thalrick could make out the voices of the men that carried them. ''Old bloody wench she was, stuck my pork up her til' she squealed like one! Har! She'd get it again if I didn't have to slit her throat afterward, lest I wanted her husband findin' out. Lord Waldern wouldn't of taken kindly to that, I assure you. He's an old man, full o' pride, with pockets twice as full of mizas. Could've hired a platoon of sell swords to take me down if he found out, and he would've. So I petched her in her arse, slit her from ear to ear, and tossed her in the bloody river!'' The voice said, hoarse and throaty. The other four voices all laughed at his story. Thalrick did not know where Jon had went, but only hoped he had found some place to hide. He wanted to watch him die at the hands of Armin, not some strangers that would've only slit their throats next. ''What's this then?'' The same voice said, and Thalrick could hear him kneel down, his knee crunching against the pines. For a moment he thought they'd found Jon lying on the ground, but it appeared his ruck sack had fallen from his courser, as they soon began explaining what was inside and arguing over what they would take. There goes our food. . . Not that we would've gotten any. . . Where is that fat bastard? Thalrick thought, edging further into the dirt-formed cave. The vines that overhung it were long and thick enough to hide their faces and torsos, but not their legs. He hoped the men did not get close enough to notice. ''Why'd Garrion send us back here anyway, we bloody well killed those knights, true n' proper. They're as dead as skeletons rotting in their graves.'' One man said. ''Sometimes, I hear, skeletons come out of their graves – and strangle those who get too close to where they got buried. So maybe the knights aren't dead, if it is what you say.'' Another joked. The first man snorted loudly. ''Oh Rhysol curse you both. There'll be no bloody risen dead around this wood, I swear it. Garrion sent us to scavenge the armour and the swords and all the pretty sacks of mizas they left behind. About time too, I stuck arrows in half a dozen men that day, and got loot off not a single one. Bloody Garrion made us leave before we had the chance, told us there'd be more coming, and that we'd lost the element of surprise. We had to pack up and go, real fast. You lot would've known if you were there, instead you were all too bloody 'fraid of the mighty men in steel. Don't know why he sent me with you lot either, none of you deserve this shyke we're about to collect.'' The hoarse voice said, voice laced with annoyance. ''It ain't all for you, Badger. We're taking this back for the good o' the company, not for your greedy pockets.'' Another groaned. The hoarse-voiced man named Badger chuckled. ''I'll take what I'm due, and the rest can be for Garrion, and the 'good of the company', har! What a load of shyke. He'll keep the goods for himself, hand you all the blunt swords and broken shields. Nothin' we don't have already.'' Badger exclaimed. They were getting closer and closer, but it seemed they were going to pass above the hill, over the top of the cave. Thalrick breathed a sigh of relief. Who are these men? He thought, back pressed against the shallow dirt wall of the miniature cave. He tried his best to listen in, hoping to obtain some information on who the men were. ''Garrion promised me a shiny steel blade, if I came.'' One of the men said bluntly. Badger laughed. By the sounds of it, he was head of the group. ''Our master promised me part of his kingdom, when he claims it. Slim chance of that ever happenin', if we have to go back and scavenge from a battle we fought half a season ago. Your shiny blade can petchin' wait.'' At that point, they were walking over top of the hill, their torches emanating a glow over Thalrick and Armin. They felt their footsteps above them, and looked at each other long enough to know what had to be done. ''Follow them, we have to follow them.'' Thalrick whispered quieter than a mouse, and Armin nodded in agreement. They had to find out where these men were going, who they were, and what they were about. Clearly they were no good types, as already they'd confessed to killing noble knights, probably of Sylira. ''Badger. . .'' One man began, and Badger snapped at him, ''What is it, Renly?'' ''Do you see that? Up, on the hill.'' Renly asked, and Thalrick could make out his finger as it pointed up the slope. There was a silhouette atop the hill, cast out against the sky as clear as anything. He assumed it was Jon, the fat fool. You can't die, not yet, not to anyone but our hand . . . ''Renly, you're a bloody owl. Loose an arrow at it, see if it dies.'' Badger said drily. The tall, slender man known as Renly drew an oak re-curve bow from his back, notched an arrow, and let it fly. The arrow whizzed through the air, until it landed in something, or, someone. ''Arrgh! Bastard! How'd you--'' Jon yelled, toppling from his courser. You bloody fool, you bloody damn fool. You can't die yet, not like this. He heard Jon roll a few feet down the hill, and then he heard the men laugh and cheer and walk up to meet him. Thalrick and Armin ducked out of the small cave then, peering over top where it had all been unfolding. The glow of the full moon was strong in that direction, allowing them to see well enough. They saw Jon lying on the ground, squirming, trying to pull the arrow free from his thigh. The five men all surrounded him in a circle, torches held up to their faces. The voices echoed through the forest, as did Jon's screams in agony. ''Who're you?'' Renly asked, almost as if he did not care. Jon just groaned again, and spat at his foot. Thalrick heard it well enough, all bile and throaty. ''Jon, you bastard, that's me name. You put a bloody arrow in me leg, you shyke. I should have ya brains to break me fast in the morn,'' Jon threatened. The five men all laughed simultaneously. ''That is if you make it to see the sun rise,'' Badger warned, almost happily. No no no, what do we do? Don't bloody kill him, don't bloody kill him. He's ours, not yours, let us do it, no no no. Armin say something, anything, what do we do? It was all happening too fast, half of Thalrick wanted to jump out and pronounce Jon for what he was, but the other half knew that was just as likely to get him killed, too. No no no, damn you, you clumsy fat bastard. . .

[Thalrick]

''What do we do with him, then?'' Badger asked the others, looking down upon the injured fat man. Jon tried persistently to pull the arrow free from his leg, but it seemed well and truly stuck. Eventually Renly kicked him in anger, telling him that he was too skilled with a bow to shoot anything other than deep. He promised Jon he would not get it out on his own, and so the fat slaver stopped trying. He still squirmed, but the arrow was lodged too deeply, and it hurt him too much to move. There was no escaping, not on foot. And his courser was nowhere to be seen, it had fled when he fell from it. ''Should we flay him for snoopin' about? Maybe take him to Garrion, put him to work? Heh, it's hard being in charge.'' Badger laughed, kicking at the fat man again. Petchin' bastard, getting yourself seen. . . What can we do now? I need that key, damn it, damn it, damn it. Thalrick looked at Armin for the answer; but the tall boy had none. He watched on, for that was all they could do. Badger had begun to kick Jon's injured leg, not hard, but hard enough so he groaned in pain, rolling about like he had been set on fire. It was the first time Thalrick had ever seen him helpless and unable to defend himself. Jon was weak, and finally Thalrick could see it. He was drained of his sniggering tone, his condescending laughter, even his voice had been lost, replaced by mumbled curses and groans of pain. Not so strong against men your own size, are you? But if they were boys, I bet you'd have them. . . wouldn't you, you fat petch. . . ''What do we have 'ere?'' Thalrick had not even heard the man sneak up behind him, but felt the flat side of his sword all the same. By the time he woke, the sun had just rose, and he found himself bound back to back with Armin by thick rope in the same clearing he'd left in his unconscious state. The day brought more clouds than the one before, but it was still hot enough that he already felt himself sweating. A tall man stood before him, and he did not even have to speak to be known. Badger. He was six feet or so high, with a narrowed square face and deep brown eyes, his short hair flecks of yellow and brown. The man looked down at Thalrick's chained wrists curiously, stroking the patchy brown stubble across his cheeks. Badger had been dressed in all leathers, with a single hand covered in the iron gauntlet of a knight. He wore a tabard over his leathers that bore a sigil, one Thalrick had never seen. A grey horse galloping across a brown and black field. His men all wore similar, clad in boiled leathers and cloth and mail, though lacked tabards themselves. One did hold a banner of the same design, and it flapped about in the morning breeze. With his gauntleted hand on the hilt of his sheathed longsword, Badger said to the two bound boys, ''Shame we had to tie you up like this, lads. But it's hard to know who to trust these days, with these lands being so dangerous and all,'' he looked at Thalrick's chains again, still confused, ''judging by those clasps though, we're in no real peril. We caught ya snoopin', and thought you could've been with him, waiting in the shrubs to spring an ambush,'' Badger raised his gauntleted hand and pointed over by a tree. Jon had been perched up against it, bound at hands and feet, with an old cloth rag shoved into his mouth. The arrow had been removed, replaced by some cloth bandage. A patch of crimson had stained the cloth where the wound was. The fat slaver seemed asleep, or unconscious. ''What are you two, then? Wanderers? Have you escaped a master? What?'' He demanded more than asked, but Thalrick was happy to oblige. The sword to the face had made his head throb, like something was trying to escape it through his temples. It hurt more every time he opened his mouth, but he managed well enough. ''He-- he is our master, least he thinks. . . I'm no man's property, no man. My own. .'' His head began to throb so hard that he was seeing double, and could not find any more strength to speak. Badger nodded his head in understanding. ''Aye, slaves then. No man should be a slave, especially boys like you. You're a slave too, then?'' He asked curiously, this time to Armin. The blonde boy had been facing the opposite direction to Badger, but he understood well enough. Judging by the way he spoke, the flat side of the sword had hit him just as hard. He looked fine though, aside from the bulging bruise above his left eye. ''I am,'' was all he could manage. Badger nodded again, stroking his chin. ''Renly, fetch them a waterskin, they look thirsty.'' He barked, and the man holding the banner quickly rushed over with a waterskin in hand. So that is Renly. . . He was no more than twenty summers old, tall as Badger, with a round face, wavy black hair and a beard that would've been equivalent to the fuzz of a peach. His skin was darker than the rest, as if he spent all of his time outdoors. A bow was slung around his back, with a ragged leather quiver at his hip. He held the banner proudly in his left hand, and passed his leader the waterskin with his right. Badger poured some water down both their mouths, and Thalrick could have kissed him for it. ''Who are you men?'' He managed to ask when his throat felt less barren. It was the first time he had felt able to ask a question without being whipped for it. Badger smiled, revealing chipped yellow teeth. ''Depends who you ask, lad. Some call us a nasty lot of bandits, others call us the heroes of the people. We, well we call ourselves The Sovereign Company. It's all in good jest, really. None of us have supreme power of any kind, but we're free men, every last one of us. That's what supreme power is, lad, freedom. Where every man is equal, with an equal say. Well, I suppose Garrion aside, who commands us all to go about and be free. Still, we don't condone to this slavery shyke. No man should own another man, your heart beats and your brain thinks for you, not for the needs and desires of the greedy petches,'' he shot a look over at Jon, an angry stare that made Badger look fearsome. Thalrick felt obliged to continue on, so he asked, ''Then, then why'd you kill those knights? They were good men, mother told me tales of the Syliran knights when I was just a boy. They're all about the innocent, and protecting people . . .'' Badger laughed and ran a hand over Thalrick's shaggy black hair, ruffling it up so it looked like a mop. ''Aye, she did, and it seems you're still a boy. Sylira seems to have a different opinion on us, lad. A not-so-good one at that. It was us or them, so we set up an ambush and chose us. Now we're sent back here so we can salvage what we can. After all, the dead have no use for armour and swords and mizas.'' He ruffled his hair up a second time, then asked one of the men to pass him a knife. A fat man approached, all belly and no brawn, with leathers that looked like they barely fit him. He had been keeping eye on Jon, so passed Badger a steel dirk and returned to his watch. Badger sawed through the ropes that bound them, then took a step back so they could stand. When he did, it felt as though he hadn't done so in forever. His legs nearly gave way from under him, and he quickly blossomed a cramp in his left thigh. Still, he did not show signs of pain, only gratitude. ''No need to thank me, lads. Shouldn't of had you roped up in the first place. We won't harm you regardless. Can never be too cautious out here though, not never. I thought a boy kind once, he was only ten. When we let him go, he tried to stick me with a dagger he'd stashed down his pants. I had to cut him down. But we buried him, and gave him a grave marker, for that was all we could do. These lands grow more volatile by the day, more full of danger. Those who deem us brigands have never come across The Flayed Brothers, I wager. They're as brutal as their name suggests, and twice as bloody big as our small company. We've encountered them once, but we outnumbered them, so they turned heel and ran. We were lucky, they're twice our size now, maybe more. Mayhap one day we'll meet them again, and it'll be us doing the running. Can never be too cautious, I swear it.'' There was a tone in Badger's voice that made Thalrick feel at ease. He seemed a man of his word, and so he trusted they would not be harmed. The fate of Jon though, that remained uncertain. He gave them both another drink from the waterskin, and Armin had been so thirsty he had nearly drank it all. Thalrick reached out to grab it before he did, and managed to suck down the last of it, as Badger had allowed. ''What'll happen to him, then?'' Thalrick asked, waving the waterskin briefly at Jon as he passed it back to Badger. The tall man shrugged. He was lean, with a chiselled jaw and a neck covered in scars. He seemed battle-hardened, that was certain. The rest of the men looked it, too. One was square faced, with a crooked nose and blonde curly hair that fell in ringlets to his shoulders. The fat man wore a sallet, more than likely salvaged from the fallen, so his features were hard to distinguish. The other man had cropped copper hair, a fiery beard and eyes as green as Cyrphus grass, with chubby cheeks and a broad body. His face and arms were covered in freckles, and he had been the only one wearing a leather vest. ''I say we trial him, let him decide his fate. He's a slaver, after all. And slavers are cruel things.'' Renly suggested. He spoke as if he were high born, in a voice that seemed to demand respect. Badger nodded, but did not look at him. Instead he turned back to Thalrick and Armin, his raised eyebrow invoking that he had a thought on his mind. ''What do you say, lads? This man has wronged you more than us, it should be you who decides.'' He looked at them seriously, for his word was law. And so would be theirs. Thalrick looked to Armin, but before he could speak, the blonde boy did. ''I want to fight him, we can trial him by combat.'' The words rolled off his tongue without a hint of fear, only pride. Thalrick wanted to punch him so hard that his stupid tongue would fall out so he could not say any idiotic things like that again. What are you doing? He's stronger than you, deadlier than you, bigger than you. . . Even Badger seemed surprised, though he did not argue. ''Combat it is, lad. But can you wield a sword, and properly defend with a shield?'' He asked. Armin nodded, and Thalrick couldn't tell if he was lying or not. He'd use the cast-iron pot to beat Khavin's brains in well enough, so he would trust him. ''Father taught me, before I was taken at ten by my old master. Father was a knight, albeit a bad one. He still knew how to kill a man, and stop himself from getting killed all the same. I will fight this fat petch, and he will die.'' Armin spoke so confidently that he did not even seem like the same person. He still sounded older than he was, but this confidence was new. Renly gave him a steel sword and a round wooden shield with The Sovereign Company sigil on it, while the round man woke up Jon by splashing water over his face. The slaver awoke in anger, and so Badger and the rest of the men approached him. ''You're to face this young man, to the death, in a trial by combat,'' Badger began, and Jon cracked a laugh like he had told a joke, ''What? That blonde petch? I'll gut him before he raises his sword!'' he mocked. Armin did not show any signs of fear, his expression carved of stone. Jon noticed that, and spat in his direction. ''What d'ya think ya are, boy? A petchin' knight? Just cause you hold a sword and a shield don't make ya a warrior!'' he tried to stand up after the fat one had cut away his bonds, but the wound in his leg hurt too much. It was only then Jon realised he was in peril, even if Armin was fourteen, brittle, with barely any combat experience. ''This is no fair fight! You stuck me bloody leg, how can I walk? What are you triallin' me for anyway, walking through a forest?'' he complained as he used the tree to stand up. Badger laughed aloud. ''You're on trial for every crime you've ever committed, slaver. And merely being a slaver counts as a hundred thefts, a hundred murders. We should just kill you now, and be done with it. But the boy wants some justice, and he wants to do it the proper way.'' Badger took a step back then, still smiling, ''you'll have no weapon, just your hands. It's only fair, with the difference in both weight and strength.'' Without a warning Jon rushed forward, and attempted to pry the sword from Armin's hand. His leg burned him with every step, but he would forego it all for a chance at freedom. The blonde boy edged away and swung the sword, but it haplessly swung across the air, missing Jon completely. He raised the shield as the fat man swung a fist, and then another, and then another, each blow driving Armin back, closer and closer to the trunk of a tree. When Jon stumbled on a root that protruded from the forest floor, Armin took another swing, nearly slicing away at his ribs. The fat man somehow moved away in time, and Armin fumbled at the weight of the sword dragging him. The slaver punched him in the face, and then successfully pried the blade from his opponent. ''Not so knightly now, aye?'' He mocked, swinging the sword about in the air. Before he had a chance to swing it, an arrow whizzed through the air, and found it's new home in the side of his calf. Jon roared out in pain, and dropped to his only good knee. Blood already began to seep from where the arrow had made its mark. ''You don't get a weapon, Badg' said.'' Renly warned, another arrow already pulled back against the string ready to fire. Jon huffed, but by then Armin was on him, slamming the shield into his face. Jon fell backward, and Armin dived onto him shield first. The wood splintered against his face and chest, and he cried out in such agony that birds showered out of the forest canopy and took flight. ''Kill him, Armin!'' Thalrick cried in joy. He nearly wanted to scream in happiness. Finally the moment had came, the moment he'd waited over half his life for. I'll be free . . . Free at last. . .

[Thalrick]

Armin got up after he had dived, and snatched up the sword before he did so. Jon laid flat on his back, staring up at the trees in a hazy state. The shield bash had near knocked him unconscious. For such a skinny lad, Armin had a strong arm. ''Up, get up. . .'' he demanded, beating his sword against the shield. The slaver slowly got to his feet, still hazy. A black ring had formed around his left eye, a trail of blood dripping profusely from his nose. He stumbled toward Armin, and the slave laughed for the first time Thalrick had seen. Finish it, kill him . . . As soon as Armin swung his sword, Jon seemed to snap back into reality. He lurched forward with his right hand, slamming it against the boys face. The sword fell to the ground, and so did the tall blonde. ''No!'' Thalrick cried, and tried to run to Armin, but Badger held him back like a small child. Jon had snatched up a palm-sized rock from the ground, and beat Armin square in the temple with all his might. After Armin had fell, Jon dropped the stone, pleased with himself. The boy lay half-conscious on the ground, coughing out blood and bile, reaching helplessly for the sword. It was out of reach, but the rock had puffed up his face and he could not see properly. Jon was a fat man, slow and lazy, but there was no denying the strength of his arm. ''Let me help!'' Thalrick shouted, but Badger tightened his grip on his tunic to hold him still. ''This is a trial by combat, before gods and men. Renly already disgraced it, I shall not let you do the same. It's bad omen, some say. Stay out of it boy, your friend isn't through yet, I can see the fighting spirit in him.'' If Badger could see it, then it had to be there. Thalrick trusted him and calmed down, but it did not help the situation unfolding before them. Jon loomed over Armin, fists clenched by his sides. Then, he leaned down and said, ''before I beat ya bloody, I'll have to petch ya bloody, too. It's what I bought you for, after all.'' He unlaced his breeches, and slid his limp cock between his hands. Badger gritted his teeth, Renly scoffed in disgust, and Thalrick nearly had to look away. I can't look away, not now. I can't miss Jon die, it will only happen once. . . Armin will do it, he can do it. As the fat slaver began to tug at Armin's own breeches, a surge suddenly overcame the boy. He lurched over, scooped up the sword and pivoted back, using the tip of the blade to slice the slavers manhood clean in half. ''RAAAAARRGGGHHH!'' Jon screamed so loud that Thalrick nearly covered his ears. The fat man fell backward on his back, nurturing the wound with both hands. Black blood oozed down between his fingertips, all over his chest, and down onto the needles. It squirted at first, but then soon turned into a steady stream. He never stopped screaming, not for a second. Armin used the little energy he had to stand up, using the sword as a cane. His face was bulged like a tomato had been growing off it, and a cut had opened above his brow. A single blow had taken all the fight out of him, or close to it. The blonde boy stumbled over to the screaming man, sliding the sword against the needles that littered the ground. ''Any. . . last. . . words..?'' He asked, breathing as heavy as a horse. Jon did not speak with his mouth, but rather with his leg. He used his foot to rob Armin of his balance, and the boy toppled down like a pile of stones. The sword fell again, but Armin still gripped it tight. As he fell, Jon moved his hands from his severed part, and leapt on top of his slave, wrapping his sausage-like fingers around his neck. He squeezed, and he squeezed with all the strength he had left. The boy's dark face soon turned red, and then a shade of purple. Before Jon could squeeze the life from him, Armin raised both arms above Jon, from either side of his head. He thrust the sword down through his back and out his chest. From a distance it almost seemed as if the two had been hugging one another. Jon coughed blood all over Armin's face, and for a second both Thalrick and Armin both thought he had been killed. ''You little. . . petch. . .'' Jon coughed, and then his body fell hard and fast. The sword that protruded through him went down into Armin's own body, right beside his heart. Armin tried to wrench it free, but the blade was too far lodged into Jon, and Jon was too heavy to lift. The slaver was dead, but the blade had struck Armin too deep. ''Help . . .'' He cried, trying to spit up the blood that had begun to build in his throat. Badger and Thalrick rushed over, and used their weight to roll Jon from him. The blade came unstuck, but blood soon began pouring like a river from the hole in his chest. ''Get the boy some cloth, some wine! Quickly now!'' Badger commanded, but Armin shook his head. ''No. Don't.'' He said, in a tone quieter than a whisper. Thalrick put a hand behind his head and half-raised him to a sitting position, so he would not drown on his own blood. Badger seemed offended at the rejection. ''You will be treated and you will drink to numb the pain, do you understand, lad?'' he said, almost violently. Armin half-smiled, then began to cry. ''I'll go and I'll see my father, you wouldn't rob me of that, would you? I haven't seen him in five years now. . .'' he coughed up blood over his bare chest, ''he used to teach me how to fight. I wish I listened more, now it's came down to it. I was always too busy pretending, dreaming of being a knight and owning a castle and marrying a woman. . . I always just wanted to be free, free of everything bad. .'' he paused for a moment, covered his mouth, and coughed up so much blood that it seeped through his fingers and down his neck, ''you'll be free for us both, won't you, Thalrick. You'll be strong, I can tell. Strong and brave like a knight. . . At least I made a difference, before I was done. . . Khavin, a-a-and Jon,'' he coughed violently, Thalrick could hear his throat drowning in bile and mucus and blood, ''they're dead now, both of them. And I'll die free, while you and Bethany and the others can all live free. It. . It stings. .'' he clutched at the wound, which had struck him right beside his heart, possibly even in it. Badger told him to be silent, but he did not stop. ''This world is truly petched, you know that? I hope you can make a difference - any difference. And you will, before your time is up. . . I'd bet on it.'' he stopped then, and motioned toward the knife that was tucked into the waist of his pants. Badger removed it, and then looked at it like he already knew what had to be done. Thalrick looked away, but it did not stop him from hearing the knife slice into Armin's flesh. It killed him quickly, and that was better than slowly. Badger closed his eyes with callused fingers. ''The lad died as a hero, you must know that.'' The man said as he stood up, wiping the blood of the knife onto an old rag that hung from his waist. It was true, Armin had done more in the several days he'd known him than Thalrick had ever done in his eight years of slavery. He had helped kill Khavin, and single-handedly freed them both from Jon, even if it had taken his own life. I hope your father is good to you, when you see him next. . . He wanted to cry for his new friend, but he did not. He could not look weak, not now. Jon's cock-lacking corpse lay a yard away from Armin's, lying on its side, facing away from them. Badger kicked it over onto its back, observing the blonde boys handiwork. ''He sliced him well, and that stab. . .'' he looked at the wound that went right through his back and out from his chest, leaving a gaping hole in his centre, ''it was done with a lot of strength. Especially to a man as fat as he. The boy was a fighter, he would've made a fine member of our company. It's a shame, dying for freedom. No man should have to fight for it to begin with.'' His words rung through Thalrick's ears like a bell. No man should have to fight for freedom. He was right, all too right. Freedom was something a man should have from his birth day, not something he should fight for when he was grown. He did not know much about this 'Sovereign Company', only that they had won mixed opinions over the small folk of the Wildlands. He did not know whether they were heroes or criminals, even if they had ambushed and slaughtered a small host of mounted knights. Still, Badger and Renly seemed friendly enough, and Thalrick had nowhere else to go, nobody else to see. There was not much else he could do. He would starve out in the woods on his own, without Jon to feed him rations or Armin to help him forage. Damn it Armin, why'd you have to die. . . ''Badger,'' he began, evoking a ''hmm?'' from the man, ''Is there room in your company for another?'' He asked, albeit quietly. Badger laughed heartily. ''Aye lad, there is room for about ten thousand anothers or perhaps more.'' Then it was settled.

[Amora Jade]

Once the issues on your CS have been resolved, the intervention has been removed, and your ledger is up to date, let me know and I'll release your grade for you!