run right back out again.
He knelt down and picked up a smooth pebble, throwing it over to the far side of the clearing to knock gently off a tree. The sound was only quiet, but in the silence of the night it was enough. The men ceased their talking immediately, getting to their feet, hands reaching for bows. Move, he willed them. Go investigate. But they weren’t so keen to leave the warmth of their cosy fire. Stone snarled to himself in frustration as the men shrugged and made to sit back down, their murmured conversation resuming, imagined threat quickly forgotten.
Wracking his brains for a way to distract the guards, he thought back to the wolves he’d just passed on the trail. These men, by the looks of them, were seasoned travellers. No doubt conscious of the wolves, wary of the danger they posed. The people in these forests were few and far between – weren’t these the first he’d come across? – therefore it stood to reason that the guards were on duty to protect mainly against the predators that roamed the dark.
Almost subconsciously, Stone cupped his hands around his mouth and emitted a howl. The sound was deep, bestial and uncannily like that of the blue-eyed wolves. With an expert skill that he’d never learned, Stone threw his voice across the clearing, giving the impression that a wolf was howling deep in the forest. This elicited the exact response he’d hoped for, the guards jumping up to a man, hushed but urgent words darting back and forth, before grabbing their weapons once again and moving off into the forest, away from the campfire and, more importantly, the rabbits…
As soon as they had vanished into the dark, he made his way forwards, padding barefoot as quietly as he could for fear of waking any of the other slumbering warriors. He slowed and approached the fire almost reverently, captivated for a moment by the heat and the dancing flames, before coming back to his senses. He reached out tentatively and touched the wooden spit gently – it was hot and he recoiled. He reached out and touched again and it seemed slightly less so this time. He grabbed hold of the wooden pole and pulled it off the fire, the powerful aroma of the three skewed rabbits almost knocking him off his feet with its potency at this range, causing him to close his eyes in pleasure. Shaking his head free of the soporific effect, he began to make off with his prize, passing one of the wagons as he did so. Out of pure curiosity he sneaked a quick peak in the back of the covered cart.
And sto pped dead.
The wagon ended with a wooden-cage-door and inside people lay asleep. They were clad in dirty, smelly clothes, their pale skin covered in muck showing that they hadn’t left their confines for some time. They were predominantly fair-haired and there was a range of ages and both genders. Each of them had their hands bound with thick ropes. It didn’t take him long to work out what fate had befallen these people; they had been captured, torn from their homes to be sold as slaves.
Stone felt sick in his stomach and was torn between a desperate empathy for these people and their plight and the need to make his flight quick before the guards came back. He wasn’t sure that he could break open the cage before either the guards returned from the forest, or some of the slumbering slavers awoke. Even if he could, would the slaves be able to escape without being mercilessly cut down by the enraged captors?
His quandary was cut short by the quiet, lethal rasp of metal against leather…
***
Raga had struggled to sleep that night, his mind replaying the events of the evening, thinking of ways he could have done things better. Such was the curse of his Clan, the men of the Two Scimitars trained from birth in the art of politicking, of thinking. It was this trait that had helped their rise to become one of the more prominent Clans at the court of the Barbarian King. Their influence helped their youth to gain good
He knelt down and picked up a smooth pebble, throwing it over to the far side of the clearing to knock gently off a tree. The sound was only quiet, but in the silence of the night it was enough. The men ceased their talking immediately, getting to their feet, hands reaching for bows. Move, he willed them. Go investigate. But they weren’t so keen to leave the warmth of their cosy fire. Stone snarled to himself in frustration as the men shrugged and made to sit back down, their murmured conversation resuming, imagined threat quickly forgotten.
Wracking his brains for a way to distract the guards, he thought back to the wolves he’d just passed on the trail. These men, by the looks of them, were seasoned travellers. No doubt conscious of the wolves, wary of the danger they posed. The people in these forests were few and far between – weren’t these the first he’d come across? – therefore it stood to reason that the guards were on duty to protect mainly against the predators that roamed the dark.
Almost subconsciously, Stone cupped his hands around his mouth and emitted a howl. The sound was deep, bestial and uncannily like that of the blue-eyed wolves. With an expert skill that he’d never learned, Stone threw his voice across the clearing, giving the impression that a wolf was howling deep in the forest. This elicited the exact response he’d hoped for, the guards jumping up to a man, hushed but urgent words darting back and forth, before grabbing their weapons once again and moving off into the forest, away from the campfire and, more importantly, the rabbits…
As soon as they had vanished into the dark, he made his way forwards, padding barefoot as quietly as he could for fear of waking any of the other slumbering warriors. He slowed and approached the fire almost reverently, captivated for a moment by the heat and the dancing flames, before coming back to his senses. He reached out tentatively and touched the wooden spit gently – it was hot and he recoiled. He reached out and touched again and it seemed slightly less so this time. He grabbed hold of the wooden pole and pulled it off the fire, the powerful aroma of the three skewed rabbits almost knocking him off his feet with its potency at this range, causing him to close his eyes in pleasure. Shaking his head free of the soporific effect, he began to make off with his prize, passing one of the wagons as he did so. Out of pure curiosity he sneaked a quick peak in the back of the covered cart.
And sto pped dead.
The wagon ended with a wooden-cage-door and inside people lay asleep. They were clad in dirty, smelly clothes, their pale skin covered in muck showing that they hadn’t left their confines for some time. They were predominantly fair-haired and there was a range of ages and both genders. Each of them had their hands bound with thick ropes. It didn’t take him long to work out what fate had befallen these people; they had been captured, torn from their homes to be sold as slaves.
Stone felt sick in his stomach and was torn between a desperate empathy for these people and their plight and the need to make his flight quick before the guards came back. He wasn’t sure that he could break open the cage before either the guards returned from the forest, or some of the slumbering slavers awoke. Even if he could, would the slaves be able to escape without being mercilessly cut down by the enraged captors?
His quandary was cut short by the quiet, lethal rasp of metal against leather…
***
Raga had struggled to sleep that night, his mind replaying the events of the evening, thinking of ways he could have done things better. Such was the curse of his Clan, the men of the Two Scimitars trained from birth in the art of politicking, of thinking. It was this trait that had helped their rise to become one of the more prominent Clans at the court of the Barbarian King. Their influence helped their youth to gain good
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