Chapter II

Dust spun around our feet as we returned to camp with triumph in our hearts and our step. At least, most of us felt that way. Hym walked with his eyes downcast, his feet shuffling. He kept muttering to himself, what it was I don’t know. I was too focused on the glory of, not only a Reclamation, but a defeat of a Stingclaw. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Maryk that men would buy us drinks by the dozen- I was counting on it. I hadn’t been truly roaring drunk in weeks, and only last night’s Fest could compare with what I had planned for tonight.

We made our way through the tents and men, our prisoner drawing stares from our comrades. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen a slave before. It was the fact that this one looked more like a king than any of the men who sat on the Four Thrones. He walked, hands in chains, with his head held high and jaw set. Normally the Reclaimers would mock the slaves who were caught, but not this time. They averted their eyes as he walked past.

As we rode, I looked back over at Maryk. I would have thought that he would be celebrating, revelling in his chance to be celebrated with “Hym’s Disciples”. Not so. His eyes were downcast, and he appeared to be muttering something. Every few seconds he would glance furtively at Hym before jerking his gaze away. I groaned inwardly. I’d have to do a bit more “persuading” to make Maryk forget what he saw.

Hym wasn’t much better. Though he never did have the pride that the rest of us had after a Reclamation, this time was even worse. He looked sick with his pale face and wide eyes, and he stared off into the distance with a blank expression, stopping only when he stared longingly at our prisoner. I thought I understood his predicament. The only Duster we had ever seen was in chains at his feet, on his way back to the horrors of the Ring.

I looked up at the Ring, that range of mountains that circled the Bandjyt Desert. They looked natural, beautiful even in the noonday sun. They betrayed none of the terrible atrocities that occurred in the slave pens.

I pulled my gaze away from the hulking range. I was paid to recapture these slaves, not feel pity for them. And the longer I kept my thoughts on what happened in the Ring, the harder it was not to.

“Captain Jems!” The voice of our Chief Captain, Cyphus, boomed through the crowd. “I’ve heard tell that your squad killed a Stingclaw during your Reclamation!”

“Yes, sir!” Jems shouted back with a smile. The crowd ahead of us parted as a squat, gilt-armored man walked towards us. Jems dismounted and ran up to the man. Cyphus laughed as they both embraced roughly.

I smiled at their show of affection. The Chief Captain treated his subordinates like his sons, and we all reciprocated. It made the camp feel like a family, something we all desperately needed. Our own wives and children were all back in our respective kingdoms, living off the substantial wages we earned.

“Well, don’t just stand there, man!” Cyphus boomed as they pulled away. “Tell us all what happened!”

“As you wish, Chief.” Jems took a deep breath and launched into a gallant tale of courage and bravado, weaving a tale of four heroes defeating a monstrosity like Vaughnder had never seen. I found myself chuckling at Jems’s embellishments- he should have been a bard, not a mercenary. His audience waited on his every word, their eyes sparkling with a tale. “Hym’s Disciples”, as ludicrous the name was, certainly were the talk of the camp.

“Well,” Cyphus said as Jems concluded his tale. “That certainly is one of the greatest Reclamations I have ever heard tell of.” He laughed, a glorious sound that filled all of our hearts with joy. “I believe I will have to relieve you all of duty tomorrow on account of the horrid hangovers you will all have!”

“An understatement, Chief.” I piped up, and the crowd laughed along with us. “I doubt I shall ever recover!” Cyphus slapped his ample stomach with a chuckle, but his eyes grew confused as he saw Hym’s grim expression. “Reclaimer Hym? What ails you?”

Hym looked up, confused. “Chief?”

Cyphus walked over and looked up at him imploringly. “Come now, Hym. I know you better than that. Something is bothering you.”

Hym shook his head. “It is nothing, Chief. I have just felt a little under the weather today.”

Cyphus laughed again. “Somebody still has a hangover, it seems.” The mood lightened with his joke. “Go back to your tent and get some rest, Hym. I’d like to speak to you about something later.” Hym nodded before turning and riding off to the stables.

Cyphus turned his eyes toward our prisoner, and his expression hardened. “This is the escaped, Captain Jems?”

Jems nodded. “It is, Chief.”

Cyphus looked down his nose at the man. “I can see why the Four Thrones wanted to get him back. He seems to have the strength of ten men.”

The slave looked at Cyphus with the same righteous anger. “Certainly enough to kill you, slaver, with more to spare for all your men.”

Cyphus was silent for a moment. I wasn’t sure what he would do. Our Chief Captain could be unpredictable and violent at the worst of times. A glade one moment, a storm the next, Cyphus’s moods were about as predictable as Sandfires, and almost as dangerous.

But, like he had moments before, Cyphus laughed. “By the Four, Hym, I like this one!” He began to pace around our slave, studying him like a roast in a butcher shop. “He has a fire I haven’t seen in many years. What’s your name, slave?”

The slave snorted. “Slave, apparently. That’s all any of you ever seem to call me.” He kicked at the dust. “A name does not matter if you choose yourself before a single word is spoken.”

“Should we call you scholar, then?” Cyphus chuckled. “I daresay you sound like one. More so than even the Alchemysts of Halivar.”

“I’ve met some of them, imp.” The slave growled. “And I could outthink them all.”

The entire crowd grew silent. Cyphus raised his eyebrow, and I saw his fists clench ever so slightly. I braced myself. What would follow was sure to be explosive. Before any of us could blink, Cyphus had drawn a dagger and leapt toward the slave, the blade against his throat.

“I should slit your throat right now, imp, for your insolence.” He growled.

“So you aren’t even clever enough to think of your own insults?” The slave laughed. “How did you manage to become Chief Captain? I’d have thought the Four would be more cautious than to appoint a reckless fool.” He wrapped his hand around the poniard and moved it slowly across the flesh of his neck. A thin, red line shone on his skin as it made a shallow cut. “Go on, worm. Do it. See how precious you are to the Four once one of their prey is killed at your hands.”

Cyphus’s breath was audible to the entire company as it seethed through his teeth. His face was as red as the slave’s blood, and I thought I saw his shoulders shake. I didn’t doubt it. The slave seemed to know exactly what to say to instantly morph Cyphus from the jolly, fatherly Captain into the violent predator he really was.

An instant before Cyphus would have slit the slave’s throat and embraced the consequences, Jems coughed lightly and raised his hand. “Sir? There’s something that you need to see about this one.” He looked harshly at the slave. “Go on then, show him. You certainly have more pride than this whole company combined.” His lips stretched into a half-smile. “In fact, I think you’ve been waiting for an excuse this entire time.” Jems held up a key. “Don’t do anything stupid, now.” He unlocked the slave’s chains.

The slave was silent for a moment as he rubbed his chafed wrists, and then he actually grinned. Not a simple smile, or an evil smile, or a placid, sarcastic smile. He actually looked like a little boy caught with his hand on his father’s sword.

“You, sir,” he said, “may be the smartest of all these idiots. I can respect that.” He looked down at his hands, closed his eyes, and sucked in a deep breath. Immediately, a tendril of sand rose up out of the dust and into his hands, swirling and spiraling into a long shaft. The gathered crowd gasped, and Cyphus himself looked slightly afraid, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

I looked behind me to see that Hym had returned and was staring at the slave with that same look of hope and longing. His hand twitched, like he wanted to stretch it out and join the slave in his actions. I shook my head slightly and he stopped, heaving a large sigh before turning around and walking away. He couldn’t afford to reveal himself.

I turned back to see that the slave had formed an enormous pike in his right hand and a buckler in his right. He was sweeping it around in large swipes, forcing the crowd to back up to avoid being hurt. He was even enjoying it, it seemed. The smile that had appeared at Jems’s command was still there.

“Do you see now, imp?” The slave bellowed, levelling his pike at Cyphus. “Do you see now that you could never hold me?” The grin fled from his face, and his eyes narrowed. “I could slaughter this entire camp, could destroy you with a single gesture. Why did you ever think that you had power over me?” He pulled his weapon back and snapped it to his side, falling into a soldier’s stance. “My name is Simun, Pontyff of the Jitdons, and you could never hope to hold me.”

“Seize him!” Cyphus shouted, backing away. “Seize this heathen!” The response from our company was immediate.  Slave or no slave, our Chief was in danger. There was a cacophony of steel as a hundred swords were drawn in the same moment. The circle around Simun began to contract as we advanced on him. He grinned as sand flew up toward his body, settling into a roiling form of armor. He bent his knees and lowered his pike, ready for battle.

“Enough!” A voice, that I had never heard raised, bellowed. Every single person stopped in their tracks and looked toward the source of the shout.

Hym walked slowly through the circle, and every man parted to let him through. He held himself with a terrible majesty, his fists clenched in rage. “Enough of this madness! There is no need for this!” He looked pointedly at Simun. “Haven’t you had enough bloodshed in your life, Pontyff? Have you not seen enough violence to satiate even the most bloodthirsty Sanklat? This is pure idiocy, and there will be no more.” He knelt down and grabbed Simun’s chains out of the dust. “You will put these back on and submit to these men, Pontyff, or you will die where you stand.”

The look on Simun’s face was astounding. He stood silently for a moment, glaring at Cyphus, before growling and dropping his pike. It, and his armor with it, melted back into the sand as they fell.

I walked slowly up to Hym and put my hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go,” I said. “You’ve done enough.” Hym nodded slowly, and he put his arm around me. I nearly staggered as he leaned heavily on me, and I began to realize exactly how much today’s events had unsettled him. I led him out of the circle towards our tent.

I looked back once as we left. I saw Simun wrapping the manacles around his wrists and allowing himself to be taken by Cyphus’s men.