The caravan rolled slowly into full view, a long procession of wagons draped in garish, brightly colored fabrics that fluttered and snapped like festival banners in the breeze. Their axles groaned, under the weight of exotic goods, a sound that announced their arrival as much as the visual spectacle.
The air grew thick with the smell of spices leaking their pungent, aromatic scent into the area, alongside crates brimming with shimmering, expensive looking silks, and heavy iron-bound casks that sloshed with liquor.
It all came to a gradual, creaking halt before Areius's central command post, the old, weathered wooden building they had found and fortified when him and the initial scouting team first came here to establish the camp. It was the very place where the warlord now conducted all his most important dealings.
The armored men flanking the wagons moved with the efficient precision of seasoned fighters, their steel breastplates polished to a mirror-like shine that cleverly belied the subtle nicks and scratches earned through hard use on the road. One particular wagon, noticeably heavier and more fortified than all the rest, bore a faded sigil of a single golden scale painted in flaking, aged gilt.
Low growls rippled through as the gathered Krags swarmed around the newcomers, their hulking, muscular forms easily outnumbering the merchants' escort three to one. Yet the human guards didn't flinch. They stood tall, their faces impassive beneath their sallet helms, hands resting lightly on sword pommels with the practiced ease of men who'd stared down far worse odds. Their discipline reminded him oddly of those elite soldiers he saw long ago on the TV, those with the quiet, readiness of veterans who measured threats in heartbeats.
The lead merchant, a florid man in an overly ornate velvet doublet stitched intricately with silver thread, waved a jovially. "Greetings, friends! We bring the finest wares from the prosperous southern cities!"
He was tall and lean, perhaps in his early thirties by the look of him, with a carefully trimmed beard and slickly oiled hair. His fine clothes screamed obvious wealth, a big and almost offensive contrast to Femi's own ragged attire, still crusted with days-old dirt, and dried, flaking blood. The merchant's long fingers glittered with numerous rings, each one a tiny, gleaming proclamation: I have money and i am very important.
With a theatrical, flourish, the merchant gestured, summoning a dozen of his guards to flank him as he strode confidently forward. Areius waited stoically, his expression utterly unreadable until the last moment, when it finally cracked into a smile that didn't quite touch his cold eyes. Goruk, having abandoned his post near Femi, now loomed imposingly at his chieftain's side, along with a dozen other Krags whose collected scars and scowls spoke of countless battles.
When the two leaders finally met, they clasped hands in a firm, testing grip that made the merchant's knuckles instantly turn white. Femi, watching from above, could only imagine the man's delicate fingers grinding painfully together. Behind them, the respective guards and Krags traded silent, measuring glares, the tension thickening the air between them like gathering storm clouds. Yet both Areius and the merchant, completely ignored the silent feud brewing at their backs.
Femi's snout couldn't help but frown, he was genuinely pissed. "If they didn't like or trust each other, they should've just kept them out," he grumbled to himself, the rope wrapped tightly around him as he shifted, was a good, painful reminder of his own harsh treatment.
"But if it's me, this Krags would show their strength. No hesitation then, straight to the pole." He snorted in derision. "Because I didn't come with an entire armored convoy, eh? I no blame any of you, I blame myself."
The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd been dragged into this camp half-dead protecting one of their own, and the Krags had treated him like he hadn't been living and fighting alongside them for weeks. But these wealthy, unknown humans? They got welcoming smiles and firm handshakes.
Femi, could only sigh in resignation at the Krags blatantly double attitude. Truly only the strong, or the well-armed, can survive and earn respect here.
He tried his best to listen in on the conversation below, but even with his big, sensitive ears, from this great height all he could manage was to catch some few, scattered parts.
Too bad the human language was another constant frustration. He'd never understood why he could comprehend the guttural growls of Krags and the chirping dialects of forest goblins, but human speech remained a tangled, confusing mess to his ears. He'd picked up a few fragments during his miserable time in the traveling merchants' cage, but most of this rapid conversation slipped past him like smoke.
"Victor, I'm glad to see you made the journey safely," Areius said, his voice carrying just enough to be heard.
"it's always a pleasure to speak with you, Areius," the man named Victor replied smoothly, his wide, professional smile never wavering for a single second.
Areius smiled back at him and then gestured behind him, to where the vast array of goods the Krags had "acquired" from their recent raids was neatly arranged for display. Which included bolts of stolen, fine silks, piles of cheap clothes and numerous crates overflowing with unneeded provisions, well-used weapons and more valuable plunder.
"It's good of you to come all this way through such dangerous terrain. You won't be disappointed with what we have gathered for you," he told him.
Victor's shrewd eyes gleamed. "Truly, you never do disappoint me, my friend. I always profit handsomely from your unique goods. That's precisely why I brave the treacherous White Wilds to come here, even with all its known terrors." He sighed theatrically, as if recounting some grand, epic tragedy he had endured.
"That may be the very reason, i find dealing in such wonderfully "exotic" goods so uniquely thrilling.... and rewarding," Victor added with a light, chuckle.
"Well, then, I think you will be most pleasantly surprised at the quality and quantity of what we have for you here. You should be able to sell it all for quite the profit," Areius told him, playing the part of the generous host.
Femi's nose wrinkled. He understood the word "goods" all too well, of course. The merchants that had once taken him captive referred to him as that term enough times for him to figure out what it truly meant in their language.
The "goods" in question, laid out so callously below, weren't just inanimate objects. Among the crates and barrels were people, captured merchants and terrified servants who'd refused to be taken in under Krag rule. His stomach turned at the sight.
"Ah, this world is truly brutal. No help for the defeated. Truly a savage jungle where only the strongest live well." He said while sighing heavily at the scene, contemplating life's inherent cruelty.
Victor, meanwhile, was practically salivating at the offerings. "Yes, just look at these magnificent wares! And those strong, young bodies, my most discerning clients will be very pleased indeed." He dabbed his slightly sweaty forehead with an embroidered silk handkerchief.
"Let's get out of this suns, shall we? I've brought a detailed list for our barter. We'll inspect the specific items together after we discuss terms." he suggested smoothly, eager to move to negotiations.
As they turned to leave the bustling courtyard, Victor's wandering gaze snagged on the peculiar sight of Femi. "What a curious surprise," he murmured, tilting his head in fascination. A live Ratling was tied high to a pole and was intently looking down at him with sharp, intelligent eyes.
"I didn't know you had a Ratling in your possession. To my knowledge they're quite exceptionally rare this far in the north. Where' ever did you find him?"
Femi instinctively bared his teeth in a snarl. "Abeg, remove your greedy eyes from my body!"
"Haha, what a wonderfully feisty creature you have there, how much would you ask for him?" Victor was visibly amused and began to mentally think of an adequate price for this strange, talking ratling.
"That one was taken from the last caravan we intercepted, and unfortunately he has already been claimed by one of our own warriors, so you know the rules regarding such matters." Areius said with a tone of utter finality, shutting down the negotiation before it could begin.
Victor sighed in genuine disappointment, but his smile returned instantly. "Yes, yes. I know your rules all too well, a pity really, may be I will be lucky next time you acquire another."He waggled his ringed fingers in a farewell gesture at Femi.
"Goodbye for now, Mr. Ratling."The merchant said while waving a good bye to him.
Femi's fur bristled all along his back.
This guy's head no normal at all, he thought, watching the two of them walk back towards the command cabin.
Areius led him to the wooden door and they entered the interior together, leaving the bright sunlight behind.
Left behind outside, the Krag warriors and the human guards both took up wary positions and settled into a silent, watchful standoff. The Krags leaned lazily on their heavy weapons, their eyes narrowed, while the merchants' disciplined guards formed a tight, defensive perimeter around their precious caravan, their hands never straying far from the pommels of their sheathed blades. The very air hummed with unspoken hostility, thick enough to choke on.
Since everyone else seemed to be momentarily jobless and had nothing better to do, Femi took this strange lull in activity to try and relax and meditate on his hunger and thirst, but his body was utterly exhausted and without even knowing it he started to dose off, his head lolling forward against his chest.
As he was drifting off to sleep, the edge of his vision noticed a lone figure approaching his pole. His heavy eyelids snapped open, and the sleep that had been threatening to claim him vanished instantly.
"Oh wait, is that...?" he murmured, his tired eyes fixed intently on the familiar, figure.
As she drew closer through the crowded camp, he realized it was indeed Varga. She looked... significantly better. Her body seemed to have regained some of its former vitality, and the healthy shade of deep green had returned to her skin. Although her arm was still neatly bandaged, and her legs were wrapped in clean dressings, she looked leagues better than she had when they first arrived in camp two days ago, half-dead and bleeding.
"It's nice to see you're looking okay and back on your feet," he said, trying to sound casual. "I didn't see you visiting me anytime during these two long days, so I was honestly wondering whether you were dead. So What are you doing here now?"
Varga huffed. "I was mostly bedridden, so I wasn't physically able to come sooner. I was hurt worse than I thought." She crossed her arms, wincing slightly at the movement. " But now that I'm finally up and mobile, I came to get you down from there."
Femi blinked. "Get me?" he repeated, confusion etched on his furry face. "I don't understand what you..."
The throwing axe was already in motion.
Before he could finish his sentence, Varga threw the small hand-axe with deadly accuracy; the taut rope split with a sharp snap , and Femi plummeted downwards, a startled yelp tearing from his throat, until Varga stepped forward and caught him neatly mid-fall.
"Ah! That hurt my stomach!" he wheezed.
"Stop acting like a welp," she mocked, dropping him onto his own unsteady feet. "Come with me now, I'll get you food and water," she offered, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"Ah, wait, did you ask for Areius's permission first?" He asked, confused and glancing warily towards the command post.
"The two days are over," she said flatly. "I don't need his permission to handle what is mine." She gripped his arm to steady him. "Just come and get some food," she said firmly.
With that, she all but carried him off.
As they walked further into the camp, Varga told me about her recovery. She had been unconscious for most of the time, but the old, experienced doctor in the camp had skillfully stitched her up and tightly wrapped her worst injuries. She wasn't stable for a good while, but she started feeling slightly better on the evening of the first day, and finally regained most of her strength on the second day.
She also spoke of how she had heard about what was going on with him from others and wasn't pleased about it. But she had wisely waited for the punishment duration to be over before taking any action.
Then, as they reached the relative privacy near their tents, she turned to face him, her eyes locking onto his with a sudden, unnerving intensity.
"It will take a while before their meeting is over. So, we should use this time to eat and then discuss something privately."
"Discuss what?" Femi asked, looking at her curiously.
"I've noticed a few... particular things about you recently and I have some pressing questions." she said, her voice dropping low. "I expect you to answer them truthfully."
Varga's intense eyes locked onto mine,Her emerald pupils dilated slightly, a faint, eerie glow igniting in their mysterious depths.
"Have you ever been to a dungeon?"
Femi's blood ran cold in his veins.
Oh boy. She don catch me , he thought frantically, scrambling for a response.