As Femi and Varga walked away from their private conversation, he thought about what they had discussed and what it might mean for him. His thought buzzed with possibilities, a chaotic hum of fear and excitement that made his heart beat a little faster.
If I can learn how to use this juj.. I mean kuros ability… what does that mean for me? The thought sent a thrill through him, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, his imagination spiraling into vivid, intoxicating visions of newfound power and purpose.
Fool calm down, make I stop dreaming. Femi scolded himself before he got carried away.
But another question, nagged at him, what about the other krags? A mental image of their brutish, suspicious faces flashed in his mind. what would they do to him if they found out about it? Added with his unresolved conflict with that ugly Krag.
He opened his mouth, to ask Varga about it, but before he could speak, she cut in smoothly, her eyes already scanning the camp ahead.
"We'll talk about that later," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Right now, I need to speak with the boss."
Femi frowned, the expression pulling his whiskers. Probably about the merchant negotiations… or his Kuros or something else entirely that he wasn't privy to. His curiosity prickled, but he held his tongue, he doubted she would be willing to talk.
As, they press further, movement ahead caught his eye.
They had reached the main camp, where a group of krags stood clustered together around a smoldering fire, the scent of burnt wood and roasted meat floated in the air. One of them, younger, leaner than the others, though still thick with muscle that shifted under his hide armor, rose and strode toward them with a purposeful gait.
His gaze was steady, his posture ridged with something Femi couldn't quite place. All he knew was he could sense the tension radiating from the krag.
The krag stopped before them, his shadow falling over Femi, and thumped a fist against his chest in a salute that echoed with a soft thud. "I am Tarlak," he said, his voice rough but earnest and filled with...respect, a tone Femi had not expected to be directed at him here. "I owe you thanks."
Femi blinked, completely thrown off balance.
"For what?" His body was instinctively bracing for a shove or a curse; honestly he was expecting another fight.
Tarlak's jaw tightened, his dark eyes flickering with something akin to shame as they briefly met Femi's before darting away. "For standing as a warrior in battle." His gaze dropped to the faint, rope-burn marks still visible on Femi's wrists, the remnants of the fibers that had bound him, the skin there still raw and tender.
"To treat a brave warrior like some common thief… it was dishonorable." He looked up, his expression grim. "I saw you in battle with the Eri, I watched you stand your ground. you fought with courage. That deserves respect."
Femi was speechless, his mind struggling to process the apology. Beside him, Varga smirked, her arms crossed over her chest, clearly amused by his stunned silence.
Tarlak continued, his voice dropping lower, as if he was trying to sharing a secret.
"Such treatment to a warrior such as yourself should not have happened. I apologize for the actions of my fellow brethren. They did not know of what you did, but the survivors of that attack know. A Honorable warrior is what you are, no matter what they say." His voice was truly earnest.
"If you ever need aid, call for me. I will answer." With that, he gave a decisive nod and turned away, his heavy footsteps crunching loudly against the compacted snow as he rejoined his kin, leaving Femi standing there, grappling with the unexpected declaration.
"Well," Femi muttered, shooting Varga a sidelong glance. "That was… something."
She chuckled. "Looks like you've got an admirer."
Before Femi could retort, his attention shifted to the center of the camp, where Arieus and the merchant, Victor were shaking hands. Their satisfied expressions suggested a deal had been struck, they had the camaraderie of men who had just profited greatly.
Good for them, I guess. Femi thought absently, though the sight of the merchant's too-perfect smile made his fur shoot out, "this man".
Then another, more pressing concern surfaced in his mind, pushing aside thoughts of merchants and admirers.
"My victim, I haven't been able to feed him. Damnit." He hadn't seen the scruffy creature since that day they tied him to the pole. Hope he's alright. An image of the creature's having sunken eyes and ragged fur sent a pang of guilt through him. He made a mental note to find him later.
Looking up, Femi noticed that the twin suns had climbed higher in the sky, their golden light now casting, longer shadows across the camp, the faint warmth of their rays doing little to dispel the pervasive chill in the air. Femi blinked, realizing with mild surprise that hours must have passed since dawn, his conversation with Varga and the strange encounter with Tarlak had eaten more time than he'd thought.
"Or I just spent most of my time tied to a pole," Femi sighed at the whole thing, the memory of the rough wood against his back still fresh.
His attention drifted back to the wagons, where Arieus and the merchant, Victor, stood overseeing the final stages of their trade, pointing and gesturing. Arieus threw his head back and laughed at something Victor said, a deep, booming sound that seemed almost wrongcoming from the usually ruthless looking war chief.
Femi frowned, a little surprised; he hadn't seen Arieus this happy or expressive, not even when he had successfully hunted that massive mutant. But with all honesty, he hasn't stayed with these people for long, that laugh may very well just be a false face, a tool used in negotiation.
Then again, the Krags didn't seem like people who liked to pretend. Their behavior form what he observed was too straightforward for that. Their emotions were as raw and unfiltered as their physical strength, displayed for all to see.
The band's members worked efficiently, hefting crates and stolen goods onto Victor's wagons with practiced ease, their muscles bulging beneath thick hides and layered furs. The Krags made it look effortless, their frames barely straining under the weight, their grunts and occasional laughter filling the air.
I think I should find way to pump iron in this place, I need some muscles too. Femi contemplated.
Femi's gaze shifted and then lingered on the line of bound captives, humans, their faces streaked with filth and etched with a hollow acceptance, some weeping silently, others merely staring blankly or cursing under their breath in languages he didn't understand. A knot twisted in his stomach, the sight of their hollow eyes and trembling forms stirring something dark and uncomfortable within him.
This went on for a while as Victor's wagons got piled high with more and more cargo, the wooden frames groaning and creaking under the accumulating weight. Eventually, the last piece of stolen goods he purchased was loaded up and secured with thick ropes. Several crates of weapons and sacks of provisions, and the captured humans were bound and shoved into the iron-barred cages that were then covered over by heavy brown tarps, their muffled sobs and shuffling the only sign of life beneath.
Finally, the last crate was secured. Victor clapped his hands together, his grin wide. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Chief Areius."
"War Chief," Areius corrected, though his smirk took the edge off, his massive arms crossed over his chest. "And yes, the trade was satisfactory. I look forward to our next deal."
Victor chuckled, a sly, knowing glint in his eye, his fingers idly tracing the ornate, jeweled rings on his left hand. "For now, at least." They clasped hands again, and the merchant signaled to his guards with a flick of his wrist.
A heavy, iron-bound chest was brought forward, its lock clicking open with a definitive snap under Victor's ornate key. Gold Imperii glinted inside, the coins catching the light like tiny, fiery suns, and after a quick, silent count, several bulging leather bags were handed over. Arieus weighed them in his palm, satisfaction flashing across his face before he tucked them away.
"Safe travels, Victor," Areius said, though his tone carried more amusement than genuine warmth.
Victor's grin widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course, Areius. Who else would brave this frozen wilderness for you?" He laughed again, a sound too bright for the grim exchange that had just taken place. As he turned to leave, his polished boots crunched over the snow, his path taking him right past Femi and Varga, who stood watching silently.
The merchant paused, offering them a nod and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Femi stiffened. Everything about this man set his instincts alight, he was very sure that this man was mentally unstable, the way even Varga's lips thinned in distaste beside him. Femi simply mirrored her frown, refusing to acknowledge the greeting.
Victor didn't seem bothered or disheartened about the frowns on our faces; his smile didn't even flicker. But with a final, almost theatrical bow, and a flourish of his cloak, he continued walking on, unaware or perhaps unconcerned, that he was marked by Femi as a suspicious, crooked mentally unstable trader, his rich purple velvet cloak billowing behind him like the wings of some great, predatory bird.
He strode back to his waiting caravan, his guards falling into step behind him, their armor clinking softly with each synchronized movement. Femi watched, his eyes narrowed, until the last wagon disappeared down the winding, snow-banked road, the sound of its wheels fading, half-expecting the mentally ill man to glance back with some parting taunt or knowing look. But he never did. The forest simply swallowed his caravan whole.
Now that the merchant was gone, Varga walked over to Arieus, her boots kicking up small puffs of snow with each step. She gave him an irritated look, as she approached, but he looked like he didn't care, utterly absorbed, as he played with the large, glittering pile of gold coins in front of him, running them through his thick fingers.
"I don't trust that merchant," Varga remarked coldly. "Why couldn't we deal with the other tribes? Instead, their wants and goals are at least known to us."
Arieus didn't look up from the gold he was idly stacking, his fingers deft and surprisingly nimble despite their size. "Because he's a human who doesn't mind trading with Krags. Because he pays better than the tribes. And because he's useful, he has connections in places we do not." His fingers paused, a single gold coin balanced perfectly between his thumb and forefinger, the metal gleaming dully.
"You know this."
Varga's jaw tightened, then she sighed. "If you think it's worth the risk." her shoulders slumping in reluctant acceptance.
Arieus finally met her gaze, his eyes lifting from the gold, his expression unreadable. "What did you want to speak about, Varga?" he asked. "And I hope it's not just about your little ratling," he added, a dismissive flick of his wrist indicating Femi.
Femi, standing a few paces back, bristled at that, but he held his tongue, while cursing Arieus in his mind.
Varga glanced at him, her expression unreadable, before turning back to Areius. "No, it's not just about that," she replied.
Arieus sighed and waved a hand dismissively, the gesture sending a few coins tumbling to the ground. "Then we'll talk later about your complaint." Before she could press further, he issued an order to Goruk, who was looming nearby. "Gather the remaining captives and pen them tightly.And secure the gold."
"Yes, boss," Goruk grunted in acknowledgment, his massive form lumbering off to carry out the orders, his footsteps shaking the ground faintly beneath him.
Areius then turned his full attention back to Varga, his eyes locked onto hers, the intensity in his gaze making even the cold air around them feel heavier.
"We have much to discuss, you and I. During your little break, you missed our planned meeting and now, from what I heard from our friend the merchant, there are new possibilities and possible interesting developments, on that plan."
Varga's eyes narrowed slightly at Areius. "Possibilities," she repeated.
Areius's smile was enigmatic, the corners of his mouth curling just enough to reveal more of his tusks. "Indeed," he said, his voice low and mysterious.
Just then, another Krag approached, his movement silent for one so large, one Femi recognized with a jolt. He was there the day he'd been first captured by the krags. The Krag with the spear who had stood at the side of the big bossman. Tall, though not as imposingly broad as Areius, with a wild, dark ponytail that whipped in the breeze and a nose surprisingly small and straight for his broad face. His black, piercing eyes flicked between them, as if assessing something, his grip visibly tightening on the shaft of his weapon.
"What's the plan now, boss?" The lean Krag asked, his voice rough but expectant, eager for direction, his stance ready for orders.
Arieus motioned with his head toward the cabin that served as his command post. "Follow me. Both of you."
Varga hesitated, then glanced back at Femi, her emerald eyes softening just for a moment. Varga gestured for him to wait, then followed Arieus into the interior of the cabin for their private discussion, the door creaking shut behind them.
Femi exhaled in quiet relief, a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, at being free from Arieus' intimidating presence.
He didn't really want to get close to him again after what he considered deeply unfair treatment, the memory of the ropes biting cruelly into his wrists still fresh and painful in his mind. As the three disappeared into the cabin, he turned away, the weight of the long, eventful day finally pressing down on him.
The camp felt quieter now, the usual clamor of Krags subdued, the only sounds was the occasional laughter and shouts and the distant calls of distant unseen birds. Femi wandered back toward the lean-to he shared with Varga, the crunch of snow the only sound accompanying his thoughts. His brain replayed the events that had transpired, the encounters and revelations of the day.
He wasn't sure what to make of Varga's intentions, but he knew he needed some time to process everything.
The cool evening air wrapped around him, carrying the faint tantalizing scent from distant cooking fires, the specific aroma of charred meat and roasting herbs making his stomach growl loudly in protest.
He sank onto a worn-out crate, tucked beside the lean-to, the wood groaning under his weight, and tilted his face toward the darkening, color-streaked sky.
The twin suns had begun their swift descent, painting the horizon in brilliant, fiery hues of amber and violet, the stunning colors bleeding into one another like wet watercolors on paper. For a moment, he let himself just breathe, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, the cold air filling his lungs like a balm.
"I think I deserve a good rest after today," Femi muttered to himself, his eyelids growing heavy as the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with him. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep, the world around him fading into darkness.