The caravan moved on.
For two long weeks the world narrowed to dust, rope and the sound of wheels grinding against the hard road. The narrow tracks twisted through thin forest and open plains, dipped into shallow valleys and rose again toward distant ridges. The bell on the lead beast chimed with every uneven step, a tired rhythm that matched the guarded silence of the guards walking alongside.
Village after village passed them by. None greeted the caravan with the excitement of earlier stops. The ore the merchants carried was cracked and mixed with useless stone. The hides were thin. The bone tools brittle. Each trade brought little, and although Talan's face remained calm, quiet frustration settled behind his eyes.
Daro's ledger filled with flat numbers. Grell muttered constantly, glaring at the slaves like their existence alone annoyed him.
Rae walked at the end of the rope line, just as he had when they left the forest tribe. His wrists were still bound in front of him, rough fibres scraping into old marks. The days blurred into a single rhythm of walking, stopping, standing and being yanked forward when the line moved faster than he could.
Only one thing changed.
The other slaves began speaking to him more.
At first it was nothing but stray words. A curse when someone stumbled. A snapped warning when the rope jerked tight. A hissed instruction when a guard looked ready to swing his lash.
Then, slowly, they began pointing at things and naming them.
"Tree," one said, tapping the trunk behind them.
"Road," another grunted, scuffing the dirt with his heel.
"Water," a woman whispered as she lifted a skin.
"Food," someone murmured, showing a strip of dried meat before hiding it again.
Rae repeated the sounds awkwardly. Wrong tones. Wrong shapes. The others corrected him with rough patience, tired laughter, and the occasional slapped hand when a guard was not looking.
For a brief time, he thought it was kindness.
He hoped it was kindness.
He learned the truth on the ninth day.
As the fire burned low and guards changed shifts, he heard Grell speaking with one of them near the wagons.
"Those slaves at the back," Grell said, jerking his thumb. "The ones teaching the strange one. Give them an extra berry when you hand out food."
The guard frowned.
"Why?"
"So he keeps learning," Grell replied. "We paid good coin for that idiot. If he understands us he might be worth something. If he stays useless, I would rather eat him and be done with it."
The guard chuckled.
"Fine. Extra berries for the teachers."
Rae understood only three words.
Berry. Teach. Strange one.
But he saw enough the next morning to understand.
He saw who received slightly larger portions. Saw how their eyes flicked in his direction whenever Grell passed. Saw the thin shift in their expressions.
It clicked.
They were not teaching him out of kindness.
They were teaching him because they were being paid in food.
He did not hate them for it. Kindness was rare. Survival was everything.
So he kept learning. He repeated the words under his breath. Watched the way they shaped their mouths. Listened for rhythm and tone. Every scrap of understanding was a lifeline he refused to let go of.
By the end of the second week he understood the simplest commands. Walk. Stop. Sit. Quiet. Eat. Danger. He could not speak well, but he could hear intention behind words clearly enough to avoid most trouble.
On the fourteenth day the road rose to a ridge, and beyond it stood a village unlike any they had visited before.
Tall wooden walls rose like a barrier against the world. Guard towers sat on the corners. The guards standing above wore leather armour reinforced with metal plates and carried straight, well maintained spears.
But their expressions held no welcome.
Inside the gate the villagers stepped aside silently, with stiff shoulders and guarded eyes. Tools were held tighter. Children were pulled back into doorways. The air felt heavy.
Rae caught fragments of their muttering.
"Not again."
"Keep the children in."
"They bring trouble."
"Do not let them near the barns."
Even without full understanding, the meaning was clear.
The caravan stopped in front of an old inn. The sign hung crooked, layers of faded paint making the symbol unreadable. Talan stepped forward, robe still neat despite dust. Daro followed, ledger in hand. Grell stayed behind with the guards, eyes scanning alleys, windows and doorframes.
Rae kept his head bowed but listened.
Inside, the inn was dim and smelled of old ale and boiled grain. A few villagers occupied tables, speaking in low tones. The innkeeper stood behind a scarred counter, wiping the wood with a cloth that only spread grease around.
Talan approached.
"We require rooms," he said.
The innkeeper studied them, jaw tense.
"You bring dust. And trouble."
"Dust washes off," Talan replied. "Trouble moves where words fail."
Daro placed a coin on the counter.
"Three rooms," he said. "One for each merchant. The guards remain outside."
The innkeeper's shoulders eased.
"Upstairs," he said. "End of the hall. Three doors on the right. Pay here."
Daro paid without hesitation.
As Talan took the keys, he asked quietly, "We were told to ask for a man named Ralveck."
The innkeeper froze.
"If you seek him," he murmured, "go to the shadow quarter. The far edge of town. Speak softly. Men vanish for less."
Talan nodded once and stepped outside.
Outside the inn, he handed one key to Daro and one to Grell.
"Three rooms," Talan said. "Guards in the yard. Rotate shifts. No one touches the goods."
Grell grunted.
"The slaves?"
"In the barn behind the inn," Talan said. "Tie them. Feed them. Keep two guards there at all times."
The wagons rolled into the back yard, where a leaning barn sat against the fence line. The slaves were herded inside, tied to posts and beams. Bowls of thin porridge and small handfuls of berries were passed along.
Rae ate slowly, letting the warmth settle into his aching limbs.
Outside, guards lit a fire. One guard sat by the barn doors, spear across his knees. Another walked slow circles along the fence, boots crunching the dirt.
Night settled.
The slaves tried to sleep under rope and thin straw. The guards kept quiet watch.
Upstairs, each merchant settled into his own cramped room.
Talan washed his hands in a small basin and headed to Daro room to discuss something important.
Daro opened his door when Talan knocked lightly. They spoke briefly, then went towards Talan's room.
They had taken only a few steps when someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Daro opened the door.
A fat man stood in the dim corridor, sweat shining on his face. His clothes tried to look fine, but the stains around the collar and sleeves betrayed him. His smile stretched too wide.
"Master Talan," the man said. "Forgive the delay. I had an unexpected transaction earlier. Too good to ignore."
"Ralveck," Talan said with annoyance.
The man bowed slightly.
"If I was easy to find, I would not be alive," Ralveck said. "May I come in? Hallways have ears."
Talan gestured him inside.
Ralveck lowered himself into a chair and adjusted his sleeves.
"I hear you travel far," he said. "I hear you buy what others will not. That is why I am here."
Daro kept his ledger close but unopened.
Talan watched him steadily.
"What do you have," he asked.
Ralveck's grin sharpened.
"A girl," he said.
The word settled through the room like cold water.
Outside, guards shifted near the fire. In the barn below, Rae slept lightly, unaware that another thread of fate was being tied above him.
Talan did not blink.
"Tell me more"