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Dusk spent a long, lonely night without food or water. He thought about Nine, wondering if there was anything he could have done to spare the boy. He knew he’d told him to leave the coins behind, but even he had been unable to leave the small crystal he’d found behind. The crystal that was still tucked safely between the layers of leather in his boot only a few inches away.
The guards hadn’t given him any time to pull on his torn clothing or cover up before they had shackled him back in his corner. They left him next to his small pile of rags, naked in the cold. The year had been growing late already and the chill could be felt in the early evenings. Dusk lay there shivering until the rest of the slaves were ushered into the building for the night. Ox brought his own ragged blanket over to Dusk and covered him up without a word. A quick glance was all he needed to see how thankful Dusk was to have some sort of warmth for the night. Ox’s large form swayed away in the darkness, back to his own spot in the pile.
The night was long and it took Dusk a long time to find sleep. But it was short-lived as he was rudely awakened and yanked out of his shackles, this time given a brief moment to pull on his pants and holey shirt. As he stepped into his shoes the guards grabbed him roughly once more, hauling him to Maxon’s quarters for his final mark. Maxon was still irritated when he arrived.
“If you weren’t being shipped off today I’d whip you raw for letting that boy try to steal from me,” he shouted into Dusk’s down turned face. “But we want to get a good price for you so I’ll have to settle for this.”
Maxon reached into his cloak and produced a sharp, wicked-looking dagger. He pulled Dusk’s forearm close, turning it over to reveal the other nine marks that had been placed upon his skin. With a cruelly slow, but deep stroke, Maxon sliced open his arm, striking it through all the marks that were already there. The wound bled freely and it took everything Dusk had not to cry out in pain. With a dark smile on his face, Maxon poured a small vial of strong alcohol over the wound to clean it. That time Dusk hissed through his teeth, making a small noise as the sting settled deep into his arm.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Maxon jeered, backhanding Dusk across the face. “Shut up you fool!”
Dusk didn’t respond but watched as the foreman slowly ground thick ink into the wound over and over again, making sure it was filled fully. It took longer than it should have due to all the bleeding, but eventually, the blood had congealed and the ink stuck. There would be a long, dark mark there for as long as he lived.
“Good,” Maxon spat. He turned to the guards, “Now take him to the carts and tie him up with the others. They’ll be leaving before dawn.”
Once again the guards hauled him out into the cold morning air. Dusk could see his breath in the dull gray light that comes long before sunrise. His feet slipped on the icy frost that coated the grass. It must have been the first frost of the year, he thought to himself. He wondered how the summer had slipped by so quickly, but then again he hadn’t seen daylight in months, possibly even years. Time didn’t exist at the mines. There was only work and sleep, nothing more.
A large wooden cart piled with barrels of red salt and hooked up to two muscular horses came into view. Off the back were three others already tied about the wrists, their ropes connected to the cart. The guards threw Dusk on the ground and lifted his hands above his head, tying them off tightly to another rope already attached to the cart. One of them gave him a kick before they trotted back towards the camp, laughing to themselves.
Dusk knelt on the ground, the cold frost melting and soaking into the thin fabric of his trousers. He shivered in the cold but stayed there on the grass. None of the others spoke to him. They knew better. Even with no guards visible, it was too much to risk being overheard. Besides, it was every man for himself. There was no camaraderie in this life. Dusk had learned that the hard way with Nine. Caring about someone, even the slightest bit, just meant it was going to hurt more.
“Well, is this all of them?” a raspy, cawing voice like a crow called out. “Can I leave now? This place smells horrendous.”
Dusk turned to look, watching a short, stout man in a black cloak making his way towards the cart in the gray light.
“That’s all of them sir,” one of the guards next to him replied.
“Good. Let's get out of here before I have to burn this cloak to get the stench out.”
Two of the guards took their positions behind the men tied to the wagon, while the other two flanked each side. All four were on foot and lightly armored for walking. Each carried a sheathed sword at his side and the two in the rear had bows strung across their backs. The crow-like man stumbled his way up the side of the cart, finally swinging his thick stubby legs over the side. He threw himself into the seat, lifted the reins, and gave them a snap.
“Get on boys!” he cawed. “Get on!”
Dusk wrapped his cold, aching hands around the rope and used it to pull himself to his feet. He didn’t know how far Malkekna was, but he knew it wouldn’t be an easy journey with worn-out shoes and tattered clothing in the cold. The others kept their heads turned towards the ground as the cart pulled away, dragging each of them along behind. He found himself slipping on the frosted grass as they began to march, using the rope to keep himself upright.
For the next mile, Dusk kept his eyes cast towards the ground with the others, doing his best to maintain his footing. He was exhausted from freezing all night long and hunger burned his stomach. It had been over a day since he’d last eaten and he was already dangerously thin to begin with. But something caught his attention as they continued to march. There was a bright light casting across his face, lighting up his skin.
It was the first time he’d seen a sunrise since he was captured ten long years ago. He kept his head tilted up and maneuvered around one of the others to get a better look. The guards eyed him suspiciously, but they knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Dusk didn’t notice their stares as he was mesmerized by the glowing fire of the sun coming over the horizon. The sky was drenched in red and gold, like a barrel of bright paint had been overturned in the sky. The forest on either side of the road was ablaze with color. Dusk hadn’t noticed it in the cold morning light, but the leaves on the trees were changing color. Instead of the green he remembered the last time he’d seen them long ago, he saw reds, oranges, and yellows, brightly colored against the dark trunks. They flashed brilliantly, the sunrise highlighting the frost that clung to their surfaces. In the deep recesses of his mind he felt a flicker of recognition, but the beauty was overwhelming.
Dusk was surprised to feel tears running down his cheeks. They were hot, stinging, and completely unexpected. For years he’d stood in the dark, swinging away at the wall, wondering if he’d ever see sunlight again. And now, to see it in such a spectacular way, there was nothing he could do but weep out of pure joy.
Even when one of the soldiers shoved him back in line with the others, the feeling remained. He could feel the warm rays dancing across his skin, feeling like the kiss of life itself. For a moment, he was happy.
A sharp thud and a harsh cry tore him abruptly from his daydream. He glanced about and saw the soldiers looking about wildly. One of them called out and pointed up to the driver in the seat of the cart just as he fell sideways and landed with a dull thump on the ground. There was a long, thick, black-shafted arrow, fletched with white feathers sticking out of his chest. The crow-man was dead before he hit the ground, like a bird shot out of the sky.
“To arms! Take co—”
Another arrow thumped into the chest of the lead soldier. It slipped through his leather armor as if it were no more than a thin rag. He slammed against the cart and slid to the ground, clutching the arrow shaft and breathing heavily until he laid down and died. The horses tried to continue forward, but the wheel of the cart was stopped by his body. They strained for a moment to pull it over, but gave up and finally halted.
The three remaining soldiers ducked against the cart, trying to find some cover. The three slaves tied to the back, including Dusk, were still looking about, undistressed by the situation. After so many years of abuse, their response to danger was dull and forgotten. Dusk was the first to snap out of it as he saw another arrow come racing in and sink deep into the wood of the cart, missing him by mere inches.
Throwing himself to the ground he crawled forward, putting himself underneath and behind the wheels. The others stood there, still staring towards the ground. Dusk looked up past the soldiers as he heard cries echo across the open field. At least ten men were racing out of the forest to the north covered in furs and leathers. They were dirty and unkempt, but their swords were sharp and their arrows swift.
“Get ready men! Here they come!” one of the soldiers cried out, brandishing his sword.
The other two drew back their bows and let loose an arrow each towards the group. One of the arrows found its mark and a burly man covered in furs fell to the ground. The rest advanced as the soldiers tried to get more shots in before they were set upon.
Dusk knew they would never take all of the advancing men down. Now that he had seen the sun and felt its warmth once more, he didn’t want to die. Something inside him had rekindled, and he thought it might be his will to live. He glanced about frantically, looking for anything to defend himself. The body of the lead soldier lay next to him, his sword trapped beneath him. His dagger, however, might be close enough. There wasn’t enough slack in the rope to grab it, but pulling the rope taut with his hands outstretched, Dusk contorted his body. Straining against his binds, he was able to barely wrap his teeth around the hilt of the dagger and pull it free from the belt. He dropped it into his hands and cut through the rope, unraveling it from his wrists.
The attackers were mere feet away when the rope fell free and Dusk crawled under the cart to the other side. As he stood up he turned back for just a moment, seeing the other slaves still tied to the cart with their heads turned downward like cattle. He couldn’t leave them to die.
“Run!” he yelled, springing back and slicing the ropes free.
He heard the men from the forest collide with the soldiers and without a backward glance, he took off to the south toward the woods on the other side of the clearing. The trees were no more than a hundred feet away. He could hear the dying cries of the soldiers and their bodies hitting the ground as he raced through the still-slick grass glistening in the sunlight. The dawn-lit field looked as if it was drenched in freshly spilled blood. He’d made it nearly halfway across the clearing before he heard pounding footsteps behind him.
“Get back here!” a husky voice bellowed.
Dusk ignored it and kept running, digging his heels harder into the soil in an attempt to gain speed. He reached the treeline in seconds, still hearing the footfalls behind him. Just as he broke into the forest there was a sudden grasp at his clothes. It threw him off balance just enough for the man to tackle him to the ground. All the air in Dusk’s lungs was forced out and he lay gasping, pinned underneath the larger man.
“Thought you could get away, huh?’ he growled, rolling Dusk over and straddling him. The man used his weight to pin Dusk down, leaving him no way to escape. “You’re not going anywhere. We could use a nice set of slaves for the camp.”
He laughed mercilessly, tipping his head back to release booming guffaws as Dusk struggled. It was then Dusk noticed that he still had the dagger clutched in his right hand. He hesitated only for a moment before he jammed it forward towards the exposed skin on the man’s chest. Surprisingly, it slipped easily into his body and came to a sudden stop as the hilt came to rest on his sternum. The man’s laugh stopped, his eyes went wide, and he reached down to remove it. Dusk let him pull the blade out, warm blood gushing out across the man’s cold, clammy skin. The only sound he let out was a wet gurgle as he clutched his wound and fell to the side, rolling onto his stomach.
Dusk lay there in the golden leaf litter, the sun rising high enough now to wash away the blood-red of dawn. All around him the birds were singing and the cold breeze made the leaves dance in the trees. None of them had noticed the struggle a mere twenty feet below. Dusk let the dagger fall to the ground, both his hand and the blade soaked in blood that was quickly losing its heat. He found himself growing dizzy as the dappled sunlight streamed through the trees and a breeze played across the leaves. He wanted nothing more than to let himself rest. Rest that had been evading him for years.
Voices in the distance brought him back to reality. He could hear them calling out.
“Karthan!” a deep voice bellowed from across the field. “Karthan!”
Dusk glanced at the body lying next to him in the fallen leaves. Knowing he needed to move quickly, he pushed himself up and crawled over the man’s still-warm body. Quickly he began to strip the body of its leathers and furs. It was going to get colder and Dusk knew he wouldn’t survive long without them. Throwing the fur-lined cloak over his shoulders he pulled back. He could hear the voices getting closer.
“Karthan!” the deep voice boomed. “Did you get him, Karthan?”
One glance showed the man’s boots to be far too large for his own feet, so he left them along with the torn blood-stained tunic. Abandoning the bloody knife, he looked to see a small bone-handled dagger hanging from the man’s belt alongside a small leather purse. Dusk loosed the belt, pulled it off, and threw it over his shoulder as he dashed off, deeper into the forest.