“Not too close, lad,” said Vorza. “You’ll alert them.”

  “What if they already know?” asked Cryppe.

  “Then we still keep going,” said Kasar.

  They had tailed the party for an hour. Evening had descended on them. Their lead took them to a tailor who claimed he’d seen Sigvali rush past the street before them, now packed with bustling buyers and mercenaries.

  Kasar and his friends had remained close enough to overhear their voices, but always used some obstruction to shield proper vision. Cryppe kept an eye around them in case someone had doubled around.

  “Answer me this, lad,” said Vorza. “How much of this passion is fueled by competition?”

  “It is one isn’t it?” asked Kasar, not looking Vorza in the eyes. His ears strained to catch Ostrik’s words. “Come on, they’re moving.”

  They snaked through the alleys and streets until Ostrik’s party halted to ask some potters.

  “It is, yes,” continued Vorza. “But bear in mind, it’s a competition against Ostrik. How much of that fuels your passion?”

  Kasar knew what his mentor was getting at. “How would it matter?”

  “Because if push comes to shove, you need to prioritize our plan of getting out of here. And saving Sigvali.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “You would, I know, but in desperate situations, the mind has to make a decision quickly. You may let your spite towards him take the helm.”

  “The wheel thing on a ship?”

  Vorza sighed. “Yes.”

  “It won’t.”

  “I’ll believe you.”

  ***

  The sun had set and by Ostrik’s movements and discussions, the crew had consolidated all of the potential witnesses and spent the day gathering information. That same information had fallen into Kasar’s hands.

  They sat down with Cryppe and they marked all of what they knew in the sand by the shore. Kasar couldn’t understand the lettering, but seeing as it was sand, they used symbols that he could tie to people and places.

  “Smart plan overall,” said Vorza. “Didn’t think Ostrik had it in him.”

  “But smart enough to narrow down where he’s gone?” asked Cryppe with the stick in his hand as drew a rough outline of the city. “Based on the people he spoke to, and what we know to be false information, Sigvali is most likely toward the northern estates of the city.”

  “Northern estates?” asked Vorza, scratching his beard. A worrisome frown marked his face, “Asheevi’s rival owns businesses there. If he went there, he may want to start something.”

  “A feud?” asked Cryppe.

  “Why doesn’t her rival just invade her?” asked Kasar.

  Vorza chuckled. “The war here is different, lad. It isn’t armies, it’s gold. It’s daggers. And it’s intelligence.”

  “Well they both have armies.”

  “Thugs,” said Cryppe. “It’s different. They will kill for gold, but not die for it. And these crime lords war for different things that titles and land. They fight for business.”

  “We were planning on being thugs then?” asked Kasar, a brow raised. “Before this competition?”

  “Let’s settle for sellswords,” said Vorza, chin rising. “It’s more professional. And more experienced. A thug you hire, because some mother’s lad didn’t want to be a lad any more, but didn’t know much save for shadier things in life.. He costs cheap and he dies cheap.”

  Kasar winced at the idea. “And a sellsword?”

  “That mother’s lad survived and now charges for more.”

  “So we’re sellswords, then,” said Kasar, accustomed to the idea. “And Sigvali is with Asheevi’s rival.”

  “In his territory at least. Smart move if only she is searching for him,” said Vorza.

  “So we go there and find him first.”

  “Then what?” asked Cryppe. “We can’t let him blood forge for Asheevi, but if she gets him, innocents die. If she doesn’t get him from us, we’re trapped here for who knows how long?”

  Vorza’s face darkened. “We could always kill him.”

  Cryppe and Kasar’s heads snapped to Vorza.

  “A good Vrodian would do so if his death meant saving blood secrets and Vrodian lives.”

  “We’re not going to kill him,” said Kasar.

  “He could be dead already. He could have killed himself. I would have”

  Kasar gulped and exchanged a glance with Cryppe. He didn’t know how much of this was patriotism, and how much of it was justification. A desire to perhaps be Sigvali and end it. Vorza hadn’t been the same for a bit, Kasar knew that. Kasar also had to remember that he met his mentor in the twilight years of his career. His retirement had been interrupted by the slavers.

  Now Kasar had dragged him across the deserts and the seas for some merry adventure so he could see the world. What a dilemma they were in now. Kasar’s fault, through and through.

  “We still need him to sneak onto a ship,” said Cryppe. “Dunarik says Sigvali can talk his way onto a Vrodian ship.”

  Vorza seemed to snap out of his grim stupor. “That does make sense.”

  “Then let’s not waste any time,” said Kasar.

  ***

  The northern estates began far past the main city of Ogeth Penue, past a cluster of hills with footpaths that connected the two townships. Those grounds were still part of Ogeth Penue, but most regarded the estates as its own entity. It possessed its own leadership, and featured wide expanses of wealthy manors and garrisons full of sellswords on the owner’s pay.

  The manors gleamed amidst the polished streets, the lights from the intricately carved braziers reflecting off of the pristine marble and stone walls. Arches lined some of the paths with names for each of the estates, and Kasar could see no reason for their existence or size. The northern estates lacked the scrappy and roughened nature of Ogeth Penue’s main city, and instead replaced rusted daggers with gluttonous wealth.

  They passed a fountain upon which a carved statue stood depicting a blade master raising his scimitar. On the smooth marble tiling near the fountain, there lay a golden plaque that read: Here stands a statue of the great warrior Shaenik of the Sands.

  Vorza scoffed. “Shaenik. He’s a blade master from the Akashtran wastes. Ran one of the pits down there. He retired here to use his blood money to forge this property tycoon.”

  Kasar scowled at the plaque.

  “Although, that’s the official reasoning.”

  “Official?” asked Kasar.

  “He still has slaves, doesn’t he?” asked Cryppe.

  Vorza didn’t answer, but Kasar didn’t need him to.

  Kasar wondered how Vorza knew so much.

  Vorza caught the curiosity on his face. “I was a sellsword, lad,” said Vorza. “Here lies the work for such killers as us.”

  “So you knew of the slavers,” said Kasar. “And the slaves.”

  “I knew.”

  “And you did nothing.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I did, I would not be alive today.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I am a sellsword. Not a hero.”

  “Why not both?”

  “Who do you know that would pay a blade to be a hero.”

  “A knight?” asked Kasar. “A warrior?”

  “For someone who doesn’t know how to read, you know far too many fairy tales.”

  “My father told them to me.”

  “Did he tell you that knights can be monsters too? That those brave warriors want the culture you saw in Warveil?”

  “A hero then, sure,” said Kasar.

  “Good luck getting money. You show up and say ‘I am a hero for hire.’” Vorza laughed dryly.

  “I’ll say I’m a sellsword,” said Kasar. “And I’ll do the right thing.”

  “You think we’re all evil?” asked Vorza, voice getting louder. “You think every soul that doesn’t open their bloody mouth, or take action to do the right thing, is evil?”

  “A child isn’t,” said Kasar. “We’re not children. We have swords, we have skill, and we have power.”

  “What fucking power?” bellowed Vorza, eyes deranged. Cryppe had remained silent, but even he now stepped back, flinching.

  Kasar did not flinch. He wanted to. They stood face to face. “We have taken down monsters, champions, and overthrown the fighting pits together. Every copper counted. That was power.”

  “Short lived.”

  “And how long did the fighting pits live for?”

  Vorza didn’t speak.

  “You said our master had inherited that business for ten generations. I toppled it in just over a year!”

  Again silence.

  “And soon, another will rise and lob a copper in. Then another. Another. Soon all the pits will fall. And we’re here where another pit exists. I’m better at fighting than I’ve ever been. We have another sword with us. We have our hearts. We have power. We just have to use it.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Vorza stepped back and sat on the curb. “We should focus on finding Sigvali.”

  Kasar nodded. That much he couldn’t argue against. He trained his ears on the quiet city. Mansions and manors surrounded the premises. A few patrols marched about, but none paid heed to the trio. In the distance, he could hear Ostrik’s banter with Kasulta. So they were here as well.

  He could also hear sobbing. Kasar followed it, and his two friends followed after a bit.

  Vorza could hear it too, of course, but said nothing.

  “What is it?” asked Cryppe.

  “Shh!” snapped Kasar. He strode over a man hole where water and waste washed into. It was dry now, but Kasar remembered it had rained before they’d arrived in the Isles. A dry man hole felt strange. He searched around and saw how the foundations were laid out. This wasn’t even the lowest point of the property. What kind of manhole was this?

  He looked at Cryppe who was coming to the same conclusion as he scanned the area.

  Vorza already knew what Kasar was thinking. “Lad,” he said. “Sigavli.”

  Kasar gulped. If Ostrik got Sigvali first, their plan would fail. Hundreds would die, or Asheevi would get some bloody power. But those sobs.

  “Lad,” said Vorza.

  “Who is down there?” asked Kasar.

  “Slaves.”

  “Did you know?” asked Kasar.

  “I said I did.”

  “Did you hear them then?”

  “I did.”

  “And you hear them now?”

  “I do.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Finish my mission.”

  “You’re no Devil.”

  Kasar lifted the lid and jumped inside.

  ***

  He landed in front of a young woman who lay on the floor. Mud caked her face and blood streaked across her leg. A gash tore up her thigh and Kasar winced at her leg that now jutted out at the wrong angle. Her eyes widened when she saw Kasar looming over her.

  She’d been trying to escape but the manhole loomed high above her. Kasar wondered if she heard him and Vorza speaking up there. He wondered why no one else ever heard slaves cry out from under. He soon realized these people never had a devil pass through here. At least not one would not be a bystander to this atrocity.

  He reached low to grab her, and set her against the wall. Frailty afflicted her too much for her to resist. Kasar knelt before the woman.

  “Lad?” asked Vorza from above.

  Her eyes shot up and back to Kasar, fearful, but a fight burning in them. A fight yet to spring forth.

  “I’m here to help,” Kasar said. “Throw down rope!” he cried to his friends.

  He heard Cryppe rummaging through his pack.

  “Who are you?” asked the woman.

  “I am Kasar. I am here to free the slaves.”

  She scoffed and after a few coughs, let out dry laughter. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a joke. You work for him, and you found me. He told you to say this.”

  “Shaenik?” asked Kasar.

  “Yes…” A frown masked her face. “You pronounced it strangely.”

  “Shaenik from the desert? Slaver of champion fighters?”

  “Yes, him, but you say it the way he hates.”

  “The way he hates it?” asked Kasar.

  “Shaenik doesn’t like the desert tongue. He changed his pronunciation and cut the tongues off his people if they say it incorrectly.”

  Kasar blinked and he felt the urge to shout his name into the sky as loud as he could. Perhaps he’d have Cryppe cast Blue to enhance his voice to appear louder to all. A silly and fleeting thought, but enticing nonetheless.

  “You don’t work for him then,” said the woman. “Or you’re a committed actor and Shaenik’s sadism runs deeper than anyone would have thought.”

  “I don’t work for him. I am here looking for someone. And I am here to stop this slavery if I can.”

  “You’re not from around here are you? From the desert? You look too pale skinned.”

  “Half Maharian and half Karthian,” said Kasar, explaining his conflicting skin. “I was in the desert. I fought there, and fought my way out.”

  The rope fell through the hole. “Kasar, come on up!”

  “Come on.”

  She grunted as he helped her up. She limped on her good leg while Kasar hoisted her by the shoulder. Painfully, he tied the rope at her waist and the two above reined her to the surface. Kasar followed after.

  She couldn’t help smiling as she felt the fresh air on her skin. She looked like she’d taken a bath in mud and blood.

  “Name, lass?” asked Vorza.

  “Rhea,” she said.

  “Let me heal you, Rhea,” said Cryppe, kneeling down.

  “Casting green?” she asked.

  Cryppe nodded. “It will hurt.”

  “I know,” she said with gritted teeth. She steeled herself for the procedure. Vorza held her head steady while Kasar grabbed her arms. Cryppe let his knees hold her legs down as he began casting.

  She did not scream. This was not her first time, and Kasar felt admiration wash over him for her. Everytime he felt the effects of Green, he thrashed and shouted and cursed. Her hands clawed into the dirt. Soon she dug hard enough to draw blood from her palms.

  This was a tough woman.

  When the leg began to straighten under Cryppe’s grasp, he let it have the room to do so. Tears streamed down her face, and Kasar wondered how anyone could remain sane after such healing.

  How could he? How did Vorza? Based on Vorza’s recent bouts of fatigue, perhaps his mentor was barely hanging on by a thread.

  When it was done, she remained still. Her face donned a numb look as she gazed off to the stars.

  “She’s alright?” asked Kasar.

  “In shock,” said Vorza. “Happens sometimes. It’s why such healing mid-fight ends up doing more harm than good.”

  “Now what?” asked Cryppe.

  “She escaped,” said Kasar. “That means there’s more down there and this must be one of the entrances to the underground base.”

  “And your plan is?” asked Vorza.

  “What if they have Sigvali?” asked Kasar. “How do we know Asheevi was the only one after him?”

  “We don’t,” said Cryppe.

  “I do,” croaked Rhea.

  Kasar helped her up so she could sit. Her jaw hung open and drool dribbled out. She was processing things slowly as she mentally recovered. Cryppe channeled a stream of Blue to flare up her mind. Like lighting a candle.

  She blinked and shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, voice dry and monotone.

  “It’s alright,” said Kasar. “Where is Sigvali? You said you know about him?”

  “He wandered in here. The guards like to talk.”

  “Underground?”

  “Big ring of slaves. They’re building something.”

  “What?”

  “They need Blood Forging. They need the Vrodian. They don’t know I know the Pennue language. I do. I hear a lot.”

  “And you escaped? How?”

  “I shoved a pick in my thigh. I got into a fight. They shackled my leg that had my pick. I broke my leg to squeeze out. Crawled for hours before I reached the hole. Couldn’t climb it without rope, and my broken leg. You came in time.” She spoke in a choppy tone, the stream of events coming out one after the other with no inflection.

  “Pick inside your leg? That’s smart.”

  “It’s stupid,”. She gulped, and some of her old self began to ebb back into her speech. “So many things could have gone wrong. Disease, infection, blood loss, and then finally traversal. But I had had enough.” Her voice trembled. She focused on the manhole through which she’d come from. A hate festered in her eyes.

  Kasar respected the journey. “No one else is going to go through that.”

  “How?”

  “Where is Sigvali?”

  “They took him. He is trapped in the manor. A mage guards him along with a hundred thugs.”

  “No sellswords?” asked Kasar.

  Vorza groaned, Cryppe palmed his forehead, and Rhea frowned.

  “Okay, nevermind,” said Kasar.

  “You’re going to storm the place?” asked Rhea.

  “No, but the sea goddess’s husband will.”

  ***

  Rhea recovered quickly over the next hour, and began brainstorming ideas with Kasar.

  “If you lead this Ostrik and his crew to Sigvali’s place, Shaenik will definitely send forces there. Sigvali seems too precious for Shaenik to lose.”

  “That’s when we try to free the slaves,” said Kasar.

  Cryppe rubbed his chin. “A diversion would work. We’d still have to fight the leftovers.”

  Kasar grimaced at the idea of another slaughter. He trusted they could win that fight, but how many would die in the process? How many could they save? Could he make such a maneuver basing it off on net gain of life?

  Rhea spoke after seeing the concern on Kasar’s face. “These thugs know what they guard. Human life. We take life to save life. To free them.”

  Kasar couldn’t see it so simply. Life was life. No matter what they did. However, he knew she was right. They couldn’t appeal to their better nature. Gold was their nature, and Kasar intended to make them regret their wages. Let them cower and run, Kasar would free those who remained shackled no matter what. He felt his resolve harden.

  “They knew what they signed up for,” said Kasar, a dark glimmer in his eyes.

  Cryppe gave a nod, but looked saddened as well.

  “I can hold my own with some more of that healing,” said Rhea.

  “Are you sure?” asked Cryppe. “You’ve suffered a lot already. Your mind-”

  “I have never been lower in my life than the last few months, Cryppe. Give me this. I want to fight.”

  “I’m with Rhea,” said Kasar. “This is her fight as well. She should be there.”

  Cryppe shrugged. “I just hate using Green to get back in all the time.”

  “What else to do?” asked Rhea. “Always another fight.”

  “I just wish one day there’s more than that.”

  Kasar shook his head. He’d seen a lot in the past year since leaving the pits. Whether it was with his parents, on the road, fleeing from his father’s past, or the fighting pits: Kasar always had another fight. Another road to take. He couldn’t stop. The world was wide, and his teachings embedded deep early on. The Devil’s Path.

  “I will be doing this all my life till I die,” muttered Kasar.

  Vorza sighed in the distance, having heard it.

  Always another fight.

  ***

  “Your plan is wild,” said Cryppe. “So many things go awry.”

  “Having second thoughts?” asked Rhea. She bore a bounce in her step, and her voice sounded eager.

  “Just trying to be the voice of reason. As much as I want to free the slaves, we’re dealing with Ostrik. A real wild card.”

  “But no matter how much goes wrong,” said Kasar. “The damage will be done to Shaenik. Asheevi should be happy, right?”

  “In theory, but we don’t know how many connections she has here.”

  “Well she should have told us about that.”

  They marched with a recovered Rhea and Vorza toward Ostrik’s crew. The crew still stumbled about looking for the manor where they kept Sigvali. The sun still hadn’t risen, and when daylight came, they would have to flee. Guards and thugs would swarm them after what they were about to do.

  “Ostrik!” cried Kasar when he was in earshot.

  The party of three turned around to spot them. Kasulta hissed as usual, and Ostrik grinned. Rend had his hand relaxed on the hilts of his weapons.

  Kasar and his band ran down to meet them.

  “Hold on there, Grim,” snapped Ostrik, jutting his hand out.

  Kasar and his friends stopped a respectful distance away. Respectful enough for Kasar, at least. “We can tell you where Sigvali is. You go get him. We’re done with this.”

  Ostrik shot his crew a look and turned to Kasar. “Alright, what’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” said Kasar, hating the idea that there always was a “catch” with things.

  “So you say,” said Kasulta.

  “So I do,” said Kasar, impatiently.

  Kasulta looked over at Cryppe, Vorza, and finally Rhea. “Who’s the girl?”

  “She’s a friend,” said Kasar, smiling. “From underground. Where all the slaves are kept. And she told us where Sigvali is kept.”

  “It’s a trap, then.”

  “She’s an agent sent to lure lurkers like us,” said Ostrik rolling his eyes. “We should just kill her.”

  Kasar’s blood ran cold as he knew the trio would do it too. “Stop!” he cried. “She’s not. I saw her with a broken leg. She was trying to escape.”

  “Committed agent, then.” hissed Kasulta.

  “So you don’t want the information?” asked Cryppe.

  “We don’t want to act on it,” said Ostrik. “I’ve seen how these things go, and Kasar isn’t the best schemer around.”

  Funnily enough, this was just Kasar being honest. If they attacked the manor in which Sigvali was being held, perhaps Shaenik would divert his forces there. That would allow for Kasar to delve into the ground and free the slaves.

  Kasar did suppose the trap here was what came after.

  “I’m not scheming,” said Kasar. “I am, however, getting bored. We’re leaving.”

  “Grim,” said Rend, his words stopping everyone cold. “I trust you.”

  Kasar smiled and beckoned all to huddle around so they could discuss.