Chapter 11 | Part 4

Three wagons stood outside Merrik’s house. Their iron-bound wheels had scored deep grooves in the sand.

Cages were bolted to two of the heavy beds. Someone inside the nearest one shifted, and the chain beneath it rattled.

Drusniel stopped in the doorway.

Seven guards stood where he could see them. An eighth came around the lead wagon carrying shackles.

Merrik stood beside Drusniel, close enough to catch him if he ran.

“You weren’t expecting them for three days,” Drusniel said.

“That was their route.”

“You sent for them.”

“After you decided to leave.”

“When?”

“Last night. They took the shorter road.”

Drusniel looked at the cages.

“Buyers. Brokers. Collectors.”

“Different territories prefer different words.”

“Slavers works.”

Merrik shrugged.

“Also accurate.”

No smile.

No apology.

“You helped me recover.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Merrik looked at him as if the answer were simple.

“Healthy cargo sells better.”

Drusniel looked at the hand Merrik had used to hold the waterskin to his mouth.

“You never lied to me.”

“I never had to.” Merrik adjusted one cuff. “You asked questions. I answered them. You needed food and shelter. I provided both.”

“You were feeding me for them.”

“Yes.”

The guards spread around the house. Two took the road; another stepped behind Drusniel’s left shoulder. The rest stayed near the wagons, far enough apart that he could not reach them together.

No clear route.

“I could fight.”

“You could try.”

Merrik’s tone did not change.

“Five days ago you couldn’t lift your head. Your magic still isn’t back.” Merrik nodded toward the shackles. “This is what they do all day.”

Drusniel knew.

He watched the guard behind him shift his weight, ready for a struggle.

A guard approached.

“Hands.”

The guard caught one wrist. Drusniel pulled back; a second man pinned his other arm against the doorframe.

Iron closed around his wrists.

Another guard took his dagger and pack, then reached toward the pouch beneath his shirt.

“Leave the metal,” Merrik said.

The guard looked at him.

“He came through with it. Eastern buyers pay more when crossing survivors arrive with what they carried.”

The guard withdrew his hand.

Drusniel let the pouch settle flat beneath his shirt. He kept his eyes on the guard, away from the metal.

“The second cage,” Merrik told the lead guard. “Feed him. He’s worth less sick.”

The lead guard nodded.

They marched him to the wagon with a hand on each arm. At the step, one guard let go to unlock the cage.

Drusniel looked past him toward the rocks. Another guard stood in the gap, waiting.

He put his foot on the step. There would be fewer hands on him once the door closed.

He climbed inside.

The door locked.

Merrik remained beside the road as the caravan started east.

Drusniel watched him turn back toward the house.

He could still taste Merrik’s broth.

At the first bend he stopped watching the house and began watching the guards.

End of Chapter 11.4 —> 12.1: The Grass Where She Fell: The Aftermath