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Chapter 6 – Burn

I obviously never imagined my life would turn out the way it did, when I was younger. I knew at least by the time I was working that it would be hard, that I’d probably never stop working until the day I died, and that my father would making everything that was already intolerable about it worse.

But I never thought I’d have hard decisions to make. I always thought my path in life would be direct, laid out for me and as unchanging as it had been for my family going back generations. Getting up and forcing my body through the motions might be physically trying, contending with a difficult family would be just as emotionally taxing, but it never seemed like there were any other options out there to torture myself over. That was the one constant. Hard living, but steady.

It was difficult enough for me to adjust to married life, and living with the guilt over what had happened with my father, but I’d literally been forced into both situations and I could reason that I’d had no choice but to act as I had. I’d thought then that that would be the worst of it. If I could overcome that, I’d find my way to happiness somehow.

But everything since my wife had left had been such a tumult of unexpected, unfathomable events. If you’d told the younger me what would become of my life someday, I would have stared at you open-mouthed and not known what to say.

And yet somehow, I’m enduring it. I’m alive, I’m trying to keep my wits about me, and I’m still trying. . . desperately trying. . . to find my way to happiness.

At this point I’ve begun to doubt my capabilities less and less. It’s not a matter of ‘can I do this’? It’s become more a question of ‘is it worth the cost’? The violence I’ve made a part of my existence has to be taking a toll on me. It’s sure as hell taking a toll on the world around me.

How many more people in my path need fall before I’ve gone from freedom fighter to outright villain? How justified can we be, before we’ve just become murderers?

I wish I knew. It feels like there has to be a line somewhere, and I’m not sure if I’ve crossed it yet.



I’ve got my back flat to the cool stone wall of a cell, the chipped paint tickling my shoulder blades, when I hear his voice. Somewhat raspy, like a man who’s smoked too much, but a little higher in pitch than most men’s, and a false friendliness that coils low in my gut like a live eel. I never thought. . . I had always hoped. . . that I’d never have to hear him again.

Lord Sachsen.

“By the Gods, it is my Ahsan,” his voice echoes in the courtyard just beyond my cell door. Dusk is falling, and they’re locking doors, one of the guards moving slowly down the line. The sound of the metal hinges punctuates the conversation I hear outside, slowly nearing towards my door.

This plan of Ahsan’s was risky in the extreme, and terrifying for me personally, because if it went poorly, he was out there alone. As it is, it could have gone badly from the start. Informing the guards that he was wanted by the Lord in charge of this place, then hoping the man would come to see him personally . . . .

But Ahsan had seemed certain that for one, the guards in the holding cells would have been told to look for us. Thankfully our disguises must have held up, because they hadn’t picked us out immediately. But as soon as he’d told them who he was, they seemed to realize he might have been important. Important enough at least to go tell their Lord.

And he’d also gambled that Sachsen would come personally. That’s what had made me the most nervous. Ahsan seemed certain the man would come to confirm who he was in person, and would not want to wait for them to bring him to him. That had been my greatest fear. If they’d simply come to retrieve him, there’s little we could have done save fight then and there, and then we’d be sitting ducks for the men on the catwalks.

But in the end, Ahsan knew this man better than any of us. He’d seemed certain, and I’d come to trust him when he was certain. Ahsan wasn’t one for bluster. He rarely insisted on something unless he was sure he was right.

I still didn’t know much of anything about the relationship the hyena Lord had once had with Ahsan. Like many of the things in his past that hurt him, Ahsan kept most of it close to the chest. To this day, I didn’t know the full extent of what his ‘mother’ had done to him, and I probably never would. Some questions didn’t need answers.

All I knew was that Ahsan was terrified of this man. He’d been terrified of him in the garden at the Sura Plantation when I’d met him for the first time, and the concept of seeing him again face to face now, even considering what we were planning, had definitely frightened him. But he was the one who’d insisted we go this route. I wasn’t sure what that meant. It’s possible he wanted to confront him.

I don’t know. As close as Ahsan and I are, I don’t always understand him.

“How the Gods have blessed me,” the Lord says, his tone hard to read. I’m worried for Ahsan regardless, but I’m not sure if he sounds suspicious or if he’s just his usual level of sleazy. “How is it you found your way to me, little dancer?” He croons. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, but I thought we’d lost you forever, considering the. . . company you chose to keep. I was quite afraid for your safety.”

“I left them,” he recites our carefully-rehearsed story. “After the oasis. . . I-I didn’t. . . couldn’t be a part of it any more. All the death, and the fighting. . . .”

“You made yourself a part of that world, lovely,” the man says, still in that hard-to-read tone. “You chose to leave with them during the revolt. I was shocked when I heard you got swept up in that dreadful affair, but so it was.” He sounds like he’s reprimanding him, but I can’t be sure how angry he really is, if at all. The fact that he came for Ahsan personally suggests he does still hold a torch for him.

“Please,” Ahsan pleads. “I didn’t. . . I didn’t feel I had a choice. I was in the manor when they came, a-and. . . they were killing everyone. They told me to come with them, and I. . . had nowhere else to go.”

“You would have been safely away from that place if you had come with me when I wanted to purchase you,” the older man says, his tone definitely sounding a bit darker, now. More real anger. My hand grips the hilt of my scimitar tightly, and I want so badly to go to Ahsan.

But he hasn’t given the signal, which means Sachsen isn’t close enough to him yet.
Slide, latch. The guard locking doors is four cells down, drawing closer.

“I. . . should have,” Ahsan says. It’s the first time his voice breaks and he sounds less-than-convincing. He’s managed an incredible acting job so far, but he just couldn’t get those words out believably. “I’m sorry, Lord. Please. Please forgive me. I want to be yours.”

There is a brief silence. Then the Lord speaks again. “Where are the others?”

“I. . .” Ahsan briefly stumbles over his words. “I don’t know. I left them behind at the oasis, and I didn’t take enough rations. I. . . was recaptured. . . soon after, when I tried to get water at a caravan stop.”

Fortunately for us, none of the guards here knew the story we’d come in with. They didn’t bother informing a rotating staff of cell block guards what each person was indentured for or who’d brought them in. So no one here could refute his story.

It was a believable story, I thought. Ahsan had come up with most of it, and he was easily the smartest person amongst us.

But the silence from Lord Sachsen is not a good sign. This man was their spymaster after all, I had to remind myself. He could probably smell bullshit like what we’d cooked up a mile away.

“Ahsan,” his voice slithers through the silence. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“N-no!” Ahsan attempts to insist, not shouting but sounding vehement.

Slide, latch. The guard is two doors down, now.

In the shadows on the other side of the cell stands Raja, his golden fur blue in the dimming light. Lavanya crouches beside him. She has no weapon, but her claws are out. We’re approaching zero hour. We literally can’t wait much longer, or we’ll lose our chance.

“Did he come in with any others?” Sachsen asks someone else, presumably a guard.

A gruff male voice responds, “Three others.”

“Find them,” Sachsen orders sternly. Then his voice lowers, almost so much that I can’t hear it. “I was good to you, lovely. I offered you a way out. You rejected me. I’m not in the habit of giving second chances.”

“I made. . . mistakes,” Ahsan’s voice is equally quiet, now. There’s a rough edge to it, like he’s having trouble keeping his composure. “I’m not denying that. But I just. . . want peace. I don’t want to be frightened anymore.”

“You took up company with murderers of your own volition,” the older hyena reminds him. “I gave you a chance at a peaceful life, and it wasn’t good enough for you. You let your thug. . . assault me, instead.”

“I was frightened then,” Ahsan says, barely above a whisper.

“When have I ever given you cause to be frightened of me?” The Lord demands.

I hear no answer for a few moments, so I lean closer to the open doorway, my nose inches from the door frame.

“You purchased my first night,” Ahsan answers at last, in a very small voice. “I thought I was just supposed to dance for you. I was so young. Couldn’t you tell I was scared?”

“I’ve never hurt you,” Sachsen states.

“Everything you’ve ever done to me has hurt me,” Ahsan says, the finest edge of a growl in his voice. And then, the words we were waiting for. “I want. . . to be free.”

My fur goes rigid, my muscles coiling. That’s the signal.

It all seems to happen so fast. Sachsen is in the midst of some reply to Ahsan I haven’t heard over the sound of the blood rushing through my ears. The guard locking doors, now joined by another looking in cells, (presumably for us) is one door down and nearly makes it to the threshold of ours as we spring out into the courtyard.

We have but one glance to assess the situation. Sachsen and Ahsan are close, less than two feet apart, which was what we were waiting for. He has guards with him, which we expected. Two of them, well-armed like the ones who’d been with the Contract Manager. Except these two are lions. Leave it to the Spymaster to not trust his own kind to guard him.

Seconds turn to hours. Each of my footfalls that pounds on the hard sand seems so far apart, and in each precious moment it takes for me to get to them, his guards close the distance between us, leaving Sachsen and Ahsan side by side, unwatched. I have to hold out hope. I have to trust him.
I hear Raja intercepting the two guards behind us with a ferocious snarl, joined next by Lavanya’s more feminine roar. I have no time to glance behind to see how well they’re faring, because all at once, like a rush of flood waters, time is catching up to me.

I slam into the first lion guard, his arm raising his sword high over my shoulder to bring down on my neck. I took a dangerous wager that he wouldn’t see my scimitar until the last moment, running with it held behind me. It costs me a few seconds when I finally make it to him, but it’s worth it. I still beat his slow swing by a hair’s breadth, shoulder-checking him and running my sword through his gut. The scimitar’s not ideal for making deep wounds, but I feel the tell-tale initial pop as it pushes past his armor and makes its way into his flesh, and that’s all I need.

His swing still comes down, but the pain makes his grip weaken, and the blade barely connects with the thick ruff of fur pushed out beneath the edge of my collar. I feel it slice through flesh, but not deep enough to really wound me. Still, the cut is searing and soon my back is wet with blood.

But I can’t stop now.

The second lion was working his way around to flank me when his fellow drops to his knees, and he gives an angry, rumbling growl. This one uses a shield and approaches me with more caution, which doesn’t work in my favor. I’m far from a seasoned warrior, and I have no armor or shield.

A familiar but spine-tingling sound behind me gets my attention, and reminds me why I can’t let fear overtake me right now. Ahsan is growling, and someone’s body just hit the ground in a struggle. He sounds like a feral when he really lets himself go, and embraces that side of himself. I have to win here, to make sure it doesn’t go that far again.

I try to remember everything Lochan taught me, and imagine him as the lion. I can almost hear his words Be ready to attack, attack, attack. Never let go of your sword. Your opponent is better armed and armored, and he’ll block your swings. You have to surprise him. He has no less on the line here than you do. Make every movement count.

I know his strength is his defense, so I wait for him to come at me. I don’t have to wait long. He can’t afford to be patient. . . Ahsan is attacking his Lord, his charge, right behind me. He needs to get through me to do his job.

He comes at me with his shield up, which means his swing is delayed somewhat, having to come around from his off hand. I let him swing first anyway, betting he won’t expect that. He doesn’t, and he really puts his all into that swing, because he’s really certain he’s going to hit.

He’s not entirely wrong. I bring my sword up at the last moment and catch his, metal shrieking against metal. In a contest of strength, he’s definitely got me, so I let my blade slide down along his and release it, but on my terms.

And there, for a second, he’s unbalanced. My sword arm won’t come up in time, but it’s not my only weapon.

I crack a knee up into his gut, and I hear the wind leave him as he buckles. He gives a gurgling, angry growl, swinging once more wildly at me before he bothers to straighten up, but that swing goes entirely wide. And taking that chance was his final, fatal mistake.

I bring my blade down on his exposed sword-arm. His shield is still doing well enough to block most of his body from my swings unless I come up underneath, but his arm was wide open.

My blade leaves a deep gash in his forearm, where his armor is weakest, and he howls in pain and does exactly what Lochan had once chastised me so harshly for doing. He drops his sword.

Sometimes a fight comes down to skill, but a lot of the time, it really is just grit.

I could, but I don’t bother finishing him off. I race past him towards the two hyenas tangling on the ground. Ahsan’s eyes have gone dark, Sachsen thoroughly pinned beneath him at this point. He’s won, but he’s not stopping. His hands are tightening around the Lord’s neck, his claws nearly gone from view, as buried as they are.

“Ahsan!” I shout, trying to get his attention. It’s then that an arrow plants itself in the ground a mere foot from me, though. And I don’t think it was an intentional miss.

A shout of pain from behind me confirms that they aren’t shooting to warn. I glance briefly over my shoulder long enough to see one of the bolts sticking in the cheetah’s bicep. It looks like it caught him mostly from the side, being as he’s keeping close to the edge of the wall like he promised he would. But it’s still a serious wound.

“Ahsan!” I scream this time, and skid to my knees beside him, grabbing him by the shoulders and tugging him up. My touch, or maybe my shout, seems to snap him out of it.

When the clarity returns to his eyes, his hands go back to Sachsen’s throat, but this time with less killing intent. I help pull the man to his feet, and then I raise my voice, knowing I’ve a better chance of being heard than Ahsan. Being loud has never been a problem for me.

“Fire another bolt, and he dies!” I belt at the top of my lungs. I can see the two guards on the catwalk, on either side of the courtyard, weapons raised. They’re barely silhouettes right now against a purple sky, but their eyes are reflecting the firelight from the torches, so I know they’re looking directly at us.

I take a chance to look back at my companions. Lavanya and Raja are both still alive, and the guards near them are not. Or at the very least, they’re down for the count. Raja is bleeding, his arm seems limp, and there’s a bolt stuck through it, but he’s still got his senses about him enough to be following the path of one of the guards on the catwalk with his eyes.

But several moments pass, and no more bolts come our way. Lord Sachsen seems like he’s trying to say something, but both Ahsan and I have him gripped by the neck, and he isn’t doing much more than swallowing around our hold, gasping out a few half-words.

“Let’s move while we can,” I say, releasing my grip on the man and shoving a scimitar tip in his back instead. “Move. Out of here. Now.”

“You’ll. . . never. . . .” he chokes out.

A shout goes up from the catwalk, something along the lines of ‘Light it’, and then there’s a flare of heat and light from up there. A brazier of some sort.

“Now,” I growl out menacingly to the Lord, shoving him with my sword tip.

Raja and Lavanya make their way to us, Raja trying for all the world not to act like he’s hurt. I get a better look at the injury once he’s close, and it’s both worse and better than I thought. It’s deep through his bicep. . . so deep in fact that the tip has come out the other side. It didn’t so much puncture him as skim his arm, but it’s still a few inches deep in the flesh. That arm’s useless to him until we can get it out and he heals. And it must hurt like nothing else. But we should be able to get the bolt out easily since it went all the way through.

Raja stubbornly refuses to show he’s in pain, save an occasional choked-back groan. That stubbornness will have to carry him through the rest of this, so right now, I’m glad for it.

We leave as a group, just as we came in. On the way out, I see that group of rats, as well as several others who aren’t yet locked into their rooms, eyeing the now open archway, considering their options. They’ll have to brave the men on the catwalk to escape, as well. And if they aren’t willing to, there isn’t much we can do for them.

“Run while you can!” I yell at them as we leave.

None of them do. Considering there’s an entire city of hyenas between them and freedom even if they make it out of this holding area alive, I can’t really blame them.




“This wasn’t what I had in mind,” Anala says, looking us over as we arrive in the stables. Thankfully we’d been able to find a way out of the main building once we’d escaped the holding cells. The ‘auction’ area had an exit presumably meant for merchants that led to a long corridor to the main yard. A few prods of my sword into Sachsen’s back had gotten us directions to the stables from there.

“We had to improvise,” I say between breaths, the fatigue following our brief melee catching up with me.

“It’s not exactly as we planned,” she says, leaning down somewhat to look the stooped hyena Lord in the eyes. She grins slowly. “But I like it.”

“You’ll burn alive for this, you bitch,” the old hyena snarls foul, yellowed teeth at her.

I give him a shove to remind him of his situation. “Manners,” I chastise, then look back to Anala. “So, they lit some kind of fire-“

“The whole place knows there’s been a breakout,” she confirms. “I don’t know if everyone knows you’ve kidnapped their lord, but it’s only a matter of time. Let’s do what we came here for.”

“About that. . .” I begin, but she’s already focused on Sachsen.

“The Liberator!” She snaps at him, pulling her sword. “Where is he?!”

“No. . . need for. . . violence,” he stammers, putting his hands out in a placating manner. “I’ll tell you what you want, just. . . put that away, lunatic woman.”

“You really ought to hold off on the insults,” I say, arching an eyebrow disbelievingly at the man. He’s clearly a coward. I confirmed that upon my first meeting with him. But even his fear doesn’t seem to stop him from being condescending.

“It’s fine,” Anala says, still grinning. She traces her sword tip down the front of his tunic, to his belt line. Slowly. “He’ll have every right to call me a lunatic once I’m done with him.”

“What quarrel do you have with me, exactly?!” The man cries out, sounding earnestly confused in addition to the more obvious terror. “I don’t even know who you are!”

“You’re the one who started trading for pistols and gunpowder,” Anala growls lowly. “You introduced those foul weapons into a once-proud Clan, and changed it forever. Honor used to matter to the Sura. Until you.” She pushes the tip of her sword into his lower stomach, not enough to puncture him but enough that he’s forced to suck in his gut. “I devoted myself to that Clan for over a decade. My best years are behind me, I will never find a place by my Goddess’s side now. Unless I can find one last, great cause to fight for.”

“So you’re fighting for scum like them?!” He stammers, glancing over his shoulder at all of us. “I won’t pretend to understand your Priesthood, but I doubt they’d condone abetting murderers like these.”

“You know nothing of my faith! Your cowardly weapons stole my greatest battle from me! My destiny!” She shouts in a near-manic tone. “My immortality!”

I look back out towards the yard, concerned. The camel stables are a good distance from the main building, but we could still be heard.

“The Liberator!” Raja snarls out between grit teeth, interrupting Anala, who seems to have lost herself in her passion. “It doesn’t matter why we’re here, old man! Just tell us what we want to know, or you die.”

“You’ll kill me anyway. . . .” the old hyena groans helplessly, looking back towards Ahsan. “How can you let them do this to me?”

“We can’t afford to waste time like this,” Lavanya says impatiently. “Priestess, hurt him.”

“What?!” I demand. “He’s already our prisoner.”

“He needs to talk, or we need to give up on this whole idea and leave,” Lavanya states bluntly. “Which will it be?”

“He’s buying time,” Ahsan speaks up for the first time. “He’s dragging this out intentionally. He drew you into that argument to stall for the guards to find us, Anala.”

The Priestess narrows her eyes, then looks down at Sachsen again, enraged. Who for his part seems now all the more angry at Ahsan.

“I agree with Lavanya,” Ahsan says quietly. “Hurt him. He’ll talk.”

Before I can say anything more, Anala grabs the man’s wrist and twists. He sputters out for her to stop and tries to turn his body into the motion as much as he can, but Anala is incredibly strong, and before I can stop her, I hear a gut-wrenching pop.

He screams out in pain, which was exactly what I was afraid of. And then he’s sobbing and clutching a limp, unnaturally-bent wrist, tears leaking down his muzzle and snot pooling at the base of his quivering, broad nose. I honestly almost feel bad for the man, despite knowing what he is.

“The Liberator!” Anala stomps a foot down on one of his, digging her blunt, but still quite prominent claws into his toes. I have no doubt that if she plans to, she could probably break them.

He seems to realize it too, and stammers out a response, finally. “East. . . b-build. . . ing,” he sniffles loudly. “The forges. Near the Contract Office.” He takes a few moments to swallow back what must be nausea, and shakes his head, clutching his wrist. “You’ll not. . . get. . . what you want. Not. . . that easy. . . .”

“We will if you come with us,” Raja growls, using his one good arm to hook his shotel up around the man’s neck. I can see Sachsen’s adam’s apple bob against the blade, tears still streaming down his cheeks. But he apparently has no more to say.

He just looks once more at Ahsan, as if help will somehow still come from him. But no one here seems to have less empathy for this man than he does.

The whole of it is hard to watch. When I escaped the Plantation, I had no idea what I’d have to do to survive out in the world as an escaped servant. I’ve had to hurt people throughout my life, but never like this. Never when they were unarmed and literally begging not to be hurt. I’ve certainly never tortured someone before, or taken a hostage.

My devotion wavers hour to hour, in this ‘war’. One moment I’m determined, the next I see the lengths we have to go to to reach our ends, and I’m uncertain. I hate to be so fickle about it, but I keep finding myself in situations I’m not prepared for.

And it feels like I’m the only one. I’m supposed to be a hard man, sculpted by years of poverty, abuse and slavery. Why am I having such a difficult time dealing with all of this? Are my companions all just less sensitive than me? Even Ahsan?

We drag the man with us to the gateway into the stables, where we all linger behind the interior wall and wait for a group of guards outside to pass. The size of this compound works in our favor- even with the guards alerted that there are escaped servants on the premises, we should be able to find our way between the patrolling groups if we’re careful. And most of them don’t even look particularly alarmed.

I’m guessing the word’s not out on exactly what we’ve done, yet. I even overhear two women walking past who wonder aloud if the signal fire was a mistake.

Once we get into to the main building again, it won’t be this easy. Right now we’re on the outside edge of it, not far from that corridor that leads to the auction area. A few careful dashes between some of the sheds out back here that are used to store grain and animal feed, and we’ve reached the corridor again.

My gaze travels down the building towards the distant entranceway we first used to get in. Through that doorway, down one hallway and past two guards, maybe less or none by now, is the contract room. I can’t expect my comrades to share my priorities, but I would rather find my son than find this Liberator. His future matters more to me than my freedom.

But we move down the corridor, and with every step, I feel like I’m moving farther and farther away from him. It’s a hard feeling to describe, because in a way I know my chances of finding anything there were small. But it still feels like someone is threading a needle through my heart, tied to some distant point. And the farther I go, the more it tugs at me.

We steer clear of the corridor leading off from the amphitheater towards the holding cells, but we’re still seen by a small retinue of guards that were headed out, presumably after having seen the slaughter inside.

What follows is a bloody, if brief fight that I barely take part in. With Anala with us and in full fury, three guards is hardly a challenge. She fells the first before he has a chance to raise his blade, and I provide a brief distraction so she isn’t flanked while she fights the other two, but she makes quick work of both of them soon after. The difference in skill is staggering, and she seems less than pleased by the end of it.

“You don’t bother paying career soldiers here, I see,” she spits at Sachsen as we head past the three fresh bodies. “Just civilians with swords.”

I turn my eyes away, with difficulty.

We only run afoul of two more guards on the way to the Forge, and they’re two poorly-equipped men outside the building near one of the supply sheds, probably there to guard some Lord’s personal belongings. They take all of two seconds to look us over, blood-spattered and with a well-armored warrior at our fore, and they decide the better of standing up to us. I’m glad for it.

Anala lets them go. At the very least, she doesn’t seem bloodthirsty when it comes to the weak.
We approach the open gateway into the forge area with care, Raja walking slowly with Lord Sachsen in front of him, shotel still hooked around his neck. Anala stops us all in the doorway, ears up and nose to the wind, and after a still moment, she bangs the flat of her blade against the stone archway.

“Come out,” she demands. “Whoever you are. We aren’t here to kill you.”

I can feel the heat from inside the place, even though I’m still standing outside. The overwhelming scent of the forge stings my nose, and reminds me vaguely of working in the kilns. Anala eventually steps inside after a few more silent moments go by, and we all follow suit slowly.

The place seems smaller on the inside than I would have expected. It’s a round, domed building attached to the main structure, sort of like a planned edition. There’s a large sky light in the top, through which I can see the beginnings of stars dotting the dark blue sky.

The forge itself is in the very center, and it seems no different than any I have seen in the past, if more meticulously kept than the ones that made tools in the merchant districts back home near the Hyronses.

There’s a good amount of normal blacksmith’s goods here, too. Long racks for cooling, with a lot of freshly-crafted chains and shackles, rims for wagon wheels, even horse shoes. Those, I’m assuming, must be mostly for northerners, not too many peoples use horses this far south.

There’s a large metal pot of steaming water that doesn’t appear to be over any fire, but the source of the heat is fairly clear- the handles of several pairs of smithing tools, cooling.

It’s also obvious that someone lives here. The place is set up like a residence on one side, with a desk laden with various trinkets and belongings, a few trunks that probably contain clothing, and a curtain concealing what is likely a sleeping area.

Anala points to it, then nods to us, slowly and quietly picking her way across the cluttered area towards it. Raja, Lavanya and Ahsan stay back, but I decide to join her. I don’t entirely trust the woman’s self-control. We came all this way for this man, and I’m giving up a lot to be here instead of where my heart yearns to be.

A lot’s lead up to this moment, so you can imagine how anticlimactic it all feels when, at last, we quite literally pull back the curtain. . . and are met with the sight of a diminutive old hyena, deep in slumber. Anala drops her hand away from the curtain, and looks to me uncertainly.

I push past her a little to look down at the man. I’m not sure what I was expecting all this time, but he isn’t it. He’s ancient, for one. Gnarled limbs curled to his side, chest slowly rising and falling, with a badly damaged ear. His fur is greying most everywhere and sparse in places along his chin and forehead.

His forehead. That catches my attention. I head towards him, narrowing my eyes as I try to make out what’s there. He has a tattoo, or a burn of some sort. . . .

His eyes snap open when I move over him, and he gives the strangest wheeze of a noise and swings a fist out at me.

I’m not exactly scared of the man, but I still back up when he comes up swinging, and keep my sword out just in case. The sound must have worried my comrades, because I hear their footsteps moving in behind me, and soon we’re all there staring down at the stooped old man.

Sachsen gives a frustrated noise from behind me. “He will not help you,” he whuffs out breathlessly, still winded from our flight here. He doesn’t sound like he’s doing well. Given the mixture of pain and exhaustion. . . and his overall bad health. . . I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to keep him with us.

“He will,” Anala says, raising her sword and pointing it at him. The old hyena mostly seemed confused when he was woken by us, but clarity seems to have returned to him now that he’s awake, and he’s. . . far too calm, given the situation.

“You’re the Liberator, yes?” Anala demands.

He doesn’t answer. He stares back at her, with a confidence I envy.

“He won’t answer you,” Sachsen says, sounding at least minorly smug again.

“Shut up!” Raja snaps, and I hear a pained sound, suggesting he either kicked or punched the Lord. Or just twisted his wrist further.

“Look at the mark,” I point out, approaching the man more warily this time, and indicating the burned tattoo on his forehead with the tip of my sword.

It’s simple. A circle, broken in two places.

“Like a collar. . . .” Ahsan murmurs.

“This is him,” Lavanya says, sounding somewhat emotional for her. “The Liberator. Let’s just get him out of here. We can worry about making him talk later.”

“He’ll never talk,” Sachsen says again, and this time I know Raja twists his wrist, because I turn around in time to catch him.

“Enough, you piece of shit!” The cheetah growls between his teeth.

“Raja!” I snarl. “Stop. He’s just running his mouth.”

“I am. . . warning you,” Sachsen says with a lot of evident strain in his voice. “You did. . . all of this. . . for nothing. Do you really think we rely on-ngh. . . loyalty to keep the collar-cutting art secretive?”

“Alright, I’m gagging him,” Lavanya sighs.

“No, wait,” I take a few steps towards him, looking down at the beaten hyena. “What do you mean?”

He looks back up at me. “Check his mouth,” he says.

I narrow my eyes quizzically, then turn to look back at the hyena. By the time I have, Anala, who’s been standing beside him the whole time, has grabbed the old man by the jaw and is forcing his mouth open. She does so for a whole second before releasing him, a look of disgust on her face.

“His tongue,” she says, curling a lip. “They cut his tongue out.”

“He can’t write, either,” Sachsen says, back to sounding at least a little self-satisfied. “None of them can.”

“Then we’ll learn directly from him,” Lavanya insists. “We’ll. . . take him with us. . . .”

“Off by even a little, and you’ll kill whomever you use that tool on,” Sachsen warns. “It’s a fine art. Most of the Liberators even kill a few before they get it right, and that’s when they’re not being held captive and forced.”

A silence descends over our group, and it lasts far too long.

“So,” Lord Sachsen’s tone is practically sing-song now, quietly mocking us. “Who’s first?”

Raja hauls off and cracks him in the jaw, and I happen to know for a fact that he already sustained some pretty serious damage there not so long ago. This time I hear a tooth crack, and the man gives a pained, muffled howl, his head slumping forward. It was the other side this time, at least.

“He could be lying,” Lavanya says, but even she sounds like she doesn’t believe her own words.

“No,” I sigh, looking at the man. The dead-eyed expression he’s giving us all hasn’t changed. “Look at him. We’ll have trouble even getting him out of here. . . and he’s not going to help us. Even if he did, we’d run the risk of letting him kill whoever he uses that tool on. Is that a risk any of you want to run?”

“Yes!” Raja cries out vehemently, the desperation in his tone so palpable, it hurts me to hear it. I have no doubt he’d let this man bring a searing-hot forge tool to his neck, regardless of the possible consequences. It’s easy to forget that I’ve only had to bear this burden for a few years, now. Raja can barely remember a time in his life when he was free. He wants it so badly. He’ll let this man work on him if we take him out of here with us. No matter the risks.

“We stand a better chance of figuring this out on our own,” I say, trying to gather strength in my voice, so I can convince my friends. Right now we need to escape this place, and make the best of this situation. If we can’t escape here with our lives, our freedom won’t matter.

“Let’s take the tool,” I say. “We’ll have time and a lot of heads to put together once we’ve got it. And maybe we can find help. We’ll figure it out together. We don’t need him.”

Over the last few weeks, I haven’t had a lot of confidence in what we’ve been doing. But right now, in this moment, I believe in what I’m saying. . . and maybe that comes through. Because everyone, even Anala, looks to me after that and I can feel that we’re all of the same mind.

“We’ll free ourselves,” Ahsan agrees.

Lavanya nods. Even Raja.

“You will become your own Liberators,” Anala agrees, grinning like the enjoys the sound of that. Then, at once, her eyes narrow and fix themselves on Sachsen. “Which tool is it?”

“As if I know!” The Lord growls out irritably. “Do you honestly think I spend any time here?! The old man isn’t going to be able to tell you, so-“

“It’s got to be one of these, right?” I hear Lavanya saying from closer to the forge. She wandered over there at some point while Sachsen was ranting, and is staring down into the cooling pot.

I join her, as she begins to lift the tools out. “Do you think you can tell?” I ask her.

“No,” she admits. “But I’ve got strong shoulders. I can carry a bushel of tools.”

I smirk at that, and help her pull them all out, unshouldering my pack. I dump out what’s left in it, mostly a few rations and some spare clothing, and we load the still warm instruments into the large leather satchel.

Sachsen is thoroughly deflated by now, slumped on his knees, looking for all the world like he might pass out. Anala is still standing beside the Liberator, looking at him uncertainly.

I put a hand on her shoulder while the others get ready to leave, lowering my voice. “He’s the weakest of the weak, Priestess,” I say. “Surely not worth cutting down.”

“It’s not that I wish to,” she says thoughtfully, something akin to pity in her eyes as she looks at the man. “But my Order requires that we put down anyone who is grievously injured or suffering.”

“He’s just old,” I insist.

“No,” she says with certainty, staring into his dead eyes. “He is suffering.”
He isn’t even looking at us anymore. . . just staring straight forward. I can’t tell you what they must have done to the man to make him this way, but I’m sure it didn’t stop at his tongue.
I put a hand on her arm and manage to ease her away, and she doesn’t fight me. It’s only as we’re nearing the door that I realize there’s one loose end we haven’t tied up yet.
But Ahsan never forgot. I turn to see he’s lingered behind, and is standing over the slumped Lord.

“Ahsan. . . .” I caution quietly.

But what can I say to the young hyena that’s justified, really? I can’t know what he suffered at the hands of the older man. I can’t say what punishment is right for him. And I shouldn’t be the one to decide. Ahsan should.

It just hurts me to see how much the past few months have changed him, and I know this will change him, too.

“I. . . knew you’d kill me,” Sachsen murmurs, his voice not sounding at all at peace with the idea, but diminished by pain and exhaustion. “I just didn’t think it would be you who did it, lovely.”

“No,” Ahsan says. “You get to live.”

The older man looks up at him, shocked. But the striped hyena isn’t done, yet.

“You get to live, so you can answer to the Sura for your failures here,” he says. “Your poor security. Allowing us to raid your depot. Being taken prisoner and leading a group of escaped servants directly to a Liberator. I’m not sure what they’ll do to you, but I’m sure it will be humiliating. Long, and drawn out. . . humiliation.”

Sachsen stares up at him, his ears tipping back in realization.

“Try and explain to the people you call your family that you were powerless,” he continues, quietly. “That we forced you. That you didn’t want to do it. See how much they care.”

He turns at that, then a moment later, looks over his shoulder.

“Or run,” he says. “Run from the Clan. But if you’re going to do that, I’d suggest you brace yourself for a hard road. It doesn’t get better from here on out.”

He rejoins us as we leave the forge, Anala in the lead. I feel like I’m walking beside a different person.

We take off across the grounds with our precious stolen cargo in Lavanya’s arms. Raja is beginning to lose some of his fervor and stamina, I can tell when he starts lagging behind as we run. But without having to say a thing to one another, the whole group slows its pace to match his. One side of his back and his entire arm are stained in blood by this point, and the bolt’s still in there, which I know must be causing him pain with every movement. He soldiers on despite it, though.

When we make it to the amphitheater again, I feel that tug on my insides. Anala begins making for the corridor that leads outside, but the path we took from the Contract Office is on the other side, visible from here. I have to decide now.

Raja is hurt. We’re all tired, even Anala. The place is crawling with guards who probably know by now that we kidnapped a Lord. By pursuing my own goals, I’d be putting my friends’ lives at risk.

But it’s my son. My family.

It’s a chance.

“This way!” I shout, pressing past Anala to head towards the distant archway.

“What?” She barks at me from behind, sounding confused.

“The Contract Office!” I shout back.

“There’ll still be guards there!” Lavanya insists between labored breaths. She’s carrying a good third of herself in blacksmith’s tools, so it’s amazing she’s kept up as well as she has.

“It might be worth it to get one good fight out of all of this,” Anala says with a huffing chuckle.

“It’s a straighter shot from there to the main gate,” Ahsan reasons, looking to me with a nod. I know he’s just backing me up because he knows what I want in there, but I still appreciate it.

Raja is silent save a low growl of pain, and that gets to me. If anyone suffers because of this decision, it’s likely to be him. Or Anala, I suppose. One of these days she’s going to find a warrior that’s her better. But considering that’s all she wants out of life, I can’t seem to feel bad about it.

We make our way down the cramped, windowless hallways they walked us down not hours ago, and round the two corners necessary to reach the office without trouble. But as soon as we take the second, I find myself nearly crashing into a guardsman.

And I recognize her.

The woman’s muzzle falls open and she brings her scimitar and shield up far too slowly in her moment of shock. I’m in the front of our party, and I have my sword out. I could fall back and hand the burden of dealing with this woman off to Anala, but we’re here because of me.

Every moment of indecision and regret I’ve had up until now pales before the reality of the next few seconds. This is my doing, my responsibility, for my purpose. This woman is no more or less faceless than any other guard or hunter I’ve killed in the past. . . I just happened to have spoken to her once. But still, this feels like a point of no return.

My heart is strung so tightly now, it feels fit to burst. The room that might contain the means to find my son is not feet away, and she is all that stands in the way.

I grip my blade, and swing.




We can’t afford to take much time inside the Contract Office once we make it there, and it’s a good thing, because the blood drying in my fur is making me feel like I want to tear my skin off. All I want to do is leave this place, and bury myself in the sand somewhere for a long time.

“A final statement,” Anala says cryptically with a satisfied smile as she lifts a lantern. It looks like the Contract Manager fled long before we got here, and left unfinished work on her table.

The light is proving useful to Ahsan, as he hurriedly moves along the shelves, his eyes darting across the scrawlings written there.

“H-here!” He says suddenly. “Lower Hyronses.”

He pulls out one of the massive ledgers. Looking through actual contracts would take too much time, so he’s hoping to find something of note in one of the large log books. They don’t log specifics there, but they may at least give us some idea where to look.

He cracks the book somewhere in the middle, then takes a brief moment to read something, and begins flipping backwards through pages.

“I’m going to try to find yours,” he explains hurriedly. “Since we know your timeline. Hers should be somewhere before. . . yours. . . .”

It takes him longer than I’d like to hunt through the pages to find the right year, or season, or whatever it is he’s looking for. It’s all gibberish to me. All I can do is lean down over his shoulder and curse myself for the thousandth time for not being a able to read.

Raja is leaning against the wall, his head resting against the window frame. He stares out it as a light bobs past, sending dancing shadows across the room from the outline of the bars.

“Only a matter of time before they look for us here,” he points out, his voice raspy and strained.

“This looks like the right amount. You’re only listed as a jackal, but I saw your contract, they don’t’ distinguish,” Ahsan murmurs, running a claw across a particular section. “I . . . think this is a notation for yours . . . from your first transfer. There are a few others listed, too-“ He pounds the book with his palm suddenly. “Yes, there! That’s the last transfer. Signed off by Lochan. I . . . recognize his writing. It was never very good.”

I can hear the pain in his voice, but all I can do is lean slightly against him and let him know I’m there. He doesn’t let himself get lost in the bad memories, thankfully, and begins leafing backwards through the book again, this time a bit more slowly and carefully.

“Alright, that gives me a trail to follow,” his eyes move hurriedly over pages. “And a . . . source. An agent near the Hyronses. He signed a lot of jackals . . .”

Anala is walking the length of the room holding the lantern, moving things about. I have no idea why or what she’s doing, but right now I’m not going to worry about it. Especially not when I notice Ahsan’s fixed on one particular page.

“How old was your son?” He asks me suddenly. “When she would have been signed?”

“Almost two years,” I say, my heart freezing.

He settles a claw on a line of text like all the others as far as I’m concerned, indecipherable as anything important. “Mother and child, male,” he reads. “Jackals. Child can walk, but must be carried for caravan travel. Contract entered into for household labor demands for new settlement on the Mataa’Atel Shanivaar.”

“The Islands of Tears?” Anala speaks up, glancing over at us from where she seems to be piling contract scrolls on one of the desks.

“You know where this place is?” I demand.

“The Shanivaar are a string of islands off the west coast,” she says, looking over her pile like she’s considering something. “Terrible growing weather, monsoon jungles, rough country for permanent settlements. A few of the lesser clans are turning them into trade hubs for northern and western fleets, though. Practically everything has to be shipped in, the land gives up nothing.”

“There are at least forty other listings around that time for contracts entered into for labor on this island,” Ahsan says, looking to me. “They’re shipping in people. They must not have the population to support the labor needs yet, so they’re using contracted workers.”

He reaches for me, putting a hand on my arm. “Kadar,” he says softly, “I can’t prove this listing was for your family. I’ve told you all there is. But it seems likely. . . or else it’s an enormous coincidence.”

“It’s them,” I say, feeling it, knowing it. “It has to be.”

“Kadar, there’s no contract for your son,” he says, his dark eyes staring up into mine. “She only took a contract out on herself. Her son is listed as an expense. She took him with her, but. . . he’s free.”

A shattering crash jars us both out of the moment, and then a plume of heat washes over my back. I turn, shocked, to find Anala standing over a small inferno of burning scrolls and a now shattered lantern, a flask of something that looks decidedly like lamp oil in her free hand.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Raja demands, clutching his arm and backing away from the swiftly growing fire.

“One final statement on our way out the door,” Anala grins, showing most of her teeth. “This war begins now!”