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“Stupid stranger!” The man who was leading Einen along shouted. “He’s just like a dog. Until he gets disciplined, he doesn’t understand who the master is.”
Hadjar gave him the look he usually reserved for those he wanted to kill. The servant started and turned white, but didn’t look away. Instead, while still leading the islander, he drew a simple club from his belt.
Coming closer (Einen was trying to slow down the progress of his trio of guards, but couldn’t do it), he hit Hadjar on the head. Sparks flew from Hadjar’s eyes. They were blue as well.
“Come on, stranger, look at me like that again. f*****g dog…”
He started to swing again, but was stopped by the old man’s shout: “Don’t ruin the merchandise, you fool! Or do you want to deal with Karissa?”
“I beg your pardon, Salif,” the boy bowed, still looking at Hadjar. A mixture of fear and rage could be seen in his childish, wolfish eyes. Hadjar knew from personal experience that such a person never became anything worthwhile — just a scoundrel and an asshole. Once upon a time, the first man Hadjar had defeated in a duel had looked at the world in that same exact way. That man had killed a daughter in front of her own mother.
“Move, you dog.” The boy tried to spit on Hadjar’s face, but the prisoner dodged.
Standing up with his back straight and head held high, Hadjar followed the old man. The young man holding the rod with his collar almost stumbled at the sudden change of pace.
Einen, who had also received a painful blow to the chest from that club, greeted the northerner’s actions with a broad grin. It was the kind of small victory over their captors that gave them hope. And for prisoners, along with their dignity, hope was their last refuge. Hadjar realized dungeons made him quite philosophical…
Chapter 336
They followed the old man into a long corridor. The passage, obviously manmade, had, at first, naturally formed over hundreds or thousands of years and, judging by the number of irregularities on the walls and the ceiling and how far the stalactites and stalagmites had grown out, no one had interfered in the process.
Now that he was in the narrow stone corridor, Hadjar felt the lack of a clear sky overhead as almost a physical pain. While he’d been in prison, he hadn’t been particularly aware of the fact that he was underground. And now the realization struck him.
To the boy’s delight, Hadjar swayed slightly and cut himself quite deeply on a stalagmite. Suppressing a cry, Hadjar picked up a small, needle-shaped shard that he’d manage to break off from the ground with a deft movement of his hand. The servants didn’t notice him doing so, but the vigilant Einen did.
After a brief exchange of glances, Einen mimed a symbol from his native alphabet. It was the number three. Hadjar wished he’d taught the islander the sign language of hunters…
They both knew that, even if they succeeded in killing the servants and the old man by some miracle, their escape attempt would still be doomed to failure. They had no idea where they were, and the slave collars, which could only be removed with a special seal, were still around their necks. On the other hand, if they didn’t try to escape, they would no longer have any self-respect left.
At the first turn, Einen gestured ‘one’. Hadjar responded with a slight nod. He understood what Einen was signalling.
They passed the second turn in the same silence and at the same leisurely pace. Apparently, only one of the seven servants wanted to harm the strangers. The rest of them, and even old Salif, were trying to set a pace at which the journey would not last forever but the prisoners wouldn’t be forced to stumble after them.
Five minutes later, Einen and Hadjar had regained control of their bodies. This was the result of years of hard training and their high levels of cultivation.
As soon as the third turn appeared ahead, the islander pretended to stumble. A great actor was clearly being wasted, trapped inside Einen. He staggered plausibly, cutting his forehead against the stone wall, leaving streaks of blood and skin behind. Blood spurted in all directions. Only an inexperienced person believed that there would be a lot of blood if one cut into a torso. In reality, cutting one’s face or head was the far more guaranteed way to ensure lots of blood loss.
“By the Evening Stars!” Salif exclaimed.
Noticing the holdup, the old man had wanted to kick the prisoners at first, but then he’d seen one of the strangers in a pool of his own blood. He took a special flask out of his pocket and walked over to Einen.
“Hold him down,” the old man commanded.
Due to this unexpected situation, he’d completely forgotten about the second prisoner for a moment. Hadjar didn’t waste the opportunity. Unclenching his fist, he deftly seized the stone needle. Rushing forward, ignoring how the collar choked him and the screams of the falling servants, he grabbed Salif by the shoulders and held his ‘weapon’ against the old man’s perfectly visible carotid artery.
“Don’t move!” Hadjar shouted to the boy who was already swinging his club.
He was aiming right at Einen’s head. Such a blow wouldn’t kill the sturdy islander, but would certainly send him into oblivion for a long time.
“Don’t be silly, stranger,” the old man said calmly, almost lazily. “You understand that you won’t escape, don’t you?”
“I do,” Hadjar nodded and pressed the needle down harder. A red trickle ran down the old man’s skin.
“Then why do this?”
Neither the pain nor the blood seemed to be bothering the old man.
“Take Einen’s gag out.”
“What?”
“Take the bald man’s gag out.” Hadjar had forgotten that he’d been shaved as well. His thick, long hair was now a distant memory.
“You heard him.”
The servants looked fearfully from Hadjar to their leader and back. After some hesitation, they carefully pulled the greasy cloth out of Einen’s mouth.
He stood up, wiped the blood away with the cloth, and then threw it in the face of the boy with the club. His face flushed with the indignity and his hand trembled, but the old man stopped him in time.
“Don’t you dare. I’ll deal with them myself…”
“And what will you do?” Hadjar asked impudently. At the moment, he felt like a desert bandit. “Will you send us to meet our forefathers?”
“Meet your forefathers? Oh no, stranger, you won’t get off that easily.”
Hadjar pushed the needle in even harder.
“Then what’s supposed to stop me from killing you?”
“What difference would it make?” The old man asked calmly in return. “They won’t take your collars off and they won’t release you. You can slit my throat right now and it won’t change your fate.”
Einen gave the arrogant youth a look so haughty that the servant choked with humiliation. The islander could really assert his superiority when he wanted to.
“Then we’re in a stalemate,” he said, probing his bleeding forehead with his fingers, inspecting the cut.
- Writer
