Some days pass slowly.
The palanquin's swaying motions eventually lull me into a restless slumber despite the relentless churn of apprehension. I'm jarred awake sometime later by the telltale sounds and smells of an encampment - crackling fires, the stamp of horses, gruff voices exchanging terse words in the distance.
My heart sinks as I take in my new surroundings once Chavo sweeps aside the curtains. We've stopped in a rough clearing amidst a dense, overhanging treeline. A half-dozen large tents and pavilions are erected around a series of roaring braziers, with most of Chavo's armed escorts lounging nearby on watchful sentry duty.
But it's the other figures milling about the campsite that make my stomach twist into fresh knots. A array of men, women and even children of all ages, gar
