[quote=@persianversion] The heat of the desert was a familiar discomfort, and at first, Najla did not mind it. In her time at Barren Flats, she had prayed for the way the sun beat down without mercy upon the sand, begging for any change from the biting cold. She had missed the rolling golden dunes of her home, and the way they seemed to stretch on forever, a devastating sight to a lost traveler, but an inspiring sight to someone who felt these lands belonged to them. As the red sand of the valley slowly began to give way to that which she was familiar with, Najla slowly remembered why her home was so treacherous. She had been reluctant to cover her head as the Sawarim were known to do, as she knew that to most of those she had angered in Coedwin, and likely before, altering her appearance to look more like the Sawarim would only anger them more. However, once she saw Ketill reach back, taking a piece of cloth from his bag, Najla felt more comfortable following suit. She had already dressed for desert travel, wearing the lightest colored dress Ketill had bought for her, and had made certain the cloth covered nearly every bit of her skin, leaving nothing exposed for the sun. Najla tied her hair up first, relieving her neck from the heat her hair trapped, then covered her head with a light cloth. For some time, she rode with just her head covered, but the dust of the desert, kicked up by both men and horses, forced her to look more like her people than she wanted to. She undid the cloth and retied it so it covered all but her eyes, protecting her mouth from the drying dust of the desert. It made travelling far easier, but it brought no comfort beyond that: Najla could only worry about whether her new attire would anger the men on the expedition. Despite all her worrying, Najla had managed to note that Ketill had been the first to cover his head, and thus, clearly had some experience travelling through the desert. From what she had seen and heard of the Servants at Coedwin, most of their travels into the Sultanate were spent fighting, and so Najla was at a loss to understand why he would instinctively reach for a cloth. Perhaps he was simply copying the attire of the Sawarim he had seen, or perhaps he had travelled farther into the desert than she had assumed. Whatever the reason, Najla was distracted from her attempts to understand it as the Servants began to return, some stopping to wish her master well. Though she listened to their interactions closely, she would otherwise avoid drawing any more attention to herself, for if the cloth had not covered her expression, every approaching Servant would see the uneasiness on her face all too well. Clearly, Najla had expected them to despise her as the others did. Even if she had not caused even more problems by trying to free Inaya, she had killed a Monarchist. Therefore, even though her expression was covered, her eyes gave away her surprise as the Servant that caught her gaze nodded at her as he rode away. Frozen by her shock, she would have no time to respond as he rode away, but returned her gaze to the endless stretches in front of her. It did not take long after the Servants departed for Najla to notice a new presence. She had expected that scouts would appear at some point. In fact, she had been counting on it. Najla had never been involved with the positions and training of scouts, as that was reserved for those who operated the Sultan’s army. Still, she had a close familiarity with the movements of the scouts. She had learned how to find the barest traces of their presence among the shifting sands, both from previous experience in the desert, and the teachings of her family. When she was younger, she had even begged her father to allow her to watch the scouts train as Jalil was allowed to do, and was finally allowed to ride into the desert with her father. Then, she had pointed at every scout she spotted, shouting out their positions with glee as if it were a game. Now, she marked their positions silently, and would only admit she was aware of their presence when Ketill did. When he leaned in to speak to her, she pulled the cloth down from her mouth and nose, readying herself to reply to his words. Instead, she followed his gaze, noting the scout he was referring to. It was not surprising to her that Ketill would be able to notice Sultanate scouts, as she assumed he had become adept at it during his time in the Servants. However, Najla was slightly surprised to see that the other leaders seemed to take no notice, or simply did not care. She had assumed that they would be more worried by the appearance of scouts, for though she knew that being tracked was not always an indication of an attack, the Sultanate would not allow the expedition to continue on forever unchallenged. [i]“Yes, my lord.”[/i] There was nothing else to say. The trackers did not worry Najla. If anything, they presented an opportunity, a chance for one to recognize her among the vast expedition and tell the others. It was a slim chance, but she would offer up no further observations to Ketill in the fear that he could use that information to keep the trackers at bay. Despite the dust of the desert, Najla did not pull the cloth to cover her face again, leaving her face exposed for the slim chance that one of the trackers might recognize her. ------------------------------------------------------ Sleep came easily for Najla. The days ride had exhausted her, and she had forgotten how a day spent under this blinding heat served to sap one of their energy. As the exhaustion of the day settled over the camp, it settled over Najla as well, and she fell asleep moments after she laid her head down. The screaming did not wake her, not instantly at least. First it punctured her unconscious, and Najla would only stir as if she were entering the beginnings of a nightmare, turning in her bed. They grew louder in these dreams, more realistic, until they pulled her from her sleep and she felt her eyes open, only to realize the screaming hadn’t stopped when her dreams did. Najla sat up in her bed then, waking just as Ketill walked over to the tent flap. She watched him anxiously from her bed, fear begging her to both shut up and ask what was happening. Instead, she watched helplessly as the two men tumbled through the tent entrance, one tackling Ketill to the floor. While Ketill wrestled with one, Najla’s attention was quickly drawn to the one who stood, now approaching her with a grin. She knew what that sort of grin meant. Before he could fall upon her, Najla glanced around hurriedly, desperately seeking for anything to use as a weapon. It had never occurred to her that these were not Sultanate soldiers, but there would be no time to reason with this one. She had found none when he reached her, and his free hand grabbed at her, finding her arm and pulling her up and towards him. Najla used her other hand to try and pull his grip away, but he was far stronger. [i]<“Get up and I won’t hurt you!”>[/i] The man threatened, but a sudden burst of flames from the corner of the tent drew both their attentions. Both Najla and the slaver stopped for the briefest of moments, frozen by the horror before them. Before Ketill could stand to kill his friend, Najla recovered, kicking her attacker in his knee. He only stumbled slightly, and just as it caused his grip to loosen enough for her to slip her arm out of it, she watched his expression contort into a cry of pain as Ketill’s sword raked across his back. Once more, she found herself frozen as she watched Ketill drive his sword deep into the man’s neck. Perhaps any other day she would have cringed as his blood fell onto her, but Najla could barely think, and only gripped his hand in return as Ketill grabbed for hers. Without looking back at the bodies in the sand, Najla could only watch as Ketill killed a third man before her. She followed closely when he dragged her through the camp after him, her eyes on the carnage around her. It was at Ketill’s words that she began to understand what was truly happening around her, and even among the horror, she felt her heart sink when she realized the truth. [i]He’s not lying to me.[/i] She thought even as she struggled to keep up with his pace, following along as quickly as she could. [i]He’s right.[/i] Sand made it difficult to flee, and Najla trekked through it as fast as she could, rushing to run instead of allowing Ketill to drag her. It became more difficult when he began to pull her up the dune, and she felt the sand slip from under her feet, tumbling down the hill and threatening to loosen her footing. Najla continued nonetheless, only to feel Ketill release her and shove her up the hill in front of him. At his command, she looked back to see him draw his blade as the horses drew nearer, and she needed nothing further. Najla turned her back to the slaughter behind her and forced herself to the top of the dune, at which she turned to see Ketill fighting below her. She had only ever seen the aftermath of such a raid before, and was unused to the sheer terror of being caught within one. Najla could only watch as tents rose up in flames or died down, and it seemed the screaming had not stopped since she awoke, and would never stop again. When Ketill reached the top to hand her the reins, she took them quickly, only to hear herself cry out for the first time when a rider approached, knocking Ketill into the sand. She did not watch as he fell away from her, only turning to the horse, her only intention being to leave Ketill and the slavers behind. The command pierced this intention however, and Najla looked around wildly as the slavers circled her, leaving no path for escape. She heard the command clearly, but acted as if she hadn’t, only gripping the reins tighter in her hand. The noise of the camp seemed to fade as she watched them point their weapons at her, waiting for her to move. They did not want to kill her, Najla knew, but if she ran they’d run her down. Her gaze went to Ketill’s body for a moment, and she saw his sword glinting in the sand. She released the reins then, allowing them to slip through her fingers as she stepped away from the horse, stepping closer to Ketill’s body carefully even as one of the men on foot moved closer to her, ready to grab her. She wouldn’t be able to fight them off, both the slavers and Najla knew that, but they knew she wouldn’t try to. She was a Sawarim woman after all, and as slavers they had likely seen many like her, ready to risk slitting their throats before the chance was stolen from them for good. She had not forgotten her name and title, but Ketill’s words had not been forgotten either. Seeing the man edging closer to her, even as the others aimed their weapons at her, Najla ran for the sword. Her path was cut off by pounding hooves as one of the slavers rode in between her and the weapon, and Najla let out another cry as she jumped back from the horse on instinct, only to be tackled to the ground by the man behind her before the sand could settle. [i]<“Thought you would slit your throat before I fucked it?”>[/i] The man taunted loudly, even as Najla struggled under him. She tried to push his hands off of her, but he was far stronger than her and had knocked her down quite harshly under his weight. She could not fight him off for long, but it would be long enough. [i]<“Don’t touch me! I’m the Sultan’s niece, let go!”>[/i] It seemed her title had been her last resort, a desperate attempt even below a sword at her throat, but she tried regardless. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, one hand of his now pinning both of hers down onto the sand. [i]<“I’m Najla ibn-la-Wahad, I swear!”> [/i] [i]<“Prove it.”>[/i] He spat down at her, his other hand now reaching for the front of her dress. [i]<“I-”>[/i] [i]<“You’re not fucking anything yet Karib, bring her back!”>[/i] The order came from a man sitting atop his horse, and the man on top of her hesitated again. It did not take him long to make up his mind, and he moved off of her, taking a fistful of her hair and yanking her off the sand harshly as he did. The slaver led her towards the man on the horse, and Najla glanced around to see that most of those that had gathered to threaten her had left, either to rejoin the fighting or find their own spoils. The master on his horse looked down at her as the slaver stopped in front of him. [i]<“She’s saying she’s part of the Sultan’s family, master.”>[/i] The man on his horse looked down at her and grinned. [i]<“Funny how she didn’t tell us that before we got the sword away from her throat. Even if she was telling the truth, who cares, she’s probably one of their ten thousand bastards.”>[/i] [i]<“I’m no bastard, my name is Najla ibn-la-Wahad, I am the Great Sultan’s niece!”>[/i] The slaver on the horse just shook his head, but turned his horse anyways. [i]<“Bring her, she won’t be ours to deal with.”>[/i] -------------------------------------------------- The slavers had only set up a few tents, likely for the masters, though as the others continued to ride into their makeshift settlement, it seemed they did not desire such privacy. She could hear the cries of women from all around her, pleading or sobbing as men threw them down into the sand. She’d be there soon, Najla knew, and she tried desperately not to look at her future. The men leading her seemed eager to get her there however, and sped up their pace, forcing Najla to come along, hoping they’d be allowed to reward themselves for this capture. The resistance of the militiamen captured came through in threats and insults but they were silenced quickly as the slavers retaliated, laughing and returning insults as the men were thrown into the sand. The tent they pushed her through was large, and many populated the tent, far calmer than those who had done the work outside. Both slavers and their new slaves, or at least any of them that they did not want subjected to those outside, either sat or stood around the tent. Najla’s eyes widened when she spotted a blonde woman among them, a rare sight this far south, but her attention was quickly called away as someone called for her. [i]<“Saina! Where is your master?”>[/i] Najla’s gaze darted from a familiar face to another, and she froze when her eyes met Ghalid’s. He sat between two other slavers, one bare-chested with olive skin and dark hair, and another. The other was even darker than most Sawarim men, with a pointed beard and eyes that studied her thoughtfully. Even in her shock, Najla recalled that she had only seen men as dark as him in her brief dealings with the Rabi’ah people. [hider=Uzeyir the Slaver] [img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/eb/82/d2/eb82d263b2db8dd09ddeaf14bb54469b.jpg[/img] [/hider] [i]<“A rider took the Servant out. She was about to slit her throat when we caught her, master. She keeps saying she’s royalty.”>[/i] The man holding her had answered for her, as Najla’s surprise had left her without words to reply. He released her at that, and Najla glanced back at him briefly before turning again to look at Ghalid, who had found her death wish amusing. [i]<“You really do hate living don’t you? Or else you’re not very good at it.”>[/i] She did not respond to his taunting, only watching him silently. There was no fear on her expression, only a frown that told of both distaste and confusion. Najla supposed she understood why he had wished to join the expedition at all, and pledge his own slaves for such a cause. Had he lied about abandoning his God as well? He had done the Sultanate a service, she supposed, whether it was for his own greed or for a purpose. Yet, whatever favors he had done did little to temper her distaste. [i]<“Speak up.”>[/i] [i]<“My name is Najla al-ibn-Wahad. I am the niece of the Great Sultan. Release me and I’ll make you rich, hurt me and you’ll regret it.”> [/i] She would sound nothing like the slave Ghalid had heard before, she was not trying to lie or pull pity from him. Her voice was clear and confident, and she spoke no words beyond what she needed to. Her words drew a pause, but it was broken by the man behind her within moments. [i]<“She’s been spitting that lie since we got ahold of her. She didn’t want to tell us that before she tried to slit her throat though.”>[/i] [i]<“It’s no lie. I am the second daughter of Ali ibn-la-Wahad. I was travelling north when I was captured, then given to that Servant before the expedition began. Ya Sawarim, I swear it upon my life and that of my mothers, I am Najla. I will make you rich if you return me [b]unharmed[/b].”>[/i] Ghalid looked upon her with disbelief, even as the other slaver laughed, less convinced than he was. However, the dark man leaned forward slightly, and Najla’s attention was brought onto him when he spoke to her, his voice far calmer than Ghalid’s. [i]<“Tell me, where is your brother then?”>[/i] Najla’s eyes snapped to him now, and she frowned. He certainly possessed more tact than Ketill had, but even so, Najla studied his face carefully. [i]<“Dead, he rides alongside his God now.”>[/i] A lie, he was unburied, but she did not want to say it now. The others said nothing, but the dark man bowed his head at that, reciting the standard [i]<“May his journey be swift.”>[/i] He moved to say something else then, but was interrupted by Ghalid, who motioned her closer. The man who had been holding her pushed her forward slightly, until she was just close enough to for the slavers to touch. [i]<“You really are more trouble than you’re worth. I know you’re lying to me, girl. The most you ever were before this was a Servant’s whore, and he is not here to protect you again. I should just give you to my men and be rid of you.”> [/i] Najla wanted to speak up in protest, but she soon found she did not need to. While the other slaver sitting beside Ghalid had not said a word, but only laughed at her claims, the dark slaver waved his hand at Ghalid, dismissing his words even though his eyes never left Najla. [i]<“Have you ever visited the Zanj?”> [/i] When Najla looked upon the man again, she felt herself smile softly, and nodded. [i]<“I knew you were of the Rabi’ah. I was there when my brother Harith was promised to his wife Adina.”>[/i] She recalled the Zanj well, a place even more treacherous than the desert, where sand gave way to harsh stone. Nothing grew, but Rabi’ah were raiders at their core, and their ability to hide within the treacherous cliffs of their home was a danger to any of the Sultanate who wished to pass through it. Bringing them under the banner of the Sultanate had been difficult, yet necessary, and promising one of their women to a prince had been yet another way to keep the Rabi’ah satisfied. It made sense that one of them would come so far to profit as a slaver, but Najla did not tell him that. The slaver turned to Ghalid then, and she could see the beginnings of a grin on his lips. [i]<“She’s not lying. I know her face, I have seen it before.”>[/i] She could see Ghalid’s shock as the dark man stood, still speaking as he walked towards her. [i]<“Don’t look so disappointed Ghalid. We are about to be rich men.”>[/i] He took her hand then, softly, and bowed his head towards her. [i]<“Sultana.”>[/i] His attitude seemed almost mocking, but Najla did not want to chide him for it. She was simply relieved that it seemed someone would believe her, even as the other slaver finally spoke up. [i]<“Even if you’re right Uzeyir, it doesn’t mean you get her first.”>[/i] Uzeyir turned to glare at the slaver, then looked back at Najla, his expression softening. [i]<“My apologies, Sultana.”>[/i] He looked back at the slaver then, his tone annoyed and sharp. [i]<“Think with your mind instead of your cock for once. If we try to give her for ransom, they’ll have our heads if they find out we’ve touched her. Go find yourself another girl.”>[/i] He hesitated for a moment, then turned to look at Ghalid as well. [i]<"I have dealt with the royal family, this is no light matter to them. Any insult is repaid a hundred times over, remember that.">[/i] The slaver stood, angry, but did not argue. Ghalid was still silent, clearly displeased, but he did not want to argue. The profit they’d get from taking Najla to the capital seemed enough to quiet him, and even this made Najla dislike him more. Despite thinking that she should be grateful they preferred profit over pleasures, it did little to help her image of his character. The other slaver walked out of the tent, and she heard a voice call out her name just before he did. It was a familiar voice, but when Najla turned to look at the source, it was gone. Nevertheless, when she turned back to look at Ghalid, she knew, but said nothing more. She could have asked them to release Anne, or at least not touch her until they reached the capital. It seemed Uzeyir had enough sense to understand that royal captives needed to be treated as guests, and Najla had already proven that she’d be willing to slit her throat. She would only need to threaten it again. However, she turned back to look up at Uzeyir as he spoke again, and the woman was forgotten entirely. [i]<“Do you know if the Servant is alive or dead?”>[/i] Najla shrugged slightly. It seemed that just as with Anne, Ketill had been forgotten within moments. [i]<“Dead, I assume. At least he looked dead, it was a harsh blow.”>[/i] Uzeyir turned to two of the other slavers in the room, commanding them swiftly. [i]<“Go out and see if anyone’s seen the Servant. Bring his head if you can find it.”>[/i] They nodded and left as well, while the slaver looked down upon Najla again. [i]<“Come, sit and rest. We will begin transporting tonight, just after the last are rounded up. You will need your strength.”> [/i] [/quote]