Dion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

“And you're sure of it?”

“Yes, I saw her leaving alone an hour ago. Not sure where she went, but the Servant wasn't with her, and I'm sure he is in his private room.”

“Okay, so what the hell are we waiting for.. let's show her what she gets for resisting a Monarchist.”

The boots of the men walked through the castle halls rapidly. They came from the dormitory, which had been temporarily set up in one of the many mess halls. The castle was large and had many rooms to service the many Servants that lived there. Like would be expected of a true holy order, a Monarchist cross was to be found almost everywhere. These men did not seem to care, however. They approached the large castle doors and left the castle, stepping into the courtyard. They greeted the two Servants that were guarding the entrance, and then headed into the city, walking through the castle-keep gate that separated the keep from the town. The large castle walls of the town itself were grand, but the pinnacle of Coedwin was no doubt the castle keep.

They followed the roads, looking for the woman. There were five of them, including the two of them that had earlier assaulted Saina. The one with the broken nose was visibly still quite.. shaken from that entire event. His nose was crooked and bandaged, a sure sign to remember Saina of just who this man was. They were carrying torches and seemed to be almost like a regular patrol of guards.

Though they were somewhat tired, the adrenaline of their plan was kicking in and their pace increased with every step they took. However since they hadn't trailed Saina, finding her would prove to be nigh impossible, and indeed they would spend nearly an hour walking around before they found any sign of her. When they walked past a warehouse with a light burning inside, they briefly stopped. One of the men peeked inside through a window, before looking back at the men with him.

“Just some merchant discussing some stuff with a woman,” he said. It was a lucky break for Saina, perhaps, that she had faced away from the window. She had probably saved the life of the merchant in the process, as the men were clearly not in the mood for negotiation or diplomacy, and it was wholly likely that they would've went in there and cut them down where they stood, leaving none alive to witness the horrible acts they would perform on Saina.

But they did not see her - and did not think to ask the people inside if they had seen a Sawarim slave. There were too many Sawarim slaves anyway, so the question would've served no purpose.

“Alright, let's go, we'll walk in a circle back to the castle and see if she's going back any time soon,” the one with the broken nose said. They continued on their way, following a path along the outer edges of the city, hugging the walls before walking down the main road through the center of the city.

It did not take them long after all to stumble across Saina, purely by accident. Her hair was ruffled, looking like she just had a tumble with a man, and her dress was pulled off the shoulder. If anything this gave the men more of a reason to take her - she was worthless after all, a whore. “She didn't even pleasure the Servant,” one of the men whispered as they followed her.

“Aye, she's not a good slave. Do you think she decided to do this herself, to earn some money, or did the Servant send her to take care of one of his friends?”

“She seems rather comfortable walking here looking like a whore, so my guess is she did this herself.”

“Quiet, you two! Get her!”

The voices would be hushed, but not out of earshot for Saina. However, if she suddenly ran, it was likely that the men would catch up anyway. It was much harder to run in a dress than in a light tunic and some linen trousers, after all. They would walk up behind her, and one of the men would suddenly grasp her wrist, pulling her back sharply and nearly forcing her face to bump into the man. “Looks like we finally caught you! Alone, even. You've just come back from a customer have you not? Don't you know being a whore, a woman of loose morals, is against the word of the Monarch? You'll have to repent for that, and we know just the way! We'll show you how the Monarchists, men of the true God, repent for their sins.”

Another man walked closer and grasped her around her waist, giving her a rather tight bear hug, and catching her other arm in the hug as well, making it so that she could not fight back quite as well. He lifted her from the ground and took her with him, following the four men while they looked for an empty warehouse. Since she'd just come from her discussion with the merchant, and so they had found themselves right in the middle of the warehouse and business area of the city - the marketplace was right around the corner, one of the men remembered.

They entered an empty and abandoned warehouse and the man holding Saina would walk to one of the support poles that held up the second floor. He'd push her up against this pole, while one of his four companions reached for a rope that laid on a chest nearby. Promptly he would force her arms behind her back, around the pole, and would then tie her hands together. He made sure to tie it very tightly, though his work was not expert and he did not seem to have any experience with kidnapping people. Her hands were tied, but she could still move them, and wiggle her hands if she wished.

She was now standing up, her back pressed against the pole. The man with the broken nose got closer and pushed aside the two men that were busy tying her up. With a quick movement his head jerked close to hers and he stared directly into her eyes. “So we meet again. I got my weregild, you know.. but I don't think it was quite enough. Look at what you did to my nose - you, you fucking Sawarim bitch,” he'd say, the words spitting from his mouth in a rather angry fashion. The way he called her a Sawarim bitch made it quite clear he held no sympathy for the Sawarim desert-lords, those tribal peasants that ate sand for breakfast and dinner.

“You Sawarim harlots have no morals and don't understand Gods' will, I can see that.. look at you, your dress half off your shoulders. Didn't your Servant master just buy that for you, you unthankful wench? He'll be glad we got rid of you when we're done with you, no more expenditure for him..”

His hand grabbed her shoulder harshly, and he dug his nails into her shoulder, which was bare as she had just removed her dress from it to appear more like a real slave. Perhaps she had done a job that was too good. While he was merely grasping her shoulder now, she would soon find he could and would do much worse.

“You desert mongrels are good for nothing else. You're nothing more than an object to be used, aren't you? You know, we hear the stories here, and we're sure they're all true.. you sand-eaters fuck your own horses, don't you? That's why you hold them in such high regard. Cause your men can't do a good enough job, so you need the horses to satisfy you? I'll show you what a Broacienien man can do.”

He'd promptly turn around and look at the four men, and then pointed at the door. “Go outside and keep guard. You'll get your turns, I promise.” A gross-sounding laugh followed, and the other men laughed along. Yes, she'd be run through at the end of the night, and then left for dead, tied to a pole, her privates ripped to shreds by the careless savages that these men seemed to be.

When the four men left the warehouse, the man with the broken nose would inch closer to Saina, his ugly face coming next to hers. He'd whisper into her ear, while his hand rested on her shoulder and lessened the grip he had there. His other hand would promptly brush between her dress, lifting it slightly, before he'd place his hand over her crotch. “You're going to love this.”

By now, Saina might have realized that the ropes around her wrists had loosened if she had wiggled them enough. She would more than likely have enough space to draw her wrists free, and free herself. The mans dagger was exposed. It's blade was straight, and it was clearly of Broacien origin. She could easily reach for it, grab it, and slit the mans throat or stab him. The close proximity of the mans face meant that, if she could get past his vulgar words, his terrible smell, and the hand that was now nestled firmly on her crotch and beginning to feel her up, he would not notice her actions until it was too late.

But first, she had to make the move, and reach for the weapon. And secondarily, she'd have to find a way to do it without alarming the four men outside, unless she had wished to fight off all four of them. While she might be raped otherwise, she would likely still be alive afterwards. Perhaps. But if the four of them found their friend dead at the hands of a slave, with a dagger in her hands, there was no way she would survive it.

By now the man was groping her, his hand having dropped from her shoulder and aggressively grasping at her breast through the fabric of her dress. Clearly, whatever morals Ketill held himself to that had made him not ask for Saina's company as of yet, these men lacked the same morals, and they had no problems raping her. The decency to ask her to service them was lacking - though Saina was more than likely to have denied that request - and they were more reminiscent of animals than men.

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

It seemed that to Najla ‘something’ meant taking advantage of an opportunity she’d rarely have again. She had not been within Coedwin’s walls before, though she knew that many of her family had placed spies within the walls. At least, they had tried to, for while a Sawarim was not a strange sight within the walls, getting their messages past the walls was a difficult task. Regardless of these difficulties, Najla was certain that her family had placed someone within these walls. A slave within the castle, perhaps, or maybe they had struck up a deal with a trader who frequented here.

Had she known who had placed them or better yet, who they were, Najla would have been able to easily search the markets. Now, the yelling was only proving a distraction, for she was trying to think of the spymasters, rather than their spies.

Eshe contains her network to the south, I know that. Farrah perhaps, but no, she could never travel here to know their secrets- “Girls, from Zanj to Lankara!” The slavers call broke her thoughts, and after a quick glance over his ‘cargo’ she simply strode past, trying to pick up her thoughts.

She continued to move through the list of the spymasters she knew who might have extended their influence to Coedwin, eliminating or retaining them based on what she knew. It was not a perfect system, as she knew much changed for spymasters throughout the course of a year, or even within a few days, but scouring every slave and trader in here was no alternative. It took some time however, for her thoughts were frequently interrupted, by merchants’ calls, by her pauses to look over a group of slaves, by those who jolted her out of her thoughts as they shoved past, and her examination of every inch of the wall and entrances surrounding Coedwin, and the Servants who were stationed there. It was an overload of information quite unlike what she had seen for some time, but Najla was only eager to train her skills again, and digested the information as quickly as she could. They’d have a whole week in Coedwin, sure, but Najla doubted she’d ever see the inside of this castle again afterwards.

As her eyes traced over another group of slaves, the slavedriver before them encouraging a few curious buyers, Najla’s stream of information halted entirely. She froze, briefly, before slipping out of the crowd and closer to the slavedriver’s wares so as not to get jostled by the crowd, but did not approach. Her eyes scanned a familiar face, desperately hoping it wasn’t true.

The longer she looked, the more certain Najla was. The large eyes, black and gentle, the angular nose, all in all, the face of someone Najla had considered a friend. She had been a princess’s handmaiden, a daughter of a tribal leader with some influence who had spent most of her life at court following her cousin Lamya around, giggling about gowns and jewelry, with the promise that she may marry into the royal family someday. Now, she stood in a row of others, looking down upon the ground with a defeated expression. Lamya was a spoiled girl, yet she loved her handmaiden dearly, and would never have allowed her to be placed in danger. Curiosity and worry took over, and Najla approached the girl, keeping her voice so low the slaves beside her couldn’t hear.

“Inaya-“

The moment the girl’s eyes snapped up to her, her face went white, her eyes wide, and she opened her mouth to speak her name, at which point Najla shushed her.

<“Saina. My name is Saina here.”>

<“You’re alive?”> The girl’s voice came through as a ragged whisper, and Najla nodded. <“Jalil?”> <“No.”> She cut her off instantly, shaking her head.

Inaya opened her mouth to say a quick prayer, but Najla cut her off again, glancing up at the distracted slavedriver before turning back to the girl.

<“No time. How did you get here?”>

<“Lamya sent me, I was to travel to the Al-Turahai clan and inquire after one of her contacts but along the way-“>

Najla cut her off again. She was growing impatient with the girl’s explanation, and knowing that her cousin was alive, she didn’t care as to the rest. Besides, if Lamya has a contact within the Al-Turahai, she could very well have a contact in Coedwin. They are within the same region, and equally dangerous.

<“Quick, my mother, my father, how are they?”>

Inaya seemed surprised, but answered anyways. It seemed the shock of seeing Najla alive had made her more pliable than before, a lucky break for Najla, who knew the slavedriver would see her soon.

<“Your father is a strong man, but your mother...she awaits your return. She will be thrilled-“>

<“As will your family. Quick, who does Lamya have here? Give me a name.”>

Inaya thought for a moment, an agonizing silence for Najla, who wanted nothing more than to sprint off before the slaver saw her. He was distracted with other customers, and a slave girl inspecting another would be nothing to look at twice, unless she was to linger. Najla had already extended past lingering, and the wait was unbearable.

<“Suhayb.”> Najla frowned at that, but had no time to question it. Suhayb was not a name, but in their tongue only meant ‘of copper’. Perhaps it was a trader’s name, or an identifier, but Najla knew she could find him from it. <“He keeps you here at night, right?”> Inaya wanted to answer, but a nod was all she could offer before an order came. Not for her, but for Najla.

<“Girl, step away from the wares.”>

Najla turned to look up at the slavedriver. An older man, with a thick mustache and an unpleasant frown, he walked towards her angrily, but Najla only bowed her head towards him.

<“Apologies, my lord, I am not shopping for myself but for my master.”> She could tell the slavedriver was suspicious, but before he could ask, she continued speaking. <“Is she a virgin?”>

Inaya’s eyes widened, but the slavedriver answered, the frown still on his face. <“Yes, she is.”> Najla stifled a laugh at that, then stepped back, inspecting Inaya’s body with her eyes. Her suspicion of his claim was written all over her face and her body language. Though she would not dare to speak it, Najla knew he was getting defensive now, less worried that she was lying and more worried that he would lose a sell. Merchants were the easiest to fool, she had found, even the promise of coin was often enough.

<“How much, my lord?”> <“300 silvers.”> He replied, and Najla frowned at the price. Cheaper than she’d expect for a pleasure slave, but the price was irrelevant regardless. <“You will not go lower?”> <“No, she is a virgin, that is cheap for her.”> Najla nodded at this, the disbelief still clear in her face, but she replied gently anyways. <“Thank you my lord, I will let my master know.”>

The slaver turned in a huff, eager to fool another customer, and Najla glanced up at Inaya, offering her a smile and a wink before she turned to go. She was not worried about the slaver, he would not remember this conversation unless he wanted to lower the price for her another day. She worried about Suhayb now, and moved through the markets with a new purpose.

------

Lamya was a spoiled girl, who used her money to extend influence more than cleverness. This wasn’t to say Najla didn’t like her, the women of the Sultan’s court had little room to judge their family for being spoiled. This simply meant Najla’s job was made easier. Lamya had little imagination, and so the name Suhayb was made clear upon a simple walk through the market. He was a Broacien caravanmaster with copper hair, only a couple slaves beside him, helping to arrange and sell his wares. Najla only watched from afar for a moment, waiting until no one lingered before his stand before approaching the trader directly and bowing her head.

“My lord, a moment?” It was a bolder statement than he likely would have expected, and the frown on his face stated as much. Before he could dispute and another customer could approach him, she spoke again, her voice low. “Lamya sent me.”

It took nothing more than that. He gave control of the stand to his slaves, taking a few steps to the side, which Najla followed quickly. “Why send you and not herself?” “This is a task, not a query, Suhayb.” Her tone grew more commanding instantly, and perhaps that was all the proof the merchant needed. Perhaps he had been spying for her cousin long enough to know that the Sultan’s court often traveled in such disguises. Perhaps it had been the name, which she knew now must have been given by Lamya. No Broacien would take such a name. Whether she had proved her point or the fear of offending had been the cause, Najla was allowed to speak.

“She has a task for you. You are to leave, within the next two days. You will empty two crates in your caravan, leave or sell the goods here. You will be reimbursed for those goods hundredfold if you do.” His confusion was apparent, but Najla leaned in closer, continuing to explain. “You are not her only contact here and there are whispers that those that remain are in danger. You are the only one who can be allowed to leave freely. Do you understand? You are to escort her contacts out, and in return, you will be paid.”

“How much?”

“Name your price.” Suhayb raised his brows, but Najla continued. “Two empty crates. That’s all you have to do. Empty two crates, I will fill them for you, and upon arrival you will be awarded a fortune.”

“And what if I get caught smuggling slaves out in boxes?”

“What if the whispers catch up to you?” She replied, her warning clear within her voice. “You think you will trade, or even survive long once a captured spy rats you out for helping Sawarim? This is to help you just as well as the others.”

They spoke, softly and quietly, and once the trader was nice and worried, Najla agreed upon their arrangements. She could spend no more time lingering here, she would return to his caravan tonight, to finish arranging the plans for the escape. He would sell the goods as quickly as he could, and he would clear the crates out by night. She could free Inaya with the help of one of his slaves, easily, but it would take time. They’d plan tonight, she would deliver the rest of his instructions regarding routes and resources there, giving her time to figure out just what those instructions were, and he’d have enough time to pray that his head remained attached before they could fill his crates the next night and send him off in the morning.

-----

Perhaps it was a lucky break for Najla, that she had run into Inaya. Nowhere near as lucky for Inaya, certainly, but Najla could make it out of Coedwin now. Without the girl, she never would have known that Lamya had contacts within the Al-Turahai clan, many of whom traded exclusively on the Redsand. Much did change in a year, and Suhayb was a hard-won contact, someone who could have been useful to Lamya in the future. He likely wouldn’t be persuaded to return to Coedwin after Najla had instilled a fear for his life within him, but the information he brought in crates would be far more valuable.

She spent the day in high spirits. Never did she make an attempt to seek Ketill for a task or command, and instead wandered about the market freely, her thoughts less worried and far more optimistic now. Najla remembered his command to fix his shirt, but brushed it off quickly, she’d have no need for such mindless chores anymore. Besides, she’d likely escape before she learned how to sew. She returned to the area the slaves had been given to sleep in, a drafty hall of the great castle that was stuffed to the brim with cots and mattresses. It would have been difficult to find a place to stay, and Najla might have had to sleep on the ground had it not been for Qamar, who generously offered to share her small cot.

Najla liked the girl. She had grown to consider her as a friend, and knew that while it would be immensely difficult to bring her out with them, she wanted to come back for her. It would not be difficult to send someone to the slavedriver with a full purse and return Qamar to the safety of the Sultan’s court, where Najla would surely thank her for her kindnesses. Perhaps the thought that she could be leaving was allowing her to grow too optimistic, but as they spent the night speaking in hushed whispers and laughter they spoke in that night, Najla convinced herself of the success of this venture more and more.

-----

The hall grew quiet as the night drew on, and Najla waited until she heard Qamar’s soft breathing before she drew herself up. Her feet padded across the floor softly, and she slipped out of the room without a word. The slaves were not questioned, it was simply assumed they were attending to orders they didn’t need to know of. For a Sawarim woman to move throughout the castle in the middle of the night, it would likely be assumed that she was either called to, or returning from, an order to ‘entertain’ her master. Slipping out of the castle was easy, and she moved quickly to where the trader’s caravan lay, knowing he was awaiting her.

It took a simple, swift knock and the door to the small wooden structure, and she was swept in as the door opened. The trader sat with one of his slaves beside him, a girl a few years older than Najla, who could not look her in the eye. Najla looked around the caravan, then at two half-empty crates. “Is that it?”

Suhayb nodded “Yes, we could not get rid of everything today. I will dump them when the time comes.”

Najla meant to study the crates more carefully, but a sound from outside stopped her. It was just a shuffling movement, nothing more, and she assumed it was the traders other slave arranging something. “Dump it all into one. You can empty that when the time comes, but you’ll need it empty in case you need to leave sooner than planned.”

“When is that, exactly?” “I will take one of your slaves tomorrow night. The boy you had, is he trustworthy?” Suhayb nodded, and Najla continued. “He must be ready and waiting at this time tomorrow.” “Is that necessary?”

Najla frowned. She was not used to having her orders questioned, but had to remind herself that this man had never learned her name, knew nothing beyond the threats she had told him, and had only seen her as a slave. She maintained her commanding tone, however.

“Yes, unless you’d like to join me. Arm him before we go. Nothing more than a dagger or knife.” She glanced at the entrance to the caravan again. “I will return with the cargo and you must be prepared to leave the morning after that.” She spent little time there, only discussing a few potential routes and ordering him to stock up on water for the journey ahead. He wanted a more precise estimate of the price, and Najla allowed him to name it, at which she promised to double it. A lie, but Suhayb had likely seen the extent of Lamya’s pockets and believed she would be capable of it. She would be, certainly, but she wouldn’t ever give it to him.

Once he had been sated with the price, Najla thanked him and left the caravan, closing the door behind her. She began to walk through the city, messing her hair up and pulling her dress a little off her shoulder, making it obvious to anyone who looked upon her what she had been ‘called on’ for.

@persianversion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

_{Former home of Amir al-Quteb, Coedwin was taken in a holy war the Sultanate had mistakenly launched against Broacien}

---

---

“No, that passage is small and treacherous. You need to follow the path like the map says,” the commander of Coedwin had said. Hochmeister Aldwin was the current seated commander, an older man, wearing the Servant's three dots on his forehead, but also on both his hands. A sign of a truly devout man, since that meant he had not only completed his required four years, but also had performed considerable feats for the Servants that were worthy of some notion of holiness. After his death, the Monarch would likely raise him to a holy status, to be revered like a saint.

The male quartermaster looked at the map again and shook his head. “That'll take us about a day extra, and we don't have the water for that.”

“Then buy it here. We will discount you. A holy expedition deserves that much.”

“That is generous. By chance, do you have more Servants to spare? Ketill has been helpful on the way here, despite some altercations with others. It'd be useful to have more pious men,”

The Hochmeister laughed and looked to the courtyard, where Ketill was talking with a former battle-companion of his. “Yes, Ketill is useful. There is a reason lord Jachsen requested him. His fame supersedes him, but does not credit him enough. He is kind if you give him the time to become accustomed to you. And zealous. He would die if it meant the Maker would approve of him. But no, I have no Servants to spare. I can offer you an escort to the end of the valley. That is about a days travel, too, but then they must return. We've received reports of raiders and slavers in the area.”

“Yes, yes, and you must protected the people of Redsand, I understand. Thank you for the escort, I will take what I can get. So, about that water..”

Meanwhile, Ketill had let Saina run loose. He knew it would be strange if she stayed by his side constantly, and he did not want to give the other Servants the impression that he had turned weak and let a servant take care of his needs and burdens. The castle was large, very large, almost a city by it's own right. It had formerly belonged to the Emir Amir al-Quteb, who was now deceased. He had lost the castle after foolishly sallying from the gates and losing most of his troops in a desperate escape attempt. The rest of the garrison quickly surrendered.

The holy war would've been lost by Broacien if they had not taken Coedwin that day. For the rest of the war, the Sultanate attempted to get through the valley, but Coedwin stopped every movement they made. Coedwin more or less won the war. Ever since, the fortress stood, defending the lands of Broacien against the infidel from the Sultanate.

Likewise the original intent had been to defend the Sultanate from the exact same thing. It was a shame emir al-Quteb had been so incompetent.

Either way, there were many Servants, townsfolk, traders, caravanmasters, slavedrivers and their accompanying slaves, as well as passer-by's present in the castle. For a spymaster like Saina, it would be like a field trip. For someone like Ketill, it was like returning home.

“Alright, I will pass on the message for you.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

With a simple, firm handshake Ketill ended the conversation and then returned to where he had left Saina, expecting to find her. He'd been talking for longer than an hour, so during that time, she might have found a reason to wander and look around. Though she had no money that Ketill knew of, so this particular market area would've been wholly uninteresting to her. At least, so he thought. Information had a price, but Ketill was very much unaware of it that Saina knew that.

“We will be leaving in a week. The commander said we should re-stock and he insisted we stay for some time, so that he could explain some intricacies of the desert to the other commanders.” In short, he was telling her that she'd be staying here for a while. There wasn't much to be done about that he supposed, though she would probably not complain too much. After all, a roof over your head was preferable over sleeping in the desert.

Sand had a tendency to get everywhere.

“As we're not setting up camp, but sleeping in the city, I suppose you'll be staying with the other slaves. Don't stray too far, and find me every morning, in case I have things for you to do. You still have to fix my shirt, too. Don't think I forget that. For now.. just go and do something. You know escape is useless at this point.”

With that said, he turned around again and left Saina, heading off to go meet some old friends himself.

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

The hope that had brought on by the memory of the quartermaster’s words disappeared instantly at Ketill’s, and she froze as he began to lift his shirt up. Just as soon as her hope had fled, relief struck when he began to speak, his words clearing her fears just before the sound of a cough could.

Najla was stunned to turn and see the quartermaster standing in the entrance, though it seemed the woman had not noticed her. It was no new sight for Najla, to see a woman in a high position, though she had not seen many who held anything beyond title in Broacien. She had not seen many in the Sultanate either, but for Najla, who had been raised among the influential women of the Sultan’s court, it hardly seemed that way. To see a female merchant travelling with a camp was a sight to question, however, as these were often conditions that wealthier women, more accustomed to luxuries, were reluctant to subject themselves to willingly.

She watched the woman speak to Ketill, apparently no longer intent on keeping her head down. She guessed that this woman would be more reasonable, and not so easily angered at a slave’s curious glace. At least, Najla assumed she was reasonable, for she had stopped Najla’s master from cutting off a piece of his finger.

Perhaps I should thank her for it. I’d have to spend the night bandaging a stump if she hadn’t stopped him.

Najla did not have long to think on her ‘fortune’ when the woman walked past Ketill, taking her hand. She said nothing, her eyes firmly on the woman as she touched her arm, her pale hand contrasting significantly against Najla’s darker skin. Her touch was gentle, a welcome change from the men who had seen fit to grasp and grab at her bruised arm all day long. Even when she pressed upon her bruise, Najla made no grimace or wince, but she could not stop herself from flinching slightly, as if meaning to pull her arm away. Of course, she would not dare, and relaxed her arm again as Ketill spoke, allowing the woman to examine her bruises thoroughly.

She only dropped her arm when the woman, who had now identified herself as Anne, let go, only to grasp her chin. Again, Najla showed no resistance, either in her motions or her expressions, but her eyes did not leave Anne’s. The woman was intriguing to her, and more importantly, it seemed Najla had piqued her interest. It was an interest she did not mind this time, for it seemed Anne had no intention of hurting her, and released her chin to turn back to Ketill.

From Anne’s explanation of her actions, Najla noted that she was a clever woman, certainly cleverer than her master. This, in combination with her wealth, apparent by both her position and her clothing, made Najla hope that Anne had indeed been interested in her.

She got her wish quickly, it seemed, and regretted it within mere seconds. When Ketill allowed Anne to speak to her, Najla was left frantically guessing the purpose as she examined the bruise, and her fears were not eased when it was given. Nodding in return when asked if she was asked if she was from Sawarim lands, Najla’s gaze flickered over to Ketill, then back to Anne, when she was asked of any trade secrets she knew. For Anne, who likely did not know she was meant to be a merchant’s daughter, it was a harmless and understandable question. For Najla, who was all too aware of Ketill’s presence before them, it was a question that placed her in a precarious position, but she had to answer regardless, careful not to speak on anything she did not know of.

“Your people have a great deal, my lady, but the Sawarim have long kept luxuries I have not seen here.”

While Anne’s voice was commanding and clear, Najla spoke in a soft, feminine voice. She did not grow bolder as she spoke to Anne, always polite and demure, and she would always glance away if Anne looked her in the eyes for too long. Even while her voice grew no more confident, she did seem to grow more cheerful as they spoke. Perhaps it was a practiced effort to make Anne feel as if Saina was warming to her, or perhaps it was a genuine reaction to a kinder presence, but she seemed to sit up straighter, speak more, and even offered the woman a few gentle smiles.

Najla told Anne of the world she had known. She told her of the thin, richly colored fabrics wealthy Sawarim woman draped themselves in, and the thin rings of gold and silver they would pile upon their bodies. She told her of the oils they rubbed on their bodies, to give off a pleasant scent long after it was applied, and the pigments women applied to their lips. Anne pushed farther on these luxuries, asking where she could buy them cheaply, and Najla answered as best as she could.

“The clothing, my lady, you will never obtain cheaply. The women who weave the fabrics are aware of how highly they are valued. As with the jewelry. If you would seek oils, the people of Lakhm will offer them for cheap.” She had to repeat the name a few times, and smiled brightly when Anne’s pronunciation landed close enough, before explaining briefly how the village was not quite well-known for its cultivation of these flowers, and the name would not count for much in Sawarim markets, but it had enough, and of good quality.

It was a useful tidbit, one born out of the fond memory of her favorite cousin offering her a bottle of their oils for her nineteenth birthday. She had teased it for him then, chiding that he was a prince and did not have to settle for a lesser-known oil. If she was ever to see him again, Najla knew she’d have to ask his forgiveness.

It took some time, though Najla felt confident when Anne stood to leave, even politely offering her assistance if she had any more questions. She watched as the woman left, only to have her peaceful expression wiped off instantly.

----------------------

She bristled as the Sawarim man walked into the room. His presence had not been a welcome sight in the commander’s tent, and it was far less so now. Any man that would turn his back so far upon the Sawarim to sell Sawarim men to Monarchists, all while renouncing his Gods, was less than a viper in her eyes. His questions to Ketill about her were jarring enough, leaving her little room to be shocked when he turned to her, though his language managed to surprise her regardless.

It felt strange, to hear her native tongue after so long. The fact that it was so unpleasant to hear was even stranger, but Najla did not have to try to ignore this. His words were jarring in any language.

“Saina-” She could barely finish her name after his first question, and simply shut her mouth, allowing him to ask questions without her answers.

Was one hundred horses really the only price for her freedom? Perhaps to another Sawarim, it would have been a daunting request, but Najla knew that her family would give far more to have her returned. Agreeing to one hundred horses would have been cheating him. Yet she was no fool, his words did not stop, and she knew he wanted more. He was not going to escape an expedition for one slave when he had pledged countless. He was a coward who refused his God, he would not bring his hands upon a Servant. He was a liar.

Her disgust had been carefully controlled before, but as he continued, talking to her of an easier life as an entertainer, Najla could no longer keep it off her face. It would be an easier life, he was not lying to her on this, yet it would be spent being passed around by infidels. It was a revolting notion, but nowhere near his next words.

Now I can earn money.

These were the words that produced a snarl. Her jaw clenched and her lips curled, her teeth now bared as if she were a beast poised to attack. Despite his knowledge of the language, it would be obvious to both Ketill and the slavemaster that he had angered her, and she made no intention to keep it off her face. The slavedriver had certainly noticed, though it only pulled a wry smile from him.

<“So you believe in our Gods? You will not swear off them?”> Najla shook her head, and the slavedriver continued, apparently amused by this. <“You do not like living then. They treat you very poorly here for your Gods. Tell your master, I will pay for you and take you home, you will live well.”>

<“I don’t understand. Are you offering to free me or buy me?”>

Najla knew the truth, but she wanted to hear him say it. She wanted this creature to tell her that he would buy her if she was poor and lie to her if she were rich, but he would offer her no such victory.

<“So you want to go home? I can take you. Who is your family?”>

Najla shook her head. <“We have no horses.”>

The slavemaster did not seem at all fazed by this, stepping closer to Najla.

<“Then tell your master you want to work for me. Your life will be easy. Like a sultan’s wife. No more camps or tents, only fine beds, good wine, you will live in comfort.”>

<”My lord, I must refuse.”>

<“You wish to be a Servants whore?">

<”No. My lord, I must refuse.”>

Her voice was strained, ready to break under the weight of a title he did not deserve. Despite all her notions of the Broacieniens as beastly, Najla’s anger was almost feral. The slavemaster did not seem as angry as she was, only a frown appearing on his face at her second reiteration of her refusal. Perhaps, despite her obvious hostility, he thought she could still be convinced.

<“My name is Ghalid. Just ask for me if you want to go home.”>. He turned his back to her, acknowledging Ketill with the barest “Servant” before ducking out of the tent.

Najla punctuated the rustling of the tent flap with a final word, spat out in a tongue Ketill would finally understand. “Animal.”

------------------
The slow transition of the ground from grass into the open sandy plains had been acting as a marker for Najla, as she could hardly wait for the day when she saw her beloved expanses again. They had been treacherous before, teeming with raiders, Servants, and slavers alike, yet scarce in the resources required to maintain travel. They were moving out of friendly territory for the expedition now, and Najla knew what a liability that would create for the expedition moving ahead. They’d have to watch their routes carefully, she knew that any misstep meant stretches without water. The borders of the sultanate were littered with the bones of men dead of thirst.

As such, Najla assumed they’d be stopping in Coedwin. It was a thought that unnerved her slightly, to be surrounded by Servants, but it was not a notion that worried her as much anymore. Ketill had never touched her on the journey, and his defense of her meant that others were wary of doing the same. They did not like her, every journey out into the camp to accomplish a task was meant with enough stares and slurs to prove it a hundred times over. It hardly mattered, Najla did not like them either, and so long as they did not harm her, it was of little consequence.

Their stares had not been enough to stop her from moving about the camp, and she slowly began to mingle among the slaves and camp followers somewhat. The camp followers were mostly from Broacien, and held little that Najla would want. Among the slaves however, she had met a girl not much younger than her, a Sawarim girl brought up from the Sultanate. She had been kind to Najla, and had often aided Najla in little ways here and there, though more than anything the girl had seemed grateful for a friend.

Qamar

She was a lovely girl named Qamar, brought along as an entertainer. It was for this reason that Najla had continued to develop something of a friendship with her, not for her talents, but for her past. The claim had been that Qamar used to belong to a Prince of the Sultanate, but upon questioning further, the girl had revealed it had been an exaggeration.

“Not to a prince specifically, no.” The girl had replied, laughing. “I worked in the household, and was sold off after-” She had stopped there, but Najla knew. The entertainers of the Sultan’s court were sold and bought frequently by the heads of the household, only the favorites were kept on for long. Likely for Qamar, it meant she had lost the most comfortable life she’d ever know, but for Najla it was a blessing, as it meant the girl did not recognize her face. She had heard her name before, and had mentioned that she had been in the Sultan’s court when Najla and Jalil vanished, but only briefly and without any indication that she knew her.

The pair could not speak often, but Najla often tried to find her among the slaves, and asked her of her time in the Sultan’s court with wide eyes. Qamar was always happy to oblige, telling her of the luxuries they could only dream of now, the stories of the entertainers there, and often the gossip regarding the Sultan’s family. This is what Najla craved more than anything, and even a simple tidbit about how the little Prince Lahan fell off his horse while riding was enough to fulfill her.

The stories that Qamar told her were nearly all that Najla thought about when she was riding now. She would wished she could have seen these stories, to be a part of them as she was meant to be, to see the women kissing his bruises and stroking his hair while her cousins and brothers teased little spoiled Lahan. It was a driving force, and Najla was eager to get to Coedwin, to perhaps speak to the Sawarim slaves within those walls, to hear more that Qamar could not tell her. She’d never be able to get a message to her family from Coedwin, Najla knew, she’d have to be patient and wait. The stories would be enough until then.

@persianversion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

_{The slave driver, dressed in expensive and fine clothes, with some jewels around his neck.}

---

---

“No need,” Ketill said, as he laid down his dagger and it's sheath on the table in front of him. He had spoken about dinner, but did not quite have an appetite. The trial had gotten rid of that entirely. “Though, there was something you need to do for me,” he said. He took off his armor, revealing a white linen shirt. It was old, and visibly torn. It was also quite dirty. There was never time to wash your shirts when you were at Coedwin, as there was always something that needed doing.

He then proceeded to tug at the bottom of the shirt, pulling it upwards and exposing some of his midriff. It would be easy for Saina to get the wrong idea - to think he wanted her - but that was not the purpose. “I need someone to wash this and stitch it up fo-” A small cough caused Ketill to quickly pull down the shirt again and look at the tent entrance, where the merchant woman had set herself up. Her arms were crossed, and she looked at Ketill specifically.

“You seem relieved, Ketill,” she said to him, as he quickly pulled the armor back on to not appear like a homeless warrior of sorts. He tightened the belt with the sword around his waist before looking up at her, listening to her continuing words. “And you did not thank me. That is considered rude, Ketill,” she continued, talking in a familiar tone. As if they knew each other, but they did not.

Ketill fastened his belt tighter and spoke without looking up at her, something that Saina would be familiar with by now. “Yes, well, you did your job, I did mine, we're both happy. Except for the commander, Monarch take his breath.” The quartermaster shook her head and walked closer to Ketill, inspecting him a bit before she continued in the same direction, and stepping over to Saina. She grabbed a hold of Saina's hand and raised it, running her other hand down her arm gently and feeling the softness of her skin. Her hands were warm, despite the cold climate still taking residence in the camp. She felt over the bruising of her arm, making sure not to touch too hard, but ultimately ending up squeezing her a bit on the bruise to test Saina's strength.

“What did you want, lady..?” Ketill then asked inquisitively. He did not know her despite her tone. Perhaps she knew of him - as did many, he was 'famous' in Broacien after all. Among the lords at any rate. She may be a merchant, but she had wealth and that alone was enough reason to treat her like nobility. “Did you wish for me to repay you? I have no money, I told you. And I will not give you her, she is too precious. A gift from lord Jachsen. I'm sure..” He looked away for a moment, distracted by movement outside the tent, a shadow being cast on the tent linen that walked closer to the entrance.

“.. I'm sure you understand. I can offer you my finger if it pleases you, but you have just saved it, so I would assume not. So what do you hope to find here?”

“Anne,” the well-endowed lady replied, finally lifting her hand from Saina's arm and carefully taking a hold of Saina's chin then, twisting and turning her face to look at the bruising on it. She gently ran a finger over the bruises, before lowering that hand too and turning to Ketill, the long sleeve of cloth at the back of her otherwise short cut outfit swinging widely in a circle, before hitting Saina's legs softly.

“The name is Anne. I'm sorry, I had assumed you knew me, as most people know of you. You're.. well known in most of Broacien actually. I trust you know that. And I come here with something in mind. I just invested my money in you, saving your finger, though you seemed very set on getting rid of it.”

A playful smile toiled on her lips as she spoke about her investment, as well as the act that Ketill had put on. Though, it was not much of an act, and she realized full well that if she hadn't stopped him when she did, he would've gladly cut his finger off to prove a point.

“It's quite simple. I did not get to where I am by investing money in everybody and everyone. You, however, are a capable man. I see that in you. You won many tournaments, in various ladies' honor, but yet never married. That is either a sign of stupidity, or of a man that has a more holy purpose. As you are a Servant.. I can estimate which one it is. It is really, really quite this simple, Ketill. Whether the others realize it or not, I do realize it. We need you. So I expect my investment to pay off - you will do your best to make this expedition a success. Agreed?”

“And you think I was going to let this expedition fail why exactly?”

“I did not, and I do not. We will succeed, I know that. But if you are going around foolishly cutting off fingers because of a perceived slight, we will never reach the Sawarim lands.”

“Alright, point made, Anne. Was there anything else?”

“Yes, but nothing that concerns you. I would speak to your slave, if I may?”

“She may be my slave, but I am not her master in the sense that I control her every movement. You may speak to her, yes.”

Anne smiled again, and turned around, facing towards Saina again. She sat down next to her on the bed made of furs and again put her hand on Saina's arm, carefully tracing the bruises. Once she'd gotten a closer second look, she'd speak to Saina. Her voice was loud and present, commanding a certain aura of respect, certainly not what you'd expect from a woman. She was a strange figure in general as women were generally not in any position of power in Broacien. It was not unheard of, but it did not happen everywhere, all the time, and certainly not in a profession as dangerous as trade.

“So, I see that Ketill's defense was not entirely unwarranted. It's a shame, that is. But, I have a more important question. I understand you are from the Sawarim lands, yes? I would not be a trader if I was not interested in local specialties. Is there anything you can tell me about, any.. any exotic goods I should buy or secure trade lines for in these lands? Anything that I could sell for a profit?”

---

Once Anne was done investigating whatever Saina might have to tell her, and asking her a great many more questions, another figure appeared. Anne passed by the man, nodding at him as she passed him, though the man did not nod back. It was the slavedriver, and his eyes were fixated upon Ketill's forehead first, and then very slowly they adjusted to look at Saina.

Slowly he stepped in further, standing somewhat central in front of the flap, and then shifted his gaze back to Ketill. With a thick, heavy Sawarim accent he spoke, showing off his golden teeth. The man was clearly rich and had probably gotten rich off the backs of unfortunate Sawarim travelers and tribal men that got captured by his men.

“She is not mine. Where from?”

“Excuse me?” Ketill then asked.

“Where'd you get her? I never saw her, and I see all my slaves before they are sold. I don't have much competition in Broacien. So where did you get her? You are a Servant, I see that, and I have seen many of your people. You stay in Coedwin, right? Did you take her yourself, make her your prisoner?”

“No.”

“Then where from?”

“Lord Jachsen. What does it matter?”

Without answering the slave driver turned to Saina and spoke to her in the Sawarim native tongue - it differed much from the common tongue spoken in Broacien, and Ketill could only understand a few words here and there from his limited knowledge on the language.

<“Who are you? What is your name? What is your family name? Where from in the Sultanate are you? How many horses does your family own? Do you want to go back? I'll bring you back, for the right price. A hundred horses and you can go home. I will kill this Servant and escape with you. It's easy. Just a hundred horses. Is your family rich? They can afford it? You look pretty, pretty enough to work for me. You will be an entertainer - easy life, lots of wine, lots of comfort, and nice clothes. Just tell your master you want to work for me, tell him to give me a price and I'll pay it. You believe in our Gods? Everyone here hates you. They don't hate me, because I swore off our gods. That's the only way for them to accept me. Now I can earn money. You should do the same, if you like living. If you like living, you should work for me. I'll take you home, right?”>

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Najla followed Ketill into the tent, just before the two militiamen, who had shot their hateful glares at her. The fact that his sword rested in one of their hands made her uneasy, though it was little to fear compared to the faces in front of her. The commander’s was a familiar one, as was his cruel stare. It was not him that frightened her, however. Najla followed Ketill’s orders, standing behind him with her head down and her lips shut, yet she peered through her lashes at the Sawarim.

He was not a familiar presence. This was comforting, for she knew any Sawarim she recognized would know her as Najla, not Saina. He was watching them curiously, and she did not blame him, as she knew they were likely an odd pair to witness. Still, his gaze meant that she could not study him for long, for as soon as his eyes moved off Ketill and onto her, she was made to avert her gaze before he could read the disgust in her face. He was a Sawarim sitting among Monarchists, plotting to harm his people. She had dealt with similar traitors before, weeding them out ruthlessly among her own infiltrators, and wished that she could deliver him the same fate.

Perhaps he’s wishing the same onto me.

A sobering thought, but only for a moment, as Najla assumed he would have had to renounce the Sawarim faith to be allowed among this expedition. She could think of, and had never seen, a crime greater. Those that renounced the faith had always been persecuted, even worse than those who had never held it. He would have been culled without question, perhaps ordered by someone like her.

It was a pleasant thought, but she did not linger in it for long before the trial began. Lord Oliver’s voice seemed to calm her some, though she did not look up to see his face. He sounded empathetic, and for a moment Najla believed that they were ready to listen. When Ketill spoke, her orders were forgotten, and she looked up at him curiously. And as he said he had spent the money, her brow furrowed, and she began to think of all the purchases of the day, the way he had spent every silver he’d had for what she had assumed was a presentable slave. Apparently it had only been part of something greater.

Before she could understand his actions any more, the commanders yell dragged her out of her thoughts, and she winced as the guards took her by the arms, as one dug his fingers into her sore arm. She wanted to yell, struggle, but before she could think to do any of it, Ketill spoke, and she was frozen, nothing but horror written on her face.

Even when they let her go, she did not move. She couldn’t. She watched helplessly as Ketill raised his dagger, but did not close her eyes nor avert her gaze. The sound of the sudden slamming into the wood caused her to jump, and though it was the woman’s words that filled her ears, Najla was fixated on the man who had been about to cut off his finger.

So when Ketill grabbed his sword and ducked out of the tent, Najla was close behind, ducking past the guards and out of the tent. She could sense the eyes of the men upon their retreating backs, but shock clouded her brain, and their stares just seemed unimportant now.

Savages. Barbarians, that’s all they are. Madmen. And I’m stuck in a camp full of them.

She could think nothing else but this, her mind still wrapped tightly in the horror. It was written clearly in her face, in her wide eyes and confused expression, but her thoughts remained an endless string of insults, horrified at the type of God that made the loss of a finger holy, and the brutes that followed him.

She ducked into the tent just after Ketill, the alarm still obvious on her face. She froze as soon as she saw him, leaving her standing by the entrance to the tent, obviously no longer worried about looking down. Her eyes were fixed firmly on him, and a frown quickly wrinkled her brow, her lips remaining parted as if she was still in shock. Had their positions been any different, she might have looked like she was angry, but Najla truly felt more frustrated than anything.

“I-” She found her tongue halting, and she could only shake her head, moving towards the pile of furs that had been her bed. She sat down once more, or collapsed rather, leaving her elbow on her knees and her chin in her hands. It seemed she wanted to find the words to speak, or reply to her master at least, but she could not bring herself to push out the words.

Najla felt frustrated, and foolish. She had been ready to deal with these people as she had the Sawarim. Ready to draw pity with her bruises, to listen to Ketill’s story and tell her own, if need be. She had not been ready to be pushed into a crowd of beasts both offering and demanding flesh. It seemed that despite all her travels and her time in Broacien, she hadn’t begun to understand these people. If they could be called such.

She peered up at him again, though there was little to read in her expression now. He had mentioned dinner. She was hungry, the days march had made her tired and though Lord Jachsen kept his slaves well-fed, it simply hadn’t been what she was used to in her time as Najla. She would likely want it tomorrow as well, she was certain she did not want to collapse on their travels there. Yet as she glanced over to the finger he had almost lost, she felt no hunger.

“I have no appetite, my lord, but I will fetch you some if you wish.”

It was likely a statement she’d regret, either if it meant she didn’t eat or if he ordered her out into the camp, yet Najla knew she meant it now. However, she had made certain to address him properly this time, as it seemed the guards grasp on her arm had reminded her of his earlier warning. His warning about straying from his tent already seemed to be true, and Najla did not want to risk the others. Not now, when the words of the quartermaster were starting to clear through the haze of shock.

.......we need Ketill to fight the Sawarim once we get to their lands.

Najla had never been told where the expedition was headed, and though she had seen that they were moving south, the knowledge that she would soon be in her own lands again brought upon a hope. All she'd have to do was stay alive somewhat longer, and though it had been made slightly more difficult now, it was not impossible. She could be home again soon.

@persianversion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Ketill simply wandered, picking up some items and inspecting them before dropping them and walking on. Sometimes he'd find something he liked and he would buy it if he decided to, seemingly making a conscious effort to spend money. Once Saina had chosen a dress she liked, or maybe more, he would pay for them without questioning it twice. He did not really care how she looked, as long as she was satisfied, and did not look too extravagant. That'd attract more unwanted attention than not. She seemed to think the same way and had picked acceptable dresses. Ketill was about to return to the tent, before he noticed a pair of new leather binded boots, reaching up to the calves. He approached the stall an grabbed the boots, paying for them with the last of his money. It was almost as if he had spent it all on purpose.

He then turned to Saina and put the boots with whatever else she had picked. “You'll need these if we ever go through an area where the horse can't go as easily,” he simply said before walking past her and continuing back to the camp. When they had walked back Saina had asked him a question and he had looked at her with a look that did not say much. Frankly he had not known the answer and carefully deliberated. After a while, while they continued down the small hill leading back to the camp, trudging through the muddy slope, he would then answer her.

“You will come,” he said, though he would allow her to come for the sole reason that he wanted her to see what the price was for what he had done. Then, secondly, he added, “And you will not speak. You will look down at the ground and not anger them any more than you have already. .. at least, your presence seems to have done that.” The last bit seemed more mumbled than anything, and he was not sure if she had understood, nor did he care if she had or had not. It was the truth after all - they cared little for the fact that she was doing things for him, or that she was a woman, no, the truth of the matter was that she was a Sawarim faithful and that was reason enough to not trust her, or even hate her. Ketill understood. He would do the same in their shoes. But he did not have much of a choice now that she was his property. Property must be defended, as the Monarch had said himself. 'Those whom enter a house uninvited forfeit their right to live, those who steal from others might be slain, those that harm others' property themselves might be harmed' and so it would be done. The question was whether the same went for property that happened to believe in the Sawarim god.

It would seem not.

“And you will address me properly. That is something even commoners do. You're less than them, so behave like it,” was the last thing he then added, before grabbing her arm on her sore spot and pushing her forward, forcing her to speed up. He did not want to be late for this trial.

When Saina went to prepare for the trial, then, he did not stop her and waited outside the tent. He stood idly, pacing back and forth, waiting for her to finish... whatever she was doing in there. He did not know and did not want to know. While she was busying herself, Ketill started repeating a Monarchist prayer to himself, mentally first, though it quickly entered a quiet mumble as he walked back and forth through the mud in front of the tent. “Send me into hell to clear the way for heaven, that my blade clears the path for the true Monarch, long may he reign over the territories we conquer in his name, blessed be the Monar-” He stopped mid-sentence when Saina appeared again. He looked her up and down, and then reared, turning away from her and walking to the commanders' tent. “Come.” The words were an order, clearly.

Halfway to the tent, two of the militiamen arrived and stopped Ketill. They were not the same as before, though those two would probably be in a bed somewhere recovering from their wounds. Never the less they shot an angered glance at Saina, and then looked at Ketill shiftily. They knew what he could do and his reputation superseded him, as he was known for winning a few tournaments in his younger times. Never the less, they held him up and one of them held out his hand. “The commander asked us to escort you, and also for you to submit your blade. I am sure you understand he wants to stop anything from happening. Eh, your dagger too.”

Ketill looked at them angrily, causing one of them to take a step back and awkwardly reach for the blade in its' sheath. Without asking anything, Ketill undid the leather straps that tied the sword to his belt, and handed the sheath over. “Not the dagger. I am not walking into an ambush so blindly,” he then said, and continued walking, brushing past one of the two, bumping shoulders with him and forcing him out of the way.

The two men dared not speak up and ask for the dagger anymore.

Ketill entered the tent quickly, the tent flap flowing rather aggressively from his motion. Saina would no doubt soon follow, as would the two militiamen, who would take up spots near the entrance to 'keep guard' and ensure nothing happened. In front of them were the full council. Ser Oliver, then the bishop, then the militia commander, and then the two quartermasters. Surprisingly, one of the two was a woman. The Sawarim slavemaster was also present, dressed in somewhat traditional Sawarim garb and a curved sword at his side. He seemed less interested in the trial and more interested in the two before him, looking at Saina and Ketill both with curious eyes.

---

_{The quartermaster dressed in expensive merchant clothes}

---

“Ketill,” Ser Oliver said, leaning on the table and looking Ketill directly in the eyes. “We have called you here on account of the assault on two militiamen. We've seen the injuries, and we've heard many people tell their witness accounts. So, what do you say in your defense?” Ser Olivers one was empathical, and seemingly he'd hoped that Ketill would come up with a decent answer.

There was many he could say - that he was defending a woman. That he was beating down two criminals. Anything he could say, and they would have believed it save for the commander. But Ketill did not say any such things. “I have nothing to say in my defense,” he answered. He stared at the figures in front of him, not afraid apparently. He knew what was coming. It was a common occurrence and he had done these kind of trials before, though not often, and not for serious offenses. He'd come off unscathed every time. But he knew, not this time.

“You.. have nothing to say?” Oliver inquired, audibly confused.

“Yes, lord.”

“Then.. I hereby.. order you to pay were-gild of two hundred silvers to each man.”

“I can not.”

“Good. Then that conclud- what? You can not?”

“No.”

“And why is that, ser Ketill?”

“I have no money. I spent it all.”

“That is.. most unfortuna-”

Suddenly, a loud bang cleared whatever conversation had been going on. The commanders fist was on the table, after having smashed it there, and he quickly opened his mouth to speak, or rather, yell.

“Then we will take his whore of a servant! Guards! Get her, and escort her to the prison cells!”

The two guards moved immediately, quickly grasping her two arms, and beginning to pull her back. Ketill reacted quickly too, and leaned in on the table, putting his fist down as well. “Nonsense. You will not have her, you will take me. You know the laws as well as I do, I can pay you by cutting off my a piece of my finger. It's the law of the monarch, and so you will follow it, or die now for the charge of heresy!” Indeed, whatever the current ruling king of Broacien had declared as law was not deemed only legal, but also holy. The commander visibly did not like this, but he leaned back slightly and looked at his guards.

“Fine. Release her. You had better do this, 'Servant'.. you would not wish to tarnish the name of your Monarch.”

“I would not, rest easy commander. You will have your revenge.”

“Yes, get on with it. Your right hand, on the table, now.”

“You will have my left. The law makes no distinction. And I was brought on this expedition for two reasons. One, to advise you, and two, to fight Sawarim warriors. You would have me cut my right finger, so I could not do that?”

“Bloody f-.. fine!”

Ketill would place his hand on the table then, and draw his dagger with his right hand. He would hang it over his left hand, aiming for the top part of his ring finger. Slowly he raised the dagger, before sending it down.

“S-stop this!” CHOP.

The blade moved at the last moment and missed his finger by barely an inch. Ketill looked up through his brow, at the womanly voice that had spoken. It had been the quartermaster, who had a rather distraught look on her face. “Look, he may have injured those men, and clearly without a good reason, but must we go this far? The men are not dead, and we need Ketill to fight the Sawarim once we get to their lands. I will not allow you to risk this expedition for something as vain as your pride, lord commander. Or did you wish to tell us about your experience fighting the Sawarim?”

“I.. I wo- this.. this is not abou- f.. fine. But the weregild must be paid. I demand it!” the commander said, his voice trembling slightly before it returned to a yell.

“Then I will pay it, for lord Ketill, that we may end this petty dispute. He was prepared to cut his finger for you, is that not enough? The men will have their money, you will have your pride, and lord Ketill will keep his finger. And I.. I will lose four hundred silvers, but maintain my belief that this expedition can succeed. But we need to cooperate.”

“F-fine!” the commander added.

It seemed the situation had been calmed for now. The people that had not spoken all looked shook, except for ser Oliver, who seemed rather serious, and the Sawarim slavemaster, who seemed intrigued and amused by the scenes before him. He was probably not familiar with Braocienien politics. Ketill sheathed his dagger without a word, and moved to the two guards. He grabbed his sword, not waiting for them to hand it back, and quickly hung it on his belt again. Without speaking, he then left the tent, leaving Saina behind lest she followed him - which naturally she should. He returned to his tent, before standing still in the center of the tent.

“Right.. what now. Oh. Dinner.” He seemed unfazed by what had happened. Could it be he had planned this?

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Najla followed Ketill through the town closely, never straying too far from his side. She wanted no repeat of earlier events before the day was even done, or at all preferably. It wasn’t as if she had any reason to slip away from Ketill either, for the town was too small for her to hide in if she were to slip away. If she was to run out of it, Najla could only guess at how far she could run before something worse befell her. Though she did not like it, she would have to wait until after the trial, likely long after, for an opportunity.

Lord Oliver’s warning of a trial had been a surprise to Najla. The concept of wereguild was one she was familiar with, but had never understood. The Sawarim rarely used coin to ease such disputes, unless one struck or damaged another’s slave, horse, or property of any sorts. Physical attacks on a free man or woman were usually answered with more of the same, a ruthless and often unforgiving method that gave the Sawarim a harsh reputation to those who stood outside. To Najla, who had seen her father enforce this often, this only made sense. A strike of the whip for every strike of the hand, for every man who behaves as an animal must be beat as an animal. They were her father’s words, so vivid in her memory that she felt she could hear his voice, yet it had not taken long for Najla to understand that these words only applied to those who hurt the Sawarim.

Ketill’s voice drew her out of these thoughts, and she glanced up at him, then around at the stalls. What am I even supposed to be looking for? What kind of slave am I?

Perhaps if she had a role, this would have been easier to decide. For now however, the only functions Najla had were minor tasks and just not running away. She looked over the clothes in the stalls, trying to imagine she would look like, not in terms of beauty, but to the men of the camp.

Najla then felt a deep longing for the dresses of her past, a luxury she had not thought of for quite some time. She missed the expensive fabric, the beautiful beading and details, and the jewels they would adorn themselves with. She had never cared for the finery itself before, but now she found herself missing the way she giggled and gossiped with her cousins as they draped themselves in expensive fabrics, arguing over jewelry and planning the way their thin shawls would fall off their shoulders at the perfect moments. It was an easy memory to get lost in, and Najla had to drag herself out of it, reminding herself that even if she had access to such clothes, dressing like a Sawarim would be a foolish mistake.

It took some time as they sorted through the markets, likely a little longer than either Najla or Ketill would have liked, but the markets made her cautious. The people were not frightening, but Ketill was never far from her, and Najla did not want to spoil the image that she was a merchant’s daughter. Despite how rough it seemed her new masters attitude was, all of Najla’s suggestions were carefully stated, her tone always delicately controlled, for she was trying to maintain a precarious position between guessing his desires and maintaining her identity. She could not imagine that he would care much if she spoke more frankly, but Najla was more worried of herself than him.

Finally however, her new clothes were decided upon. It seemed Najla had similar ideas to Ketill, though hers came out of a place of worry. She only guessed that the other men of the camp would be less likely to come near her if they believed the Servant already had a claim on her body, rather than an uncaring attitude towards her existence. They’ll be too scared to rape me if they think he’s already doing it. A crass thought, but one she’d rely on in her decisions.

They were mostly dresses, made with darker dyes, a couple with the longer sleeves required for the cold, some with shorter sleeves made for the south. Najla was careful to choose nothing that would expose the curve of a breast or move too far up her leg, but still chose dresses with details such as lower necklines, made to be cinched in tightly at the waist with a belt. These were closer to the clothes she was used to, simpler certainly, without any of the rich hues or exquisite beading she had loved, but she had traveled in similar clothing often. Among those and a few simple necessities, Najla allowed Ketill to have the final word, as it was his coin after all, but the pattern would not be far off to spot.

----------

Najla was in no mood for a trial. Her day had been long, for even though she hadn’t walked, a day’s ride was still a strain on her. The trip to the market had given her little time to rest, or even consider what her role in the trial would be. Ketill had told her nothing of it, and though Najla did not know if they even required her presence there, she would be surprised if they did not. Perhaps Ketill would insist, though she could not imagine he would be foolish enough to do so after the day’s events. Though the commander was only asking for coin now, Najla could not forget that he had threatened to take his head first.

Still, she followed Ketill, carrying whichever clothes he had agreed upon. Though she had been cautious throughout the trip to the town, her words grew somewhat bolder as they walked back, and she looked up at Ketill as she spoke. She could not tell if he was worried about the trial at all, and it did little to ease her own worries.

“Will I be asked to speak? Or even be there?” The lack of a ‘my lord’ was noticeable, though Najla did not seem to hear it. It was a question that seemed blurted out, again a product of her worries, and yet, Najla was not worried to speak. Evoking pity for a Sawarim woman here would be a difficult task, impossible perhaps, but not speaking would relegate her to a voiceless figure, with no ability to affect her own fate, and that was far scarier.

If he demanded that he come with him, Najla would request permission to change in the tent, much more politely than before, though clearly asking to do so without his presence. She had already decided on the dress to wear, with sleeves cut just short enough to show the bruising on her arm. She could only hope that when it was coupled with the bruise that was slowly turning green upon her cheek, it would at least prove Ketill had not stepped in for nothing. Her hair would be unbraided, delicately combed through, and left as such, though her attention was always on tucking it away from her face, so as not to hide the bruise.

@persianversion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

“No need,” Ketill answered, not granting her the pleasure of even looking back at her. He held onto the reins tightly as they marched, heading towards their next stop. They were going through a small mountain range, crossing into Grosswick and then shortly after into Murkran. It shaved about two days off of the travel. Though that was preferable, it did not matter in the long run it seemed. “You don't ride because I pity you,” he then said following up on his comment. Much as he had protected her, he also did not feel anything towards her. Perhaps she had been correct in her assumption that he treated her like a possession, though he did think to himself, were they savages? Had they attacked her brutally because they were savages and impious followers of the Monarch? Perhaps it was a religious duty, he insisted on himself, that he would grant mercy and shelter even to the sworn enemies of the Monarch. A Sawarim woman was an infidel, but no less a creation of the Monarch. Some degree of civility was expected, no? He struggled with these questions, for in all his time at Coedwin, he had not once thought of these things, being used to merely slaying them, taking them prisoner and hanging them, executing them lest they submitted to their will.

The peasants were sure to disagree, and they had a right to. No mercy for Sawarim followers in Broacien, no privileges. Just abuse. Those were the laws in reality.

After a moment of silence he returned to reality, looking ahead of him, staring at the figures at the head of the march. Atop horses were the other leaders of the expedition, pointing out the landscapes and trying to figure out the best route to take for the many men that walked in a long column. “You're on a horse because, if you decide to grab the reins and flee, you're easier to shoot down over the heads of these men,” he replied.

A vision came in his head, imagining the scene. She'd grab the reins, and quickly spur on the horse. Ketill knew that any Sawarim worth their share could ride a horse like no other. But when she rode off, he'd promptly grab an arrow from the nearest archer, and his bow, and shoot her down. It was easy, he thought, and would likely succeed. And of course, he would not be the only one that shot an arrow or two at her. Many here would have no problems shooting down a Sawarim woman. They were on a holy expedition after all, no? Surely killing a Sawarim woman would give them the blessing of the Monarch.

He was drawn back to reality by the sound of a horse approaching, from behind. Ketill looked over his shoulder and slightly upwards, seeing ser Oliver, the de-facto leader of the expedition, riding up to him. “Ketill,” the young man said, looking at Saina briefly before returning his gaze to Ketill, a slightly confused look on his face. He rode closer, so that he could ride directly next to Ketill, passing by Saina quickly. He rode on the side of Ketill where he also held his shield, slowing the horse down slightly.

“I want to let you know that the commander has decided to hold a trial for your actions, and will be demanding weregild for the two men,” Oliver then said, a serious look taking the place of his earlier confused look. It seemed like there would be repercussions after all. “And.. the judgement will be passed by the advisors and me. We will hold the trial at nightfall. We hope to reach a town before then, but otherwise we will do it in the commanders' tent. Just be ready.”

Ketill nodded, replying with a mere “.. okay,” and ser Oliver nodded and rode his horse off again, towards the front, to join the other advisors. It seemed the night was going to be a long one.

---

Later that evening, the march had made camp outside the palisade walls of a smaller town. The two quartermasters had gone into the town to barter for goods, and buy supplies for the road. It was always a good idea to do that, and it seemed they had the coin for that. At least for now. It would be typical to run out of money later because of un-thought out purchases earlier. Similarly, Ketill would have taken Saina to the market to purchase some items. He had personally not had too much time to prepare and so he was lacking some items, but it was nothing that he needed. Saina, however, would preferably be dressed somewhat more appropriately.

Even if she was a slave, Monarchists and Ketill especially would have at least some decency. It was generally considered bad manners to have slaves walking around in left over clothes. Not just for the slaves, but also anyone else that would have to look at the slaves.

The market itself was not as busy, since it was evening, but there were some people out still. There were many stalls, and the noises coming from them were deafening at times. Every trader was yelling about their wares, and most of them were selling food. Meat, vegetables, most of it was either brought in by local hunters or were staple foods brought in by farmers from the areas outside the town. A single merchant was selling jewelry and other bits and bobs that were of little interest to anyone looking purely to survive, but it attracted a few nobles that were on thoroughfare in the town. A few others selled other items, tools, a single merchant sold swords and armor, and a few sold clothes. Nothing too impressive, but it fit the nature of the town.

Ketill walked through the stalls, looking left and right for something that would befit a slave, though would also not be too sober, nor too extravagant. If anything, he could pass her off as a slave that was meant to be an entertainer. She had no notable skills that he knew of and it was well known that any woman could sell herself and become an entertainer. Whether that meant actual entertainment or entertainment was another matter, but it was a good disguise.

Momentarily he looked back at Saina and instructed her, “If you see anything, let me know.” He'd considered giving her some silver coins to purchase something for herself, but it seemed like a bad idea. He just knew time was of the essence, as his 'trial' was closing in swiftly.

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

She flinched as she saw the man’s hand coil back, ready to strike her once more. Involuntarily, her eyes closed to prepare for the blow, yet she received no pain, only feeling a wind across her face, and at this, her eyes snapped open just in time to watch the man fall backwards. The gruesome sight of his hanging jaw was jarring, but Najla had no time to be disgusted before her apparent rescuer stepped in front to block the sight.

Distracted by the sight, Najla found herself thrown to the side, and she fell to the ground roughly. There she stayed, a hand reaching up to gently touch her cheek, watching the scene unfold in front of her with wide eyes. She looked horrified, but at the crack of the man’s nose, she did not flinch.

It was only when the commander grabbed Ketill’s arm that Najla finally scrambled up. She kept her head down as the commander spoke to Ketill, not wanting to anger him any more. She did not look up to see the men leave or the crowd disperse, only glancing up when she was given an order. She nodded, grasping the horse’s reins and following Ketill towards the tent, making sure to keep her eyes forward and off any staring soldiers.

Is he angry with me? Perhaps he had heard her insults and would punish her for provoking them. This however, seemed a worry born entirely out of fear, for surely if he had wished to punish her for her actions, he would not have broken a man’s jaw. Was he worried at the commander’s words? Najla was, knowing that a Servant would be a difficult target for a militia commander to harm, yet a Sawarim slave would be far too easy. Why had he done it?

Her mind raced as she followed him to the tent, and she tied the horse outside quickly before following Ketill in. She dove under the tent flap, only to stop just as she entered. His words about her things caused her to look up for the first time, glancing at the emptied bag. It did not surprise her to see it emptied, after all, he had every right to look through her things. What did surprise her were his words.

Continue serving? He still wants me here? After all the trouble I’ve caused him?

She spoke none of her concerns, but when he approached her, they were all too easy to read. Najla met his gaze as he spoke, and even though he had given her a command, she did not move. She stood with a slight frown on her face, and her eyes searched his. This time, her gaze did not venture to his scars or the marks on his forehead, but remained locked onto his. It seemed a strange sight, for she was far smaller, still shaken, and her cheek was beginning to turn pink, a sure sign it would bruise soon. He, on the other hand, had proven himself to be a skilled warrior, though she had assumed this already, and she had just watched him break a man’s nose. However, for a few moments, Najla showed no fear or deference to her master, only a desire to understand.

These few moments did not last long, and Najla was the first to tear away, unsatisfied at whatever answers she had received. She walked towards the bed and kneeled beside it, picking up the ‘rags’ that he had haphazardly thrown across the bed and folded them neatly before placing them in the bag. Every so often, her gaze flitted to Ketill before darting back to her work, but it did not take long before she closed the bag up and turned to exit the tent.

Does he want an apology? Or gratitude? Or is he truly so uncaring?

She did not offer any. Najla hooked her bag to the horse’s saddle, then untied the horse before pulling herself up onto it. It was slightly difficult, as the horse was larger than she was used to, but no task she had not accomplished before. She did not ask for Ketill’s help, nor did she sit sideways as she had before, but as she was used to. The saddle was still large, but the horse was a familiar presence under her, though not a calming one.

She knew what the men would think if they saw her riding while her master was walking before her. It would only do more to fuel their resentment, but she could not tell if Ketill did not know or did not care.

I suppose it doesn’t matter what they think. I can’t imagine any of them will be willing to risk a broken jaw. Except perhaps the commander-

Her worried thoughts were interrupted as Ketill emerged and she would follow him on horseback to their place in the march. Najla would remain quiet during the march, occasionally reaching up to touch her cheek gently, trying to gauge how tender it was. It would definitely bruise soon. Her arm was already starting to show where he had grabbed her, perfect red prints where his grimy fingers had been. Painful, but nowhere near enough to make someone feel sympathy when the man who had caused it was caressing a broken nose somewhere. Perhaps she would have aroused some pity if he had speared her on the end of his sword, but she doubted it.

She was not used to keeping up with marches. Her pace had always been swifter, accompanied by a few guards and as such, Najla was far more accustomed to travelling quickly. Now they were followed by supply wagons, camp followers, and slaves, who unlike her, did not have the fortune of a horse. It was a strange sensation, but not an unwelcome one, and much of her time traveling was spent in thought.

Some of her thoughts involved counting, trying to make sure her estimates of the expedition numbers were accurate. Some of her thoughts were just worries, some prayers, but most revolved around Ketill. Her eyes were either on the path around them or locked firmly onto him, as if his back could give an answer his eyes could not.

He didn’t like her. Najla wasn’t a fool, she could see that. Yet he treated her kindly, more kindly than she had expected, and far more kindly than any man in this camp would have. Even beyond that, he had put himself in a more vulnerable position for her, and had spoken nothing of it.

He would have done the same for his horse, I expect, or if a man had been taking his sword. I doubt he did it because I am a person, but because I am his property.

It was an unnerving thought, to compare herself to a horse and declare herself property, but Najla could see no alternative. She had not proven herself of any value to him and a holy knight would never defend a Sawarim woman, and so this, to call herself a possession, was the only explanation.

Do possessions show gratitude? She didn’t want to thank him. She could admit that he had saved her life, yet Najla could not bring herself to thank him for it. A year of serving the heretics up north had been humiliation enough, but thanking a holy knight would surely shatter the remainder of her pride.

She leaned forward and reached her hand out, lightly tapping the knight’s shoulder with two fingers. Whether or not he acknowledged it, she spoke, almost as softly as her gesture.

“My lord, I am in no great pain that I cannot walk. If you ever tire-” She left her words there.

It was an odd suggestion, Najla knew. It was not one borne out of gratitude, but it would still be the closest to gratitude that Ketill would likely see from her. It was a suggestion born out of fear, fears that had ample time to gather during the march. If the men were to see that Ketill allowed her to ride whilst he walked, her situation here could only be made worse by it. His likely would too, and Najla knew that if the commander ever followed through on his threat, her head wouldn’t be far behind. A selfish act in its entirety, but Najla could offer him no more in terms of thanks.

@persianversion