A Betrayal of Storms by Ben Alderson

Chapter 2

The other responded, clicking his tongue in some signal to the horses before him. "You only win if he did not wake until we arrived... and the horses are still moving, are they not? The bet is mine, and you owe me coin!"

I felt slightly awkward listening in to them jest over... me. But I also felt rage and fear at what was happening.

"James Campbell, if he... whatever he has done or told you what I've done, it's all lies... I promise I am worthless."

"You got that right," the man spoke again, his voice registering through my panic as the one who had punched me in the first place. How much time had passed since? Daylight beamed upon us now.

"What do you want from me?" I called, voice cracking as though I was a boy becoming a man. I tried standing for a moment before the cart rocked like a ship on violent waves, sending me crashing back on my behind.

"Shut up, lad! Do yourself a favour and keep whatever little plea you have brewing to yourself. Trust me, we have heard it all before."

The lack of answers they cared to share only made me search for them in other ways.

It was clear that the men came from money. Or at least had money behind them. No one in Grove or any of the other surrounding villages wore such well threaded clothing, nor owned carts made of metal and horses with such perfect, gleaming coats.

"You've made a mistake..." I tried again, hoping to hear their accent. Was it smooth from a life of comfort, or rough from years of hardship? "Just let me go and we can all forget about this."

It was worth a try. I forced as much confidence into my voice, trying to harden the edges of my tone just as Father had taught me.

"Your ears suggest otherwise." Smooth, I determined. From a larger, well-established city such as Lockinge or Ralarn. "You are far from a mistake... at least not in the kind of way you think."

One of the men patted the other on the back, causing the cloak around his shoulders to flatten out for a moment. A symbol etched in silver thread spread across his back. It took up most of the material but soon folded beneath creases as he yanked on the reins once again.

For a moment it looked like the outline of a hand. Curved lines of thread that stood out starkly against the deep black material it adorned.

I opened my mouth again, seeing how far I could get questioning them, when noise stopped me. It sounded like... crying. Wailing of children and the pleading screams of those much older.

A murder of crows screeched across the skies ahead of us, frightened by the noise that filled the blue, cloudless void.

I craned my neck, looking beyond the thick bars of the cage, as the cart turned. Then a smell hit me. Copper. Rich, intense copper that made me scrunch my nose in disgust. The source of it was not hard to find.

In an open field, a wall of thick trees crowning at its side, was a camp. At first glance it reminded me of a group of performers that once passed through Grove, putting on a display of drama and entertainment for three nights. But this was nothing of the sort.

Other cages, like the one I sat within, lined up throughout the jumbled camp. Countless bodies filled them with arms reaching outwards as though those within begged for aid. The closer we grew, the more I could see. There were so many other guards, each dressed in the same black-clad armour of those who navigated the cart. Cloaks billowed, flashing the same hand symbol I believed to have seen.

Some guards prowled the camp, slamming the sharp edges of swords onto the cages, shouting for silence of those within. Other guards pushed people ahead of them, chains trailing between their wrists and feet, all linked to a thick band of metal that strangled around their throats.