The Vixen Trials

Sedition

Jalen's hand trembled. "Is the Lady Keilah is ok?'

"She has been accepted as their kin."

"You made the right decision then. Were you punished, Hattavah?" he ventured, his tone gentle.

"Of course," he said and crossed his arms, making his tone stone-cold to deflect further questions. "Were you punished too, Jalen? For letting go of my arm."

Jalen's words were slow in coming. "I was blamed for letting you and the lady escape."

"If you'd held on, it would have been you on the ground too. That would have been the only difference. You made it quicker that's all."

"I thought so," said Jalen, sounding relieved.

Silence fell between them, and the Hattavah squirmed inwardly. He was not that used to small talk anymore. He found it unsettling. His eyes roved the room as Jalen burbled on about the weather. He noticed Malek at the servery talking to the cook scraping the bottom of the black pot. The room had emptied except for a group of soldiers, Grent among them, drinking ale in the opposing corner.

The Hattavah watched as Cate shook her head and motioned Malek away with her wooden spoon. Malek argued but left empty-handed. Dakkoul excused himself from a startled Jalen and stormed over to Cate. "Why have you given him no food?"

"He's eaten Hattavah," she protested. "He's had two plates."

"He gave those away."

"There's nothing left." Cate tipped the pot so that the Hattavah could see only a few burnt scraps stuck to the bottom.

"Get my slave something else then," said Dakkoul his voice caustic.

Malek was eyeing him with a quizzical air as she scuttled off. "Thank you. I am hungry."

"For finding out about my daughter," Dakkoul said curtly. He wouldn't want Malek to think it had anything to do with that nonsense he spouted about being his brother. 

Cate came back with a wooden plate of kiln bread, several slices of roasted boar meat and a hunk of dry white cheese and slapped it down on the bench so that the cheese slid off onto the bench.

"Make sure it doesn't happen again," Dakkoul growled for good measure as he watched Malek's hand scoop up the cheese and restore it to the plate before sitting down at the nearly empty trestle table.

He returned to Jalen who had not moved. Dakkoul frowned. "Why are you still here?" 

"I want out."

"What do you mean?"

Jalen lowered his voice, even though the dining room was emptying and no one was close by. "I'm sick of these village massacres. They're absolute orgies. The soldiers are wild and do whatever they like without restraint. The lucky villagers are taken as slaves. I try to do what I can, but that's very little. Alyssia accused me of complicity and she's right. I'm having trouble sleeping at night".

"I can't do anything about that. You know I can't."

"I'm wondering if you can get me reassigned. I'll scrub the latrines if I have to. I have less than a year to go. If I have to stay in my unit, I'll run away." His pupils were dilating, both of his rough, reddened hands now tapping the table.

"I'd rather you didn't," said Dakkoul in a guarded tone. Except for the thrill of the chase, he disliked the man-hunts exceedingly. There was no glory in bringing home a runaway slave or soldier to face their punishment. Especially when he had to administer it. And somehow he always found them. He thought for a moment. "There might be a way. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Hattavah."

Their business concluded, Dakkoul expected Jalen to depart, but he stayed sipping his tea, leaning back so far in his seat that the front two legs came off the ground. Dakkoul drummed his fingers on the table. "What do you know of Malek?"

Jalen peered his shoulder around to look at him. "Not much. He's new, bought about six months ago. Not sure from where. He's made himself popular. Very popular. He'll hold his own with us soldiers, drinking us down the table and making us laugh, but the slaves all like him too even the grumpy ones. He knows how to make you feel good when you talk to him. Doesn't talk much about himself though, have you noticed? And when you finish a conversation with him, you find you've said more than you intended, about a range of things."

"You don't trust him," said the Hattavah as one pouncing on a nugget of gold in a pile of quartz.

Do you think Malek is trustworthy? Thank you for staying with this story.