The Collectors of Peyka

Chapter 19

As the warriors of Nordfast laid down to rest, the small encampment was carried into the late evening. The campfires fumed as the last of the embers burnt out, leaving only the strip of stars above the stream to light up the area. A smoky haze wrapped itself around the air, carrying the hefty scent of blood and defecation on its trail. I'd seen wild animals that practiced more grace.

"I hate the filth," I said under my breath. Phelim had his eyes closed, but judging from the restless vibration of his right leg, I knew he wasn't asleep. "You should at least bathe after a battle."

"There are some tribes that believe wearing the blood of the men you've struck down allows you to absorb their power. 'Tez cou honet en blud'. It means there is honor in blood. It's what the Montek's say," Phelim explained.

"A disgusting belief. There is no honor in smelling like you're made of rot," I said. I squeezed my face together. Without looking, he smiled.

"I don't trust your plan," he said. His smile chipped away into clarity and he fixed a direct gaze on me. In the starlight, his eyes glinted with something fierce. "If something should happen... I can't protect you."

"I don't need anyone to save me," I said with an eye roll. "Don't-"

"Don't underestimate you. I already know what you're going to say. But, you shouldn't underestimate him, either. He's bigger than you. Stronger. If he gets the upper advantage..." He drifted off as his eyes fell to the floor. The shaking of his leg only intensified.

"Are you worried?" I considered laughing when he gave me a single nod. Such weakness wasn't something I expected from him, but I welcomed it. It almost felt nice, as if for the first time, the burden wasn't all my own. And then I bit down on my lip, hard enough to tear away the freshly healed bits of skin. I wouldn't let myself grow soft. Especially when both of our lives dangled on my ability to perform.

"If you're that concerned, why don't you just tear open the ground again?" I shrugged.

"I told you, that wasn't me. That much power requires a greater sacrifice, one that the elements must accept. I fear that my life wouldn't bear that much value." He cocked his head and smiled with half of his mouth. "However, a harbinger's life-"

"We'll both survive this," I stated. When I saw the giant man stepping over slumbering bodies to get to us, I knew our time for banter was over. "Be ready."

If I was grateful for anything, it was the fact that the giant did bathe. Where dirt once stained the crevices, deep lines split under his eyes. His mangy black hair had been washed of all matted clumps and was combed out of his face to expose a set of curious soft eyes. The scar down his face looked more pink than brown, and in a way, he wore it well. Without the blemishes, he might have been handsome, if not for his concerning size.

The plate of his head met the top of the cage as he hovered by the doorway. He stole a glance back towards his comrades before he set to work unfastening the bindings that held the cell together. An easy escape, I originally thought, but with our hands bound, it was impossible to slip them between the sticks. They left enough space to breed hope, but it was our disappointment that was supposed to crush us.

"You will not scream," the giant said. He looked me in the eyes with the bindings frozen between his fat fingers. When I nodded, he continued until the door sprang free. "If Finley likes you, you might do."

"And you are Finley?" He smiled and I offered a glance at Phelim. "Well, Finley, I will try my best not to hurt you."

He let the door dangle from the frame while he snatched me out of the hole by the bindings. My knees knocked against the floor as he pulled me through. When I cleared the threshold, he replaced the door and began fastening the bindings back to the cell. After he was satisfied, he began dragging me toward the nearest tree line.