The Calm before the Storm

Chapter 4

"Why don't you just execute me now? It'll save you hauling me half way across the world," Ivan grumbled to his captors, his chains clinking in a merry antithesis as he walked.

"Lothor said you were his brother. That means you're a Stålrask, too. An important name in the world of thaumaturgy, some might say. Someone might pay good money for your safety, or the patrician might reward us for delivering you to him for public execution. No better way to rouse morale after a war than beheading a traitor," his captor beamed optimistically. "Either way, it's revenge for what you did. Your brother was a good man, an honest man. Safe to say that trait doesn't run in the family; you've been chattin' shit ever since we captured you."

"I'd have to be even more dimwitted than you to voluntarily kill my brother in front of a score of his own men," Ivan retorted harshly. "When I was in that tower, they...", Ivan thought about whatever it was that was once inside his skull and thought it better left unsaid. They already thought he was full of shit, and that wouldn't help matters.

"They what?", the man laughed aloud, "They put a crystal inside your brain that turned you into a zombie?" All the men in the party burst out into a fit of laughter. "Not an honest bone in your body, mate. If you weren't so valuable I'd have killed you on the spot."

Ivan fought back a grimace as he floundered at how accurate his captor was. If there was once a chance that they would believe his story, now it was completely hopeless. He tried to think of anybody who would potentially pay for him to be rescued from this mess. The last he'd heard, his father was still alive. So was his mother. But they wouldn't have paid for his safety in the first place, especially not when they found out what he'd done to their sweet, beloved Lothor. Life would have been so much easier if I was the precocious wonder child, he thought ruefully.

It was at about this time, miles from civilisation, in a sweltering desert, that Ivan decided to at least make life difficult. He let his knees buckle beneath him and slumped heavily to the floor. Ivan rolled onto his back and gazed up distantly at the purple sky before letting out a large sigh. His captors stopped their monotonous trudge; staring at him with looks of displeasure.

"I'm tired".

"I don't give a shit. Get up and walk."

"What's in it for me?"

"If you get up and walk, I won't beat the shit out of you."

"Seems like a bum deal. Think I'll stay here. Always wanted a proper tan, anyway. Couple of hours and I'll have lovely olive skin. And melanoma, too, which to be honest is far better than what you're offering me."

A broad voice interrupted from behind Ivan. "Either kill him or get people fort carry the lazy fucker, Lez, I can't be arsed standin' round all bloody day. I've not fucked me wife in years, I ain't waitin' any longer than I 'ave to."

Lez scanned his troop, looking for a willing volunteer to carry their prisoner. Their eyes avoided his gaze as though it was gorgonian.

"Sam, Otthel," Lez bellowed, "carry him. We'll swap shifts in an hour."