The Vixen Trials

Flaming

"Because after you eat it,
you don't care if you die"

Dakkoul

Dakkoul did not tarry long in Tunis, stopping only to buy a couple of peppered meat-sticks  from a grinning old lady with a cancelled slave-tattoo on her neck. He handed one to Malek suppressing a smile when he thanked him

Malek teeth closed over the first chunk of meat on his stick. He chewed then froze then spat out his mouthful. Red flushed his cheeks and moisture dribbled from eyes. "Festering fox guts! What was that?"

Dakkoul smirked. "Peppered fire-snake. Like they say, hotter than even their flames."

Malek coughed and took a swig from his water container.

Dakkoul waited until Malek was watching him then casually ate all of his meat before wiping his mouth and saying, "It's warrior food. Even the soldiers can eat it. They say it makes you strong for battle."

"Because after you eat it, you don't care if you die," Malek said derisively. He took a deep breath, glared at his stick then ate another chunk. This time he only grimaced while chewing. By the time they rode out of Tunis, Malek had eaten it all, shooting a triumphant look at Dakkoul when he did so.  Dakkoul inclined his head just a fraction in response, before urging on his horse.

When they arrived at the crossroads, Pipsqueak was not there. Dakkoul tried to hide his annoyance squinting at where the road to Pipsqueak's village dipped into the valley. No sign of anyone. Of course he would be late. He let his horse amble over to a large patch of grass by an old fence post and graze.

Malek moved his horse beside him. "I got something to say."

"What?" Dakkoul snapped.

Malek lifted his chin. "You don't need to threaten me all the time. I'm not your enemy. Tell me what you want me to say and what you want me to do and I'll do it. I'll even do it cheerfully if you ask me nicely. That's all."

That's all? Ask him to do things nicely.  Insolence. Dakkoul sharpened his gaze on Malek who flicked at one of his earrings but didn't duck his head. Lord Rustavan would never tolerate a slave speaking to him like that. He'd tell him to discipline Malek so that he'd know his place. Only...Dakkoul's hand gripped the  front of the saddle. Only, all Malek was asking for was a bit of respect, a bit of decency. But giving him that would be like trusting him, like acknowledging him as a brother and Dakkoul definitely wasn't ready to do that. "I'll speak to you how I like and you'll obey me," he spat back.

At the hurt look in Malek's eyes, something stupid in Dakkoul wanted to apologize. Instead he checked the horizon again and this time he saw a crowd of people walking towards the crossroads coming from the direction of the village.

"I'll make him eat lek-duck soup for a week for this!" Dakkoul growled. Pipsqueak had  obviously forgotten the need for discretion. There he was, in the middle of the crowd, walking beside a huge man with broad shoulders, an ugly scar on the side of his face and an obvious stiffness on one side when he walked. Pipsqueak's father had lived then and he didn't look too happy about it. Dakkoul slid off the horse not trusting it enough to stay on it in case of a fight.

Malek dismounted. "You let him go home?"

"I did," Dakkoul answered curtly. There was no point concealing it now.

"What would Lord Rustavan think?"

"If you tell him, you'll find out," Dakkoul said casually even as his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

Malek shot him a disbelieving look and rolled his eyes.

The crowd stopped before they reached the crossroads and smothered Pipsqueak in hugs. Dakkoul wanted to turn away. It reminded him too much of the time he had left the hidden valley, how they'd all pressed around him, showering him with warm words and fond farewells. Fool that he'd been, he actually had been impatient with them. He swallowed. He needed to get Pipsqueak out now and leave.