A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, I finally managed to finish this chapter. I might have gone a little overboard with the Ichani cruelty, but please read and review!

Chapter 2

Akkarin felt like he was in a dream as he stumbled after one of Dakova's slaves, Takan, across the rocky terrain. For the past few days, after Dakova had attacked him with magic, everything seemed hazy and untrue.

It was simply impossible. He was not here, with only pieces if tattered cloth to cover his body, and a massive bundle of firewood tied across his back. How could he suddenly be a…slave?

After reading his mind again, seemingly just for the fun of it, Dakova had sneered, saying that Akkarin, with his life in the Guild, could simply not be capable of doing tasks such as finding food or even washing clothes. Instead, Dakova deemed that the only task fit for him was one "close to that of a transport animal's": carrying the firewood for Takan as he went out to chop it daily.

While he'd said all that Akkarin had been in a forced kneeling position in front of him. He'd been drained again and even remaining on his knees was hard. Dakova then kicked him in the ribs and made him stand up as he summoned Takan, telling the cook that he was having Akkarin carry all the firewood. And that he expected to have the same amount as before. Or else.

Even with the black spots dancing before his eyes, Akkarin saw Takan glance at him worriedly.

They'd started out at once, Takan leading the way away from the camp, Akkarin wincing every time the tender soles of his bare feet touched the rock-littered ground.

After some time they came to small grove of trees. Takan motioned for Akkarin to sit on one of the larger rocks as he chopped off some braches.

As he watched Takan Akkarin also sent his senses into his own body, wondering what two days of eating next to nothing had done. Everything seemed to be working properly, but his feet were already blistered and reserves of fat had been depleted. He couldn't live on like this for long.

Takan tied all the braches together with a rope and then made two loops with it. He motioned for Akkarin to come over.

As he neared Takan Akkarin saw just how large the bundle of wood was. Its side's diameter was almost as long as the branches' general length. He stared at it, appalled not so much by the size of his burden as by what shouldering it would mean: doing his first real task as a slave to his master.

Takan looked at him, "He'll know if I help you. I'm sorry." He bent down towards the firewood.

Akkarin could only turn and let Takan help him get his arms through the loops and the firewood pressing against his back. He pitched backward as the weight of the firewood threatened to tip him over, and only Takan prevented that from happening by taking hold of the bundle.

"Lean forward," he advised. "Take hold of the ropes or they'll cut into your shoulders."

Akkarin followed his advice and almost stumbled as all the weight of the firewood pressed down on his back. Takan steadied him again, then began walking back towards camp.

Akkarin stood there for a moment longer bent forward, and glanced the opposite way. Part of him wanted to throw the wood down and run that way, away from Dakova, from Sachaka, from this nightmare. But reason told him it was foolish. He was too weak. And he suspected grimly that Takan would not go back to camp without him.

The Sachakan had stopped a few feet away from him, and had turned to wait expectantly. Akkarin sighed and stepped forward.

/

Now he stumbled forward, the smaller branches poking into his back, hurting terribly. Because of his burden, they were moving less than half as fast as on their way to the trees. The branches seemed to get heavier with every second, making every step more and more difficult.

For some reason, the combination of thirst, hunger and exhaustion made him realize the full extent of his predicament. Here he was, a slave, being worked even now to death.

The edges of his vision blurred and sweat trickled into his gasping mouth. He'd never perspired like this before. He felt cold and hot at the same time, and realized that he was sweating from exhaustion, something he'd only read of before.

Finally his vision narrowed down to the patch of ground in front of him. His breathing seemed to get louder until it was all he could hear.

He struggled on, forcing his legs to move. After what seemed like eternity, he heard Takan say somewhere far away, "We are back. Stand still."

It took a moment for him to comprehend the words, the same amount of time it took for Takan to untie the ropes and take hold of the bundle of wood, and for what had kept Akkarin on his feet all this time disappear. He crumpled to the ground and rolled onto his side, curling up and shaking from exhaustion.

He concentrated on his breathing and gradually began to hear other sounds. Opening his eyes he found himself lying next to the back of a tent— one made with sturdy material and decorated with an intricate pattern at the bottom. Akkarin realized with a shudder that it was Dakova's tent.

"Our master is waiting out at the front," Takan murmured somewhere besides him. "Remember to kneel." He began to help Akkarin up.

A moan escaped him as Takan's hand pressed one of the sores caused by the braches. Takan immediately clamped a hand over him mouth.

"Dakova hates it when we do that because of work or minor beatings." he whispered. "Here, bend your knees first."

Slowly and painfully he managed to stand with Takan's help. Takan nodded towards the front of the tent and he felt a belated dread. What would happen next?

Dakova's tent was just as large as the one used for all the slaves' lodgings. Trying to distract himself from thinking about what would happen when he got to the front, Akkarin focused on the pattern on the tent. The wide pattern strip consisted of interlocking loops, with delicate vines weaving in and out. He wondered who had made them.

Dakova stood by the entrance to his tent, apparently waiting for him. He noticed Akkarin.

Akkarin got ready to get down on his knees, but then felt it wouldn't be enough, to just kneel down in front of Dakova without speaking.

But Dakova helped him with that. "So how was my pet Guild magician's first day?" he mocked when Akkarin was just a few steps away from him. "Kneel!" he ordered.

Akkarin sank down, relieved at being able to rest. Dakova walked over to him and took out the knife he practiced black magic with. Then he kicked Akkarin in the stomach.

"Hold your arm out, slave."

The kick had caused Akkarin to bend over in pain. He rolled up his right sleeve to the elbow with his left hand while lifting his right forearm until it was level to his eyes.

Instead of making a cut, Dakova took hold of his raised arm firmly. "This will help you remember," then he twisted.

Akkarin screamed as Dakova dislocated his shoulder. Pain seared through his right arm and as Dakova released his arm he fell sideways onto the ground, clutching at his right shoulder. He reached instinctively for his power and realized with dismay that even after a day there was still next to none.

Everything faded away for a while until all he could feel was the numbness and pain in his arm. After a while of pure agony Dakova prodded him with the tip of his boot.

"Get up."

Half sobbing, he used his left arm to push himself up. It seemed to work until he was halfway up from the ground, when he felt a tug on his right shoulder and another wave of pain. Uttering another scream he fell back down, the impact jarring his shoulder and almost causing him to black out.

"Get up, slave. Or should I get the whip?"

Akkarin knew he could bear no more. He tried again and somehow managed to get back on his knees, cradling his limp right arm in his left and trying to hold back the sobs, which wracked his body, making the pain even worse.

Without warning, Dakova wrenched Akkarin's right arm out of his hold and with one hand closed around Akkarin's clenched right hand and the other around his elbow twisted the palm of Akkarin's hand outwards.

Akkarin howled as his shoulder grated, and the muscles and tendons twisted in the wrong way. Dakova kept on twisting until there was a faint pop and the bone returned to its socket.

But it was still not over. As Akkarin knelt, hunched over and trembling, Dakova rested his hands on his temples and did a mind-read. He forced Akkarin to recount the most painful parts of the day, taking pleasure in his agony.

Finally he let go, turned and disappeared behind the flap of his tent. Akkarin stared at the flap dumbly for a second, and then fell again to the ground.

He slipped into a trace-like sleep, too exhausted and shocked to try to get back to the slaves' tent. After sometime he woke up again, shivering. It was already dark, and much colder. He was also thirsty. His mouth tasted bitter.

His stomach growled, and he realized that he hadn't eaten or drunk anything for a day. He knew he had to get back to the slaves' tent, not only because it would be warmer and he might find some food there, but also because he wanted to get away from Dakova's tent.

The flap of Dakova's tent opened. Akkarin closed his eyes and held his breath, hoping Dakova wouldn't notice him in the dark. He was too weak. He couldn't stand anything now.

"Aiy —?" it was a woman's voice.

A cold hand pressed against his forehead. "Are you hurt?"

Akkarin tensed but then decided to open his eyes. In the dark he couldn't make out her features, but he somehow knew that she was a slave.

Suddenly a light appeared, blinding him. There was a gasp and the woman quickly stood up and hurried away with the light.

Akkarin lay in the darkness again, his eyes gradually adjusting to it, wondering at what had just happened. As he was steeling himself for an attempt at getting up, he saw the light again, and after a while Takan and a woman coming toward him.

The female slave went off in another direction and faded into the darkness.

Takan knelt down beside him. "Is anything broken?" he whispered.

Akkarin shook his head as he sent his senses inward and found everything intact.

"You need to get to out tent," Takan slipped a hand under Akkarin, then pulled it back. "Not yet… wait here for me. Quiet."

He slipped back into the darkness and appeared a few minutes later holding a gourd bowl. After guiding Akkarin into sitting position he held the bowl to his lips. Akkarin tasted water with a more…creamy taste. Rice porridge.

He was using both his hands to support himself. His right shoulder still ached but the pain was more bearable. He wasn't sure if he could support himself if he used a hand to take the bowl, so he allowed Takan to tip the porridge in his mouth.

The boiled rice was as cold as the night. He didn't think it was leftovers: there wouldn't be any in a place like this. Finishing the last of the mixture, he wondered if Takan had saved it for him.

"Now try," Takan set the bowl down and told him to stand up the same way as before.

It wasn't as hard as Akkarin had expected. He focused on Takan's instructions and managed to stand. Despite knowing that it would take time for what he had just eaten to be digested, he already felt stronger.

They arrived at the slaves' tent before he knew it. Takan opened the tent's flap carefully, allowing what little moonlight there was outside by now to pour into its pitch-black interior. All the slaves seemed to be asleep.

Takan pointed to an empty corner, still holding the flap open. By the faint light Akkarin made his way there and cautiously sat down.

As soon as he was lying down Takan let go of the flap and they were in complete darkness again. How would Takan find his way?

But he sank back into sleep before being able to find out, needing to prepare himself for tomorrow, not knowing what would happen, and perhaps hoping that it was all still just a nightmare.