Chapter 4

Akkarin felt sick and hungry at the same time.

A single sliver of meat floated atop his bowl of porridge. His mouth watered but the taste was sour. He hastily washed it down with a gulp of porridge and then forced the rest of it down, but even with the meat the meal wasn't even half as enjoyable as mid-day's.

It felt like a stone had settled itself in his stomach. That stone was the knowledge that he'd given Dakova a powerful and dangerous tool: the knowledge of Healing magic.

The Ichani had been sitting by his tent enjoying his meal while Takan waited on him when Akkarin arrived. Dakova was having a plate of roasted meat, some green stalks and a bowl of thick brown mixture. The tantalizing smell of the meat also made Akkarin realize how good a cook Takan could be if he had the ingredients.

Dakova didn't seem to notice him then, but Akkarin didn't try to slip away. He stood off to the side and waited.

After Takan had taken away the dishes, Dakova looked at Akkarin for the first time. Akkarin had a feeling that he had always known that he was there. But of course, Dakova was a magician, albeit one who didn't know how to Heal.

Dakova beckoned for Akkarin to follow him into his tent. Inside the tent there was a bed consisting of a wide wooden board and four rocks holding it off the floor at the corners, a wooden trunk, and a few whips and clothes hanging from pegs on the tents poles. Dakova took a knife from a peg and sat on the edge of the bed.

Akkarin knelt and held out his right arm. He felt it a little unnecessary, since he couldn't have gained much power in less than an hour, but Dakova seemed to have succeeded in burning that standard position into his mind.

Then for the whole afternoon Dakova interrogated him on the subject of Healing magic, occasionally touching other subjects: Alchemy, history and Warrior skills. Akkarin could sometimes sense his burning hatred for the Guild when he saw how Akkarin's teacher had decribed the Sachakan War. He heard Dakova's mockings of the absurdity of the Warrior Discipline. But most of all, there was that delight that he'd discovered a new and useful kind of magic: Healing magic. Akkarin also found that no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't prevent Dakova from reading his mind. After some time he just let Dakova shift through his memories, not paying so much attention himself.

After what seemed like eternity Dakova dismissed him.

Feeling more exhausted than ever, Akkarin forced himself to perform the rituals before stumbling out. He gazed out at the barren wasteland before him. Would he spend the rest of his life here?

He decided not to call the magicians from the Guild. If the Ichani were so strong, they wouldn't stand a chance. A war and the destruction of the Allied Lands just for himself was not right. And anyways, Dakova would probably know and finish him off just after the call.

It wasn't worth it. He'd decided to escape after he regained some of his strength this morning, which seemed so long ago… And during this time he could act as a sort of…spy for the Guild. It didn't make him feel better, but it did make his suffering more… purposeful.

So he needed to keep strong. He saw the slaves emerging from the seemingly hidden places where they worked and drifting toward the fire, where Takan seemed to be stirring a pot of porridge. He massaged his legs, which were sore and numb from kneeling the whole afternoon, and headed for the fire.

Now as he realized the full extent of what his small act of Healinf had led to, Akkarin felt sick. Dakova could flog with a real whip and Heal the wounds so the slaves wouldn't die so easily, could stop a person's heart―

Another realization hit him even more strongly. He could also do that…

But that was killing. And it was a great risk. It would be the last resort. He had to try escaping first.

Two days later when Akkarin went to Dakova's tent at noon, he saw that the Ichani was more finely dressed than usual. Dakova had before worn a fine but plain coat, trousers, and laced boots, but today he had on a thin fur coat and a belt adorned with gems. His boots seemed to be newly shined, and had buckles rather than laces.

His attire made Akkarin nervous. Was he planning on meeting someone? Another Ichani?

Akkarin knelt and held out his arm. There was another cut and that disconcerting sensation.

Dakova seemed satisfied by the amount of power Akkarin had. He left without a word, though, and when Akkarin summoned the courage to look up he was gone.

He lowered his arm and rubbed his heels absently. His not using Healing magic had helped, in a way. Calluses were beginning to form on the bottoms of his feet, making the tiring journeys between and over mountains less painful. The swollen strips from the last two days hurt even worse when the firewood settled on them, but he could stand it.

He kept a careful eye on the tent as he examined his body carefully for the first time in three days. Everything was functioning, but barely so. The nagging hunger was always there.

His skin looked much darker than before, either because of the sun or the dirt. Takan had shown him where the water buckets for washing and drinking were. He'd also said that when Dakova was moody he would check the slaves' 'appearance'. Akkarin fot the feeling that Takan felt the slaves represented the master in a way, which Akkarin agreed with silently.

The tingling numbness was starting to crawl up his legs. He shifted slightly and decided against standing up. Maybe his "work" for the day was to kneel here until he fainted.

The sun beat down hard. He was beginning to sweat and his mouth was dry. He'd drunk his fill before leaving in the morning, but had probably also perspired all the moisture away then after.

The tent flap shifted and Akkarin hastily lowered his head. He heard Dakova's boots on the ground and then saw them before him.

"Follow me." The boots moved away.

Akkarin got up and followed the Ichani a few steps away. They came to where Takan was by the fire.

"Takan," Dakova called. "Get the two that are washing clothes and tell them to find food. I have a visitor tonight."

So what he'd guessed was true. Takan bowed and hurried away. Akkarin had a feeling that Takan was sort of a 'head' of the slaves. Maybe it was because Dakova had seemed to only know his name only. And Akkarin's, though he didn't use it.

Dakova headed for the 'stables', where the three horses were kept. A slave who seemed to have failed to notice his master's arrival was called to saddle a horse. Dakova mounted and Akkarin wondered what to do.

His gaze was met by Dakova's for an instant. A meaningful glance, which confirmed his fear that he'd have to follow Dakova, who was on horseback.

The horse set out at a slow trot and Akkarin followed, keeping slightly behind the horse. He wondered how much he'd have to walk. It seemed that they were going to meet Dakova's visitor.

The horse picked through the rocky landscape carefully, avoiding the small hills and crevices. After a while Akkarin felt he saw a procession far away, crawling toward them.

Dakova had seen them too, for he halted his horse and turned his head to Akkarin, who hadn't noticed his immediate stop at first until he had come next to the Ichani.

"The visitor is my…brother. You are to call him 'master', understand?"

"Yes, master," Akkarin felt the contents of his stomach churn.

They continued forward. When Akkarin could just make out the shape of the man on a horse at the front of the procession, Dakova raised his hand in greeting, a gesture which the other man returned.

This procession consisted of thirty or so slaves, all of them carrying bundles or baskets. A few led the other two horses, which carried heavy loads.

They neared each other until they were only ten or so meters away. Then the two Ichani dismounted. Dakova tossed Akkarin the reins, which he caught and then gripped nervously. He'd ridden horses before, but wasn't sure if he could handle this one.

"So, my brother," Dakova brother called. "While I get the most slaves, you seem to have a knack for getting the best: Five with magic potential stronger than me, the best cook and most beautiful bed slave in this wasteland. And now you've got a pet Guild magician!"

Akkarin clenched his jaw as his gaze settled on him. There was a look of malice on his face that was even worse than Dakova's. Both of the Ichani had the same harsh and angry look, but this new one seemed to be worse.

They stalked over and Akkarin resisted the urge to back away, or simply mount the horse and run. He glance at the reins in his now shaking hands for a second and when he looked up Dakova's brother was right before him.

"So…" A hand grabbed his chin and lifted his head up until he was facing Dakova's brother, who was eyeing him menacingly. "Such a handsome face, and also long hair. Typical Kyrlian. So, boy, you're from the magicians' Guild?"

This Ichani had a grip like steel. Akkarin's jaw hurt terribly, but he was relieved to find that he could speak: "Yes, master."

Dakova's brother was very tall. Slowly he snaked his hand down Akkarin's throat and sank his fingernails into the flesh just above his collarbone.

He turned to Dakova. " Trained him well, have you, my brother? I've never been able to break one in less than a week."

Dakova grunted. "My first one. He'd more sensible than the others somewhat. Sadly."

His brother withdrew his hand and turned back to Akkarin, whose eyes had begun to water because of the pain. "I shall enjoy seeing what the Guild is like." And then to Dakova: "Let us goto your camp. I hope you have a feast waiting."

"Of course, Kariko." Dakova snatched the reins from Akkarin and remounted. Kariko headed back to his horse.

"Move on!" he bellowed to the procession of slaves behind him. Dakova's mount turned and so did Akkarin, glad to be away from the Ichani who could be even worse than Dakova for a while.

/

It was a week after Kariko's visit. Akkarin had gotten somewhat more accustomed to his work: no collapsing after his morning journey.

After the two days Kariko had stayed by his brother's camp, in which Akkarin was constantly used as a source of entertainment and hate-venting, and the two Ichani cursed and laughed at the Guild (Akkarin was shocked to see how they viewed the Sachakan War. He didn't want to believe it, but their anger and hatred were so fierce that it had to be genuine.), Dakova had assigned him work for the afternoon as well. Mostly it was to do other chores in camp, and everyday the chores changed. And every day he was beaten, for the other slaves seemed to always think it unnecessary to instruct him on what to do, or how to do it better, so hid work never satisfied Dakova.

And this made him appreciate Takan even more, whose terse but concise instructions always helped. The cook had brought him his meal those two nights when his head hurt and spun too much due to the two Ichani's prodding to even find where the fire was. He wondered why Takan helped him so much. Maybe it was because he was the 'head' of the slaves, which had been confirmed during the past few days, but that didn't seem to be it.

But after his initial recovery the matter of escaping had surfaced. His slight recovery was because all reserves of fat in his body had been depleted. Now he really couldn't hold out much longer.

He had to try. With his condition he didn't expect to live, but there was a chance. And he would rather die in the wasteland free than under the hands of Dakova.

I haven't typed the following in bold as this is part of the story:

So next is the "Dakova seemed to enjoy the hunt…and the punishment he dealt afterward" part in THL. I have decided to not elaborate on that in this fic, because K had done such a good job of it in her fic: Akkarin and His Years in Sachaka, which you can find on my Favorites list.

A/N: Please review!