Chapter Four - Attacked

More than a year had gone by. Akkarin was just over twenty-one but felt fifty.

In some ways, he had adjusted himself to being a slave. He no longer wasted his time feeling sorry for himself as he had all too soon realised that self pity did not solve anything. The 'had he not's or 'if only he'd' were left behind and he had decided to accept his present fate until opportunity showed differently. Hope for change kept him going on. At times, he lost faith but then he pulled himself together refusing to become a slave in his heart as well.

Though he had not befriended any of the slaves, they no longer acted as if they distrusted or hated him but rather ignored him. This suited him well. He succumbed to daydreaming, reflecting on issues discussed during classes when he was a novice. He went through lesson after lesson in his mind and even sought out to carry intelligent discussions with himself. Of course he knew that was one step closer to insanity that he would like to admit but there was no one else to talk to and he needed to feed his mind as best he could. The slaves were mostly illiterate and he knew and understood that they would have found such discussions senseless as they brought neither freedom nor food.

Takan was pleasant company. He was a man of few words but when the two of them were working together Akkarin relaxed and there was a certain air of respect between the two of them that felt reassuring.

As a novice Akkarin had not made friends easily either. He did not feel the need and he was aware of the fact there was something about him that kept most people his own age at a natural distance. He had had only one good friend; Lorlen.

Lorlen had not been spooked by his seemingly arrogant appearance and in him he had found a friend for life. They had the same sense of humour and could spent countless hours playing difficult and mind challenging games some of which they invented themselves. He missed Lorlen terribly but pushed the feeling aside before it really hit. At least with Takan he felt comfortable.

He now sat mending the slaves' tent which had been torn apart during a recent violent sand storm minding his own business when he suddenly was alerted by cries of alarm. He left the fabric on the ground and got up to see what the shouting was all about. The sun was fierce so he narrowed his eyes and looked in the direction of the noise. In the distance he saw clouds of dust whirling up from afar. Something or someone was approaching in a rapid speed. He went over to Takan. "What is happening?" he asked. The slave was busy removing all kitchen utensils, throwing then into a wooden chest. As Takan quickly began to remove the unprepared food as well, he glanced at Akkarin "An Ichani is attacking. We've got to get moving or else, we'll soon have a new Master or get ourselves killed". With that, Akkarin felt excitement. A new Master! Maybe a new life! But then he realised that an Ichani attacking other Ichanis was likely worse than Dakova who at least had kept mostly to himself during Akkarin's captivity. The camp had been a relatively quiet place to live, cruel but predictable in all ways with one knowing what to do and what not to do.

'I have got to warn her!' he suddenly thought and ran towards Dakova's tent. Before he got there, Dakova came running out with Yilana hurrying behind him. Akkarin stopped 'Master, someone is heading straight for us. Takan believes we are being attacked' he said, but clearly Dakova had figured out as much for himself. He took out his knife and without being asked, Akkarin handed out his arm. Dakova called out and all slaves lined up. The cloud of dust came nearer and everybody wanted to give away their power as quickly as possible.

An old slave fell to the ground dead as Dakova forgot to stop the draining before it was too late but there was not enough time to feel shock or sorrow and the body was left on the ground as if the old man had been nothing more than an worn out pair of trousers.

Then Dakova sent them away telling them to meet him south of the camp in a small valley.

As they were leaving Akkarin felt utterly useless. He wanted to fight if it meant avoiding a destiny worse than this. He had been an excellent warrior. During his warrior classes, no one had ever defeated him. Not only had he been the strongest of the young novices and perhaps of the entire Guild but he had also found ways to deceive and trick his opponents without using all of his power and he liked the strategy of the duels. To figure out how to lure the opponents into believing what his next move would be and then take them by surprise. But out here, his warrior skills had proven worthless and he knew that even if he had had any power, he could do little to nothing against the overwhelming power of an Ichani.

The slaves gathered close in the valley. The dust cloud settled as the attackers had reached their destination. 'How many could there be? Akkarin wondered. From the cloud it had seemed that at least ten men on horsebacks must have been storming in. But it didn't add up with the fact that most Ichanis were loners. This he had learned from Yilana. In fact, socially, the Ichanis were so ill adjusted that they not only resented the King who had exiled them but also resented and mistrusted those who shared the same faith as themselves.

'It must have been an illusion' he reasoned to himself and relaxed. Ten Ichanis would have meant certain failure for Dakova. He thought to tell the others this good news but decided against it. What difference did it make for any of them anyway?

Then the fighting began.

From their hide out, all they could do was to listen to the sound of the loud crashes that tore through the air as strike after strike was being sent out from the camp. A giant flash of light lit up the afternoon sky only to be followed by yet another lightning strike.

Suddenly an enormous boom sent shock waves through the ground and they all fell to the ground hands above their heads trying to protect themselves. But no debris came falling down. All slaves however now remained in the low position.

Akkarin regarded the other slaves. Some cried but soundlessly, obviously too afraid to and at the same time concentrating hard to hear as much of the fight as possible.

Trails of smoke began to well up from the camp. Clearly the devastation was vast. But so far Dakova had not been defeated. The sky continued to light up and yet another shock wave hit, making the earth move. The powers were so great that Akkarin had a hard time believing it. Surely Dakova was strong but he could by no means continue to use so much of his power. This was unsettling. Hopefully what they heard was the other Ichani pounding away.

All at once, the fighting stopped. The silence was overwhelming.

The slaves held their breaths. Now what?

Then Takan said 'Get down all of you! Lay on the ground! We can't have much power any of us so maybe we won't be detected. Play dead. All of you! Without a word, everyone slumped down to the ground. Not on top of each other but in an uneven line to make it more believable that the Master had used up his resources one by one and fast.

Akkarin braced himself grateful that there were no children among them. The youngest slave, Makar, looked about fifteen and was old enough to do as he was told.

Then slow dragging steps of someone approaching the valley could be heard.

About fifty steps away, the person stopped. A curse was heard. The man's voice did not belong to Dakova.

"Son of a whore killed them"…. "Should've figured out that much"… The man continued and went a little closer. He groaned a bit as he moved. He was injured.

Akkarin's chest hurt from trying not to move while breathing. Was Dakova dead? What would happen next? This man obviously wanted to take a closer look and then their slaughter would be inevitable.

Then a strike so forceful that they were pressed down to the ground came slamming through the air. It blew the Ichani into bits and pieces and covered them all with smudges of blood and human waste.

Dakova had survived…. and won the fight.

Slowly they all staggered to their feet and watched in fearful awe as their Master appeared. His clothes were torn, blood was pouring out from a gash in his shoulder. But as he stood there he looked more powerful than ever.

They returned to what had once been their camp. Nothing was left. Takan's headless attempt to protect his beloved utensils had all been in vain. In fact the place had been blown to pieces and the entire area was covered with large sodden holes.

'Get moving, its time to find a new place to live', Dakova said out loud. And they left without looking back.