Zuko knew nothing of the Thieves of Gihad. Had he been born into Acchai - into blood, sweat and fear, into stories of old monsters and fangs in the dark - he would not have been so bold in going.
The Thieves of Gihad were not a rabble of homeless and desperate, of criminals and banished, as were the vast majority of outlaws in Acchai. These thieves were of a mild and mostly controllable nature, as far as the Lords of Acchai were concerned. A gang of such men often appeared when a General was slain and his men left leaderless, or a foolish band of youth ran away from their Lords; they slew and stole and raped at whim, usually upon the far edges of the Acchain borders where not many stood to oppose them. This would occur for the span of about three months, until such a time as the borders were used up (or they grew too bold) and they encroached too far upon a Lord's land and holdings. In his younger years, Sokka had accompanied Jeong-Jeong twice on parties sent specifically to the efficient and ruthless slaughter of these men. There were usually no more than thirty (only very foolish men chose to join these gangs); they were ill-trained and quickly dispatched, their bodies left to rot on the rock and stone. Vultures feeding vultures.
The Thieves of Gihad were also not akin to the thieves of Balda Haram, who (though of fearful reputation in the Union) were composed of cheats, gamblers, drinkers, pimps, beggars, pickpockets, starving students, madmen, and other such characters accustomed to deceit and the stolen coin. Zuko had walked the edge of a knife in his days as a student at the Academy; it was a deliciously easy thing, to be ensnared by the whores and the cardgames and the quick coin a thief would flash you - but it was all a farse, and more often than not ended with a broke student getting his throat slashed over a ten-silver bet. Smellerbee herself had been born to a nameless whore, who gave her up by the time she turned three - babies in the brothel and bad business. Vica had rescued her from begging when she was eight, and gave her a room and a job in the bar. But Smellerbee had never quite lost her thieving nature, and aside from Jet her ghostly qualities and light fingers had earned her more than one enemy and admirer.
Yet when Zuko thought of thieves, these are the two things (though the latter more than the former) he pictured. Already, as he followed Myobu through the Pass of Jin and into the vast expanse of the Desert, he was contemplating the various ways he could bribe the thieves to his cause. He hoped they were in need of base things - food, money, water - and did not desire payments in other forms he was unwilling to give. Women; sacrifice; slaves.
The Desert was red beneath the sky. Myobu's form against its flaming surface was hardly distinguishable, and Zuko followed him by the occasional glimmer of his being and not by any actual form. After the first mile Zuko had been forced to bring Randhir to a canter, as the horse could not sustain a gallop across the broken ground of Acchai. Myobu slowed accordingly, but it still took all of Zuko's concentration to keep sight of the swift creature. Occasionally, the firebender felt pity for the stallion he rode and slowed to a walk or light trot; these moments endlessly vexed Myobu, who was in a great haste to reach the Thieves.
The first night they encamped in the shelter of a vast sand dune. Myobu was curled up and resting long before Zuko started a fire and pitched his tent; Randhir was sweating but not worn down - they had traveled nearly thirty miles, but the stallion had admirable endurance. In respect of the creature, Zuko gave the stallion a good walk and rub-down long before he considered making himself (and Myobu) any dinner. The Fox watched lazily in the half-light, illuminated only by Zuko's low-burning campfire, as the black horse gratefully took his rest. The Fox had not spoken since their departure from Zuko's army; now his voice came in low, so that Zuko could barely hear it.
You are very foolish. To come so far alone.
The fire in Myobu's eyes was muted. He gazed dreamily at Zuko like a wolf half-asleep, reflections of embers on his blood-red coat. Zuko finished Randhir's rub-down and allowed the stallion to indulge himself in his feedbag, taking Myobu's compliment as a jest.
"I think you and Jeong-Jeong are beginning to admire my foolishness," he said with a smile. Reaching into his own saddle-bag, he withdrew a long strip of dried meat and held it up, in offering, to the Spirit-Fox. Myobu did not stir; his nose did not even twitch at the smell of the meat. Confused but unconcerned, Zuko took the meat himself and began to eat.
The General's men say you Walked the Rope.
"...I did," Zuko felt and odd discomfort arising in the conversation, and he was beginning to lose his appetite. Myobu's eyes were still fixed, half-awake, on him. "You know that, though. You and the other Foxes saved me. Katara told..."
And then he could feel the necklace at his wrist, like a living thing, like a second heartbeat. He turned to look at it; deep, translucent blue, like the mystery of her eyes.
You don't think of her so much anymore.
Zuko's head snapped up to glare at Myobu. The Fox was still the same, entirely impassive; it unnerved the firebender, not only because of his disturbing words, but because the Fox seemed to know, exactly, what Zuko thought at any given moment. He wanted to tell the Fox he was barking out his ass; he wanted to slap the lazy half-grin off the creature's face with a flaming fist. Instead, he found himself muttering, confessing:
"She is my thought every morning when I wake," and his fingers were playing with the cool, blue gem of her necklace. "And every night I imagine her with me, beside me... but Jeong-Jeong was right. I can't be thinking of her so much that I am distracted from reality. It would do more harm than good."
Myobu stared at him lazily, and yawned. White, bright fangs against a red mouth.
Zuko felt his heart beating fast. He felt like the Fox had suddenly swept the world from beneath his feet. Was Jeong-Jeong right? Zuko couldn't afford to be endlessly distracted by Katara (and the thought of her was just this), especially when the fate of Acchai, and of peace in the Union, hung upon his actions. Or was Jeong-Jeong wrong? Were Zuko's affections for the waterbender simply slipping away as he was drowned, deeper and deeper, in his destiny - in the harsh and alluring realms of barbaric Acchai? No - he couldn't believe it - because she was of Acchai, she was of the fierce and noble mold he admired. She was always a moment away in his mind, close to him as the strip of fabric at his wrist. If not for the companionship of Sokka, Toph, and Aang, he would be in endless frustration as to her safety. He could not drive Katara from his mind. She had run her hands along his broken body and made him whole; she had unveiled herself, drawing back the niqab, to show him her affection. She was precious. She was the Blue Rose. She was his Blue Rose.
Yet the doubt lingered, a poison, a hateful thought. Would he forget Katara, as he had forgotten Mai?
Myobu laid his head across his paws, and closed his dark, flaming eyes.
It will be much more difficult for you after this.
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Dawn found them already awake and traveling, Zuko's eyes red-lined from lack of sleep.
Myobu had adjusted his pace again to fairly match the cantering of Randhir; the Fox, still restless at the slowness of the stallion, was amusing himself by winding back and forth across the sand dunes. This annoyed Zuko, who had to keep careful track of the beast, but the firebender knew better than to raise a complaint.
The Spirit-Fox left no foot prints in the sand. He was loping at an easy pace, slipping further and further into a half-conscious state. His limp - so prevalent while in the caravan, running beside the sins of men - had decreased significantly. Returning to the Desert was sending a change over the spirit; with each step, life returned to him, emboldened by the scorching sands that had molded him, been home to him since his enslavement to Wan Shi Tong.
The heat was pouring down in waves across the sand. Zuko had grown accustomed to it over the months in Acchai, but he had not grown accustomed to the winds. While no severe storms had yet swept across the Desert, the wind was a constant, stirring up loose sand in spirals and waves, sending it stinging against Zuko's scar and skin.
Myobu did not heed the wind and heat. The impassive gleam was back in his eye. Zuko brushed sand from his eyes to keep sight of him, bobbing up and down between the dunes.
Then, abruptly, just as Myobu reappeared in his winding path over the top of a sand dune, the Fox bolted.
An arrow could not have left the string more swiftly. The glimmer of Myobu's coat was yards away in seconds; surprised, off-guard, and fearing the Fox had sensed some nearby danger, Zuko haltingly kicked Randhir in his sides. The stallion bucked and then took off at a full gallop, Zuko leaning forward and squinting to see the Spirit's glimmer through the sand-whipped wind.
"Myobu!" it was useless for Zuko to shout into that driving wind.
The Fox was gone, a glittering speck in the distance.
Desperate, shocked, and for all the world afraid of being stranded in the wasteland, Zuko gave Randhir another good kick and galloped off into the direction he guessed the Fox to be. The wind screamed around his ears like mad laughter; the wind worsened, full of sand and debris, and whipped mercilessly into the firebender's eyes. Half-blind, heart beating like a drum, Zuko spurred Randhir like a madman, galloped wildly, flounderingly across the sand.
Then, just as abruptly, Myobu stopped.
So intent on the distant dunes, and so afraid that Myobu had abandoned him in the red Desert, Zuko barely noticed the Spirit-Fox as he galloped by. If not for the brilliant, surreal gleam of the spirit's eyes he would have missed him altogether. As it was he noticed the creature, already several yards behind him, and pulled up Randhir to a fierce and abrupt stop.
The changes in pace was maddening to the stallion. Bucking, kicking, half-willing to turn wild, Randhir fumbled to a halting stop and then stumbled awkwardly backwards. Ignoring the stallion's confusion, Zuko whirled a fidgeting Randhir around towards the Fox again. He cantered back until Randhir stopped and hesitated a few feet from the Fox; there was a dim, uncertain look in the stallion's eyes.
"Myobu? What the hell - ?" the wind blew against Zuko's scar like a thousand needles, loose sand stinging wild against his skin; he ignored it, focused on Myobu's still form. The Fox was sitting squat on his hind legs, motionless as stone. The dreamy, inattentive look had come back into his eye.
Gritting his teeth impatiently, Zuko dismounted from Randhir, as the stallion lowered his head to shield his eyes from the wind. He approached the Fox, raising one arm to protect his own eyes, annoyed.
"Myobu! What are you doing?" he had to scream it over the wind.
There was something dangerous, something unnatural about the sleepy, impassive look in the Fox's eyes. Zuko noticed it too late.
A bristle went through Myobu. Every muslce tensed, every hair stood up.
Zuko felt himself go cold beneath the blazing sun.
Myobu bared his gleaming teeth and roared.
The world exploded. Sand erupted around Zuko in geysers, a hundred feet high, enough to cut off the ferocious light of the Desert sun. As Zuko looked up at the darkening sky his feet were swept out from beneath him and he sunk, sunk so quickly he could not bring fire to his hands, could not even send up a cry of anger, a cry for help -
- and then there was only terror, because he'd been swept straight down into the earth, sucked down faster than any quicksand. In seconds he was crushed, buried alive - there was sand everywhere, in his eyes, his nose, his mouth, pressing in around him on every side, heavy and crushing - he couldn't flail his arms, he couldn't kick, immobilized by his complete and swift burial. It was in his stomach, under his skin; there was no air in his lungs, only sand, sand, sand everywhere -
- and then, as fast as it happened, he was up again, and the sun was glaring at him ferociously.
"Myobu!" he coughed immediately. Blinked his painful, sand-filled eyes open as he hacked, coughed, vomited sand.
The first thing he saw, doubled over on the sand, was Randhir. The stallion was sprawled sideways on the ground, twitching, legs angled out awkwardly, its great, powerful neck slashed open. Wet, red blood was pooling onto the dry, red sand beside the black stallion.
The second thing he saw was a sandbender. He recognized him from his time with the caravan, and it made him sick. The man was swathed in yellow, dirt-colored rags, face hidden from the ferocity of the sun. He was rooting through Zuko's belongings, still strapped to Randhir's back; there a bloody knife at his hip.
Zuko was still out of breathe, still blinded from the sand, but he rose anyway. He inhaled despite the sand-crusted edges of his throat; he called a red flame to his hands, feeling the massive heat of Agni above him. He leapt for the sandbender.
"Aya!"
The earth moved beneath his feet, shifting sand; he went face-down, flailing, coughing. Laughter came from somewhere, cruel and cold. Zuko leapt towards the source of the noise, still half-blind, everything blurred and red with sand; he threw a fiery, half-aimed punch.
Someone caught his wrist. He threw a punch with the other hand, but this wrist was caught too. His still flaming fists were wrenched down towards the earth, and he felt the sand burning his skin.
There was laughter. Endless laughter.
Then a huge, iron-ended club soared down over Zuko, and landed solidly across his outstretched hands.
And Zuko screamed.
His hands shattered beneath the blow. Bloody, disjointed, broken, the pain seared up Zuko's arms. He flailed, he writhed; he turned over onto his back and cradled his bloody hands into his chest. His body shook violently, terribly, and Zuko screamed and screamed. The laughter went on around him. Zuko rolled over onto his stomach, clutching his broken hands in misery. His body shook, and in incoherent mutterings, in low spurts, he begged for release. He begged for Katara, and her healing water. He begged for mercy.
No mercy came. Only the fierce, red gleam in the corner of his eye. Only a traitorous Myobu.
Every hair was erect on Myobu's bristling frame, every muscle tensed, jaw clenched, white fangs dripping. But the Spirit-Fox's legs were rooted to the earth, immobile, body still as stone save for the vibration of his growling.
Zuko snarled, bared his own teeth like some rabid beast, spat fire onto the red sand.
"Myobu! You fucker - !"
The nearest sandbender silenced Zuko's cries of rage by throwing a solid blow across Zuko's jaw. So fierce and well-aimed was the strike, it sent him straight down, face half-crushed in the sand, blood pooling immediately into his mouth.
Still bristling, still immobile, Myobu made no move as the sandbenders chained Zuko's wrists, the firebender's eyes glistening from the pain in his hands, blood on his lips. They knew how to subdue benders of all sorts, these Thieves of Gihad; Zuko's fingers would be healed once he was secured and properly enslaved, but until then Zuko's hands were useless, and the firebender was helpless.
"Endea Sahib. Bwana alifika, na Mzuka-Mbweha," one of the men said suddenly, gesturing at a smaller thief. The bandit nodded, turned, and took off on a sand-sailer.
They stripped Zuko of his great armor, the red-stained leather and steel that Hakoda had acquired for him, as well as the magnificent black panther-cloak. One sandbender, in full presence of Zuko, put the hollowed panther-head over his own and seemed to claim the cloak as his. Two thieves arose cries of complaints and stepped towards him, but the sandbender had drawn a jagged knife and was practically snarling at them. Another fight arose when they discovered his twin blades, but this squabble was also shut down when a huge, hulking man wrenched the weapons from their finder's grasp and claimed them. Two men were left to carve up Randhir for food; they took the leather saddle-bags and dried meat, the waterskins, the tent, the blankets and knives and other essentials Zuko had brought. They took his boots with his Uncle's dagger hidden within them, his belt, his shirt, and left him half-naked and barefoot. Zuko endured this all sitting upon the sand, his hands clasped together underneath his thighs - he did not want them to find Katara's jeweled necklace. Of all the things they stripped him of, this was the only thing he sought to keep.
By this time Myobu's growls had subsided. In turns, and in between dividing Zuko's possessions, they came before the Spirt-Fox and slowly descended into a full bow, knees tucked under them, foreheads all the way down to the sand. One of their number - a squat man, who had claimed Zuko's precious knife as his own - paid homage to the Fox, and afterwards came straight aways back to Zuko. The firebender was still half-knelt in the sand, concerned only with the searing pain of his shattered hands.
"Uko nani, mgeni?" The man's face was swathed with dirty, mud-colored cloth. Zuko raised his head to meet the shadows of his eyes, but did not answer him. The words were useless in his ears, another barbarian language. The thief looked briefly at his fellows and then, ecstatically and without warning, kicked him in his stomach with one iron-tipped boot. Zuko coughed, choked, and doubled over, finally revealing the blue gem necklace at his wrist.
The reaction was expected - the thief gave a laugh of discovery and grabbed roughly at the firebender's arm, scrabbling for the necklace. This time, however, Zuko was not compliant; enraged, he twisted around in the sand and kicked, with all the force he could muster, into the thief's body. One foot made contact with his stomach, the other with his groin. The man stumbled back in shock and pain, falling swiftly to the earth.
But there was no hope for Zuko. A man behind him simply clenched his broken fingers in his massive fist and Zuko was down, roaring, screaming, writhing. The necklace was torn unceremoniously from his wrist, and the thief took hold of his collar; twitching, convulsing with pain, the firebender was dragged to the nearest sand-sailor. A great, wooden cage was strapped upon it, filled with prisoners. With slaves.
He was thrown inside, imprisoned. Even as it happened, Zuko managed to catch the eye of the man who'd taken his necklace. They were black as death, black as sin, beneath the torn, dirty clothe upon his head.
He crept into the corner of the cell and stayed there, dwelling over the agony of his hands. Four others were crammed into the tiny cage; one of them was sprawled limply on the floor, apparently lifeless. He ignored them, despairing, brimming with hurt and hatred for the deceit of Myobu. The Fox had led him into a vicious trap, an impossible endeavor against the soulless, the satanic, the Thieves of Gihad.
"How dare you. So sad over your poor hands? You were far more miserable when I tortured you."
The voice was like nails on stone.
"You."
Hama's cruel, wrinkled smile returned like a knife in his back.
He reacted instantly. He could not firebend, so he kicked out wildly with his bare foot instead, aiming to wipe the evil smirk from her face. Yet the bloodbender was older, and wiser, and ready for him with a lazy wave of her hand she captured just enough of the blood in his leg to twist it off to one side. Enough to cause some pain, so that Zuko gasped and grew red from rage and embarrassment.
"Calm yourself, mitra-Sahadev. You and I are both trapped," Hama's voice was oddly even considering her appearance. She was dirty, and looked as though she'd been stripped as Zuko had, down to her grey underdress and niqab. A great, deep gash was etched across her forehead, and the blood from it had tangled and dried in her grey hair. Zuko hesitated, and pulled his leg back into his body, watching the terrible, withered creature. When Hama did not attempt anything, he settled himself against the far side of the cage, beside a fatter, black man who was half-clothed and unconscious. The witch's eyes followed him in some sort of perverted delight, as though her own shame at being enslaved was lessened by the presence of Zuko.
"What are you doing here?" he managed at last, returning to clutch his throbbing, broken hands into his chest.
He realized he hadn't seen the witch since his time with the caravan, ages and ages ago, back in that dimly-lit world where he still chased mindlessly after Mai, still found the thought of Sokka as Prince hilarious. Before he knew about Aang being the Avatar. Before he fell in love with Katara.
"Did you think I'd get to stay with those spoiled bitches in Masabi?" Hama snarled bitterly, her long fingers clenching around her chains. "No. The Golden Hawk of the Sunrise does not want old hags in his haram. I was returned to my tribe. All in the right time, too; the Thieves came but a night after my return."
Her smile was bitter now. Zuko saw it and felt sick in his stomach, although he could confess no sympathy for the bloodbender.
"At least you'll go back to what you're good at anyway," he finally said, tiredly. There was too much pain coursing up from his broken hands to attempt another spar with Hama. The witch scoffed at his words, and Zuko caught a look at her broken, yellow, fang-like teeth.
"You think I'll be ripping men's blood out? No. I am no use to them. Sahib has many young bloodbenders to fight for him. I will be made to do women's work - or they will put me in charge of Thief-daughters," she said the last part with considerable disdain.
"And what will they do with me?" Zuko hated that he said it so quickly, that he sounded so afraid. Hama's grin was sickening.
"They will make you a soldier-slave. You will join them on caravan raids; you will kill and help carry the goods away. I advise you not to take any for yourself - there is a bloodbender's punishment for that."
At that point the big, unconscious man beside Zuko awoke, startled and twitching; he looked wildly at Zuko, as though he had no idea who or where he was - then he fumbled into the opposite corner, panicked, and passed out again.
The sand-sailor took off then. It was an ironically smooth ride, as the sandbenders were well-trained in their ways; Zuko remained in his corner, watching the torrents of sand rivet by on either side, the red Desert a blur of heat beneath the blue sky. Hama, in her wicked, calculating way, was ever-watching him, as a hawk watches a mouse. Zuko despised feeling so weak and vulnerable beneath his gaze; every now and then, as if to remind her of his own power, he exhaled an angry fire from his nostrils. These displays were met with mocking laughter from the bloodbender.
They stopped once, and only once, to switch benders on the sailor. The journey was smooth and endless, and Zuko felt trapped in a loop of time from which he could not escape. Hama was so still, so concentrated, hardly daring to blink, that Zuko was fairly certain time had stopped altogether. Within the wooden cage full of slaves, he waited and waited.
He tried to think of what his purpose was, again - to conquer Acchai. The reminder of Jeong-Jeong's loyalty, of Hakoda's friendship, brought new strength back to him; and then he was reminded of Katara, and in blind pleasure he retreated back to the memory of kissing her upon the docks, of the deep caramel color of her skin, of her red lips. He forced himself to remain hopeful for her sake, for the sake of Sen Su and the soldiers in Acchai, the soldiers who watched him ride toward Death. He forced himself to keep to his task, emboldened by the strength of Katara memory, her love. It was not much strength, but it was enough to sustain him.
It was nearly sunset when the lead sandbender gave the cry to stop. Zuko waited motionlessly in his corner of the cage. Some of the slaves stirred, wondering if they could yet chance an escape; the still man on the floor of the cage remained still. Hama rose, but stayed risen in her own corner, hunched over and grinning a fanged grin, a delighted gargoyle.
"Awa," one of the sandbender wrenched open the solid wooden cage door, a fierce, curved sword in his right hand. Each of the prisoners was chained about the wrists as Zuko was, but as they were led from the cage a second chain was thrust through their bindings. A line of slaves, chained together, was the result, the leader being the huge, crazed black man Zuko had seen before. Four of the prisoners had their hands crushed as Zuko's, and like him they were more concerned with this immediate agony than anything the sandbenders wanted of them. Hama's hands were not chained, and Zuko had the idea she had given up mostly without a fight so as to avoid that pain. Most of the slaves had been chained and lined by the time they got to Zuko; the man on the floor was left there to rot.
When they came for him, Zuko growled and let flame slip between his teeth - but they boxed him over the head and chained him anyway, laughing and muttering in their own tongue.
An oasis stretched before Zuko; a huge, massive pool, half a mile long and still as glass, was glittering red in the fierce afternoon light. A spring from the depth of the Desert earth had produced the wealth of water, and it had been protected by the half-shadow of a tall, outrageous stone monument. The stones wound up near a mile high, and though most of it seemed raw rock, some of it looked unnatural; Zuko thought one portion resembled a decrepit pillar, another a faded carven wall - as though pieces from some other structure had been thrown against the stone to make it larger. All upon its grey, sunburned surface were the tiny, mud-colored tents of the Thieves, little fires burning alongside a few. In the night it would look a massive array of lights against a backdrop of black, a glittering Christmas tree in the midst of barbarity. The oasis itself was surrounded by great stalks of palm and fig trees, but little else; camels and horses and goat-mules all gathered round it edges to drink, and the Thief-children could be seen playing in the shallows. More mud-colored tents had been set at its edges, and these tents were crested with a white sword upon their fronts. They were the tents of the elite, and the largest and most dominating one - practically four times the size of any other, and poised in the coolest shadow of the stone - belonged to their leader. Zuko knew this, knew it as they led the slaves toward it, the sunlight fading quickly.
Directly facing the huge, shadowed tent, a wooden stage had been constructed for slave-sale. Zuko and his companions were led here, smacked or hit every time they sobbed or uttered a word. Zuko was beside Hama, both silent as stone, one always grimacing, the other smiling.
"What is happening?" Zuko finally humbled himself enough to ask Hama. The wicked hag curved her smile wider.
"We are being inspected by Sahib. He will decide if we are all fit enough to sell."
As she said it, the falp of the tent had been thrust back, and a singularly tall man (escorted by several guards) approached the slave-stage. The huge, crazed black man was muttering and twitching still, as though there was something deeply wrong with his mind.
All the thieves bowed at his approach. The man stopped before the stage and stood motionless, apparently bored, and waited for them to rise again. When they did he said something in his quick, barbarian tongue to the few men closest to him. They responded with praise and many bows; yet this revered man passed only a careless eye over the line of captured slaves, as though such dealings were beneath his notice. He gestured once, idly and impassively, towards the twitching, troubled man.
Zuko knew what it meant, athought he did not know how he knew. There was something wrong with the mind of the twitching man, and with one look the tall man had discerned it. A sandbender strode on stage, drew a knife from his pocket, and immediately slit his throat.
The black man fell down, still twitching, as life left. He was dragged off stage and Zuko, still forcing himself to watch the tall man, finally asked the bitter Hama -
"Who is he?"
Hama responded quietly. Zuko was unsure whether he heard fear in her voice.
"That is the Hundred Eyes. That is Sahib Timur."
Again, he noticed, the man was tall - very tall. Hakoda and Jeong-Jeong were towering men themselves, and Zuko was not lacking in height - but Sahib Timur was a giant, a mountain, a presence so commanding that even Zuko found he'd held his breathe. His head was not covered, and his long, ebony hair was pulled back in a great ponytail. His skin was tanned to a chestnut brown from the ferocity of the Desert sun, and there were black, charcoal marks beneath each of his eyes. His clothing was not torn, though it was as evenly coated with sand as any other thief; it was more elegant, with symbols of spiraling dragons with many wings, a wellspring of gold beneath him. Knives were hanging from his belt alongside the bones of great beasts, and Zuko could see the hilt of a great blade peering over his right shoulder. The great symbol of a running Fox was tattooed on his barren right arm, and his eyes were dark and cold, like the shadow of a star.
"Sahib. Like Sahadev?" he asked in a daze. Hama grinned amusedly.
"More or less."
"Is he their leader?" he turned to her briefly, and she shrugged.
"He may as well be. Their true Sheikh is a doddering, white-haired fool, from what I know. Nonetheless, we are to be slaves of his, or of his kin."
Yet Zuko was shaking, ignoring his pain, emboldened with the knowledge he had found his target. He had not really failed, after all - despite his capture, despite the betrayal of Myobu.
"I need to speak with him."
Zuko raised himself to his feet and focused on the man's retreating form. Hama's eyes went wide above her wrinkles.
"No! Fool - !"
"Sahib!" Zuko roared, and the rest of the slaves in his line looked up at him, startled. The slave-owner muttered something angrily, took a chain in hand and stormed over to the firebender. "Sahib Timur!"
Zuko opened his mouth to shout again, but a blow came to his throat that cut off his breathe and sent him reeling back. The slave-owner's chain had been wrenched around his neck and fastened; he gagged and coughed as the tight bond was secured, and - panicked now, reeling at the feeling of the chain about his throat - he cried out out, amidst his coughs:
"My name is Lord Zuko! I came to offer you a great alliance!"
The man Sahib stalked back to his tent; if he had heard Zuko's loud proclamation, he showed no signs of it, did not even flinch at the firebender's cries. Zuko dug his knees against the wooden stage, face still stung by the blinding needles in the wind. His captors grasped him angrily by his shoulders, pulling him backwards into the red Desert.
"I possess an army in Acchai! We are conquering the war-lands - !"
And then the death-stroke came; for at that moment, emboldened by Zuko's shouts, several other captive slaves began to cry out:
"Yes! Sahib, there is a mistake - !"
"I am a great Master, Sahib - !"
"I have been wronged - !"
"Mercy, show mercy, Timur of the Hundred Eyes -"
Zuko was drowned and defeated by the mocking, pleading shouts. His voice went unheard.
The man Sahib threw back the flap of tent and disappeared inside. The wind rustled the fabric, but Sahib Timur was gone. Zuko's captors pulled him down, despite his kicking, his thrashing, his wild, half-choked exclamations of rage.
By the chain on his neck, they dragged him to the slave-stock.
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By the way, they're speaking Swahili :D If anyone reading this knows Swahili, and I'm doing it incorrectly, please tell me!