A small crowd of men gathered as a man stepped on the podium. He had his long hair swept back in a small ponytail, showing off a horrid scar on his neck, as if someone had nearly succeeded in slitting his throat. He cleared his throat gently, and the quiet mutterings of the crowd died away immediately.
"Gentlemen, you may be wondering," the man started, gesturing around the clearing in the woods where they were currently situated in. "Why I asked you all to come out here on this fine, sunny day. You could be having a picnic out here in the woods. Hunting. Enjoying yourselves. But despite all this, you came anyways. That, my friends, is loyalty." he turned in place, looking at members of the crowd as mutterings broke out again. "Yes, my friends, loyalty is why I have summoned you today."
Holding up a hand, the man continued in his quiet voice that seemed to echo around. "Now. We all know we have no true loyalty but to one thing. Money. As bandits, money is the driving force of our organization. No, I will not delude myself into thinking anyone here is solely loyal to me because of my charming personality." Jenkins gave a vicious grin. "However, under my leadership, you will get your money. Now, gentlemen, we shall discuss loyalty." He stepped of the small wooden podium, still towering above most people as he made his way through. The men parted respectfully as he passed.
"What would you like to do, Darren?" Jenkins suddenly turned towards a man. Darren swallowed nervously and said, "I- I would like to do my job, sir."
"What exactly is your job, Darren?"
"Scare villagers, sir."
"You like to fight, then? To intimidate weaker people? While you could be lounging lazily on a nice bed with servants under your command? While you could be out hunting with your friends, to be with your love?" Jenkins chuckled and turned away from Darren's abashed face. "This, my friends, is an example of a man who would flatter his way to the top. Yes, I admit that I am somewhat flattered. But this, this is not loyalty. This is a lie." People gasped as a knife appeared seemingly out of nowhere to rest on the side of Darren's neck. Jenkins lazily played with the knife, enjoying the way Darren's eyes bulged with fear. He abruptly twisted away, pivoting on his heel as he approached O'Brien.
"What d'you think should be done to liars, Mr. O'Brien? Cut out their tongues? Their ears? Or perhaps give them a scar like mine?"
O'Brien struggled to keep calm. Ever since he told Jenkins about the two ranger boys, the man seemed more and more mentally off balance. It's not as if these two boys were any threat, O'Brien told himself. They're only boys. But they are also rangers, the other side of his mind argued. Rangers were dangerous black sorcerers from Araluen. Gods above, why had he told Jenkins about them? "It would depend on the liar, sir." He decided to play it safe.
"Good, good." Jenkins nodded seriously. "Now, O'Brien, do you have children?"
O'Brien stiffened. Children was not a safe topic if you were a bandit. "Y-es, sir. But he died when he was nine." Clarke. His poor, poor child… Curse that blasted drink. Why? Why was it so easy to just forget?
Jenkins patted his back."I bet he was a wonderful son." He said with a sad smile. O'Brien suppressed a shiver as he noticed the smile never even came close to Jenkin's cold eyes. Wait. Does he mean…
"Back to our original topic!" Jenkins suddenly cried out, springing back on the podium. "Some people know true loyalty. A bond between father and son, for example." He gestured towards O'Brien. "I admire such bonds of loyalty."
"Now, I am a fairly good judge of character, if I do say so myself. Perhaps I did see loyalty when I recruited two young men into our ranks. What I did not see was that the loyalty was not to me, nor to money. These two boys were loyal to someone we have yet to discover. Do you know how I am sure of their loyalty?"
Heads shook no.
"They have withstood our interrogation methods, that's why!" With an over-dramatic sweep of his hand, he beckoned two men standing outside of a tent. The men went in and shoved out a blond and a brunette boy, both heavily bruised. The blond boy looked up defiantly, which was kind of hard considering the small trail of blood snaking down into his right eye. The brunette was not much better; his head lolled around slightly as he blinked away the bright sunlight. The man holding him ended up more supporting him than restraining.
"This, my friends, is Sean and Dorian." Jenkins waved his hand. The sunlight glinted threateningly off the razor sharp knife he still held in his hand. "Brothers, they claim. No matter, that is irrelevant. Dorian was sent on a raid, with us gentlemen. He performed well, according to O'Brien. Sean here was scheduled for next week."
Jenkins suddenly stuck his head close to Clarke. "What's that?"
"I said… m-my name... is not… Sean." Clarke choked out. Gilan shook his head quickly, but Clarke's eyes blazed brightly as he gathered strength. "My- my name is Clarke, you walking impression of an idiot."
Howls of laughter erupted from the crowd. Jenkins sent them all a scathing glare, but Gilan couldn't stop himself in time.
Jenkins calmly walked up to him, and punched him in the gut. Hard. The boy crumpled into a ball with a oof! as he clutched his stomach. Clarke cried out and fought against the man holding his arms behind his back.
Gilan felt a red hot pain on his stomach as he saw his hand come away sticky and red. He tried hard not to hyperventilate, as breathing made the pain flare up even more.
Jenkins moved away, "This, gentlemen, is the blood of a liar. This is the very picture of both loyalty and disloyalty. I expect each and every one of you to behave the same way should you be captured. I applaud these young men for holding out this long." He slow clapped a few times before continuing, "You all remember; you recited an oath to me when you accepted your jobs. 'I will stick to this oath and to this loyalty until the day I die.' Isn't that right, O'Brien?"
"Yes, sir." O'Brien choked out quietly. Clarke. No. That can't be him. Clarke is dead. It's not him.
"And I expect you all to hold out until the end, understood?"
"Yes, sir!" The crowd of men all saluted.
Jenkins waved at the men holding Clarke and Gilan. "They're not going anywhere. Release them."
Clarke rushed to Gilan's side and whispered "You alright?"
"No, I just got sliced open. Of course I'm not alright!" Gilan whispered fiercely, blinking back tears.
Clarke slowly removed some of the bloodied cloth to reveal a long but thankfully shallow cut across Gilan's torso. He breathed a sigh of relief. He tore a bit of his shirt and formed a makeshift bandage, unaware how most of the bandits were watching closely, some in interest, most in amusement.
"Ah. If you aren't really brothers, you should have been." Jenkins sighed. "Now. Grab him."
Clarke cried out in protest as he was hauled onto his feet. Gilan was forced back up too, and watched in horror as his friend was dragged onto the small podium. Jenkins flipped his knife in the air and deftly caught it. "Which loyalty is the most important to you, hmm? Your mission?" He ran the knife lightly down Clarke's arm, making the boy stiffen in pain. "Or your friend?" Clarke gasped and gritted his teeth against the pain.
"I'll start with an easy question, Dorian. Since Sean here is actually Clarke, would you be so kind as to tell us your name?"
Gilan thought quickly. Revealing his name would have no real consequence now, would it? "My name is Gilan."
"Ah, see? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Jenkins smiled. "Gilan. A strong name. Fitting, I suppose. Gilan, would you please be so kind as to tell us what you and Clarke are doing here?" He positioned the knife to Clarke's throat.
Gilan hesitated, and cried out as a thin red line appeared on Clarke's neck. "I was sent here by… Arrêtez."
Jenkins narrowed his eyes. He had never heard of an Arrêtez before. He didn't fail to notice the small hesitation before the boy said "Arrêtez".
There are consequences to lying.
Clarke couldn't help the scream of pain that tore through him when Jenkins stabbed him in the kneecap. More blood came flowing out as his vision swam. He felt light-headed. Too much blood loss, he realized dully, before fainting.
O'Brien stepped forward. "Sir?" He asked tentatively. His boss's eyes gleamed as he turned.
"What?"
O'Brien couldn't control the words coming out of his mouth. "He's but a boy, Jenkins. He can't be that important, can he? We are bandits. We rob, we kill, but I've never seen torturing children."
"Are you defending this liar and traitor, O'Brien?" Jenkins wiped the last traces of Clarke's blood off his knife, his eyes narrowing.
"No, sir. I'm just saying, I'm afraid your methods of extracting information will not work for long. The boy is losing too much blood; he'll be dead before you get anything."
Jenkins swore inwardly as he saw some of his men nodding. "Very well, which do you suggest we do?" He kept his voice silky smooth, though his expression borderlined animalistic with his smile.
O'Brien knew he was treading on thin ice here. He swallowed "With all due respect, sir, I believe we should at least let him heal briefly first. We can ask those foreigners for some of their poison. It'll be much faster and less messy."
Jenkins could grudgingly see the logic behind O'Brien's argument. "Very well. You will go get the poison from the Genovesans. The rest of you, break is over, get back to work!"
Clarke and Gilan see hauled roughly onto small cots in the tent and were given a quick field dressing. "Can't have you two dying of infection too soon, eh?" Jenkins chuckled as he exited.
When they were at last alone aside from the two men standing guard outside of the tent, Gilan finally allowed the tears to stream down his face as he looked at Clarke's prone body. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have hesitated. I'm sorry!"
O'Brien swallowed nervously as he awaited the foreigners' reply. He had decided he did not like these cocky men in purple cloaks. Their accent alone put him on edge. He shifted on the hard wooden stool they had instructed him to wait in as they swept into their tent. He fiddled with his knife, admiring how the faint glow of the setting sun reflected off the polished surface. The sky turned a deep shade of red as clouds drifted in, leaving O'Brien feeling empty and shaken inside. How had he not recognized his son? He felt sick but was determined to maintain a collected exterior while dealing with these blasted Genovesans. Desperate to distract himself, he almost didn't realize that they had exited their tent and was standing in front of him, holding two small vials of clear liquid.
Annoyed at himself for getting caught off guard, O'Brien nodded at the vials. "What are those?"
One of the men, who had shed his cloak to reveal his tanned face and small goatee, smiled as if he was talking to a young child and said "Everything your leader asked for, Signor. A poison and an antidote."
O'Brien was very tempted to roll his eyes, "Yes, but what is it? What does it do?"
"I suggest you handle this with care. Now, is my payment ready?"
"Yes, yes." He handed over a small bag of coins he had liberated from Jenkins. It's not as if Jenkins would notice anymore… "Is there anything in particular that the poison does?" He was careful to keep his voice level and casual.
The Genovesan shrugged, "Headache, muscle weakness, pain, among some others." He opened the bag and started counting the coins, openly ignoring O'Brien.
"I'll just leave now." O'Brien muttered and pocketed the vials. His mind raced as he made his way back towards Jenkins's tent. Oh gods. He had suggested they give this to the boys. Oh gods. Jenkins had really lost it. But why?
The pain in his stomach actually wasn't unbearable after the initial shock, but Gilan was scared out of his mind. Halt's training kicked in as he automatically scanned the room for possible ways out and also possible weapons, though there were obviously none. The plain tent was dark except for the small wavering light filtered in by the guards' campfire outside, filling the tent with an ominous gloom. By sharp contrast the cheerful crackling of the campfire and the smell of coffee made this whole ordeal ten times worse.
Beside him, Clarke stirred. Gilan attempted to go check on his friend but realized dully that he too was tied to his cot by a short piece of rope. Huh. Since had that been there? He realized his mind was working a little slow, probably due to the general dose of painkillers he was given.
"You alright?" He whispered, not exactly expecting an answer.
"I feel like someone sawed off my leg, but I think I'm otherwise okay." Clarke struggled to grin. "The painkiller's making it slightly better though…" He trailed off as he looked at the blood soaked bandage. "Oh. So that was real." He winced as he moved his leg slightly. "I think he missed major arteries and barely nicked the bone, but it still hurts like..." he stifled a small gasp as the movement of bending over and checking his knee moved his hastily thrown on bandages.
"Any brilliant ideas on how to get out of here?" Gilan asked as he watched the blond boy struggle to move to a sitting position. He grimaced in sympathy as he saw what the rough blanket thrown over Clarke covered.
"Well, since we haven't been sending notes and updates, surely Halt would have caught on by now that we're in some sort of trouble."
Gilan nodded dejectedly. "Seems like our only way out. Besides, can you move your leg at all?"
Clarke didn't have to test it out before letting out a low groan and shaking his head. "With luck Halt will bring Blaze and Lexa. We'll need a speedy getaway, and the horses are quiet enough."
The two boys sat in the semi-darkness as the forest lapsed into the gentle noises of the birds in the trees and the mutterings of the men outside.
"Never thought my first mission would end up quite like this." Gilan said softly.
"Hm?" Clarke could barely hear his friend. He wasn't sure if it was the soft buzzing in his ears or just that Gilan was being very quiet.
"When my father described to me Halt's past missions and such, I always thought this would be the life of excitement. I would have heroic tales to tell, I told myself the day I followed him home. I guess I overlooked the parts where it's all just a dull fear of uncertainty and waiting." Gilan was determined not to cry as he remembered the days where Halt would take him out to track some animals, to hide in the bush, and "Don't forget to keep your rear end out of the air". He remembered when Halt had first taught him how to string his bow, the minute smile he received when he hit his first bulls-eye. A small tear escaped down his cheek.
"Hey," Clarke said gently, "Listen, I don't know Halt half as well as you do, but from what I gathered so far, we're going to be perfectly fine. He'll come, just you wait."