Was he desperate? Was he full of hatred? Of fear? Did he actually feel anything? Or did he alredy given in to numb resignation?
Will didn't know. Was he even a person or he stopped considering himself a human a long time ago? All he was aware of now was rough ground and cold shackles around his wrists, ankles and his neck.
It has been long since the last time he cried. It didn't matter to anyone whether he did so. Not even to him. He somehow even learned over time to ignore the pain between his legs as Rysha's men have been having their way with him.
He slowly gathered himself up to crawl over to the moveless, slightly whimpering, sleeping forms of other slaves. Will nestled himself under the small window of their barely standing hut, trying to move his chains as soundless as he could to not wake up others. All he wanted was to close his eyes and be taken by merciful sleep as he knew that hard work awaited him the next day. And yet he couldn't help himself as his gaze skidded down by the moon rays to his work-beaten, weather-burnt body, his bare feet covered in grime and dirt, calloused and scarred hands, all adorned with glistening shackles.
As he closed his eyes to drift away to welcoming darkness, for the first time in while a single tear slid down his cheeks.
"This doesn't look good at all," Gilan silently whispered to Harrison, whose facial expression said the same.
In the valley below them they saw a unit of marching Wargals, their distinctive growling echoing up to their ears. The two rangers together held watch in the Darbarrow fief, the most south-east neighbour of the Moutains. They have been positioned there for over a week now by their commandant's will, as it had been few weeks since Crowley received unsettling news from his spies. Rumours had said that Morgarath's scouting troops were found wandering below the Mountains. Another worrying news spoke about minor riots among slaves in Darbarrow fief, as they started to believe in Morgarath as their saviour and doom for their cruel masters. Ranger corps had no doubt that many of the revolts were started by former baron's spies.
"No, it certainly doesn't," Harrison responded. "There must be at least forty of them."
Gilan took a quick glance at his map. "Looks like they're heading for the coast."
"Why? There's nothing on the coast," other ranger muttered confusedly. "The Darbarrow castle lies more in the north-west and the trading community on Rocky Crossroads is directly west from here."
"Let's have a look..." Gilan traced his finger along the line of Darrbarrow fief coast. "Few fishing communities here, one bigger town, but that's more up north... There it is! You see this?"
Harrison looked at the point where Gilan pointed with a slight gasp. "Of course! There is this deserted outpost of Silverfoam Creek. Do you think they want to set a base there?"
"It seems like the most presumable option. What are we gonna do?" the younger ranger glanced at Harrison. Even though they were equal in rank, Harrison was older and more experienced as well as he participated in the first war against Morgarath.
Harrison fixed his gaze upon the marching unit and slightly frowned. "We need to keep an eye on them," he said and took a moment to gather up his thoughts. "I will follow them and watch them from a distance. You need to get a message back to Crowley and Halt."
Gilan quickly nodded as thought of this as the best option too. He lifted himself on elbows and crept to the place where they left their horses. He tightened up Blaze's saddle and attached his bag to it. As swung himself up to the saddle, he felt Harrison's hand on the reins.
"Gilan, I don't like this at all. With those bear-like killings and all that has been happening, I don't doubt Morgarath's up to something. Be fast and careful."
The rangers locked their gaze for a moment before the younger gently nudged his horse and rode away.
"Ranger! Ranger Halt!"
The exclamation was accompanied by no less loud knocking on the cabin's front door.
Halt silently walked up to the door and opened them briskly, only to find the scared face of one of Arald's messengers.
Even though he barely slept the previous night and his morning cup of coffee still waited on the table, he did not let any of exasperation reflect on his face. "What?" He demanded.
"Baron demands your presence in his office," the messenger blundered out. "As soon as possible."
"I'll be there," along with those words, Halt shut the door and went to the table and downed the coffee in one sip.
In a few moments he saddled up Abelard and headed for the castle. He was aware of the fact that it must have been an important matter that Arald called for him since he knew that Halt was supposed to return from the last patrol in the late hours last night and he probably got little rest. Well, like I have been getting some rest in the last few weeks at all... he thought ironically. Halt has been patrolling around the Redmont fief in last weeks more than usual, as suddenly many bandit troupes decided to swarm up, like on some signal. General uneassiness swirled through the fief and the ranger's presence was demanded more than ever. Even Pauline seemed to be caught in constant work, rarely getting out of her office, with Diplomacy services now closely cooperating with Scribe's institution. Almost every day carrier pigeons could be seen flying out of and into the castle.
It didn't take long and soon Abelard's hooves rytmically chimed on castle's drawbridge as he cantered into the castle's yard. Guards gave him curtly nods and as soon as he dismounted his horse, one of the castle slaves came up to him to take over Abelard's reins. Apparently, he must have been new, because most of the castle slaves already understood that he preferred to take care of Abelard by himself.
Given to his lack of sleep and irritated mood, he just snarled at him and continued on his way to the stables. The slave flinched in fear and bowed his head, expecting some punishment, but none came. He dared to lift his gaze only to find the ranger already halfway to the stables. The slave quickly retreated, returning to his previous work.
As soon as Halt's mind processed what happened, he turned around to apologise to the poor man, but the slave had already disappeared. The ranger sadly shook his head and continued on his way. Within a few minutes he was approaching baron's office. Slave already recognised him from distance and opened the doors as he already knew netter than to let the ranger wait.
As Halt was passing by, he glanced at the man, grief in his gaze. He knew Arald was kind to his slaves and only kept them to save as many as he could so they couldn't befall under the proprietorship of others, not so benevolent and kind masters. Yet the silent sadness filled him as he saw man's bowed down head and the iron collar around his neck, which was one of the king's decrees for unfree folk to be distinguished from free people. The only hope they had to get it off was to become free by the power of authorised officers.
Halt shook his head once more while still maintaining his stone-faced expression. He entered baron's office and was greeted by Arald's tired smile as he shook his hand.
"Thank god, Halt, I am so glad to see you," Arald said as he invited the ranger to sit down in one of the armchairs near the hearth. "I am sorry, I know you are busy a lot these days, you know I wouldn't have you called here-"
"If it wasn't important," Halt ended for him and slightly raised one of his eyebrows. "What is it, my lord? Another self-called bandits?"
"More or less," baron sighed, showing evidences of lack of rest too. "I just accepted the messenger from Rysha."
"Isn't he one of the most wealthy farmhold owners and merchants? Doesn't he have enough of his own mercenaries to take care of things around his territory?"
"Well, yes, but this seems beyond their usual fighting and murdering abilities," Arald uttered, contempt in his voice. "It appears that last night someone put up a fire in one of his storehouses for his crops. From what I understood, they managed to snuff out the fire before it could do serious damage, the building can be repaired and thanks to the fact that Rysha is not that stupid and his crops and wares are spread out in several buildings, his profit wasn't so severed. But-"
"Let me guess, they didn't catch the arsonist?" Halt inquired.
Arald turned to face him with a weary look. "No. They chased him to a nearby forest but lost him in the darkness. Rysha's furious. He asked for my help and I think you're the best man for this job."
Silence followed for a moment after his last sentence as both friends stared into an empty hearth, each lost in their thoughts.
"Look," the baron started, "I know you are tired, but whether we like it or not, Rysha's one of the most wealthy and influential men in this fief and with all that is happening now I can't risk a quarrel with him as well as he is one of the biggest producers of crops and goods in Redmont."
He side glanced at the ranger, silent plea in his eyes. "Also, I am not really comfortable with the idea of the arsenist running wildly around my fief."
"I'll take care of it," Halt responded firmly while getting up from the chair.
Arald stood up and gave him a brief arm hug. "Thanks, Halt."
"Get yourself a rest, my lord. At least one of us should."
It took him around two hours to get to Rysha's estate, carried by Abelard. It was situated by Fehrenhold village, north-west from castle Redmont. It wasn't really hard to recognise it as vast fields of cultivated land spread around several ware-house buildings and barns, dominated by something that could have been described as mansion. Even if this didn't put two and two together in his head, he couldn't be set on wrong by large number of slaves working in the field nor by bored mercenaries keeping watch. He knew that many eyes were fixed on him, both of slaves and mercenaries and overseers, but he continued with his look steadied ahead, urging his horse to faster trot.
In the main yard of the estate, in front of the mansion, he was met by one of Rysha's free direct subordinates, based on his clothes and sword inlaid with gold.
"Name's Torwan, ranger," man introduced himself. "I'll lead you to the damaged barn, mister Rysha will join you there."
After the moment when Halt gave no indication of dismounting, Torwan just shrugged and motioned the ranger to follow him. It did not escape to Halt the words he muttered. They went like "damned and rude folk those black magic conjurers are, keeping their nose up like they are better than us".
The ranger was actually in no need of guidance as the column of rising dark grey smoke was pretty visible for miles away. As soon as they arrived to the damaged barn, Halt frowned and quiet growl escaped his lips.
It seemed like Rysha already propelled his slaves to work on the repairs as he saw scaffolds being erected around damaged barn. Men in shackles moved around the structure, cleaning and carrying out the burnt beams and spars, loading up the remaining goods on carriages. The ground was covered in babel of countless footsteps and chance for finding some valuable trails and evidence looked rather pale. Halt quickly observed the remnaints of the barn and gathered his thoughts.
"Tell them to cease their work for a while," he told Torwan, who after a moment of hesitation barked out the order.
Slaves put down their tools and stepped back carefully, looks fixed on the ground. Except one boy, who still skillfully balanced up on the scaffolds and was preparing to descend.
"Stay up there," Halt called out and dismouted. "I'll need your cooperation."
The boy froze in place for a moment, a little dumbfounded. Then he dexterously swung up upon the upper ledger. He wasn't much of a height or weight, as the ranger registered.
As a response, only memorized automatic sentence carried by resigned, broken voice, came. "At your command, master."
It almost shattered Halt to hear such a young, beautiful voice to sound so dishearthened, but he held his posture and began to search the ground for some kind of lead.
It was almost a helpless attempt as the ground was crossed by many footsteps, heavy boots of mercenaries and bare footprints of slaves. He bent to the ground and made for the direction of the forest. Just as he thought he would, he found a sudden pair of footprints leading into the nearby forest, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. They were hard to notice and to trace as the boots were probably made of soft leather and their wearer had light step.
He looked up and judged the distance between the beginning of footsteps and nearest end of the barn's clerestory. Surely, it must not have been a comfortable jump, but not an impossible one. It indicated two things. Firstly, now he knew where the fire had started. Given to the fact that the arsonist used the upper way to his escape, it was now more than obvious that the fire had been kindled in the upper stores in of the barn as it would make no sense to start the fire at the ground and then climb up the barn. It's always risky to climb up the building that's starting to burn from the lower stores to the upper.
It may not have been an important fact, but it told where to look for some clues, things that the arsonist may have left behind.
Secondly, he realized, while biting his lip, that the arsonist was an experienced climber, which would make the pursuit in the forest a bit harder.
He noticed the boy looking at him with slight anticipation. As he took into consideration, the boy himself wasn't a bad climber as well, given the way he held and moved around the precarious ledges, an adroit one for sure.
"Boy, I want you to take a look around the remaining upper stores of the barn."
The young one's face withdrew into confusion. "What should I look for, master ranger?"
"Anything that might be off. Any signs of the arsonist, any little thing that he could've left behind."
Halt then climbed up to the lower stores of the barn, while letting the boy recce the upper ones. Normally, he wouldn't even consider something like this, as he always examined possible trails by himself, not let any clue slip away. But there was no denying that the boy was a much better climber than himself to sure-footedly move around burnt and labile ledges of upper stores. And something told him, that even mind-numbed by the years of dull work, the boy is a bright one and surely he wouldn't miss clues if there were some.