Rotten to the Core

Three days had passed since the dreadful incident on the road. Elteber and his fellow prisoner actually found that their former companion's tragic demise had worked in their favor. With only two prisoners remaining the captors chose to speed their journey along by placing their charges in the bed of the wagon. It was uncomfortable, as space was limited. Elteber found himself regularly being crushed by the large chests and barrels that were stuffed into the bed of the wagon. It was this experience that roused him from the gentle doze he'd managed to sink into. A sharp pain shot through El's ribs as a heavy crate slid backwards when the wagon began to ascend a hill. El sucked in his breath deeply, straining yet against the chains that bound his hands above his head, connected as they were to the side rail. He'd learned within the first day of his new "riding" situation to not voice his complaints about the pain. He was often met with a swift backhand, or occasionally the pommel of a dagger. So he bore his discomfort stoically, and when the wagon crested the hill and began its descent he was able to nudge the crate out of his way and once again resume dozing.

That doze was interrupted some hours later by a pair of shouting voices. One of those voices El recognized as the big man who drove the wagon, but the other was unfamiliar to him. Slowly opening his eyes in order to allow them to adjust to the light he did his best to pull himself up enough to see over the wagon seat. The group appeared to be at a way station of some sort, a rather shoddy one, and the driver was arguing with one of the attendants.

"Look, I told you before. Everyone pays the toll. If you want to use this road to Southgate, then you pay the toll. It's as simple as that," the porter, a sandy haired man with large ears, was saying.

"This is the only road to Southgate," replied the burly wagon driver replied cooly.

"That's true friend, it is."

"So you're telling me that you and your friends are taking advantage of this pass to make a profit?"

"It seems we understand each other friend, and before you get any funny ideas in your head about fighting your way through, there are six of us who run this station. You look a lot of things friend, but stupid ain't one of 'em. Now be a smart man and pay the coin and be on your way."

El held his breath as he watched his captor. On one hand if his captor got killed things could possibly improve for him. Of course that wasn't guaranteed. Things could get much worse depending on the temperament of the highway bandits. El released his breath explosively as the driver tossed a purse full of coin at the highwayman's feet. The man snatched it up and then stepped aside, ushering the wagon on with an exaggerated flourish. The wagon rumbled past and El caught the evil glare that the driver gave the big eared man.

El was surprised how little they traveled that day. After only an hour or so from the way station, the wagon was pulled into a copse of trees. Camp was set up and that ended the days travel. Much later, after night had fallen, the rat faced little man, who had quite recovered from his tumble a few days before, snuck off into the trees. It was several hours later that he returned, the sound of his voice rousing El from slumber.

"It's taken care of," the little man said bluntly.

"How many of them were there?"

"Only four, the big eared one lied," came the reply.

"I was certain he was. That shack wasn't large enough to house that many," the big man grunted sourly, then he took a sniff, a rather loud one at that, "do I smell smoke?"

The rat faced ruffian grinned at his partner, "The shack won't house anyone anymore, well anyone except their remains."

"You left them inside of it?"

"It was easier that way. The lookout was simple, but the others were all inside. So I barred the door using the dead one's sword and then set fire to the place. I waited outside the window, but they were too drunk to realize what was happening till it was too late.

El listened to the whole story with a feeling of utter revulsion, a feeling that was intensified exponentially as the two men began to laugh. It was in that moment that El understood just how wicked his captors were. Everything to this point had just been a scratch on the surface. These men were rotten to the core. El closed his eyes and felt a sob run through him. He found himself praying for arrival at Southfate. Even the arena couldn't possibly be as bad as this, could it?