Gyv massaged her arms that still ached from bearing her weight overnight. Even now, hours after she had been cut down, her arms screamed with pain, their circulation restored but not yet fully healed. Beside her, Mekior seemed fine. She did not understand it, his seeming indifference to what had been done. He had been hung up for the same amount of time as she had yet it had taken mere seconds for him to recover and the pain had hardly even shown on his face which had remained a stoic mask throughout. He must have felt the same pain of returning circulation, of muscles and tendons stretched beyond endurance, but he seemed to be immune to what had been done to him.

"Mekior." Her voice was soft, just loud enough to reach him, yet not loud enough to carry to the guards standing outside their wooden cage.

"Gyv." His voice carried to her, yet she felt uncertain as to whether he had spoken, or if the message had just arrived, carried on a breath of wind that licked gently at her ears.

"What did that bastard, Hiron, mean? What did he mean when he said you were marked?" She turned, staring at him, watching as the dappled light patterned his face, lending him an air of mystery, an effect that highlighted the sharpness of his nose, his deep, dark, sunken eyes. Her imagination played with her, making his features stretch into that of a fiend, made her see him as an enemy leering at her. Would she ever be able to trust her senses again, or had she been forever warped by her experiences, by having the General take control of her.

Mekior stared at her for a while, not talking, then blinked and rolled over. She reached over, touching his shoulder. "Mekior, it's OK. I've been a puppet for a devil, killed my husband by my own hand, destroyed my home, and sent hundreds, if not thousands into slavery. I, who prided my-self on how many I had rescued, have become responsible for far more being enslaved! Talk if you wish, be quiet if you prefer. I can no longer judge. No longer can I sit and hold my head high, proclaim my success. In my betrayal of those I loved, I have destroyed more than I ever saved."

He turned, looking at her, his hands reaching out, his fingers gently wiping away the tears that were beginning to fall. "Never let them see you cry. In all the time they had me, I never cried, never shouted out. Maybe that's why I survived, why they kept me alive, even shoving healing potions down my throat, making sure to keep me alive. I tried to spit it out, tried to reject the healing and escape from the pain they were inflicting. They healed to prolong the torture, not for any other reason." He looked at her, at the bewilderment on her face.

"They didn't tell you? How the Outwalkers rescued me from the clutches of the fiends when I was still a child? I suppose I forget that not everyone knows. It is common knowledge amongst the Outwalkers and Fiend Hunters of Weald Hall." He stared into space. "Why we have been cut down, left to recover, I don't know. Maybe they are just hoping to soften us. Maybe they have a greater plan for that scion of Hiron, Jeria. Just remember, scream and plead if you want to die quickly." He laughed, “or maybe this bunch will like that and keep you alive for longer to hear your pleading, who knows? He fell silent, listening to the sounds of the camp outside, watching the sky through the gaps in the wall of the cage and wished they had a view of more than a rock wall and the tents of sentries. Fell silently into his thoughts, at telling a story rather than what he should say, should reveal.

Gyv listened, and watched the Fiend Hunter, wondering at what kind of man, what child, could resist torture for so long and show such determination to survive. She wondered what had been done to him, what effects their attentions had taken. Yet for all he had told her she realised that he had not answered her question. He had used the shock effect of his revelations to quiet her and avoid her question.

She gazed out, following his gaze, watching the guards, their comings and goings in the tents beyond. She gazed out, wondering, Why have they taken us down, why dump us here, leave us unchained, unharmed? She turned over, staring at the sky above.

"How sweet, two little, lost travellers relaxing in the sun." Hiron's mocking voice came in through the bars, his massive form outside the cage, staring in. Gyv sat up, shocked. How did he get so close, arrive without them seeing him? She stared at him and wondered, how powerful is he, how did he get to be a general amongst these? She stared at him, knowing that physical size and might would be but a minor part of his arsenal, there were many amongst the fiends that dwarfed him in that respect. He was powerful beyond any in her experience, her past run-ins with fiends were with ones that were mere shadows of his might.

Hiron stepped back, watching as the door was opened, and food was brought in by a small devil, no taller than a small child whose arms strained to bear the weight of the tray, even though it bore only two bowls, each filled with steaming stew. The smell was enticing to the two that had not eaten for over a day, making their mouths water at the bowls overflowing with meat, vegetables and gravy. Mekior reached out, not for food, but for the childlike devil. Gyv watched, saw what he was about to do and in a panic shouted out "No!"

Mekior paused, his hand stopping just before the small fiend. "Why, one less fiend is always a good thing?"

Gyv hesitated, not wanting to use his name and then realised that the fiend lord had heard, seen everything she had for days. "Mekior, it's a shifter. Touch it and you'll be facing a monster that will pull your arms off before you realise what has happened." She stopped as she heard Hiron chuckling, laughing as she spoke and warned Mekior.

"Ahh, you spoiled my fun! It wouldn't have hurt him. Well, not much. In case you're wondering, the food is fine and free of poison and taint. It even is mere beef and not recalcitrant slaves since your species has a strange obsession of not eating your own kind. You two have one value only, hostages to my son's good behaviour, to making him toe the line until I can train him into being the obedient spawn I need him to be. Until I can teach him the power that lies within his own blood, power he is completely oblivious of! Well, you two had best hope he behaves himself, you're the whipping boys!" He laughed his voice fading as he walked away. Gyv looked at Mekior, happy she was not facing more torture, at least for the moment, but wondering at what the future would hold.

***

Jeria walked through the camp. Behind him, his ever-present guards followed, their presence felt only as a shadow. They were unobtrusive, yet constant, never failing in their duty, a shadow that he was growing used to even as he sought for ways to avoid them and escape. Three weeks of captivity had not softened his resolve. Since the first night, no favours had been accepted, no slave used no matter how willing and no matter what purpose they arrived for. He washed his own clothes, cooked his own food; he would allow no slave to attend to his needs. He was allowed the freedom of the encampment, even up the hill to the cage beyond the sentries' tents in which Mekior and Gyv were held. He headed up there now, watching the movement of the sentries, their movements predictable, clockwork in motion.

He came to the cage door, his fingers wandering over the lock, wishing he had the key. Mekior came up to him, a small smile twisting up the corners of his mouth.

"Jeria. It's time for you to leave. You need to get out of here and escape from the fate that is slowly enveloping you." His lips were close to Jeria's ears, his voice too low for any but Jeria to hear. "The word is ‘Sh'kuctu’. That is the word will freeze your guards, let you escape from them. You must remember that word Jeria. Use it to escape.

"How do you know this? What is this word?" Jeria's low voiced whisper reached Mekior who just stepped back, his smile in place, saying nothing more. Jeria looked at him, frustrated. Mekior had not spoken to him mind to mind, not since that first time. The Fiend Hunter knew more than he was telling, and Jeria longed to know from where this knowledge came, what the Fiend Hunter knew that he would not speak of.

He went down the hill, guards trailing, walking to the edge of the encampment and sat at the verge of the forest. He listened to the birds calling, watching as peace descended over the forest, the noises of the day replaced by the sounds of the night insects and the distant howl of some creature that hunted by night. He beckoned his guards forward, waiting for them to come up to him. He turned, faced them his mouth moving, clearly enunciating the word "Sh'kuctu"

He had not known what to expect, but the results were unexpected. The two came to attention, their eyes glazed over, and arms by their sides. He walked over, easily removing their swords and scabbards. He tied a scabbard to his waist, the sword sliding into it. The other sword he strapped to his shoulder. He turned and walked off into the forest, changing direction frequently, doing the best to hide his trail as he had seen Gyv and Gruzz doing.

Jeria walked through the night, adrenalin and his fiendish blood keeping him going. He looked about him, perpetually worried that the pursuit had started, that at any moment he would hear the sounds of pursuit and find fiends coming up from behind. Just after dawn, he rested for an hour, enough time for him to recover before he started moving again. He heard nothing, felt no pursuit. He wondered at the word, at what Mekior knew, and wondered how he knew it.

Behind him, the frozen guards were finally discovered, and summarily executed. General Hiron had no forgiveness or sympathy for those who failed.