It was quite an effort to open her eyes. She felt heavy and warm. Her body was not yet responding to any impulses of her mind. She couldn't move. She wanted to turn her head,but the pain came suddenly. Sleep. Yes, it is better to sleep. She heard voices, someone was touching her. She felt an overwhelming lack of strength. Powerlessness, absolute powerlessness to make any move.
It was difficult to judge when the first sensations began to reach her. The smell of smoke, herbs, the sound of boiling water on the fire and the shuffling of feet, and the voice of someone was constantly saying something, but she couldn't make out the words. Setia opened her right eye, as darkness wrapped her left eye. She lifted her hand and gently ran the tips of her fingers over the bandaged part of her face. Sounds came from the right side, and she turned her head. Pain and sudden throbbing in the skull made it immediately return to its original position. She regretted the movement, she was concentrating on the wooden ceiling and the spider laboriously weaving the web in the left corner of the room. The sound of shuffling feet was closer, someone bent over her.
"You're already not sleeping?" The voice belonged to an old man. His wrinkled face was thoroughly shaved. Around his head, like a halo, shone milk-white hair.
"You have to drink this."
Setia dutifully drank the tart infusion with a distinct herbal note, she smelled the merint, goat herb and yarrow. "They're good herbs, harvested before the full moon even before the dew appears on them, yes, yes…."
It was hard to tell who he was talking to, he wasn't looking in her direction, so Setia concentrated on asking the question.
-"Who .." Her own voice sounded strangely hoarse. "Who are you?"
"My name is Nagor. And you are at my home, in the heart of the marshes. You will sleep again now. The drink I gave you has this effect. Sleep will do you good, yes yes. After such wounds, sleep is the best treatment, yes, yes."
Nagor's voice faded, Setia fell into a sleepy numbness again.
* * *
Moros was sitting away from the fire, he felt cold, but he knew very well there was no chance of warming himself in the flames' warmth.
"Hey slave, you're hungry? This is for you!" The fat merchant got up from the fire, came closer and threw him a bone. "Come on, fucking eat!"
His behavior made the others laugh. Moros didn't even flinch. He sat motionless with the other slaves. From the fire stood a slender figure, it was Erona. She moved towards him, the daughter of the richest merchant in Bazaldia. His current owner. She had food in her hand, which she distributed among her own slaves. As she approached Moros, he could clearly see her unusual hair, which seemed to burn in the firelight.
"Here, eat." She handed him the bread
"Thank you."
Moros boldly looked Erona in the eyes. His mistress smiled and ran the back of her hand down his cheek. Then without a word she turned and walked back to the fire. For a moment longer he could admire the movement of her plump buttocks visible through tight riding pants. He sighed and while eating the bread, he sank into impossible dreams.
He woke up early in the morning, the fire was still burning. Moros was ossified from the cold and damp. He jumped strangely for a moment and waved his hands trying to overcome the morning numbness. His torn shirt was damp, and so were his green pants. He walked over to the heat source and threw in a few sticks. The fire timidly took up the added wood. Moros stretched his arms out in front of him and tried to warm up his chilled body. Hadrid, the caravan ranger, instead of keeping his watch, snored softly against his saddle. Moros considered his escape for a moment when Hadrid suddenly, snoring louder, awoke. He looked dimly around the neighborhood. Fog lay in streaks around their camp. Moisture was everywhere, it flowed from the nearby swamps. Next to them chained horses grazed quietly, the green peaks of Judgor loomed in the north, and the slave was adding wood to the fire. Everything seemed fine. Hadrid stood up, yawned and lazily scratched his bulky belly, then relieved himself with a loud fart. The sky to the east turned pink, a sign that the sun was fighting its daily battle against the darkness. As he passed by the slaves huddled in a pile, he kicked a few, muttering under his breath. Moros got up from the fire, he thought he heard something. Something like the sound of horses. He tried to pierce the mist with his eyes. His behavior caught the attention of Hadrid pissing next to the still sleeping slaves.
"What is?" He asked the slave fastening his trousers.
"Horses sir, I can hear horses."
Hadrid stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the morning, and after a while his face clearly changed.
"Fuck! Stand up! Riders from the East!"
Everyone jumped up almost immediately. It was clear what such an alarm meant. There was a commotion in the camp. Merchants were looking for weapons, even Moros was given a bow and a quiver full of arrows. They did not wait long, a large group appeared on the horizon. Their black cloaks with red axes could be seen from a distance. Orchad. The rogue raids from the Orchad were a scourge of the eastern frontiers, but recently they had become very confident and attacked farther and farther from the border of their country.