Eujal woke to darkness and the creak of wooden wheels. His skull pulsed where the blow had landed, his wrists bound behind him with coarse rope. Hillel lay beside him, breathing shallowly, a bruise blooming on his temple. Based on what he could see, they were in a separate section in the wagon, probably the back, with a small wooden barrier separating them from the others. He could barely see through the cracks in the wood but from what he could tell, they were alone in the wagon. He assumed that the scarred man and the driver were up front, directing the oxen. Through a gap in the wagon's canvas, the scarred man's voice drifted back, sounding quite annoyed:
"—just some harmless kids. I saw the brown haired one holding a spear and went right at the black haired one. He was the one I sensed...and I thought he was more dangerous but...ugh. What a mistake that was."
The driver grunted. "I nearly pissed on the two of em. That's worse than whatever you did. I'm still holding it in too!"
For whatever reason, upon hearing this, Eujal had to fight the urge to laugh. He bit his tongue and steadied his breathing, inching closer in an attempt to hear more.
"Enough about your weak bladder," the scarred man snapped. "What do you think we should do about them?"
"Beat's me," The driver responded. "Should we hand them over to someone in Scissia? They're just kids after all."
"No. Much too risky." The scarred man muttered. "We're wanted men, remember? And, we need to get through Scissia as fast as possible. If we dilly dally in that city trying to find a place for those two, we risk wasting the precious time that we have."
"So you're saying we gotta keep them, huh? I'll say it loud and clear, we got two damn kids in the back of our damn wagon!" The driver yelled. "We beat them up too! And...I nearly pissed on em. Let's just get them off our hands as soon as possible."
The scarred man sighed.
"What is it? I know you got something to say." The driver spat, now sounding just as annoyed as the scarred man.
The scarred man's voice dropped, quieter than the rumble of wheels. "You know how I feel about orphans, Caladeus."
A name. Eujal thought to himself. The driver must be Caladeus. But...that's not an Asiran name! Are they foreigners?
"And what would you have us do, Ezra?" Caladeus growled. "You want to take care of them like some stray pups? We aren't their parents!"
"Caladeus. They were in the middle of nowhere, skeletal, and scared. They are most likely orphans."
"Whatever, boss."
A low exhale followed—Eujal figured it came from the scarred man, who'd just been addressed as "boss." So he's in charge, Eujal thought. The wagon continued clattering on, wheels grinding over bumps in the path.
"The black-haired one has potential. It would be a waste to throw him away," the scarred man—Ezra, apparently—muttered quietly. "The other one is a bit pathetic. However, I'm not going to throw him away because he's weak."
Hah. How compassionate. Eujal thought sarcastically.
Caladeus let out a dismissive snort. "You're too soft. We've ruined plenty of lives already. Don't pretend we're saints."
"Shut it, Caladeus," Ezra snapped. "I'm not looking to be a saint. But these two—"
"—are baggage." Caladeus cut him off. His tone was sharp, frustration clear. "We're on a tight schedule. Your plan's going to slow us down. Boss… you know you're jeopardizing our mission if you drag two random kids along."
Ezra fell silent. Outside, the wagon wheels squeaked over uneven ground. Eujal strained his ears, hearing a faint shift as if Ezra had leaned forward in his seat.
"Quiet," Ezra said suddenly. "Why's there a military checkpoint out here?"
A checkpoint? Oh no. Eujal's pulse thudded. He eased onto his side, testing the ropes binding his wrists together. They chafed his skin, but he had to try something—if Asir soldiers discovered him and determined him to being a foreign mercenary, it would mean a swift death. Across from him, Hillel lay unconscious, still breathing shallowly.
Eujal located a rough splinter of wood jutting from the wagon's frame. Gritting his teeth, he began scraping the rope against it, sawing in small, careful motions. The conversation up front became hushed and urgent.
"Cover them," Ezra ordered, his voice low but firm.
"Yeah, yeah," Caladeus muttered. Eujal flinched as a blanket suddenly fluttered over him, draping him and Hillel in darkness. "We can't risk them seeing—"
"Halt!" came a harsh voice from outside, cutting Caladeus off.
The wagon rattled to a stop. The uneven rhythm of boots approached. Eujal heard the clank of armor, the snort of a horse. He froze, his heart pounding, as he kept rubbing the rope against the wood, praying the blanket hid his efforts.
"Evening, officer," Caladeus said in a tone that tried for friendly but landed somewhere between strained and casual.
A second voice—deeper, with an air of superiority—replied, "State your business."
Ezra cleared his throat. "We're traders, on our way north. Dried goods, some produce. Nothing worth your trouble."
There was a pause, punctuated by the rustle of the wagon's canvas. "Show me," the officer demanded.
Eujal heard Ezra shift. A moment later, the officer's chuckle drifted back to him. "That's it? You think anyone's going to buy these scraps?"
"You'd be surprised what folks in smaller towns are willing to pay for any variety," Ezra countered. "It's a long route, but we manage."
The officer's boots thumped on the hard-packed dirt as he moved around, presumably checking the oxen and the wheels. Eujal scraped faster, hoping the noise from the front masked it.
"That'll do," the officer finally said. He let out a curt laugh. "Go on, then. But be warned—mountains are hungry tonight. You hear me?"
Eujal's breathing hitched. Hungry?
Ezra only replied with a noncommittal grunt. Moments later, the wagon lurched forward again, and the rhythmic clatter resumed.
Eujal continued wearing at the rope, trying to keep his panic at bay. For the moment, they'd avoided a full inspection for whatever reason—but who knew how long they had until the next checkpoint, or until Ezra decided to investigate the cargo area himself
But...
Would it really be a good decision to escape?