Deserted and Bound

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Deserted and Bound was a story serial (custom). It focused on a bone hunter camp.

Chapter 1
Although the bone hunters were the ones who took the prisoners, no one really knew who ran the camp. It was easy to believe that someone else was just paying the hunters to run it, and enforce the rules, although it was hard to believe that any tribe would take prisoners and make them work. It was a labor camp, essentially.

Desert-based, the Agori and Glatorian prisoners would be woken early every day, long before and forced to enact seemingly degrading tasks. No one really understood the motives behind it, although some decided it was just to see how they could work, then to be auctioned off to people willing to pay for a few slaves who could do their dirty work.

Sounds like some rumors I’ve heard about the rock tribe, thought Gresh.

The Glatorian prisoner was lying on his back in the desert, ‘sleeping’; it was pitch black, but a rock steed was patrolling not too far away. In this area, he and a dozen other captives, Glatorian and Agori alike, were supposed to be dozing. Those who weren’t would be penalized, although no one knew why that was. Gresh himself never needed much slumber, whenever he wasn’t at least a little active, he felt lethargic.

Lethargic was the one thing one did not want to be in a labor camp, or at least one like this. Many who refused to work had been escorted out of the boundaries, never to be encountered again. It was not unclear what their fates had been.

There were many parts of the Bara Magna desert: rough, hard, soft, and even quicksand. Often you could see distant cliffs rising up against the skyline: here that was not the case; there was just soft, grainy sand everywhere visible, and nothing on the horizon. However, owing to Gresh’s good sense of direction and geography, he had induced that it was a few miles to the east of Roxtus.

Gresh waved his hand in front of his face; he couldn’t see it. It really was dark, and cold too! At least they didn’t take his armor and weapons away from him, they figured he probably needed them against any dangerous beasts in the desert. No one had ever used them against the rock steeds, at least not since Gresh’s capture. They probably wanted to save their energy against the work! He wondered what the work would be tomorrow. Perhaps he really should work a bit less, if the rumors were true. Only the hard workers would be sold off. He really found that hard to believe; slaves had never been populous – or legal – in Bara Magna. But people did all kinds of illegal things.

It was terrible, this camp. It couldn’t have been legal, but it had to be under wraps at least. Perhaps, if it was so close to Roxtus, it was the rock tribe that was running it. People did say that they kept Agori slaves. But that was unlikely.

Realizing something, Gresh abruptly dropped his hand down back to the for-once cool desert floor. He spent many nights awake, reflecting, without having been discovered, but it was still good to keep a low profile. It was said that the rock steeds could see even in this blackness. Gresh himself couldn’t see the Agori next to him, and he wasn’t even sure who it was.

He sure was calm, for a prisoner.

Gresh didn’t really know very many other prisoners, besides the few Tesara Agori that were captured with him, and the only one he knew well was Tarduk. But when working in the hot sun, carrying out fatiguing tasks that were just tests to examine their working abilities, friends didn’t really matter. It might seem that way, at first, but that was false. All that was of importance here was how quick you could complete your work and avoid the glares of the rock steeds – and, of course, how to utilize the shade.

I wonder if anyone’s ever escaped, Gresh thought, motionlessly reflecting. It would seem hard, but people can pull off hard things. I could pull it off, maybe. It wouldn’t be too hard. I could round up some of the Glatorian and Agori, and we could make a revolt – maybe even just sneak off in the night. Wouldn’t be impossible. Gresh smiled. He had never been technically captured before, but it was an experience to miss. If he could get himself out of it, he could inform the Agori in Tesara where it was, and a group of Glatorian could come to shut it down. But he couldn’t commence now: he didn’t even know which Agori were near him.

Suddenly, a luminescent glowing light was turned on, and Gresh instinctively shielded his eyes against the penetrating illumination. When he opened them again, he saw a few rock steeds, led by bone hunters, progressing across the darkened desert. But they were not lighting up the area. There was a caravan, with Spikit pulling it. If he squinted, he could perceive the warrior driving it; judging from that, the caravan belonged to the rock tribe.

The wagon was probably metal, with designs set into its sides that were characteristic of Roxtus. As it stopped, more warriors slipped out of the small doorway set into its side and joined the one at the front to face the bone hunters. It was evident that both parties thought the prisoners were asleep. Gresh, realizing this, closed his eyes gently, and rolled over onto his side.

One warrior hung back, staying with the Spikit; and soothed it. When it tried to dog-chew his hand, he jumped and abruptly hastened over to his companions. Gresh, faintly seeing this, controlled his laughter, and played the sleeper.

The cluster was about 100 yards away from Gresh and his area, but the Glatorian could still see them, and if they spoke, hear them; Gresh clutched the sand as he eavesdropped on their not-yet existent dialogue, and the grainy particles ran loosely through his fingers. Realizing he could be spotted, his fingers suddenly went stiff.

If Roxtus is running the camp, then it would make sense for their warriors to be coming here, Gresh considered. But if not, they could just be passing through. Maybe they’ll free us. Maybe.

One of the rock steeds snarled, and Gresh realized just what was lighting up the night. Attached to each side of the caravan was a blazing torch, and some of the warriors carried flaming branches as well. If thrown onto the sand, the desert could soon catch fire – and that would be disastrous for the prisoners. But this was a labor camp, and the prisoners would have to be kept alive.

Well, I’m glad I didn’t try to talk to anyone now, Gresh thought, amused. I would have been caught and punished for plotting a break.

“Gresh!” he heard a soft whispering voice from the left; he turned over to see Tarduk attempting to talk and still be faint. The jungle Agori was huddled up in the sand, a little frightened. Tarduk was the only Agori Gresh really knew, and was relieved that he was next to a friend – if the warriors were going to attack the place, Gresh wouldn’t want to be alone.

“What’s happening? Those are from Roxtus, but what are they doing here?”

Gresh shrugged without moving very much. Tarduk got his point, but continued to look out, curious. That was Tarduk for you: always curious, with never enough answers. He would never be satisfied until he knew everything he wanted to. He would never be satisfied.

“No one knows, I think. We should listen, maybe they’ll say something interesting.”

Well, you just stopped me from doing just that, thought Gresh. “Of course,” he told Tarduk. “You should be quiet. If Roxtus is running this place, I want to know about it.”

One of the bone hunters strode forward, and so did a Roxtus warrior; they both held the same kinds of swords: black metal with a glowing strip in the middle. They gently clinked their swords against each other, nodded, and then lowered them. It was obvious that it was a Roxtus gesture of respect.

“Are they going to fight?” whispered Tarduk. “I’ve seen Glatorian so that before. I hope they don’t come over this way.”

Gresh sighed in a quiet undertone, but realized Tarduk’s point. He squinted even harder, and saw that they were nodding to each other, and grinning. They weren’t going to fight – and why would they, without talking?

“Shh,” Gresh told Tarduk. “They’re starting to speak.”

The warrior from Roxtus had opened his mouth and was querying something. “So, Fero,” he asked. “How goes the camp?”

The bone hunter, accordingly called Fero, nodded, pleased. “Great,” he reported, his steed seemingly less sure judging from its short growls. “Everything is going in order – truthfully.”

“Well then,” snapped the warrior, the words coming quick and sharp, “Report. What are the circumstances?”

"All prisoners are staying in line,” replied Fero; he seemed nervous despite the fact that he was obviously more powerful than the warrior, and they were allies. But perhaps this interpretation was false; maybe Fero was a slave. “Just yesterday, we made a new raid on Tajun. We have approximately fifteen new Agori prisoners and five more Glatorian.” Fero couldn’t help beaming with pride, although he was clearly attempting to cease.

“Wonderful,” the warrior nodded. “How discreet have you been? You do know that if any village finds out about this camp, Roxtus’ good name will be in danger.”

Gresh sharply took in a breath. Roxtus was controlling the camp! The rock tribe was taking prisoners and making them work! Why? Gresh thought. Why would they do that? Perhaps it’s true, that they keep slaves. But that’s terrible! He capped a hand over his mouth, careful. If anyone heard him, he would probably be slaughtered.

“As far as I am aware, we are completely secret,” Fero reported, confident.

As soon as the words departed from his mouth, Fero realized his mistake.

“As far as you are aware? What if other people are more aware than you? What if Tajun, whom you raided recently, is aware of this camp’s existence? That would be disastrous for us all!”

"No one knows.” Fero shuddered with obvious fear and no rebellion at all. It was foolish, as Fero could have easily have outfought the warrior from Roxtus.

“So, Fero, they’re obeying your orders?” the warrior asked with contempt and disdain; he obviously looked down on Fero massively.

Fero nodded: “Of course! They’re too afraid of me to even think of putsching us. Most of them are ready to be slaves in Roxtus, and all in all, the camp is going well. One Glatorian, that I didn’t actually recognize, tried to escape, but it didn’t work.”

“So he’s dead.”

“Wounded.”

“That is unacceptable.”

“It’s true,” Fero defended himself bravely, considering his previous angst.

The Roxtus warrior bared his teeth and snarled; and he shook his head in disdain. Fero edged backwards on his rock steed, dreading the outcome. But the warrior retreated back to his group. Fero breathed a sigh of relief; the warrior then sprang forward and fired his Thornax launcher at Fero; the bone hunter cradled his head in pain.

Gresh shuddered. The Roxtus warriors were really quite nasty!

“You’re doing fine,” the warrior informed the injured Fero. “But kill all rebels. In a few weeks, I’ll come back to take the slaves. Be ready by then, Fero…and don’t disappoint Roxtus again.”

Of course. Every suspicion had been correct. This was where Roxtus trained and harvested their Agori and Glatorian slaves. Then, when they were ready, they were transferred to Roxtus, with all invalid prisoners likely killed. And Gresh had fallen into the trap. To think that this had gone unnoticed for so long…Gresh could not let this continue.

As Fero nodded, the Roxtus patrol left, marching back to their wagon, the bone hunter trembled with anxiety, his lip quivering, but he rode off into the night anyway. The lights that had lit up the camp were now gone, and it was again sable.

Although his vision had been snuffed out, Gresh still knew where Tarduk was. He leaned over, grabbed the Agori’s shoulder and squeezed, and whispered, “Welcome to the rebellion.”

Characters

 * Gresh


 * Tarduk


 * Fero


 * Roxtus warriors