Chương 53: Captured by the Lakjoh

My intrigued eyes scanned the vast nomadic camp spread out before me. Hundreds of large triangular tents stood proudly across the deep shrubland, each one a grand structure with white canvas walls and black tops, large enough to comfortably house up to 100 people. At least 2, 000 of these tents dotted the landscape, creating a sprawling hidden city of fabric and wood. A sharp poke from the saif at my back brought me back to reality. The boys forced me forward deeper into their territory.

Now that we were closer, I could see the adults clearly. They had dusky, sun-kissed skin with a warm bronze tone earned from a lifetime under the harsh desert sun. Their clothing consisted of copper-toned tunics paired with baggy light-grey trousers and sturdy deep-brown leather shoes suited for the rugged shrubland. On their heads they wore polished steel helms with heavy nasal bars that cast sharp shadows across their faces, giving them a fierce, warlike appearance.

Checkered baldrics of varying colors and patterns crossed their chests, each design marking rank and role within the tribe. The boys finally stopped in front of a particular tent and shouted excitedly, "Dabuzai! Come out!" A middle-aged man emerged, yawning widely and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had a thick, well-groomed black beard and straight black hair that fell to his shoulders. In one hand he held a bronze-colored helmet, which he casually placed on his head.

A black checkered baldric crossed his chest with quiet authority.

"Yazu…? Ohhh, we have guests in our nice Madrab," he said, his voice still heavy with sleep but carrying a warm, welcoming smile.

"Well done, kids." He tossed ten gold coins to Yazu, who caught them with a bright grin and ran off laughing with the other boys, their footsteps quickly fading into the shrubland. Dabuzai's sharp, experienced eyes immediately locked onto my casts. He performed a quick spirit scan, much like Galer would. His brow furrowed deeply, a mix of confusion and suspicion crossing his face.

"Hmm… only 1, 000? That makes no sense," he muttered, almost to himself.

"No outsider should be wandering this deep into the shrublands or as you Gharīb (outsiders) so tastelessly call it, 'the Badlands'." He studied me for a long moment, as if trying to read my soul. Then he gestured for me to follow.

"Come with me, Gharīb," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

"You'd better tell me the full truth when I ask my questions… or you'll experience the traditional hospitality our Lakjoh tribe is known for." I blinked in surprise, my heart beating a little faster.

"Lakjoh?"

"Yes," he replied with clear pride in his voice.

"We are the legendary Lakjoh tribe, rightful protectors of the Zaphari Legacy!" I couldn't hold back my doubt.

"Zaphari Legacy? I've never even heard of the Lakjoh before… so it can't be that legendary."

"Which tribes have you heard of?" he then finally asked, his voice carrying a hint of challenge.

"Beduion and Nabatea," I answered honestly, since those are the most recent ones i heard of, but do really know any tribe here. Dabuzai's face hardened noticeably at the mention of the Nabatea, but he said nothing more and kept walking, a flash of old anger crossing his eyes was though visible on him. We reached a smaller tent. The people around us men, women, and children stared at me with open curiosity mixed with suspicion.

Once inside the dimly lit space, Dabuzai sat down on a woven mat and offered me a cup of lime tea mixed with fragrant shrub splinters. The warm, refreshing scent filled the air between us. Dabuzai leaned forward, his expression growing darker as he reiterated his warning about the tribes, as i was sipping on the hot tea.

"The Beduion are the original and greatest nomadic people. We all trace our blood back to them. But seven hundred years ago, everything fell apart. The daughter and son of the Kabīr had different visions for our future. Their disagreement shattered our unity and sparked decades of brutal civil wars that splintered us into countless smaller tribes." He paused, his voice heavy with old pain.

"Three hundred years ago, the great protector Zaphari, the Saif of the Wadi, came to us during a devastating drought. He fought alongside us against the Nabatea and carved a path to the seasonal River Wadi, giving us hope and survival. For many years we lived in peace and mutual respect. But when Zaphari retired and wandered south, he left his armor to us and his weapon to the Nabatea as symbols of his legacy for long lasting peace between the tribes." Dabuzai's eyes burned with quiet anger.

"Greed always finds a way. They claimed the sword gave them the right to control the Wadi, while we, with only his armor, were meant to merely defend the region from foreign tribes. Since then, every year from September to November we fight each other like animals for the water we need to survive the next year." I nodded slowly, the weight of their long hatred settling on me.

"I won't speak of them again," I promised.

"But… why did the children kidnap me?" Dabuzai's face hardened into something colder.

"This is the outpost line. Hespericum mercenaries have a secret deal with the accursed ones, they get mine access and lucrative rewards. Our goal is simple: catch them off guard, either ransom them for coin or kill them as a message." I reacted with visible shock.

"But I'm not—""Stop acting," he cut me off sharply.

"The moment I saw your clothing and gear, I knew you were a high-valued mercenary." I tried to explain desperately, lifting my casted arms.

"I have these quicklime casts on my arms. I'm not an active fighter right now. Look at me... I'm in no condition to be running mercenary work in the Badlands." Dabuzai's expression didn't soften.

"You know what we hate more than mercenaries here? Godforsaken liars." He raised his voice with sudden authority.

"As Salar of the Lakjoh, I hereby command your death." From the shadows of the tent, soldiers emerged like ghosts. They seized my arms and head, gagging me with a rough ball of shrub fiber. They forced my arms onto a log, wrapping ropes around them and tying the other ends to a nearby Cavamello. They stripped me down to my boxers, leaving me exposed and helpless. Just before the final signal, a calm but commanding voice cut through the tension.

"What is all this fuss about?" The Kabīr, the Elder of the tribe, had just arrived. He was 1. 74 meters tall, with elegant short white hair and a full, well-groomed beard. He leaned on a cane and wore a bronze checkered baldric over a rich red tunic. His presence instantly commanded respect. He had heard everything from outside. The Elder had heard everything from just outside the tent. He stepped inside with calm authority, his eyes moving from my bound and gagged form to Dabuzai.

The Salar immediately straightened, showing clear respect.

"Kabīr," Dabuzai began, his voice steady but urgent.

"This outsider was brought in by the children near the outpost line. He claims to be injured and not an active mercenary, but his gear and armor say otherwise. I saw the quality... ironcoal reinforcements, fresh repairs. He's hiding something. I ordered his death as per our law against Hespericum spies and mercenaries. We cannot risk them discovering our position or the water routes." The Elder raised a hand, silencing him. He slowly approached me, his gaze sharp yet thoughtful.

He examined my casts, the bruises, and finally rested his eyes on the branded "H" on my right shoulder. For a long moment, the tent was completely silent. Dabuzai continued, trying to justify his decision.

"He was found deep in our territory. If he is truly a mercenary working with the accursed ones, we must make an example. Mercy has cost us too much in the past. The Nabatea already raid our outer camps, we cannot allow more outsiders to bring danger here." The Elder remained quiet for a few more seconds, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice low but carrying the weight of true leadership.

"You acted with the protection of our people in mind, Salar. That is honorable." He pointed at my casts and the clear signs of recent brutal combat on my body.

"But look closer. This man has fought hard. Those wounds are fresh, and the brand on his shoulder… that is the mark of Metia's enslavement. Not the mark of a willing mercenary." He turned back to Dabuzai.

"Untie him. Remove the gag. We will hear his full story before any judgment is made. If he is truly an enemy, then justice will be swift. But if he is a victim of the same world that hunts us… then perhaps Michaelanius has sent him here for a reason." Dabuzai hesitated for a moment, clearly conflicted, but finally nodded and signaled his men to release me. As the gag was removed, the Elder examined me closer, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Are you a runaway slave?" he asked, his voice cold and sharp.

"If you lie to me right now, your head will roll off this instant, I will make sure of it." I coughed out the built-up saliva from the gag and answered truthfully, my voice hoarse.

"It is… complicated. But yes. I am a slave from Metia's Claws." The Elder's face twisted in sudden anger. He struck the ground hard with his cane, making everyone in the tent flinch."You stole a slave from the mercenaries? He is useless to us!" He glared at Dabuzai.

"Also his Animo is pathetic, he is weak. What have you to say, Salar…?" The once-authoritative man now stood mute, eyes fixed on the ground like a scolded puppy. He had no answer. He simply apologized quietly. The Elder ordered my immediate release but commanded that I remain in the camp while he decided what to do with me. After I got my clothes back on, my ring accidentally fell from the pouch onto the ground. The Elder noticed something drop, but I quickly covered it with my leg.

He did not pursue it further, not thinking a runaway slave would carry anything of real value. Still, a small spark of curiosity lingered in his eyes. Dabuzai, back to his original confident self as if the confrontation had never happened, took me back to his tent where his wife and three children waited. He sat down and continued questioning me. I told him my life story beginning from Rhertia, the war, my enslavement, the battles, and everything in between, while sharing anew food and tea.

The man, who had started off not truly curious, grew more and more interested, especially when I reached the part about the Run to Glory. But before I could finish, a loud commotion erupted outside. An attack was happening. Suddenly, panicked shouts erupted from outside.

"The Nabatea are here! Ten thousand raiders and they're shooting fire arrows at the tents!" Chaos exploded across the Madrab. Screams filled the air as people ran to protect their families while flames began devouring canvas. I turned to the Salar, my voice steady despite the pain in my arms.

"I will stay here and protect the children as much as I can in my current state. You adults go out and fight them off." Dabuzai looked at me with a mix of gratitude and skepticism, but he nodded sharply and rushed out with the other warriors as he did not had much choice in this matter. Not long after two raiders burst into the tent moments later. Even with my arms in casts, my kicks were powerful enough to knock them out cold, sending them crashing into the ground. More raiders tried to push in.

I fought like a cornered animal spinning, kicking, using my casts as improvised clubs when needed. The casts hit against skulls and ribs, each strike sending jolts of pain through my broken arms, but I refused to stop. Outside, the battle raged fiercely. The sound of clashing steel, screaming horses, and burning canvas filled the night. Dabuzai and his warriors fought desperately to push the raiders back, their war cries echoing across the shrubland.

The attack was fierce, brutal, and fast a sudden storm of fire and steel meant to sow terror more than conquer. Then, as quickly as they had come, the Nabatea raiders melted back into the dark shrubland, their laughter and taunts fading into the night. The camp was left burning in several places, people rushing to put out flames and tend to the wounded. Dabuzai returned to the tent moments later, breathing hard, blood on his blade.

His eyes widened when he saw the two armored Nabatea raiders lying unconscious on the ground. He looked at me with a mix of shock and deep respect.

"You… you could have run. You could have escaped back to your group. Why didn't you?" I met his gaze.

"Yes, I could have. But these young children would have most likely been attacked or worse would not make the next day. I couldn't let that happen to your Madrab or my mind." For a moment, the tent was silent. Then, in a weird accent, one of the children repeated my words playfully. The kids and even Dabuzai burst into laughter, the tension breaking for a brief, precious moment. Dabuzai dragged the two unconscious raiders away to be dealt with. As the laughter faded, I heard a faint shadow whisper beside the tent.

It was Iskatot. He had come with Galer to extract me. He quickly told me the plan in a low voice:"Wait until full nightfall. Go out pretending to piss. I will pull you out with my shadow abilities." I nodded in silent agreement. But before I could prepare, Dabuzai returned with a small container of cream. Without warning, he kicked me hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me, and jumped on top, pinning me down. I was stunned. My mind raced. Did he hear Iskatot? Is this punishment?

Before I could speak, he said urgently:"Sorry… but this is the only way we can repay what you did for us, especially after how we treated you." With surprising strength, he ripped the quicklime casts off my arms. The damaged skin underneath was a horrifying blend of dry white, charcoal red, and black... raw and painful. He looked visibly disturbed by the state of my arms but remained firm in his decision. He opened the small black wooden container and applied the cream.

The pain was far worse than it had been in Aegus. I sweated profusely, biting back screams as it felt like fire ants burrowing into my flesh. But after a few agonizing minutes, I could move my arms again. I could feel my fingers. Before I could ask about this miracle cream, a loud whistle echoed across the camp. Everyone, including me, was summoned to the Kabīr's tent. For what though…?