The second week in the cell was when Argo gave up. He sat alone in a pitch black cell in the back of a carriage. His empty stomach knawing on itself, pangs of hunger stabbing into his side. Each day in this prison melded into the next, a monotonous tired existence, and yet it was only when the stick in his hand broke that he gave up. He had been trying to file down one of the countless metal bars which kept him trapped, and with the sticks fracture even that small hope died.
The carriage jolted violently as it ran over a rock. Argo was thrown sideways, his face slamming into the wooden wall separating the cells. A chorus of other groans rang out, mostly from other former residents of his village. At first, there was a camaraderie between them, they had spoken to one another, and tried to keep a semblance of positivity. That faded after their third day of no sunlight. Many never made a sound except for when their daily ladles of water and food were given. Some had decided to refuse even those small comforts, they had been killed.
The sound of a latch lifting grabbed Argo’s attention like a bee to a flower. The door swung open and the remnants of a newborn suns light illuminated the carriage. Besides him, there were eleven others in the carriage, and from the sounds of bumps he had picked up back when he still cared to listen, it sounded like there were at least five in their group. A man strode forward, a nasty grin on his scarred face. He walked down the small passage, a clip over his nose to shield himself from the smell. Disease had already begun to spread through their group, those who had been deemed profitable had been taken out, maybe to be sold, maybe to a cleaner carriage.
The grating sound of sliding metal from one of the doors bombarded Argo’s ears. The bandit reached in, grabbed a man by the arm and pulled him out. Argo recognised the man loosely, he had been from the village, a farmer, one of the men who had arrested Wren. As the bandit began to move him outside he tried to break free. The fool swung a fist towards the bandit’s jaw. The strike was quickly avoided and the farmer was rewarded with a hard strike to the gut. He collapsed to the floor and the bandit dragged him outside. 

This routine had happened three times so far, the first occurred early enough that some of the villagers still had the willpower to ask what was happening. They had been told that it was time for a sale, the second time no one left in the carriage except Argo had the will to ask. Now Argo sat just like the rest of them, waiting for the life of a slave or the cold ghost of disease to steal the last embers of freedom from him.

His answer was given moments later as the man in front of him slid open the latch to his cell. He let himself get pulled out. He was dragged through the passage, he could see people in their cells, their skin rotting. He was thrown out, sunlight pierced his skin. It stung and he hadn’t felt something so beautiful in his life. 

He sat up, not too fast, and began to look around. They were in an open field, he could hear the slow running of water nearby and leaves rustling in the soft wind. There were fires in the distance, he could smell them. They weren’t the ashy fires which had torched his home to the ground, no, they were the fires of a city, large enough to have some form of a garrison to protect itself. They were the fires which carried the scent of a home cooked meal. They were fires which reminded him of the home he would never see again.

“All of you stand up!” One of the countless bandits who surrounded him barked. He obliged, there was no purpose in rejecting their orders. Perhaps he would have a week ago, perhaps even that very morning. Now, Argo had given up. “Follow Darv to the river, you need to be washed.” And they began to march off.

* * *

The sun was at its midpoint in the sky by the time that they had been deemed sale worthy. A bath, a shave, a small serving of food and a new set of clothes which could only be called rags, all given to them in the least human way they could be.

Slowly they were marched through a forest towards the smell of the town. Trees spun upwards around them, they were taller than the ones he had grown accustomed to in Riverfell, far taller. The ground was flat, for what seemed like miles in any direction. They weren’t in the unclaimed lands anymore. Why would they be? It had been two weeks since his village had been burned to the ground. 

Argo walked. He moved with a numb determination. Everything he once had was lost, his parents were dead, Wren was dead, Iri and Cinn were dead or enslaved. Even if they were still in those carriages he couldn’t do anything. He never helped them, he merely made their last free days that much worse.

Argo walked. Nature was his last comfort. The sound of the river’s slow passage. The songs of birds flying above, unaware of the world's horrors. The scampering of rodents and animals throughout the forest.

Argo walked. Something fell a bit behind him, however he paid it no mind. Those who had tried to flee during this walk had been whipped, there was no reason to give them a reason to treat him like that.

Argo walked. His vision was flooded with the monotonous greens and browns of the dirt, grass, trees and leaves. Everything was the same, where was the beauty he had once seen looking across the forest on the mountain of his home? Once upon a time he would have seen this sight and smiled. He would have been sitting with his dad watching the golden light of a setting sun smother the horizon. Argo walked, his face looking straight down. Argo walked, ignoring the shouts of surprise. Argo walked amongst the sounds of people falling. Then they stopped.

“Kid, where are you going?” A man spoke over cheers and proclamations of joy. What was happening? He turned his head to see a man standing, six corpses littered the floor, a knife jotting from the backs of several of them. The man turned back from Argo, who stood frozen. “You lot are free now. Follow this trail, it will take you to a town where I’ve arranged for travel to the Eastern province.” He paused for a moment. “You are free to ignore me, but what you do now is up to you.” He finished speaking and began to walk off into the forest. The men gawked at each other, shock, confusion and elation in equal parts covered their faces. Argo’s eyes followed the man, he wore a dark green cloak, his hood was up and it hid most of the features on his face, aside from a healthy dose of stubble.

Argo couldn’t help Cinn or Iri, but perhaps he could.

Argo quickly followed behind him, leaving the group of men to discuss their newfound freedom. The man took note of Argo following him, he didn’t address it, but he didn’t tell him to leave. Argo’s mind was running, could this man truly help him? Would he? They walked for what felt like hours, but in truth was likely less than ten minutes before Argo finally spoke up.

“Who are you?” Argo’s voice was hoarse, a result of not having spoken in what felt like weeks.

“That’s something I intend to keep to myself.” He responded without turning back.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.” He quickened his pace, Argo tried to keep up, but the result of his malnutrition had left him weakened and tired. Each step grew harder than the last.

“Help me.” It was weak. What he had intended to be a determined plea came out as the weak whimper of a boy only ten who had spent the past month of his life losing everything. He collapsed to the floor, his knees striking hard into the dirt. The man stopped. He glanced down towards Argo, his brown eyes piercing into him like daggers, a glare cold enough that he regretted ever coming here. This was a man who had taken down six bandits before they could even locate him. What was Argo doing here?

“Fine.” He turned around, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his brown hair. The hood of his cloak flipped back revealing a man with a rectangular face. His jaw was strong, his eyes firm, he looked into Argo as if he were a book.

“Fine?”

“Fine, I will help you.” He spoke plainly. “What is it you need.”

“My friends…” He began, trailing off.

“Not your parents? Well who am I to judge, parent’s aren’t all they are cracked out to be. Now, what are their names?” What was happening? Argo stumbled backwards.

“Cinn. Cinn and Iri. Are you really going to help me?” He nodded simply. 

“We will leave here at nightfall and head back. You should get some food in you.” Argo nodded, though he had no clue what to do for food. He still didn’t even know what to think, why was this man helping him? The man looked down at Argo as he looked from left to right, searching for food, a smile formed on his lips as he reached into his cloak and pulled out a few sticks of dried meat. “Eat this.”

“Thank you, sir.” Argo trailed off.

“No worries. Gall and Gin would be on me for weeks if he knew I left kids behind.” Were those names? Argo truly had no clue, he simply began to work his way through the meat he had been given.

* * *

“Stay close behind me.” The man, who Argo still did not know the name of, ran through the forest. The stars and the moon were their only guide, the forest itself was cast in a mixture of darkness and bright shades of white. Argo kept up, if only barely, clutching a knife he had been given. It had a rough leather grip, far worse in quality than the blade he took from his parents. “And don’t engage unless attacked. We are going in, finding them and getting out, nothing more.” Argo nodded, and despite the man not facing him, he seemed to know Argo’s intent. 

The bandit's campsite lay in the distance, softly revealed through the bright light of a fire they had set up. There were easily twenty of them, others were likely asleep as well. All of them were armed, many eating or drinking. Behind them, they had eight carriages. They would need at least three for themselves, the others were likely where they kept the slaves.

The cloaked man waved Argo forward and he obliged, they ran around the group sitting by the fire towards the back of the carriage. There stood four people there, weapons in hand, guard duty. The cloaked man in front of Argo shot his hand forward. A blade flew free from it, finding its way into the neck of one of the guards dropping him almost instantly. The man wasted no time, and almost with the speed of a horse he ran forward and speared another in the neck. The other two quickly realised what was happening, but it was too late for them to do anything, even to alert the others. A knife shot through the base of someone's head, up through their mouth and into their brain. Blood began to pour from his mouth. One man was left standing, he opened his mouth as if to scream, but the man who had reduced Argo quickly covered his mouth and began to choke him. Argo ran forward, his eyes wide and unblinking at the sight of death. This man was trained, he was no simple ex-soldier. He had been capable of taking out four armed men without alerting the larger party.

“It won’t be long before someone comes to check on them, kid.” He spoke more for Argo’s sake than his own. Argo’s eyes drifted towards the man who was being held in a choke grip by the cloaked man. His eyes met his, and he froze. It was Finton, the man who had accused him of killing his father. What was he doing here? 

“Finton!” Argo spoke in a whisper yet he still screamed, the man who was helping him shot him a look to be quieter.

“You know this man?”

“He was a leader of my village. I don’t know why he is here. Out of his cell.” A knowing look crossed over the man's face.

“We don’t have time, just get the information.”

“Where is Cin and Iri,” Argo demanded the information, thrusting his knife forward towards the former council member. Had he been behind Wren’s death? Had he been behind his parents? The man let go of Finton’s mouth, letting him speak.

“If you yell you die.”

“Alright, alright.” He spat out, his crow like eyes looking up towards Argo. “To think you’d still be alive.” He shook his head as if this was an oversight he should have accounted for. “The girl’s been sold, over a week back.” Argo’s eyes widened. “The boy should still be here. The carriage to our left I believe. Now let me go, I won’t scream.” Argo’s arms fell limp by his side, he shrank underneath the sneer of the man. No, he wouldn’t let him get away with this. “Why are you free?” Argo’s voice trembled.

“Why do you think kid?” His tone was no different from the day he awoke in Wren and Iri’s home. “We gave up your father for a reason, this was always going to be the outcome.” Argo drove his knife through the councilman's chest, through the ribs, just as he should have done to the man who killed his parents. Fenton’s eyes widened.

“How? he told us we would be safe.” His voice was quiet, weak and as he finished the sentence the man in the cloak twisted his neck and he collapsed. Dead. 

The two continued in silence, moving towards the carriage to their side. The cloaked man picked the lock and they ran through it towards Cinn who sat in his cell. The eyes of everyone widened at the sight of them, though most assumed them simply to be bandits. As they arrived at Cinn’s and unlocked the door his mouth fell ever so slightly agape.

“Ar?” He croaked, his olive skin had grown sickly and pale.

“Let’s go.” The cloaked man grabbed him, and the three of them ran. 

* * *

By the time they arrived in a clearing a good ways from the camp, Cinn’s excitement had vanished. He had learned of what happened to Iri and any joy he had felt in his escape vanished.

“What are you two going from here?” The man in the cloak spoke, highlighted by the white light cast by the moon above. 

“I. I don’t know.” Cinn spoke, his eyes looking into the forest, shaking. He too had lost everything in the past two weeks, Argo knew what was going on in his mind.

“Teach me.” Argo’s voice wavered, teetering on the line of confidence and desperation. “If I want to find Iri. If I want to avenge my parents. I need to be stronger. Please, teach me.”

“Are you certain boy? I won’t turn you down.” He paused for a moment considering his words. “But this life is not one many enjoy living.”

“I am.” Cinn looked to Argo.

“Me too!” He spoke, Argo glanced at him, they would have each other. The man reached into the cloak and pulled out two blades, handing them hilt first towards the boys.

“Once you take this, know that there is no going back. Someone who lives by killing must be aware that they will likely be killed one day.” They both seized a blade.