[Amanaduial the archer]

"You removed them from the company of the other slaves, I presume?"

"As were your orders, Captain; they're in 'ere..."

If the two slaves in the small, darkened room heard the voices in the corridor, they didn't let on - as Rakin peered through the grating in the door, he registered only two ragged lumps. Focusing on the larger of the two, the Captain peered at Chakka through narrowed eyes, gazing at him unblinkingly for several moments, but the giant slave could have been a bundle of leather and rags for all the life he displayed. Rakin watched him for a moment longer, then stepped back and, somehow lazily, kicked the door open.

The other slave, sprawled on the opposite side of the claustrophobic room from Chakka, flinched at the sudden light, blinking against it as Rakin slowly stepped down, knowing full well the striking silhouette he would make against the darkness that the two slaves had been kept in since the night before – a dank, swaying, fishy sort of darkness. An altogether unpleasant abode, without windows, a sealed, handless door and a floor that was often up to two metres under water – and a flooding cell always made an interesting prospect, certainly, for bound prisoners who had displeased the captain. Maybe, to that extent, he was like his brother – make the children sing, my darlings, make ‘em sing… As Rakin stepped forward, the other slave made a clumsy lunge towards him, but seemed to sway back as if disorientated from his target almost immediately – the boatswain grabbed him immediately, pulling him back and shoving him unceremoniously against the wall, his head striking it with a thump that Rakin seemed to ignore entirely: his eyes were focused on Chakka’s muscular frame as he approached like a wolf stalking his prey.

“Chakka.”

The single word, softly spoken, was a command – a command to which its intended did not respond, his eyes closed and body as stiff and motionless as a corpse already in the grip of rigor mortis. The boatswain grimly started forward, but Rakin held up a hand, fluttering the other corsair to a halt. He took another step forward and tried once more. “Chakka, look at me.”

Again, the words provoked no response from the slave. Rakin sighed gently, his expression almost regretful as he half-turned away – then swung around once more and viciously kicked the slave in the ribs, his fine features contorted into a twisted animal glare. Both the boatswain and the now groggy Ferethor flinched slightly despite themselves – despite the former having known Rakin for nearly a decade, he had never got quite used to the Captain’s sudden vicious changes of mood; it was like working for a wolf, and no matter how well you would trust him with his life, as he tracks down his prey you can never be quite sure whether you’ll be the next to end up on his plate. The slave barely moved, but at least this time Rakin was greeted with a reaction – a long, low groan, the sound of an animal in pain as he slumped over onto his side. Rakin seemed about to lash out again, but at the last minute held himself in check and, almost delicately, he stepped over the prone form of his victim and squatted down in front of his face, pushing his coat back casually as he did so – something in it clinked mutely, a concealed threat under the Captain’s fine clothes. Pushing back the slave’s head distastefully with one long finger, the Captain tilted his head to on side, and the boatswain thought he saw a smile flickering in the glitter of his eyes in the dim light. Looking up, he smiled wickedly at his fellow corsair.

“Well, my dear, if you won’t look at me, we may just have to take those pretty eyes out altogether? What do you think, Master Steele?”

Ferethor looked across, vaguely recognising his name even through the fog that settled its weight more heavily on his mind with every further drop of blood that leaked from his shoulder and back. Rakin regarded him for a moment, his lip lifting into a sneer once more as the barely concealed threat lay between them, then he snorted slightly and looked away. “A slave revolt by a dimwit and the gentle giant here…” Straightening up, he prodded Chakka experimentally with the toe of his boot. With half an hour until midday, he knew what Chakka’s condition should be like under the influence of the poison – as the sun rose to ascend the peak of the sky, if it worked correctly, she would steal away the slave’s sight as her coronation prize. If it worked correctly… But Chakka had not been that stupid, surely. Head still tilted to one side, Rakin tapped two fingers against his lips thoughtfully, then jumped the few steps into the corridor ahead of the boatswain. “Blindfold him, Master Boatswain – blindfold him and take him to my rooms.”

“You wouldn’t like me to rectify his attitude a little more permanent, like, Captain Rakin?”

Rakin smiled angelically back down at the other man, his face the picture of innocence with a halo of light from behind it. “Oh gods, my dear man, no. No, myself and Chakka will enjoy a…a little drink together. And when she sun rises to her peak, then we’ll see if he’ll look me in the eye.”