Page 74 of The Warrior's Oath
Adding to that mentality was the fact that these particular Raxxians were survivors of the downed ship, and their mindset had been that of guards looking after a flock of livestock, not potentially dangerous prisoners. And now that they had regrouped with others who had come down in the same area, they were performing their duties as handlers rather than soldiers.
Retrieval of unarmed livestock was the order of business, and they were good at their job. Tracking, overpowering, and collecting the livestock for when the retrieval team finally arrived was not only their focus, it was absolutely essential for them to be well received by command when they were brought back to the fleet.
Their ship coming under fire was beyond their control. Capturing the escaped livestock was not.
Creeping as close to the edge of the protective trees and bushes as he dared, Korvin pointed to the Raxxians scattered around the small clearing. There were a lot of them. At least seven, perhaps more. But their demeanor was relaxed, almost casual, and their attention was focused on the makeshift pens holding the recaptured cargo.
Nary a perimeter guard was in sight. All they cared about was keeping this lot safely under lock and key until the retrieval team took them off their hands. A few were sitting in a small circle, tearing meat off of bones with their sharp teeth. As Korbin had said, they did not use fire to cook their food. They ate it raw.
Nyota felt hot bile rise in her throat at the sight of a human leg, a woman’s, by the look of it, with huge bites taken from it, laying in a pile of dismembered body parts. Whether this one had perished in the crash or been killed by the Raxxians didn’t matter. Someone she might have known was now slowly digesting in these bastards’ bellies.
Korvin remained calm, taking in every detail with his trained eyes. He noted the precise location of the guards, those merely resting, and where their supplies were staged. Notably, weapons were limited to small arms, blades, and only one heavier rifle. These Raxxians had been working simple guard duty when the sections they were in separated from the ship’s core, and as a result they were only armed with what they had been carrying at the time.
The prisoners were separated into three crude pens, each with a guard sitting at its entrance. They seemed to have just shoved them in with little regard for gender or species, though the larger, stronger captives were spread between them, likely to ensure only one strong enough to be trouble could act up at any one time.
Korvin pointed at the farthest pen. Nyota’s eyes widened. There was another Nimenni being held. It wasn’t the one she’d seen before, Korvin’s general, but someone else. Sitting with him were two human women.
Unlike the other prisoners, this Nimenni’s hands appeared to be bound behind his back and he had more than a few bruises and scrapes. Someone, it seemed, had made their recapture difficult.
Three aliens she hadn’t previously encountered were split up in the other pens along with one more human, this one a male. Sitting quietly, he appeared to be quite beaten up. All were wearing tattered clothes, but none of the man’s injuries appeared fatal. Nevertheless, it was apparent that his recapture had been a violent one.
Korvin held up his hand and motioned for Nyota and Steve to stay there. He then crept through the brush, making his way to the far pen where his comrade was imprisoned, moving like a deadly cat, impossibly silent for a man his size.
Nyota and Steve couldn’t see where he went, but the Nimenni soldier’s head turned ever so slightly a few minutes later, as if he was listening to something just over his shoulder. The Raxxian sitting outside the gate to the pen didn’t appear to hear a thing.
The slightest bit of movement became visible just behind the holding pen. Nyota squinted, her enhanced eyes focusing hard to track what she was seeing. It was a stick. A stick pushing something forward incredibly slowly. Its shape was familiar once she had it square in her line of sight. One of Korvin’s wicked knives.
It slid right up to the Nimenni’s hip, the stick vanishing in an instant. The Nimenni didn’t look down. He didn’t do anything but slowly shake his head, looking at the two humans sharing his confinement.
The women seemed to get his meaning and looked away. To Nyota it seemed a bit of overacting, but so long as it didn’t draw attention to their penmate, it didn’t matter much.
He shifted his hip, concealing the blade behind him, one hand casually sliding to the ground and palming the hilt, pressing the blade flat against his forearm, hiding it from view as he slowly worked the edge against his bindings until his hands were free.
All of this he did without a single change in his facial expression. In fact, he looked almost bored.
He winked at the two women who were watching him with a mix of hope and confusion and whispered something, his eyes gesturing toward their guard. The two women, stressed as they were, took the hint and began bickering. Not too loudly, but enough to provide him a little cover for his own covert conversation.
“Who is here?” he whispered, not turning his head.
“It is Korvin. Good to see you, Halvax. Have you any word of our general?”
“Heydar? I have not seen him since our capture.”
“No information at all?”
“I believe he lives. The one with the long blade hanging on the left of his belt is called Nimmix. He is this group’s leader.”
“And you believe he knows where the general is?”
“He mentioned Heydar’s name soon after I was recaptured. I did not hear specific details, but I believe he has an idea where he was lost.”
“Then we must interrogate him.”
“Indeed.”
“Are you injured, or can you fight?”
Halvax’s lips creased into a little grin. “Brother, I canalwaysfight.”
