"Because after you eat it,
you don't care if you die"

Dakkoul

Dakkoul did not tarry long in Tunis, stopping only to buy a couple of peppered meat-sticks  from a grinning old lady with a cancelled slave-tattoo on her neck. He handed one to Malek suppressing a smile when he thanked him

Malek teeth closed over the first chunk of meat on his stick. He chewed then froze then spat out his mouthful. Red flushed his cheeks and moisture dribbled from eyes. "Festering fox guts! What was that?"

Dakkoul smirked. "Peppered fire-snake. Like they say, hotter than even their flames."

Malek coughed and took a swig from his water container.

Dakkoul waited until Malek was watching him then casually ate all of his meat before wiping his mouth and saying, "It's warrior food. Even the soldiers can eat it. They say it makes you strong for battle."

"Because after you eat it, you don't care if you die," Malek said derisively. He took a deep breath, glared at his stick then ate another chunk. This time he only grimaced while chewing. By the time they rode out of Tunis, Malek had eaten it all, shooting a triumphant look at Dakkoul when he did so.  Dakkoul inclined his head just a fraction in response, before urging on his horse.

When they arrived at the crossroads, Pipsqueak was not there. Dakkoul tried to hide his annoyance squinting at where the road to Pipsqueak's village dipped into the valley. No sign of anyone. Of course he would be late. He let his horse amble over to a large patch of grass by an old fence post and graze.

Malek moved his horse beside him. "I got something to say."

"What?" Dakkoul snapped.

Malek lifted his chin. "You don't need to threaten me all the time. I'm not your enemy. Tell me what you want me to say and what you want me to do and I'll do it. I'll even do it cheerfully if you ask me nicely. That's all."

That's all? Ask him to do things nicely.  Insolence. Dakkoul sharpened his gaze on Malek who flicked at one of his earrings but didn't duck his head. Lord Rustavan would never tolerate a slave speaking to him like that. He'd tell him to discipline Malek so that he'd know his place. Only...Dakkoul's hand gripped the  front of the saddle. Only, all Malek was asking for was a bit of respect, a bit of decency. But giving him that would be like trusting him, like acknowledging him as a brother and Dakkoul definitely wasn't ready to do that. "I'll speak to you how I like and you'll obey me," he spat back.

At the hurt look in Malek's eyes, something stupid in Dakkoul wanted to apologize. Instead he checked the horizon again and this time he saw a crowd of people walking towards the crossroads coming from the direction of the village.

"I'll make him eat lek-duck soup for a week for this!" Dakkoul growled. Pipsqueak had  obviously forgotten the need for discretion. There he was, in the middle of the crowd, walking beside a huge man with broad shoulders, an ugly scar on the side of his face and an obvious stiffness on one side when he walked. Pipsqueak's father had lived then and he didn't look too happy about it. Dakkoul slid off the horse not trusting it enough to stay on it in case of a fight.

Malek dismounted. "You let him go home?"

"I did," Dakkoul answered curtly. There was no point concealing it now.

"What would Lord Rustavan think?"

"If you tell him, you'll find out," Dakkoul said casually even as his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

Malek shot him a disbelieving look and rolled his eyes.

The crowd stopped before they reached the crossroads and smothered Pipsqueak in hugs. Dakkoul wanted to turn away. It reminded him too much of the time he had left the hidden valley, how they'd all pressed around him, showering him with warm words and fond farewells. Fool that he'd been, he actually had been impatient with them. He swallowed. He needed to get Pipsqueak out now and leave.

"Go get him," he said gruffly to Malek who was looking at the crowd with a wistful kind of longing too. Malek bowed at his words in exaggeratedly formal way before stalking down to the crossroads. Pipsqueak shouted with glee when he saw him, dragging him into the crowd that back-slapped him and greeted him enthusiastically. Of course since Malek had saved Pipsqueak's life in the Fox-dance. Now they would never leave.

After embracing Malek, Pipsqueak's father left the crowd and made straight for Dakkoul. He held his ground preparing himself for a fight. Only this time for Pipsqueak's sake, he'd be more careful not to seriously hurt him.

Up close the man did not seem so fearsome despite his huge size, halting just out of reach of Dakkoul's arms. There was a softness to his eyes and an awkwardness to his movements. He held in his hand a patched green cloth that he dabbed at his forehead with, then he wiped at the hair that flopped over his forehead. "Hattavah, I lost my temper last time I saw you. I shouldn't have. I know Lord Rustavan has the right of us, the right to our children, but when I saw you with my son, I couldn't control myself. I'm not proud of it, Hattavah. I want to apologise."

Dakkoul was taken aback. "You had the right to be angry."

"You were just a slave following orders, not free to choose. I wanted to kill you. That was wrong of me." He shoved the green cloth in his pocket and hung his large head.

"All fathers should fight for their sons. I didn't blame you. I slipped when I dug the knife in so hard." Lord Rustavan had been watching, so he'd rushed.

"Now you've brought back my son to see us," Pipsqueak's father continued. "I thank you for  that, but it's not enough. I want him home for good. What do I need to do to get him back?"

Dakkoul rubbed at his eyes that seemed moist for some reason. "You'll need to pay for him."

"But I went to Lord  Rustavan's house and begged for him and the guard laughed in my face and  told me there was no one called Phil-Aemon there."

"Phil-Aemon?" Dakkoul said, then choked back an unexpected desire to giggle. "Flaming?"

"Phil-Aemon," his father said with dignity. "It's a linked name, my name, Aemon and my version of my father's name, Phillip."

"That was your mistake," Dakkoul stated, almost but not entirely concealing a smirk.  "He's called Pipsqueak. And don't go to the front gate, that's only for the Wayvolkan. Go around the back and ask for The Tasker. He handles all the buying and selling of slaves."

"How much will he cost?" Aemon asked wrinking his forehead.

"The Tasker will say  twenty silver coins. But you can bargain him down to fifteen,  especially if you do it without an audience."

Aemon gasped. "Fifteen silver coins? Where would I find that much?"

"There's no other way."

"There must be."

Dakkoul thought uncomfortably of the gold he had at home, but he turned his mind from it. He'd earned it in unpleasant ways, for himself and his daughter. He might need it yet to get her to safety. "That's not my problem," he said coolly.

The green cloth reemerged and Aemon let it flutter in the breeze. "I suppose not. Please take care of my son."

"If I can, I will," Dakkoul found himself promising.

"I'll get the money somehow." Aemon widened his stance and leaned forward. "There's something else."

"Be quick about it," Dakkoul said, hardening his eyes. "We have a long road ahead." 

"My wife was praying for you and she had a message from God she wanted to pass on."

Dakkoul stifled an exclamation. "Jagur's God?" 

"Who's Jagur?" Aemon said crinkling his forehead. "I'm talking about the Christ. He says you need to turn away from doing evil things and turn to him. He will speak to you thrice. The third time will be your final chance."

"I obey my master,"  Dakkoul responded. "The Fox applauds my actions. She rewards me with  strength and victory over those who hate me."

"The Fox is wicked," Aemon declared with an unexpected ferocity. 

Dakkoul did not deny it. "I must follow her as Lord Rustavan's slave. Your Christ is weak,  compared to her. He allowed his enemies to crush him." Something in him sickened at his own words so that he added, "I admire those of you who follow him, but I can not believe he seeks me. I have broken all of his teachings. I am a slave bound to the Fox. Jagur's God has no reason to care about my fate. I would only dishonor him."

"Yet he seeks you, Hattavah," Aemon said. "Remember you will have two more messages. Do not disregard them."

Dakkoul grunted and Aemon left to swing his son up in the air and tickle him. Finally Pipsqueak rejoined them, his face glowing with happiness even while smudges of tears remained around his eyes. "All of my family  are alive and well. Thank you Hattavah."

The whole way home Pipsqueak couldn't stop babbling about his village, about how it had changed even down to the painting of the entry stone and the six grey hairs he had spotted in his mother's hair.

Dakkoul listened until he tired of it then sent Pipsqueak forwards to inflict his chatter on Malek. He needed space to ponder the Prince's words. If his time as the Hattavah really was drawing to a close, he must find a way to circumvent Lord Rustavan and get his daughter to safety. What he needed to do was to ask Keilah for a favor as soon as possible. He'd have to find a way to speak to her tomorrow at her mother's funeral.

A/N - This is dedicated to my father who once asked me to tell him things nicely. Thank you for keeping on reading! Your votes and comments mean so much.