He settles onto the driver's bench and takes up the reins.
"Comfortable?" he asks with mock concern. "Excellent. We have quite a journey ahead, and I do so hate traveling in silence."
The cart lurches into motion. Around us, birds begin to circle, drawn by the scent of fresh death.
“Now, what
"Cheerful thought, isn't it?" Cirsheco observes my expression with obvious delight. "Don't worry, though. The journey will be quite pleasant. I'm excellent company when properly motivated."
"And what motivates you?"
"Chaos, mostly. Violence. The exquisite moment when carefully laid plans crumble into beautiful disaster." He sighs contentedly. "You provided quite the spectacle in Eelry. That moment when you turned Rophan against his masters? Pure poetry."
Despite everything, I find myself almost liking this mad Dark Elf. His honesty about his own nature is refreshing after so much deception and false friendship.
"You enjoy destruction for its own sake," I observe.
"Guilty as charged. Though I prefer to think of it as... artistic expression." He guides the cart around a fallen log. "Order is so terribly boring, don't you think? All those rules and expectations and predictable outcomes. Chaos is far more interesting."
"Even when it gets you killed?"
"Especially then. A boring death is the ultimate failure of imagination." His eyes gleam with genuine enthusiasm. "Speaking of which, that little arena riot of yours? Absolutely magnificent. I haven't seen such beautiful mayhem in decades."
We travel in companionable silence for a while, the cart wheels finding rhythm against stone. Strange as it seems, Cirsheco's presence is almost comforting after the grim professionalism of the bounty hunters. At least he makes no pretense about what he is.
"Tell me," he says eventually, "was it worth it? The escape, the freedom, the inevitable recapture? You could have simply died in the arena with some dignity intact."
"I found something worth living for," I reply, thinking of Forla's face in that final moment. "Worth fighting for."
"Ah, the human woman. Yes, I saw her flee. I’d give her a good rogering alright." Cirsheco remarks but immediately back tracks when he senses the rage in me.
“I mean, she is very beautiful, forgive my coarse language.” Cirsheco's tone becomes almost gentle. "Love is a fascinating madness, isn't it? Makes people do the most wonderfully irrational things."
"You wouldn't understand."
"Perhaps not. But I appreciate the artistry of it." He glances back with something that might be respect. "You would die for her, I can see that in your eyes. Love is burden I would rather not carry. Beautifully futile."
"Yes, and you are first on the list." I say quietly.
“Don’t be like that my dear chap. I thought we were friends.” Cirsheco says.
“Friends don’t sell each other into slavery.” I say.
“Well, there was this one time but that wasn’t for money rather than to get him out of my company. He was an awful bore but we’d been friends since children and I couldn’t just tell him to do one. Could I?”
“So you sold him into slavery?” I ask, shocked.
“Yes, to the demons, he’s probably somewhere on Galmoth now getting rogered left, right and must definitely centre.” He chuckles.
The forest grows darker around us as afternoon shadows lengthen. Somewhere ahead lies whatever fate Cirsheco has planned, whatever buyers he's found for my freedom. But I'm alive, Forla escaped, and every mile brings new possibilities for chaos.
"Look alive, orc," Cirsheco says suddenly, his voice losing its casual amusement. "We have company."
I follow his gaze toward the road ahead, where something flickers between the trees. Not sunlight—something colder,more deliberate. Magic gathering like storm clouds before the lightning strikes.
The cart slows as Cirsheco's expression shifts from amusement to calculation. "Now that," he murmurs, "could be problematic."
29
