BERT AWOKE TO a night sky, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He tried to raise his hand to wipe further, but couldn’t raise his arm. Something was keeping his arms locked. A kick to his ribs caused him to catch his breath and he rolled to the side, a large man filling his vision.

  “Don’t say a word, rat,” the man hissed.

  Bert couldn’t get a breath in, let alone speak, but he tried to nod. The man was shorter than most, but built like a barrel. He wore a dark vest that looked like wolf or bear fur to Bert. The man’s thick arms and hairy chest was exposed and he had a dirty beard with beads in it. A gray badger patch stood out on his left chest. He had a short sword in one hand, but it looked dull and rusted.

  “Who else is here with you?”

  Bert shook his head and tried to say no one, but he couldn’t get a word out yet.

  “Speak up,” the man said, placing the blade at Bert’s neck. “I won’t be ambushed out here.”

  “It’s just me,” Bert said quickly and quietly. He tried to sit up, but the man pushed him back down. Rolling the other way, Bert saw three more men with torches on the other side of the creek. They were escorting a wagon led by two old draft horses. Bert was shocked to see a man and woman in the back of the wagon. They were tied to the side of it. Slavers!

  “A lucky find for me!” the man said. “You look like you can carry a load. Earn me a little extra,” he cackled. “Well, up with you!”

  He reached down with one hand and easily pulled Bert to his feet. The roughly-cut leather straps tied around Bert’s arms cut at him, drawing more pain.

  “Off you go,” the man said, sticking the blade into Bert’s back.

  The blade did feel as dull as it looked, but Bert wasn’t about to check further and began walking toward the river and hopping on the stones he had crossed earlier. He looked to the trees and bushes quickly, hoping to spot a Wyrm Person looking out or nocking an arrow. He considered how he had ended up in this position. He had been warned he was leaving the protection of the camp, but he had simply walked along a small path near a creek. Why would there be slavers out here? He knew some communities used slaves as a source of free labor, but they were in the cities and they used criminals or people who had debts to clear: they couldn’t just grab someone taking a nap.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Well, apparently they could. Here he was.

  The man roughly pushed him up into the wagon and tied his hands to the side opposite the man and woman. A metal pin was added between Bert’s hands, locking him in. “Be a good little rat and keep yer yap shut and you’ll be just fine,” he said. He smiled a smile that was missing most teeth. A smell of alcohol came from the man’s mouth.

  Bert nodded simply and felt deflated. He looked to the man and woman for any support, but they kept their eyes down. The man had a black eye forming and a deep gash on his arm. The woman had tears lining her dirty face, and barely moved.

  The wagon began to roll roughly. One of the slavers took up position behind the wagon and the other two vanished to the front. They were moving in a direction away from the camp. That wasn’t good.

  Wide awake, Bert considered how he would get out of this. His sword was back with his pack, stacked near Yellow. Yellow! Of course. He’d blow his whistle and get a ride back to the camp. A sword was a pitiful weapon compared to a dragon. Bert moved his body to the side, pressing it against the wall of the wagon. Nothing. His whistle was not in his pocket, it must be back with his pack as well. Mira and the others would realize he was gone and eventually find out his direction from the two Wyrm People he had run into. They could follow his path and then the wagon wheels and piece it together. Surely that would be the case. Otherwise, he could tell the people in whatever city or town they ended up in that he wasn’t a slave, and was in fact a named man, Bertram Dragontongue of Wyrmgate. Even the royals in Keelwick had heard of him. He could use his leverage as a dragonrider surely to earn his freedom.

  The initial panic of being woken up and snatched away was starting to recede as he thought about this logically. Of course he was in a bad spot at the moment, but he could simply play along and act like a cowed boy who was afraid for his life. He’d do whatever they said until an opportunity presented itself or he was rescued.

  Yes, he’d simply act afraid. Because he wasn’t.

  It was an act. So he told himself.