The lurching of the cart jotted Avi awake, slamming her skull against the iron bar. She groaned. Sleep was her only respite on the brutal journey and now she was unfortunately back amongst the conscious. Her neck was stiff from laying at an unnatural angle against the bars of the cage. She tried to massage the area, but this pulled the chains of her fellow prisoner, earning her a deadly glare and jab to the ribs. Her neighbor was remarkably talented at managing to hit the exact spot each time, the closely clustered rainbow of bruises a testament to her precision. The soldiers did not allow them to speak to each other, a fact she learned the hard way via the butt end of a spear. They had left her a spectacular black eye as a souvenir, with a matching one to her neighbor for daring to be the recipient of the conversation. As a result there was little love amongst her fellow prisoners.
To add insult to injury (or more accurately, to add human waste to injury) the cart stank of piss and excrement, making the straw beneath them sticky and unbearable. They were not given any respite from the cage, kept there even overnight. Twice a day food and water were thrown through the bars, the guards laughing to see them scramble for the scraps. A few rain showers were their only methods of cleaning - though they had to huddle together and shiver for warmth afterwards, at least it improved the smell. The soldier's dogs were kept better than they, allowed to run beside the cart and eat scraps of fresh food cooked on the fire. But what did it matter to them if a few spoils of war died during the journey? There was a man in the other corner that she suspected might be on his way, if he hadn't passed already. He had been having copious runny bowel movements to the extreme chagrin of the prisoners chained next to him. For the last day he hadn't moved at all. Sometimes Avi wanted to catch her neighbor's eye to point out that surely, she and her normal gastrointestinal system weren't so bad in comparison, and could she please stop piercing her with her increasingly sharp elbows. But the moment never came, and it didn't seem right to gloat amidst all the suffering.
In times like these, Avi wished that her magic weren't so pathetic. The people these days were mostly born without any power, though some were still born with a few various gifts. It was thought to be a remnant from their very distant elven ancestors, and any magic was colloquially called the Relic as a result. Sometimes though, a family could be completely non magical for generations and then someone would be born with a very powerful Relic. Some even had a penchant for certain gifts like fire, water, or telepathy. Her mother herself had been a very talented healer, sometimes bringing people back from almost the point of death. Not that it helped when the coughing sickness had come for her when Avi was almost twelve. She still missed her mother all the time, though time had healed it to a thin scar amongst newer ones.
Her father and brother, however, were as normal as they came. She herself only had maybe a drop or two of healing Relic - able to heal her own hangnails, but not much else. She did learn a significant amount of potion brewing and apothecary science from her mother before she passed, and had learned the rest from the books she left behind. As a result, Avi had been able to help keep her family's apothecary shop running after her mother's death. Her Relic did interestingly manifest with a small amount of weak vision magic as well - she could see when magic was being used, and sometimes could see the aura of different signatures. She had read that some people could use theirs to detect poisons, catch lies, or even see the future. Unfortunately hers did not lean that way, and as a particularly rare manifestation of a Relic, she couldn't find much information on how to practice it.
So she was stuck with her barely useful magical talents. If her healing magic were stronger, she could have cured the man in the corner of his dysentery. Maybe if she had a fire Relic instead, she could have blown the bars off the cart and freed everyone. But no, all she could do was change her bruises from black to a very slightly lighter color of black. That, and tell that the teenager in the corner had a small amount of water magic. Though everyone could have seen that when he used his power to protect himself and his neighbors from the rain. That her neighbor did notice, if the narrowed side-eye had been any indication, as if saying "look at that guy helping his neighbor instead of forcing them to get matching eye tattoos like you".
She supposed they were all rather cranky these days. It had been three weeks now since they were thrown in the rattling cage. Three weeks since the siege against Visgath had succeeded and their city had fallen. They couldn't have lasted long of course, most of the men having been conscripted and long gone from the city. Her own father and brother were both "volunteered" into the army in the early years of the invasion by the neighboring country of Balen. She had not heard from them at all in the last nine months. Initially she had received some letters, but as the war progressed there were fewer soldiers to spare to maintain something as frivolous as familial communication. They did not even have the soldiers to notify next of kin of any deaths. She was enough of a pragmatist to presume they were dead, though she harbored hope that they were out there somewhere.
Balen's King Joren was reportedly a very accomplished Relic sorcerer. She had heard soldiers' tales of his fire magic raining down on them, obliterating squadrons in minutes. He had used it to expand his borders into the nearby kingdoms. No longer satisfied with just expanding into the northern kingdom of Acterus, he had set his sights on her country of Portaugh two years ago. The towns closer to the border fell first, and Visgath, the second largest city in Portaugh, was now yet another notch in his list of victories.
Despite the dismal lack of any infantry remaining, Visgath stood up to the enemy for a whole month before falling. Their ancient walls had been maintained over the centuries, thick with bricks and old protection spells. But once the war started, the majority of their Relic wielders were spread thin, leaving few behind to maintain the wall. And King Joren was relentless, the sorcerer sovereign bringing in his battle mages until finally a hole was blasted through the main gate. It was distressingly fast how quickly everything fell apart after that.
The invading soldiers had mechanically and methodically combed through Visgath, collecting any treasures into their coffers, taking any able bodied or notable citizens as slaves. The money swelled their reserves, the slaves kept up their country laborers. By crippling the remaining population of anyone notable, it helped prevent having any manpower for uprising. They had conquering down to a science at this point, years of practice under their belts.
So when the soliders reached her small apothecary shop, she didn't put up much of a fight. What could she do against a team of conquering soldiers? Offer to not heal their minor injuries? As a young woman with a small amount of Relic she was likely to fetch a pretty sum in the slave markets. She was quickly manacled and thrown on to the next available slave cart, then the prisoners connected together to make escape even more cumbersome.
As prisoners from Visgath, a fairly well known city, they attracted crowds from the interested Balean towns they passed. There were some jeers as it seemed likely her country would fall soon to King Joren's armies. The anticipation of another victory was palpable in the air, oily and oppressive. It had only taken one and a half weeks of hard travel to reach the borders of Portaugh before they passed officially into the enemy country of Balen. She was begrudgingly impressed at the speed of the travel - normally by horseback it would have been a month to reach the borders, going over rolling hills and traveling along rivers until they could wade in the shallowest portion. But the resources of the enemy army were vast now, and they knew good roads and bridges were the way to keep their dominion over the oppressed. A well supplied and well fed army was a strong one, and that required good roads.
So that meant for the last week she and her fellow prisoners had the pleasure of seeing the country of Balen up close once they passed the border. Sometimes too close, as the townspeople enjoyed seeing the carts paraded through their village, and occasionally enjoyed throwing rocks and rotting vegetables. Avi didn't mind the vegetables though, close as they were to their current rations. She had a very passable carrot top the other day from that experience, and snacked on it eagerly as they passed through the town. She did not share it with her neighbor.
The hills and streams she was used to gradually changed into wider agricultural fields. Spelt grew mostly, currently green and short in early summer. Here and there were spaces for vineyards and olive groves. The roads became wider and better paved, with towns growing larger in size. Some even had multiple taverns, not that they let the prisoners stay in those. The towns seemed wealthier now, with the inhabitants wearing richer clothes and sometimes even jewelry. Someone had even thrown a burnt loaf of bread and a whole turnip at them in the last town. At this rate, it seemed her cart was headed straight to the capital of Yager.
After what felt like several lifetimes and several pointy elbow jabs later, they eventually reached a large gate into a shining white wall. Crowds of people milled from both sides, making their movements feel like they were wading through molasses. Carts pulled by oxen carried vegetables and grain inside, along with covered wagons featuring colorful baskets, blankets, and some carved goods. She even saw a troupe of players, their identifiable clothes and flags vibrant in the sun. Most people gave their cart a wide berth, whether from the smell or fear she wasn't sure. She didn't blame them - many days she regretted that her nose was still fully functional.
Despite her trepidation at the next steps, she found herself excited to see the capital. Fresh pendants were strung across the alleys, giving everything a festive feel. Riotous baskets of flowers hung from most windows, rivaling the colorful outfits of the people below. The commoners wore light cotton clothes and leather boots, and here and there were merchants wearing silks, if they were doing well enough. She spied a litter covered by sheer curtains and carried by six men, likely a noblewoman going about the city. Carts with fresh fruits, vegetables, wines, honey, and even exotic spices dotted the markets. Spiced meat pastries scented the air as they passed a food vendor. She had spent the last few years in a city whose occupants were conscripted for war and then squashed under siege. Her people were quiet and mourning. But it was exhilarating to see a city that was so alive, even if it was from the wrong side of the bars.
Eventually the cart pulled up to a large square, where a wooden stage had been built. The horses stopped, and neighed in appreciation as stable hands carried them away for hay and fresh water. Things were starting to happen.
