Viktor looked at her. At the body, thin and beaten. At the eyes, fierce and unbroken. At the spirit, still fighting despite the cage and the chains and the damage.
A merchant appeared. The man, short and fat, with a greasy smile and dirty clothes, waddled toward the cage. His hands, rubbing together, were the hands of a man who smelled a sale.
"That one?" the merchant said. His voice, oily and eager, was the voice of a man who had been trying to sell this particular slave for weeks. "She is trouble. Got her jaw broken. She is a fighter. Bit one of my guards. Cost me a good man."
He leaned closer. His voice dropped. "I can give you a good price. She is not worth much, but I can teach her good enough. Break her in. Make her obedient."
Viktor looked at the merchant. Then at the dark elf. Then at the merchant again.
"It does not matter," he said. "I will teach her myself."
