The jolting continued. Axis and Raksha sat in the wagon, tightly bound to ensure they didn't repeat their nightly escape. The slavers could have given chase to the runaways, but they were afraid to venture deep into the thicket at night. Furthermore, thanks to Raksha, the sound of the bars being bent and returned to place had been muffled, so the disappearance was noticed too late.
"You know you could have escaped too. Why did you stay?" Axis asked, looking at the Orc woman.
"And leave you all alone? Like hell," she snorted. "There's no place for me in the Orc tribe. So, I'll be keeping an eye on you to make sure you don't die ahead of time."
Although Raksha's tone was rough, Axis felt the warmth behind it. For the first time since his reincarnation, he had met someone who actually cared about him. The sensation brought a faint smile to his face.
"Thank you," Axis muttered, shifting his gaze to the passing landscapes.
They had already left the forest and were heading toward the port to cross over to the continent of Solaris. The scent of salt hung in the air, and the roar of the surf was audible.
"How will we cross the sea?" Axis asked. His predecessor had read many books, but they all concerned ancient history and obelisks, not current logistics.
"Most likely, they'll load us onto the Pandora. The ship is old, a rusty tub, but reliable enough to cross the ocean."
"I hope nothing happens along the way," Axis replied and closed his eyes, trying to doze off.
Controlling vectors was still difficult for him. His body limited his potential too severely, but he consoled himself with the thought that the Colosseum would be the perfect testing ground for his development.
"Load them up!" a shout rang out, forcing Axis to open his eyes.
They had arrived at the port, where loading was already underway. The Pandora lived up to its description: a rusty vessel assembled from mismatched metal sheets, with gaping holes visible in some places.
"That is our transport?" Axis asked, tension in his voice as he looked at Raksha. She was staring at the ship with equal distrust.
"I saw it a month ago, and it looked significantly better then."
"Yeaaah... That means arriving at the Colosseum alive will be a trial in itself."
Soon the cage, now holding only two captives, was lowered by a crane into the ship's hold. Crates of contraband were piled all around. Contrary to Axis's knowledge from his past life, the Elves here weren't vegans living in trees with bows at the ready. They were famous for creating artifacts—specifically, magic dampeners. Most often, such devices were used in prisons and to control slaves.
"Looks like you and I are the only living things down here," Raksha noted, looking around.
The light filtering through the cracks in the upper deck faded as the hatch slammed shut with a crash, plunging the hold into gloom. It smelled of dampness, rotting wood, and something metallic—a sour scent that made Axis's temples throb slightly.
"True," whispered Axis, grimacing and pressing a hand to his head. "Can you feel it? The air here is... heavy."
He tried to summon his vectors, even the thinnest ones, to check his surroundings, but the power responded with difficulty, as if he were trying to move through thick molasses.
"It's the crates," Raksha nodded, kicking a nearby container plated with dark metal and engraved with angular Elven runes. "If Elves are making suppressors, there's no better place to transport mage slaves. Your 'invisible hands' will work even worse here than usual."
Axis grinned grimly. Irony of fate: he wanted to train, and he ended up in a sensory deprivation chamber. But, on the other hand, this was even better. Like an athlete training with weights: if he could learn to control vectors under the pressure of Elven jammers, then in the arena, without them, his power would increase manifold.
"Pandora..." he muttered, reading the worn inscription on one of the crates. "I read a fairy tale about a box with that name. When it was opened, all the troubles and misfortunes escaped into the world."
"A fitting name for this bucket," the Orc snorted, settling comfortably on the musty straw near the cage wall. "The main thing is that hope remained at the bottom. Was it there in your story?"
"It was," Axis replied, feeling the floor tremble beneath them.
A long, grinding hum resonated—somewhere deep in the ship, mechanisms came to life, or perhaps a magi-engine, if it hadn't rotted completely. The ship listed, and Axis felt his stomach lurch into his throat. They were casting off.
"Raksha," he called softly, looking at his companion's profile, barely visible in the dark. "What awaits us in Solaris? Besides the Colosseum. You've been to other continents, haven't you?"
The Orc woman fell silent, listening to the creaking of the hull, which seemed to groan in pain with every impact of the waves.
"Solaris is deserts and a sun that burns your eyes out," she finally answered. "Money and power rule there. If we survive the arena... we might have a chance to not just escape, but to disappear. But first, we need to survive this voyage. Do you hear that?"
She pointed a finger upward. Through the noise of the waves, the rhythmic thud of boots on the deck and the rough voices of overseers broke through.
"Seems the Captain decided to do a roll call or..." Raksha didn't finish, as the hatch swung open again, and a rope ladder was dropped into the hold.
"Hey you, mongrels!" barked a silhouette in the opening, holding an oil lantern. "The Captain wants to inspect the 'special cargo.' Don't move!"
Heavy boots thudded hollowly against the rotten floorboards, and a stocky man stepped into the circle of lantern light. His face, pitted by pox and sea salt, was crossed by an ugly scar running from his left ear to his chin. He wore a long, oiled cloak, and at his belt hung a short saber and a strange-looking musket—clearly of Dwarven make, judging by the crude but reliable construction.
Two sailors descended behind him, hands on the hilts of their cudgels. The Captain—for it was clearly him—walked slowly to the cage, inspecting the captives like cattle at a market.
"So this is them," he rasped, his voice sounding like stones grinding together. "An Orc woman and a half-breed. The Boss said you caused quite a bit of trouble in the forest."
He stepped closer to the bars, the lantern light falling on Raksha's face. She bared her teeth, letting out a low, guttural growl.
"Come closer, and I'll bite your nose off, scum," she hissed, lunging forward, causing the chains on her arms to pull taut with a clang.
The Captain merely chuckled, showing not a drop of fear. He tapped the hilt of his saber against the bars.
"Lots of fire in you, green-skin. They love that in the arena. Blood and rage sell best."
He shifted his gaze to Axis. The boy sat motionless, leaning against the cold metal of an artifact crate. The headache from the magic suppressors pulsed in his temples, but he forced himself to look straight into the Captain's eyes. In his past life, Axis had seen many men like this—greedy, cruel, confident in their impunity.
"And you must be the half-breed." The Captain squatted down to be at eye level with the boy. "You look like a corpse. But they say you have strange magic."
Axis remained silent. He was analyzing. The Captain was left-handed—his scabbard hung on the right. He smelled of cheap rum and fear, which he tried to hide behind bravado. The scar on his neck was an old wound; it likely hindered him from turning his head to the left.
"What are you staring at?" The Captain frowned, noticing that the boy wasn't shivering or averting his gaze. That look—cold, assessing, not at all childlike—made the experienced slaver feel a prick of unease.
"I'm looking at your musket," Axis said calmly. His voice was quiet but distinct in the silence of the hold. "The primer is damp. If you fire, it will blow up in your hand."
The Captain blinked, thrown off balance for a second. He instinctively touched the weapon but immediately jerked his hand away, angry at himself for falling for a child's words.
"Smart, huh?" He spat on the floor. "Too smart for a slave. Hey, boys! No food for these two until tomorrow evening. Let them cool their temper. And if the kid makes a peep—gag him."
He stood up abruptly and, casting one last suspicious glance at Axis, headed for the exit.
"And check the suppressor crates!" he shouted from the ladder. "If even one is leaking, we risk not getting this cargo to Solaris!"
The hatch slammed shut, plunging the hold into semi-darkness once again. Raksha exhaled heavily and turned to Axis.
"Is the primer really damp?" she asked in a whisper.
"No," Axis allowed himself a faint smirk, closing his eyes. "But now he will doubt. And doubt is a mistake. A mistake is our chance."