#melay

The General was on his feet in a flash, and it took Melay a moment to realize he himself had startled to his feet as well. From the look the General threw him, he knew he’d be in trouble for it later — he hadn’t been ordered to get up and this was outside his pre-arranged duties. He hated his flighty legs for betraying him like that; he’d managed almost two weeks without a beating.

Without further orders, he stayed stood in place while the General stormed out at a canter.

The General's threatening look had distracted him, for a moment, from the implications of the alarm. But along with the sounds of fighting, a new fear crept up on him. What was happening? Who would attack an army encampment - here, so far from the border? What would they do to him, when an honourable general was already treating him like this?

He flinched again when someone burst into the tent - two other centaurs, armoured, but not uniformed. He forced himself still as they too stopped, clearly surprised to find him.

»A slave, look.« The one in the back pointed at his branded haunch, snorted.

The other lost no time. »The big man got any plans or maps lying around?« she barked at him.

He hesitated, not because he had it in him to refuse obedience, but because he wasn't supposed to speak. »A good slave is seen, not heard,« the General had repeated at him, in the beginning, beating after beating after beating, until it stuck.

»Listen up, you're ours now. Answer your masters.«

He pointed an outstretched arm at the chest that contained the General's papers, trembling.

»There we go, good boy.«

Good boy? Since when did slaves get praise?

The two — bandits, they must be bandits — broke the lock with a few forceful blows of the first one's sword pommel, forcing him to suppress another series of flinches, looked into the chest, then, satisfied he'd told the truth, grabbed a hold of its handles, one on each side.

»What about the gelding?« The one who'd stayed back nodded in his direction.

»Part of the spoils, isn't he?« Her helmet concealed her expression, but there was a grin in her voice. »Come along, slave.«

They led him to the centre of the camp, where the bandits were already gathering, bringing in what valuables they'd found. It was a large band, as was to be expected from a group bold enough to attack the royal army. Soldiers — those who had survived — were being rounded up at sword-point, until their arms were bound and legs hobbled.

The General was one of them, and the fury on his face was enough to freeze Melay's heart in his chest. But he couldn’t hurt him now. What was worse was the attention he was drawing from the bandits.

»A gelding? How cute.«

»He's a pretty one, too.«

»Do we get to fuck him, boss? Pretty please?«

»One thing after another.« It was the mare right next to him who answered, the one who had come into the General’s tent first. »We’re going to set up for the rest of the night, ready to move at daybreak. Loot gets divvied up at home, y’all know what happens if you hold something back. Come on, let’s go.«

Melay hadn’t been given any fresh orders, so he followed the bandit commander as she approached the General while everyone else went about whatever work needed done, against his every instinct. She dropped the chest in front of him.

»We’ll figure out what all of this is about, so care to help us out? Might make your captivity a little more pleasant-«

»I am not a traitor,« the General hissed. »Why don’t you ask that useless little whore? Not surprised he follows you around mere moments after his master’s capture.«

The commander looked around, evidently surprised to find him still right behind her, which meant he’d fucked up, despite doing exactly as he was told. He cast his eyes down. It was easier anyway.

»Huh, I could. Would I find out anything from him?«

Melay’s heart skipped another beat. He didn’t know anthing about the military goings-on, but there would be no way of convincing his new mistress of that.

Even if he was allowed to talk.

He’d never been more relieved to hear the General’s derisive snort. »He barely knows how to darn a sock. Worthless thing.«

»You can go, then. Stay in the camp, I mean. We’ll get to you.«

He stumbled to the campfire the bandits were restocking, his legs trembling with fear. We’ll get to you.

He had painfully — every movement hurt — arranged his legs into a more reasonable lying position as he was moved, and now — if he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have been comfortable. He didn’t know when he’d last slept comfortably. He’d run out of tears, it seemed, but a sudden rush of gratitude brought him close once more.

»There, that’s better, isn’t it?«

The other was lying in the opposite direction from him, just like resting herdmates would, so he couldn’t see his face, but the sheer size and black-pied coat of the body told him this was the giant who had spared him, in the end. The one they’d called Mac.

He wanted to thank him. Not doing it seemed dangerous, but he still didn’t know whether he was allowed to talk.

He was so exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but the pain was too much. Or maybe it was the fear clawing through the heavy blanket of tiredness.

Someone was talking to him, and it wasn’t a brusque order or an angry, drunken rant about how worthless he was. They all had done this, nearly all of them. It was so very unfamiliar.

»Here, have something to drink while I dry you up. You’re soaked. That was hard work, huh?« There was a slight twinkle of amusement in the stallion’s voice, but not enough to be outright cruel. Less so as Melay was presented with a canteen containing, when he lifted it to his lips with straining arms — he was so exhausted — clean water. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat was.

The invasive touches across his body hardly mattered. He was slow to process it was a cloth being rubbed over him, taking off a layer of sweat. It didn’t even hurt, except on the ever-present bruises on his haunches where the General would beat him, which Mac couldn’t have seen under his copper fur. It almost seemed he was being gentle on purpose.

»I’m Mac,« he announced without stopping. »What’s your name, little one?«

It was a direct question. Melay didn’t want to make decisions, not right now, he really didn’t; but he knew there must be a correct choice here, and no matter how exhausted he was, he had to find it, somehow.

»Whore, sir,« he finally whispered, his voice rough in his throat. It was what the General had called him, if ever he had addressed him.

»Oh.« Mac paused. »That the only name you’ve had?«

Melay shook his head. He was so tired, and he’d chosen wrong, and somewhere inside him, he didn’t want to tell them his name, the first one. It didn’t seem right. Maybe because it wasn’t for a slave. He couldn’t tell.

Before Mac could dig into it further, a new voice interrupted him. »Leave him be. If he wants to keep his name for himself — well, it’s the only thing he has, it’s only understandable.«

»If you say so, Doc,« Mac muttered and continued in cleaning Melay up. »Guess we’ll have to stick with little one for now, then. That alright?«

Melay didn’t know how to answer.

The new arrival laid down on his other side. A hand caught under his chin and raised his eyes, forcing Melay to look at him. Black coat, white stockings on all feet. He didn’t seem familiar. Then again, he had lost track of them.

»I’m a medic,« he explained. »I’m going to have a look at your ass and see if I can do anything for you. I expect you’re sore all over, too, but is there anything else in particular that’s hurting?«

Another decision. He was so tired. Why was he being looked at by a medic, anyway? He felt a tear slip down his face. Maybe he’d just run out of water, earlier.

He shook his head. The bruises didn’t count, they’d been a rightful punishment, and he barely felt them against the rest of his aches now. They were fading, anyway.

»Can you raise your tail for me?«

The medic swore under his breath, and Melay felt he had fucked up by obeying once more.

»I can’t believe she let you do this.«

»I didn’t do anything,« Mac protested.

The medic only snorted, but when he spoke to Melay again — it took him a moment to realize — his voice was as calm as before. »I’m going to apply some ointment. It’ll sting a little, but it will stop this mess from getting infected.«

Melay braced himself, but he was exhausted enough to barely flinch when the ointment stung into what must be wounds. That was good. He didn’t want to make trouble. Why was he being looked at by a medic?

»I’m sure you’re tired, but you should eat something, too. That was a lot of work,« the medic’s calmness cracked over the word, raw anger showing through, »and you’re already underfed. When have you last eaten?«

Nothing bad had happened the last time, so he settled for speaking again. »Last evening, sir.«

»Your voice. Have you had a cough? Trouble breathing?«

»No, sir. I just…« The medic hadn’t asked for an explanation. Too late. »I wasn’t supposed to talk, sir.«

For a long moment, the medic just stared at him, and another wave of terror washed through him. He’d straight up told him he was misbehaving. He hadn’t known Melay wasn’t supposed to talk, but now he knew he’d been ignoring orders.

Mac spat, and at first Melay though he was disgusted with him, but then he followed it up with, »How long have you been with that asshole?«

»Eight years, I think, sir.«

The medic’s gaze softened inexplicably into a look of resignation. »Alright. You’re allowed to talk now, we’ll see how your voice handles it. Eat something.«

»I’ve got some bread for him,« Mac said.

»Great. Didn’t think any of you had the sense. Then get some rest…« The medic looked dissatisfied with something, and Melay would have given anything — not that he had anything to give — to know what he could have done better.

It was too late. The medic got up and walked off to the commander.

»Here.« Mac handed Melay a flatbread. »Have at it.«

There was something flavourful baked into it, some kind of herbs. He wasn’t used to it.

»Do you want to kill him? Is that what you want?!« The medic’s voice rose and leapt across the fire.

»Alright, alright, Doc. It was a mistake, alright?« The commander’s tone almost carried a note of contriteness, but it vanished in her next words. »Now let it go.«

»Get some rest, little one.« Mac gently patted his back. »We’ll be on the road tomorrow.«

Melay couldn’t think about it. He draped himself across the big stallion’s back again.

Comfortable.