The skirmish had lasted about as long as a virgin's first night in bed. It was a pathetic display of bravado; as it turned out, these lawless ruts were masters of claiming victory against harmless merchants, but the moment they struck a real wall of iron, they disintegrated. Most were already meat for the rats and ravens, their bodies cooling in the dirt. Those who survived were left shivering at the mercy of their betters.
"Mercy! By the gods, mercy!" one cried out, his voice a shrill, cracking thing.
"Painu alas, ryyppää!" a warrior snarled back.
The prisoner didn't understand the words, but he understood the massive, calloused hands that slammed him into the dry dirt. He was forced down until both knees were buried in the gore-slicked earth. Those whose heads still stood unbowed looked up to see the "merchant" stepping down from his cart. He observed the meaningless struggle of the vanquished with the bored, unimpressed air of a god watching ants.
