I am Naghan. A common enough name, I know. I am called Naghan the Free. You laugh at my use of that name as I stand here chained, a prisoner of the Kataki. I understand, and do not take offense. But I tell you, Katakis do not concern me. They are as nothing. I am called Naghan the Free because I am no longer a slave of the Phokaym.
Ah, I see that some of you have heard of them. But most have not. I do not remember much about them, except the terror. You all know of Chuliks, proud and mighty. How many of them have you seen as slaves? Oh, a Chulik can be captured and put in chains, but they are never really slaves. I have seen Chuliks brought so low that they performed manual labor without being chained. The Phokaym can do this to a Chulik. They are twelve feet tall, like unto the carnivorous risslaca… Forgive me. The thought of them still overwhelms me sometimes.
One night, the Phokaym had a new captive, an apim who was not broken by their rule. They planned to feed him to the voryasen, great creatures with lots of teeth. He was tied, his arms by his side, with his weapons still on his person, but out of reach. They dangled him, upside down, over the voryasen in the pit, lowering him down, raising him up again just as the jaws snatched at him. Finally, a Phokaym held a torch to the rope from which the man was suspended. The man saw the rope catch fire, and started to swing, back and forth. I couldn't see what he hoped to accomplish, and even now I'm not sure he had a plan, but he swung higher and higher. Fortunately for him, the Phokaym didn't see what could happen.
As the ropes parted, his swinging brought him just above the lip of the pit. He yelled, and fell, hard, with his chest on the edge of the pit. He started sliding backwards, and caught his chin on the edge. He hung there for a moment, his head thrust out to keep it hooked on the edge, struggling with his bonds. The Phokaym looked on, astonished into immobility for just long enough. Each time the man fought his bonds, his chin slipped a little. Finally, one arm came free. The jagged rock lining the pit must have scraped it through just enough for him to break it. His hand swung up and grasped the edge of the pit. Now that he had a firm hold, he worked harder to free the other arm.
The Phokaym started moving, but it was too late. The other arm came free, and he swung handily to the top, and the great bar of iron that he had also had bound to him started carving up the Phokaym. I have never seen a man move so fast. The Phokaym were so used to being totally unopposed that they were unprepared for this occurrence. Some of them threw their blood-red strands of rope at him, to try and entangle him again, but the long sword, as the bar of iron turned out to be, sliced the strands in the air before they could reach him.
The man carved his way through the crowd of Phokaym. I could barely follow his movements. There was a flash of torchlight upon the blade of his sword, and a Phokaym would fall. Then, the flashes stopped, because the blade was too covered with blood to reflect the light. The Phokaym fought back, and the man was covered with his own blood as well as that of the Phokaym. Finally, amazingly, he made it past and disappeared into the dark.
The pursuit was delayed as the Phokaym took in the enormity of what had happened. But when they got going, they all went. Not one was left to watch us. Almost all of us slaves were too broken to do anything. Myself and two others, inspired but this man, realized that the Phokaym were not as all powerful as they had appeared. We set off in the dark, hoping that in the excitement of the search, the Phokaym would not notice that we were missing.
The rest, I don't remember much of at all. Somehow, the man evaded the Phokaym, because we ran into him again, just before we started to cross the Klackadrin. That crossing was almost as bad as living among the Phokaym. Of what little I do remember, I'm not sure what was a horrible nightmare, and what was horribly real. The man killed monsters along the way, but just as often, he swung his sword at nothing. And I saw monsters attack that he did not appear to see at all. Of my two fellow escapees, one was killed, and the other ran off after something only he could see.
At last, we stumbled out of the Klackadrin. That is to say, he stumbled, and somehow dragged me with him, for I was too weak to walk, and he was too weak to carry me. I remained at the first village we got to, where I was well cared for. He continued on, even though he was really too weak, saying that he had to get to Delia, wherever that is.
And so I am called Naghan the Free, because even here in chains, I am free of the Phokaym.