Barely conscious, Kengetar found himself being forced to his feet and led away from the huddled circle of wounded captives by a large Northerner. As he was brought unsteadily to his feet, a second Northman locked a pair of iron shackles around his ankles, with a chain and a second pair of shackles ready for his wrists. As he tried to reach down and throw off his imprisoner, the first Northerner grabbed his arms and whispered in his ear words that chilled his blood. 

"If you do anything we don't tell you to," he hissed, "anything at all, the children of your rathole village will have their own entrails for gibbets."

Stunned by the threat, Kengetar allowed the shackles to be placed upon him. He was then brought to the rear of one of the invaders' carts and forced to unload their baggage, like the rest of his people who were still standing. It was slow going. Kengetar was still bleary, and each time he dropped something or slowed down, the guard that had been assigned to him would threaten him and smack the backs of his legs with the flat of a sword. But despite his pain and shame, Kengetar refused to show any sign of weakness to his captors, except for the occasional stumble or fall that he was unable to control.

Kengetar remembered that the battle had begun with arrows shot at the Northerners' messengers, but after they had returned with the full horde and broken through the village wall, he and the other bravos tried to retreat back towards the houses. Kengetar had been one of the last to abandon his post however, and was slower than some of his kin, and when a rider overtook him and struck him on the back of his skull with a club, he lost consciousness. Once he had awakened, the battle was already over. Kengetar knew the wound had brought forth blood, but the chains he now wore made it impossible for him to raise his hands and check if it had stopped bleeding. He caught glances around him, and was disgusted by what he saw. The houses were burning, and his people were now chained out in the rain. He saw the treasures of his people being passed around as booty, and their livestock being slaughtered to fatten their destroyers. He heard the weeping of the women and children, and he could very well guess what their fate would be after the invaders tired of them.

After Kengetar had stumbled too many times and dropped too many loads, it became obvious that Kengetar was no longer suited for unloading carts. So Kengetar was then set to the impossible task of finding dry wood for burning on the muddy ground. The chain connecting his wrists and knees forced Kengetar to get down on all fours to grasp through the muck. He still didn't understand what made him special compared to the other captives. He had clearly been set apart from all his kin and the guard that watched him hadn't taken his eyes off him once, when other guards were left in charge of a handful of slaves each. The cold rain dripped down Kengetar's hair and around the contours of his face, hiding his tears. Anger and hatred blazed in his heart. He swore to himself to find a way to escape and free his people. Even the threat of the children's lives didn't hold him back, as he was sure that death would be a more merciful fate for them than whatever these monsters had in store for them.