And in her arms, their manacles tangling in one another, Aiden fell into a deep, dreamless sleep – a sleep like he hadn’t known in years.
* * *
Aiden bolted awake as a sharp pain speared his side. He tried to sit up, but he was unable to, his arms and legs bound by something. Panic prevailed and he thrashed to be free, but found the bonds only tightening.
“Get up, slave!” came a raw, guttural voice and Aiden’s eyes flashed open, narrowing immediately.
He stared up into the brilliant yellow glare of sunlight and a scarred face. The man had thin brown hair, cropped close, and abnormally wide brown eyes. His nose was crooked and he had a scar that ran down the side of his face, disappearing into the collar on his shirt.
Memories stole in on Aiden and he was paralyzed by fear. He was bound and sold to slavers. They’d come in the night and taken him from his bed, his castle. Right now they might have his wife and brothers in this pit with him and he didn’t know it, or his entire family could be dead and Dorland lost.
“Not here one full day and laying down with the animals, eh, Your Lordship.”
Aiden glanced down at the woman beside him. He also remembered her, the feel of her comforting arms around him, his head pillowed on her shoulder, but he didn’t remember that she’d been such an exotic beauty, even under all the dirt and fading bruises. He stared at her, his mind unable to accept everything, a strange lethargy settling in on him. She met his gaze with the same unswerving appraisal.
“Get up, I tell you!” shouted Scarface and Aiden felt the stunning blow of the man’s boot toe in his right side. He grunted and the pain snapped his lethargy.
Springing to his feet, he struck out at the man, his manacled fists smashing into his crooked nose. Aiden heard the satisfying crunch of bones breaking and blood sprayed forth. Knowing he was dragging both the boy and woman with him, he pressed his advantage, throwing his weight into Scarface and dropping him to the dirt floor. He crawled over him, lifting his hands to smash his face once more, but a heavy blow caught him across the shoulders and sent him sprawling over Scarface’s body.
Then he was hauled backwards by a monster of a man with heavy jowls and tiny, beady eyes. A huge paw cuffed Aiden almost playfully on the jaw, but it was enough to snap back his head and send him into an undignified heap at the giant’s feet. He felt the woman and the boy being jerked over him.
Then Scarface was up and braying about his broken nose. Aiden peered through pain narrowed eyes at the man, satisfied by the blood trickling between his fingers.
“Hold ‘em, Elvert, while I break ‘is nose.”
Aiden’s teeth ground furiously and he fought the giant as he plucked Aiden up by the collar of his torn shirt. Then his arms were twisted behind him, almost to the point of dislocation, and he couldn’t move unless he wanted to risk serious injury.
Scarface seemed satisfied and swaggered in front of Aiden, his bloodied fists clenching and unclenching. “I’ll show you what it means to be a slave. When I’m through with you…”
He stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the woman who’d risen to her feet and thrown her body in front of Aiden’s. Aiden opened his mouth to tell her to step aside, but then remembered she couldn’t hear him.
“Get out of the way, whore,” snarled Scarface.
She lifted her head, her tangled mass of black hair sliding down her back, her hands closing into fists at her sides. Aiden felt a rising emotion of admiration and concern inside himself for her. He didn’t want her getting hurt on his account, but he had to respect her bravery in the face of such degradation.
“Don’t hurt her, Hogan,” said the giant behind Aiden.
“What’a you care, you idiot?” snarled Hogan.
The huge paws on Aiden’s arms flexed. “She’s pretty and I don’t like it when you hurt women, Hogan.”
“She ain’t no woman. She’s a slave and a whore.”
The giant’s hands tightened on Aiden’s arms. Aiden grimaced in pain, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing it. “I said don’t hurt her and you’re gonna listen to what I say.”
Hogan took a deep breath and grabbed the woman by the shoulders, forcing her down at his feet and stepping on her shackles so she couldn’t rise again.
She pulled at them, throwing her weight against his leg, but he only laughed. “Don’t you worry, darlin’, I’ll take care of you when I’m through with His Lordship here.”
He hauled back his fist and Aiden tensed, waiting for the blow.
“I wouldn’t do it if I were you,” came a voice at the top of the twisted stairs.
Aiden released his held breath and shut his eyes momentarily. A figure descended the stairs and came to stand before Aiden. Aiden blinked in surprise. He recognized this man, he was sure, but he couldn’t place where or put a name to the sculpted face.
The man was dressed well, much better than his consorts – his hair was clean and combed neatly, he wore gloves and a hat, his clothing was pressed and starched, and his moustache neatly trimmed. He was handsome with pale white skin and overly pink lips.
“I told you not to touch his face. My employers want him returned recognizable...and dead, after a long sojourn in our slave ranks.”
Aiden’s eyes widened, glazing over with the madness that had nearly claimed him many times since discovering his fate. “What do you mean?”
The man lifted gloved fingers and stroked at his moustache. “A few hard miles today ought to take the snap out of this animal,” he said over his shoulder.
Hogan frowned. “He broke my nose, Duard.”
Duard glanced at Hogan’s bloodied, swollen nose and lifted his eyebrows. “Now you’ll know to stay clear. I’ve told you that time and time again.” His eyes lowered even farther to the woman, her back to him, still struggling with the manacles under Hogan’s foot. “I suppose the Stravad mouse attacked you too.”
Hogan’s jaw tightened. “She placed herself in front of him.”
Duard laughed, an unhappy sound. “Well, at least the defective little whore has more sense than you do. His face is not to be touched.” He turned back to Aiden. “I know people who will pay handsomely for his golden locks and his kingly profile.”
Aiden stiffened in fury. “You bastard, you know who I am! I demand you release me! I command you to surrender yourself!”
This pronouncement was met with a round of laughter from all three. Aiden fought wildly against Elvert’s hold. The giant tightened his grip until Aiden collapsed against him, panting hard. He fought the growing hysteria that crowded up into his throat, the numbing madness.
Duard’s cold eyes snapped him back from the brink. “See he utilizes this energy in a hard push today. I want to cover at least ten miles before nightfall. I want him to know who is master and who is slave.” Then he turned on Hogan and caught him by the dirty shirt lapels. “But under no circumstances are you to touch his face.”
Hogan nodded and followed Duard to the stairs like a wounded puppy. Elvert waited until the two men had disappeared, then he shoved Aiden to the floor and followed them. Aiden dropped his head in his manacled hands and shut his eyes, trying to hold his sanity together.
* * *
They were hauled out of the damp cellar an hour later. Aiden was shocked by the number of slaves who had shared the hold with them in the hours before dawn. They were all chained together, a sorry lot with open wounds, filthy matted hair, and whip-thin limbs. And all, except Aiden, were women and children with a dazed, glassy look to their sunken eyes.
One of the woman had died in the night and her body was released from its shackles and left in the cellar as a rudimentary grave.
The woman on Aiden’s left, Naia the boy called her, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the lifeless body, despite the prodding by an older woman beside her. When Aiden laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, he felt her trembling. The slavers didn’t give her time to collect herself, but rather than see her beaten for disobedience,
Aiden pulled her against him and led her to the stairs. She accepted his guidance, but when she lifted her blue eyes and looked at him, Aiden felt pierced to his soul.
It was then he vowed he would escape this hell and he would take as many of the slaves with him as he could. Damn him, if he’d only listened to Alasdair, but he hadn’t and now fate would show him first hand what he’d scoffed at himself.
As the day and the horrible march progressed, Aiden fought against a growing sense of hopelessness. If he lagged for a moment to look around, Elvert and Hogan prodded him. Many times he found himself wishing they’d run him through. His wrists were sore and chafed by the manacles and his leg muscles had knotted.
The knowledge that he was the only grown man spurned him on, but when they finally called a halt at midday and allowed the slaves to collapse in the scant shade of the scrub brush, Aiden wanted to weep with exhaustion and humiliation. He was a King, a ruler born and bred. For him, the brutal punishment of the drive was punctuated by a severely wounded spirit. He wondered how long it would take before his will was as broken as those around him.
However, despite his exhaustion and terror, Aiden watched and absorbed everything that went on in the slave ranks. The well dressed man, Duard whom Aiden assumed to be the boss, had disappeared after the slaves were assembled that morning. Aiden was sure he wouldn’t dare risk his reputation by being caught in such company. Directly below him were the two foremen so to speak, Elvert the giant and Scarface Hogan. And below the two of them were a handful of lesser, more craven drivers who dealt punishment at measured intervals whether deserved or not.
Twice they’d bumped Naia with their horses, forcing her to her knees. Her thin shirt was so tattered and torn, Aiden was sure they did it to catch a glimpse of her obvious female charms. Even in his degraded state, her beauty hadn’t been lost on Aiden and he wondered how she’d kept it when the other women were so obviously battered and beaten into skeletal waifs.
Aiden also studied the landscape, but that had proven more confusing. In truth he didn’t know where he was. He felt sure he must be some distance from Dorland because he hadn’t noticed a single landmark since they’d begun that morning.
When they were driven to water, a slow moving stream that was less than inviting, Aiden risked asking the boy beside him. “Do you know what body of water this is?”
The boy looked up from his thirsty gulping, water running unattended down his chin. “No, but I figure we’ll have to cross the Ethicon sometime soon. Tis certain we’ll recognize that.”
“How long have you been with these slavers?”
The boy drew a deep breath, his eyes growing glazed. “Four months. The orphanage in Sarkisian couldn’t support us older kids, so they sold us.”
“To slavers?” asked Aiden aghast.
“Aye, tis said they earned enough to feed the rest for more’n a year.”
Aiden’s mind reeled. He glanced at the Stravad woman trying so desperately to wash some of the trail grime from her face and hands. Her actions struck a protective chord within Aiden.
“And her?”
The boy blinked a moment, then his gaze cleared. “Naia,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips. “She can’t stand being filthy. Tries to wash whenever they lead us to water. You see the way they watch her, bump her, knock her down?”
Aiden nodded.
“I’m scared they’re going to take her away, do horrible things to her.”
Aiden swallowed hard. A boy as young as this shouldn’t even know what horrible things could be done to a woman. “What’s your name?”
The boy’s head lifted, a light coming into his huge green eyes. “Leland Hale Rand,” he said proudly.
A burst of mad laughter escaped Aiden’s lips. His name was longer than he was. The boy’s face fell and Aiden tried to smooth over his unflattering outburst. If a name was all one had to cling to, making madness into a twisted sort of order, then it wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
Squaring his shoulder, he offered his hand to the boy. “Pleased to meet you, Leland Hale Rand. I’m Aiden Cerik, not as grand a name, but one I’m told used to command respect.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “You weren’t lying, were you? You are the King of Dorland.”
Aiden glanced at the two foremen lounging in the shade. No, he wasn’t the King of Dorland any longer. He was a lowly slave, chained and sold to the highest bidder, slated to die.
“Then we’re saved. Once your people pick up your trail…”
Aiden’s eyes dropped and his jaw tensed. If what he believe was true, no one would come looking for him anytime soon. He was sure this entire thing had been well planned, down to Alasdair’s raving pronouncements about slavers. Not that he believed Alasdair was involved in any knowing way, but he didn’t know who else he might be able to trust any longer.
Knowing the boy needed just a spark of hope, Aiden met his intense stare. “We’ll be saved, Leland Hale Rand, but we may have to do the saving ourselves. I don’t intend to remain a slave.”
“You won’t fight them anymore, will you? You can’t draw anymore attention to yourself. Every time you do, he’s drawn into it and one of these times tis certain he’ll notice her.”
Aiden glanced at the Stravad woman. As if she felt his gaze, she lifted her head and met his eyes. He was struck again by her exotic beauty. How had Duard failed to notice she was different? Maybe it was her lack of speech and hearing? Maybe those factors had dissuaded him? Aiden didn’t know, but he couldn’t deny the fury knotting his guts. Somehow he’d escape and he would take her and the boy and any others he could with him.
“Don’t worry,” said Aiden, pressing a hand to his bruised right side. “I intend to blend in so completely they won’t notice me anymore.”
It was easier said than done. Before the day was finished Aiden was sure the slavers had been given very specific instructions to harass him every step of the way and harass they did. Naia’s close proximity only fueled them and by nightfall, she was staggering and stumbling, her knees and palms bleeding, her side bruised from their attacks. After hauling her to her feet for the hundredth time, Aiden finally pulled her beside him, protecting her from the worst of it.
Long after night had fallen, they allowed the slave train to come to a halt. Aiden was so physically exhausted he could only give a passing concern to his plight. They were forced to camp in the open and the early spring night was chill. They were given a few mouthfuls of water, a stale piece of bread, and a hunk of moldy cheese. No matter how hungry he was, Aiden couldn’t make himself eat it.
He watched Leland Hale Rand devour his portion and then offered him his own. The boy gave him one of his shuttered looks, then quickly grabbed the food before Aiden could change his mind.
Aiden glanced at Naia. She was leaning against one of the hard boulders, her eyes closed, her uneaten portion still in her bloodied hands. Dark circles shown against the even bronze of her skin and her cheekbones seemed very pronounced. How long she’d gone without real food Aiden could only guess. He surveyed her thin figure. She was far too thin.
He turned to the boy, wanting some answers. “How long has she been a captive?”
The boy stopped in the midst of devouring his food and regarded the Stravad woman with affection. “Not even a week. She was scouting with a handful of Nazarien warriors. The slavers attacked, but the Nazarien were too quick. They all got away, except Naia. She couldn’t hear them.”
The last was said so simply it wrenched at Aiden’s guts. She couldn’t hear them. Had none of her people tried to help her? Then the realization that she was Nazarien struck him. He knew about the Nazarien, they’d come often to his father’s court and a few times to him himself. He knew that life was difficult for a Nazarien woman. They were valued as little more than breeding vessels and workers, but he’d seen the fierce pride in Naia. It was at odds with what he knew about her kind.
His eyes shifted to the slavers. Life might have been hard
among the Nazarien, but it was nothing compared with this. He was still reeling from everything that had happened and it helped to focus some of his self-indulgent concern on another.
“Have they...have they been at her since she was captured?” he asked.
The boy nodded, shoving the last of the bread into his mouth. “Aye, and they’d do more, but Duard won’t let them. He keeps saying that an unbroken Stravad woman pays high.”
Aiden blinked at the boy. A hard life had obviously made him older than his years. “How old are you, Leland Hale Rand?”
The boy glanced up at Aiden, his eyes huge and vulnerable. “My friends call me Le,” he said.
Aiden swallowed at the ridiculous but poignant gesture. Why did every natural overture seem so macabre in the midst of this hell? Refusing to give way to his blackening mood, he nodded at the boy. He was sure Le had had precious few friends in his short life. If thinking Aiden one made him feel better, far be it for Aiden to deny him even that sorry comfort.
“Then I amend my question. How old are you, Le?”
“I’ll be fourteen come next Valhall, tis certain.”
Thirteen. Eldon’s star, did he ever remember being that young, and to spend it first in an orphanage and then sold into slavery to feed others...Aiden shuddered. Somehow his own plight seemed petty in comparison.
“Shut up,” growled one of the slavers around the fire.
No food, little water, and driven to the point of exhaustion, then deprived of even the barest comfort of a blanket, Aiden felt a murderous rage heat his blood. He glanced at Naia again in the gathering darkness. She seemed to be asleep, but her body was shivering in the cold. He moved to reach for her, but stopped when the giant, Elvert, rose from the fire and sauntered over to the cowering slaves.
It wasn’t enough that they were exhausted, dehydrated and starving, but he had to further their discomfort by attaching heavy leg braces as well. Aiden’s rage magnified. When the monster came to him last, Aiden was going to make him pay. However his resolve snapped when Elvert brought the leg shackles to Naia.
The World of Samar Box Set 3 Page 101
