by Cate Dean
The outpost was little more than a few tents, some low, weather beaten wood buildings, and a central market. Liam’s heart pounded harder when he spotted a small stage, surrounded by shouting men. As he watched, a naked, chained man was dragged up to the stage. Several men from the audience climbed up, poking at him, testing muscles, like he was a piece of merchandise.
Liam closed his eyes. He was about to become merchandise, headed for what would be a short life in the harsh environment of the Outer Islands.
The rattle of the lock opened his eyes. Knife in one hand, the slaver reached for him. Liam showed he wouldn’t fight by crawling forward, and taking the slaver’s hand. Relief flashed in the man’s amber eyes.
“You’ll be handed over to the auctioneers. They’re going to strip you, boy. Don’t fight them.” He helped Liam down from the wagon, caught him when his knees buckled. “Give yourself a minute, get your land legs back. There you are.”
Once Liam could stand on his own, the slaver led him to the pen behind the stage. A desert man approached, nodding when the slaver whispered to him. He took Liam, cut his loincloth off, and threw a bucket of cold water over him. Stripped naked and soaking wet, he found himself being led to the same stage, to be pawed over like a prize horse.
“Young, strong, obviously a man in his prime!” The auctioneer walked behind him, shouting to the crowd, in the language of the Kahlri. Liam knew enough to follow. “We’ve been told by his owner that he has a mind of his own, and a tongue to go with it. I am certain the new owner can take care of that tiny flaw.” Laughter floated up from the crowd, and men began to climb up, to touch him. Liam braced himself; no matter what, he could not lash out. “I will start the bidding at five gold.”
“One thousand.”
Every man halted, turned to stare at the bidder. Liam found him, at the back of the crowd. He was no desert man. Recognition sparked in Liam, seeing the dark hair and broad, muscled body. The man resembled his father.
Clearing his throat, the auctioneer stepped forward. “Can you repeat that bid, my good man?”
“One thousand. As long as no one here touches him.”
The auctioneer kicked at the men clinging to the stage. “No one has, and no one will, my friend. Do I hear two thousand?” Silence greeted him. “Then I give him to you, friend, for one thousand! Payable on receipt.”
“Of course.” His new owner strode forward, the other bidders parting for him. With an ease that showed everyone present his strength, he swung onto the stage, standing before Liam. Dark green eyes met his, a frown marking his forehead. He shook his head, and the frown disappeared. “Do you understand me?” Liam nodded. “And now?” His quiet voice spoke in Liam’s language. Swallowing, he nodded again. The man finally touched Liam, turning his hands over, fingers brushing the callouses on his palms. “You are a fighter. Impressive. You will do.” He let Liam go and moved to the auctioneer.
“A fine purchase, my friend!”
“One thousand.” The man pulled a heavy purse out of the bag slung over his shoulder. “And a bit extra for him to be cleaned and dressed before I take possession. We can discuss the particulars over a drink.”
“Of course, my friend, of course.” The auctioneer waved two men over as he led Liam’s new owner to the steps. “It will be a pleasure.”
The men grabbed Liam, guiding him down the steps with more care than he had been shown on the way up. He was a valuable commodity now. A third man ran up, whispering what were most likely instructions for dealing with him.
He was led past more people than he cared to see him naked, into an arcade. Bathtubs sat under the wooden roof, and Liam’s skin itched to be clean again. He got his wish.
The men handed him over to a group of women, covered from nose to chin in colorful scarves. They openly studied him as they pulled off his gag and unchained him, fussing over his wrists, the raw skin on his face. At their direction he climbed into the bath, the hot water pulling a hiss from him. He sank into the water, inch by inch, clenched his jaw when his wrists touched the water. The pain eased almost immediately, and all he felt was the bliss of hot, clean water.
Gentle hands washed him, careful of the healing wound on his shoulder. They eased his head under, then unbraided his hair, and soaped the length until it was clean. Too soon they pulled him out, and he felt himself blush as they dried him. Thoroughly.
A stinging ointment was rubbed on his wrists, drawing out the pain as it soaked in. They wrapped soft cloths around his wrists, and finally, pulled a robe over his head. He drew the line at them putting on his underclothes, and turned around, giving himself the first bit of privacy he’d had to slip them on.
When he turned around the closest woman held a length of soft cotton in her hands.
“No,” he whispered, his raw voice startling him. “Please—”
“Your master’s orders.” The auctioneer stepped into the arcade. “Silver Tongue.” Liam closed his eyes. The slaver told them. “Is he ready?” The silent women nodded, and the auctioneer took the cloth, moving behind Liam. “You’d do best to keep your head down, lad.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Bring that pitcher of water. Quickly—we have little time.” The woman scurried over with it. “Drink, as much as you can.”
Liam obeyed, and handed it back to the woman. “Thank you, for taking care of me. All of you. I will not forget it.”
She bowed her head, backed away from him. He understood why a moment later, when the cloth looped over his head and pressed against his lips. He opened his mouth, closed his eyes as the cloth rubbed over his tender skin. The gag muffled his cry as the auctioneer pulled his hands behind his back and shackled him.
He felt even more helpless than before.
His new owner stepped into sight, examining him. One hand lifted the still damp length of his hair. “Do women find this appealing?” He glanced over his shoulder, and the women nodded, several of them enthusiastic with their agreement. Liam almost smiled. “One of you braid it for him. I’ll have it out of my way.”
The woman who gave him the water rushed forward. She was almost as tall as Liam, so she could braid his hair without him sitting. She did, quickly and neatly, tying it off with a piece of leather.
“Thank you.” His owner shook the auctioneer’s hand. “I expected much less in the way of merchandise, but I am pleased. Quite pleased. He will turn a nice profit.”
He gripped Liam’s left arm and led him out of the arcade, toward a huge stallion. Liam understood his comment now; they would ride together, to wherever he planned to sell Liam.
They stopped next to the stallion, and the man turned him around.
“Tell me when you need to stop by tapping your fingers on my chest. Understand?”
Liam nodded, and put his foot in the stirrup. The man helped him up and he swung his leg over, finding his seat in the unfamiliar saddle. The man mounted behind him, turned the horse to the desert beyond the small outpost, headed for an uncertain future.
Eighteen
Damian reined in, squinting through the wind.
“There!” He shouted to Xander, pointing at the huddle of tents ahead. “The outpost—it would be the only one in Liam’s path.”
They forced their tired horses to a gallop, racing toward what Damian hoped was the end of their journey.
He led the way into the small outpost, headed for what looked like the only market. It was deserted. Damian trotted over to the nearest vendor, selling greasy sausages.
“Where is the auctioneer?”
The man shrugged. “Ain’t been no slaves here for days. Auctioneer took his profit and headed for the Oasis.”
“Profit? Out here?”
“Had a mighty big fish, if you know what I mean.” The man leered, and Damian remembered—here they sold slaves naked on the block. “Bigger man bought him, straight up, no bidding. Took him less than an hour later.”
“Where?”
“From what I heard, he plan
ned on selling his new property at the quarry. Biggest slave market in the desert, they come from all over. You need a slave, you’ll find it there.”
“Thank you.” Damian bought what the vendor had left, in payment for the information. Cold, the sausage might prove to be decent. At the very worst, they could smother it in soup. He moved away from the market, and relayed the important parts of the conversation. “We need to find better horses.” Damian held his hand up before Xander started speaking. “Once we’re out of earshot.”
He led the way to the stable behind the market, and received shocked looks from the owner when he offered a straight trade. Their horses were worth far more, but the desert bred were faster, and used to the harsh weather.
Damian knew he was leaving a vivid impression by trading their horses, and one that could follow them, but he had no choice at this point. They were days behind Liam, and if they had even a distant chance of making it up, they needed fresh horses.
After he and Xander transferred their belongings to the shorter horses, Damian turned and offered his hand to the owner.
“Thank you for doing this.”
“I seem to be getting the best part of the deal.” His hand ran down the long, graceful neck of Damian’s former horse.
“Then, if I can ask a favor of you, we’ll call it even.”
“Done.”
“What is the fastest route to the quarry? My friend and I are meeting someone there for the slave market, and we fell behind when my friend took ill.”
“That why he doesn’t talk?”
“A recent injury. But I trust him at my back.”
“Good to have, in a riding companion. Now, this may seem the longer route, but it’ll get you there faster than the main road.” The man fetched a piece of the thick paper they used in the desert, and sketched out directions. “This path will shave at least a day off your journey, more if you ride at night. Though I wouldn’t be recommending that to most people, you got the look of someone who can defend himself.” He passed the map to Damian.
“Thank you, for everything.”
They shook hands, then Damian swung into the small, light saddle. It would take getting used to, after their heavy saddles. But he found himself liking it already, allowing him more contact with the horse. It was almost like riding bareback. He waited for Xander to mount up, and gestured for him to take the lead.
Once the outpost was out of sight, Xander slowed his horse. “Translate.”
Damian could tell he was growing tired of not being able to understand any of the conversations with locals. Now was not the time to start teaching him a language that took years to learn.
“We have horses that will take us where we need to go, and a route that will get us there faster.”
“You spoke too long for that to be it.”
Damian sighed. “He asked why you weren’t talking, and I told him.”
“Are we going to play this farce all the way through the desert?”
“Once we reach the quarry, you can speak. There will be representatives from everywhere, and any who even bother will think you’re a mercenary. You would hardly be the first to leave because of Brachon’s antiquated laws.”
Xander stared at him. “The Duke would have you booted out of the West if he heard you say that.”
“And you finally reach the heart of it, Xander.” The man’s eyes widened, and Damian knew he understood. “Someone with the power and money to want change is the reason we’re here.”
“You know, don’t you.” Xander swore, long and loud. “Why didn’t you say anything before now? I’ve gone into battle without knowing all the facts, but this is different. I need the facts, so I don’t say something stupid and get us killed.”
“Until now, it has not been a threat.” Damian fought the smile that threatened when Xander started swearing again. “You are right—I should have told you. Though I figured you already suspected political motivation because of the Duke.”
“I became a soldier so I wouldn’t have to deal with political motivations.”
“Instead you shed blood over them.”
Xander shook his head. “Not me, not yet. There’s been peace in Palamar—at least, there was, until Micah’s kidnapping. That was the first blow, wasn’t it?”
“Not the normal follow orders to my death soldier, are you?”
“I would hardly be one of the Duke’s personal guard and his newly appointed lieutenant if I was.”
“I enjoy knowing that you won’t fall on your sword in an act of self-sacrifice, leaving me here alone.”
Xander burst out laughing, wiping his eyes by the time he wound down. “Your reputation is earned, gambler. Smooth tongue, they said. You do have a way with words.”
“We would hardly be alive if I were not.”
“My own words thrown back at me. Clever.”
“I live or die by it. Have I told you enough? We have time to make up if we are to reach the quarry before Liam is sold.”
“Gods.” Xander shifted in his saddle, his gloved hands tightening on the reins. “I never thought to hear those words—not since the old Duke outlawed slavery.”
“Welcome to the world he denied us. And keep any scathing criticism to yourself. The wrong words heard by the wrong person can get us killed. Or worse.”
Damian slapped the reins and urged his horse into a gallop. He had been running from the worse his entire adult life.
Nineteen
Micah straightened the stiff, formal velvet tunic. Again.
It was most likely fine, but nerves had him fussing. He wanted to clench both hands, and keep them fisted in his lap, so he didn’t make some random gesture that started a series of disastrous events. His fingers would never survive that kind of pressure unscathed—and he really wanted to be able to pick up his own fork at supper.
He was about to head his first round of citizen’s petitions.
Thankfully, Ari was standing in for the still missing Joseph. Simply the presence of the captain would help keep tempers in check.
He approached Micah, bowing low when he reached the foot of the dais. “I am at your service, my lord.”
“Would you—” Micah cleared his throat. “I need you up here, Captain. So I don’t have to shout my questions at you.”
“Of course.” Ari cut a striking figure as he ascended the stairs to the dais. He should have been the one sitting here, exuding the confidence and power Micah seriously lacked. “Follow your instincts, my lord. Most of this is common sense.”
“Right. Thank you.”
“You’ll be all right. Ask for a minute to reflect if you need time.”
Micah looked over at him. “How many of these have you been to, Ari?”
“Every single one since your brother made me captain.”
“I am sorry.”
Ari laughed, startling him. “It taught me more about the daily running of the city than any book or lecture from your brother. We’ll take the first one, and you can let me know if you want to proceed.”
“All right.” He tugged at his tunic again, spread his hands over his thighs. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, and his fingers already ached in the cold room. Ari told him perception was everything, and the gloves would prompt questions. “I’m ready.”
As ready as I will ever be.
The first petition was two men, arguing over the weight of a joint of beef. Micah listened, trying not to laugh.
“I tell you, he cheated me! He stuck his thumb on the scale. Old sod does it every other sale, thinking he gets one over on us, only I caught him at it—”
“Defaming my reputation, he is! I have the most reasonable prices in the market—I barely make a profit, because I think of the customer first.”
“Customer first!” The accuser, a merchant Micah recognized from the garment quarter, shook his fist in the butcher’s face. “You think of yourself first, while you rob us blind—”
“Gentlemen.” Micah’s quiet voice froze them.
They had obviously forgotten where they were, in the heat of their argument. “I will be happy to bring my butcher in here, and have him testify to the going price of a joint of beef. He buys his share, and ran a successful beef farm before my father lured him away. He can clear this up with a few words.”
“No! Um, milord.” The merchant looked flustered. “We can settle this personally, I believe.” He glanced over at the butcher, who nodded vigorously. “Please forgive the time we spent on such a petty complaint.”
They both walked out so fast Micah expected them to start running as soon as they were out of sight. He rubbed his face, a headache already starting behind his eyes.
“This is what Liam dealt with for hours at a time? No wonder he complained about these meetings.”
“We’ve scheduled only a few today, to break you in. Ready for the next petition?”
With a sigh, Micah nodded, rubbing at his hands. They would be painfully stiff by the time he finished this torture. Warm hands won over the possibility of questions; next time he was wearing his gloves—
“When are you going to do something about these murders?”
The shout echoed through the chamber. Ari stepped in front of Micah, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “Show yourself, or my men will escort you in.”
A woman appeared, her dark red hair catching the pale sunlight that filtered in through the thick glass of the window. Micah stood, his heart pounding. But as the woman moved closer, he saw it wasn’t Raine. She was older, taller, and had the dark eyes that marked most half-bloods.
“Do you have an answer, my lord?” She halted in the middle of the chamber and crossed her arms. “Or do the deaths of foreigners not concern you?”
Ari stiffened. “You will not—”
“Ari.” Micah touched his shoulder. “Please, let me talk to her.”
He stepped aside, and Micah climbed down from the dais. The woman watched him, eyes narrowed, but when he walked toward her, he saw that her hands were shaking.
