by Noah Layton
‘So what’s the plan once we get to this place?’ Ariadne asked, looking through the throwing knives that she had brought.
‘We go in professional,’ I replied, looking around at them all as I walked backwards along the road before the horses. ‘Well-dressed, armed, and there for one purpose, which is doing business. We keep a low profile, keep our eyes peeled for any problems, and get as many slaves out of this place as we can.’
‘How much gold do we have?’ Lara asked.
‘A little over 21,000GP after the purchases from the last few days, and that’s without all the precious ores and bars that we need to shift. I just wonder how many slaves we can get for that amount.’
‘We are spending the whole amount?’
‘As much as it takes to build our numbers, but me and Alorion talked about this. If we buy the wrong slaves, even if we free them they’ll be disloyal anyway. We have to be careful about how we approach this, but I’ll figure that out once we get there.’
We continued our travel for the rest of the day, keeping an eye out along the western side of the forest for the passage to the abandoned town.
But we didn’t need to, because it was hidden in plain sight.
A signpost was grounded on the right side of the road, the wooden slab hanging from it by a few splinters of wood.
Cedarhorn – ½ mile
‘This is it,’ I said, holding up the wooden slab and pointing it into the forest.
‘But where is the road?’ Ariadne asked.
I crossed to the side that led east and pulled aside the shrubbery, then hit something much tougher.
‘Wait…’
‘What is it, Jack?’ Ariadne asked.
‘Guys, come over and give me a hand with this.’
The twins hurried to my sides and helped hoist up the wooden bar that I had wrapped my hands around.
We pulled it back together, and the wall of shrubbery moved with it.
It was a gigantic gate covered in shrubbery, sat on two huge iron hinges.
Once pulled back, it gave a view onto the road through the forest.
This had to be it.
We all grouped together, looking down the path into the darkness that laid ahead. Night had yet to fall completely, but the forest seemed to grow denser the further ahead we looked.
It didn’t matter what time of day it was down there. The dark prevailed either way.
‘Back when I bought you from that goblin at the trading post,’ I said to Ariadne, tilting my head to her as we all looked down the path ahead, ‘Cobb seemed pretty happy to show you to me. Why go to all this trouble to keep the slave trade hidden?’
‘I don’t think they’re keeping it hidden,’ she replied. ‘They just do their dealings privately. Many tribes are involved in slavery, but many are not.’
‘Then let’s go meet the ones who do,’ I replied resolutely, gripping the handle of my sword in its sheath.
Chapter Nine
We changed quickly into what I called our ‘professional’ clothes – the pressed overshirt and jacket that the girls had bought for me at the cove, as well as the tight, deadly dresses that they wore themselves – tight in the right places, and deadly thanks to the weapons strapped to their bodies to be used in the event that things went awry.
Aden and Oden wore their huge suits, their equally huge war axes attached to the scabbards on their backs. They were on strict orders not to retrieve their weapons unless we get into a fight, which, just like the situation with the sun-elves, was a last resort. I kept my sword sheathed at my side, too – weapons like these were supposed to be kept out in the open as a sign of confidence, but not to be used.
I wasn’t hiding anything – other than the fact that I was planning on building a kingdom.
After changing we set off down the hidden forest path. Night was falling, bringing down a crushing darkness that was hardly held back by the torches in our hands.
Soon, though, another swarm of lights appeared up ahead.
The Market.
We exchanged looks and nods right before we emerged into the abandoned village. Squat, crumbling buildings surrounded a small open area that had probably been quaint, but that time had long since passed.
This was a central plaza with a large circular platform in the centre that was lowered by a few feet compared to the land around it.
And crowded around the plaza in groups were the people I hated most; slavers.
There were three groups present. To our left was a group of centaurs handling spears, numbering eight in total. They were tending to three carriages that didn’t possess wooden walls but barred entrapments that held their contents.
Through the bars I could see the shapes of their captives moving, but couldn’t discern who or what they were; the iron rungs holding them as prisoners were so thick and oppressive that I couldn’t make out a damn thing.
The second group were a squad of goblins situated straight ahead. They possessed two carriages, one large and one small. The larger of the two was shrouded in darkness and largely silent, but the smaller was occupied by a single figure. She was the only one making a sound.
‘I’ll have you know I played for kings, kings I say!’
‘Shut the fuck up, peasant. There are no kings in this land. What the fuck are you, 300 years old?’
‘Uhh… Yes! I am a vengeful spirit, and should you release me I shall consider taking mercy on you and your tribe.’
‘How about you stay quiet and I don’t cut your tongue out?’
No response. Clearly there was somebody in there who they weren’t getting on with, but then slaves never did get on with their masters, by definition.
The third group were a kind that I had never seen before; a group of incredibly hairy humans wrapped in ill-fitting garments.
‘Who the hell are they?’ I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.
‘Little clothing even in this slightly colder weather, and well-furred,’ Alorion said quietly. ‘Likely Mountaineers from the far-north. This weather will be warm for them.’
Unlike the other two groups, the Mountaineers possessed empty carriages; they were here to buy, not to sell, just like us.
All of the groups turned to look at us sporadically; thankfully there was no awkward silence where everybody stopped what they were doing and turned our way simultaneously.
But there was another guest yet to join us.
‘Excuse me.’
I had been so distracted by the sight of The Market that I hadn’t heard the approach of the next group behind us.
I turned to see a well-dressed group of four grey-skinned guards leading a caravan of three carriages. They were humanoid in appearance and wore rapiers at their sides in silver scabbards. All were male with incredibly gaunt and sharp features, wearing smart, slim-fitting suits that were an even darker shade of grey than their skin was.
‘Calm yourself, Kali,’ a well-spoken voice from behind them said. ‘We do not speak in such ways to those whose hands are not shackled.’
I thought that these guys were just members of another tribe ready to unload their wears, but as I looked past them to the first carriage I realized that it wasn’t barred at all. The wood was varnished and well-kept, and velvet curtains blocked an opening at the front.
One of the guards immediately moved to the side of the carriage and opened the door.
A black leather boot stepped out, followed by another. The guard closed the door, and the leader of the group moved towards me.
I had expected the leader of this group to be different to his guards, but he sported the same grey skin and the same sloped head.
The distinctions were in the details, though. His face, while as sharp and intimidating as his comrades, possessed a charisma and a confidence that elevated him. His hair was silver, tied back from his head in a bun, exposing a long scar that ran down his hairline and over the edge of his face, down to his chin. He wore a suit of luxurious fabric, colored in dark red w
ith a black leather outline trimming the edges
‘Good evening,’ he started, stepping up to me and holding out a hand. ‘I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being acquainted yet.’
I took his hand, and shook it as glared in each other’s eyes.
‘Jack Hawthorne,’ I introduced myself. ‘Of the Arakin Tribe.’
‘A pleasure. I’m Silas.’
‘Just Silas?’
‘Apologies, where are my manners,’ he laughed. ‘Silas Garrison.’
I clenched my teeth in my mouth.
Here he was. The Collector.
This was the man who had enlisted the Hand of Chains to hunt down Talia.
‘Silas Garrison,’ I repeated, swallowing my anger. ‘Are you buying or selling?’
‘Both, potentially. And you?’
‘Buying.’
‘Well, I hope that we can make a deal today. I have some quality produce with me. Hopefully some of it will be to your liking.’
‘Produce?’
‘Indeed. We’ve taken care of it, and I can promise you it is in the best of shape.’
The fuck does he mean by produce? I thought.
I glanced over Garrison’s shoulder to see something hanging from one of the carriages. Suddenly it moved, shrinking slowly within.
It was an arm. That was the produce; the people.
Christ…
‘I look forward to it,’ I said, attempting to muster a smile.
‘Well, then, what are we waiting for?’
I re-joined my group as we moved our caravan into place on the left side of the plaza, next to the centaurs but far enough that we didn’t have to put up with the smell of them.
‘Dark-elves,’ Alorion whispered down to me. ‘We will need to be careful. If you thought that Artrix and the sun-elves were devious when you first met them, you will soon learn that that was a mistake compared to this man.’
I didn’t spend five seconds without glancing over at Garrison. He brought his carriages around behind his own, keeping a distance between himself and his ‘produce’.
‘Bring one out,’ Garrison spoke to one of his guards. ‘I need to check for damage.’
The four guards nodded immediately. Three proceeded to remove redwood crossbows from their inventories and pointed them to the innards of the closest wagon. The bars were so thick that they might as well have just walled them; I wondered whether the crossbow bolts would even make it through if they were fired.
Kali, the final guard and who I had ascertained to be Garrison’s number-one ally, produced a key and unlocked the huge lock barring the door. He swung it wide, and his fellow guards aimed straight at the open door.
The shadowy silhouettes of captive figures came into view. One stood before the others, as if this captive was guarding his companions.
The guard grabbed the figure roughly, and the prisoner was pulled from his wheeled cage.
The humanoid figure stood six-feet tall. His face was scattered with healing scrapes but void of mud, and he was dressed in a basic outfit of simple garments covering his torso and legs. He appeared to be human in all respects apart from his slightly smaller stature, and one other distinct feature; large eyes that blinked horizontally as he scanned his surroundings.
There wasn’t a weakness to this being, though – his eyes were focused and weathered, and his expression filled with a repressed anger that he was struggling to hold down.
It was the most basic presentation of sentience – what was most acceptable to provide it some sense of care and humanity.
The guard dragged the being forward roughly.
‘Not to the ground, Kali,’ Garrison said casually. ‘Keep it stood.’
It. He kept using that word.
Suddenly the title produce made sense. Garrison didn’t see his prisoners as people; they were just another product, another form of value to be shifted around.
Just like Talia had said.
The guard shoved the wagon door shut then stepped back, quickly drawing his crossbow. The guards stood in formation around the captive as Garrison rounded to the slave.
He stood tall, his hands in his pockets, judging the man from a yard away. The captive stared back at him.
SMACK.
Garrison pulled his hand from his pocket so fast I hardly saw it. He delivered a resounding slap across the slave’s face, who staggered to the side.
‘Stand,’ Garrison commanded sharply.
I glanced quickly around at the other three groups. They weren’t paying any notice to this whole situation taking place, but my group were struggling to keep our eyes off it.
Garrison looked down at the slave, scanning him like a rotten vegetable.
‘You’re going to need to get rid of that attitude if you expect to be sold today.’ Garrison pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands thoroughly, then turned to his guards as he moved back to his own private carriage. ‘Get it back inside.’
Kali grabbed the slave by the scruff of his neck and shoved him back into the carriage, slamming the door once more behind him.
‘What a pleasant man,’ Ariadne said dryly.
‘Fucking asshole is what he is,’ Lara remarked out of the corner of her mouth.
Alorion crawled atop our wagon and leaned down to me. ‘I suppose I do not need you to remind you to, how do you say, keep your cool, Jack?’
I nodded up to him, taking a deep breath to calm myself.
One final carriage arrived in the town, led by a single horse and a single driver-guard; a huge troll clad in a suit that reminded me of the one that guarded The Drunken Steed at Ichabod’s Cove.
This time though, even with only one guard present, everybody turned in the direction of the carriage. I and my group followed suit as the driver-guard brought the carriage to a stop and rounded to the door on the other side.
Who was this mysterious buyer, and why did he command so much respect?
The door opened and the figure stepped out, rounding to the front of the wagon.
He was a dwarf, standing no more than three feet tall. He was wearing a large pair of gold-rimmed spectacles upon his fat nose, while a well-pressed black suit clung to his fat little body. In one hand he held a ledger, in the other a large bell that was almost as big as his squat head as it sat perched upon his shoulders.
‘Good evening, tribe masters,’ he started with a deep, commanding voice. ‘We shall move in a clockwise direction as always. You have five minutes to prepare your wares for sale.’
This guy wasn’t a buyer or a seller; he was the auctioneer.
His guard returned to the back of the wagon that they had travelled in and retrieved a large chair that could hardly be called that. If anything it was a throne; thick, wooden and sturdy, so big that when the dwarf finally got seated in it before the lowered platform his feet didn’t even hang off the edge.
He placed the bell on one of the throne’s arms, and his open ledger upon the other, then waited patiently as the other groups moved into place.
We stood in a rough circle around the lowered platform in the centre of the plaza. By the time the five minutes had passed, we were all ready to begin.
Alorion remained with our wagon while Lara and Ariadne stood at my sides looking immaculate. They might have been fighters but they were also the only women in the place, and I couldn’t help but stare down a few wandering eyes that came their way as they nuzzled against me.
Having been raised in a world like this, they really knew how to play the part.
Aden and Oden stood just behind me, side by side, their faces set with a permanently ambiguous frown as they looked around at the other groups. They stood almost to the same height as the centaurs, even taller if the jutting handles of the war axes were counted.
And then there was me leading our group. We didn’t just look the part – we were ready for anything now.
‘Our first master,’ the dwarf began as the entire congregation fell silent. He turned to m
e. ‘Master…’
‘Jack, of the Arakin Tribe,’ I responded smoothly.
‘Master Jack, are you buying or selling?’
‘Buying.’
‘Then we shall move to our second customers. Master…’
‘Tumerin,’ the leader of the centaurs spoke, his spear clasped in his hand, ‘of the Boron Centaurs. Buying and selling.’
‘Please present your wares, Master Tumerin.’
The lead centaur nodded to his tribe members. They crossed to one of the two wagons they had brought and unlocked it, leading out the first group of slaves.
I had seen this kind of being before. Satyrs. Goat-hooved humanoids with horns sticking out of their heads and alarmingly human faces.
There were five in total, their hands clasped in tight chains behind their backs as they were led roughly to the platform.
They all made their way to the lowered section and stopped in the centre.
The sight made my stomach turn like it never had before. I gritted my teeth so hard it felt like they were going to shatter.
This was why the platform was lowered.
You are less than we are. That was the prevailing thought that all of these slavers had, including Garrison, who was looking down on the satyrs with a blank, emotionless look of total disinterest.
‘The starting bid?’ The dwarf spoke.
‘500 gold pieces each,’ Tumerin said firmly.
‘500 gold pieces for the satyrs. Any offers?’
500GP for a life.
‘Apparently I am worth much less thanks to my attitude,’ Ariadne whispered in my ear, referring to the 200GP I had paid for her back when I had first arrived in Agraria.
I wanted to smile, but I couldn’t. It was normality for them, but it wasn’t for me.
2500GP for the group. I could save them now.
I moved to raise my hand from the handle of my sword, when-
‘We have a bid of 2500 gold pieces from Master…’
‘Lorgo, of the Wargan Goblins.’
I spun my head round to see the leader of the goblins raising his fat green hand.
‘600,’ another voice spoke. ‘Each.’
I looked over at the new voice. It had come from the leader of the Mountaineers.
