Stowaway Slaves

by David Grimstone

  In the courtyard, an eerie silence reigned. The guards assembled the slave line with a series of grunts and shoves. Then they withdrew, making space for the arrival of the spindly, gnomelike jailer who had so gleefully given the prisoners news of their pending executions. He climbed a wooden ladder beside the gates and hurried along a platform that spanned the gap just under the great archway. The slave line followed his progress and their eyes came to rest on the recognizable form of Drin Hain, draped in his trademark black robes and hood. The jailer cupped a hand to his face and whispered something to the ghostlike figure . . .