Two guards opened the doors, and Ruguer entered the vast oval-shaped room. The walls were covered with beautiful paintings and tapestries, all of which bore images of large and terrible dragons. The carpet over which they trod also bore a picture of a large golden dragon.
At the opposite end of the room was a raised platform. Upon this dais sat King Minos. He was seated on a huge carved golden chair. Northland’s king wore a purple shirt and trousers covered by a flowing purple cape. The cape was fastened around his shoulders by a gold clasp in the shape of a dragon.
It became obvious that Minos had expected Ruguer to stop at the edge of the raised dais and await recognition. He was mildly shocked when Ruguer stepped up on the platform and simply offered his hand in greeting.
“Hello Minos, you’ve made many changes since I was last here.”
Minos looked from Ruguer’s face to his outstretched hand and back. There was no way to return his offered greeting without standing and taking a few steps over to where Ruguer stood. Minos considered his options for a moment then reluctantly stood and took Ruguer’s hand.
“Welcome, Ruguer. Yes, we’ve had to make some repairs and such.”
Ruguer turned to Portus. “Please be so good as to bring me a chair so my fellow king and I can talk.”
Portus eyes widened. He looked to his king for instructions. Minos shrugged, and nodded his head. Portus could not bring himself to personally do the deed so he ordered two of the guards to drag a chair forward. Once it was installed next to the “throne” of King Minos Ruguer sat and crossed his legs.
“Now then, let us talk about things of mutual interest.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Taggart stared straight up. Above him was a huge granite slab thrusting up from the sandy beach. He had no idea how high it was, but it looked to be the equal of some ten-story buildings that he’d seen in his former life. He searched the face of the wall for handholds and saw very few.
Spall came up beside him. “By the stars! How did Captain Fauwler expect a thousand warriors to climb that?”
Taggart put his chin in his hand and thought for a moment. “At this point I have no idea, but he did send that with us.” He pointed to a coil of thin twine which was sitting on the beach alongside several other coils of thicker rope. Spall bent over to inspect the twine.
“I think the intent was to have someone scale that cliff face while pulling the twine behind them. Once at the top the twine would be tied to the heavier rope and hauled up. It can then be tied off, and the rest of our people can ascend more easily with the rope to hold onto.”
Taggart nodded. “Seems possible, at least in theory. The question is: Who is going to be the one to get the twine to the top?” This was one of those rare situations where Taggart’s size and strength were a handicap instead of an advantage.
There was a rustle next to him as Toria walked up the beach to stand beside him. Pan was riding on her shoulder in much the same manner as Tinker was perched on Taggart’s. He looked over to see her staring up at the sheer granite wall.
“I can climb that.”
Taggart started to protest, but then stopped himself. He felt a wave of calm and assurance being projected at him. He didn’t know if it was coming from Tinker or Pan, but he got the message that this was one of the reasons that Toria was here. After checking the cliff again he remembered the numerous times he had watched the young woman scamper up into trees in their walk from her farm to Olvion. He had noted her uncanny ability to climb. She had not appeared affected by the heights at all. He was just about to tell her to get ready when Geraar approached them.
“Sub-Commander, Toria told me what she intended to do. I would like to offer myself for this mission instead. I’m stronger than she, and I have had more experience climbing this type of rock face.”
Taggart examined both of their faces. Toria appeared angry and was staring daggers at the young warrior. Geraar was avoiding her glare.
“To what experience are you referring?” he asked Geraar. When he seemed to struggle at coming up with an answer Taggart pressed him. “I trust your Warrior’s honor will guide your answer.”
Geraar’s face reflected his agony. It was very apparent that he was attempting to defend Toria from harm by replacing her in the dangerous climb. He finally dropped his eyes. “I… misspoke Sub-Commander. I meant to say that I climbed many hills while I was assigned to the charon ranch. It was an activity that I enjoyed on my off duty periods.”
“Yes,” Taggart replied. “However, climbing a hill with a gradual slope is much different than something like this. This type of effort requires someone who is skilled at finding slight imperfections in the rock face on which to find purchase. I have seen Toria climbing tall trees like a tarwil. I think she is the person for this effort.”
Toria could not contain herself. She raised both arms in victory. Geraar dropped his eyes.
Taggart put his arm around Toria’s shoulders and led her to the bottom of the cliff. Around them in the air sea birds circled and squawked. There was very little wind at the bottom. Taggart prayed the same was true at higher elevations. At Taggart’s bidding Geraar fetched a small water jug. He tied it to her belt so it would not get in her way as she climbed. He also looped a length of twine to the belt and tied it securely.
“The twine is critical,” he told her while looking directly into her eyes to convey the importance of his words. “If it breaks halfway up you will actually need to return to the bottom and start again. Considering the size of the wall it will probably take you the entire day to reach the top. Bear in mind what I tell you! Take no chances. If you hit a spot where there are no handholds or footholds go back down until you see another route. Everyone here is in limbo until that rope is hauled up and secured. If we can’t get up the cliff we can’t accomplish our mission.”
Toria returned Taggart’s intense stare with one of her own. She knew what he was really saying; she had not displayed much maturity in their brief time together. He was telling her to be responsible in the way she handled the climb, and that absolutely everything depended on her being able to get to the top.
Pan was on her shoulder still. She was getting used to his presence after the long voyage. Now she considered whether to leave him below with everyone else or to further burden herself with his weight.
As soon as she formed the question in her mind, a current of reassurance washed over her. She had been with him long enough now to recognize his projected signals. He was telling her that he was going along. She considered this information for a moment then accepted it. She’d take him.
When she told Taggart and the other military commanders of her plans to include Pan everyone but Taggart objected. He alone knew what was going on inside her mind. He assured the others that she knew what she was doing.
Just as she was preparing to start her climb Geraar came up to her. He checked her gear and the knots on the twine. Toria stood there patiently with a smile on her lips. When he finished he looked up to see her expression.
“What? I’m just concerned for the success of the mission.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
He pushed a lock of hair back out of her face and tucked it under the yarn which held the rest of her hair back. He put both hands on her shoulders. “Take care of yourself and be safe.” With that he quickly leaned forward and kissed her. Then he abruptly turned and walked away.
Toria stood in shock.
Across the beach from her she saw Taggart put his head in his hands.
She finally roused herself from her astonished state and turned her attention back to her task. Pan had crawled around from her shoulder and now clung to the back of her shirt with his feet hooked into her belt. He was light and almost undetectable back there. She took a last look at the cliff wall looming above her then took three deep breaths and started climbing.
***
Dwan and the other women had been in the cellar for two days and nights. They could tell th
e passage of time from the narrow windows that sat high in the walls. The windows were too narrow to fit through even if they could reach them. There was a door leading to the outside, but it was strongly built, and the locks were on the outside. Now, as they sat around discussing their situation they heard the barrel of a lock sliding and a door opening from up above them. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and they saw two men descending to their level. One was Captain Tallun.
“You will stand when your Captain enters the room.” Tallun snapped.
Several of the women stood. Dwan and four others stayed sat. Tallun fixed them with a withering gaze.
“You have been given an order by your Captain. Now stand!”
One of the four women by Dwan stood. Dwan and the others stayed where they were.
The man beside Tallun stepped forward. He was richly dressed compared to the pirates that they had been living around. He had a shaved head and a huge untamed and drooping mustache. He walked closer to the seated women. On his belt was a coil of braided leather.
“We will deal with this little mutiny now.” He took the object from his belt. It was a short whip, the length of a table leg. “I am Morlee. I am the Master of the Lash for the Council of Captains and slave master for Captain Tallun. I have brought this special whip for you slaves. It has been constructed for the purpose of inflicting painful welts that don’t show for long. We don’t want you appearing to be all marked up when you are displayed for your new masters, but I run this facility, and I do not allow defiance of any sort. Now…stand!”
The other women all stood. Except for Dwan. She stayed sat and regarded the menacing pirate with a dispassionate expression.
Morlee stepped up closer. “Ah! I think I see the problem here, Captain. I used to see this when I worked for the slave stables in Altaan. Now and again we would have a slave who fancied themselves a hero. The others watch the ‘hero’ to see how she is dealt with. Normally docile slaves will get infected by the likes of her.” He pointed at her accusingly. His face reflected the fact that he was not a man who was accustomed to defiance. “With the Captain’s permission I will take a bit of the sting from this fire-bug.”
Tallun stood for a moment trying to make up his mind. It was true that slaves, especially women slaves, were best left unmarked. Marks sent a signal to a buyer that the slave was a possible future problem. This particular slave had the added value of being a trained healer, one of four in this group. It was also true that one defiant slave could inspire the bad behavior of others resulting in more than one with marks. He pondered the situation for a moment then made his decision.
“Go ahead, but be certain that you use the least amount of punishment needed in order to restore order.”
The pirate named Morlee smiled and raised his eyebrows at Dwan. “Of course Captain. Would you care to watch? It is an interesting process which ends with her crawling to you and begging your pardon for her behavior.”
“Yes, go on,” Tallun replied.
With his smile growing broader Morlee unwound the coil of leather. He swung it through the air several times so Dwan and the others could hear the sound of it cutting the air. When he got close enough to Dwan he bent down, intending to grasp the front of her shirt to rip it from her shoulders.
Dwan had kept the spike that she used on the would-be rapists on the Necromancer. She had it concealed in her fist when she heard the men approaching. It was not that Dwan wanted to be defiant so much that she was determined not to be obedient. She was going to fight against being a slave in every manner that was available to her.
Just before Morlee’s hand closed on her garment Dwan swung the spike at his hand. The sharp metal ripped his arm from wrist to elbow. The pirate stared at his dripping wound in shock before Dwan followed up with a perfectly-placed kick to his groin.
The slave-master made a wheezing sound as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of her. She quickly came up behind him with one arm wrapped around his chin, the other holding the spike to his carotid. The pirate knew what he was facing, and fear seized his face. His mouth opened, but he was still in too much pain, even to beg for his life.
Dwan looked at the pirate captain. “If you value the life of your man you will tell him that we are women of Olvion. As such we will not be touched and prodded or ordered about.”
Tallun was stunned. The idea of being a slaver was one that had appealed to him for much of his life. He had long held visions of men and women bowing before him and carrying out every wish. Morlee had been an especially attractive find for him because he was the only former slave master in Kylee. Slavery was a recent activity in the island. Many still objected to it, regardless of the promised profit it held.
These women were the first slaves obtained under the new laws put in place by Lampte and himself. They were especially beautiful by local standards, and there were ports where they would bring high prices. Tallun had never imagined that women who were intended for slavery would be so defiant, however.
He considered the fate of his slave master for a time then finally sighed. “Very well, let him go. I promise you will not be punished, for your actions.”
Dwan pushed Morlee forward so that he fell flat at the feet of his captain. He crawled quickly away from her to the protection of the Captain. Tallun’s face showed stark disappointment in his man’s actions and lack of courage. He jerked the slave master to his feet and whispered something to him. The man nodded and scampered up the steps. Tallun regarded Dwan.
“You are making all of this much more difficult than it needs to be. With a little cooperation you will be well-treated until we sell you to your new master. Slaves are valued property, and most owners protect them and use punishment only where absolutely necessary. Defiance only earns you pain.”
Dwan crossed her arms. “And yet the only one to experience pain so far is your lackey.”
Tallun shook his head. “It seems you insist on punishment. Very well, it is on the way. I confess I don’t understand your reaction to your situation. You are a slave now. There will be no escape, where would you go? You are on an island. There will be no one coming to rescue you.”
“Don’t deceive yourself,” she replied. “You know nothing of my people. You barely escaped Aspell with your lives. My man is the type that would never give up searching for me. Once he finds me he will turn his attention to you.”
Dayel had been sitting quietly watching their exchange. Now she saw a chance to ingratiate herself to Tallun.
“This man she speaks of left her two seasons past. He has not been seen since.”
A few of the other women gasped at the betrayal of the other woman. Tallun smiled and made a mental note that he could maybe use this other slave to control the rest.
Dwan stared at Dayel for a long moment before turning back to Tallun. “It is true that my man has gone. He will return. He has traveled farther than you could ever imagine to find me the first time. He will do so again. When he does you will discover what it means to incur the fury of a man of Olvion.”
Most of the other women shouted their agreement and support. Tallun rolled his eyes. Then the sound of feet on the stairs was heard. Six men including slave master Morlee descended into the room. Morlee pointed at Dwan and the others rushed forward. Dwan slashed at the first one but was overpowered and the spike torn from her grasp. They then turned her face to the wall, and two of them each held an arm. Morlee stepped forward and leaned in closely to her ear. She smelled his rancid breath as he said “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Morlee grabbed the back of her blouse and ripped it open exposing her back and shoulders. The slave master looked back at Captain Tallun with raised brows.
The captain sighed, “Such a shame. Still, there appears to be no help for it. Make it five. No, ten.”
As the other women watched in horror Morlee employed his short braided whip to Dwan’s back. Each strike left a long and angry looking red whelp. Several of them seeped blood. When he had administere
d all ten strokes, Morlee stepped back with a self-satisfied smile.
Tallun noticed that the woman accepted her punishment with not even a whimper. The men holding her arms released her. She turned, pulling her blouse back to cover herself. There were no tears and no hint of submission in her eyes. Instead she stared directly at Tallun.
“My husband’s name is Tag-Gar. Many call him The Legend. Remember his name. Because by your actions today you have insured that he will track you down wherever you are hiding and crush the life from you with his bare hands.”
Tallun was a seasoned pirate accustomed to idle threats from his victims. He habitually paid them no mind, but there was something in the words of this woman that disturbed him. He pondered that for a moment before realizing what it was. She was not making an idle threat. This woman believed what she said. She was convinced that this husband of hers was capable of crossing the sea and finding her. A small bug of fear burrowed its way into Tallun’s brain. It was an emotion that he was not entirely unfamiliar with. He quickly turned away from the woman’s gaze and retreated up the stairs.
***
With considerable effort Toria was able to push Geraar’s kiss from her mind and concentrate on the task at hand. The face of the granite wall looked smooth from below, but there were enough projections and cracks to allow her hands and feet to find purchase. She reached a point in which she found a small outcropping that allowed her to place both feet and actually stand with her back to the wall. Looking down she was a little shocked to see how small everyone below looked. She estimated that she was now roughly halfway to the summit.
When she first began her climb there were no real problems to overcome. The rock was dry and her hands were able to grip firmly. She was confident that, even if her feet slipped, she could hold herself firmly with only her arms. Now though, the wind had grown considerably stronger, and the moisture from the wind coated the rock making her handholds less secure.
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 30
