“Now, Lords and Ladies, we begin our first ever auction of exotic beauties from exotic lands.”
Cheers went up from most of the onlookers. Dwan searched the crowd for sympathetic faces, but most had been driven far back now. She looked around hoping to see a clear avenue of escape, but there were none. Morlee and his men were too close to avoid.
“Here now,” he continued, “is the brightest jewel of the lot.” He pointed to Dwan with a long dowel. “She is trained in the healing arts. And, she is well equipped to be successful in other arts as well.”
The crowd laughed.
“She is a true leader and would be an effective manager of your house staff. I would start the bid with no less than fifty ores.”
Dwan was unfamiliar with their monetary system, but from the crowd’s reaction, the amount appeared to be huge. Many of those gathered jeered and hooted.
“What is she, a queen?” one shouted.
“Are you selling a woman or a house?” another asked.
Morlee signaled for quiet again.
“Lords and Ladies, this is not a simple house slave. This woman was captured by our own valiant Captain Tallun in a strange land across the sea. Two seasons past we had never even known it existed. If you buy this slave you will own something unique as well as comely. Look at her…”
His speech was cut short when an overripe borgfruit smacked him on the side of his face. The crowd roared with laughter while a woman in the back of the crowd yelled something about slavery being an abomination.
Morlee wiped his face on his sleeve and fought down his anger at the humiliation. “Here now, there’s no call for this. Slavery is now an activity that has been approved by the Council of Captains. That makes it legal and any further attempts to stop this sale will be reported to the patrol.”
That seemed to cool the ardor of the objectors in the crowd somewhat. Morlee continued.
“So now, Lords and Ladies, who will steal this educated beauty from me for fifty ores?”
A man in the middle of the crowd yelled. “Not until we see what we’re paying for!” His comment was met with laughter and shouts of agreement.
“And you are right to demand such,” Morlee answered. “No one would buy a charon under a blanket.” He turned and pointed to the man on Dwan’s left. “You heard the people, they want to see what they’re bidding for.”
Louder laughter and hoots came forth. Dwan was wearing only a thin white blouse and calf-length skirt. Morlee’s man reached for the collar of her shirt intending to rip it open.
Dwan had already resolved to herself that she would never submit to slavery. She prepared herself to take whatever punishment that would prompt. She knew that she could be overpowered, but she would never willingly allow herself to be dishonored and humiliated without doing everything in her power to resist. The slavers knew she was tall, but they had discounted her strength. Now, as the slaver reached for her she drove her heel out forcefully, striking the man directly on the knee.
The slaver screamed in pain as his leg bent the wrong way. He fell to the floor of the dais cursing and crying at the same time. Morlee and the other slaver stared in shock.
Others in the crowd laughed as if it were the funniest thing they’d ever witnessed, especially those who objected to the sale. More trash flew in at Morlee and his man.
With the two slavers concentrating on their fallen comrade Dwan took advantage of the distraction to rake her fingernails across Morlee’s face. She tried to do the same to the other slaver, but he recovered his attention in time to backhand her. The strength of his blow sent her to the floor. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and wiped at her mouth, her hand coming away bloody.
Morlee was stymied. Never in his life had he received such treatment from a slave. He was a man accustomed to exploiting his power over the helpless people he controlled. He looked down at her and raised the wooden dowel. She barely got her arms up in time to deflect the blow. The stick smacked into the meaty part of her forearms sending jolts of pain coursing through her like an electric shock.
Dwan cried out in pain and turned onto her stomach so she could crawl away from the slaver’s second attack. She was not fast enough, and this time the dowel struck her across the shoulder blades. Now she collapsed face down on the dais, crying from the agony.
The attitude of the crowd began to change. While in the beginning the gathered people had mostly been curious about the new slavery policy, seeing the treatment of this first young woman presented for sale was off-putting. Many in the crowd now yelled and shouted at Morlee, demanding that he stop his beating of her.
But Morlee was not hearing the crowd now. The red fog of fury was drifting up over his eyes as he advanced on the woman who had so humiliated him in front of the onlookers and in front of his employer, Tallun, who was sitting on an overlooking balcony above the dais.
Morlee grabbed Dwan by the hair and turned her head to him. He was about to deliver a detailed description of what he was going to do to her when she spat in his face.
In a state of rage, Morlee backed away from Dwan, wiping his face on his sleeves. The crowd now overwhelmingly turned supportive of the courageous young woman who was defending her honor with all that she had in her. Now more trash and bits of fruit were tossed at Morlee and his two helpers, shouts and curses were directed at them. It seemed almost none of the onlookers wanted the display to continue.
“Enough,” came a shout from above. Tallun was watching the mood of the assembled throng turn ugly. He knew that if enough people expressed their opposition to the new slave policy the council would be forced to rescind it. “Stop this now!”
Morlee was beyond reason. The thin emotional dam that he used to hold back the demons of his past abuses was gone. He heard Tallun, but his logical mind was being overruled by his emotional one. He tossed away the wooden dowel and snatched the whip from his belt. He ignored the shouts from the mob and the pieces of trash that pelted him. He slowly took the three steps that separated him from the object of his hate. Dwan tried once again to scramble away from him. He caught her by the hair and twisted her head around. Without a word he began to beat her back and shoulders with the short braided lash.
Now the crowd went crazy. Three young men fought their way through the throng and jumped onto the platform. One sent Morlee to the floor with a savage punch to the side of his face. The other two attacked his helpers. Then more men and one woman joined in. Each one of the slavers was now on the floor and surrounded by two or three of the citizens of Kylee who were kicking and stomping at them.
Tallun had feared a negative reaction from the populace but nothing like what was occurring. Morlee’s lack of control over his temper could very well cause them to lose the slave trade altogether and the considerable riches that it promised.
Fortunately he had planned for such an emergency situation. He had positioned the crewmen of the Necromancer around the dais. He now leaned over to shout at Barl, the scarred pirate who had taken the place of the late Bonn as first mate.
Barl rushed below and signaled his men. The pirate crew smashed through the crowd tossing men and women off of the dais. They recovered Morlee and his crew and then picked up Dwan and carried her back through the streets to the cellar where she and the other women were originally kept. They threw her roughly on a threadbare divan and left her there alone, sobbing in pain. Moments later the door opened again and the other kidnapped women of Olvion were herded in. Then the door was closed, and they heard the lock being slid into place.
Dwan tried several times to raise herself off of the divan. Pain and shock had robbed her of almost all of her strength. She continued in her attempts, all the while trying to stifle the sobs that came from her lips.
Then there were hands on her, lifting her up and placing her gently in a sitting position. Some of the trained healers in their group worked on the wounds on her arms while others tended to her ravaged back.
“Just sit back and let
us help you.” Dwan turned to look at the person who said the words and was surprised to see Dayel there, dabbing with a wet cloth at the blood around her mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
King Ruguer slept in a lavishly appointed room that was reserved for the purpose of accommodating visiting kings to the kingdom of Northland. The bed was so large that it was almost comical, and the linens on it were outrageously luxurious.
As the sun rose so did Ruguer. It was a habit that had been born of his days as a military man, and he had never been able to break it. Nor did he particularly want to. He had tried to learn to stay in bed longer because his beloved Meena, so enjoyed the mornings when they lay together, holding each other as they talked about whatever was happening in their lives and in Olvion. It did not take long, however, for him to become anxious, and Meena would smile and tell him to go do whatever it was that kings do. That was just one of the thousands of things that he loved about his warrior queen.
After cleaning up and getting dressed he opened the double doors of his royal apartment. As he expected, his royal bodyguard was waiting for him. He walked through the two rows of warriors and led the way back through the castle. He had intended to go back before the Parliament and continue his request for more participation by this kingdom.
Ruguer’s procession was met by four Northland warriors as they passed through a carved granite archway which led to the larger part of the castle in which Minos’ royal chambers were located.
One of the four introduced himself in the manner that was proper for greeting a king.
“My Lord King Ruguer, I offer the greetings of the kingdom of Northland.” He inclined his head slightly and placed his fist against his chest. Ruguer returned the salute. “Please allow me to introduce myself and my fellow warriors. I am Zalman and I have the honor of representing the warriors of Northland and the Parliament of this noble kingdom.”
Ruguer noted that none of these warriors wore the ridiculously ornate uniforms that he had seen on the royal guard of the king. “Thank you for your greeting, Good Warrior. I’m confused. You say you represent the Parliament and the warriors of Northland? Who, then, does Portus represent? Is he not the Sword of the King?”
Zalman stood straight, trying to match Ruguer’s eyes. Being almost six feet tall, Ruguer was considered a near-giant among the shorter-statured men of Olvion. “My Lord King, I have the unpleasant duty to inform you that the entire administration of King Minos has been suspended until certain…matters…can be resolved. Alas I am not at liberty to elaborate on the subject.”
The look that passed between the two warriors said volumes without the need for spoken words.
“Of course,” Ruguer answered. A hint of a smile came to his face. “Tell me, Zalman, why do you and your warriors not wear the uniforms of the Royal Guard that we saw yesterday?”
“Permission to address you warrior to warrior, Good King?”
Ruguer nodded.
“The uniforms were the idea of King Minos. They were not well received by the Parliament or the unfortunate warriors who were forced to wear them. They have been removed from service and have been repurposed.”
“And what repurposing have they been put to?” Ruguer asked.
“They have been cut into smaller cloths and are now used as cleaning rags, Lord King.”
Ruguer laughed and noticed that Zalman was trying mightily not to join him in his laughter. “A proper use for such garments, Warrior. Very well, lead me to the Hall of Parliament, I have more to say to them. Along the way, when we are not in earshot of any members of Parliament I would enjoy it if you addressed me simply as Ruguer. I was told I was needed in the role of king, but I consider myself a warrior first and always.”
***
The earlier part of this morning was much more pleasant than the previous one. The thousand plus warriors were able to walk overland for much of that time, crossing over shallow rivulets and streams. Now though, they were hip-deep in swamp water again. This part of the swamp was choked with high water-weeds which limited their vision drastically. Taggart slogged along, his height making the trek easier for him than the others. He looked at Toria and saw that the water was up almost to her chest. He considered asking her if she wanted to ride on his shoulders, but he was certain she would regard such an offer as being condescending.
So he continued on in silence, ignoring the foul smell of rotting vegetation and mud from the banks. It was fortunate that the floor of the swamp was sandy and firm, making for good footing. The day had started out chilly but was now a comfortable temperature, and the water was almost warm for some reason. Taggart saw several spots along the way where air or gas was bubbling up from below and guessed that the island might be over a submerged volcano which was active and heating up the swamp.
At any rate, the group continued on. The battles of the previous day were not forgotten, and the warriors moved quickly but carefully. Taggart saw that Lyyl walked on one side of Toria while Geraar was on the other. They would never tell her, but he was certain that they had positioned themselves to protect her.
As for Taggart, on his left Tay shadowed his steps. Now that the entire force had reunited, Jo-Dal and Spall walked along his other side. There was not much talking and what there was, was spoken in whispers and low tones. All were still aware of the dangers that might still surround them even though nightfall was a long time off.
They passed a few additional patches of dry land and always took advantage of them to allow their warriors to rest and refresh themselves. It always felt so good to be out of the smelly water.
The swamp eventually seemed like it was getting shallower. Most of the warriors were still wet past their knees, but that was better than what they had been experiencing earlier that day.
As their group came to a natural bend in the waterway Tinker sent Taggart a psychic warning. In the corner of his eye he saw Toria draw her sword, obviously having been ‘pinged’ by Pan. Lyyl waved to get Taggart’s attention. When Taggart turned the young warrior pointed to his left. Back a few yards from where the leaders of the procession walked, a dozen or more hairless animals milled in the shallows. They had been poking their pig-like snouts into the water and rooting around for some unknown reward. Now they heard the humans, and they all pulled their heads up.
“Anyone know what those things are?” Taggart asked.
Jo-Dal shook his head. “I’ve never even heard of anything like them.”
The animals looked like a cross between an Earth hyena and a wild boar. They all sported powerful chests and sturdy rear legs. Long tusks protruded from their dripping mouths.
As they watched, more of the animals splashed over to join the original pack. Several took a few steps closer to the warriors.
“Tinker doesn’t like them. Everyone be on their guard.”
Taggart, Jo-Dal and Spall stopped and placed themselves between the beasts and the rest of their assault force, waving their people on behind them. Tay, Lyyl, Toria and Geraar fanned out beside them without waiting to be told.
At first it looked like it was going to be a non-event. Nearly half of the force had passed by while the number of the odd and hairless pig-hyenas grew. Now there were nearly thirty of them gathered in the shallows.
Geraar hefted his spear up to his shoulder. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
Almost as if on cue three of the creatures charged them. It may have been only a bluff attack, but Taggart was not willing to take any chances. He pulled his sword and waited for the predators to reach them.
Before that happened, Geraar’s spear streaked out and plunged deeply into the side of the lead animal. It squealed shrilly and fell over biting at the protruding weapon. There was a twanging of a bowstring and one of the remaining two dropped stone dead with an arrow in its forehead.
The last animal persisted in its attack despite what happened to its brothers. Just before it reached the group of warriors Lyyl’s javelin struck between its huge shoulder
blades. It flopped over and pawed the water in pain.
Taggart looked at the three young warriors and back over to Jo-Dal and Spall. “It would appear that our talents were not needed here.”
The others laughed. Lyyl and Geraar stepped over and retrieved their weapons from the now-dead animals. Even Tay recovered her arrow and wiped it clean on the animal’s back. As the last of the assault force passed, Taggart saw the other pig-hyenas starting to feast on the bodies of their fallen.
Just before night fell the procession of warriors found themselves walking on dry ground. The topography started a gradual climb signaling that the group had finally passed through the swamp. Taggart and the other leaders signaled a halt. The group would set up camp and give the warriors a chance to eat, rest and have dry feet for a change. Everyone’s mood had lightened considerably.
Taggart and Jo-Dal left Spall to organize the night defenses while they scouted ahead. The landscape continued its slight elevation. They passed through dry flatlands and then entered a forested area. Finally they got through the dense trees and came out on top of a low hill. Looking out to the north they were just able to see the sea. Sitting on bluffs overlooking the entrance to the island’s natural harbor was a cliff. Arrayed on the cliffs were numerous manmade structures that were still too far away to make out with the naked eye. Taggart withdrew a small telescope from the bag he wore over his shoulder and extended the glass.
“Well, Lord Jo-Dal, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we have found our objective. Those structures over there are catapults and trebuchets that are guarding the entrance to the harbor.”
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 35
