Enslaved: The Odyssey of Nath Dragon - Book 2 (The Lost Dragon Chronicles)

by Craig Halloran

  “You leave an impression on everybody.” She hugged his chest. “I missed you, Darkken. And I want to hear all about everything else that you did.”

  Lord Darkken petted her back. “I dispatched the last class of Caligin and gave them new assignments. My army grows. Our intentions spread. It won’t be long before one kingdom can’t stand another. It will be so bad they won’t even do business with one another. Their lust for money is what really gets them riled up, at least among the men. The dwarves have hoarded theirs, and the elves are indifferent about it. But there are ways to get to them.” He kissed her forehead. “We’ll keep chipping away, one day at a time, slow and steady. Eventually, the dam will break and waterworks will flow.”

  “So, you think there will be war soon?” she asked.

  He showed a winning smile. “I’m counting on it.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The months dragged on, one agonizing day at a time. There was nothing that Nath did right in the eyes of Slave Master Foster. The orc kept Nath under his scrutinizing gaze from the moment he left his cell until the moment he returned. If he wasn’t whipped for some reason, he was starved. He even spent another short spell in the hold. Aside from the hold in the pen, and his cell in the barn, the rock quarry was his home. He spent the majority of his time there.

  The rock quarry stretched out one hundred yards and was about half as wide. It was a solid bed of stone that the slaves had been busting out for decades, perhaps centuries. Now, it was about three stories deep, and it would take decades more to make it three more stories deep at this rate. Nath carried a boulder the size of an ogre’s head. He waddled over to an oversized wheelbarrow and dumped it in.

  On the other side of the wheelbarrow, Torno twisted around and looked at him. They hadn’t tangled since their last encounter, but Torno’s big hands clenched every time Nath came close. Nath turned his back and shuffled back to his spot. He picked up his sledgehammer, thumbed the sweat from his brow, and started swinging.

  Two orc guards stood on either side of him, sharing a bucket of water between them. They drank heartily, letting the water spill down their jutting chins onto their ringmail and leather tunics.

  “Laugh it up, dirt balls,” Nath said under his breath, not paying them a lick of attention. Every day was the same. He worked. They taunted. If he looked at them, they stung him on the backside with the tails of their scourges. The only purpose it served was to slow him down. Bringing the hammer high, he brought it down hard and fast. Stone chips busted off in all directions.

  “Gack!” One of the guards wiped his eyes and glared at Nath. “Watch what you are doing, human!” He pulled back his scourge.

  Nath turned his bare back and tensed. The leather tails slapped against his back. Crack! Nath went down on a knee. He never got used to the biting sting that ran from his back to his chest. Using the hammer handle as a cane, he slowly came back to his feet, cringing somewhat, waiting for another kiss from the lash. It didn’t come. The guards walked away, chuckling.

  With arms that felt like lead and a back that felt like it was on fire, Nath banged away on the rocks. As he did so, he stole a glance at Foster. The slave lord sat in his tall chair, underneath a tapestry of shade, with two small slaves fanning him with wooden leaves. Foster’s eyes were right on Nath. Nath averted his gaze.

  He watches me like a hawk.

  Foster was in charge of the guards who watched the slaves, but what Nath hadn’t seen were the people who pulled Foster’s strings. They were the real force behind Slaver Town. And even after two years in the camp, he’d not seen them once. He snatched glimpses down the roads on his way to the barn. He spied the wall and the watchtowers. He saw the auction blocks, the gallows, the stockade, and the road that led to the main gate. But that was only half of the city. Radagan had told him more. Of course, he wasn’t even certain Radagan was real.

  The day of labor ended at dusk. Nath got his final drink of water from the bucket and fell into line. They were told to keep their heads down as they were all marched back to the barn. Foster checked them all in at his office. He filled out the ledger as the guards patted them down and took them back to their cells, except for Torno. Torno was too big. He remained in the quarry. The guards patted Nath down. He kept his eyes on the floor. He heard the quill and ink scratching his marking on the ledger.

  “Anything to say, prisoner?” Foster asked Nath. It was the first thing he’d said to Nath in weeks.

  “No, slave master,” Nath replied.

  Foster studied Nath with probing eyes. He leaned back in his chair and grunted. “You’ve been very quiet, lately. I’m not used to it.”

  “I’m just trying to do what the slave master wishes,” Nath said.

  “I’m almost convinced.” Foster grunted. “Take him away.”

  Back in his cell, Homer was already inside and lying on his cot. His arms covered his face. The guards shoved Nath inside, slammed the door behind him, and locked it. They departed through the curtain. Homer sat up. His eyes were bright. “How was your day?”

  “Lousy,” Nath said, arching his back. He took a seat on his cot. “I hope you weren’t expecting a different answer.”

  “No, but I might just change yours.” Homer took a quick glance at the curtain, then reached under his cot. Underneath a blanket, there was a plate with a bowl flipped over on the top. He picked it up and took it to Nath. Excitedly he said, “For you.”

  “Me?” Nath held the plate in his hand. “What is it?”

  “Just take it, quick, before a guard pokes his head in.”

  Nath lifted the bowl off the plate. A round cream cake with a honey-and-raspberry glaze sat in the middle just as Radagan had described. The sugary aroma wafted into Nath’s nostrils. His mouth watered. “Where did you get this?”

  “You won’t believe this, but one of the guards brought it. Just an hour ago.” Homer smacked his lips. “Hurry, eat it. That smell will drift, and the hounds will be on us.”

  Nath fingered the spongy golden crust. “An orc brought this?”

  “No, it was a man, dressed like a guard. He was very discreet.”

  “Was he very fat?”

  “No. Just a man, the same as any other. I found it odd myself, but I was so surprised I didn’t pay any attention. He said it was for you. You’d know who sent it.” He took another quick glance at the curtain. “Eat it, will you? It’s been gnawing at my gut, and now that I see it again, I can barely stand it.” Homer’s eyes were ravenous. “Hurry.”

  Nath heard footsteps outside of the curtain and a rattle of metal armor. He flipped the bowl over the cake, put the blanket over it, and set it on the end of his cot.

  A barrel-chested guard passed through the curtain. Club in hand, the orc approached the cell. “Time for a cell inspection.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The big-chested guard stuck his key inside the cell lock. “Get back.”

  Homer scooted to the end of his cot. Nath pressed his back to the wall while still holding the blanket, saucer and bowl in his lap. Just as the key turned inside the tumbler, another guard, holding a club, came through the curtain. His face was flushed.

  “You have to see this new prisoner,” the new guard said. He had a white scar on his chin. “Just walked in with a train of our brethren.”

  “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” the barrel-chested guard said. “I’m not missing anything.”

  “Oh yes, you are.” The second guard came at the first and hooked his arm. “Come on, we might need you. This one’s big.”

  A commotion of prisoners banging on their cells started up. Something or someone crashed into what sounded like a wooden table. The sharp crack of splintered wood caught everyone’s ear. Clubs in hand, both guards headed for the curtain.

  The guard with the scar on his chin said, “I told you!” They vanished behind the curtain. It sounded like a group of men were fighting a wild beast. Something let out an inhuman howl. There was smack of fist on bone.
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  Nath and Homer’s eyes hung on the curtain. It billowed a little. He fully expected to see something crash through the curtain at any moment. There was the sound of clubs whacking and guards hollering. They were trying to wrestle a prisoner down. A very big, very angry prisoner by the sound of it.

  “It’s not our problem, Nath,” Homer said, scooting back to the end of his cot. “Go ahead and eat your cake.”

  “Now?”

  “It’s not as if you can see anything. And that guard will be back here when it’s over. And it will be soon, I imagine.” Homer’s eyes were pleading. “Hurry. Eat.”

  Eyes on the curtain, Nath uncovered the pastry. He picked it up with two hands and broke it in half. He put one half in the bowl and gave it to Homer. “I’ve a feeling that you’ll enjoy it more than I will, even though I’m certain I’ll enjoy it.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Nath!” Homer bit into it. His eyes grew like saucers. He chewed as if he was eating something made from the bakeries in heaven. “Mmmmm…”

  Nath bit into half of his cake. It was warm, sweet, and buttery. He instantly wished he had more of them. “My, that is good!”

  “I can’t remember something so exquisite in my life. I’ve even tasted morning pastries made by the queen’s own bakers.”

  “Let’s not go there,” Nath said.

  “Oh, of course not. Perhaps it’s been so long since I’ve tasted anything but gruel I can’t remember, but I swear this is truly unique.” Homer stuffed the rest of his cake in his mouth and licked his fingers. “Thank you again, Nath. I know I don’t deserve your generosity, being the wretch that I am.”

  “I’ve been too hard on you, Homer. You could have eaten this and not told me, but you are a true friend.” He ate his cake while Homer licked his bowl clean. As Nath chewed, he bit into something dull and tasteless. He pulled a small piece of folded paper out of his mouth.

  “What’s that?” Homer said, setting his bowl down.

  Nath unfolded the strip. “There’s lettering on it. In common. ‘You have allies. Use them. R.’”

  “Who is R?”

  Nath smiled. “It must be Radagan. I suppose he was real.”

  “You mean the baker who made these cream cakes? I must meet him and tell him what a talent he has. Incredible—”

  Bzzzzzt!

  The clamor of wrestling bodies on the other side of the curtain came to an abrupt end.

  Nath felt sharp, familiar tingles running through his body. “I know that sound.”

  “Ew… sounds like the new prisoner just got kissed by Foster’s smiting stick. I bet that hurts really bad, doesn’t it?”

  Nath grimaced. “It’s worse than it sounds.” He looked at the note again. “What allies is he talking about?”

  “You are the Special. I think the other prisoners like you. At least that is what I have heard.” Homer offered his hand as he looked at the note. “May I?” Nath handed Homer the note. The musician’s eyes scanned it. He put it in his mouth and swallowed it.

  “Fool!” Nath glared at Homer. He clamped his hand around the man’s neck. “Why did you do that?”

  CHAPTER 16

  With a raspy voice and bulging eyes, Homer said, “Because. Because.” He pointed at the curtain. Just as he did so, the broad-chested orc pushed through the fabric. With his keys in one hand and a club in the other, he limped to the cell.

  Nath released Homer.

  “Both of you get back in the corner.” The orc wasn’t even looking at them. Nath and Homer moved where the guard said. He put the key in the lock, twisted, and flung the door open. He knocked over the cots and waved the blankets. Kicking the straw strewn on the floor, he noticed the saucer and bowl. He picked them up. “Where did this come from?”

  “One of the guards brought it, in error, I presume,” Homer offered. “I thought it was odd that he brought clay over the wooden.”

  “Prisoner scum don’t get earthenware,” the orc said. He spit black juice on both Nath and Homer’s cots and blankets. “I’ll look into this. If I find out you’re lying, I’ll bust your heads open just like Foster did the new prisoner.”

  “Is he dead?” Homer inquired.

  The orc stuck the end of his club in Homer’s gut. Homer collapsed on the ground. “None of your business!” The orc marched out of the cell, slammed the doors, ripped out the keys, and headed through the curtain.

  Nath helped Homer back to his feet. “You shouldn’t talk so much.”

  Holding his gut, Homer said, “I wanted to push his buttons. He was hurt. Did you see it?”

  Nath tilted Homer’s cot back over and helped the man to sit. “Yes, something got the best of him. I hope to see what it was.”

  “Me too.” Homer lay down.

  “Sorry I choked you, Homer.”

  “You have a wee bit of a temper, but you need that fire to keep you going. You can’t let them break you, Nath. You are the Special.”

  Nath straightened up his own cot and sat down. “What were you saying about other prisoners liking me? I don’t even see any prisoners.”

  “No, but I do. I’ve been working the laundry when I’m not playing the strings for the slave lords. They ask about you. They think you can free them?”

  Nath sat up. “Why would they think that? I can’t even free myself. And why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “You haven’t been talking to me, that’s why. I thought I’d keep my distance. But lately, it seems things are stirring. And that cream cake, I think it’s a sign.” Homer coughed. His forehead made thick wrinkles as his face reddened. “Woo-boy, that club to the belly smarts. But as I was saying, I think the prisoners want to rise up. They talk as if you are going to lead them.”

  “That’s absurd. They don’t even know me.”

  “What’s to know? You are the Special that Foster can’t break. They cling to hope that you will free them.” Homer rolled on his side. “Nath, these men, they need something to cling to. It gets them through the night. Besides, I knew the moment I met you that you would get out of here. Maybe the rest of us won’t, but you will.”

  “I’ll leave when my buyer takes me,” Nath said. “And then I’ll make my mistake.”

  “Nath, you have no master. You never will. The rest of us are just dogs in a kennel, whipped and beaten until we are ready to serve our master. If we get one.” Homer scratched the scruff on his jaw. “But not you. You are meant for something greater. Everyone knows that… but you.”

  ***

  Nath slept more in the prison than he’d ever slept in his life. Even though dragons were known for long slumbers, Nath required little sleep. That all changed during his time in Slaver Town. His body was broken, bruised, and exhausted. From the time he fell asleep, he slept like a stone until the guards stirred them early before dawn. The last several weeks had been the worst. Nath used to wake at the sound of the guards’ scuffle of boots. Now he didn’t wake until they hammered into the cell bars, making sounds like ugly bell chimes.

  “Wake up, dirt! Wake up, maggots!” the guards hollered.

  Nath used his fingers to peel his eyes open. His limbs felt like they were made from boards as he sat up. His wounded back made a sticky ripping sound as he peeled it from his cot. Coming to his feet, he rubbed the sandy grit from his eyes. Homer ambled out of the cell, limping with a painful expression on his face. Nath followed.

  Beyond the curtain was the main courtyard of the prison. There were three levels of cells that went all the way around the inside of the barn. A wooden deck walkway was built out in front of the cells. Guards were posted on all decks. The first wave of prisoners had already headed outside. Many remained in their cells. In the courtyard, prisoners were standing behind tall wooden tables, digging their spoons into lukewarm bowls of bland porridge.

  At the serving table, Nath and Homer picked up their bowls. An ugly man with a hunchback and bulging eye plopped spoonfuls of porridge in the wooden bowls. They took them to the table,
where they stood and ate.

  Nath noticed many of the prisoners were stealing glances at him. He’d paid little attention before—he was too tired to care—but they all had curious looks on their faces. Nath and Homer ate alone with a guard standing at either end of the table. There was no conversation, just heavy breathing and wooden spoons scraping in their bowls. As they quickly ate, Nath made a quick count of the cells. He’d done it dozens of times, but he couldn’t help but do it almost every day.

  Two hundred and two. The same as the day before yesterday.

  There were two hundred cells. Sometimes there were two to a cell, maybe even three, he wasn’t sure. But, there were at least three hundred prisoners if he had to guess. The guards within numbered forty. There were more than enough prisoners to overpower the guards, but they’d have to act as a single unit. He wondered if they were willing to do that. There were still hundreds of well-armed guards on the outside to consider. They were a small army, well trained and well equipped for any kind of trouble. The slave lords guarded prisoners like priceless treasure.

  “Get moving,” the guard said to Nath.

  Nath gave Homer a quick nod and fell in line with the handful of prisoners who went to the quarry with him daily. Homer was taken out with another group with more delicate builds. They marched down the dusty road. The morning sun had just lifted over the outer wall. They approached the quarry, and the loud sound of metal heads striking the rock echoed through the town. Roosters crowed.

  Taking the ramp down into the dark pit of rock, Nath’s back started to ache. His feet were already burning when he took a hammer from one the guards. Someone in the pit was hammering away all alone in the middle of the quarry. The huge person had a broad, muscular back and a monstrous head of shaggy hair. He wasn’t bigger than an ogre but towered over most men.