The Slave War: The Dragonspire Chronicles Book 4

by James E. Wisher

  Yaz got directions from the innkeeper to the bookbinder’s establishment. It was a good half a mile away, but he didn’t mind. The walk would give them a chance to get a feel for the city. Not that he expected it to be all that much different from any other city.

  When Yaz strode in to the bookbinders, the scent of leather and old parchment washed over his senses. For a moment the nostalgia nearly overcame him. It smelled just like the library back home. Hundreds of books packed dozens of bookcases lining the wall. At the rear of the storefront sat a counter where a clerk waited to deal with customers. A door behind the clerk led deeper into the building. That had to be where they held the sages.

  Yaz wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but a simple place of business wasn’t it. For some reason he imagined guards and walls and other things to prevent the slaves from escaping. But when you really thought about it, they had nowhere to go. An escaped slave would quickly be captured and brought back for punishment. The city itself acted as a prison and the guards as jailers.

  Brigid and Silas had remained outside to check out the exterior of the building. If there was a side entrance it would make their jobs a lot easier when the time came for the breakout.

  As he walked towards the rear of the room, Yaz paused to study a few of the titles lining the shelves. Some of the more common ones were familiar from his time in the tower, but there were plenty he hadn’t seen before. Yaz selected one on medicinal herbs that would make a nice gift for his mother when he eventually found her. He took his purchase to the rear desk just like a normal customer and set it on the counter in front of the clerk.

  “How much is this book?” he asked.

  The clerk, a slim young man in a crisp dark tunic and matching trousers, pulled a ledger out from under the counter. He flipped through it and then ran his finger down the column.

  His finger stopped and he said, “A gold scale and six silvers.”

  That was quite reasonable for a leather-bound book on any subject, much less one as valuable as herb lore. “I’ll give you one gold scale even,” Yaz countered.

  The clerk sniffed. “We do not haggle here.”

  That was an interesting tactic. “One gold three silver,” Yaz said. “That’s my final offer.”

  “I said”—the clerk looked down his nose at Yaz— “we do not negotiate.”

  Yaz shrugged, turned, and headed for the door. If they wanted to be jerks, not only was he going to free their slaves, but he wasn’t going to give them any business either.

  He made it three-quarters of the way to the door before the clerk said, “I can go one gold four silvers and that’s it.”

  Yaz turned slowly and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t negotiate?”

  The clerk shrugged. “That’s the official line, but we do have some discretion. So do you want it or not?”

  Yaz walked back to the counter and fished out his pouch. He slapped the gold scale down first and then began counting silver. He was up to three when the door behind the counter opened. One of the sages from back home, Warinot Fry, walked in, his arms loaded with books. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw Yaz.

  Yaz put the final silver coin on the counter and when the clerk was picking them up he gave a subtle shake of his head to Sage Fry. The old man nodded his understanding, walked around the counter, and began placing the books on various shelves. Yaz made a show of ignoring him, exactly as any citizen would ignore a slave.

  When the clerk finished wrapping his book in a square of oiled leather, Yaz took it and tucked it under his arm before walking out the front door. It was all he could do not to jump for joy as he crossed the street. He had confirmed the presence of the sages and at least one of them was in good health. It was more than he hoped for when he entered the building.

  Brigid and Silas were waiting a block down the street just as they’d arranged.

  “Good news?” Brigid asked.

  “Very,” Yaz said. “What about you two?”

  “There are no other exits,” Silas said. “If we want to rescue your friends, it’s through the front door or with an ax through the wall.”

  That was disappointing but not surprising. Yaz said, “How about some lunch before we go looking for Sandul and the other prisoners?”

  They settled at an outdoor café ten blocks from the bookbinder. It seemed a fairly popular spot – half of the small round tables were occupied when they arrived. A cute serving girl took their orders, promising to be right back with their food. They sat quietly waiting, no one particularly eager to talk where strangers might overhear.

  Yaz sipped his ale and leaned back in his chair. A young couple at the table behind them had no qualms about discussing their own plans. With nothing better to do, he eavesdropped.

  “Are you going to the hanging tomorrow?” the girl asked.

  The young man let out a long sigh. “I wish, but my master won’t give me the afternoon off. It’s not every day a group of rebels get hanged, you’d think he’d give me a break. But no, the leather’s not going to stitch itself, he says. ‘I pay you to work, not goof around.’”

  “Don’t worry,” the girl said. “I’ll tell you all about it after.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Rub it in, why don’t you.”

  The girl started giggling and Yaz stopped listening. It sounded like they had less time to plan than he’d hoped. When the food came, his appetite was long gone. One day to find Sandul and the captured slaves, figure out how to rescue the sages, and escape the city alive. And all without access to Silas’s magic.

  Appetite or not, Yaz forced himself to eat. If they were going to get through this he would need all his strength.

  Chapter 25

  Fifteen minutes of asking around was all it took for Yaz and the others to learn that Sandul and his companions were locked up in the palace dungeon. Tomorrow at noon, a parade was to be held so the populace could view the soon-to-be-executed slaves. It seemed King Carttoom wanted everyone to see that the threat was over.

  They would be marched from the palace to the city square where gallows had been erected. It was painfully obvious that they had no hope of rescuing anyone from the palace, too many guards and too many walls. The only hope was during the transition from the palace to the square.

  After learning all they could, Yaz and the others had returned to their inn to prepare. Yaz had requested some time alone in his room. After giving him a concerned look, Brigid and Silas went downstairs to the common room to relax and eavesdrop on the other guests on the off chance they might pick up some more information.

  He didn’t really expect them to learn much beyond what they already knew but appreciated them giving him some space. With Silas’s magic no longer an option, he hoped to try and access whatever power he’d used back in Fort Kane. Despite his considerable efforts during his rare quiet moments, Yaz had yet to open the black door hidden in the back of his mental library. If he was going to do it in time to make any difference, it had to be now.

  He seated himself comfortably on his bed and took a deep breath before closing his eyes. A moment later he found himself in his library. His emotions were calm enough that they weren’t visible at the moment. And thank goodness for that. It was hard enough concentrating without them running around panicking.

  Summoning Wrath might give him a better chance of success, but the risks were too great. That black figure carried dangers he didn’t like to think about. He still had occasional nightmares about the things he’d done while under the control of his dark side.

  Yaz walked along to the section of wall where the black door hid. Resting a gentle hand there he focused, trying to will it into visibility. The normal wood paneling wavered, giving hints of something hidden behind. He focused harder. This was the first hint of success he’d enjoyed in many days of trying. He had to push through and succeed.

  His jaw clenched until the muscles ached. At last the door appeared but without a handle. Did it have a handle the
first time it appeared? Yaz tried his best to remember, but he’d been so worked up, the entire event was a little blurry, even to his perfect memory. The dark energy had seemed to simply come from the door itself and seep into him like a storm cloud.

  The dark cloud… maybe if he imagined that coming out of the door it would give him the effect he wanted. Yaz concentrated on that image, focusing all his thoughts on drawing the energy out. He couldn’t have said how long he tried before a chill ran through his fingertips and up his arm. He pulled his hand away from the door and little tendrils of darkness trailed along behind.

  Had he done it?

  There was only one way to find out. Yaz blinked and returned to his body. He looked around the room and settled on his dagger sitting on the nightstand beside his bed. He pictured the dark energy streaking out, wrapping around the hilt, and pulling it to him.

  At first nothing happened.

  He kept at it, determined to succeed.

  After a few seconds the dagger began to rattle on the table surface. Encouraged, he concentrated harder, demanding that it come to him.

  And come to him it did, fast enough that if it hadn’t been sheathed, he might’ve gotten impaled. As it was, he’d have a nasty bruise on his chest. At least he got it to work. Now for practice and experimentation. The power was useless if he couldn’t control it any better than that.

  Someone jostled Yaz, trying to force him out of the way so they could take his spot near the parade route. A sharp elbow to the gut backed the man off. It was the fourth attempt to take his space Yaz had had to fend off since he and Brigid arrived at sunup. He was thoroughly sick of people thinking just because he was short, they could push him around.

  Yaz had assumed when they left the inn that making such an early start would assure them of getting a good spot, but he wasn’t the only one with that idea. When they arrived, approximately halfway between the city square and the palace, several hundred people were already there and staking out the best spots. Many of them had brought baskets of rotten fruit or eggs. Probably been saving them up since word went out of the rebels’ capture.

  The day was dark and overcast and every once in a while, a fat flake of snow fell out of the sky. The weather felt appropriate for an execution, that was certain. But Yaz was determined that there wasn’t going to be one today. He’d spent hours practicing with his ability and could now manipulate the energy with reasonable competence. He’d also done a few tests with Silas and determined that whatever power he used, it wasn’t the same as magic. The wizard sensed nothing when Yaz drew on it and hopefully the city archmage wouldn’t be able to either.

  Someone muttered behind them but Yaz couldn’t make out what they said. Brigid answered his unspoken question. “They’re coming,”

  Yaz took a deep breath and steadied himself. Silas should be in position at the bookbinders to make sure no one showed up unexpectedly. The last thing they needed was to arrive and find a surprise waiting.

  Now everything depended on him.

  The shouts grew louder further back along the parade route. They had to be close now. Across the street, two women armed themselves with rotten tomatoes. Yaz focused on them. When they threw, that would be his signal.

  Two minutes felt like two hours, but finally their arms went back. Yaz looked to his right and spotted a line of guards approaching, six in the front followed by four men wearing torn pants and nothing else save chains, then another six guards bringing up the rear. The guards had swords belted at their waists and wore crimson-and-gold tabards over their mail.

  Sandul’s face was puffy and black and blue. It looked like someone had given him and his lieutenants a good beating before they brought them out to hang.

  The former slaves’ arms were manacled behind their backs, but their feet were free at least. That was a relief. Four sets of manacles to undo would be far faster than eight.

  Yaz reached out with his power.

  Nothing happened.

  Cursing the universe, he reached deeper, demanding the black door give up its power.

  A thin tendril of darkness snaked out to Sandul’s manacles. It slid into the lock and with a bit of finagling Yaz got it to click open.

  Thank the gods.

  The heavy iron manacles clattered to the cobblestones. Clearly not one to question his good fortune, Sandul roared and attacked the nearest guard, smashing the man in the head and stealing his sword before turning to run his partner through.

  Yaz ignored the violence as well as the people fleeing all around them. An instant of distraction might shatter his tenuous connection with the black door. He focused on getting the other slaves free.

  Now that he knew how the manacles worked it was a matter of seconds to pop all three remaining locks.

  Yaz released the power, his entire body trembling from the strain. All the former slaves were engaged in combat with the guards. Two of the slaves bled from minor wounds. They’d taken the guards by surprise, but these were professional soldiers and they fought back hard. Five of them were dead now and the other three hard pressed.

  People were running like mad, screaming and trying to get away from the battle. When the last guard went down, it was Brigid’s signal. She loosed a piercing whistle that immediately drew Sandul’s attention. The moment he looked their way Yaz pointed in the direction of the bookbinders and ran.

  The now freed prisoners didn’t need any more coaxing. They ran as fast as their battered bodies could manage behind Yaz and Brigid. The people that had come to watch the hanging had no desire to get involved in stopping their escape.

  In fact, they couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Nothing like a pack of savage men armed with blood-dripping swords to clear you a path.

  When they’d covered ten blocks without seeing signs of pursuit, Yaz angled towards an abandoned cloth merchant’s stall. Sandul and the others caught up with him quickly.

  “I hadn’t thought to see you again this side of the grave,” Sandul said. “This is twice you’ve freed me from bondage. At this rate I will never be able to repay my debt.”

  Yaz and the burly ex-slave shook hands. “I wish I could claim I only came to save you, but there are eight villagers, the sages of the tower, being held at a bookbinder not far from here. The plan is to free them and then all of us escape together. It’s doubtful the guards will be looking for such a large group.”

  “Whatever your reasons, I’m still pleased to see you.” Sandal held up his arm, displaying the manacle brand on his forearm. Do you have a plan for hiding these?”

  Yaz grimaced as the men rummaged through the piles of cloth and cut strips to make bandages. The brands were the biggest obstacle to them simply walking out of the city. His plan to bluff their way out by claiming he owned Sandul and the others wasn’t going to work considering how badly and obviously they’d been beaten. Every guard in the city would know to look for that.

  The ex-slaves used their blood-slicked weapons to hack slots in the fabric to make crude cloaks. They wouldn’t stand up to much scrutiny but might get them by a passing glance. At the very least they weren’t half naked anymore.

  “The brands are a problem for later. If you want to make your own way to the exit,” Yaz said, “I understand.”

  Sandul shook his head. “As I said, I won’t live long enough to repay what I owe you. We’re not going anywhere on our own. I assume you need some muscle for the next part of your plan. Well, you’ve got it. We’re hardly at our best. Those bastards in the dungeon gave us a good going over the last few days.”

  “No kidding,” Yaz said. “We best get a move on before they organize pursuit.”

  Yaz took the lead again as they hurried through the streets toward the bookbinders. This far from the city center, the streets were calm. There were no guards patrolling. Yaz figured they were all running towards their fallen comrades. Hopefully everyone would assume the escaped prisoners would make directly for the gates. If they did, it would buy them a few extra minu
tes.

  Yaz found Silas waiting in the mouth of an alley as they discussed. As soon as everyone had ducked out of sight, Silas said, “All quiet here, no one has come or gone since I arrived.”

  “That’s a relief.” Yaz had assumed a high-end business like the bookbinder would give his employees the day off for a public spectacle and he was glad to be proven right. “Let’s get the sages and get out of here.”

  They darted across the street and stopped in front of the door. It was locked of course, but a hard kick from Sandul’s right foot smashed it in.

  “Watch the door,” Yaz said to Sandul.

  Yaz, Silas and Brigid ran to the second door. This one was unlocked and the room behind it dark. Silas conjured a sphere of light without being asked. The golden glow revealed eight desks, each with an individual chained to it. The sages blinked in the light.

  “Yaz?” Chief Sage Durnik asked. His fine robes had been replaced by a smock of plain linen and his beard was in a state of disarray. If not for his voice, Yaz might not have recognized him. “Sage Fry said he saw you yesterday, but I could hardly believe it.”

  “Sorry it took me so long to get here, Master,” Yaz said. “Is there a key?”

  “Our owner”—he spat that last word out—“keeps it on him at all times. I’ve lost track of how many days we’ve been chained to these desks. Endless hours of tedious, cramped writing. If we didn’t produce enough, we didn’t eat. It was horrible.”

  “I have no doubt.” Yaz bent beside Durnik’s ankle and called on his power. He kept his hands carefully positioned so hopefully no one would notice the black energy. He’d tell the sage about his power eventually, but not now. For now let them think he’d learned to pick locks. The energy flowed more easily this time. Maybe he was finally getting the hang of it. “We don’t have time to talk about it.”