" Another drink for my good friend, barkeeper," cried Lan, drunkenly weaving through the smoky room. His head buzzed as if inhabited by a hive of fire hornets, yet he didn' t want this elusive friendship he' d so carefully fostered with drinks to fade and vanish from his side. She was too lovely to disappear forever.
Like Zarella.
Lan shook his head to clear it slightly, then put his arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her closer. Lan didn' t even notice the slight tenseness as she endured his wine- sotted embrace. The fiery redhead laughed too loudly and gently stroked along the line of his jaw, then pulled his mouth to hers for a kiss. Lan failed also to see her shudder when she' d finished with her onerous duty.
" Linnde, my lovely seductress, you are lovely," he said, his compliments drunkenly redundant. The room refused to stop pumping up and down, but Lan didn' t care. Being drunk was something new for him. Back home- worlds away- he had never allowed strong spirits to dull his senses. He had needed them for survival, for appreciation of the forests, the oceans, the mountains. But that was a long way off, a long way back. A twinge of homesickness assailed him. He could never return. His friends all thought him dead, and worse, his memory lived on as Zarella' s murderer. A tear formed in self- pity.
Cut off. He was cut off from the world he knew so well. But the spider' s treasure cask had opened up a new world to him. Before, in his previous life, every coin had to be watched closely. Now he discovered the world of the easy spender and how simple it was to find new friends to share his good fortune.
Like Linnde. She pushed back a strand of fiery hair that contrasted so beautifully with her milky white, translucent skin. Never in his life had Lan hoped to find a companion so lovely. Even Zarella, dead, lovely Zarella who had spurned his love on the far- off world, lacked the lissome grace of Linnde.
" Another drink, milord?" she asked, motioning to the man behind the long wooden bar. Lan started to decline, then found the drink being held to his lips for him. This was the life! Service such as he' d never experienced before, and all because of his good fortune in helping a lovelorn spider back to his mate.
Lan tasted the potent brew, felt it blaze down his gullet; then the room spun so fast he tumbled to the floor. Sprawled gracelessly, he laughed.
" Linnde, come join me!" he called before passing out.
When he regained some semblance of consciousness, he discovered he was in bed, neatly covered with a quilt. Still a little drunk, he sat up and watched the room spin crazily around him. A quick search told him that Linnde had relieved him of the burden of carrying several jewels. He didn' t care. The few poor stones he' d had on him were small payment for the service of getting him up here. And he had to admit ruefully that he might have had all manner of fun with Linnde before passing out. He simply didn' t remember.
" Auction!" came the loud cry from the street. " Our Saviour, King Waldron of Ravensroost, declares an auction of slaves taken in the recent Amisha campaign. Auction!"
The strident bellowing cut through his head like a hot knife through a snow bank. Lan held his head for a moment, then tottered to his feet. He propped himself against the window sill and peered into the street. For a few seconds he blinked; then his eyes adjusted to the brilliant light of day. It comforted him knowing he was on a world that experienced discernible day and night.
Still, the grey- clad soldiers irked him. While in this tiny hamlet, they had ignored him completely, and for that he was glad. His cask of jewels was a prize any of those surly bastards would slice his throat to steal. But he had not been treated well by Surepta. Back home.
Again came the pang of self- pity he had tried to drink away the night before. Surepta had killed Zarella, and there was no justice. Somehow, Lan generalized his hatred of Surepta into hatred for all the grey soldiers. They had inched their way into his world, like worms gnawing away at the innards of an apple. They infested an otherwise placid country in such a way that all appeared normal on the surface. Underneath crawled murderers and liars and thieves robbing him of his lover, his family, his friends, his world.
The drunken buzz continued inside his head, but over it he shouted, " I' ll stop you!" Lan regretted the vow instantly. His head felt as if it were going to split. More quietly he added, " I have money now. I' ll use that to stop all of you! If I can' t have Surepta' s life, all of yours will have to do."
He thought of the jewel- studded case and rushed to the panel in the wall behind which he kept his treasure. Lan let out a gusty sigh when he saw the box residing exactly as he' d left it. Linnde might have stripped him of his portable fortune, but the greater treasure had eluded her.
Lan wrapped the jeweled cask in a spare cloak he' d purchased, belted on a rapier of the finest steel and deadliest edge, then swung a luxurious cape around his broad shoulders. For a moment, he allowed it to flow and billow richly. As he turned, it spun from his body to settle properly, the fur- rimmed bottom scant inches above the ground. He looked to be a young nobleman in his fine garb.
He paused to admire his finery in a dusty mirror, then hefted the cask and went down into the street to see what type of auction had interrupted his drunken stupor.
Lan Martak couldn' t believe he' d heard the soldier properly, but he had. A slave auction. On the block were half a dozen men and women in various stages of undress and dishevelment. Two of the men appeared to be emaciated and fighting a losing battle with death. One woman' s face was too badly scarred for him to determine even her age, much less any features. But the remaining man and two women held his attention.
The man was a sturdy enough sort and not ill- treated, not yet. The two women were gems beyond compare, even matched against any of the baubles he carried so snugly under his arm. The tall, dark- haired one stood with head held high and an arrogance that showed, no matter the chains rattling at her wrists, that she possessed an indomitable spirit. While no beauty, she had a comeliness that pleased Lan. The other woman, a petite blonde, simply stunned him with her beauty.
" This one," called out the auctioneer, pointing to the blond woman, " will keep even the most discerning happy. Smile for the gentlemen," he ordered. The blonde pouted, a tiny tear tracking down her cheek. " See, gentlemen? She is without peer."
" She is without more than that. She is without courage to spit on you!" The dark- haired woman started to carry out her threat, but one of the nearby guards tugged strongly on the chain around her neck and forced her to kneel, head bowed.
" And that one has spirit. Only the strongest should bid for her." The auctioneer glanced at the kneeling woman and saw her arms shaking in reaction. Nervously, he gestured to the guard to hold her down until afterward.
Lan heard a voice cry out, " Fifteen crowns for the three remaining," and then realized he' d spoken. His upbringing had been such that the idea of, slavery sickened him. Bidding so openly, so drunkenly, shocked him into sobriety. His mind remained a bit fogged, but he slowly worked out the problem to his own satisfaction. He did not bid for the desire to own a slave- even one as beautiful as the blonde- but to free them.
He would buy them and manumit them immediately. He didn' t bother examining his altruistic urges further. Deep down he realized this was the I first opportunity he' d had to fight against the grey soldiers and the slavery they brought with them. He need no longer fight with sword; he had wealth to do battle now. The bidding became more intense and required his full attention.
" Twenty crowns," came a cold voice from the front of the crowd.
" Twenty- five," countered Lan.
A fat merchant rubbed his hands together, then plunged into a thick pouch before shouting, " Thirty and not one silver piece more!"