While escaping was foremost on my mind, there was a reason that it was not of the highest importance at the moment. The slavers were Kaon, a race that lived deeper in the deserts of the Brownlands to the west and north of Kondor, and they were raiding Dagger and Vin for slaves. Kondor was rumored to be ruled by mages and sorceresses instead of a proper king. It was a powerful kingdom, far larger and more prosperous than Dire despite much of it being Brownlands. That made me wonder why the Kaons were ‘allowed’ to take slaves there. It seemed in direct opposition to the rule where those in charge dealt in magic. A few lightning bolts appropriately directed by any mage would end the slave caravan and leave behind steaming, burned bodies to rot in the desert sun.
As for our situation, the brass pins holding together the iron cuffs were the weak link, in both fact and literary pun. They were not hardened, as were the iron of the chains. The metal worker’s hammer flared the ends of the brass pins, holding them securely in place. A smaller rod of iron was used to drive them out when required, usually either at the sale of the slaves or with their demise.
However, in my case, with a little help from magic, and knowing that metals contract when cooled, freedom was only a magical spell or two away. I just needed something to push the copper pins free once they were cold and smaller in diameter, perhaps a piece of a stick would do. The same problem arose as before. I could get us free. Getting us away and staying that way, was the real problem. Besides, I wanted to learn from the Slave-Master about Kaon, the desert, and most of all, about Kondor.
The fed us a pitiful handful of grain, less than I’d feed a small donkey, and then we were allowed to lie down on the bare ground to sleep. However, as I made myself comfortable, the metal worker arrived at my side again and drove out the pin that attached me to an unknown slave in front and to Flier in the rear. He motioned for me to stand. Then he drove home another pin, replacing Flier where I’d been.
I was alone. The Kaon warrior, the one appointed to guard and care for me, strode in our direction, caught my eye, and jutted his chin at the tent where the Slave-Master had entered. I still wore leg irons with a short chain between my feet, and his shove from behind as I passed by him, which forced me to fall forward awkwardly. My chin struck the ground as he chuckled.
Had I thought more quickly, I might have used my fingernail to draw a line of my blood to see if the Slave-Master was good to his word about the guard sharing equal injuries. He pulled my arm to stand me up again and pushed a second time. I rolled with the shove and walked through the thick brush. A blackberry briar trailed across the path, and I stepped over it, but in doing so, I used small-magic to lift it higher as the guard stepped behind me. He tripped and stumbled forward, taking three or four long steps before falling. I dodged, and he missed striking me. As he sprawled face-first in the vegetation, I paused a step away from another guard, one laughing, but not at me. I didn’t dare laugh—or even smirk.
The laughing guard motioned with his hand that I should enter the tent. I pushed aside the curtain before the first guard could catch up with me again. The late afternoon desert light that reflected off the sand was blocked by the loose weave of the tent material the tent it was made of. Any movement of air flowed through the tent. Four tall poles the diameter of my wrist held up portions of the roof in peaks.
Layers of carpets, some large, others small, different weaves and colors, and all expensive covered the sand floor. I know about rugs. Some are for walking upon in dirty boots when returning from the stables; others are for feet in the finest slippers in the best houses in the kingdom. In front of me was the latter. No, more than that. They were among the finest I’d ever seen.
I pulled to a stop. My feet were filthy.
The Slave-Master sat on a stack of pillows as large as his biggest guard. He roared, “I sent for you. Why are you not approaching and kneeling before me? Have you no manners?”
“These carpets deserve respect. My dirty feet shouldn’t touch them.”
“I suspected you were telling me the truth earlier, but this was a small test. You have indeed served the wealthy. Others would have traipsed across the carpets without knowing the sin of doing so.” He pointed to one side, where a rack stood behind a small curtain. The dirty boots and shoes of others were there, and on another shelf, several pairs of soft slippers were waiting.
Since I wore no shoes, I found a pair of oversized slippers and put them on. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him impatiently waiting for me, so moved slower. Not to piss him off but because another trap was brewing, I suspected. I approached, but not too close, and bowed formally and deeply as if he was a royal member of the wealthiest kingdom. I didn’t rise until he cleared his throat to give me tacit permission. My rusty chains were dragging on the carpets as I moved, but that didn’t matter. I’d passed at least two more of his crude tests.
“How may I serve you?” I asked.
He had an arm around a plump woman with hair as white as any I’d ever seen. It might be real, but her eyes were dark, as were her eyebrows. My guess was she dipped it in something to make her appear exotic. For me, the effect was unsettling and not at all attractive. It was the opposite for the Slave-Master.
He said, “Did you learn to play blocks in Dire?”
“When I had the coins in my purse to lose.”
“Meaning you usually lose?” He snorted, a guffaw of sound without humor.
“No. Meaning, I only play when I can afford to lose what I have. Only fools believe they always win.”
“I always win.” He sat upright, all humor drained from his face. The single guard in the room tensed, awaiting orders to slay me.
But the Slave-Master had a ‘tell’ that I’d already spotted. A slight twitch high on his cheek. He was testing or prodding me again, however as his slave. I saw no profit in the continued action. Still, he wanted my reaction, so I told him the truth, “Then you either cheat, or your opponents allow you to win. Not much sport if you know the outcome before the first tiles are passed around.”
“Ha, you believe you can defeat me? I am known far and wide for my game.”
“Oh, I can defeat you. If not tonight, then another, if you do not cheat. But I’m the better player.” I lifted my chin at the offer of that challenge, one I hoped he couldn’t pass up.
He raised a hand, and a small gaming table was rushed to be placed directly in front of him, too far away for me to reach, but he wouldn’t have to move from his soft perch at all. I remained at my distance as the tiles were displayed in the pre-game ritual, then his hand spread them to mix their locations. I was still two steps away. I didn’t move. He hadn’t invited me.
“Select your tiles,” he commanded.
“First, the rules.”
“The rules are always the same,” he roared.
“Not the game’s rules. Yours. Mine. If I am to allow you to win, like so many others, by how large a measure should it be?”
“You will not allow me to win. My skill at the game will be all I require.”
“How can I play if I have nothing of value to wager? No matter how good my hand, you can raise or call and eventually you will win a game as thin as air. Is that how you wish to play? Is that how you earned your reputation?”
He slowly shook his head in disbelief at my audacity. Slaves didn’t speak to their masters that way, and never to someone as important as a Slave-Master.
“I value my freedom,” I added. “You value me for what you can sell me for. Suppose we determine a fair price at auction and you ‘loan’ me that value for the sake of the game?”