The other hissed close to my ear, “Not a sound.”
We ran. Better said, they ran, and I bounced so high and so hard, my stomach hurt by the second step. They didn’t stop at two steps. They continued for a hundred or more.
I vomited down the back of the man who carried me, to his disgust. His hands clenched painfully tighter for a moment; then we continued into the darkness. Finally, he slowed, slipped me from his shoulder, and the other placed a noose around my neck. He had me leashed like a dog.
“Do not try to escape,” the one who carried me panted.
The other tugged the leash to tell me which way to walk. It seemed I’d gone from a bad situation to one worse. However, it didn’t seem the time to talk or complain. The coarse rope around my neck provided all the instructions needed.
One took the lead, the other followed me. The soft sand pulled with each step. My legs burned with exertion. We moved slowly, but steadily. Twice we paused for long drinks from gourds hung by strings from their necks. Both men smelled of sweat and lack of washing. One smelled of vomit. Mine.
After what seemed half the night, we paused. The night air was chilly, but the sand still held warmth and one said, “We sleep here.”
The rope was used to truss me, and I had no potshard to work with. Besides, I was exhausted and no sooner sprawled in the sand than I slept. I awoke with a blinding sun in my eyes. It had risen above the flat floor of the Brownlands and intensified by bouncing off the sand.
I sat and shielded my eyes with my forearm. The movement woke my new captors. However my task was harder with the rope holding me. My eyes adjusted, and I got my first look at the two men.
Both wore desert robes that hung to their ankles, sandals, and while one had a pale green scarf wrapped around his head, the other wore the same color as his robe. They were smiling. Not at me, but to each other. Job well done, I interrupted.
“Do you know who I am?” I decided to begin with the most relevant question. If they had snatched me from the bounty hunter because they knew me, it opened several doors to negotiate. If not, those doors might still be opened.
“Young, pretty women, bring good prices at the auction houses of Kaon,” one said.
The other added, “We will be rewarded richly for you.”
Kaon. The kingdom separated from Dire by impassable mountains where there were deposits of valuable minerals. Digging them was hard, dangerous work. Miners demanded high pay, but slaves were only paid for once. Men and women.
The one had stressed my looks and age, which suggested other things before being sent to the mines. However, there are slaves who are worth more than others. The sellers would want to know of any special skills that might earn them more on the auction blocks. While not seeing how I could accomplish my mission in Kondor, my release might be bought.
We stood and continued walking with the sun on our right, so we were going north, in the direction of Kaon. Away from Dagger. With the revealing of my name, the right person might agree to release me—after receiving enough gold to last a lifetime.
With those thoughts in my head, I walked faster. Once released, I would again take a ship to Dagger. However, it would be filled to nearly sinking with the best troops Dire could send. Maybe two ships. The thoughts of the ships arriving in port and slaying my enemies made the walking easier.
The sun heated the sand until any part of my feet that touched it burned. We paused for water again, and between the three of us, we emptied the remaining water gourds. That said we were close to wherever we were going because they couldn’t be so stupid that they would run out of water. They were people of the Brownlands and knew how to live in the waterless expanses. The desert had more rolling hills, and the nearest barren mountains were near enough to make out detail.
We climbed another long hill and from the crest found a shallow valley filled with small trees and lush vegetation. In a clearing were five tents, and far to one side a larger one. People moved about their duties, and slaves were chained to each other in strings of about ten.
My semi-euphoria from earlier evaporated with the first sight of the chained slaves. Tied to a post was one being whipped, and two others carried a dead man between them to a pit that had been dug, a pit large enough to hold dozens.
A hand pushed me forward, even as I digested what lay below. Dead slaves are worth nothing. Killing one is like a farmer plowing his own crops just before harvest. It isn’t done. A poor harvest is better than none. Slaves are money. Slavers don’t have to treat them wonderfully, but they do need to feed and care for them until they reach the auction blocks if they wish to earn the most from each sale.
The one being whipped while tied to the post would be worth fewer coins at the blocks because of it, so his offense must have been major. The wounds wouldn’t heal for weeks, long after he was sold, and the scars would last a lifetime. They would warn buyers of a problem with the slave and disobedience. It was like trying to sell a cart with only three wheels. Farmers want all four. The dead were a worse statement. Even a slave in poor health, or one stupid, was worth more than one dead. That fact there were bodies meant a certain amount of them were expected to die as part of the process of taking slaves.
My feet carried me down the slope while my mind churned. At the bottom, instead of pushing me in the direction of the other slaves and tents, my captors turned me to the largest tent. At the entrance, a huge Kaon warrior stood with the massive curved blade I’d heard about worn at his side. It appeared to be a fixed scowl he wore.
One of my guards bowed and as he faced the ground, said, “Is the Slave-Master reviewing new ones today?”
The Kaon warrior nodded once, curtly.
One of the pair that had captured me now stood to either side, as if proudly showing off what they’d accomplished in capturing me. We walked ahead, pushing aside the diaphanous material that kept the insects outside. Within the coolness of the tent, the ground was covered with throws, carpets, rugs, and even tapestries.
A raised dais such as might be found in a throne room in a palace held five nearly nude young women and one enormous man who sat on soft pillows. He held a goblet of wine high and said, “Welcome.”
“Welcome? That’s your first words?” I demanded.
“What should they be?” he asked, a hint of amusement evident at the corners of his mouth.
I had a few choices to make. If I pretended to be just another young pretty woman, and I’d end up beside him, feeding him grapes or pouring his wine. Worse, when I later tried to reveal my position, he wouldn’t believe me.
If I told him who I was now, it would go one of two ways. One meant instant death because the Slave-Master would want no part of the revenge my family would convey. He wanted no part of the assassins they would send his way, and the small army to back up the assassins. If that was his decision, I’d be killed immediately and probably anyone who heard my confession, too.
But he was a businessman. A seller of goods to the highest bidder. A valuable commodity had just entered his tent, and the potential for profit would be too great to allow harm to come my way. I said as I raised my chin to meet his gaze, “I am Princess Elizabeth of Dire.”
My words may well have been the same number of sharp spears poked at him, from the way he reacted. The goblet fell from his hand, red wine spilled on the pillows, and as he sat straighter, he pushed a beautiful woman who had been resting her head on his knee aside. His face contorted and turned crimson. He said, “Do you know the Dragon Tamer called Kendra?”