Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (101 page)

There were twenty wagons in the caravan, each carrying ten of Methrym’s men coffled neck to neck. That was two hundred men. He had a hundred and twenty borderers—twenty driving the wagons—and the others armed to the teeth and mounted. With luck, they wouldn’t be needed, but it was comforting nonetheless. Borderers were unlike any other peasant he could name, they had to be. Living on the border was risky to say the least, and unlike other peasants, they knew how to fight with sword and dagger, and were good with both. They were even more deadly now that he had supplied them with new armour and some of his precious steel swords. The borderers were worth their weight in gold to him. They could literally prove to be all that stood between him and the auction block in Talayan.

The wagons continued through the morning and into the afternoon. Methrym ordered they not stop for longer than a quarter candlemark until a day out from Talayan. As night approached, his
slavers
stopped to make camp and roughly shoved the slaves out of the wagons.

The
slaves
yelled abuse and glared, but the borderers just laughed enjoying themselves immensely. It was all to the good. If they acted too friendly the plan would be screwed and him along with it. The
slaves
relieved themselves while still chained, and then the slavers shoved them toward the fires. Methrym glared at the slop he was given to eat. This was going too far! He glanced at Soren who was eating his mutton with relish.

Soren noticed and shrugged. “I’ve always like it.”

Methrym glared at his plate, and then began to eat stolidly. He needed the energy. Mutton was exclusively… he glanced at Soren again,
almost
exclusively, a peasant’s food. He was used to eating good beef or fowl, not this. As he ate, he watched his slavers setting guards around the perimeter. They had used only half their numbers, and he approved. Terriss, the leader of the borderers, was pointing out the best places from which to watch both inward and outward, and his men obeyed without fuss.

Terriss wandered over and crouched down to talk quietly. “All is going well yes?”

Methrym nodded. “So far yes. When we get there, leave the covers down so the guards can see your merchandise.”

“I know the plan, but I have one change to make.”

Methrym ground his teeth. If his coffle hadn’t been real, he would have thrown it off and shown this man what changing his plan would cost.

“What change?”

Terriss looked around at his men, before turning back with a look that worried Methrym. The borderer had a glint in his eyes that he didn’t like the look of at all.

“Do you know why we came with you?” Terriss said.

“Because you hate the Japurans?”

“That’s part of it,” Terriss agreed. “We’re here because we’re the last. You understand?”

“Not really.”

“We are all that’s left of twelve villages. You understand what I’m saying? Every village along the border—we’re the last still free. All children be gone. All women be gone, just us left. My wife, my daughter, my whole life is in Talayan. They’re some bastard’s whores!”

“So you want revenge. I can understand that,” he said in relief.

“I want more, much more than revenge on raiders. I want my
life
back! I want all my men’s lives back! You will help me do it.”

The look on Terriss’ face worried him. The last time he’d seen something like it, he’d been trying to kill the heir to Elvissa. Donalt’s men had literally thrown themselves onto his men’s swords in order to bind them and gain time to pull the boy to safety. That kind of desperation and fanaticism could lend great strength to a man, but it certainly didn’t lend good judgement. Methrym studied the other
slavers
. How had he missed the signs? Were the signs even to be seen? He licked suddenly dry lips and pulled at the coffle. Terriss grinned and he tugged harder. There was no way he was going to break the locks that Lorenz had affixed to it.

“What are you planning?”

Terriss grinned and told him. At the end Methrym was tugging on the coffle for all he was worth. His men heard the commotion and when they realised what had caused it, they howled and tried to do the same. It was no use.

Terriss walked away howling with laughter.

“I’ll kill you for this!” he howled after the borderer. “Terriss!” he screamed, “
TERRISS!
”

The next day dawned overcast and raining. The covers were left down as Methrym had planned, and he sat in soaking misery with his men glaring daggers at him. He was truly a slave now, and so were they. By the looks they gave him, he knew he wouldn’t live long to bemoan his fate. Terriss’ plan couldn’t possibly work. They had planned to capture the gate towers and open the gates for Lorenz, but Terriss had other priorities. He had tried to reason with the man, and when that didn’t work he tried threats, but Terriss wouldn’t be turned from his suicidal course.

At mid-day, a patrol from Talayan found them wending their way toward the city. The Japuran’s examined the slaves thoroughly and laughed at the looks they received.

“Look at that one, master Terriss,” the force leader for the Japuran lancers said pointing at Methrym. “He should fetch you three golds at least!”

The Japuran didn’t see the snarl of hate appear on Terriss’ face.

The Japuran lancers escorted them toward the city allowing only short stops for watering the mounts and the slaves—the slaves
afte
r the horses of course. The city came into sight at dusk. The towers and walls first, then the massive gates. Talayan was mighty indeed. A city built like a fortress by slaves. It had taken centuries of work and many thousands of deaths to complete. It sat in a rich valley surrounded by farms and their attendant villages, all of which supplied invincible Talayan with produce. The gate towers Methrym had planned to capture came and went, and he mourned their passing. If his plan had been followed, his coffle would be off and he would be happily killing Japurans now. Instead, he was depending on a half mad peasant—one he would take great delight in killing.

The city was impressive, he grudgingly concluded after passing through yet another market place. A city this size would need dozens like this, just to feed and clothe its people. He watched a detachment of city militia jog by the wagons on their way to some disturbance. He took note of the short swords and batons they carried. They wore only light armour and helms, carried no shields, and would be dog meat if, no
when
, Lorenz attacked. It was the lancers he had to worry about, not city militia that rarely dealt with anything more taxing than a drunken brawl. Japuran lancers were the bane of any Tanjung War Leader, and they always would be. They were regular troops, not simply conscripted peasants who spent most of their time devising ways to return home. Desertion from the lancers was death, but that was meaningless. No one wanted to desert from Talitha’s elite. They had the best horseflesh, and the best weapons the Matriarch could supply—which was
very
good indeed—and the best commanders. In short, lancers were respected and well paid with good prospects. Plus they lived longer. Good armour and leadership did have that effect.

Who would run from that?

They left the square and moved into another shadowy street. The buildings loomed high above him and blotted out the sky where the upper stories hung out over the street. They were so close together in some places that he was sure a thief could step from one rooftop to another across the street. There must have been over half a million people or more living within Talayan’s walls, but as the caravan travelled through the streets, the expected stink of humanity did not make itself known.

How was it possible?

He leaned over the side of the wagon trying to see the gutters. They were clean! Not one piece of rubbish or flotsam could he see, but there was something else that puzzled him. Every five yards or so, there were small openings going into the ground. Tunnels, why have tunnels? He learned part of the answer after the lancers left the caravan to continue on its way toward the slave pens. There were old men sluicing the streets—street cleaners—men who did nothing all night but wash the roads and gutters. It was unbelievable!

Truly, the Japurans were decadent, just as he had heard.

When they reached the slave pens, Methrym finally found something expected. They entered a compound through a heavy iron-barred gate where the wagons were unhitched and the horses led away. He swallowed trying not to gag at the stench of unwashed bodies. It was enough to make his horse swoon let alone him!

“Out you lazy bastards!” Terriss shouted and the other slavers took up the cry.

Methrym climbed down and looked around. The compound covered a huge area and the pens themselves were full to capacity. Overfull he would say. There were thousands of people crammed into a space fit for no more than a few hundred. There was standing room only in some of the pens, but the press of bodies prevented the weary slaves from slumping to the ground. No one should be treated this way, not even the much-hated Terriss.

Terriss and his men removed the coffles, and while a fat Japuran counted them, shoved Methrym and the others roughly into a crowded iron cage. Terriss suddenly froze and clenched his fists. Methrym whirled around to see what the man was staring at. There! In the corner was a group of women and children. He looked back in horror as Terriss started forward.

“You bastard! Stay away or I’ll kill you!” he shouted, frothing in rage.

Soren saw what was about to happen and moved some of the men to block the women and children from Terriss’ sight. One of his own men intercepted Terriss and whispered urgently into his ear. Terriss snarled something in reply, but whatever it was didn’t deter his friend. The man shook him roughly, but it was the attention of the puzzled slave master that finally snapped him back to reality.

“Good yes? The girls are especially sweet. Not quite ripe if you know what I mean?” the oily slave master said and winked in exaggeration.

Terriss grimaced but nodded. He knew what the slave master meant all right. Japurans didn’t care what they fucked. It was an old saying among his people that Japuran woman bedded Tanjuner men, while Japuran men bedded Tanjuner donkeys.

“Sell the mouthy one to me, and I’ll teach him his place for you,” the slave master said.

Terriss grinned as if considering it. Methrym held his breath for what seemed a lifetime, but Terriss finally shook his head, and he his breath whooshed out.

“I might be willing to take a loss on that one,” Terriss mused. “I might sell him to a brothel… as a eunuch!”

The Japuran cackled with glee. “A fitting punishment indeed!”

“Can I leave the wagons here? I’ll be watching the auction tomorrow to see how much this lot brings me.”

“Certainly my friend! Come along with me and have a drink.”

“Good of you,” Terriss said. “I am a little thirsty.”

“I have a bottle of the good stuff in my room…”

Methrym lost the rest of the conversation as Terriss entered one of the buildings lining the wall. Soren brought Methrym word a moment later that Terriss had succeeded in finding his family, but the question remained—was the plan still workable?

Only time would tell.

* * *

“And the sorcerers attacked without warning,” Vexin said.

“What happened then father?” Odrhan asked from his place under the covers.

It was late, but Odrhan had been taking an interest in history lately and Vexin thought it a good idea to encourage the interest. If a ruler wanted to avoid repeating mistakes, he needed to know of them and understand the reasons behind them.

A quiet tapping came from the door. Bothmar poked his head inside and beckoned. Vexin nodded and gestured the door closed.

“It’s time for you to be asleep, my son. I’ll continue the story tomorrow night. Now slide down so I can tuck you in.”

“I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t tell me,” Odrhan said slyly.

Vexin chuckled as he tucked in the covers. A chip off the old block the boy was. “I’ll give you a hint then. The sorcerers had a bigger problem to solve… one that flies.”

“Dragons!” Odrhan squealed excitedly.

“Tomorrow,” Vexin said firmly and blew out the lamp.

“But I won’t be able to sleep!”

“Not to worry,” he said from the open doorway. “If you can’t sleep, I’ll have to stop keeping you up at night with these stories won’t I?”

“That’s not fair!”

“Sleep now, Odrhan, that’s an order from your emperor!” he said trying not to laugh.

“Yes lord,” Odrhan said with a put upon sigh.

Vexin closed the door and nodded to Bothmar. With the man a pace behind, he quickly made his way through the palace to his study. Bothmar had graduated to the group allowed into this room only recently when he produced a plan to secure the Japuran border for Odrhan and his future sons. As a reward, he had given him permission to enter this room, and a bigger suit in the palace for his own use. Bothmar was unmarried, but it wasn’t inconceivable that he would find a woman to consort with. He would suggest it later. After all, Odrhan would need reliable men just as he did. A son of Bothmar’s would work very well. No such luck with Keppel though. He would never find someone willing to marry the Snake.

Vexin sat behind his desk and indicated to Keppel and Bothmar to sit also. He was more comfortable here than in the great hall. His throne might look impressive to others, but as the years went by he had found that soft cushions impressed him far more than hard marble and ornamentation.

“What have you for me, Keppel?”

“My lord, a tragic death in House Malim,” Keppel said mournfully. “It seems that Lord Vivika’s consort made a bad choice in her latest lover. The man was nothing but an opportunist. He murdered her and tried to steal her jewellery. He was killed trying to escape the grounds.”

“Oh no, that’s terrible!” Vexin said in shock.

He hoped it sounded like shock. He needed to practise so the lords would accept his innocence. If he didn’t know better though, he would swear that Keppel was truly sad to hear about the death of Lady Hakima. Perhaps he mourned not being allowed to kill her personally. That might be it.