Hero of Slaves (2 page)

Cassus shook his head, wondering why in the name of the One Above Jonrell ever allowed Glacar to stay on with the Hell Patrol. He turned to Kroke who sat across from them. The lithe assassin methodically sharpened the knives he kept about his person. Unlike Cassus, he seemed completely indifferent to Glacar’s actions.

“What about you, Kroke? Do you need to remind yourself of pain when in between jobs?”

Kroke stroked his blade across the whetstone. Without disturbing his rhythm, he answered. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Anyone who needs to remind themselves what it means to feel pain hasn’t really experienced it in my opinion.”

* * *

Cassus had been through his fair share of pain—sore muscles, open wounds, and even a heavy heart. But never had he been tortured.

Melchizan’s fist rocked Cassus’ jaw, sending him and his chair to the floor for the fifth time.

This is getting ridiculous.

Cassus lay there for a moment, his swollen cheek pressed against the wooden decking of the ship, and felt it sway with the rolling waves.

Is he ever going to stop?

He had been asking himself that question for what felt like hours as Melchizan pounded away at him. Cassus tried on three separate occasions to ask the slave trader what he wanted, but his captor stayed silent, answering only with his knuckles.

He’s changed. Always had someone else do the dirty work for him before.

Through the cracks in his swollen eyes, Cassus saw a glimpse of the man’s knuckles, bruised and swollen. He forced back a smile.

Jonrell used to joke that I had a hard head.

Cassus grimaced. His hard-headedness had caused the deaths of his crew.

Horan told me this one was too risky, but I wouldn’t listen.

Cassus had spent the last two years since leaving the Hell Patrol freeing as many Byzernians as possible from slavery. He and his crew had initially done a lot of good, but word had gotten out about them and the risk associated with each mission rose as crew members began to dwindle.

But that didn’t stop me. I had to help. They needed me.

He thought of the little girl and boy he and Horan had carried. Then of the old Byzernian’s body lying atop the burning pile of his crew. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

No. The Byzernians needed someone else.

“Help him up,” said Melchizan.

It had been the first words his captor had spoken since their meeting in the jungle. Footsteps clicked across the floor. The guards lifted him to a sitting position again.

He swayed in his seat, trying to blink away the pounding in his head. Melchizan dragged a chair across the floor of his private quarters. Sweat glistened on his face and arms. Melchizan took a seat facing Cassus. He stared with the same intense scowl he had used when trying to intimidate Jonrell during the Hell Patrol’s time under his employment.

Cassus remembered Jonrell joking that Melchizan couldn’t intimidate a stack of logs with that scowl, but Jonrell had never been in Cassus’ position. He wondered if his friend would still feel the same way after getting hammered on by the would-be conqueror turned slave trader.

Melchizan took a long gulp of water. “Beating on you is tiring work.” He took another drink and set the cup down. “But, now that I’ve got your attention, it’s time you start giving me the information I need. Can you do that?”

“Depends,” Cassus mumbled, barely recognizing his own voice through his swelling jaw.

“Depends, eh? Listen to you. You sure have grown a pair since last time we spoke.” He chuckled. “Cassus, former mercenary, now Hero of Slaves!”

Heroes don’t let so many die.

Melchizan’s face hardened. “Let me explain what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me where all those slaves you freed are, starting with the ones you stole from me when the Hell Patrol broke their contract and left me stranded.”

I should tell him everything out of spite for the Byzernians not helping us.
But despite all his anger, Cassus said nothing.

“I’m waiting,” said Melchizan through clenched teeth.

“Get comfortable.”

Melchizan grunted. “Yes, you’ve definitely changed.” He rose from his seat, opening and closing his hands. “So have I. I’m nowhere near as forgiving.”

A fist lashed out and crunched into Cassus’ nose. Another slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. A boot kicked him in the shin, then the groin. He tried to speak, if only to beg Melchizan to stop, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

“Are you going to let me try now?” asked Roshan. Until then, the green-robed mage had remained quiet while leaning against a wall of Melchizan’s quarters.

“No,” said Melchizan. “You’re liable to kill him before we get what we need. He’ll come around.”

“Never,” said Cassus, finding his voice again. “You’re going to kill me regardless of what I do.”

“True.” Melchizan grinned. “But trust me, you’d rather die by my hand than Roshan’s.”

“No matter what your situation is, always act like you’re in control.”
Thinking of Jonrell’s advice, Cassus began to chuckle despite the pain he felt with each breath.

“What’s so funny?” asked Melchizan.

Cassus hated playing the angle he started to pursue, but it was all he could think of to get inside Melchizan’s head. “I was just thinking that no matter how badly you hurt me, it will come back to you tenfold once the Hell Patrol hears about it. You know how Jonrell feels about this sort of thing.”

The room went silent. Cassus looked up from the floor. Melchizan wore an expression of both puzzlement and delight. He looked over to Roshan and the mage smirked.

“He doesn’t know,” said Roshan.

“Know what?” asked Cassus.

The mage began to laugh. “I guess when you’re busy stealing from others, it’s easy not to stay up on the news of the world.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Cassus.

“Jonrell died well over a year ago,” said Melchizan, shaking his head and chuckling right alongside Roshan.

Dead? Impossible.

“You’re lying,” Cassus whispered. But he saw the glee in their faces, the sparkle in their eyes. He had learned how to read people while studying at Estul Island and though he desperately wanted to believe he had been lied to, he just didn’t see it.

Still laughing, Melchizan walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a letter. “Normally, I wouldn’t keep something like this, but considering what Jonrell did to me, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I wanted to kill that piece of garbage myself, but how could I not enjoy his ultimate demise.” He walked over to Cassus while unfolding the paper. “I like to read it after a particularly stressful day and it never fails to lift my spirits.” He held the paper in front of Cassus.

Cassus squinted through the swollen slits of his eyes. The letter appeared authentic. It didn’t say a whole lot, a bit about the war going on, how it affected trade, and almost as a footnote, it stated that “Jonrell, Prince of Cadonia, Commander of the mercenary Hell Patrol, died at the hands of one of his own men after winning a great victory at Cathyrium.” In the battle’s aftermath, Queen Elyse named someone called Kaz as his replacement.

Melchizan pulled the letter away, but Cassus still stared dumbly at where it had been a moment before.

Jonrell is dead.

“Take him down below with the slaves for the night. He’ll work the oars with them tomorrow. We’ll talk again after he’s had more time to think over his situation. In the meantime, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t earn his keep,” said Melchizan.

Cassus heard Roshan chuckle as a guard yanked him from his chair.

* * *

The guard half-led, half-dragged Cassus’ battered body below deck.

A damp, musky smell welcomed them as a door swung open. After a few steps, the guard dropped Cassus unceremoniously to the floor.

“This is your spot. Don’t move from it,” said the guard as he clasped a manacle around Cassus’ ankles.

Cassus couldn’t bring himself to move as the guard’s footsteps drifted away. He heard the door shut and the lock turn.

Feeling the eyes of someone on him, he looked to his left and a short distance away saw the slave who had tried to help him when he fell near the longboats.

Further away, dozens of others slept fitfully.

“I’m Yenaz.”

“Cassus,” he croaked.

“You should try to get some sleep while you can. The first day at the oars is always the hardest." The slave closed his eyes.

Cassus listened to the waves lapping gently against the hull. The sounds of faint snoring, heavy breathing, and twitching limbs joined the ocean’s song. He had no idea what time of night it was, but knew that he should try to sleep and give his body a chance to recover.

But sleep didn’t come. His limbs ached. His mind raced.

Jonrell had been his best friend since they were boys. He thought about the first time they met at court in Lyrosene. As a minor lord, Cassus’ father had felt honored just to be invited to Cadonia’s capital. While his father had used the opportunity to rub elbows with the other nobles, Cassus hid in a dark alcove of the vast castle, intimidated by all the other boys.

And then he found me.

At the time, Cassus hadn’t recognized the young prince. So when Jonrell had encouraged him to come out and play, he couldn’t contain his excitement. When one of the other boys tried to ridicule Cassus for his father’s low station, Jonrell laid into the boy, and the offender immediately apologized. Only then did Cassus realize who his new friend was.

He never understood what Jonrell had seen in him then, but afterward the two had practically done everything together.

He always looked out for me and how did I repay him? I left.

Jonrell had decided to return to Cadonia after the death of the king, but Cassus hadn’t been ready to face his old life. He had convinced himself that helping the Byzernians was a more worthy decision.

And by helping the Byzernians, I couldn’t be there when Jonrell actually needed me. I couldn’t watch his back for him as he had done so often for me.

Tears welled in his puffy eyes.

Killed by one of his own? Who? Why didn’t someone protect him? One Above, how could you let something like that happen?

He wiped his eyes with dirty palms, taking in a deep breath.

Look around, Cassus. This isn’t the time or place to mourn someone. Even Jonrell.

His eyes crawled over the space one last time, before closing.

Chapter 3

Cassus drove his shovel into the ground, barely managing to cut into the hard, clay soil. He let the shovel rest for a moment as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “If you had told me five years ago we’d be digging trenches with a band of mercenaries, I’d have laughed in your face.”

Jonrell straightened, letting his arms hang. He smiled. “It’s definitely a far cry from the courts of Cadonia.”

Cassus looked around at the band of grunting soldiers, crinkling his nose as the wind shifted. “It smelled nicer in Cadonia.”

“Better company here though.” Jonrell nodded toward a few men giving one of the new recruits a hard time with some good-natured jesting.

Cassus thought of all the nobles who once looked down on him and his family for coming from a minor house. He still found it hard to wrap his head around being so accepted by a band of cutthroats. “Much better, when I think about it.”

Jonrell started digging again.

Cassus went to do the same, and paused. “Why are you doing this?”

Jonrell looked up. “The trenches? Basic protocol for setting up a camp.”

“I know that. But why are you doing this? You command this outfit now. Shouldn’t you be supervising or something?”

“I prefer the view down here with the men. Besides, we can all do with a little hard work. Isn’t that what Master Amcaro used to tell us?”

Cassus got back to work. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure he was referring to our schoolwork then.”

Jonrell chuckled.

* * *

A boot in the side jarred Cassus awake. He gasped for air, rolling into a ball.

“On your feet,” said the guard from the night before.

The guard released his manacle and then walked away.

Cassus opened his eyes as the faint light of morning leaked through portholes in the side of the hull. He saw benches and oars throughout the space that he hadn’t noticed the night before. He had been sleeping on the lowest level of rowers.

Cassus slowly rose to his feet, tired and sore, but surprisingly not as bad as he expected after the beating he had taken.

“One of life’s small joys,” he muttered to himself.

His boot hit something. Looking down, he saw a chamber pot and quickly took advantage of it.

A moment later, a guard came by handing out one roll to every person packed within the confines of the space. The roll was as hard as the floor he had slept on, but that didn’t stop Cassus from choking it down.

The same guard came back around with a bucket. Each person got one ladle full of stale water. It tasted awful, but brought Cassus the relief his dry throat so desperately needed.

The guard shouted an order. Some of the slaves took their spots on the benches situated throughout the lowest level of oars. Others formed a line. A hand from behind eased Cassus into the column.

“Keep your eyes forward,” Yenaz whispered. “In the morning, the guards look for excuses to take their anger out on us.”

Another order sounded, and the line marched forward. The chains attached to their ankles slapped against the wooden floor as they walked. They entered a doorway and climbed a short set of stairs before the line split. Some found benches on the second level while others, including Cassus, continued upward to the third level of oars, open to the sky.