The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion (36 page)

While watching her catch up with Geraar, Taggart spied a young man shaking out his socks which had apparently dried by his fire.  Something about the man was familiar, but Taggart was unable to place him even though he had a feeling that he should be able to.

Leaving his boots by the fire to dry he tiptoed barefooted over sharp pebbles and sticks to where the man sat with three other warriors.  Taggart saw by their uniform colors that they were part of the small force from Olvion.  They saw him approach and started scrambling to their feet in order to give him a proper salute.  Taggart waved them back down and told them to relax.

He looked to the familiar man.  He was some thirty summers in age and had a short, neatly trimmed beard which was unusual for a warrior. His belt had only one weapon on it; a thin dagger, slightly longer than normal.

“I know you, Warrior,” Taggart told him.  “Were you one of my Rangers?”

During the Great War Taggart had been tasked with leading covert nocturnal raids against the camps of the Grey Ones.  In order to sow terror among the enemy, Taggart’s teams would silently remove any sentries then slit the throats of the grey fiends as they slept.  Their efforts were extremely effective, and they somehow began calling themselves the “Rangers”.  Taggart had wondered many times what had become of them once he
left.
”

The designated warrior smiled.  “Indeed, Sub-Commander. I was among your group of knifemen.”

It all came back to Taggart then in a rush.  There was one man whom he always sent in to slice the throat of any unfortunate sentries.  He was as silent as a shadow and never failed to remove the guards before they could raise an alarm.  This was that man.

Taggart stepped over to him and leaned down to offer his hand.  “Yes, I certainly remember you.  You were the most competent and dangerous man with a knife that I have ever met.  I am happy to see you survived the final battle of the Great War.”

The man blushed a little as he grasped Taggart’s wrist to return his handshake.  “Kind words, Sub-Commander.”

“True words, my friend!  In all of our missions I don’t believe I ever heard your name.”

“I am Markex.  It has been a long time, Sub-Commander.”

Taggart fought away the urge to tell the man to dispense with titles because, in a military situation such as this, discipline was crucial.  He was so happy to see one of his Rangers that he flopped down next to him and began a conversation with him and the others that lasted late into the evening.  Tinker even endured several rounds of touching and petting, obviously intuiting that this man was important to her Tag.  Tinker was not usually so accepting of the attentions of others.

When their fire burned low, Taggart bid the four warriors a good evening and returned to his own fire.  He stirred the glowing embers and added several sticks to get it going again.  He was happy to see that his socks and boots were warm and dry.  He pulled them back on and did a quick check on the posted sentries.  He made certain to spend a small amount of time with each one, asking personal questions such as from where they hailed, what their families did and whether they were married.  Once he was satisfied that all was well he returned to his pile of blankets.  He was a little surprised to see that Toria had not returned.  He looked about his area and finally saw her sitting at a fire with the archer, Tay, and five other women warriors.  He was happy that she was being accepted by the warriors.  They were usually a little exclusionary when it came to others.  Her athleticism was appreciated by the warriors and her courageous fight against the swamp-crocs earlier that day had not gone unnoticed.  Of course all of them knew that her nearly impossible climb up the face of the cliff had made their mission possible.  Pan was entertaining them all by balancing rocks on his nose and making the dozens of endearing sounds made by his kind.  It was good to hear the laughter that resulted.

Taggart lay back and rested his head on a sack of provisions.  He took a deep breath and looked straight overhead at the stars.  The night was clear, and they looked like floating fireflies drifting above him.  For the fiftieth time that day he thought of Dwan.  Where was she?  What was happening to her? 

He wondered if she was in pain.  He knew she would be praying for him to come for her.  She did not even yet know that he had returned.  He hated that she would be sad and was probably being mistreated.  He took one last look at the stars above before closing his eyes.  He said a prayer that God would keep her safe until he reached her.  Then he promised himself anew that anyone who had dared to hurt her would pay dearly for it.

***

Dwan was dragged from the pen by two of Morlee’s men and pushed up on the raised platform.  People crowded in around the semi-circular dais, but not all were there to watch and participate.  Several men and women tried to step up and condemn the sale of slaves, but they were pulled back by others who were there to watch the show.  Some people from the rear of the crowd tossed trash at Morlee.  He sidestepped the larger articles, seeming to enjoy the commotion.  Finally, he raised both hands and called for quiet.  The people who were in opposition to the proceedings continued to shout their objections, but more and more they were being drowned out and pushed away by the supporters.

“Now, Lords and Ladies, we begin our first ever auction of exotic beauties from exotic lands.”

Cheers went up from most of the onlookers.  Dwan searched the crowd for sympathetic faces, but most had been driven far back now.  She looked around hoping to see a clear avenue of escape, but there were none.  Morlee and his men were too close to avoid.

“Here now,” he continued, “is the brightest jewel of the lot.”  He pointed to Dwan with a long dowel.  “She is trained in the healing arts.  And, she is well equipped to be successful in other arts as well.”

The crowd laughed.

“She is a true leader and would be an effective manager of your house staff.  I would start the bid with no less than fifty ores.”

Dwan was unfamiliar with their monetary system, but from the crowd’s reaction, the amount appeared to be huge.  Many of those gathered jeered and hooted.

“What is she, a queen?” one shouted.

“Are you selling a woman or a house?” another asked.

Morlee signaled for quiet again.

“Lords and Ladies, this is not a simple house slave.  This woman was captured by our own valiant Captain Tallun in a strange land across the sea.  Two seasons past we had never even known it existed.  If you buy this slave you will own something unique as well as comely.  Look at her…”

His speech was cut short when an overripe borgfruit smacked him on the side of his face.  The crowd roared with laughter while a woman in the back of the crowd yelled something about slavery being an abomination.

Morlee wiped his face on his sleeve and fought down his anger at the humiliation.  “Here now, there’s no call for this.  Slavery is now an activity that has been approved by the Council of Captains.  That makes it legal and any further attempts to stop this sale will be reported to the patrol.”

That seemed to cool the ardor of the objectors in the crowd somewhat.  Morlee continued.

“So now, Lords and Ladies, who will steal this educated beauty from me for fifty ores?”

A man in the middle of the crowd yelled.  “Not until we see what we’re paying for!”  His comment was met with laughter and shouts of agreement.

“And you are right to demand such,” Morlee answered.  “No one would buy a charon under a blanket.”  He turned and pointed to the man on Dwan’s left.  “You heard the people, they want to see what they’re bidding for.”

Louder laughter and hoots came forth.  Dwan was wearing only a thin white blouse and calf-length skirt.  Morlee’s man reached for the collar of her shirt intending to rip it open.

Dwan had already resolved to herself that she would never submit to slavery.  She prepared herself to take whatever punishment that would prompt.  She knew that she could be overpowered, but she would never willingly allow herself to be dishonored and humiliated without doing everything in her power to resist.  The slavers knew she was tall, but they had discounted her strength.  Now, as the slaver reached for her she drove her heel out forcefully, striking the man directly on the knee.

The slaver screamed in pain as his leg bent the wrong way.  He fell to the floor of the dais cursing and crying at the same time.  Morlee and the other slaver stared in shock.

Others in the crowd laughed as if it were the funniest thing they’d ever witnessed, especially those who objected to the sale.  More trash flew in at Morlee and his man.

With the two slavers concentrating on their fallen comrade Dwan took advantage of the distraction to rake her fingernails across Morlee’s face.  She tried to do the same to the other slaver, but he recovered his attention in time to backhand her.  The strength of his blow sent her to the floor.  She pushed herself up to a sitting position and wiped at her mouth, her hand coming away bloody.

Morlee was stymied.  Never in his life had he received such treatment from a slave.  He was a man accustomed to exploiting his power over the helpless people he controlled.  He looked down at her and raised the wooden dowel.  She barely got her arms up in time to deflect the blow.  The stick smacked into the meaty part of her forearms sending jolts of pain coursing through her like an electric shock.

Dwan cried out in pain and turned onto her stomach so she could crawl away from the slaver’s second attack.  She was not fast enough, and this time the dowel struck her across the shoulder blades.  Now she collapsed face down on the dais, crying from the agony.

The attitude of the crowd began to change.  While in the beginning the gathered people had mostly been curious about the new slavery policy, seeing the treatment of this first young woman presented for sale was off-putting.  Many in the crowd now yelled and shouted at Morlee, demanding that he stop his beating of her.

But Morlee was not hearing the crowd now.  The red fog of fury was drifting up over his eyes as he advanced on the woman who had so humiliated him in front of the onlookers and in front of his employer, Tallun, who was sitting on an overlooking balcony above the dais.

Morlee grabbed Dwan by the hair and turned her head to him.  He was about to deliver a detailed description of what he was going to do to her when she spat in his face.

In a state of rage, Morlee backed away from Dwan, wiping his face on his sleeves.  The crowd now overwhelmingly turned supportive of the courageous young woman who was defending her honor with all that she had in her.  Now more trash and bits of fruit were tossed at Morlee and his two helpers, shouts and curses were directed at them.  It seemed almost none of the onlookers wanted the display to continue.

“Enough,” came a shout from above.  Tallun was watching the mood of the assembled throng turn ugly.  He knew that if enough people expressed their opposition to the new slave policy the council would be forced to rescind it.  “Stop this now!”

Morlee was beyond reason.  The thin emotional dam that he used to hold back the demons of his past abuses was gone.  He heard Tallun, but his logical mind was being overruled by his emotional one.  He tossed away the wooden dowel and snatched the whip from his belt.  He ignored the shouts from the mob and the pieces of trash that pelted him.  He slowly took the three steps that separated him from the object of his hate.  Dwan tried once again to scramble away from him.  He caught her by the hair and twisted her head around.  Without a word he began to beat her back and shoulders with the short braided lash. 

Now the crowd went crazy.  Three young men fought their way through the throng and jumped onto the platform.  One sent Morlee to the floor with a savage punch to the side of his face.  The other two attacked his helpers.  Then more men and one woman joined in.  Each one of the slavers was now on the floor and surrounded by two or three of the citizens of Kylee who were kicking and stomping at them.

Tallun had feared a negative reaction from the populace but nothing like what was occurring.  Morlee’s lack of control over his temper could very well cause them to lose the slave trade altogether and the considerable riches that it promised.

Fortunately he had planned for such an emergency situation.  He had positioned the crewmen of the Necromancer around the dais.  He now leaned over to shout at Barl, the scarred pirate who had taken the place of the late Bonn as first mate. 

Barl rushed below and signaled his men.  The pirate crew smashed through the crowd tossing men and women off of the dais.  They recovered Morlee and his crew and then picked up Dwan and carried her back through the streets to the cellar where she and the other women were originally kept.  They threw her roughly on a threadbare divan and left her there alone, sobbing in pain.  Moments later the door opened again and the other kidnapped women of Olvion were herded in.  Then the door was closed, and they heard the lock being slid into place.

Dwan tried several times to raise herself off of the divan.  Pain and shock had robbed her of almost all of her strength.  She continued in her attempts, all the while trying to stifle the sobs that came from her lips.

Then there were hands on her, lifting her up and placing her gently in a sitting position.  Some of the trained healers in their group worked on the wounds on her arms while others tended to her ravaged back.