Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (20 page)

“Adairous is selling me after the fight. He
says I betrayed him. He’s going to tell the crowd that–that I’m a…”
Her words become lost in her hesitancy.

“You’re a what?”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no telling where
I’ll be carted off to.”

All at once Merek’s world came crashing
down. On one side of a wall of dark metal bars he saw his sister;
on the other side was a friend who was desperate for his help. He
clenched the bars in his hands, battling with the choices that lay
before him.

“Please,” Awlin said. “Don’t leave me.”

Merek pictured Patryk waiting for him
outside, anxiously digging at the ground with the toe of his boot.
He hated to let him down, but Awlin couldn’t wait.

“All right,” Merek said. “Where is your
master?”

“Adairous? Probably on the ground floor. He
likes to watch the fights up close.”

“Let me go talk to him. I’ll—”

“No!” Awlin blurted. “It’s impolite to
interrupt him during a match. He’ll have you thrown out.”

And yet another reason Merek hated Malium.
It seemed to be where the pompous and the wealthy gathered to waste
their riches on gambling and whores.

A hand latched onto Merek’s arm and pulled
him away from the cell. “All right, time to go,” said Patryk. “The
fight’s almost over.”

Right then half the crowd booed as the other
half cheered. Merek could only assume that one of the bears had
finally been killed. A moment later the arcades of The Pit became a
hub of greedy joy and despair as some men collected their winnings
and others gave away their fortunes.

“We need to leave,” Patryk said.

“No. I’m sorry. We’ll have to do it
later.”

“Haha. You’re funny. Let’s go.”

Merek grabbed Patryk by the arm. “Adairous
is going to sell Awlin. If I don’t get her out of here now I may
not have a second chance.”

Patryk grit his teeth and stamped his foot.
“I knew it!” He stepped toward Merek, shoving a single finger in
his face. “I knew you’d back out.”

“I’m not backing out. I will help you. We’ll
do it—”

Patryk threw his hands up in the air. “I’m a
dead man. Thanks to you I am now a walking dead man.”

“I said I would help you, and I will, but
I—”

“If I don’t get that pig-nosed bastard his
money today then he’s going to take in flesh what I owe him.”
Patryk was sweating, and far too frazzled to think clearly.

“Relax. He will get his money,” Merek said.
“You just need to get out of here. Find a place to lie low and
wait. Meet me at the—”

“Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” Patryk
wheeled around and began pushing his way through the crowd. “Thanks
for nothing,” he called over his shoulder.

“Patryk!” Merek shouted. “Just wait!”

But his friend didn’t stop, and before long
he disappeared in the dark, cramped mob of the stifling arcade.

A hefty brute with thick arms and an even
thicker neck shoved Merek aside. In his hand rattled a ring of
black keys, one of which he applied to Awlin’s cell door.

“I want to buy her,” Merek said, pushing his
voice above the commotion in The Pit.

Customarily bidding wasn’t open until the
slaves were presented to the crowd, but Merek knew it wasn’t
unheard of for deals to be struck behind the scenes.

“Did you hear me?” he pressed. “I said I
want to buy—”

The brute pushed Merek aside with the cell
door as he swung it open. “Biddin’ starts in the arena,” he said in
lazy Efferousian.

Entering the cell, the brute clamped a pair
of wrist cuffs on Awlin and escorted her below to the arena
floor.

Wrist cuffs. The appearance of them at this
juncture was not a good sign, Merek knew. At an auction such as
this slaves wore shackles at all times unless they were one of two
things: highly valued or prostitutes. In these cases their masters
didn’t want their skin damaged by the chaffing of metal bands and
so shackles often weren’t applied until they were brought out for
bidding. Awlin, he feared, was not about to be sold cheap.

The arena floor had been cleaned of the
enorbear carcass, its spilled blood raked into the dirt. The
battle’s champion had been escorted away to some secluded chamber
to lick its wounds.

Over the next several moments The Pit was
transformed from a barren dirt floor ring to a showcase for slaves
complete with a wooden presentation platform.

The most able bodied of the male slaves were
stripped to the waist, lean muscles showing under clean-scrubbed
flesh. The women were draped in long white shifts and nothing else,
hair pulled back, beautiful faces exposed.

A male caller in a vested red and gold tunic
hiked up onto the platform, his generous belly limping over his
thighs as he climbed the steps.

Merek pushed his way through the crowd
gathering on the arena floor. He tallied in his head the amount of
gold and silver pieces in his purse, but he knew it wasn’t enough.
With deft fingers he lifted a leather moneybag from under the
purple cloak of a rich looking citizen, and then took a velvet
pouch from the belt of a well-dressed man. Both purses contained a
mixture of silver and gold with some copper, but it didn’t look
like enough to buy a female pleasure slave.

The crowd started jeering and Merek’s eyes
darted toward the stage where a quivering man in peasant’s clothes
was escorted up onto the platform by a local enforcer of the
law.

“Make it quick,” said the caller in the red
tunic.

The lawman pushed the peasant in front of a
waist-high wooden box. He then shoved the man’s hands through two
round holes in the top and chained them in place. The front of the
box was open, exposing the peasant’s vulnerable fingers as they
dangled below.

“No! No! Please, n–n–no!”

The lawman turned a crank that activated two
barbed wooden rollers within the box that rose up and consumed the
twitching fingers. Wails of agony exploded from the peasant’s mouth
as his hands were crushed in the mutilating device.

Black money. That was the name given to
silver and gold pieces that had been debased by men hoping to
outsmart the system. The peasant had likely been caught trimming
silver coins or trying to pass off various other ores as the real
deal. When he lifted his broken, bloody fingers from the box it was
clear that he would never be able to do such careful work
again.

“Get him off my stage!” the caller said, and
the lawman dragged the peasant away.

“Nice to see justice served,” said a man to
Merek’s right.

He looked and saw a tall, well-groomed
nobleman in a red cloak and a gold shirt with silk brocade
sleeves.

“People like him waste their lives shaving
such little bits of gold and silver off coins. It hardly amounts
to, what, an extra rosi or two?” He spoke in perfect Efferousian,
the product of a refined and expensive education.

“They should hang the dog,” Merek said in
the best Efferousian accent he could muster, which was all but
flawless.

The auction started and moved at a good
pace, beginning with the male slaves and finishing with the women.
Each man was asked to face front, turn around, lift his arms, and
squat to ensure that he was more than just a handsome specimen.
Meanwhile the caller would shout out information regarding the
slave’s age, physical abilities, health, looks, skills, and
education. The women were put through a similar display, but not
always with their clothing on.

Merek felt his heartbeat growing faster as
Awlin’s turn came up. If they stripped her naked before the crowd
he doubted he could resist rushing up onto the stage and carrying
her off. He’d be a dead man if he tried.

Even more disturbing was the high price of
slaves in Slavigo. The male slaves sold for the equivalent of a
commoner’s yearly wages, which wasn’t a stretch for the wealthy
bidders in the crowd. Women, on the other hand, were going for
two-to-four times that amount depending on their skills, and, more
importantly, their beauty.

“There’s a lovely one, isn’t it,” remarked
the nobleman as Awlin stepped up onto the stage.

Merek wanted to punch him.

Awlin looked nervous, her eyes scanning the
crowd for Merek, but he made no move to catch her attention. He
didn’t want her noticing him and becoming even more agitated than
she already was.

“We have here a foreign woman, as is evident
by her lovely blonde hair. A rarity, gentlemen,” the caller said
with a grin, deriving a few approving sounds from the crowd. “Brown
eyes. Don’t see many like those around here. She speaks Tangmuta
and Efferousian. A gifted cook and nursemaid.”

Merek liked what he was hearing. The
announcer’s description of Awlin painted her as a simple girl,
someone who was being sold as a homemaker or a caretaker of
children. Perhaps she would sell for cheaper than he was
expecting.

“Her name is Awlin,” the caller continued.
“She was educated in the kingdom of Turnberry in the realm of
Edhen. And her previous owner wishes me to point out the fact
that,” he paused for effect, “she is a virgin.”

And just like that the tables turned. The
red-blooded lust of the male bidders rose high while Merek’s hopes
plummeted. If any kind of slave could raise the stakes at an
auction it was a beautiful virgin woman.

The nobleman to Merek’s right raised his
hand and doubled the current bid.

Merek couldn’t wait any longer. He raised
his hand and shouted, “Four rosdium.” That was four year’s worth of
wages for the average commoner, and Merek knew as soon as the words
left his mouth that he didn’t have that much money with him.

Without missing a beat the handsome nobleman
upped the price by half.

Merek’s eyes locked with Awlin’s. She looked
at him, her expression frozen in silent plea.

“Let’s see her!” came a shout from somewhere
in the audience. “Take her clothes off!”

The caller chuckled. “Someone doesn’t know
the rules.” A few others in the crowd laughed with him. “Such a
virgin as this foreign beauty cannot be exposed to you disgusting
lot,” he joked. “No, her gifts are all for her buyer alone.”

A man up in the second level of the arcade
called down a price that made Merek’s skin go cold.

The rich nobleman raised it.

Merek threw up his hand and said, “Three
pupium.” It was a price worthy of twelve rosdiums, three times more
than Merek’s last bid.

The man in the second level arcade outbid
him again, but not by much. Merek took it as a sign that he had
reached his limit.

The nobleman bid again. “Sorry, my friend,”
he said to Merek. “I do love those foreign virgin ladies.”

Merek wanted to offer a higher price, but he
knew it was pointless. Even if he did win the bid for Awlin he
would find nothing but trouble when he attempted to collect her
without enough money.

The bidding ended and Awlin was escorted off
the stage. The nobleman moved forward to collect his prize, his
satisfied smirk still planted across his face.

Merek followed him, half wanting to kill
him, but knowing there would be no escaping that kind of crime in a
crowded place like The Pit.

The nobleman ordered Awlin’s shackles
removed and then kissed her hand. “Such precious skin should never
be calloused by chains,” he said.

With so few options before him, Merek
decided to play the only card he could think of.

“Sir?” he said, reaching out for the man’s
golden sleeve.

The nobleman whipped around and regarded
Merek with a sly grin. “Ah, yes, the man I outbid. Don’t tell me
you’re a sore loser.”

“I implore you, please, she is my sister. I
beg you to let her go.” Merek didn’t believe that sentimentality
would work on the nobleman, but he figured it was worth a shot.

For a moment the man looked at Merek with a
kind of curious sympathy. He looked touched, even, but not for
long. He pulled Awlin close to his side and pushed past Merek, his
sly grin returning.

“So sorry for you,” he said, his voice flat.
“But I want what I bought. You may go away now.”

“Merek?” Awlin whimpered as the nobleman led
her away.

“You do not speak to him,” the man
scolded.

For a moment Merek could do nothing but gape
after them, unwilling to accept that he had come so close to his
sister only to be stopped by a selfish, unreasonable man. No, this
couldn’t end here. He wouldn’t let it.

Merek’s hand went to the pocket of his tunic
that contained the six broken shards of the regenstern. Before he
had completely processed what he was considering, he followed after
the nobleman once again. He caught up with him in the bottom level
of the arcade. Scooting in front of him, he blocked his path.

“Will you take one of these?” he said,
offering the man the gem.

When the nobleman’s eyes fell upon the milky
white stone he became transfixed. His eyes moved from the gem to
Merek, where he held his gaze for an uncomfortably long time. “Is
that what I think it is?”

“A regenstern,” Merek said. “From
Edhen.”

The nobleman reached out and took the gem as
gently as if it were an infant. He turned it in his hands,
devouring the sparkling rainbow in its core with his eyes. In case
it wasn’t enough, Merek offered him another.

“How many do you have?” the nobleman said,
taking the second gem.

“I cannot part with them all,” Merek said.
“Two is the most I can give you.”

The man thought for a moment as he held
Merek’s gaze. He seemed to be looking beyond his expression for an
answer hidden in his mind.

“I require four,” the nobleman said. “Four,
and your sister is yours once more.”

Without hesitation Merek reached into his
pocket and withdrew two other pieces of the gem. He handed them to
the nobleman whose eyes and smile widened. The man turned and
walked away without another word.