"Are you saying you had something to do with Sirius letting me live?"
"He was livid with rage when you left. Not to mentioned there were others who wanted you dead as well. Maybe you need to think twice about why you're still alive."
"You expect me to believe that you convinced a guild-master to forgo a debt? You were still a lieutenant, if I recall."
"Believe what you will, but it is a debt I intend to collect on."
In all his days with Ravens, Gale knew one thing—Renal wasn't a liar. To be fair, now that Garvin was dead, Gale was merely a freelancer and Renal was well within his right to deal with Gale as he saw fit. Not to mention the fact that Renal was probably the most powerful man in Archon, save for the Ravenlord. He could command Gale to work for him under the threat of death. There was no need for him to construct an elaborate lie.
"Very well then," said Gale. Even if there was an ounce of truth in what Renal had said, Gale did owe his life to him.
"Good. As I said before, Ceívar will get in touch with you."
Gale nodded and made to leave.
"Oh, and one more thing, Gale."
Gale stopped. Renal's face was grim.
"We both know that you're an opportunist. A survivor. Should the time ever come when you think that betraying me might be the better option, I urge you to reconsider. I would hate to have to run you through."
Chapter 39
The body on the ground was a bit smaller than a grown man. But its arms were longer, ending with sharp and pointed nails. Azrael wondered how they would fare against metal. The skin was milky white. The mouth was closed, but Azrael felt certain that the teeth inside would complement the nails as a natural fighting tool. There was a hole in its chest, probably the portion covering its heart, which appeared to be clotted with black-and-red blood. Not a sword wound. He would recognize the gash that a sword left when thrust. It might have been a spear wound, but judging by the size of the clot, it had to be a small spear with a thin and sharp spearhead.
It was more likely a miner's pick, he thought.
The claws could be effective, but the arms themselves were not long enough to move inside the reach of a spear or maybe even a long sword. By its looks, the flesh did appear vulnerable. Besides the main wound, there were numerous other scratches on it. From the rocks of the mines or other unrelated injuries. Without knowing how fast they moved and seeing them in combat, Azrael wasn't sure how much of a threat they posed.
They were in what would be called the outer compound of Fortress Marduk. Marduk was like Norvind in a way. Both were parts of the mountains they were built on. But while Norvind appeared to burst out from the peak of its namesake mountain majestically, Marduk appeared to be sinking into the mouth of a hill that was swallowing it.
Azrael winced when he looked at the fortress again.
The creature at his feet was definitely not a demon, but there was something very uninviting about Marduk. Demonic or not, Marduk gave out an aura of something unnatural.
"Tis a demon, milord. And there are more of them inside the mines."
The words were addressed to Rennar who was standing right next to Azrael. Standing in front of them were two men, and behind them, a score of the guards from Marduk. The two men, one much older than the other, were marked as slaves both by their clothes and by the brands on their shoulders. The one speaking right now was the older man whom the captain of the guard had introduced as a sort of unofficial spokesman for the miners.
The old man appeared worn out and tired, but he had the build of a man who could perform hard labor. The younger man was larger, and far from a tired expression, he seemed to be suppressing his anger and had a rather outraged expression on his face.
"Doesn't look a demon to me. How did this one die?" asked Rennar.
"Brock here felled it with his pick, m'lord."
"So this is your excuse for refusing to work?"
The old man looked uncomfortable. Brock spoke.
"There are more of them inside the mines, m'lord. They never confront us directly and attack from the shadows, picking us off when we're separated or alone."
Azrael recognized the accent. He was from the Deckan plains. Judging from the freshness of the slave's mark, a more recent addition to the workforce here.
"You will speak when you are spoken to," said Rennar coldly.
He now addressed the older man, "I assure you, this creature is no demon. This one appears to have been killed in a single stroke."
"That it was, m'lord. But only because Brock was brave enough to face it and attack. And this one here was alone. They usually hunt in packs."
Rennar shrugged.
"I already have the guards protecting you. What else do you expect me to do?"
Before the old man could speak, Rennar addressed the captain of the guard.
"Yvain. What has been done about this?"
"I've led the men on a couple of expeditions myself, m'lord. Into the deeper levels even. We didn't find anything of note. We heard some noises and such but this is the first time we've seen a creature like this. I don't think there are too many of them."
A lie. The hateful look Brock shot the captain of the guard was all the confirmation Azrael needed. The older man seemed to have expected this, and simply stood there with his head bowed. The captain too was glaring at the younger man as if daring him to open his mouth.
From what Azrael had heard from Jamaal, the guards at Marduk were a sorry lot. Men posted there more by way of punishment than necessity. He doubted if the guards did anything more than force the slaves to work and take count.
"Well, I don't see what the problem here is then. I have the guards protecting you, and yet you refuse to dig."
"‘Tis no lie, m'lord. You can see—"
"I can see this pathetic creature at my feet. It is no more a demon than you or me," interrupted Rennar. "You say there are more of them, and concoct lies of demons as an excuse to not work."
Azrael expected a leader, official or not to be more vocal, till he noticed that the old man was looking not at Rennar, but at Khamis, who was standing behind Rennar. Khamis had one hand on his scimitar and the other was gripping a coiled whip. Khamis always seemed to have an expression radiating cruelty, yet right now it was especially cruel and menacing. It promised pain. Azrael suspected the old man had felt that whip in the past.
"There is still the matter of food, m'lord."
"Food...is for those who work. The empire's purse strings are tight and it needs more iron before those strings can be loosened. You know of the campaign in the Deckan plains. I've already sent the message through Gerzahn—finish the lower levels, and once they start producing iron, you have my word that there will be more food."
"There simply isn't enough, m'lord..."
"Then ration it among yourselves," said Rennar, throwing up his hands. "Give food only to the ones that work."
And the ones that don't get food won't have the energy to work and will eventually die, thought Azrael, feeling a little astounded. Campaign or not, he knew that food was provided for by the empire's treasurer. Rennar didn't need to pay for it from his own coin. Among the reports sent to the treasurer, one report contained details about the number of slaves. The treasurer allotted the necessary funds for food, which was a pittance in itself. Surely Rennar couldn't be as despicable or desperate as to skim off gold from those funds.
"The people are dying! More to starvation than the demons!" Brock yelled. "And your guards—"
Idiot!
It was pure instinct. Everything around Azrael froze. He only began to feel Khamis moving his hands.
Without waiting to draw his own sword, Azrael rushed in front of Rennar in a single step and planted a mailed fist into Brock's face. The man was strong, but he faltered and fell on his back. Without waiting, Azrael drew his long sword and thrust it at Brock's throat, the tip coming to rest touching his neck.
"Do not raise your voice at the governor, slave!" he yelled
.
He was trembling, half with the pretentious rage that had overcome him, and half with fear. Fear for the life of the man at his feet now. He heard Khamis draw his sword in the instant it took him to move and punch Brock.
He strained his hearing to listen for footsteps behind him. He hoped Khamis and Rennar would be satisfied with the display. Brock was bleeding at the mouth. Azrael knew his jaw was fine, but he would have loosened a couple of teeth at the very least. Better his teeth than his arm or perhaps his life.
Azrael knew Khamis would have done much, much worse. Before Rennar or Khamis could speak, Azrael spoke loudly.
"You're lucky I don't cut your throat. Take this one away. I shall deal with him later...personally."
The captain of the guard looked at Rennar. Seeing Rennar nod sent a wave of relief through Azrael. The captain pointed to two guards behind him, who roughly took hold of Brock and pulled him to his feet and took him away, half dragging him. Luckily, the hothead didn't give them too much resistance. The idiot would be alive for now. What the hell was he thinking, shouting at the governor?
Azrael turned and walked back to his place behind Rennar. Both Rennar and Khamis appeared to be looking at him. Rennar with curiosity and suspicion, and Khamis with rage and astonishment. When Azrael took his place behind him, Rennar spoke to the old man.
"I have heard your concerns and addressed them. If you have anything else to say, you can ask to meet me in my quarters. Leave now."
The old man turned and walked away led by the guards. Rennar turned to the captain.
"Captain, it has been a long ride from Norvind..."
The captain bowed and spoke quickly.
"Of course, Governor. The steward has prepared quarters for you and the guests. This way."
"And get rid of this...thing. Burn it," said Rennar, not bothering to look at the creature's body. Rennar turned and addressed Azrael.
"Ask the good captain to see me today evening when you are able."
Azrael gave a slight bow of the head. He hoped it would be good news. With that the crowd began to clear up. Two of the guards picked up the creature on the ground, handling it with exceptional care. It did surprise Azrael that a single strike was all it took to kill it. He would have to speak to Brock about it in more detail. If everything went well, Azrael wouldn't be going back to Norvind with Rennar. And this problem would become his to handle.
He was still brooding about the things he would do when he heard a commotion behind him.
The nomads were letting prisoners out of the cage and tying their hands together.
Olaf. He was awake and was leaning against the cage while the nomads argued furiously with each other.
One in particular was brandishing a sword and waving it around. This couldn't be good. Seeing him walk up to them, the nomads stopped arguing. They didn't know exactly what his position was, but Azrael knew they suspected it was high enough that they needed to at least respect him. They probably knew he wasn't a common guard by now. And his punching Brock would have only served to increase their respect.
"What seems to be the problem here?" he asked. He tried not to sound too authoritative. The one who had his sword drawn replied.
"This one. He is lame and is of no use to us! I say we kill him right now. He will be useless in the mines, or anywhere else."
The majority of them seemed to agree with this one as they nodded with assent. Another spoke.
"He is mine by right. It was my strike that claimed him. Lame or not, I get to decide what to do with him."
"Hah! Your strike? Perhaps you could show me where it is?"
"You know it was there the day we captured him! You all saw my sword cut him. The dog has somehow chopped his leg off! "
"Then it only reduces his worth. I say we kill him now!"
Before they could arrive at a decision, Azrael spoke.
"He still has three good limbs. He can either swing a pick or let the mines take him."
"Brother Khamis would not want us to sell a broken slave. It is a matter of honor!" said the one who had his sword out.
"You say he is broken. I say otherwise. His wound was festering so he cut off his own leg to live. That speaks of a certain strength and will to survive. There are not many men who can go through that and still live. I say he can still be useful at the mines."
The men looked uncertain now. The angry one lowered his sword and spoke after a moment.
"Even so, Captain Yvain will not pay for this one."
"I will see to it that he does."
The men looked uncertain. Clearly, they were wondering who this man was. They had no measure of him. Finally, the angry one spoke.
"Who are you?"
"Azrael Llothran. I am the new overseer at Marduk."
Some of the faces brightened. The angry one still looked hesitant.
"If you doubt by word, I shall pay for him right now. How much?" asked Azrael, removing the purse from his belt.
The other nomad who kept claiming that Olaf was his spoke hurriedly.
"Six hundred gold."
If Azrael hadn't seen this before at the Deckan plains, he would have been surprised. Six hundred was a bit on higher side. He knew that an able-bodied slave could cost anything from five hundred to a thousand pieces of gold. A disabled slave wouldn't cost anything more than three hundred, or two if he were in a worse condition.
Azrael wouldn't dream of placing a value on a human life, but he knew the drill. Accepting a ridiculous demand would make him look foolish, and bargaining too much would make him look the miser, a man not befitting of his post. Azrael saw a tiny figure hiding behind Olaf and peeking out. The little girl he had seen that night. He couldn't recollect her name. She was holding on to his bloodied tunic.
"He isn't worth more than three hundred. But I'll give you eight hundred gold. I'll take both him and the little girl behind him," he said pointing towards Olaf's leg.
The nomad appeared doubtful.
"The girl is worth more," he said.
Azrael knew she was. Younger slaves cost a premium because they were relatively docile and could be molded into perfect and obedient slaves.
"I fought in the Deckan campaign. I'm not a stranger to the slave trade. You know that's more than a fair price."
Azrael's tone betrayed some amount of boredom and frustration. The nomad decided it was as good a price as he could get and nodded. Azrael gestured to Olaf to come toward him. The angry nomad who wanted Olaf dead gave him a rough shove making him land at Azrael's feet. Laughter stirred among the nomads, led by the pusher himself.
The little girl moved to help him. As much as he would have liked to, Azrael couldn't reach down and help Olaf. Some of the guards were also in sight. Word of this could reach Khamis or even Rennar and it was important he not be seen sympathizing with the slaves.
"Give him something to walk with. I can't have him crawling behind me," said Azrael.
The nomad who had received the purse of gold snapped off the tip of his spear and threw the shaft at Olaf. Once Olaf got up using its support, the nomads began to busy themselves with the other prisoners in the cage.
Azrael caught a glimpse of the man who had been killed by Khamis the other day and winced as he recollected the event. The man's body had flies buzzing over it now. Azrael turned and started walking towards Marduk. He heard the tap of wood as Olaf was walking behind him silently. When they were out of the nomads' earshot, Azrael slowed down to let Olaf catch up with him.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked in an uncertain tone. He was still unsure what he would do with his new 'slaves'. The little girl was holding Olaf's free hand.
"Nothing I can't handle. I would say thanks are in order. That's twice you've saved my life...my lord," replied Olaf.
"The big one badly seemed to want you dead," said Azrael.
The excuse for wanting to kill him because he was lame was a weak one. The shove that he gave Olaf only confirmed it. There was something more.
/> "I killed that one's horse when they were capturing me. I cut through its legs and it crashed into the ground, throwing off its rider. He lay unconscious for the rest of the fight and was subject to some amount of ridicule when they made camp later that night."
Azrael suppressed a laugh. That would explain it. With that Azrael focused on the more pertinent question.
"You look a northerner, as does the girl. Who are you and what are you doing here in the south?"
"My name is Olaf. I am a merchant. And this is my daughter, Brie. We are from the city kingdom of Seljuk."
All lies, except for his name. He remembered the girl telling him that Olaf wasn't her father. And as for him being a merchant, striking at a moving horse's legs wasn't as easy as one would think. There was no way he was a merchant. Perhaps a soldier. Still, Azrael decided to play along.
"What are you doing so far from Seljuk then?"
"There was a power struggle there recently. Our good king has been deposed of and replaced by a less...agreeable man. Suffice to say my family was put to death and Brie and I are all that remain. We escaped the city under the cover of the night and made our way south. I have relatives in Port Braemar. We were headed there when the nomads caught us."
There were power struggles all the time in the northern kingdoms. Seljuk was no exception. It was possibly true that there was a power struggle there recently, but the story about him having relatives in Port Braemar was unlikely.
Braemar was one of the legitimate port cities along the eastern coast of Ryga. They did a lot of business with the Aegean Isles. The other ports of note were Slaver Port and the port of Bren, both of which fell under the jurisdiction of Bren. Azrael was wondering what Olaf's reasons for lying were. What secret was he hiding? He had spent much time in the company of actors at the theatre during his days at the academy, so he had a genuine curiosity for tales of intrigue. He laughed and spoke.
"Someday, Olaf, you must tell me the truth. You have a right to your secrets, so I won't press further. Come, we must get to Marduk. I need to find a place for you and your...daughter to stay."
Apprentice Page 25