As soon as the guards walked away, the others in the room rushed him, loosening his bindings and removing the gag from his mouth. He started to speak, but a hand was held firmly over his mouth as one of the others leaned near.
“Quietly! They listen and punish those that make a fuss.” He shifted his gaze to a young man in the corner who had blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “Who are you?”
“Drake,” he replied in a barely audible whisper.
“Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Then you’re as snared as we are. Come, you can share Alder’s blanket. We all have to share.” He pulled at Drake to get him over to the side of the room.
“What happened to the Sisters of Mercy?” he asked as soon as he was huddling against the wall. “They were supposed to serve the poor. Help those in need. What happened?”
“I thought same as you. I’ve been here three days. There was no one when I got here, but it smelled like someone had been here the day before.”
“But the Sisters of-”
“Whatever become of them, those out there don’t give away nothing!”
Drake looked around as his worst fears were confirmed. The rumors that young men and women were disappearing from the sanctuary he had endowed were obviously true. Where they are disappearing to is another thing I have to find out. A sound in the hall had all the young men huddling against the walls, and Drake copied them. There will be an accounting, but it will wait.
The door opened and a man stepped in with a bucket and a stack of bowls. “Take a bowl, stand in line, and you’ll be fed,” he said in a roughened voice.
Drake joined the others, taking the last place in line, and waited until his turn came to look at the food.
Gruel, with what looked like weevils in it, and what might be called a green vegetable of some kind. Drake held out his bowl and got his portion, then looked over at the injured man and said, “What about-”
The ladle crashed down on his head, dropping him to his knees and sending his bowl spinning across the room. “You’ll do no speaking here, slave!” the man shouted, then kicked Drake in the stomach for good measure. “Stack your bowls!” he shouted at the rest, and they scrambled to obey lest they incur his wrath as well.
Drake was seeing stars and having trouble breathing when the door slammed. The nameless leader of the slaves helped get him back to the wall. “I told you to be quiet!” he whispered fiercely.
“But, what about-”
“Worry about yourself, not him. He’ll die soon. They broke his ribs and one punctured a lung.”
Drake curled around his agony, then took a deep breath. “How can I allow this?” he asked, more of himself than anyone else.
“Quiet!” the others pleaded.
Drake sank into silence. He was hungry, chilled, and sitting bare-ass naked in a room full of poor, hungry, chilled, bare-ass naked young men while one of their number slowly drowned in his own blood not three steps away.
Drake was silent, but his mind was racing. I have to wait. I have to find out where they’ve taken the others, and then I have to find out where they have been sending the women. Then I’ll deal with the leaders. But that boy will die tonight if I do nothing.
Drake looked at him and watched as his labored breathing brought more blood to his lips. Drake moved his finger a little, and the boy slipped into sleep. Too soon, the boy’s labored breathing stopped. Drake silently cursed, but he had known he was going to face harsh decisions. Still, that one death sealed the fate of the leaders of this bunch of thieves and slave-takers. Instead of facing slavery themselves, they will all die.
Drake hardly slept, but then, he hardly needed to. He was awake at dawn when the door opened. A different man was there, and he came in with a whip in his hands.
“Up on your feet, you worthless scum!” he snarled and the whip snaked out to slash across one boy’s back. The boy stifled a scream and scrambled to his feet along with everyone else. “I said up!” the man shouted, and his whip cracked once again, but it was against the dead flesh of the last boy in the cell. The man stepped over and kicked the body, but nothing happened. He grunted and turned toward the rest of them. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he snarled, “and don’t you ever forget it. Now get out. You’re leaving today.”
The young men, boys against Drake’s true age, hurried to obey the huge man, and rushed out to be grabbed by a group of big men in leather aprons. They were forced out of the building through a small door, and into a waiting enclosed wagon. There were no windows except for a small grate up at the front, and the back closed solidly. The wagon smelled of excrement and fear-sweat. Maybe I need to rethink this plan. This is worse than the worst I thought could be happening.
The wagon lurched into motion, and he and the others struggled to keep from being thrown to the floor. Finally, the ride steadied, and they were able to squat without sitting in the stinking mess beneath. It occurred to Drake that only one kind of wagon could pass through the city smelling like this: A “night earth” wagon full of the city’s chamber-pot offerings, heading out to fertilize the fields.
The air inside the wagon was stiflingly hot, and the vapors and odors made it much worse, but all the young men fought to stay conscious. The thought of what they were standing in was all the incentive they needed.
The light outside the little window was beginning to get dim when the wagon slowed and stopped. The back of the wagon was torn open and bright light flooded the compartment. The young men who had been in darkness for so long held their hands up to block the light, and rough hands grabbed their arms and threw them on the ground behind the wagon.
“Get up, you filthy, flea-ridden slaves!” a man shouted and they all fought their way to their feet. As soon as they were standing, buckets of cold water were dumped over them. “You lot smell like shit,” the man sneered, and the other man laughed.
“Bring them over here,” a voice commanded, and the larger men pushed the group of frightened young men toward the speaker. “Line up,” he commanded and all of them, even Drake, hurried to obey.
“You men are here to dig. That’s all. You’re not here to waste energy on talking or making friends. You’ll be fed twice a day. If you commit an infraction against the rules, you don’t eat that day. The rules are simple. Don’t talk. Dig where you are told, when you are told. Sleep where you are told and only there. Shit and piss only at meal times, and only in the buckets.”
Another man stepped up and looked them over. “They get more pathetic every time. The Sisters of Mercy aren’t drawing the best beggars these days. It seems that only the young and dumb ones come to them anymore. Fortunately, young and dumb dig quite well.”
Drake saw the man’s face and fought down the urge to bring this farce to an end right then. He knew those features. He’d dandled that man on his knee when he was a baby. He’d left his fortune to him when his time came to move on. His name was Davik, and Drake had once called him son.
Davik looked at the overseer and nodded. “Feed them, show them where to sleep, and have them in the pit at dawn.” He looked them over with a satisfied smile, then turned away.
“All right, you heard him!” the overseer shouted. “Take them to eat. Issue them each a tunic, sandals, and blanket.” Men started shoving them toward a tent and each of the young men did his best to obey, even when no order was given.
‘Tunics’ was a very generous term for the garments they were issued. Used-to-rags grain sacks was closer to the truth. The sandals were rough ovals of leather with pieced together thongs to hold them to their feet. The blankets weren’t much better than the tunics, but at least each man had his own. Then the food came.
Beans, boiled with some kind of meat that Drake didn’t want to identify, and a piece of stale, moldy bread with what might be lard spread on it, was given to each man, and Drake carefully guarded his plate. He hadn’t eaten in two days, and this meager meal would be barely enough to sustai
n him.
Their beds were just depressions in the dirt that they laid their blankets in, and all of them obeyed the prohibition on speaking. That silence was soon broken by snoring, and Drake felt his eyelids closing. With food, he could deny sleep. With sleep, he could deny hunger. But with both in short supply, he could deny neither.
A sound deep in the night caused Drake’s eyes to snap open. Two men who were all-too-obviously not slaves had grabbed one to the other young men and had him bent over in and all-too-eloquent pose. The man behind the boy was unfastening his pants, and Drake caught a glimpse of his face in the light of the candle he’d brought.
“Davik, stop that!” he roared and stood.
The darkness under the tent was almost complete, but Davik saw the silhouette of a man standing and pointed at him. “Put that beast down!” he shouted, and three men headed toward Drake in the darkness. They never made it.
Drake burst into golden glowing glory that only one of the men had ever seen before, and swords of pure power cut down the guards as Davik’s voice failed him.
“I left you a thriving community and a fortune, Davik,” Drake said as he walked forward, clothed in cloth of gold and glowing like a sun. “I went away to see what kind of man you’d turn out to be. I must say, I’m disappointed in—tuck that away and fasten your pants, boy!” Drake glowered as his adopted son hurriedly obeyed.
“F-F-Father, you, can’t be-”
“Shut your mouth, Davik!” Drake roared, and the mountains seemed to echo with his anger. “I set up the Sisters of Mercy to provide for the poor and impoverished, not to turn them into slaves! And what have you done with the women who have come through the sanctuary, or should I bother to ask?”
“You can’t be—” Davik began, but Drake backhanded him off his feet.
“Oh, son, did you ever make a mess of things. Do you have any concept of what a disappointment you are to me?” Drake seemed to age as Davik watched, his body thickening and his hair thinning, then going grey. Lines became great creases into his face, and suddenly Davik was facing his seventy-seven-year-old father. “I’ll be taking over my estate again, and I’ll start here.”
The commotion had drawn the attention of the rest of the men in the compound, and they came running with torches in their hands. Drake let them come, then waved his hand toward them. Men fell like scythed wheat as Drake bound their hands and feet. One man screamed as he fell on his torch and became a torch in his turn, but Drake didn’t put him out. He just let him scream as he burned, until the screams abruptly stopped.
Drake looked at Davik and saw that so-tenderly-remembered face go as white as bread dough. “You have a lot to answer for, Davik, and I’ll see that the city magistrates make you pay for each of your crimes.”
“Javallan won’t let you,” Davik managed to say as Drake stepped toward him. “He’s my partner, and he won’t let you do anything to me. He won’t even make me give you back the estate. It’s mine now and you can’t—”
Whatever Davik thought Drake couldn’t do was cut short when Drake hit him in the chin with an iron-hard fist. Davik fell like a spiked ox, and lay silent next to the young man he had thought to rape.
Drake looked around and a shroud of golden power wrapped the young men on the ground. There were some cries of alarm, but they faded as every one of them was clothed in what would pass for wool tunics and pants, and something approximating leather made boots around their feet. Each man found a hat that appeared to be made of the same material as his tunic, an overcoat, and a thick blanket rolled into a packet on the ground beside him.
“I owe you all a tremendous apology,” Drake said as he looked around. “I left my son in charge and he desecrated everything I had established. The cash box and his purse will give each of you a silver crown and six sparks. I’ve raided the storehouse and what food there is waits for you on the tables. Eat your fill and take the rest with you. This lot won’t be needing any of it.”
The men who had lain down as slaves cautiously walked to the tables, avoiding the bound men on the ground. Most of them simply grabbed what food they could carry and fled, putting as much distance between the legendary mage and his hateful son as they could.
Only one of them, the young man who had been in charge when Drake had been brought in, stayed. He walked over to Drake and looked into his eyes for a moment. Then he turned away without a word, walking quickly to catch up with the rest.
Drake watched the freed men go, then turned his attention to the men who Davik had employed. Perhaps it wasn’t really their fault that Davik had used them to brutalize the young men they had captured, but he was beyond such considerations. Drake unbound their feet and lifted them up to stand in the light of the flaring torches.
“You lot will be facing your fate beside Davik,” he said as he walked among them. “Line up!” he barked, and the men did as he commanded. A slave yoke appeared between them, circling the neck of each man with a loop of metal and binding each man to the men around him with a three-foot long bar.
Drake smiled sourly as he used magic to awaken Davik. “Up front, you little bastard,” he muttered as he forced his heir into position. A loop of the same metal appeared around his neck and bars bound him to the two leaders of the workmen.
Drake then turned his attention to the mine. “I think that hole has caused enough sorrow,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, and the ground trembled as he collapsed the mine, bringing half the mountain down on it.
Drake turned to find Davik glaring at him. “Javallan isn’t going to let you get away with this.”
“Javallan? Isn’t he that little fop you used to get in trouble with? The youngest son of Vertan Starvanson?”
“Yes,” Davik almost snarled. “He’s chief magistrate of Woodberry. He won’t let you do this to me.”
“We’ll see. We will just have to wait and see.” Drake smiled and suddenly Davik began to sweat. “I wonder how the city fathers and lord mayor will react to finding out what you and your little friend have been up to. The last I remember, it was a beheading offence to take a freeman as a slave. I should know: I wrote that law.”
“You can’t—”
“Oh, I can. Be silent now.” Drake waved his hand and Davik’s voice failed. “Let’s get going. It’s a bit of a walk, but you lot look healthy enough.” Drake began walking and the bound men had no choice but to follow him.
The ‘bit of a walk’ was far more than a one-day trek. Drake set an easy pace, but it was barely dawn when Davik began to falter. Drake stopped at a farmhouse and paid a silver crown to water his captives at the well. He freed the last man in line and had him draw water and deliver it to his companions. The farmer and his wife stood at the door and watched in silence. They didn’t know what was happening, apparently and feared to ask.
The walk back to Woodberry took a day and a half. Davik was nearly lame by the time they got there, and most of the workers were in little better shape. People saw them coming and rushed out to see what was happening. Then Davik was recognized and the city guard was summoned.
“Halt!” a guardsman shouted, stepping out to face Drake. “By what right do you collar a lord?”
“By right of capture,” Drake answered. “Davik and his workmen have been taking slaves from among the freemen of this kingdom.”
“Free him,” an older guardsman ordered.
“No. Davik will face the city council for his crimes.”
The older guardsman stepped forward and stopped with his nose just inches from Drake’s. “I said free him.”
Drake smiled, which seemed to confuse the guardsman. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Lord Drake Standralson, Adept Mage Royal of Demarest, and one of the founders of this little hell-hole. Now get out of my way before I turn you into a newt.” Drake’s eyes had begun to glow and the guardsman, and everyone else for that matter, fled before his anger.
Drake moved on, all but dragging his captives behind him as he walked through the
city. He looked around, noting the changes that had been made to the original city layout, and eventually found himself at the foot of the city hall steps. A welcoming committee was waiting for him.
“Free those men at once,” a fat little man all but shouted. “Free Lord Davik this instant!” His voice had risen as he shouted and ended in a nice impression of a woman’s scream.
“No,” Drake answered, and smiled as the little man began to sputter.
“You will free Lord Davik at once or you’ll face the penalties for disobeying me!”
Drake looked at him and shook his head. “I think instead it is you who will be facing some penalties, Javallan. I accuse you of collusion with Davik No-Man’s-Son in the enslavement of free men within the kingdom.”
“Davik Drakeson is one of the most respected—”
“Davik is disowned,” Drake said loudly. “I took in an abandoned baby boy and made him my son, but the man he has become is a disgrace and an offence to everything I stand for. He has no title, no lands, and no place among the decent people of this kingdom.”
“You cannot be Lord Drake—” Javallan started again, but once again Drake interrupted him.
“Because Davik had me declared dead?” Drake asked. “I was just out and about, seeing the world for a while. I left him in charge, but he had to have help from someone else to declare me dead. That would be you, I believe.”
“Drake, is that really you?” one of the older men asked, stepping forward.
It took Drake a minute to recognize him, but a great smile lit his face when he did. “Aric, you old scoundrel, I thought you’d be in Death’s embrace by now.”
“No, but I feel Her icy breath on the back of my neck. Are you sure about this, Drake?”
Drake nodded and sighed mightily before he answered. “Yes, Aric, I’m sure. I heard rumors that young men were disappearing from the temple and came to investigate. I made myself appear young and went to them for help.” He continued to tell the whole tale as more and more people surrounded them. “I formally accuse Davik and his partner, Javallan, of illegally enslaving freemen.”
The Chronicles of Amberdrake Page 50