by RG Long
“What is this?” Holve asked as he approached the group of dwarves and elves who had gathered to block their way back to the boat.
“Thane Ironheel wants to be assured that the plan he has agreed to is carried out,” said a gray-haired dwarf, bowing low. “Brendt, son of Brandt, here. Myself and my five companions will be joining you on your journey to ensure that it is.”
“I don’t...” Holve began before being cut off by Denise, the ship’s captain.
“Micah’s already cleared it,” she said from the upper deck. “Sent messengers just before you all were dismissed.”
Holve sighed and then turned to the elves.
“And you?” he asked a group of three male elves, all clad in different garb of the Wood Walkers. Some in hair, others in grass, but mostly in nothing.
“We represent our people,” the tallest and darkest haired of the three said. “Each of us from a gathering other than Elen’s.”
He said this as he nodded toward the elf who had traveled with them through many dangers. She did not look pleased to see her kinsman.
“If you are looking to find us a home to live in, we want to ensure that it is a home we elves will agree to live in,” he said.
Looking up to Denise, Holve called out.
“And I suppose Micah’s sent word about them, too?” he asked.
Denise nodded her head.
“Indeed, he has.”
“Well, let’s be off then,” Holve said as he stalked up the ramp to the ship’s deck.
“It’s a good thing Holve likes boats so much,” Blume whispered to Ealrin as they followed their guide onboard the Dragon’s Dagger. “I’d hate to see him in a good mood about all of this.”
And with those words, they were back on board the ship and off to find the tree of legend.
15: Tradable Goods
The suns bit into the eyes of the halfling as he emerged from his prison underneath the ship’s deck. Try though he might, Jurrin was finding it harder to remain positive about this adventure he had come on with Felicia and Urt. They had spent weeks on board a ship with a cruel pirate, known only as “The Boss,” and his crew.
If there was anything he wanted more in the world, it was to get off of that ship and feel dry land under his feet again. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw the landscape in front of him, however, that wish immediately changed.
He wanted back in the boat.
Before him loomed dark and threatening cliffs. Hewn into the rock itself were many holes with light issuing out of them, with pathways crossing here and there, cut out of stone. Some holes had bridges made out of rope swaying in the winter breeze that connected them to other holes. It looked like a vast hive carved into the cliffs.
“Welcome,” said a familiar voice from behind him as both Felicia and Urt were dragged up onto the deck of their prison as well. “Blood Spire certainly lives up to its name, does it not?”
Jurrin turned to see the shirtless Boss standing behind them leaning up against the main mast of his ship without a care in the world. When he turned back around, Jurrin saw that all over the cliffs, a red glow emanated from the rocks. That glow was familiar to him. He had seen it once in a mighty dwarven city.
“That’s not Rimstone?” he asked under his breath.
“I’m impressed,” the Boss said. “The halfling doesn’t have half a brain. How interesting.”
The Boss walked along the railing of his ship, letting his hand caress the wood as he went.
“Yes, we keep it unmined here, daring anyone to come and take it. Ha!”
He let out a cold, mirthless laugh.
“I’d love to see them try.”
He turned and faced the three of them, looking at them each in turn.
“You’ve caused me a fair bit of trouble; do you know that?” he asked. “I hope to make back a few of my losses on you.”
“Make back yer losses?” Felicia asked incredulously. “You aren’t seriously...”
“Going to sell you?” he said, finishing her sentence and smiling at them. “Of course I am. That way I’m rid of you and richer. What’s better than that?”
He turned to look at the guards who were around them.
“Chain them twice,” he commanded. “No more escapees.”
Jurrin was already weighed down past what his small frame could bear. He looked up at the powerful Urt and felt jealous. He wished he were big and strong like him. Or at least smart and cunning like Captain Felicia. But what was he? Just a halfling with no talents and friends who made sure he didn’t get himself killed.
“Baggage,” he muttered under his breath as they fastened another set of chains to his feet and his arms. Completely unnecessary, he thought as the ship approached the docks that connected to the cliffs.
Urt snarled at the elf who gave him his extra chains, but didn’t fight. Jurrin reckoned with the small rations that they had been given, the Skrilx was too ragged to cause any real damage. But he had misjudged people before. Like his friend, Jurgon.
He wondered where his friend might be. What he might be up to with Miss Blume or Mister Ealrin. Probably off on some great adventure while he was looking at a lifetime of servitude and slavery.
It was all too much for such a small halfling from Bigtree on Ruyn.
“Get moving,” said a burly elf as he prodded them with the end of his spear. “We’ve got to get you to market before you spoil.”
He chuckled stupidly at his own joke. Jurrin looked up at him with a look of distaste, but started walking forward all the same. If this was to be his lot, he would at least try to face it with a bit of pride. Whatever pride he had left at least.
The three of them were led off by no less than ten guards. Apparently, they thought another amazing escape was in their heads. Felicia had certainly entertained more than one idea. But ever since their first attempt, the Boss had kept them under closer watch, fed them fewer provisions, and never once unchained them.
It was too bad that they succeeded in getting Tory and Gorplin off the ship. Had they failed, Jurrin had the sneaking suspicion that they wouldn’t have been treated so harshly. There was nothing he could do to change that now.
Blood Spire was a dirty place. There seemed to be dirt and grime filling up every empty space and crevice. It filled up most of the people they saw, too. Mostly, it was elves, but Jurrin caught sight of a few humans and even one or two dwarves in the hustle and bustle. He was also certain he saw at least three robberies and one possible murder, if not a fight that went really badly for one poor soul who lay motionless on the bridge that they crossed as they entered the hive of the cliffs.
Inside the hive, Jurrin was certainly reminded of the dwarves back on Ruyn. The solid stone wall on the outside of the cliffs was hollowed out on the inside. Massive structures rose up and up throughout the great cavern. Rope ladders, wooden scaffolding, and metal sheets made houses and bridges and walkways alike. Jurrin felt that one strong wind might blow the whole thing over. It was a mass of tangled and webbed building materials. And people filled every inch of it. They hung out of windows, walked drunkenly down passages and bridges, and loitered by every corner. All of them looked dodgy and Jurrin certainly wished that he would never be caught alone with any of them.
“Keep moving,” the burly elf ordered again. Jurrin had stopped to take in all of the sights that were laid out before him. It was too much for his senses to take in all at once. But more overwhelming than anything was the smell. Like fish left out in a barrel of ale for too long, the stench lingered in his nostrils and he was quite sure his clothes would never smell the same.
They walked and they walked. Dodgy groups of pirates kept looking at them over their shoulders and from behind their backs, as if they knew they didn’t belong. But, to Jurrin’s surprise, they found that they weren’t the only ones in chains. Many were chained and led along by other elves with spears or whips or swords. The slave trade in Blood Spire must be a thriving business.
<
br /> “In here,” their guide said as he walked past a door that led into a huge structure made of metal and rope. It seemed like some large tent Jurrin had read about nobles using to cover their fancy table from rain and sun, though he doubted they ever looked quite like this.
Once inside the metal tent, Jurrin saw rows upon rows of other chained prisoners sitting in the middle of great rows of seats. These benches were filled with rich looking pirates who were yelling and making a great fuss about every chained person who was stood up on the platform in the middle of the room and examined.
“Sit,” they were told and so they sat. All of the other chained prisoners looked at Jurrin with pity, Felicia with curiosity, and Urt with a mixture of fear and wonder.
What a trio they made.
They sat there for no less than two hours, watching person after person being brought to the metal stand in the middle of the room and auctioned off like a choice horse or a stolen goat. Some were admonished for their strong looking physique, while others were praised for the skill or trade they practiced before being carted off to the Blood Spire. Jurrin tried not to listen much when the females who were brought up had nothing to offer but their bodies.
“What’s going to happen to us, Miss Felicia?” he asked as they sat and watched one person being sold after another to the rich pirates who heckled and jeered.
“We’re going to get out of this alive,” she said stubbornly. “I just haven’t figured out how yet.”
Urt snorted.
“We will,” she said. “We’ve never been in so tight a spot that we couldn’t squeeze out. Just be ready when I give the signal.”
Suddenly, he was aware of their guard coming back to them and prodding Urt, Felicia, and he to their feet. With great effort, he stood and shuffled forward. Felicia was in front. Urt was behind. The spectators made loud gasps as they saw the Skrilx for the first time. Jurrin had gotten used to him so it took a while to put himself in the shoes of someone seeing the sight for the first time.
He had the build of a strong man, save for his face, which resembled that of a cat, and the gray fur that covered his body. And his long tail. If these pirates had ever seen Urt fight, they’d think twice before shouting the awful things they were at him.
“Freak!”
“Wrent-spawn!”
“Demon in fur he is!”
“And what about that child!?”
Jurrin turned to see the crowd of jeerers. Some were now pointing at him. He stood there, resolute, not desiring to show that he was a weakling, though he certainly felt like it next to Urt.
“And here we have three very adventurous offerings!” said the man who had been in charge of the proceedings. He wore a fancy looking white shirt and red coat with gold buttons. It was his job to sell the slaves who walked to the stage. Each time someone was put in front of him, a piece of parchment was given to him to read. These would normally list out the qualities of the slaves. If none was given, he made general observations and then began the bidding.
He took the parchment handed to him by the guards who had escorted them here and read it quickly.
“A Skrilx, a cat-man from legend! An able captain and sailor. Our hats off to you, ma’am! And a halfling. Hmm! Interesting! Shall we sell them off individually or as a set?” he asked the crowd, who shouted back at him.
“Put them all together!”
“Give me the woman! I don’t need the other two!”
“What’s that halfling do? Throw him in for free!”
The man came and looked Jurrin up and down before leaning to talk to him.
“What do you do, hmm?” he asked with a mock smile. “The buyers want to know if you’re useful. If you are, they’ll pay more for you. Which means I make a bigger cut.”
He gently tapped the halfling’s cheek with his hand. Jurrin recoiled a bit, but still held his ground.
“I’m a fair cook, mister,” he said truthfully. “And I don’t reckon I’m terrible with a sling if need be.”
“Does anyone here need a halfling to throw a potato into a pot?” he asked with a smile on his face as he turned to face the crowd. They jeered and mocked Jurrin. He felt smaller than usual.
“No?” the master of the slave market asked. “Very well, onto the cat.”
Urt growled under his breath and the man took a wary step back, though he made it look theatrical.
“A beast we have here!” he said loudly. “A monster from legends long gone! A Skrilx if my memory serves me right. I’m told they are nearly all gone from this world, though some used to reside here on Irradan. Are you from those heathen tribes, my feline fellow?”
Urt said nothing, but narrowed his eyes at the slave trader in hatred. Jurrin would have quailed for sure had that look been directed at him. The slave trader, though, did not. Jurrin was sure over however long a career of selling people that he had seen his fair share of threats and taunts.
“I bet this one would make a good candidate for the Pit!” he said to many cheers and shouts. “Perhaps, Lord Gerald, you’d be interested in him?”
Jurrin looked up at the man the slave trader indicated. Or, rather, who he thought would be a man at first. Lord Gerald was, in fact, a very beautiful lady who sat in the crowd dressed in a lavish coat but wearing pants, much like Silverwolf and Felicia. She sat at her leisure among many adoring men who were fawning over her, offering her drinks and food on trays and wearing expressions of bewilderment, as if the pleasure of serving her was beyond their comprehension.
If Jurrin hadn’t been as scared as he was at the moment, he would have taken more notice of her beauty. But, seeing as how he was concerned about who he was about to be sold to, he barely took in the sight.
“I’ll take him,” Lord Gerald said in a casual tone. “Package him up nicely for me and have him delivered in the morning.”
Guards came forward to lead Urt away in his chains and the slave master turned his attention to Felicia.
“And what of this able captain?” he said loudly. “Who will take her?”
A rather large man whom Jurrin knew had been looking greedily at Felicia ever since they came forward raised his hand.
“I need no captain,” he said. “But I need a warm bed, and she’s the best looking one you’ve had all day!”
More jeers followed this statement as another guard came to lead Felicia away towards the man who had just offered to buy her.
“Warm your bed with this!” Felicia said as she threw her entire weight into the guard who came at her. The elf fell backward into a heap. Urt roared and jumped into the fray. Jurrin tried to leap towards them both, but only managed to trip on his own chains and fall into a mass of bodies that had gathered around the stage.
There was a good amount of trampling and scuffling for several long moments, until five guards a piece were able to restrain both Felicia and Urt with more ropes and chains.
“Do not kill them!” came a shout from the crowd. The instruction was warranted as several of the guards had pulled out daggers or swords and had them deadly close to both of their throats. Jurrin could see this all because he had been dragged to his feet by his hair and had a knife pointed at his own throat, though he hadn’t really deserved to be considered any threat.
It was Lord Gerald who had spoken and all attention had been given to her.
“Sorry to deny you your warmth, Dern,” she said in a tone that communicated no remorse at all. “But I’m going to take them all.”
“Yes,” she said as the slave master looked questioningly at Urt, Felicia, and pointed at Jurrin as well. “Even the little one. I may need a potato slung sometime in the future. Or, perhaps, he can join his companions in the pit. I haven’t decided.”
Guards led them all away as Lord Gerald stood and followed them out of the tent. The next group of slaves was already on the stage even as they exited the building. Felicia had a black eye and Urt’s lip was bleeding, but otherwise they seemed no worse for the experience. They were bac
k out in the catacombs of bridges and walkways, being led once again down unfamiliar paths.
Jurrin didn’t know what the pit was, but he was certain that before he came to it, he would be very sorry he had ever been there.
16: The Pit of Blood Spire
Felicia had been in tight spots before. Shipwrecked. Friendless. Hungry. Abandoned. If there was a plight to be in, she had probably found herself wrapped up in it at least once. There hadn’t been a single time she had gotten stuck. Every trial had come with bruises and scars but she had come through.
Until now.
She was beginning to feel anxious as they walked further and further down through the myriad of bridges and walkways that were built inside the inner cliffs. The Pit did not sound like a place she wanted to be brought to, especially since wherever it was seemed further and further from the entrance they had come in from. The ships and docks were far away, relatively speaking, and in between them and the boats that brought them here were hundreds of drunk, belligerent pirates who seemed willing to kill for bread.
Felicia Stormchaser had indeed found herself in a bad predicament.
They rounded a corner and finally came to what must be the Pit. It was a hollowed-out part of the earth with rings of rock surrounding in like a theater. But what it was that was done here, Felicia could only guess.
“Get a move on,” their guard commanded. “Lord Gerald is not a patient woman.”
At least she was a woman, Felicia thought.
She had cracked when they had talked about selling her for her body to be some man’s company for the evening. Never. She would never submit to such a threat. In truth, she had hoped a better opportunity would have presented itself to them to escape, but, so far, none had. She and Urt were still chained hand and foot. Jurrin even bore chains on his small frame, though they seemed to be wearing him down by the minute.
As they descended the stairs that led to the Pit, Felicia became aware of people filling in behind them and beginning to take up seats along the empty rock benches. Was something about to happen that she didn’t know about?