North & South

by K T Munson

  “So you are,” King Highlander finally said in reference to her being his wife.

  “My king,” she started her voice caught in her throat.

  “That will not do,” he said gently. “You should use my name when addressing me in private.”

  She swallowed as he moved towards her. “I was only going to say thank you for not punishing the men.”

  He paused in his movements and said fervently, “Had Lancel not insisted their punishment would have been more severe. They deserved something more severe.”

  “Violence has its place, but it is not in response to this,” she countered heatedly. “It would have only succeeded in widening the gap between your people and mine.”

  He took a few angry steps forward and said, “Your leniency will only succeed in fostering more violence against you.”

  “Not everyone is against me!” Ashira responded loudly and pushed the veil back from her face, “I am strange and different but some accept me. If you can accept me, your people will also in time.”

  His eyes darted to the bruise forming across her hairline and he clamped his hands on her face. She gasped in surprise as he held her there. Her eyes were wide as he searched her face for something. After a moment his shoulders fell and he kissed her forehead. She could smell the strange mix of spices on him and the distinct smell of man.

  “Lancel was right, you are stubborn,” he said against her forehead before gazing into her eyes.

  For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her and her mouth opened in surprise and anticipation. He tipped his head to the side and leaned forward as though he might. He swayed back instead and released her. Her face felt cold when his hands were gone.

  “You should rest,” King Highlander said taking a step back. “We will discuss these matters later.”

  He nodded before turning to leave and she took a step saying, “My king. I will try to get use to the idea of using your name and please use mine.”

  “I believe we will have an adjustment period,” he said pausing at the curtain, “I will see to you again, Ashira.”

  With that he was gone, and she was alone in the room with her beating heart. She stared after him before touching her forehead. Never before had a man, not of her blood, touched his lips to her face. Ashira realized that, despite the dull ache of her head and the threat of a people who would not accept her, she was half in love with her husband.

  Chapter 30

  Hadrian

  The day was fading when he entered the city. Hadrian was one of the last to enter on the day of celebration as the gates closed and the streets became full of those parading. He went to the docks first, waiting for the light to fade. The setting sun was their sign to begin and his men were throughout the city ready to free Ostapor from its chains.

  He watched the light as it shimmered across the water of The Knife. Hadrian could feel the city as musicians and singers filled the street with cheer. Hadrian listened and let it fade to the background as two sailors sang together with a tankard of ale in their hand.

  “There are strange things in Tiam,” one slurred. “There are whispers of a man who wants to fly.”

  The other man laughed and pointed to the sky. “Men already fly on Eagles.”

  “This one wants to build a boat with wings,” the man said drunkenly and stumbled before taking a gulp of his ale.

  Hadrian turned away from them as the last light of day disappeared, on the horizon. The idea was laughable, a boat with wings. Yet somehow the image was stark in his mind as he moved towards the edge of the city. He had taken the pleasure slaves district, the richer end with young girls and full of jewels. The richest Masters would be there and they needed to become acquainted with his blade.

  What use would a flying boat have? Hadrian asked himself as he slipped down alleyways.

  Yet the more he thought of it the more he realized its potential. Unlike a man in an Eagle flying over a city, a boat could hold more men and weapons. Explosives could be dropped onto a city in order to create chaos and destroy their barracks, armory, and stables. It would give a bird’s eye view without the worry of arrows killing the mount.

  He came to the edge of the street where there was a large pleasure house, in the corner, by the wall; it would be his first. He quickly climbed in through the open window. The heat of the day mingled with the celebrations had led to poorly guarded doors and open windows. He stood in the room and let his eyes adjust. It was a mingle of bodies hardly covered by cloth of any kind. Women were strewn across the floor amongst men and no one had taken any notice of him amongst their soft cries.

  It was easy to distinguish the pleasure slaves from the men. The women wore collars of gold around their throats. Many more had nipple rings that connected to their collars by a little chain. There were a few male pleasure slaves, which wore cuffs around their ankles. He slipped across the room and stood at the door, the only way out of the room besides the window.

  Hadrian left his sword at his hip as he drew his dagger, grabbed the first man by his hair and slit his throat. They had made their choice. The Master’s needed to be crippled if they were to succeed. The woman beneath him began to scream and pushed away from the blood. Instantly panic erupted and Hadrian thrust his blade into the next one. This was the heart of corruption, every Master here was sin. They were all trying to run away, and most of them ran towards the exit blindly before they realized that is where the danger was.

  It wasn’t long until only a few remained, when one tried to go out the window Hadrian threw his dagger into his back. He slumped against the window as Hadrian drew his sword and moved against the last of them. The women were huddled against each other in the corner, gripping blankets and their hands against them.

  “Is that the last?” Hadrian asked as he glanced around the room.

  They looked between themselves before one of the men asked, “Are you a Savior?”

  “One,” he said, “of Sixty-Six.”

  One man stood and let the blanket fall away from him revealing his nakedness. “Give me a sword and I will help you finish them.”

  “As will I,” another said.

  The guards came running in then and burst through the door swords in hand but the first man yelled, “Stop brothers, a Savior stands amongst us.”

  The guards all stopped, hesitating only a moment before falling to their knees. “Tell us what to do.”

  Of all the things Hadrian had expected it was not complete abiding loyalty. Hadrian studied the men and women in the room and felt justified. The men on the floor who were dying or dead had oppressed their fellow man without question. Many more had abused that power.

  “Kill the Masters,” Hadrian said his eyes blazing. “Kill them all.”

  Blood would run in the streets of Rentas and Lanus on this night. The guards and men left, running through the house and towards the private rooms. Hadrian retrieved his dagger before he left and continued his mission. The next pleasure house was more of a palace that seemed to be carved from the very stone of the wall. He slipped around the side since two guards were at the front.

  The kitchen door was open and he slipped into the room. A man with wild hair whirled when he entered. Hadrian lifted his sword to his neck and held it there. The man gaped at him for a moment and Hadrian could sense that he was a cruel man.

  The man opened his mouth to yell and Hadrian pressed the blade tighter against his throat. “Yell and I’ll run you through.”

  The man kept his mouth open for a moment before closing it. Hadrian was contemplating using the man to lead him to the other masters when a woman swept into the room. She stopped when she saw them and dropped the pitcher on the ground. The metal clattered and he worried it would draw attention. She was as lovely as every woman in this district but there seemed to be strength in her since she didn’t scream.

  “Scream,” the man at the edge of his blade hissed.

  Hadrian knew that if she screamed that the household of guards would
descend upon him and there may not be time to stop them. He stared at the woman who met his eyes without blinking. He needed to take the city and close the gates. This area was critical to securing Rentas. They needed both halves of the great city to take Ostapor. Once the city was taken Eswan would march and they would need him. Hadrian knew his freemen would not stand alone; they needed him.

  He contemplated killing them both quickly and his hand moved to the dagger as she asked, “Are you going to kill him?”

  Chapter 31

  Celia

  Celia listened to the music in the street as she lay naked amongst the sheets. The festival filled the streets with singers, dancers, and all sorts of entertainers. Despite all of that The Gentleman had come and demanded more of her than ever before. Sometimes she felt like she was nothing more than a subject for his exercises.

  He had never excreted his seed in her. Harrison had done so every time they were joined. She had been careful to consume Grendal so she did not conceive a child. She did the same here after every visit at Vovo’s insistence. She had not told him of The Gentleman’s failure to fill her womb with his seed. Celia imagined it was because he was in complete control. Already she could sing longer and bear the enormity of him without as much pain.

  Just as he never emptied himself, he never kissed her. Not like Rauf had. Celia closed her eyes and pushed the pain building in her chest. She had seen him only once since then and he had made no effort to speak to her. She should not have been so reckless and lost her only friend.

  The Gentleman appeared above her and leaned down to kiss her head. “Until tomorrow.”

  When the door closed she tried to close her eyes and let sleep take her but it would not come. She needed to drink some water. With a groan she pushed herself up and let the sheets fall away from her. The room was dimly lit and the heat of the evening lingered on her skin. Unhappily, she dressed herself slowly; her skin protested at the being covered, if the windows were not open she would have started to sweat.

  She wore a simple dress with a plunging neckline and fell to her feet in a gentle sway of fabric. It cinched at the waist and she tightened the back to take care against escaping breasts. At the beginning she had covered herself with shawls and light silk robes. With the heat of summer building she had abandoned them quick enough.

  Celia slipped out of the door and down the hallway. She tried not to look at the shadowy place between the pillars where Rauf had kissed her. Her eyes darted to it and she mentally berated herself for hoping where there was no place for it. She could hear the loud activities in one of the rooms where a girl was insisting for more.

  She hurried down the stairs and back towards the kitchen. Picking up an empty pitcher in the hallway she pushed the door open to the kitchen. Within, Vovo stood at the edge of a man’s blade. Startled the pitcher slipped from her fingers and clattered against the hard floor. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t scream as her eyes darted towards the man in black.

  He was tall, as tall as Rauf, and had the gait of a man who knew how to use the deadly weapon in his hand. He was dressed like an assassin or at least what Celia always imagined an assassin would be wearing. Yet somehow this man’s clothes reminded him of a holy man from within the Citadel in Lorian.

  “Scream,” Vovo whispered but she wasn’t giving him any of her attention.

  The man in black said nothing, just watching her so she asked, “Are you going to kill him?”

  “Only if he is a Master,” the man said the blade lay close to Vovo’s throat.

  “He is,” Celia said in a whisper. She took a steadying breathe before adding firmly, “He deserves to die.”

  Her eyes flicked over to Vovo as his face contorted in anger. He opened his mouth and raised his fist but the blade was faster. The blade sliced across Vovo’s neck and the blood splattered across the bottom of her dress. She hardly noticed as she Vovo gripped the side of his neck and struggle to keep the blood from escaping. She watched him die, refusing to look away, and when he lay still she decided she would never think of him again.

  “Are you the one that has been freeing slaves?” Celia asked her voice caught in her throat from excitement.

  “I am,” he responded and started to turn to go.

  Celia could taste the promise of freedom. “Can I come with you?”

  “You cannot fight,” his voice was honest and his words clearly articulated without malice or pity.

  “This house contains Masters that are drunk and sleeping,” Celia said her lips curled back in silent anger and disgust. “There are guards who are slaves and would kill them. Are there many of the Sixty-Six Saviors?”

  “On every street doing as I do,” the man explained, pausing at the door.

  “I cannot fight but you will need every hand you can muster,” Celia said remembering the words of a guard that came regularly. “The city guards believe themselves above us. They will fight to keep the little power they have.”

  “When the city is ours,” he said and she could swear he was smiling behind the cloth mask. “Come and find me.”

  With that he disappeared into the night as though he was never there. She glanced down at the still body of the man who had bought her. Part of her wanted to mutilate his body but she did not have the time. Instead she turned back and ran towards the guard’s sleeping quarters, towards Rauf.

  She went down into the basement where rows and rows of cells had been repurposed into guard’s rooms. She had come down here only once to tell a guard Vovo wanted him. The man had been in one of the middle cells on the right. Rauf had been standing in the door of a cell on the left side, one of the middle ones.

  “Rauf,” she whispered towards the three doors, “Rauf wake up.”

  He had once told her he was a light sleeper from his days as a house slave. He had served as a guard and the Master’s son liked to sneak women into his rooms. He had learned to sleep lightly and hear the whispers of lovers. More than once he had caught the son and once the son had raised a hand against him, but only once. He had spoken almost fondly of the experience.

  After a moment a door opened and a clearly tired Rauf became visible in the dim light. His hair was mused from sleep and yet his eyes narrowed on her. It was impossible because his face was broad and unattractive, but she found him absolutely adorable. She nearly giggled from the absurdity of it and the joy that there was a chance they could be free.

  She immediately reached for him but he said harshly, “Why are you here?”

  “They’re here,” she said and didn’t hesitate to take hold of his wrist that her fingers couldn’t quite wrap around.

  His eyes trailed down before he grasped her arms to inspect the smatter on her dress, “Is that blood?”

  “It isn’t mine,” Celia said, touched by the concern in his voice. “Vovo is dead and the Sixty-Six are here. Gather the men who wanted to be free and we will kill the Masters in their beds.”

  “Are you mad?” He asked but she heard the hope in his voice.

  “This is our time,” Celia said excitedly.

  “If you are wrong we are forfeiting our lives,” he said his hands gripping her arms.

  “I was born free and I want to be so again,” Celia informed him passionately. “I would rather die fighting for my freedom with you by my side then live this life of servitude.”

  He searched her face looking for hesitation but he would find none. She had been a slave such a short time, but it was long enough to know that complete dominance of one person over another was unjust. She knew she would find more meaning in a death brought about in attempt at freedom than a life of servitude. She was not a little girl anymore; she had tasted life and all its bitterness. Despite all of it she wanted to live and she wanted to do so as a free woman.

  “I will wake them and tell them what has happened,” Rauf said as he released his hold on her. “Go and wake the women.”

  She nodded her head and went back up the stairs, her footsteps light and cheery. Rau
f didn’t hate her, and she was going to fight for her freedom. She went into the first room and woke the girl. She was angry at first until Celia dragged her into the hall and told her Vovo was dead. The girl began to cry but they were tears of joy. When she had composed herself she agreed to wake other girls.

  It did not take long to wake every pleasure slave and bring them into the hall. When the last was brought out Rauf and a handful of guards were already in the halls talking with the pleasure slaves. One girl was asking for the sword off of his belt. Her face was marked with the beginnings of a bruise. These women had seen the darkest reaches of cruel souls and now they wanted the men to suffer as well.

  “Hadrian the Hero has ridden into Ostapor to liberate this great city from the oppression of slavery,” Celia said to them with a smile. “Kill the Masters.”

  “This is the only life I have ever known,” one of the girls whispered and shifted towards Celia. “I am afraid.”

  Celia gathered the girl into her arms and whispered, “Vovo is dead. If we do not act we will be sold and separated anyways. If we kill the Masters and take the city, this house can still be yours and you all can live here on the riches that Vovo kept here.”

  “I would like that,” she said and sniffled.

  “Rauf,” Celia said looking up at him. “Do it.”

  He nodded his head and walked into the first room as the other guards choose other rooms. After a moment there was a startled cry that was cut short. The girls seemed to shiver from excitement as one by one the Masters died. Some joined in, taking the swords from the Masters and sliding them into their chests.

  “Where is the new girl?” Celia asked searching around for the girl she had seen in the hall.

  “She fought too hard,” one of the other girls told her.

  “The red room,” Celia said releasing the girl and holding out her hand to a girl who was covered in blood and holding the sword in her shaking hand, “Give me your sword.”