Hero Of Slaves (Novella)

by Joshua P. Simon

“What’s so funny?” asked Melchizan.

  Cassus hated playing the angle he started to pursue, but it was all he could think of to get inside Melchizan’s head. “I was just thinking that no matter how badly you hurt me, it will come back to you tenfold once the Hell Patrol hears about it. You know how Jonrell feels about this sort of thing.”

  The room went silent. Cassus looked up from the floor. Melchizan wore an expression of both puzzlement and delight. He looked over to Roshan and the mage smirked.

  “He doesn’t know,” said Roshan.

  “Know what?” asked Cassus.

  The mage began to laugh. “I guess when you’re busy stealing from others, it’s easy not to stay up on the news of the world.”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Cassus.

  “Jonrell died well over a year ago,” said Melchizan, shaking his head and chuckling right alongside Roshan.

  Dead? Impossible.

  “You’re lying,” Cassus whispered. But he saw the glee in their faces, the sparkle in their eyes. He had learned how to read people while studying at Estul Island and though he desperately wanted to believe he had been lied to, he just didn’t see it.

  Still laughing, Melchizan walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a letter. “Normally, I wouldn’t keep something like this, but considering what Jonrell did to me, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I wanted to kill that piece of garbage myself, but how could I not enjoy his ultimate demise.” He walked over to Cassus while unfolding the paper. “I like to read it after a particularly stressful day and it never fails to lift my spirits.” He held the paper in front of Cassus.

  Cassus squinted through the swollen slits of his eyes. The letter appeared authentic. It didn’t say a whole lot, a bit about the war going on, how it affected trade, and almost as a footnote, it stated that “Jonrell, Prince of Cadonia, Commander of the mercenary Hell Patrol, died at the hands of one of his own men after winning a great victory at Cathyrium.” In the battle’s aftermath, Queen Elyse named someone called Kaz as his replacement.

  Melchizan pulled the letter away, but Cassus still stared dumbly at where it had been a moment before.

  Jonrell is dead.

  “Take him down below with the slaves for the night. He’ll work the oars with them tomorrow. We’ll talk again after he’s had more time to think over his situation. In the meantime, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t earn his keep,” said Melchizan.

  Cassus heard Roshan chuckle as a guard yanked him from his chair.

  * * *

  The guard half-led, half-dragged Cassus’ battered body below deck.

  A damp, musky smell welcomed them as a door swung open. After a few steps, the guard dropped Cassus unceremoniously to the floor.

  “This is your spot. Don’t move from it,” said the guard as he clasped a manacle around Cassus’ ankles.

  Cassus couldn’t bring himself to move as the guard’s footsteps drifted away. He heard the door shut and the lock turn.

  Feeling the eyes of someone on him, he looked to his left and a short distance away saw the slave who had tried to help him when he fell near the longboats.

  Further away, dozens of others slept fitfully.

  “I’m Yenaz.”

  “Cassus,” he croaked.

  “You should try to get some sleep while you can. The first day at the oars is always the hardest." The slave closed his eyes.

  Cassus listened to the waves lapping gently against the hull. The sounds of faint snoring, heavy breathing, and twitching limbs joined the ocean’s song. He had no idea what time of night it was, but knew that he should try to sleep and give his body a chance to recover.

  But sleep didn’t come. His limbs ached. His mind raced.

  Jonrell had been his best friend since they were boys. He thought about the first time they met at court in Lyrosene. As a minor lord, Cassus’ father had felt honored just to be invited to Cadonia’s capital. While his father had used the opportunity to rub elbows with the other nobles, Cassus hid in a dark alcove of the vast castle, intimidated by all the other boys.

  And then he found me.

  At the time, Cassus hadn’t recognized the young prince. So when Jonrell had encouraged him to come out and play, he couldn’t contain his excitement. When one of the other boys tried to ridicule Cassus for his father’s low station, Jonrell laid into the boy, and the offender immediately apologized. Only then did Cassus realize who his new friend was.

  He never understood what Jonrell had seen in him then, but afterward the two had practically done everything together.

  He always looked out for me and how did I repay him? I left.

  Jonrell had decided to return to Cadonia after the death of the king, but Cassus hadn’t been ready to face his old life. He had convinced himself that helping the Byzernians was a more worthy decision.

  And by helping the Byzernians, I couldn’t be there when Jonrell actually needed me. I couldn’t watch his back for him as he had done so often for me.

  Tears welled in his puffy eyes.

  Killed by one of his own? Who? Why didn’t someone protect him? One Above, how could you let something like that happen?

  He wiped his eyes with dirty palms, taking in a deep breath.

  Look around, Cassus. This isn’t the time or place to mourn someone. Even Jonrell.

  His eyes crawled over the space one last time, before closing.

  Chapter 3

  Cassus drove his shovel into the ground, barely managing to cut into the hard, clay soil. He let the shovel rest for a moment as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “If you had told me five years ago we’d be digging trenches with a band of mercenaries, I’d have laughed in your face.”

  Jonrell straightened, letting his arms hang. He smiled. “It’s definitely a far cry from the courts of Cadonia.”

  Cassus looked around at the band of grunting soldiers, crinkling his nose as the wind shifted. “It smelled nicer in Cadonia.”

  “Better company here though.” Jonrell nodded toward a few men giving one of the new recruits a hard time with some good-natured jesting.

  Cassus thought of all the nobles who once looked down on him and his family for coming from a minor house. He still found it hard to wrap his head around being so accepted by a band of cutthroats. “Much better, when I think about it.”

  Jonrell started digging again.

  Cassus went to do the same, and paused. “Why are you doing this?”

  Jonrell looked up. “The trenches? Basic protocol for setting up a camp.”

  “I know that. But why are you doing this? You command this outfit now. Shouldn’t you be supervising or something?”

  “I prefer the view down here with the men. Besides, we can all do with a little hard work. Isn’t that what Master Amcaro used to tell us?”

  Cassus got back to work. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure he was referring to our schoolwork then.”

  Jonrell chuckled.

  * * *

  A boot in the side jarred Cassus awake. He gasped for air, rolling into a ball.

  “On your feet,” said the guard from the night before.

  The guard released his manacle and then walked away.

  Cassus opened his eyes as the faint light of morning leaked through portholes in the side of the hull. He saw benches and oars throughout the space that he hadn’t noticed the night before. He had been sleeping on the lowest level of rowers.

  Cassus slowly rose to his feet, tired and sore, but surprisingly not as bad as he expected after the beating he had taken.

  “One of life’s small joys,” he muttered to himself.

  His boot hit something. Looking down, he saw a chamber pot and quickly took advantage of it.

  A moment later, a guard came by handing out one roll to every person packed within the confines of the space. The roll was as hard as the floor he had slept on, but that didn’t stop Cassus from choking it down.

  The same guard came back around with
a bucket. Each person got one ladle full of stale water. It tasted awful, but brought Cassus the relief his dry throat so desperately needed.

  The guard shouted an order. Some of the slaves took their spots on the benches situated throughout the lowest level of oars. Others formed a line. A hand from behind eased Cassus into the column.

  “Keep your eyes forward,” Yenaz whispered. “In the morning, the guards look for excuses to take their anger out on us.”

  Another order sounded, and the line marched forward. The chains attached to their ankles slapped against the wooden floor as they walked. They entered a doorway and climbed a short set of stairs before the line split. Some found benches on the second level while others, including Cassus, continued upward to the third level of oars, open to the sky.

  By the gray light of dawn, Yenaz led Cassus to his seat. The slave sat next to him. Yenaz grabbed the handle of the thick oar in front of them with both hands. With a nod, he encouraged Cassus to do the same.

  Cassus opened his mouth to ask a question, but a shake of the Byzernian’s head stopped him. Cassus took the oar, satisfying his benchmate.

  A set of pipes began to play. Slowly, the oars around him started to move. After some trial and error, Cassus found his rhythm and no longer hindered Yenaz’s efforts.

  Initially, the rowing helped relieve Cassus’ stiff muscles. He tried to lose himself in the monotonous work, but before long his thoughts drifted to Jonrell.

  Time passed slowly as the bright sun climbed into the sky. It wasn’t long before his injuries and an overall lack of conditioning began to take its toll. The weight and heat of the sun’s punishing rays didn’t help matters, draining what little strength he had. He did his best to keep up with the pace set, but each row became a struggle. Lances of pain shot through his limbs, causing him to falter. Several times Yenaz grunted when trying to right Cassus’ poor timing.

  “Take some of the rows off,” whispered Yenaz.

  “What?”

  “Just do it. Keep your hands on the oar, but don’t put forth any effort unless you’re able to.”

  “That’s not fair—” started Cassus, but the Byzernian cut him off.

  “Trust me. It will be easier for both of us.”

  Cassus understood. He needed the rest and the Byzernian was exerting more effort than needed by trying to correct Cassus’ tired form.

  The new strategy made things bearable. Cassus first participated every other stroke, then every third, and so on, until he worked every fifth stroke. Still, sweat glistened on his forehead and soaked his shirt. His breath grew ragged. His muscles screamed.

  Maybe I should just let Melchizan kill me. At least Yenaz wouldn’t have to suffer on my account.

  He was ready to let the oar go and give in when a high-pitched whistle came from the row master and the oarsmen slowed their pace. Finally, the Byzernians on his deck stopped altogether. He glanced to the side, through portholes, and gazed out over the water. Oars from the bottom two decks still dipped in and out of the sea at a slower pace.

  A guard distributed buckets of water among the group. No one spoke while waiting their turn.

  Cassus watched the buckets lustfully as each person drank two full ladles. Cassus licked his dry lips, the little spit he could generate drying as soon as his tongue left his skin.

  Yenaz took his turn, and even though he could tell the man hurried, it couldn't be fast enough. When he finished, Cassus greedily snatched the bucket. Nothing had ever felt as good to him as the warm water rolling over his tongue and down his rough throat. He nearly coughed, but caught himself before he wasted a drop.

  He started to take his second drink when a thick hand stopped him. Cassus looked at the hairy hand clenched around his wrist, and followed it up to the rowmaster’s scarred face. The man wore a sneer that peeked through a mess of beard.

  “One’s all you get.” His eyes narrowed.

  Cassus couldn’t stay quiet. “Everyone else had two.”

  “Everyone else has been pulling their weight.” He eyed the Byzernian next to Cassus. “And he’s been picking up your slack.”

  Cassus wanted to argue that Yenaz hadn’t been beaten the night before like he had. But then he remembered that as a slave, the man had probably experienced more than his fair share of abuse. “Then let him have my second ladle. It’s only fair.”

  The rowmaster snatched the bucket from Cassus and handed it to the row behind them. “I ain’t interested in fair.”

  Cassus sank lower in his seat as the rowmaster turned his back and walked off. He stared down at the thick chain binding his ankles.

  A tap on his shoulder startled him. The slave behind him held a full ladle of water out. “Drink quickly,” urged the slave.

  The rowmaster still had his back turned, and without thinking, Cassus eagerly took the drink. He enjoyed it even more than the first. Cassus hurriedly handed the ladle back, ready to mouth his thanks when he looked up in horror as an unseen guard materialized from the shadows. The guard grabbed the Byzernian by the neck, and flung him off the bench. The slave next to him caught the bucket before its contents spilled.

  The guard called out to the rowmaster. “He gave Cassus more water.”

  The rowmaster wheeled around. His eyes flicked to Cassus for a brief moment. “Bring the slave up front. Ten lashes. Let him be an example.”

  “Wait!” Cassus cried out. “Take me instead.”

  “Make it twenty,” said the rowmaster.

  Cassus nearly called out again when Yenaz squeezed his leg.

  “No,” the man whispered. “You’ll only make it worse.”

  “But. . . .” Cassus started to say, and caught himself.

  The rowmaster stripped the slave of his shirt before strapping him to a pole. The guard removed a large whip from a hook on the wall. He gave it a quick crack against the floor.

  The whip snapped against the slave, leaving a red line across his back. Another followed. The Byzernian whimpered. With each strike, the slave’s voice grew in volume. The eventual screams assaulted Cassus’ ears so badly he thought he would vomit.

  It’s my fault again.

  Cassus looked at the other Byzernians who rather than watch the awful thing, kept their eyes cast down. Cassus’ guilt grew into anger.

  They will take the abuse to help someone else, but they refuse to help themselves. One Above, how can a people sit by and watch this happen to one of their own?

  Cassus muttered to his benchmate. “If your people had stood up for themselves long ago, none of this would be happening now.”

  “I know,” whispered Yenaz, hanging his head lower.

  The man’s cries had stopped—passed out from the pain—yet the guard lashed out three more times before they dragged his unconscious body away.

  Without another word, the rowmaster started his pipes again.

  Their rest was over.

  * * *

  The rings on Melchizan’s fingers sliced into Cassus’ cheek. He grunted in pain, head swimming.

  Melchizan chuckled. “I never thought you’d be able to take so much abuse.”

  Cassus didn’t say anything as his breath whistled in and out through his busted nose.

  “You know, you can stop this whenever you want by just cooperating.”

  Cassus blinked, swaying in the chair.

  “Not yet? For the life of me I can’t figure out why you want to protect a people who won’t protect themselves.” Melchizan shrugged. “So be it. We’ve still got some time and honestly I’m enjoying myself. With each swing I imagine I’m pounding away at Jonrell. It’s quite liberating.”

  “You would find it liberating,” he mumbled, fighting back tears at the mention of Jonrell. “Beating on the memory of a man better than you in every way.” Cassus tested his bonds to no avail, wanting more than anything for just one shot at Melchizan.

  Melchizan chuckled. “He’s not better than me in every way. After all, he’s dead.” His face grew stern. “Just reme
mber, the longer this goes on, the worse it’s going to get. And in the end, I’ll still get the information I need.”

  Why do I care about protecting them? It would be so much easier just to give him what he wants. Easier to just die quickly.

  He dropped his chin to his chest as exhaustion took him.

  He heard Melchizan order his guards to take him below, and then he blacked out.

  * * *

  A warm and comforting sensation crawled across Cassus’ body. It felt like bathing in a hot spring. He began to smile until a small jolt of pain ran across his jaw. He startled awake and sat up.

  A gentle hand pushed against his chest and, with little effort, eased him back down. Yenaz smiled at him. “Rest. I’m not quite done yet.”

  “You’re healing me?”

  “Yes.”

  Cassus recalled how he had felt surprisingly better earlier that morning. “Did you heal me before?”

  Yenaz nodded.

  “Why not heal my face and the bruises on my body?”

  The slave shook his head. “I try to ease the worst of the swelling or discomfort, but if I heal what they can see, the guards will know that we helped you.”

  Cassus snorted. “No wonder I lasted so long tonight.”

  “In the future, you may want to fake blacking out.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you need help.”

  Cassus forced himself up and moved the slave’s hand away. “The man who was whipped for giving me water also needed help.”

  “I know. But as I told you last night, I’m only one man. If I tried to act on my own it would have been pointless.”

  “You want to do something. I can see it in your eyes. So do it. Convince the others to act.”

  “I try every chance I get. These people are new slaves. They haven’t experienced the horrors I’ve been through. They don’t want to leave behind the ways of our people just because we’ve been mistreated.”

  “What is it going to take for them to see that their ways mean nothing outside of your homeland?”

  “I don’t know. But the beatings you’ve taken have helped. The others feel ashamed knowing that the Hero of Slaves is suffering rather than divulging our secrets.”