Pain lanced through her chest and she told herself it was breathlessness from the fall.
The northmen headed east straightaway, riding in surprising silence after their rancorous hoots and howls of earlier. Talitha’s back, torso, elbows, and wrists were tied to Shaza’s. Their legs had been lashed securely to the sirrush they shared.
Blood dripped down the side of her face for several minutes, then gradually dried. It crusted on her skin, leaving a sticky, sickly feel. Everywhere that had bled quickly scabbed, hard and sensitive to every movement. Even turning her head too far one way or the other was enough to send tears of pain to her eyes.
The tribesmen led them on relentlessly, moving across the dunes at top speed, but carefully. They would pause every so often, hiding behind larger dunes while one of their number scouted. Once the coast was clear, they would gallop out again.
If they were hiding from Ilians, Talitha never saw them. She supposed what she had heard about northmen was true—clever as jackals and crafty as snakes.
After several hours, a black field yawned over the sands. At first, Talitha thought it was a great canyon, but closer, she realized it was a hardened lava flow.
Basalt spread in all directions, pitch black and seemingly endless. Talitha lost track of time. Every part of her ached. Every inch of her throbbed. Time slipped by and with each moment she was farther from where she needed to be—wherever that was now.
Every moment spent lashed to this sirrush was another she and Shaza were carried closer and closer to whatever doom awaited them at the hands of their captors.
Talitha had no idea how she had slept, but she must have. She jolted awake when the sirrush stopped and a foreign shout blared in her face. It was not yet dawn, but the hints of pink had just started to color the horizon.
Hands grabbed her legs a moment later. The man missing teeth was to her left, untying her ropes with a leer.
She tried to kick him off and a female voice laughed. “Don’t fear, ensaadi. Mavel won’t rape you, though I had to talk him out of it.”
They dragged her and Shaza from the sirrush. The two collapsed in the sand still bound together. Her left arm was crushed under his weight and his arm was dragged back when she tried to catch herself with her right. They twisted the in sand, cursing and groaning.
“Next time, I’m splitting the bitch open like an antelope,” Shaza grumbled.
Talitha herself didn’t dare speak. Pain sent streaks across her vision and it was all she could do not to cry out.
The big tribesman, the one who seemed to be the leader, said something to Breida. The rest of the northerners laughed, including the wiry woman.
“My brother says we should leave you like this!” Breida cackled in her thick accent. “’Twould be amusing, no?”
Shaza growled.
Talitha closed her eyes. Too many things hurt at once.
Despite that suggestion, the toothless man cut their bonds. Talitha crawled stiffly on her hands and knees, grainy sand beneath her palms. They had left the basalt fields far behind. There was nothing but dunes in every direction.
“What is it, ensaadi?” Breida taunted, coming to stand in front of her. “You had so much fight in you when we first met.” She dropped into a crouch. “Has captivity broken you already?”
Talitha met the other woman’s eyes. “You lost your warriors…the night we captured you.”
“The night you killed them, you mean?” Breida snapped.
“Did you mourn them?” Talitha’s words came out rasped and dry. She wasn’t even sure if she understood herself.
Breida grabbed Talitha’s face, a thumbnail raking over the large scab across the other woman’s cheek. Her tone turned quiet, deadly. “You slay a tencount of my kin—my sister-sworn among them—and ask if I mourn?”
“How did you do it?” Talitha should have been ashamed when Breida blurred from behind tears, but she couldn’t feel much of anything beyond the gaping chasm that had spread through her whole body. “How? Knowing you should have died with them?”
Breida’s nostrils flared. “I trusted I would soon join them and that my brother would avenge us all.” She nodded to the big man behind her. “Neither is a comfort I will give you.” She shoved Talitha down and turned swiftly away.
Breida’s brother chattered something in their native tongue.
Breida snarled back.
The man with the extra teeth kicked Talitha for good measure.
Talitha clenched her eyes shut and didn’t make a sound.
Breida’s brother shrugged. The many-toothed man muttered something in response and they set to lashing Talitha’s wrists together in front of her.
There was no point in fighting, so she didn’t.
For the rest of the day, they walked. The heat, the pain, and a pulsing headache sent Talitha into a daze she couldn’t quite shake.
The tribesmen laughed, chattered, and would then fall silent for hours on end. Shaza was stripped of his sandals and collapsed at midday with blood caked to his soles.
The many-toothed man dragged Shaza for several steps. Talitha reached for him, but the northman holding her ropes yanked her back.
Shaza didn’t move.
“Shaza,” Talitha croaked. Her throat was tight and clogged, thirst wearing her down. She couldn’t see another Ilian die. Shaza had followed her. Despite everything, he had chosen to give her his loyalty.
No one acknowledged either of them. Shaza was dragged a dozen paces before Breida took notice. She snapped something to the big man and wheeled her sirrush back. Their column came to a halt.
Breida loomed over him, scoffing. “Not just a golden pig, but a weak golden pig as well.” She said something hasty to her brother. He shrugged and waved a hand dismissively. She insisted.
Finally, Shaza was hefted off the ground and tied aboard one of the pack sirrushes with his arms encircling its neck.
He groaned and shifted. His eyes opened for a moment, then slid closed. But he was alive.
They towed Talitha after the sirrushes for a few more hours until she too stumbled. Then Talitha was shoved up behind Shaza with her arms lashed around his waist.
They pressed on for the rest of the day and part of the night. Talitha drifted in and out of consciousness, her cuts, bruises, and thirst wearing her down faster each moment.
When the moon had reached its zenith, Talitha jumped awake at the sound of splashing. A cold breeze rippled over her skin and a great shape blocked the stars, waving in the dark. It took a moment for her to realize it was a palm tree.
Torches were lit and the tribesmen let their sirrushes drink from the long trough. One of the tribesmen untied her and Shaza before the pair were forced in front of the trough and permitted to drink. Talitha scooped her bound hands into the trough and dragged it to her lips.
The water was gritty with sand and thick with the sour saliva of sirrushes, but she drank as much as they would let her. At her side, Shaza did the same. He shook unsteadily, but he held on.
For once, the tribesmen didn’t harass them. The pair were allowed to drink for as long as the sirrushes did.
At their backs, Talitha took in the sight of walls, turrets, and scant torches burning in the windows of towered buildings. What town was this? How far had they come?
Talitha would find out in the morning or not at all. She was tied to a palm tree while the tribesmen spread their bedrolls. Even their usual chatter had stopped. Talitha wondered if letting her and Shaza drink unmolested had been mercy or their captors had simply been too tired for the effort of harassment.
She caught Breida watching her and Shaza. Contempt or pity or hatred—it was impossible to know.
Collapsing into the sand, Talitha slept. Her dreams were full of screams and a man’s voice shouting, calling her ensaak. She tried to get to them, to help them, but sand and smoke and rope blocked every direction.
She was kicked awake a few hours after dawn with Breida and a stranger standing over her. The
stranger’s skin was dark as old leather and his long black robes could have hidden anything.
Thick white hair stood out pale as bone atop his scalp. His heavy lips twisted partway into a scowl. His arms folded across his chest. A gaunt fist with knobby knuckles and calluses clenched and unclenched.
Behind him, a litter carried by burly, half-naked slaves waited. Several guards with black scarves and bronze armor stood with spears at the ready. A wealthy man.
“Good fighters,” Breida said. “Both of them. Killed plenty before we took them.”
“They killed your kin and you let them live?” The merchant’s voice was low, gruff. He struck Talitha as the kind who didn’t waste words.
Breida’s brother elbowed her, nodding. He seemed to agree. He must understand the Southern tongue better than he spoke it.
“That would be a waste,” Breida answered evasively. “Your gain, either way. Consider her my replacement,” she pointed to Talitha, “and that one,” she pointed to Shaza, “a bonus. I hear he’d make a skilled bedslave.”
The merchant scowled. “They’re so beaten, it’s hard to see potential.” He gestured to Shaza, who glared at Breida as if he’d like to rip her lungs out through her nostrils. “You sampled that one, did you?”
“A bit delicate for my tastes,” Breida replied. “It’s just hearsay.”
“Huh. They’re both dressed as warriors.”
“Ilians. Deserters.”
The slaver grunted. “Those are always either the cowards or the rebels. Too soft or too stubborn.”
“You expect us to pay money for these?” A fat, squat man with a shaved head waddled around from behind the slaver. He had an earring on his left, a single pearl cast in gold. Pearls had not grown since the draining of the oceans. It must be the most valuable thing he owned and he was a fool to flaunt it.
The squat man crouched beside Talitha. She looked straight ahead, ignoring him.
“Clean this one up, she might do well in the ring. There’s potential. The real money will come from after the games, when you sell her nights.”
Talitha gave no reaction.
Breida shrugged. “That one’s not bound.” There was no way she could know that. “Bed her at your own risk.”
“What a pretty risk she could be. If we clean up the bruises and the filth. Then again, some men like sweat.” His tongue smeared over Talitha’s cheek.
For a moment, Talitha was frozen, shocked. Then she grabbed his earring and yanked.
Blood spurted onto the sand and he stumbled back cursing. Talitha threw the pearl and kicked his shin, toppling him to the ground.
“Bitch!” screamed the fat man. “My ear! My earring!” He scrambled after it on his knees with one hand clutching the side of his head and the other groping in the sand. “Where is it? Where is it?”
The tribesmen laughed even as the merchant’s guards followed suit. Their laughter roared in a mocking round of fanfare at the squat man’s expense. Talitha had the feeling it wasn’t unusual.
The slaver’s face changed, but he didn’t smile. “I’ll take the woman. Throw in the man. Market rate is six iron per fighter.”
Breida stiffened.
“I’ll give you eight for the woman. Six for the man.” The slaver turned to Breida. “For the sake of an old friend.”
Shaza coughed, falling heavily against the grips of the tribesmen. His head hung and blood dripped from his lip.
Talitha’s chest clenched with worry. To her surprise, Breida’s head snapped to him as well.
“This one looks a bit sickly,” Breida remarked, surveying Shaza. She chewed her lip for just a moment, thinking. “I’d never forgive myself if I sold you damaged goods, Prothero.” She cleared her throat, determination taking over. “How about nine for the woman and we leave it at that?”
Prothero shook his head. “Eight was what I said.” He didn’t question why Breida suddenly wanted to keep Shaza. He must not care.
Breida inclined her head. “Fair enough.”
“I want her!” the fat man squealed, jabbing a finger at Talitha. He had found his earring and clutched it with the same hand he clutched his bloodied ear. “Let me have her!”
“And just what would you do with her?” the slaver shook his head. “No.”
“I will teach her respect!” He whirled on Talitha, pudgy fist clenched and whipped it across her face like a club.
Talitha’s head knocked sideways, but he didn’t do much more than split her lip. She let her head move with the strike and when he dove for her, she snapped her knee into his chin.
His eyes went wide as he bit his tongue, face blowing out and blood leaking from his lips. He yelped and withdrew, clutching his mouth.
The slaver rolled his eyes. “If I ever want you shredded cock first, she’s all yours.”
“But she—”
“No, Eulad.” The slaver surveyed Talitha. “Does she have a name?”
“Pudmea,” Talitha said, using the first name that came to mind.
In a flash, the handle of the slaver’s flyswatter whipped across her cheek. Black flashed across her vision and tears pricked at her eyes. “You will speak only when spoken to.” He looked pointedly at Breida. “Does she have a name?”
“You heard the bitch. Pudmea.” Breida shrugged.
The slaver turned back to Breida. “Bring her into the city and we’ll fetch your coin from my villa. Eight iron should be more than enough to see you and your kinsmen back north.”
Breida inclined her head. “Agreed.”
The slaver’s horsehair flyswatter whipped at the air as if in boredom. “On your feet, Eulad.”
“Sometimes I wonder how that’s your son,” Breida chuckled.
“You and I both.” The slaver turned his back and walked away without waiting.
His son half-crawled, half-walked after his father.
Talitha watched them go with a dead feeling inside. Slave? She should have been outraged, angry, fearful…yet she had turned hollow.
“You get a chance at life, I get to go home, Prothero gets a new battleslave. Everyone wins, yes?” Breida wasn’t smiling. She crouched before Talitha with all the gravity of the tomb. “You wanted to be strong. Nothing makes a woman stronger than what you’re about to go through.”
“Is this a gift, then?” Talitha spat blood from the slaver’s strike.
Breida’s fist slammed into the top of Talitha’s foot.
Talitha winced, but it was just another sharp throb and ache to join her countless others.
“No speaking unless you’re answering. You’re a slave, now. Best get used to it.” Breida smirked. “Revenge and mercy at the same time. How many can boast they’ve managed that?”
“What will you do with him?” Talitha croaked, looking to Shaza.
“Whatever I want.” Breida turned and strode toward her brethren.
The northmen began packing, readying themselves to move even as Prothero climbed back into his litter. Talitha watched him go, her new owner. This seemed a world away from Ilios. Talitha might have been homesick, but how could she be? Everything was gone.
No, that wasn’t true.
She looked to Shaza. His head hung limp. Sweat and sand smeared his skin in a dark paste.
Gilsazi and Kasrei were still alive. Their children. Zula—she was sure. Why wouldn’t Naram have included her head in that box if she wasn’t?
Yet that didn’t strengthen Talitha as it had before. The people of Ilios had supported Naram. They wanted different leaders. Who was she to interfere if they chose the greatest weakling in the Sandsea and a mad priest?
Talitha closed her eyes, waiting for the tribesmen to untie her and take her into the city. Whatever was ahead, whatever was coming, she should have been able to feel something, but she couldn’t. She just wanted to stay there on the ground and sleep.
Sleep until her mind escaped her body and never came back. Everything ached, everything was sore. She had never felt so weak, so powerless, so
useless, so alone, so insignificant…
Ashek’s words came back to her—“Get up, ensaak.”
Except she wasn’t an ensaak. She was a battleslave with a different name.
Whatever happened now, she was at the mercy of others. Subject to the whim of people who’d just as soon see her dead and replaced by the next body in line. Then again, perhaps it was not so different from being ensaadi after all.
Coming 03/27/2018
When everything is taken, only survival remains.
Betrayed by those closest to her, Talitha has been stripped of her title, cast from her country, and sold as an anonymous slave into the gladiatorial arena of a foreign land. And betrayal may have come from much closer than she realized.
When the traitor who murdered her family and stole her birthright appears to watch the games beside the only man she's ever loved, Talitha is sure they must have worked together. The former ensaadi sets her heart on repaying their treachery, even if it costs her life.
But her heart might be the most treacherous one of all.
BATTLESLAVE is a 30,000 word novella and the third installment in the all-new WARLORDS OF THE SANDSEA romance adventure series.
Preorder now!
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About the Author
Elisabeth Wheatley began what would be her first novel at eleven and hasn’t stopped writing since. When she’s not daydreaming of elves, vampires, and/or handsome princes in need of rescuing, she can be found wasting time on the internet, fangirling over her latest obsession, and pretending to be a functional citizen.
www.elisabethwheatley.com
Other works by the author
Current titles in the
Argetallam Saga
The Key of Amatahns (Argetallam Saga, #1)
The Secrets of the Vanmars(Argetallam Saga, #2)
Dunedrifter (Warlords of the Sandsea Book 2) Page 10