“Hey you two, get a room.” Jason came up to the pair and clasped hands with John after Ashley had pulled away, pulling him in for a brief brotherly embrace. “It’s good to see you, man. Don’t ever come close to dying on us again, okay?”
John laughed. “Ha, you got it, Jason. It’s so good to see you guys. When I woke up I thought maybe something had happened to you but, I’m just glad you’re safe.”
During the reunion, Anwyn had taken the empty seat next to the third occupant of the room. Ashley turned toward the stranger and Anwyn. “We owe our lives, and our freedom, to these two. John, you’ve already met Anwyn, but this,” she pointed toward the man, “is Dawyn Darklance. He and Anwyn arrived shortly after you were shot. They took care of the slavers.”
Dawyn stood up and stepped forward to shake hands with John. “A pleasure, John.”
“Likewise,” John replied. “So, what were you guys discussing?”
Dawyn, Ashley and Jason resumed their seats and Ashley gestured for John to occupy the seat to her left. “We were just learning more about one another while we waited for you to wake. Dawyn was going to brief us on what the next step is once you were awake.”
Dawyn nodded. “I’m sure you’re famished, though, John. Let me order some food for us, and then we will discuss our plans.” He stood up and exited the room.
John turned toward Ashley and Jason. “So I was seriously only out for a day?”
Ashley nodded. “Yeah. Our escape attempt was just last night.”
John reached down and lifted up his shirt, revealing his chest. “Look at this.”
“Whoa,” Ashley exclaimed, her eyes growing wide. “You’re completely healed. Not even a scratch!”
Jason stood up and came over to look at the area more closely. “It’s not a skin graft. There’s no sign of stitches or anything else, either.” He looked up at Anwyn. “Your magic can’t do this?”
Anwyn shook her head. “Druids know how to use the natural remedies of nature to cure many ills and to speed the healing of physical wounds, but there is no power known to druids that can heal a man this quickly. It must have been as Dawyn described, these - nanites.”
Ashley nodded. “It’s hard to wrap my head around it, but it must have been.”
“I still have my doubts,” Jason said.
“Wait, fill me in here,” John said as he leaned forward. “Nanites? As in tiny little robots I would see in TV shows and movies?”
“That’s basically what Dawyn said are inside of us. He claims that these,” she held up her wrist to reveal the strange blue symbol, “are actually billions of tiny nanites bonded together. When you were hurt,” she paused, swallowing, before continuing, “the symbol seemed to diminish, so we could barely see it. Dawyn claims that this was due to the nanites moving to the place of the wound and repairing it.”
The door opened and Dawyn re-entered, followed by a stout man carrying a tray full of plates. “Everyone, this is Thomas. Thomas, these are my new friends. Please treat them with the same respect you would me.”
The stout man set the platter down and stepped back. “’Tis a pleasure, you three. Anyone who is a friend of Dawyn’s is welcome under the roof of the Plump Chicken.” With a slight bow, Thomas saw himself out.
Dawyn resumed his seat. “Have you filled him in?”
“We were starting to. I just got through the part about the nanites,” Ashley said. “It seems that your theory was correct - he has not a scratch on him from the wound.”
Dawyn nodded in a matter-of-fact way. “Good, that confirms that theory. Now, I’m sure the three of you have a million questions for me, but let’s eat first,” he said while reaching toward the tray and grabbing one of the plates.
“What meat is that?” John asked as he helped himself to a plate. The plates held a dark meat that had a pleasant aroma.
“This is venison. Have you had it before?”
“Only once. My dad wasn’t much into hunting, so we didn’t get venison much, but one time a friend of the family brought some over. It had an odd taste.”
Dawyn nodded. “It can take some getting used to, but then, there’s far more to get used to on this world than just eating different meat.”
The door opened and Thomas returned, this time with several mugs of a dark liquid.
“It’s ale,” Dawyn said before John could ask. “Not very potent, but ale nonetheless. Water can be unsafe to drink, so if you’re in doubt, drink alcohol.”
The room filled with the sounds of chewing, swallowing and drinking as the group ate and drank their fill. At last, when all the plates were empty, Dawyn spoke. “Alright, now that we all have full stomachs, what further questions did you have?”
“Do you know how we got here?” Jason asked. “One second we were at the university in the cafeteria studying, the next second we’re here.”
“As I said before, I don’t know how you got here. All I knew was that you would be coming.”
“How did you know we would be coming?” John asked.
Dawyn reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a letter. He unfolded it carefully. “I have been carrying this letter around since my sister and I arrived in these lands. I’m not entirely sure who it was written by, but I think it was one of the original colonists of this world, known as the Founders by the people here. The letter tells that you will arrive, approximately when and where and tells that you will be among the saviors of mankind.”
John took a swig of ale. “Whoa, that’s a lot to take in. Saviors? Of all mankind? I don’t think so. You must have the wrong people.”
“You’re not,” Dawyn said firmly. “The letters named you.”
“Oh.”
“Look, we’re happy to help with whatever,” Jason said, “but we’re no heroes, or saviors. All we want to do is go home.”
Dawyn turned his gaze to Jason. “Don’t you think that I would like to go home? Don’t you think that I’ve tried everything? There is no way that I know of to return home. Not at this time anyway. You may not be heroes yet, but the letter makes it very clear you have a role to play. So I suggest you overcome your reluctance and accept that you are important.”
“So, can someone fill me in on what this world is?” John asked.
Dawyn proceeded to tell John about the world of Tar Ebon, much like he had done with Jason and Ashley the day before. He told them of the various kingdoms and oceans, of magic and druidism and society in general. “…that’s the basics,” Dawyn concluded a while later. “There’s still a lot for you to become accustomed to and learn, I’m sure, but unfortunately that has to come with time. We’d be here for weeks if I were to teach you everything there is to know about this world.”
“You mentioned the Tower of the Seven Stars,” Ashley said. She had been quiet during much of the discussion, watching each party speak and absorbing the information. “How far is it from here?”
“It will take a fortnight by horseback to reach the tower. Once there, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of a master mage while Anwyn and I pursue the leader of the slave bands.”
“How did the person who wrote the letter know we’re mages?” Jason asked. “I’ve never used magic.”
Dawyn shrugged. “I don’t know, but the author of the letter has been right so far in everything he predicted, so we’re taking you to the mage to confirm you have the potential.”
“How long does training to be a mage take?” Ashley asked.
“Most mages are trained from a young age, but I don’t know how it works for older people attempting to train. We’ll find out soon enough, however. We’ll set out tomorrow - there’s no point waiting.”
“One last question,” John said. “Where are our clothes?”
“You mean the clothes you came in?” at John’s nod, Dawyn continued. “I threw them in a large bag for safekeeping. However, you should not wear the clothing - it will make you stand out and declare you as an outsider. I’m going to stash them someplace safe for now
. No more questions now, let me show you to your rooms.”
Chapter 8 - Regrets of a Fool
The dungeons of the Morozov estates were like many of the dungeons Boris had encountered over the years: cold, dank, dark and with a pervasive stench of sweat, blood and human waste that would never leave.
Boris was awakened by a boot to the gut, causing him to begin coughing. Before he had a chance to orient himself, rough hands seized him and hoisted him to his feet. Two guards held him up, while a third inspected him. “Yep, he’s the one,” the third guard said. “Get him out of here. He’s off to the markets.” The guards began shuffling him forward, his shackles clanking on the stone floor as he trudged forward.
Thinking back to the previous night, Boris realized he had been a fool. He should have known that with security so scarce there was something amiss. Years of experience as an assassin had been thrown out the window when he thought of Alexandra’s beautiful face. Now he paid the price for his lack of caution. How had the lord known he was coming? She had invited him there during the very day he arrived. Perhaps someone had recognized Boris and alerted the lord, allowing him time to speak to or threaten Alexandra about setting a trap before Boris arrived.
It doesn’t matter now, Boris thought. I have to focus on remaining alive and getting to freedom. The rest can come later. Boris recalled tales of the slave markets from his time as a boy. At the time, slaves were men and women captured during one of the many Imperial campaigns. No one but the lord of the town of Vergingrad had owned any slaves, for it was too expensive; but travel to one of the southern cities, closer to the capital, and one would find slaves doing a great many menial tasks. Female slaves might be pressed into service as whores, housekeepers or nannies, while strong men served as transportation for lords and ladies in palanquins, carried goods from place to place, served as conscripts in the Imperial army or fought in the gladiatorial arenas. It had sickened Boris’ father that so many people flocked to the coliseums to see men fight like animals, oftentimes to the death.
The guards ushered him into the yard next to the kitchens. There a wagon waited. Three other men, also in shackles, waited in the cart. A dozen guards stood around the cart, while the lord’s chamberlain watched from his seat at the head of the wagon. “About time, you fools. Get him in the wagon and let’s go. I want to be at the markets when they open tomorrow.”
Boris was shoved up into the wagon and placed next to a slender pale skinned man. He surveyed the other two men, a large man with a long red beard and a fat man, balding, who seemed to be incapable of ceasing to sweat. Boris nodded. “What are you all in for?”
“Quiet back there,” the chamberlain called.
The large man ignored the chamberlain and began speaking. “I killed my foreman, out at the lumber camp. You?”
“I,” Boris hesitated. What had been the reason? “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The large man grunted.
“I was caught stealing a loaf of bread in town,” the slender man said. “They said I could either lose my hand or go off and be sold as a slave. I’d rather become a slave and have food than lose a hand and go hungry.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Boris found himself saying. “I imagine some slaves wish they were dead rather than be enslaved. What about you,” he pointed at the fat man. “What did you do?”
“I couldn’t pay my debts,” the man said as he studied his feet. “Gambled away everything I had. My wife disowned me and took the children with her. The lord’s men came and hauled me away so that I might pay off my debts.”
Boris nodded. His father had taught Boris and his siblings the value of money. He had taught them never to borrow money if they could help it at all, for one bad streak of luck could result in them losing their freedom.
“Where do you think we’re headed?” the slender man asked.
“They said we’re going to market,” Boris said. “Since there’s no slave market in Vergingrad, we must be heading to Rolstad. It’s the closest town with a slave market, I believe.” Rolstad was the provincial capital of the northern highlands. Though significantly larger than Vergingrad, the city paled in comparison to ancient cities like Tar Ebon or the Imperial capital.
The wagon began moving and the group quieted down. It was a full day’s walk to Rolstad. Better to conserve their strength than waste time talking to men they would never see again.
Chapter 9 - Departure
The morning after the dinner with Dawyn, Anwyn and the others, John walked down the stairs of the inn they were staying at (Dawyn had told him it was named The Plump Chicken). He found Ashley and Jason already seated, speaking in low voices with Anwyn. John took a seat at the table. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Ashley said, smiling. They had slept in separate bedrooms because Dawyn insisted that John rest. Not that he would have been up for anything but resting, but he had agreed to spend the night separate from Ashley.
“Mmmm, what smells so good?” He surveyed the food on Ashley’s plate. It looked like eggs, sausage and bacon was on the menu this morning.
The serving girl came over and asked him what he wanted. He ordered the same as Ashley. As the serving girl departed, he turned toward the others. “What were you all discussing?”
“Anwyn was just telling us about what it’s like to be a druid. It’s quite exciting, being able to transform into an animal on a whim. Not to mention being so in tune with nature.”
“Oh, here we go again,” Jason said as he rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind her, Anwyn, she was in the 4H club, a sort of nature and animal lover club back home, when she was younger. She’s always loved horses and other animals.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Anwyn said with a smile.
“Anwyn, are you and Dawyn,” John hesitated. “Brother and sister?”
Anwyn laughed in her melodious voice. “Oh no, I am not his sister. I guess you could say we are lovers.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” John felt his face growing warm and he began to focus his sight on the grains of the table.
“No offense taken. I can see where you might get that impression. No, Dawyn’s sister, Bridgette, was lost many years ago.”
“Oh, that’s so sad. How did she die?”
A strange look came over Anwyn. “It turns out she didn’t die. She is alive still, but Dawyn has been unable to locate her again. Ah, here comes your food.”
John recognized a change in conversation when he heard one and didn’t ask the question that had been on his lips to ask next: how did Dawyn know his sister was alive?
John had just finished eating when Dawyn made his way down the stairs. He too, sat and ate breakfast after exchanging pleasantries.
“Alright,” Dawyn said as he finished his meal with a swig of ale. “Follow me to the stables.” He rose and headed toward the door of the inn, and the others rose and followed him. They had slept in their clothes and had no possessions to speak of, so there was no need to return to their rooms. Dawyn led them to the stables, where five horses sat in their stalls. Dawyn took the black horse, named Shadow, Anwyn the white, while Ashley and John each took a brown horse and Jason received the gray horse.
Ashley helped Jason and John saddle and groom their horses before departing. Grooming, she told them, was important to help build a relationship of trust with the horse, so that they would do as bidden by their rider. At last they were all mounted. “Alright, let’s ride,” Dawyn said, and led the group out of town, the early morning sun at their backs.
Chapter 10 - Shackles and Cages
Boris was jolted awake as the wagon trundled into Rolstad. They had traveled through the previous day and into the night before the wagon had ceased moving. The captives had been unceremoniously tossed to the ground and told to not cause any trouble. It was then that Boris had considered escaping, but he thought better of it as he eyed the guards. T’was not the time.
Rolstad was the regional capitol of the
northern region of Salaymria within the Rakosh Empire. It was a central hub of the northern steppes, attracting farmers and merchants from far and wide. Like any commodity, slaves were traded in the city.
The wagon passed through the gate with barely a pause and headed straight for the open markets. Along the street, merchants cried out their wares, urchins roamed the streets and citizens went about their daily monotonous business. Conspicuously absent to Boris’ eyes in Rolstad was the lack of any street beggars. Across the sea, every city of a few thousand people had been frequented by street beggars. In Imperial lands, however, the lack of beggars was not due to abundance of food - beggars were hauled off to work in the mines until they died or fight in the arena until they met a similar fate. To be poor in the empire was to be a ripe target for indenture as a slave.
The slavers market consisted of a large wooden stage erected against a large warehouse near the docks. Slaves were lined up on the stage, while potential buyers walked up on the stage to peruse them. Other slave buyers stood down from the stage and simply pointed at the ones they wanted. Today three women and four men stood atop the stage, to which Boris and his traveling companions were added. They were stripped of their clothing and forced to stand naked upon the stage. Boris was self-conscious of being stared at, but felt pity for the women, who must have felt much worse.
A man stepped up to Boris and studied him. “What’s your name?”
“Boris.”
“You look big and strong. What did you do before you became a slave?”
The man acted as if becoming a slave had been a choice. Boris hesitated before replying. “I was a bodyguard.”
“Really. A bodyguard to who?”
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