Gorgoroth

by Michael Karr

  One of the smugglers punched in a code on a wall-pad. A sharp boom, accompanied by the hissing of exhaled gas followed, as the great metal door gradually opened. As the hatch lowered, a thin sliver of pale red grew larger and larger. What is that? He expected to feel a breeze of air as the ship’s ventilated air and the outside atmosphere mingled. Instead, he felt no change.

  With a clang, the hatch came to rest on an outside deck.

  “All of you onto the deck,” ordered Slem. “All in a line. No funny business. And no talking.”

  The line of captives jerked forward. Skylar failed to move quickly enough, and the chain yanked his neck. Already, he felt blisters forming on his skin.

  When Skylar finally set foot on the extended hatch, he saw the understood of the red light. It was the sky. From horizon to horizon, nothing but the same unnatural hue. The same color, only more intense, emanated from the planet’s sun. This strange feature did not bother him half as much as the air. It was so thick that he felt like he had to bite a chuck and gulp it down one mouthful at a time. It felt heavy and damp, like a drenched blanket wrapped around his body. A cold blanket. For the air felt strangely chill.

  They walked down the narrow deck, mottled with holes and loose gratings. The whole port showed the same signs of age and disrepair. By any standard on Ahlderon, it was a pitiful dock. And small. Even smaller than Cloud Harbor on Haladras. The ships docked there looked as old as the dock; rusty, pieced together with sheets of spare metal, with patched or mismatched wings, missing thrusters, and burnt-out engines. It reminded him of an Ahlderion salvage yard.

  This can’t be Gorgoroth’s main port.

  He didn’t even see a hangar. What looked to be the port’s office and command station was no more than an oversized shack. Perhaps this was merely used by smugglers and others shady character who didn’t want their business known to all. Indeed, he saw few other men. Of the ones he did see, all were dark-olive skinned, with black hair. And none paid them any heed, but kept to their work.

  The gang of captives and smugglers hustled down the deck and out of the port gates without a single authority stopping them. Expecting the gate to lead them out into an open area, or thoroughfare, Skylar found himself staring down a crude path, fenced in on both sides stretching before them. At the opposite end of the path, stood a metal-sheeted building. The building looked as though it might collapse with the next strong gust of wind. The smugglers herded them into the building.

  No lights, that Skylar could tell, shown inside the dank structure. And entering from the brightness of the outside light, he found himself semi-blind and unable to make out the shapes of things he saw around him. The smugglers obviously knew their way around.

  “Up the steps,” came a sharp command. “And not a word out of any of ya.”

  Skylar picked his way up a few wooden steps, still following Endrick, and stepped into a chamber or giant crate of some sort, even darker inside than on the outside. He walked until he ran into the back of Endrick. Something slammed behind them.

  “It’s a dead end,” said someone from the front of the line. “I can’t go any farther.”

  “Looks like we’re caged up again,” muttered Endrick.

  Suddenly, the floor beneath their feet shook and the whole thing lurched forward. Skylar toppled forward, landing on Endrick. They were moving. To where? Skylar had no desire to find out.

  * * *

  Skylar woke with a start. A bright light assaulted his bleary eyes.

  “Out of the cart, you worthless muts,” came the voice of Slem from the open door.

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Skylar rose to his feet, trying to do so in time with the others so the chains didn’t chafe his sore neck. Vaguely, he wondered how long he’d been asleep.

  “I don’t suppose they’re planning to feed us lunch,” muttered Endrick.

  Skylar suddenly noticed his own hunger pangs. More than food, though, he desired to know what became of Kendyl. He hadn’t seen her when they disembarked. Neither her, nor Tanks. The thought made him burn with anger.

  The captives filed out of the mobile enclosure. As they exited, the smugglers issued oaths and warnings to keep quiet and not give anyone trouble. The smugglers’ threats were lost on Skylar, his attention at once diverted by the scene into which they stepped.

  A ruddy, hard-packed sand lay beneath his feet. The sand stretched out before him until it met with walls of the same ruddy color, five meters high. The wall arced around them, forming a circular roofless enclosure. Only a single gated portal seemed to allow entry or exit into the yard. Everywhere within the yard, the ruckus of activity whirled like the dust caught on the arid breeze. The ruckus of voices shouting, traders haggling, women shrieking while dragged through the sand, men howling beneath the crack of a whip, hairless beasts with long necks and yellow eyes braying like port horns. Hundreds of poor souls, all shackled in some fashion, filled the yard.

  The numerous wooden carts, pulled by the strange beasts of burdens, the quantity of people, the exchange of purse money—at first sight, one might think this an ordinary marketplace. But their goods here were very different. Here they sold people. The thought made Skylar squirm inside. How could such an atrocity exist among these people?

  Skylar caught some activity out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. Tanks strutted out across the yard, that slimy smile plastered on his face. What fixed his attention, however, was not Tanks but a girl who he had his hand hooked onto. Kendyl! Skylar’s heart missed a few beats. She looked transformed. Her flaming hair no longer hidden beneath the ugly skullcap, but flowing freely down her back. Her figure was no longer concealed beneath layers of course fabric, but draped in a simple dress of thin white silk. He briefly wondered where the dress had come from. It fit her so well—too well. Skylar’s fingernails dug into his palms.

  An official-looking man, with a bald head and dark beard, braided to a point at his exposed chest, came to meet them. He wore a loose robe, held together about his waist with a thick leather belt. The man also carried a short staff topped by two metal prongs.

  Tanks greeted the bald man with a deferential nod of the head and held out his free hand toward Kendyl. The bald man made no pretense of friendship with Tanks, but went straight to business. That business infuriated Skylar even more. For the bald man walked around Kendyl, looking her up and down—appraising her. The man braided beard nodded his head with satisfaction. Then the two men broke into a spate of arguing, each gesticulating wildly, Tanks often gesturing toward Kendyl.

  Skylar didn’t need to hear them to understand. They were haggling over a price for Kendyl.

  The accursed devils!

  After several minutes, the pair seemed to reach some sort of agreement. The man with the braided beard turned and motioned at two servant men, who quickly sprang up from their repose against the wall and came scuttling over. These two servants, each carrying a pronged staff like their master’s, took hold of Kendyl, and hurried her away. As quickly as they came, they were gone, having disappeared through a small port in one of the walls. Kendyl was gone. He had lost her again.

  Scarcely did he have time to recover from the shock of seeing her go when he found himself being subjected to his own inspection. A different man from the one with the beard suddenly loomed in front of him, and took Skylar’s head between his hands. The man then proceeded to jerk Skylar’s head in all directions, tugging at his hair, forcing Skylar’s mouth open so he could peer at his teeth. The man let go of Skylar’s head, only to spin him around to face the other direction. Then he patted sharply along Skylar’s spine, before spinning him back around and inspecting his arms and legs. Showing neither satisfaction nor dissatisfaction, the man moved on to the next captive.

  Somewhere down the line, the man made a comment about someone’s gut.

  “I know what this one’s in for,” he said, laughing. Several of the smugglers also joined in the laughter.

  T
he comment and laughter discomfited Skylar. He knew whose gut they were laughing at. It could only be Grüny’s. What did the man mean? Did some worse fate truly await Grüny? Skylar knew the proud ship captain must be biting his tongue to keep from verbally retaliating.

  With the inspection completed, the man walked over to join Tanks and the bald man. More haggling ensued, this time shorter and less intense. The small party soon came to an agreement and disbanded. Carrying a pouch of money, Tanks returned to the cart and signaled to his men. Within a matter of minutes, the smuggler unchained the captives, and was gone. Just as quickly, half-a-dozen servants, all wielding the pronged staffs swarmed around Skylar and his companions, and set them moving toward one of the far walls. Skylar hoped they would follow through the same portal through which Kendyl disappeared. But it was not.

  When they reached the wall, one of their new guards unlocked the gate covering a narrow vertical aperture, no wider than a grown man’s shoulders. The aperture led into an equally-narrow passageway. Flanking the sides of the opening, the guards ordered the captives to pass through. The walls and ceiling of the passage were of the same ruddy stone as everything else.

  Skylar found the closeness of the walls heightened his sense of vulnerability. Before them, the passageway stretched on for another stone’s throw. Where was this funnel taking them? Behind, the squeal and clank of the rusty gate told them the only way out was forward. One of the guards shouted for them to hurry.

  At the end of the passage, another gate met them. This one swung open, and two guards grabbed one of the captives, whose name Skylar never learned, and pulled him through, then slammed the gate shut. The rest stepped forward and halted again. A few minutes later, the gate swung open, and the guards seized the next in line and closed the gate. So it went, until at last, they pulled Skylar through.

  Skylar found himself roughly hauled into a chamber, where a woman with a parchment, stylus, and sour expression stood waiting impatiently. Two guards, in addition to the ones who brought him inside, stood at attention near a pair of doors. His own guards dragged him to the center of this chamber, then immediately began stripping the clothes off his body. Except for his undergarments, they removed everything. He stood there embarrassed and angry, while the sour-faced women, subjected him to yet another inspection. She circled him, measured him, peered at his palms, all the while scribbling notes on her parchment.

  “Can you talk?” she asked.

  “Of course I—”

  “That’s enough.”

  She scribbled some more.

  “Ahlderion, too,” she muttered.

  At a snap of the women’s finger, the guards placed a tag around Skylar’s neck and hauled him away. The new chamber into which they dragged him consisted of a series of stone water-filled barrels partially embedded into the walls. Other guards and captives were here.

  One of the guards ordered Skylar to remove his undergarments. This he did reluctantly, checking to ensure there were no women in this chamber. After taking this last bit of dignity, the guards hoisted him up by the underarms and plunged him into the nearest barrel of water. His body instantly broke into a paroxysm of shivers, as the chill water enveloped him. All the way under they forced him, holding him there until he thought he would drown. Then they pulled him up for one frantic gasp of air, before plunging him back down. Ten times they bobbed him in and out.

  At last, then pulled him out of the barrel and set him on the floor, where he stood shuddering uncontrollably, coughing and wheezing, dizzy from lack of oxygen. Leaving him to air dry, the guards went to another part of the chamber. Too cold and disoriented, Skylar didn’t even consider trying to flee. With teeth chattering, he looked up to see Endrick a few barrels down, likewise soppy wet and stripped of clothes. Skylar looked away. It pained him to see his friend treated so ignobly.

  When his guards returned, they gave him new garments to put on. Skylar paid no attention to what the clothes looked like or how well they fit. It didn’t matter, so long as something covered him.

  As soon as he was dressed, the guards moved him out of the bath chamber, and out into another passageway. They navigated through a series of passageways, and up a short staircase, into an expansive chamber with a grated metal floor. As they clanked across the floor, Skylar peered down through the grating. What he saw startled him. There were faces; faces staring up at him just below his feet. He failed to get a good look at any one of them, or to see why they were down there. The guards moved him along too rapidly.

  Three-quarters of the way across the chamber, the guards halted. One reached down and lifted up a small square section of the grating. Lifting Skylar off his feet, they lowered him down through the opening in the floor, slammed the grating shut, locked it in place, and clanked away. As the sound of the guards’ boots on the rusted metal died away, a new sound took its place. It came low and indiscreet. Sobs, wails, and moaning, all mingled into a wretched chorus, sufficient to move the coldest of hearts.

  Skylar couldn’t see who uttered these pitiful cries. He couldn’t see anything, except for the grating above him, and the four stone walls that enclosed him—walls so tight he couldn’t sit down, only stand. It wouldn’t be long before his legs ached to rest. Overcome with desperation, he let out a cry, joining his voice with all the others.

  “Oh, why did I let us get into this mess!”

  In response, Skylar heard a voice.

  “Us?” it said. “How many of you are inside there with you?”

  Skylar instinctively glanced around for the source of the voice, but of course, there was no one there.

  “Um…no it’s just me. Who are you? Or maybe I should ask, where are you?”

  “Right next to you. Just another slave like yourself.”

  “I’m no slave,” replied Skylar miserably. “I don’t belong here.”

  “None of us belongs here. I was a slave trader myself, until my business partner betrayed me. That cheat!”

  A former slave trader? Skylar’s initial reaction was to verbally berate this man for all the wrongs his kind had done to him. With some effort, he restrained his tongue. He wanted information from the man. Besides, the man didn’t sound like Tanks or his men. He actually sounded amiable.

  “No one here cares who you are or where you came from,” the man continued. “Only how much they can sell you for. Give up any hope of regaining your freedom. No slave owner lets a slave go free. And those who try to run away…well, just don’t try it.”

  Skylar shook his head. All of this was his fault. All of it.

  “I was captured with several companions,” said Skylar after some moments. “What’s to become of them?”

  “More or less the same fate as yours. They’ll be sold to various slave owners tomorrow.”

  “Haven’t we already been sold to a slave owner?”

  “Not exactly. The man with the braided beard—you had to see him. That’s Rajar Koon. He’s master of this compound. The most prosperous slave trader in all of Gorgoroth. He buys slaves from smaller slave traders and sells them at market for handsome profits. Tomorrow—”

  He broke off. The clank of footsteps suddenly echoed through the chamber. Skylar listened intently, trying to detect who the guards were locking up and where. But he didn’t hear anything that gave him any clue. After several minutes, he heard the sound of the grate slamming shut, followed by the guards’ footsteps dying away. When all that could be heard were the pathetic cries of the captive slaves, the former slaver trader resumed talking.

  “As I was saying, tomorrow is the next market day, if I remember correctly.”

  “Then…I could truly be separated from my companions?”

  “Almost definitely, you will.”

  “There was a girl with us,” said Skylar, tentatively. “What do you think will happen to her?”

  “Was she pretty?”

  It pained Skylar to answer that question. He hoped it wouldn’t be a factor. It
was a foolish hope, though. Rajar Koon’s appraisal of Kendyl had told him that much.

  “Very,” replied Skylar, softly.

  “She’s not a child?”

  “No.”

  “Well, if she’s lucky, she’ll end up as a serving wench to a wealthy warlord’s mistress.”

  “And if she’s not lucky?”

  Silence followed Skylar’s question. He could almost hear the former slave trader deliberating with himself on the best manner to soften the blow.

  “Well…as a wife or concubine to a land baron, or powerful war chieftain.”

  This news did not come as a shock to Skylar, he had expected something of the kind. Coming from the seemingly authoritative source, though, the truth felt more sickening than before.

  “Yourself…” added the former slave trader, “you sound youthful, healthy. You could be bought as a servitor or whipping boy. More than likely, you’ll end up working the fields down south.”

  “I don’t care what happens to me. I want to know what happens to overweight slaves.”

  Another pause.

  “If he’s lucky—”

  “Tell me what’s likely to happen,” Skylar broke in. There was no use harboring false hopes about luck. Luck had yet to shine its elusive face on him and his companions.

  “Well, he’ll likely be butchered…and…well…eaten.”

  Seventeen

  Rolander scarcely ever left the castle or its grounds. He never felt like he belonged in the boundless city living under the shadow of Castle Ahlderon. His own home planet of Haladras was so different. The glittering city possessed as many buildings as Haladras possessed inhabitants, if not more. And the sheer number of inhabitants in the city—there seemed to be no end. He wasn’t used to being around so many people. He wasn’t used to so many people seeing his missing appendage. Above all, he’d never ventured into the city alone.