by Dante King
“Welcome, slaves, to your new home!”
Chapter 12
“Get this scum out of my sight!” Braun shouted. “Bring them to their new homes and let them learn their place!”
For the first time since he’d met the commander, Ben spotted a smirk on his face among the black of his helmet. Ben sensed the man took great satisfaction in ordering the slaves around.
Braun ordered one of the soldiers to take Ben and his companions down one of the paths from the crest, the path leading to one of the many slave camps. However dilapidated the monsterkin villages were, the slave camps made them look like resort towns. The camp was a collection of a dozen or so ramshackle houses, a great fire raging in the center that the slaves who weren’t working gathered around, trying to cook the disgusting bits of meat they’d been given. Between the raging fires and the blackened sky and the smoke and the smell, it felt to Ben like he’d died and gone to hell.
There were no Black Army soldiers, only goblins and orcs, with one man with long, dark hair and clothes of fine, red silk watching over it all.
As the group approached, one of the goblins, a piece of paper attached to a note board in one hand, a writing utensil in the other, hurried over to greet them. Ben did his best to not react to the goblin, to behave as if the little creature with green skin and a long nose and dark, beady eyes was something he’d seen a million times before and not a creature he’d only read about in books or from his Dungeons & Dragons campaigns.
“Mmm, more slaves,” he said, his voice screechy. “Just in time to replace the others.” To illustrate what he was talking about, the goblin nodded over to another fire off in the distance. “That’s where the others are, if you’re wondering. Once slaves end up here at the tower, they tend not to last too long, if you know what I mean.”
He went on, “Now, my name is Hangnail, not my real name, by the way—I’m the assistant to that imposing guy in red over there. His name is Victor, and he’s a mage. Each of the camps is commanded by a mage, with a squad of orc soldiers working underneath him, and a few goblin assistants to take care of, ah, administrative matters. You know, like which slaves dropped dead on the job, which tried to make a break for it and got cut in half by one of the orcs, or which were made to fight to the death for the amusement of the mages. Stuff like that, you know?”
Ben wanted to kill the little creature on the spot. As much as his powers had developed, he knew he wouldn’t be able to take out the entire staff of the camp. Even if he were able, the crews from the rest of the camps would likely be on top of them before too long. No, he’d need numbers if he were going to prevail.
“Now,” Hangnail said. “We’ve got different tasks for different slaves. Since I’m the one in charge, I’m going to be the guy who tells you where to go. Not everyone works in the mines, after all. Some work in the tower, some get conscripted into The One’s army. So, all of you line up, and I’ll get this show started.”
Part of Ben wanted to try out his new flame spell on the arrogant little goblin in front of him, but he kept himself in check. The group lined up, Melody behind him. She’d been keeping herself together up until then, but standing there in line, he sensed her fear.
“Stay calm,” Ben said, doing his best to stay even and fearless. “It’ll all be fine.”
“But what if we get split up? How will we know how to find each other?”
It was a damn good question, and one Ben wasn’t quite sure how to answer. So, he said the first words that came to mind.
“If we get split up, I swear that I’ll find all of you. We came into this place together, and we’re going to leave it together. I promise.”
Imogen and Lexi had been watching him speak along with Melody, and he could see from the looks on their faces that his words had done some good.
“Hey! Shut up back there!” Hangnail shouted. He pulled out a small sword, more like a stiletto compared to the size of him, and ran over to Ben. He jabbed the blade into Ben’s arm. A sting of pain ran through him, and he jerked his arm away.
“What the hell?” he yelled out. There was a small dot of dark red blood on his arm where Hangnail had poked him. Luckily, it seemed to be nothing more than a flesh wound.
“That was to warn you!” Hangnail said as he put the sword back on his hip. “There are two rules around this place—the first is to do what you’re told! The second is, when you’re working, no talking! And if you’re awake, you’re working!”
He cleared his throat and stood up straight.
“Now, if you’ll all let me do my job….”
He lifted the note board and started down the line. First was Zito.
“An old fart, huh?” Hangnail asked, looking the blademaster up and down.
“An old what?” Zito replied.
“You heard me. You’re in the mines, old man. Standard policy with people like you with one foot in the grave is to get what work we can out of you until you croak, which shouldn’t be long!”
Next was Imogen. Hangnail let his eyes linger on her body, a disgusting little smile on his face. Then his eyes went to Melody, and he did the same. Ben wanted to smash his teeth in right then and there.
“Both of you are lookers, no doubt about it. You’re going to be part of the service staff in the tower. The big boss likes to surround himself with beautiful women—if you’re lucky, he’ll do more than appreciate the view!”
Ben clenched his hands into fists, then let them release. The idea of some creep putting his hands on the women who meant so much to him was enough to send a pulse of raw anger through his body.
“What about Brock?” Imogen asked. “And Nipper?”
“Who?” Hangnail replied, his eyes dropping to the monsters. “Oh, the pets. Uh, bring them with you. The boss has a little menagerie, and we can probably find a place for them there.”
Next, he moved onto Ben and Lexi and Shrike, the last remaining members of the group. He looked Lexi up and down, then Shrike, and then stopped at Ben.
“You two ladies are quite the lookers, don’t get me wrong, but I’m feeling like you both would do more good working as soldiers for the big man. Same with you, kid. You’re not the biggest guy I’ve ever seen, but there’s something about you. I’m thinking the rest of you jokers are fit for the army.”
Ben said nothing, not wanting to give anything away about his true power.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the flash of fine red fabric he’d noticed when he’d first arrived, followed by a swoosh of brown hair. It was Victor, the mage in charge of the camp. He turned his eyes, a striking blue, on them as he emerged from his command headquarters. He strode over, his walk imperious and regal.
Once he was there, he locked his eyes onto Ben.
Ben didn’t like the way he looked at him one bit. It was as if Victor could see something in him, could see that he had powers that he was trying to keep hidden.
“You.” Victor’s voice was smooth and fluid, like an actor’s.
“What?” Ben asked.
A smile formed on Victor’s handsome face. Then he raised his hand and clenched his fingers together, as if he were wrapping them around something. Suddenly, Ben felt the grasp of something in this lower back, as if Victor had taken hold of his spine. Victor’s hand glowed an eerie blue.
Ben let out a cry of pain, then dropped to his knees. Everything below his waist had gone numb, and there was nothing he could do to resist it.
“First of all,” Victor said, his voice still calm, “as long as you’re assigned to my camp, consider me your god. You do nothing, say nothing, think nothing without my permission. Do you understand?”
Victor loomed over Ben, the sneer still on his face. There was no doubt of Victor’s power, but that didn’t matter. This mage was a slave master, the one responsible for the burning bodies.
Ben made the decision to go along with him—for the moment. He made a quiet vow to himself to settle the score.
“I… understand.”
Victor nodded. The blue faded from his hand, and the grip around Ben’s spine vanished. He was able to stand once more, and he did.
I don’t know what that spell is, but I want it.
“There’s something about you… something you don’t want us to know about.” He narrowed his eyes, as if scanning Ben.
Then, before Ben could answer, he turned to one of the dozen or so orcs that guarded the perimeter of the camp. Victor pointed to the nearest one and spoke.
“You, greenskin—come here.”
The orc obeyed as though it were a mindless robot.
“And you, boy—come here and stand before him.”
Ben nodded and did as Victor asked. He stood in front of the orc, the massive creature built like a wall and easily three heads taller than Ben. The orc was dressed in furs and leather armor, a huge, jagged blade at his hip, dried blood caked onto the edge.
“Now,” Victor said, “we’re going to have a little test. Orc, what is your name?”
“Rimdak,” he said, his voice like the grunt of a demonic boar.
“Rimdak. Not sure why I asked, all you beasts look the same to me. Anyway, the test is this. Rimdak, take out your weapon.”
Rimdak did so. The blade was huge, almost as long as Ben’s leg.
“Here’s what’s going to happen—one of you is going to kill the other, and you’re going to do it right now.”
“Huh?” Ben asked.
Whatever uncertainty he had vanished the moment Rimdak grinned at him, his drool-dripping mouth full of tusked teeth, and raised his blade for a quick and killing blow. Rimdak brought the sword down in a mighty swing, one that Ben was barely able to avoid.
The members of his party let out noises of surprise, none of them having anticipated what was about to happen.
“Everyone,” Victor said. “Give them space. Don’t need any of the valuable new slaves being wounded—or worse.”
“Ben!” Melody shouted.
He turned to her, an expression of shock on her face.
“Don’t help!” he replied. “I’ve got this!”
Ben knew he had a choice. He could do nothing and die, or use his powers and win, but expose his abilities to Victor.
There was no choice at all. Rimdak barreled toward Ben, his blade raised above his head as he released a war cry. Ben juked to the side, letting the orc fly past him, nothing but his stench left in his wake. Rimdak turned and pointed his blade at Ben.
“Third time is a charm, as you humans say. Prepare to die!”
He’s right. Dodging two strikes was luck. Three is pushing it. I need to use my powers, and I need to use them now.
Rimdak let out another cry. This time, Ben was ready. As the orc prepared to rush toward him, Ben summoned Energy Darts, pointing his fingers at Rimdak and firing them as he came near. The crimson-colored balls of energy zipped through the air, slamming into Rimdak.
Ben had hoped that they might tear through Rimdak and end the fight right there, but the beast was too strong, his skin too thick. The Energy Darts slammed into him like a fistful of rocks, causing him to let out a yelp of pain. He froze, shaking off the impacts of the darts. When he recovered, Rimdak turned his attention back to Ben, his eyes narrowed and a growl sounding from his throat.
It was a growl that turned into a roar. Rimdak shook his head, then slammed his fist into his chest over and over, a thick thump-thump sounding out that was low enough for Ben to feel in his bones.
OK, so Energy Dart isn’t quite powerful enough for that yet. How about Force Wave?
He prepared to cast the spell, and as he did, he checked in on his mana supply. It was about half-full, which meant he had to keep his spell usage in check. Whatever he cast, it would have to really count.
Rimdak snorted once more, then lunged toward Ben. He cast Force Wave at Rimdak’s feet, a bow-shaped surge of energy flying from his arm as he swept it toward the orc. The wave connected with Rimdak, hitting his legs in a way that made him seem like the rug had been pulled out from under him. He toppled over, landing on his shoulder and letting out another yowl of pain.
Other than the injury from his fall, he was still unharmed.
OK, Ben thought. Force Wave isn’t powerful enough either. There’s still Flame Cannon.
Rimdak heaved himself to his feet, and when he finally stood, he wore an expression best described as murderous.
He pointed his blade toward Ben and spoke.
“You think it’s funny to toy with me, little man? Perhaps once I get my hands on you, I’ll toy with you as well. But be warned, the way I like to play with my prey is far, far bloodier.”
Ben’s heart skipped a beat. There was no doubt in his mind that Rimdak meant business.
He summoned Flame Cannon. Once the spell was ready, he placed his hands in front of him in the way that Shrike had shown him. His palms began to burn with incredible heat, and when the pain became unbearable, he pushed the fire toward his target. A blast of superhot flame shot toward Rimdak.
It splashed over Rimdak, who howled in pain. Ben kept the spell going, but as he did, he noticed something—his mana was draining like crazy. It dwindled more and more by the second, and he realized that it would be depleted before he took Rimdak down.
He ceased the spell. The sight of the orc was enough to turn his stomach. His green skin had been charred black, bits and pieces burned off completely to reveal the muscle and bone beneath.
But Rimdak still stood.
However furious he was before, his rage was at a new level. He didn’t even speak, instead slowly making his way toward Ben, his body looking on the verge of falling apart. He snorted, his eyes locked onto his prey.
Flame Cannon’s powerful, but I don’t have the mana to use it for more than a few seconds, Ben thought. Looks like I’m going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.
It was time to give Siphon a try. He’d avoided it until now since he didn’t want to use an untested spell in battle. For all he knew, it wouldn’t work the way that its original form had worked.
Ben summoned the spell, and as he did, he noticed how much faster it responded to him. Drain’s new level made the spell feel like a part of Ben, something he could do as naturally as swinging his arm. His mana levels were low, so he was unlikely to be able to pull off more than a single cast.
Rimdak bore down on him, both of his massive hands clenched around the hilt of his sword. As he drew near, Ben made his move. Siphon worked fast, the process of searching through the cords of speed and power even faster than it had been with Drain. More than that, time seemed to slow down all around him, giving him more space to make his decision on what he wanted to pull from his enemy.
There wasn’t any mana in the orc, nor was there much intelligence. There was courage, but it was the brainless sort. Ben decided there wasn’t much worth taking other than his strength. He waited until Rimdak was near, until he was just about to swing his sword down and cut Ben through the middle.
Then he completed Siphon. The new power of the spell meant he could time it perfectly. He pulled half of Rimdak’s strength, taking it into his body. The orc’s eyes flashed with surprise as he swung down. Ben was ready for him. Ben’s hands shot up to grab Rimdak’s wrists. He stopped the orc mid-swing, pushing him back up with his own strength.
Then Ben squeezed his wrist hard enough for the orc’s grip on the blade to loosen. When his thick fingers opened up from around the hilt, Ben shoved the orc backward while taking the blade. The weapon was huge and heavy but handled easily enough with Ben’s newfound strength.
Rimdak’s mouth hung open, surprised by how a man half his size had managed to fight him off. It quickly turned back into rage as he yanked a dagger from his belt and let out another roar.
Guess he’s not going down unless I take him down, Ben thought.
With the incredible strength pulsing through him, making his muscles feel like those of a powerlifter, Ben kept his eyes on Rimdak as he barreled toward him.
When Rimdak was close, his dagger blade glistening with the reflections of the fire around them, Ben raised his sword and brought it down with all of his strength.
All of his strength, it turned out, was quite a lot.
The blade came down on Rimdak’s head, cleaving through his skull and burying it down all the way to the neck. The blade finally stopped its bloody trip down midway through the orc’s thick chest, the muscles and guts so dense that not even Ben’s new strength could push through it.
But what he’d done had been more than enough. Rimdak, nearly split in half, stood dead before Ben for a long moment, then collapsed into a ruined heap.
It was over—the fight was won.
The raw, dumb orc strength that pulsed through Ben clouded his thoughts. It threatened to take over, to force him to attack Victor and Hangnail and whoever else might’ve been in his way.
He needed to get rid of it. A group of enslaved monsterkin passed through the camp, orcs all around them, their eyes on the carnage that Ben had just created. He used Siphon, easily finding the cords of strength in all of the monsterkin and distributing it among them, figuring they could use it for the hard work ahead. Once the strength was gone, Ben’s mind calmed.
Gentle applause sounded behind him. Ben turned on his feet to see Victor applauding.
“Very, very impressive,” he said as he stepped closer to Ben. “I knew there was something special about you, young man.”
“What was that all about?” Ben said. “Just a fight to entertain you?”
“Well, to test your skills. And sure, for a little entertainment. Speaking of which, I believe I’ve found the perfect job for you.”
He closed his eyes and whispered words, and Ben sensed he was speaking to someone, summoning them. Sure enough, one of the ten doors opened and a monsterkin stepped out. He was tall and slender and dark blue, his animal side appearing to Ben as some sort of wolf.
“That’s… that’s Graven,” Shrike said, awe in her voice. “He was one of the council members—the leader of our region’s defenses.”
Victor gestured for him to come closer.