“No damaging the merchandise,” Max said. “I expect this one to fetch top dollar at the market. Look at his physique.”
“Hard to tell with all the scars.”
“It just means he’s no stranger to discipline.”
“I’ll say,” the guard mused. “I think this fucker likes it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Of course I enjoy it,” Silas said, stepping to the bars. “A life in which my faith is not constantly tested isn’t a life worth living. Why, I would gladly spend eternity with the hot pokers of Twareg’s love shoved up my...”
“I said shut it!” the guard growled, slamming his staff into Silas’s crotch this time and causing the would-be paladin to crumble to the floor of the wagon.
Despite the blow, he was still able to squeak, “Thank you, Twareg.”
“See what I mean?” the guard said.
Max sighed and ran a hand through his beard. “Maybe you’re right. Let’s try to sell this one first before word gets out.”
♦ ♦ ♦
So it was that Silas Kane was brought through the gates of Kel not as a warrior, but as a mere slave. He was actually quiet for once as he passed into the city and was driven down its packed streets. However, I sensed it wasn’t despair which quelled his lips. For no matter how hard the guards had tried on the journey up, they hadn’t been able to silence him.
No, the look of wonder on his face said it all. He’d never in his life seen a place like this, with its tall buildings and myriad races all comingling in the rancid stew of city life.
Humans, elves, orcs, bugbears, gnomes, and various half-breeds could be seen going about their business. Silas’s eyes opened even wider once he spied a pair of infernlings shopping for fruit at a market.
I hoped seeing them simply living their lives among other people would show him the error of his ways, but he hunkered down and watched them as the wagon slowly drew on, uttering only five words.
“This place must be cleansed.”
For the barest of seconds, I found myself glad the young paladin was in chains, but I quickly dismissed it and instead focused on the trials and tribulations that lay ahead. Certainly that should have been my biggest concern.
Yet, in the pit of my gut, I couldn’t help but wonder whether I was wrong.
♦ ♦ ♦
Maximus peddled his wares in the marketplace with the skills of an expert haggler. It was the Day of Flesh in Kel, a monthly event in which slavers from far and wide came to do business – buying and selling their living produce and hoping to make enough coin to fill their pockets.
“Come, fine sir, and view this strapping lad you see before you. His back is strong and he is well used to long hours of labor. Why, his last owner was in tears at having to sell him to me but, you see, hard times had befallen him and ... you have a nice day, sir! You, over there...”
I watched him change his story six times in as many minutes as he tried to sell Silas, hoping to fetch top dollar for his newest slave. Depending on who you were, you might have heard that Silas had been sold into debt, captured in a great battle, or specifically bred for servitude. The truth didn’t matter. It was changed to suit whatever Maximus thought fit each potential customer.
Unfortunately, strong of back Silas might have been, but his incessant tongue kept many a buyer at bay. Sadly for Max, there were only so many beatings his men could administer in public. It wasn’t that he feared the town guard. After all, the laws in Kel were very much in favor of masters doing as they pleased with their property. But fresh bruises were a known bargaining chip that could be used to drive down the asking price.
“I swear, if you ruin one more sale,” he finally snarled at Silas, “I will rip out your vocal chords and feed them to you myself.”
“If Twareg wills it, then I shall gladly enjoy such a meal.”
“Gah! Just please quiet down a bit, for me.”
“Well...”
Max ran a hand through his white hair. “How about doing it ... for Twareg?”
“Only if he commands it to be so.”
“Really? I mean, yes! He ... err ... just came to me in a vision. Said to tell you to shut the fuck up or else.”
Silas’s eyes opened wide with fear. He closed his mouth and became instantly silent.
“Thank goodness. Now maybe I can...”
“What have you got here today, Max? Anything interesting?”
The merchant turned and then backed up a step at the sight of two glowering bugbears who stood in front of him. Then he glanced down at the finely dressed gnome standing between them. “Well well, Dingus Glitterfinger. To what do I owe the honor?”
“You know how it is,” the gnome said with a wave of his bejeweled hand. “I had to crucify half a dozen slaves last week after their output dropped by twelve percent. Good motivation for the rest, but now I need to replace them.”
“Is that so? I hope you don’t mind me saying that your loss is hopefully both our potential gain.”
“Perhaps. How much for this one?”
“Ah, you have a good eye, my friend. This fine specimen was captured after a massive manhunt following his escape from...”
“Spare me the bullshit story. How much?”
“Three hundred.”
“Three hundred, eh?” Dingus replied, eying Silas. “I don’t know. He doesn’t look that bright to me. Your competitor Fellatious sold me a slave last month for the same amount and he turned out to be an idiot. Too stupid to do anything but shove his finger up his asshole. Had to feed him to my jackals.”
“The slave or Fellatious?”
“Do you really want to know?” the gnome asked with a grin, elbowing one of his bodyguards.
Max wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, but then quickly put on his salesman face again. “That one was always a bit of a shady character, even in our trade. Me, I pride myself on a satisfied customer. Though I might not put this fine fellow here in charge of your taxes, I guarantee he can swing a hammer or pickaxe as well as any man.”
“Guarantee, eh?”
Maximus turned a shade paler at having been caught using the G-word – perhaps the most reviled of oaths in the tongue of the traders. “I only meant...”
“But if you’re not willing to honor your word, then perhaps I can shop elsewhere.”
“No,” Max quickly replied. “My word is my bond. This fine fellow is ... guaranteed.”
Dingus smiled, revealing several gold teeth. “Very well. Three hundred now, but if I’m forced to kill him before the next Day of Flesh, then I want a full refund.”
“That’s a whole month away, and we both know how dangerous a place Kel can be. Let’s say fifty back if he’s dead by then.”
“Fifty? What kind of guarantee is that?” He glanced at the bugbears by his side, who both growled at the merchant.
“Um, not a very good one, I suppose. How about seventy-five?”
Dingus took a moment to straighten his silken robes. “I would be a fool to accept anything less than two hundred.”
“I have employees to pay, mouths to feed. I can’t very well be expected to conduct business on such a slim margin.”
Dingus glared up at him, and the two men locked eyes for several seconds. “Very well,” Max said. “Half back if you’re forced to kill him, but I’ll need a full accounting of his fate to show to my investors.”
“Deal!” Dingus spat into his palm and held it out.
Max repeated the gesture and shook the little gnome’s hand.
Gold was exchanged and a receipt for ownership written up. All the while, Silas stood impassively, looking around and taking in the myriad wonders of the marketplace. By the expression upon his face, one might have thought he wasn’t aware of his fate, but when the chains binding him were placed into the hands of one of the bugbear guards, he readily stepped forward. “Thank you.”
Max turned to him. “Are you talking to me or your new master?”
“Neit
her,” Silas replied. “I was thanking mighty Twareg for allowing me to be so fortunate as to be put under the stewardship of the fine dwarf you’ve sold me to.”
“Uh oh.” Max took a step back, panic on his face.
Dingus’s eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?”
“As I said, you are a fine dwarf,” Silas said, “even if you are smaller than any I can remember meeting. Why, it’s as if you are a mere dwarven child, yet I can tell even now that you are full of the spirit of Twar...”
“I’M A GNOME!”
Max tried to interject. “I’m sure he’s just confused because...”
“Back off, merchant. He’s not your concern anymore.”
“Yes,” Silas agreed, continuing to address Dingus. “Truly you are a mighty dwarf of the gnome clan.”
Dingus screamed an oath and pointed a finger at his new acquisition. The two bugbears immediately fell upon Silas with their fists. Many blows were thrown before his cries thanking Twareg were finally silenced.
All the while, Maximus clutched his coin purse, no doubt ruing the guarantee he’d made.
SLAVE OF IDEOLOGY
For the second time in as many days, Silas awoke in a place different from where he’d passed out or been beaten senseless.
Unlike the previous day, he wasn’t so quick to bounce back to his feet. Dingus’s bodyguards were both thorough and enthusiastic when it came to their jobs. They’d laid into the helpless paladin for quite some time, even after he was unconscious.
Nevertheless, their beating still wasn’t enough to keep Silas from cracking open his bloodied lips and offering thanks to Twareg.
“Huh, what was that?”
Silas managed to open one swollen eye. Looking down at him was a middle-aged man with brown hair and a beard peppered with flecks of grey. He was dressed in a simple but clean tunic and was wringing out a cloth with water, which he then placed upon Silas’s brow.
“Who...?”
“Don’t try to move or talk,” the man replied. “If Master Dingus’s guards have one talent, it’s dishing out discipline.”
“Agreed. Praise Twareg for their lesson in humility and may he bless our dwarven master with...”
“Yeah, about that. Word of advice: Master Dingus is a gnome, not a dwarf. If you’re not familiar with their race, I can understand the confusion, but believe me, there’s a difference. And in case you’re wondering, gnomes really don’t like being confused with their larger, more brutish cousins. And the master especially doesn’t like it. But I believe you learned that lesson already.”
“Pity. His temper would have fit in well at the shrine.”
“Shrine?” The man quickly waved off his question. “It doesn’t matter. That was your old life. You’re here now, and here you will stay for so long as you hold our master’s favor. Oh, and in order to hold his favor, you should know that you’ll need to hold mine first.”
Silas raised an eyebrow upon his bruised face, or tried to anyway.
“My name’s Gideon. I am first among the filth here. My job is to manage the other slaves so our master doesn’t have to busy himself with such lowly endeavors. Do as you’re told and do it well, and you will be treated fairly ... or as fairly as can be expected. Perform badly, and you will be punished.”
That seemed to make Silas smile. “Punishment.”
“Yes, punishment.”
“I look forward to it. Well met, Gideon. They call me...”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gideon said. “That was your old name. The master will give you a new one. And henceforth that is what you will be known as. But for now, rest. The master insists that all his new servants be able to move their fingers again before he works them to the bone.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Gideon nursed Silas back to health. Between the young warrior’s stamina for pain and a few healing brews the chief slave managed to smuggle in, it didn’t take long before the would-be paladin was ready for his new life.
“Wake up, Maggot.”
Silas opened his eyes to find Gideon staring down at him. “What time is it?”
“Two hours before sunrise.”
“Thank you for letting me sleep in,” Silas said, sitting up. “The abbot would have beat me with a wet mop if I wasn’t up at least four hours before the sun. But I deserved it, for in the eyes of Twareg I am nothing but...”
“I’m sure I don’t care,” Gideon replied. “Here, put this on.” He handed Silas a dusty grey tunic that looked as if it hadn’t been washed in months.
“Such fine clothes for an unworthy cur such as me.”
“You really are an odd one, Maggot.”
Silas dressed quickly. “I’m not odd. I am merely a filthy sinner, a pimple upon the almighty ass of Twareg, waiting to be popped so that my disgrace may spew...”
Gideon held up a hand. “Fascinating I’m sure, but we have more pressing matters. The good news is you’re healthy enough to get to work. The bad news is that Master Dingus has assigned you to the salt mines located deep beneath the city.”
“Excellent!”
“Before you rejoice I have to warn you, the work is excruciating. It’s hot and cramped down there. There’s pockets of poisonous gas everywhere, and it’s been known to flood unexpectedly whenever the tide is high. Oh, and there’s only one ladder in and out if that ever happens.”
“Sounds bracing.”
Gideon blinked several times. “Yeah, bracing is one word for it. I’ll be perfectly honest with you. It’s not known as a place where many survive for long.”
“Yet another test of my unworthiness. For I, Silas...”
“That’s another thing,” the chief slave interrupted. “The master has chosen your new name, too.”
“Hopefully one befitting garbage such as me. What shall I be known as?”
“Exactly what I’ve been calling you.”
Silas shrugged and shook his head.
“Maggot. Your name is Maggot.”
Upon hearing this, Silas clapped his hands together in glee. “Thank you, Twareg, for spitting upon your lowly Maggot!”
“Not quite the reaction I usually get, but one does meet all kinds in this work. Okay, then, rejoicing time is over. I have matters to attend to, and you have salt to dig. So how about we get to work?”
Gideon led Silas out of his cell and through the dingy back halls of Dingus’s opulent estate. Along the way, they passed several other beaten-down looking slaves.
Silas was sure to greet them all with the blessings of Twareg, even as the vast majority ignored him lest they be a few seconds too slow in performing their duties.
At last, Gideon led Silas to the bottommost reaches of the keep. There, the walls were carved from the very bedrock upon which Kel sat. A dour-faced man covered in tattoos awaited them next to a large circular trap door set in the floor. It was open, revealing a hole leading down and the top of a rather rickety ladder.
“Ah, you’re here, good,” Gideon said.
“As if I wouldn’t be whipped bloody if I weren’t,” the angry-looking man replied.
“True enough. Maggot, this is Slug. He’s in charge of the mine slaves and will also be your digging partner. He’ll show you the ropes – the best veins to mine, as well as how fast you need to work.”
Slug took one look at Silas then turned and spat. “Your job will be to dig. Whatever you find, you give to me and I’ll place it into the mine cart. That’s how me and my previous partner worked, and that’s how things will work with us.”
Gideon eyed him. “Whatever happened to your other partner, by the way ... what was his name?”
“Parasite,” Slug replied. “He dug too slowly, so I crushed his head with a rock before he could embarrass me further.”
“Ah, yes.” Gideon nodded. “I remember now. Well, hopefully history doesn’t repeat itself. But enough chatter. The master doesn’t own an ever-full purse, you know. That salt won’t dig itself. Time to get to work.”
“By T
wareg’s will, it be done!” Silas started toward the ladder.
He had just reached the top rung when Gideon cleared his throat. “Where are you going?”
“To the mine.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
A look of panic crossed Silas’s eyes. “You’re right!” He climbed out and then dropped to his knees. “Oh, mighty Twareg. Please ensure that my fingers bleed and my back aches, so that I might languish in misery as you...”
“I meant your pickaxe. How are you supposed to dig otherwise?”
Silas looked confused. “With my hands, of course. I can’t properly suffer if we’re going to do this the easy way.”
Slug spat upon the ground again. “Maybe I should crush his head now and save us both the trouble.”
PLANTING THE SEEDS OF CHAOS
Hours turned into days, and the days into weeks. During that time, I watched from afar as Silas toiled ceaselessly in the mines, digging nonstop so that even Slug had to labor to keep up with him. He worked until his hands bled, then scabbed over, then bled some more.
All the while, the tunnels echoed with his songs to Twareg, sung until Silas’s throat was so parched with salt that he could sing no more. And even then he continued to try.
At first, the other slaves weren’t happy with his constant supplication. They’d grumble, complain, and even throw rocks in an attempt to shut him up.
None of it worked ... except once, when Grub Shit, a fellow slave, got lucky and hit Silas in the forehead, knocking him out for almost an hour. Once he woke up again, though, he was ready to belt out more hymns.
Eventually, much like a disease will spread through close quarters, his words began to infect the others. It started out with just a few others, subconsciously humming along with the overly zealous new slave, but eventually more and more began to join in.
Soon, the tunnels echoed with praise for Twareg and that praise would only grow louder with each cave-in, flood, or other horrendous accident.
Word reached Dingus’s ears that his mining slaves were acting oddly upbeat as of late, but he didn’t care, because their productivity was up by nearly twenty percent. So long as the salt flowed from the mines, and gold stacked up in his vault, he wasn’t particularly concerned whether his minions passed the hours singing out of tune songs to some foreign god.
The Silas Kane Scrolls (Authors and Dragons Origins Book 2) Page 5