“Then remove this,” Lillian cut in, pointing at her collar. “You’ve already given me blades.”
Brenna’s mouth hung open. Lillian looked into her eyes, saw them scanning hers. She was searching for signs of deceit and the hint of an imminent betrayal. She didn’t have to speak her concern. Her eyes were beautiful, a deep gray with shimmering hints of scarlet. Was Brenna perhaps born of demons?
Brenna’s face softened, and a gleaming key appeared, clutched between her fingers. “Very well. I trust that you know that revealing your abilities would only ensure your death. You must keep them hidden unless truly needed.”
Lillian frantically nodded, a nervous smile reaching her eyes. She was going to be free. She could do anything with the Dragon.
With a dull click, her last fetter clattered to the floor. The Equalizer crystal attached to her collar by a short length of chain glittered in the gloom. She let out a long, relieved breath as a smile stretched across her cheeks. She reached for the Dragon, causing the Equalizer crystal to flare in rebellion.
She growled, raised her boot, and smashed the Equalizer beneath her heel. It shattered into tens of pieces, spreading across the floor.
“I do hope you can forgive me,” Brenna said with a slight tremor in her voice. “I hate this business as much as you, if not more so.”
“You have no idea,” Lillian whispered, eyes narrowing at the shards. Brenna was right. She had to conceal her powers. Wizards had fallen into the clutches of Tigerians in the past. There were few things Tigerians hated more than human wizards. Most were flayed and left to rot on the walls of Ashrath. Others endured more sinister tortures before an agonized end.
Lillian caressed the Dragon, a figure of swirling fire that inhabited her mind and heart. Her eyes sparked alight as if they had become torches. She was filled with its familiar urge to destroy. A sense of mounting anger begged to be satiated on her enemies. She grimaced, drawing more of its strength, fires in her eyes growing brighter and lapping over her forehead. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
She reminded herself that with the Dragon’s use came an equal and opposite price. Shortly after using the Dragon or the Phoenix, the user would be levied with a magnitude of exhaustion that correlated with the amount of power drawn. Using a bit to light a candle wouldn’t take much from you. Going to war and throwing thirty or so fireballs might be enough to induce a day or two of sleep, depending on one’s skill development. Nothing was free.
She dismissed the Dragon, fires fading and her eyes resuming their mortal form. She lifted her eyes to regard Brenna, who had taken a few steps back, and arched an eyebrow. “About this act. Tell me more.”
Brenna clapped her hands with a mischievous grin. “We’ll put on a ruse. Just remember that you cannot break character. You need to treat other slaves as a slaver would. No empathy, no compassion for your fellows in suffering can be tolerated.”
Lillian snickered under her breath. “Very well. Let’s shop then.”
Four
The Kuro Brothers
Hundreds of glistening backs hunched and toiled over endless rows of cornstalks. The sun radiated them with all its fury from a brutally clear sky. Sunburned men and women worked shirtless, plucking at weeds, and harvesting corn ears. Others worked in teams to till the earth while others dragged plows to carve out new furrows from the heavy clay.
Their curses and grunts brought an involuntary swallow from Lillian’s throat. She felt their toiling muscles, blistered hands, and strained tendons. It felt only days had passed since she’d worked these fields, though it had to have been almost a month now. She was a slaver now, and slavers didn’t swallow at the sight of crushed men.
Within twenty feet or so of every slave gang was a Tigerian taskmaster, lashes coiled on their hips, ready to dispense punishment to those they felt were malingering. From some long distance, she heard the crack of that ghastly strip of leather, cutting the day like thunder and slicing through someone’s bare skin. She shuddered at the sound, air catching in her throat. A wail of agony came after.
When she had been here, she often envied the men’s punishments. When they punished her, it was by hauling her off over a Tigerian’s shoulder to be raped in plain sight. Sometimes in a shed, if the faceless Tigerian was shy. She made the mistake of laughing at a shy Tigerian. It was a mistake you only made once. She was their plaything, their toy, the master said.
It didn’t take long for her to get over the humiliation. She eventually discovered how to leave her body, to put her mind elsewhere. There was a part of her that had been forever disconnected. Then there was nothing they could do to hurt her. Her body was merely a vessel for her raging spirit. They could savage her body, but they would never touch her spirit.
She wanted to raze the plantation to the ground. She wanted to watch everything and every Tigerian burn. Every Tigerians’ fur would spark like dried wood. Those who made the vital folly of oiling their fur would incinerate in seconds.
But she couldn’t, not now anyway. The only reason she didn’t was for Baylan. She had to find him, and she would do no finding as a corpse.
If she scorched them with Dragon fire, sundered them with summoned rock, and rent their eyes with the force of the wind, she would be forced to run. Then her demise would be inevitable. She would be the prize of every bounty hunter in the realm, and she had no means of escaping. Maybe even Brenna would be tempted to do the honors. Could anyone resist the allure of coin?
“Remember, you are my advisor. You must be hard,” Brenna said in a low voice beside her.
Lillian gave her the slightest of nods, regarding the enslaved with an icy stare.
Lillian and Brenna bounced in their cart down the main road leading towards the mansion on the Golden Hill estate. The road was paved with thousands of interlocking bricks, all covered in a thin layer of windswept earth. On either side of them, the corn stretched out as far as one’s sight would permit. Tens of heads raised to watch them as they passed, every expression gawking. Some were either too focused or too downtrodden to even bother raising their heads, lost in their personal forms of hell.
The mansion ahead drew nearer. Its exterior was mostly brickwork, the corners and ridges lined with ornamented sections of carved granite. It appeared to have at least thirty rooms, two stories high with an arcing front staircase that rivaled the Midgaard palace’s throne.
“Why do they call this Golden Hill? The gold, I can see.” Brenna gestured at the corn crops. “But the land is as flat as glass.”
“Perhaps the hill lies in the quantity of marks in the… owner’s coffers.” Lillian caught herself, every part of her wanting to say master’s rather than owner’s
Lillian selected the most obnoxious dress she could find. She wanted to do the opposite of blending in. It was backless and the material thin enough to show her every contour, the color arterial blood red. From her shoulders and hips were ten lengths of streaming fabric that fluttered behind her like a Phoenix’s tail. To the tailor’s aggravation, she’d requested that a few be hemmed so that they didn’t get caught in wagon wheels. Her abdomen and thighs were bare to the sun, but she didn’t care. She was free, and nothing could hurt her now.
Brenna wore what she always wore. She had at least ten copies of the same outfit in her carriage, each cleaned and starched with hardly a single wrinkle. She said that wearing the same thing every day made it easier to function, less to think about. Lillian thought that was boring.
The armor lining Brenna’s forearms and attached to her sinister gloves gleamed like a pair of twin suns. She wore a thin gray cloak over her shoulders and neck to shield her skin from the sun. The tops of her breasts pressed out from the ridge of her jet-black corset, long sword gently thumping on her hip. Lillian couldn’t help but be fascinated by her. She had never heard of a female bounty hunter and wondered why she took on the profession. Now was not the time for idle chatter; there would be time later.
A few Tigerian taskmasters darted up th
e main steps and into the mansion’s vast innards, no doubt warning the master of their arrival. A pair of human slaves shuffled to the edge of the road, hands held against their brows to shield their eyes from the sun as they squinted at the pair of women.
A Tigerian whose fur was white as milk and wearing a tailored suit that perfectly matched the color of his fur, sauntered out from the cool shadow of his mansion. His feline eyes narrowed in suspicion, hands falling to his narrow hips and parting his jacket. His jacket was double breasted, the buttons shining with gold. His whiskers were as long as Lillian’s hands, each thick enough to catch the light from twenty paces away.
“The master,” Lillian said, voice laced with condemnation.
“Remember your act,” Brenna hissed, then placed a broad smile on her face. Brenna tugged on Stanley’s reins, slowing and then stopping her carriage under the shade of the mansion. They dismounted. “Hello there!” She gave a hearty wave to both the master and the group of five or so of his human assistants emerging from the mansion and filling in around him.
“You’re a slaver?” the master called in Common, sparing pleasantries.
“I am,” Brenna said in a jovial tune. She produced her slaver’s card and tossed it up for him to inspect, which he thoroughly did. Once satisfied, he tossed it back to her, then descended the stairs. His boots clicked with every step on the polished marble. “Do you know it’s against the law for a human who is not a slaver to ride beside you?”
Brenna’s smile thinned. “She is free and can do as she pleases.”
“Is that so?” The master regarded Lillian, who dutifully lowered her eyes. Shame surged through her limbs, every part of her taking a tremendous effort to stifle the quiver in her fists. She raised her eyes, remembering that she was free. She stared iron at the master, hoping that he would recognize her. She would play the act now, but by the Dragon, she would not leave this world without bathing him in her fires.
The master reached the bottom of the stairs, boots clicking like thunderclaps in Lillian’s ears. Burn! Destroy! The Dragon raged in her mind. It wasn’t the words it conveyed, but merely emotions she understood. He stood about fifteen paces away from the women.
The master crossed his bony arms, cruel golden eyes slitting. “Not around my humans. I want to see her in chains. Can’t be having an uprising due to her setting a bad example. Get a set of shackles, would you, Saban?”
“Yes, sir,” a man replied. Saban must have been over a hundred name years. His back was hunched over, face wrinkled like an ancient prune, scraggly gray beard swaying from his chin.
Lillian noticed as countless taskmasters fanned out around them, forming a circle of death. The master was never armed, but his taskmasters carried more than lashes. Some had multiple daggers, others spiked clubs, while others possessed swords. They soiled their hands with the dark work, leaving the master’s hands clean.
Lillian felt Brenna detecting them too. She caught the shift of her eyes, the slowing of her breath, taking in their subtle movements. The Dragon permitted one to see subtleties in body language lost to most. Other wizards had reported that merely being aware of its strength within you was enough to relay a perception of slowed time during critical moments.
Brenna sighed, crossed her arms, then cleared her throat. “I believe we have not been properly introduced. I am Brenna, and this is my adviser, Masa,” she said, gesturing at Lillian, then pointing at her carriage. “That is Stanley, my horse.” Brenna removed a glove then offered her hand to the master. She stood rooted to the ground, hand outstretched.
The master stared at her, sniffed, and slightly raised his chin.
Brenna waited, hand hanging in the air, a pleasing smile fixed on her face. The moment stretched and frayed like an ancient rope supporting a tremendous boulder. In that moment, Lillian felt like they were on the verge of war. If neither relented and bridged the gap between them, there would be fire. And blood.
“Garen,” the master said, sauntering over to take Brenna’s hand, engulfing it in his. “What brings you to the lovely Golden Hill estate?”
A long breath escaped from Lillian’s lips. She heard the relaxed shuffling of feet and saw more than a few hands drop from blade hilts.
Slaves gathered about the growing commotion, observing without the pitiless eyes of their taskmasters to force them back to work.
Brenna gave him her best smile, white teeth gleaming. “I wish to propose some business. I seek to purchase some new slaves for my plantation to the far north, and I am told you have some of the best human flesh. And before you ask, you’ll not have heard of the name as it is still nascent and nameless.” She gave a slight bow.
A handful of Garen’s slaves within earshot turned their heads to watch his reaction. Garen shifted his weight back on his heels, one side of his feline lips twitching up. “You should have made an appointment. I am a busy Tigerian and have no time to squander with small deals.” Garen looked Lillian up and down, then spat on her chest. “Free humans. An abomination to all that is right.”
Lillian pressed her lips into a white line. Fires danced in her eyes. She stared down to avoid showing the true nature of her boiling rage. Brenna placed a metallic hand on her neck, staying her anger. She let the Dragon go, hopefully before anyone saw it.
“No. I don’t like you. Marching onto my property with this…” Garen shook his head in abject disgust at Lillian. “This monster. This act against our culture, the way that all is right. Please depart from my property. There will be no business conducted today.” And with that, Garen started marching back up the stairs, boots clicking on each step.
Saban shuffled back from the outside edge of the mansion’s exterior with a pair of rusted shackles clutched in his hands. “Here we go. Here we are, shackles for red dress.” He shuffled toward Lillian, the iron vipers raised like a sacred relic.
Lillian glared at him. “No. Take one more step, and I’ll put you down like a dog.” She half-raised one of her two hunting knives from its sheath.
Saban froze, eyes shifting to Garen for guidance.
“Masa, we came to trade, not to quarrel,” Brenna said to Lillian with an appeasing smile. She pressed her palms together as if she were praying, turning her gaze back to Garen. “I apologize. My advisor has a short temper we’re still trying to manage.” Brenna leaned towards Garen and lowered her voice, despite him being ten or so feet away. “You know how sensitive the freed can be.”
Garen raised the corner of one lip and gave a short, derisive huff of laughter. “Be on your way.” He marched toward the cavernous entrance of his home and clucked a series of harsh words in Tigerian to Saban.
Brenna sighed and raised her head to look at Garen. “I have ten-thousand marks that may perhaps change your mind.”
The allure that none can resist, Lillian thought.
Garen halted. He reached the banister at the top of the stairs and placed his fur-lined hands upon its ornamented edge. He leaned out with a full smile, showing a mouth full of fangs. “Perhaps it will. Would you like a drink?”
“I’d love one,” Brenna nodded, then gestured at Lillian. “My advisor wishes to see the grounds, to see how you’ve managed to run such a successful operation.”
Garen flicked his fingers at Saban. “Saban, please take Masa on a tour of the grounds. Show her our best wares.”
“I must remind you that Masa is a free woman. You must not treat her like you would any of your other humie flesh. Treat her like you would treat me, another slaver.”
Garen grunted and gave a reluctant series of nods and hand signals to Saban.
“What you do for master?” Saban asked in broken Common, his gnarled beard fluffed up in the warm breeze. From the mansion, someone skillfully played the violin, filling the air with a melancholy tune. The pair walked a dirt road perpendicular to the main brick road, trailing behind a column of crops.
Lillian lifted her chin but didn’t look at him. “Brenna is not my master. Did you not listen t
o a word she said?”
“Yeah. You free, but you still got master,” Saban snickered from under his beard. “Everyone’s got master, even Garen. His master always coins.”
Lillian pressed her lips together, brows furrowed as she scanned the faces of the taskmasters for the Kuro brothers. Tendrils of fabric fluttered from her dress, trailing behind, and giving her a peacock-like tail.
“That’s the shed where we dry and cure meats.” Saban pointed at a structure surrounded by long grasses. It was a house by her standards, with more than enough space for a family to occupy. She knew far more transpired there than the curing of meats. The curing of meats and raping of men and women.
“That the hotbox, where we put those who rebel against their taskmasters.” Saban gestured at a section on the ground that was simply a wooden box whose top door was locked closed. “Help! Please help!” Someone screamed from within, rattling at the door. “Need water! Water!”
Lillian said nothing, memories filling her mind with the pain of the few days she’d once spent in there. Dehydration was the principal form of that torture.
“What your name again? A familiar look to you,” Saban said, giving her a sideways glance.
“Masa,” Lillian supplied. “You don’t know me, I assure you. I’ve never been here and never was.”
“You really free?”
“Come here, Saban. I need to ask you something vitally important.” Lillian marched to a lone tree with a trunk that was at least ten feet in diameter. Its shadows cloaked them in its cool air. Beyond the tree, the plantation ended, and the vast plains drew up lashing spikes of sand and dust.
“What—?” He gasped as Lillian’s hands clamped around his bony shoulders, pinning him to the back of the tree where none could see.
“I’m looking for three Tigerians, the Kuro brothers. You know who they are? They are built like Tougeres, gray pelts and full of muscle. If you lie to me, I will know,” she said, jabbing a finger into his hollow chest while making her eyes pulse with Dragon fire.
Forsaken Hunters_Book Zero of The Age of Dawn_A Prequel Page 5