Fanning the air, Radagan said, “Oh, it’s not that bad. The orcs are far worse, and the ogres, oh my, they leave a stink you don’t forget.”
Shaking his head, Nath tried to block it out. There was nothing good about the dungeon. Damp or musty, it reeked. He kept his eyes closed and tried to forget about it. Using his quiet time, he considered his next course of action. He actually liked Radagan’s plans to pretend as if he’d given in. But he had to sell it, that’s what Radagan said. He said it would take some time to convince the slavers, too. They were seasoned masters of cruelty, and they knew what made their slaves tick. They’d be wise to whether or not Nath was faking it, if he wasn’t careful. Finally, he let out a yawn, and to the loud rhythm of the baker’s snoring, he fell asleep.
Bang!
“What in the heavens was that?” Radagan said.
Nath’s eyelids lifted. The orcs always pounded the door to wake them, and it startled Radagan every time.
Bang!
“Get back from the door,” one of the guards said.
“We’re back,” Nath replied.
The door groaned open. An orc guard holding a lantern peered inside. “Radagan, get your flabby husk out of there. Your punishment has ended.”
“Me! Really!” Radagan was on his hands and knees, crawling toward the door. “Oh, thank the slave lords.” He slid outside and vanished into the hall, outwardly thanking the slave lords. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“What about my time?” Nath said.
“Heh,” the guard replied. “Your time has just begun.” He slammed the door shut.
Nath sat with his jaw sagging. He didn’t even hear a goodbye from Radagan. It was as if the baker had forgotten him already.
CHAPTER 7
Months passed. Nath was fed once a day and let out once a day, but only for a few minutes. When he was let out it was night, and he saw no sunlight to warm his face. Once a week, they allowed him to lay a new bed of straw and shovel the old damp straw out. That was it. It was just him, alone in the hold, where his mind wandered. There were times he doubted whether or not Radagan had even been in the cell with him. Had it been a dream or a nightmare? Suffering in his solitude, he found himself missing the portly baker and his musings to the point where he had conversations with the funny man who wasn’t there.
“Cream cakes, cream cakes, I want cream cakes,” Nath said as he scratched on the wall with a stone. He marked the days he’d been put away by making lines on the wall, even though he could barely see them. “Huh, if Radagan wasn’t real, then where did I come up with cream cakes? I’ve never had a cream cake before.”
He considered other things that Radagan had told him. The baker told him much about the layout of Slaver Town. He described the buildings and dwellings. Slaver Town operated like a military complex. The slave lords had their own special dwellings, and the guards stayed in barracks. Many of the higher-ranking officials even had cottages for their families, but it was all located on the other side of Slaver Town, and Nath had barely seen a glimpse of it. Radagan said they had their own taverns and lodging there. There were stores like any other city. It was a fairly big and bizarre place. Radagan knew about it because he was a baker that prepared food for the people. He, in a sense, was a slave, but had gained citizenship, in an odd sort of way, by serving the higher-up people. All in all, Slaver Town was what it was, a prison set up like a city.
Radagan also said that the slave lords came and went as they pleased. And even though they didn’t leave often, they didn’t go through the main gate either. He said there was a separate tunnel at the south side of the town. He hadn’t seen it, but it was rumored to be there. Based off the descriptions given, Nath pictured it all in his mind. Now, all he had to do was plot a way to escape, but he needed to get out of the pen first. And then, find a way out of his irons. He was confident if he could lose the shackles, he could run and they would never catch him.
***
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Stay back from the door,” the guard on the other side of the cell door said.
Nath pushed his face up from the bed of straw. For the first time in a long time, he’d actually been in a deep sleep. His eyelids were heavy. He sat up, picking strands of straw from his face. “I’m back,” he replied. It seemed like an odd time for the guards to feed him. They’d been doing it in the evening, but there was a warmth that carried through the air that his dragon senses could tell was daylight.
The door opened. An orc crouched just outside with a lantern in one hand and a man-catcher in the other. “Scoot back.”
Nath complied.
The orc set the lantern aside then pinned Nath’s arms in the jaws of the man-catcher. “On your feet, slowly.”
Nath stood.
The orc guard in black leather armor pulled him out into the hall. There were several more guards out there. One of them, a fish-eyed orc with tangled locks covering his forehead, held a burlap sack. The guard looked at Nath. “Time to go.”
Squinting, Nath said, “To where?”
The orc punched him in the belly. Nath buckled over.
“Don’t ask questions!” the orc said. He placed the burlap sack over Nath’s face and pulled it tight around his neck. He punched Nath in the gut again. “That was for the question you were thinking of asking.” The orcs sniggered.
CHAPTER 8
When the guards removed the sack from Nath’s head, he saw Foster. The stalwart half-orc slaver sat behind a desk, looking at a ledger. They were inside an office where the slaves were checked and searched on their way in and out from their prison-like quarters in the barn. The Barn, as they called it, was a prison of cages in a barn-like building where Nath spent most of his stay in his cell, isolated like some sort of prize behind the heavy curtain.
Foster wrote in the book, and without looking at Nath said, “Search him.”
“What?” Nath said. “I just came out of the hold. What would you be searching me—gah!” A guard clubbed Nath in the back of his legs. He dropped to his knees. Two guards searched him all over. They even opened up his mouth and looked inside.
“He’s clean, Slaver Foster. And the irons hold firm,” the fish-eyed orc said. “But he still seems feisty for a man in the hold. Shall I take more fire out of him?”
“No.” Foster closed the leather-bound book. His hand moved to the dark hammer that he smote Nath with months ago. He scooted his chair over the floor to face Nath and laid the sledgehammer across his legs. “If he acts up, I’ll deal with him. Dismissed.”
The orc guards left but remained just outside the doorway, posted on each side of the frame. The door remained wide open.
“Close the door, idiots!” Foster said, fanning a buzzing fly from his face. Sneering, he watched the fly with beady eyes. He lifted his hands and smacked them together, smashing the fly between them, and wiped them on his trousers. The door closed. “Now, it’s just the two of us, prisoner. Did you miss me?”
“Of course not.” Nath noticed his breastplate armor propped up in the corner of the room. His eyes slid back to Foster.
“I’m so hurt to hear that. Ha. Ha.” Foster glanced at Nath’s breastplate. “Yes, it’s very nice. Light. I think I’ll paint the banner of Thraag on it and wear it on my journey.”
“Suit yourself,” Nath replied.
“I have to admit, you aren’t as worse for wear as I expected. Over three months in the hold, and you don’t sneeze, or twitch.” Foster’s brows crinkled. “There is something to that. I’d expect it from an ogre perhaps, but you, a man, seem little weakened. Your hair is still thick with color, even though there is slime in it. I think I see lice crawling in there too. It’s customary that we shave it.”
“I don’t feel any creatures on my head,” Nath said, flicking his locks back with his fingers. “Foster, to be up front, I don’t want to go in the hold again. I would really like to bathe. I don’t know what you have in mind for me, but I swear, I’ve learned my lesson.”
Foster leaned forward. “Have you? Because, I’m not convinced. Believe me when I say that I have heard the finest testimonies from the best liars, and you are no good at it. No, you rebel. You cringe. I can see you hate the sight of me.”
“I hate the sight of all of you. You are slavers. Tormentors. Liars and thieves. You know it. You’re proud of it.” Nath’s jaws clenched as he fought the urge to spit. “But, you are in charge, and I am not. I don’t like you, you don’t like me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get along. When I say I’ve learned my lesson, I mean it. If there is anyone in this den of vipers whose word you can take, it is mine.”
Foster took his hammer in his fist and tapped the end in his hand, making light smacking sounds. “Clever.”
“I just want to go back to where I was,” Nath said, scratching his cheek. “If that means I have to bust rocks until my owner takes me, then so be it. I’ll mind my own business. When I say I don’t want to go back in the hold, I mean it.”
“Your owner, huh?” Foster made an ugly smile. “What makes you think that you have an owner? As I understand it, you are the property of Slaver Town. All of the slave lords, including me, own a piece of you.”
Nath shook his chin. “I don’t believe you. I was brought here for a reason, because someone wants me, or someone like me. Not that it matters. I’m a slave either way and you have to protect me, don’t you, Foster?”
The half-orc’s eyebrows knitted together. His nostrils flared. He pulled back the hammer, stopped, tossed back his head, and let out a gusty laugh. “Bwah-hahaha!”
Nath perched an eyebrow. Part of him wanted to laugh with Foster for some compelling reason. He started laughing himself.
“Silence!” Foster lifted the hammer with deadly intent in his eyes. “You don’t want another kiss from Stone Smiter, do you?”
Clamping his mouth shut, Nath looked at the hammer. No, please no. It’s been a bad enough day.
“Listen to me, prisoner. I don’t like you. You are a thorn. Strong and defiant. How many times have you attempted to escape? Three times.” He jerked toward Nath. Nath didn’t blink. “You see. You don’t budge. You don’t fear, and that makes you a danger. You will try to flee again and again, and I cannot kill you. But that doesn’t mean accidents can’t happen either.” He pulled the club back and eased into his chair. “I think it’s time that you had more hazardous duties, further isolated from the other prisoners. After all, you wouldn’t want any more deaths on your hands.”
Nath’s back straightened. “What deaths?” He immediately thought about the instrumentalist, Homer.
“Yes, it seemed that his fragile human body wasn’t equipped to handle the flogging my men gave him when you departed to the pen. I believe his heart gave out after forty lashes.”
“You monster!” Nath lunged forward. With a flick of the wrist, Foster pointed the hammer at Nath. The rune stone on top of the hammer flared. A bolt of light shot into Nath’s face. Ssssszap! Painful stars exploded in Nath’s head. Crumbling to the ground, unable to control his body as he twitched, the last thing he heard was Foster saying, “Guards, take him away.”
CHAPTER 9
Nath felt someone dabbing his throbbing head with a damp cloth. He seized their wrist. The person gasped, and the wet cloth fell on his face. Nath flung it off and sat up. His eyes grew big. “Homer?”
“Yes,” the man said, wincing. “Please, let go of my wrist. You are breaking it.”
Nath let go. “You’re alive!”
Rubbing his wrist, Homer said, “Yes, but my fingers don’t feel like it. You are strong as an orc.”
“And you, gentle as a flower, apparently.” Nath sat up on his cot. He was back inside his cell behind the curtain in the barn. A blanket was over his shoulders, and his hair was wet. “Did it rain?”
“Heh, no. The guards rinsed you in the stream before they brought you here. You must have been awfully rank for them to bathe you.”
For the first time in months, Nath felt clean. He touched the knot on his head. “Ooh, does it look as bad as it feels?”
“Probably worse. What happened?”
“Foster took after me with his hammer when I came at him. Energy shot into my eyes and filled my body like needles of lightning. I’d just gotten out of the hold, and he told me that you’d been flogged to death.” Nath made a weak smile. “Glad you live.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was flogged.” Foster turned his back and lifted his shirt. The skin was chewed up on his back. “I can still feel the sting when I sleep sometimes. Wakes me up in the sweats.”
“I’m sorry, Homer. It’s my fault.”
“Oh, don’t you go apologizing to me, Nath. You told me to stand firm, and I wish I had. Neither one of us would have gone through this if I wasn’t careless.” He extended his hand, offering a warm and friendly smile. His soft, slender hands were hardened with callouses now. His face was hard-lined and chiseled. “But your words made me tougher. I finally got through it.”
Nath shook his head. “So, you aren’t angry?”
“By the sky, no. I’m relieved you’re back. I thought when you went to the pen you would not return. They say that many don’t, especially when they are gone so long. How awful was it?”
“Small, dark, damp, and quiet. And the food is even worse. Speaking of which, do we have anything to eat? I’m beyond famished.”
Homer scurried to the end of the cell. He lifted a cloth napkin off a plate that had a small loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. He offered it to Nath. “Here, it’s yours.”
Nath ate with vigor. With his mouth half full, he eyed a second cot in the cell. “Homer, is that your cot?”
“Er, well, yes, I’ve been assigned here for the last couple of months. I hope I won’t crowd you. I like it better here.”
“No, believe me, there is plenty of room. I welcome the company. It’s been a while since I’ve been around anyone. Tell me, how did you wind up in this place?”
Homer swallowed. His soft eyes started to water. “You don’t want to hear my sorry tale. It’s inexcusable.”
“You said you were a musician. Why don’t you tell me about that?”
“May I sit?” Homer said, eyeing the end of Nath’s cot.
Nath nodded.
“Well, I’m a fine instrumentalist, a master of strings, with fingers as nimble as the elves. Some would say, that is. I played and sang in Quintuklen, and even caught the king’s attention. I entertained him and the queen many times in their courtyard.” He gave a dreamy smile. “But, I fell.”
“You fell? From a horse, or something.”
“No, I fell for the queen, and she fell for me.” Homer grinned. “I swear it, Nath. She said my music delighted her inside and out. One day, I went to play for her inside her very chambers. Oh, you should have seen the curtain and felt the linens. No bed of cotton is so soft.” Head down, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, one thing led to another, and without getting into the details, I wound up here. But at least I still had my head on my shoulders.”
Straight-faced, Nath said, “You aren’t supposed to do that, Homer.”
“Well, don’t you think I know that? And what was I supposed to do, tell the queen no?” His voice reached a higher pitch. “She’s the queen!”
“You still should have told her no. You might still have ended up here, but at least you would have your honor.”
“Don’t you know anything about a woman scorned, Nath?”
Nath pictured Maefon, blond, elven, and beautifully featured. The half-dryad Calypsa, with piles of hair covering her bare shoulders and a figure that was unforgettable. Then came the Black Hand. Nina, a very tall, athletic, and attractive woman with arms like a blacksmith’s, and Virgo, a platinum-haired enchantress with eyes that shone like diamonds. He’d never spurned any of them. “Have you ever heard of a man being scorned?”
“Well, no one really cares about that side of things,” Homer puffed. “Anyhow, Nat
h, I’m ashamed to say that I am what I am, and perhaps I had this coming.”
“Did you love her?”
“I suppose I did in one sort of way. The excitement dancing in her eyes when I played, well, it made me feel so wanted.” Homer slapped his hands on his knees a couple of times. “But it wasn’t love for either of us the way it should be. At least, it’s not the same as the love I have for my wife.”
“Homer! You too were married?”
“I really wish I hadn’t mentioned that. It’s embarrassing. And I feel all the more a failure. But, she was the queen, Nath. I couldn’t tell her no.”
“You could have if you wanted to,” Nath said, lying down on his back. He felt disappointed, but he wasn’t sure why. After all, the men were there for crimes they had committed. They were criminals, all of them, the wretched of society. He caught Homer limping over to his cot on the other side of the cell. Nath rolled to the side. “Homer, your foot did not heal well?”
“No. I can barely walk. I think that’s why they put up with me. Nath, I’m sorry if I’ve let you down.”
“Don’t be. I haven’t met anyone that hasn’t let me down so far.” He turned his back. “I suppose it’s time I lowered my expectations in this world apparently filled with rotten people.”
Homer sobbed.
CHAPTER 10
For several weeks, Nath spent his time in the rock quarry, busting stones from sunup to sundown. His back burned, and his shoulders ached. By the time he ambled back into his cell, he barely had enough energy to eat. Soon, he was fast asleep, only to wake up what seemed to be a few minutes later to face the same misery again.
Few words were exchanged between him and Homer. He didn’t have the energy for it. The older musician had been assigned a lighter duty, playing the strings in the slave lords’ taverns. “I’m working on my citizenship,” Homer commented. “I might as well. Then, at least I can play my music.”
Enslaved: The Odyssey of Nath Dragon - Book 2 (The Lost Dragon Chronicles) Page 3