Nath didn’t care. For the time being, he was keeping his head low and his mouth shut. Over the next few days, he turned his eyes away from the cruelty that his tormentors inflicted on the prisoners. The guards would whip the prisoners, beat them, and toss them into the pen or lock them in stockades. They did it all for little more than a casual look in their direction. It was clear that they were going to have their wills broken.
At midday one day, underneath the hot glare of the sun, Nath pushed a wheelbarrow laden with stone up the ramp and out of the pit. The hunks were larger than a man’s head. At the top of the quarry pit, more prison laborers would take the stones and put them on work tables, where in an assembly line they would chisel them down into rectangular bricks. From there, the bricks were loaded into wagons, pulled by a train of four mules, and hauled away. They headed toward the main gate of Slaver Town that was too far away to be seen. It gave Nath an idea for escape that he kept to himself.
He finished unloading the rocks on the tables, wiped the sweat from his brow, and headed down the ramp. He took his time, keeping in the shade provided by the wall of the quarry. A breeze cooled his sun-bronzed skin. At the bottom, one of the guards met him with an empty bucket in his hand.
“Go to the well and fill it,” the guard said, stuffing the bucket in Nath’s chest. “It’s for us. Not you.”
Eyes downcast, Nath said, “Right away.”
“Make it quick, prisoner. We are thirsty.”
Nath wanted to tell him that if he was so thirsty, he could fetch his own water. He kept his lips sealed and scurried away. He tried to make it look faster than he was actually moving, as he zigzagged across the quarry. On the far side, the stony crater steps led up and out of the quarry. He angled up four flights of steps, faced another guard, and said, “I need water, for the guards in the quarry.”
With a grunt, the guard led Nath over to a natural spring that flowed through the little town, providing an endless supply of fresh water. There were steps cut out of the natural stone that led to a natural dock. Nath dipped the bucket in and filled it to the rim. It was horrible that the slaves begged for water every day, especially when there was a more than ample source.
None should thirst here. None should thirst anywhere.
He lifted the bucket out of the water, allowing it to sprinkle his thighs and legs. With a nod to the guard, he moved away from the spring and offered the guard a drink from the ladle.
“Get moving,” the guard said.
Still in irons, Nath headed back into the quarry. He was crossing to the other side when the ogre stepped into his path. The brute was eight feet tall with a big, hard belly that came up to Nath’s chin.
“Torno thirsty,” the ogre said, reaching for the bucket. His huge hands were almost big enough to enclose the bucket.
Nath shuffled backward. He took another angle and walked away from the hairy brute.
Torno cut into his path. “Give me drink!”
Shaking his head, Nath said, “No. This is for the guards.” He could see the guards closing in. They had their hands on their clubs. There were ten guards on the quarry’s bottom level and even more spread out along the rim. In a large wooden chair, Foster sat underneath the shade of an open tent. His eyes were intent on Nath.
“Just give him the water,” one of the guards said to Nath. “Go ahead.”
It wasn’t the same guard who sent Nath after the water. He knew them all. “No, I’ll do as I was instructed to do. If you don’t mind, please keep Torno at bay.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, prisoner.” The orc guard marched right up to Nath, slapping his club in his hand. He got right in Nath’s face. “I don’t like you.”
“Torno want drink now!” All of a sudden, the ogre picked up the guard who stood in front of Nath and flung him aside. He reached for the bucket again. “Give me drink, red-haired man!”
Nath skipped away, careful not to let water slosh out of the bucket. Torno came at him, but the guards were doing nothing. “Turn his collar on!” Nath said, shuffling backward and away.
“Don’t you spill a drop of that water!” Foster yelled down into the pit. “That’s for the laborers. You drop it, then they don’t drink for the rest of the day.”
The other workers in the yard stopped working. They licked their cracked lips. They put their hammers and splitters down and watched as Nath, fully shackled, danced away from the ogre. It was a setup. It was all done to make him look bad, or get him in trouble. He’d been a model prisoner for weeks, and now Foster wanted to get to him. He managed to make it to the orc guard who sent him after the water in the first place. “Here, take it. Take the bucket,” he said.
“That is for the prisoners. Get it away from me.” The guard moved up the ramp.
“Give me the drink!” Torno came at him. He squatted down, pulled his arms back, and opened his huge jaws wide. “Now!”
Moving away from the ramp, back into the quarry, Nath tried to reason with the ogre. “Torno, let these men have their share first and you can have what is left. How does that sound?”
“No! Torno wants it all.” He beat his chest. “Torno works the hardest.”
“Don’t you dare give him that bucket, prisoner,” Foster yelled from his chair. “Not a drop!”
The guards encircled Nath and Torno. They sniggered in their evil way. They’d put Torno up to this. The ogre, though not smart, was somewhat peaceful. He never got stirred up unless he was incited. Torno must have been threatened if he didn’t do what he was told. Nath gave in. He looked beyond the guards and set the bucket down. “Sorry, men. Torno, it’s yours.”
Torno picked up the bucket. He put the bucket to his lips. His collar glowed. There was a distinct bzzzzitt sound. The bucket fell from his fingers. All of the water spilled into the ground. A snarl formed on the ogre’s face. “Red hair trick Torno! Red hair will die!” He lunged at Nath.
CHAPTER 11
Nath skipped just out of Torno’s reach. As he did so, he plucked a sledgehammer from the ground, and faced off against the monstrous man. “Torno, listen to me, I’m not your enemy. Just stop!”
Slather dripped from Torno’s jutting jaw. He charged.
Putting his hip into his swing, Nath busted Torno in his outstretched fingers. The ogre jerked his hand back and wailed. He threw a fist with the other. Torno’s fist pounded Nath in the shoulder. The blow sent him spinning to the ground. He looked up. The ogre’s fists came down.
“Torno kill!”
Nath scrambled out of harm’s way. Torno came at him with rage-filled eyes. The ogre swung wildly. Nath crawled, hopped, and slid out of the way, stirring up the dust. “Foster, cut off this madness.” He coughed and ducked another wild swing. “Now!”
Torno picked up a rock the size of a cantaloupe and threw it at Nath. He flattened on his belly. The rock smashed into another slave’s ankles. The man went down wailing.
“Blast it! This has to stop!” Nath launched right at Torno. Aiming as if he was being watched by Dragon Master Elween, he let Torno have it. Using the sledgehammer, he popped the ogre with hard raps to the elbows and knees. The metal head crushed into hard bone. He put all he could into it. The shackles restrained his swings. “Back off, Torno!”
“Raaaaawwwrr!” Torno bull-rushed Nath.
Nath tried to dash out of the way, but his ankle snapped on the short length of chain between them. He fell. On his knees, he tried to crawl away. Torno scooped him up in his massive arms and bear-hugged him.
“Torno crush! Torno kill!”
Nath dropped the sledgehammer. His eyes bulged. His body turned beet red. He strained against the mighty arms that constricted like pythons made of iron. The ogre might have had a thick coat of fat, but Torno was nothing but burgeoning muscle underneath. “Let go, Torno!” Nath blurted out. “You’re killing me!”
Something inside Nath’s body popped and cracked. Pain lanced through his ribs.
“Torno kill!”
Nath looked u
pward at Slave Master Foster. The half-orc sat on the edge of his seat with a clenched fist in his lap. A triumphant look sparkled in his dark eyes. The other guards were howling and urging the ogre on.
“Crush him! Kill him!” they said. Even some of the other prisoners were into it.
Nath kicked at the air. He took a sharp, painful breath and flexed his arms and shoulders. “Nooooo! I will not die like this!” Another rib snapped. With each second now a painful and eternal moment, his strength faded. His vision blurred. The sky darkened.
Bzzzzzzzzt! Bzzzzzzzt!
A shockwave passed through the ogre and into Nath. The ogre’s limbs gave way as Torno howled like a wounded beast. He dropped Nath, scurried to the wall, curled up into the fetal position, and sucked his thumb.
Body tingling with shards of pain, Nath passed out to the sound of the guards’ rumbling laughter.
CHAPTER 12
Something poked Nath hard in a busted rib. “Guh!” He blinked, taking in the stockades. The scorching sun blistered his bare back. Every inch of his body hurt. The water bucket he’d carried lay on the ground, broken. He turned his head but couldn’t see who was behind him. Still, he had a pretty good idea.
“You owe me a bucket.” Foster came from behind to stand in front of Nath. “And the work of three wounded men. It will be a very long time before you pay that debt off.”
“I’m fairly certain my debt will never be paid,” Nath replied. “At least, not so long as you are in charge.”
Foster grabbed Nath’s chin and tilted his head up. “You have a sharp tongue. That is your undoing. You need to learn silence.” The half-orc eyed him. “Silence.”
Despite his circumstances, Nath couldn’t hold his tongue, even though he wanted to. To make matters worse, Foster was wearing Nath’s breastplate. The half-orc was bigger than him, but it fit him like a glove. His tongue became unfettered. “You really need to take my armor off.”
“This, why, no?” Foster said, almost cheerfully. He spun in a slow, tight circle. “It fits so well. But for some reason, I can’t scrub this paint off. I plan to mark over it at some point in time, but for now, it will do. At worst, I’ll put my tunic over it.”
“You’re just wanting to make me mad.”
“Is it working?”
“Yes.” Nath thrust against the boards that held his neck and wrists fast in the stockade.
Foster tossed his tawny locks back with his hands and snorted a laugh. “That is your problem. There is too much fire in you. I knew when the ogre came after you, you would fight. You should have played dead.”
“And take a chance and let that brute kill me? I think not. He would have crushed my head.” The collar pinched him. He turned his head left and right, trying to ease the discomfort. He couldn’t believe they actually put him in the stocks with his irons still on. The outfit gave him little room to wiggle. “You would have done the same. Any person would have.”
“Not the broken. They will give up and die. I’ve been here all of my life, and I have seen it with my own eyes. Many pass away in their sleep. Some die in the quarry. Others—”
“You kill for sport,” Nath remarked.
“Don’t take up the cause of the broken. The wretched. They don’t care about you or what you can do for them. The world doesn’t want them anymore. We give them a purpose here. You should be able to see that.”
“You make it sound as if the people volunteered,” Nath said. “I’ve heard their stories. You stole them from their homes and families. Others were kidnapped from raids on merchant trains. I have good ears, I know what is going on. Don’t try to make it sound noble.”
Foster patted Nath on the head. “I am what I am. So are the others. This is what we know. People are either born slaves or slave lords. Heh-heh. Like me.”
Nath ground his teeth. He hated everything about Foster and his ilk. They were cold, cruel, and compassionless.
If I had Fang I would end them all.
“The sooner you are broken, Nath,” Foster said, for the first time calling him by name, “the sooner you will be turned over. But as I’ve said, you won’t fool me. I’ll know when that golden flicker in your eye goes out. Of course, from what I’ve seen, you are like a wild mule. Difficult to break, which is a surprise for such a young man. Normally, one such as you is broken in days.”
“I guess that’s what makes me special.” Nath set his eyes on the slaver. “You know, Foster, we’ve been at this a while already. Perhaps it’s me that’s going to outlast you. Did you ever think about that? I noticed a little gray over your ears. They weren’t there when you started on me.”
Foster stiffened. He waved some of his men over. “Take the scourge to him. Twenty lashes a day until I say you are through.” He glared at Nath. “I will break you.” He slugged Nath in the jaw and stormed away.
Nath waved goodbye with his fingers, and just as he was about to say it aloud a crack erased his thought. Fire exploded over his back nineteen more times. Nath didn’t scream once. He held it all in. Dripping sweat from his chin and eyebrows, he said under his breath, “Gads, I hate orcs!”
CHAPTER 13
Alone, Maefon stood inside Lord Darkken’s study, staring into the Pool of Eversight. The full-blooded elven woman’s wavy blond hair lay over her shoulders. She wore a sleeveless black tunic and leather leggings. Sensual and exotic, her painted fingernails rested on the magic basin’s rim. She watched the image in the waters.
The entry doors to Lord Darkken’s study parted. Two elven sentries, wearing red hoods made from satin, entered. The eyelets in the hoods were cut out in different designs. They wore the dark leather armor of the Caligin. A sword and dagger hung from their belts. The two stepped aside and bowed as Lord Darkken entered. Tall, athletic, and with the flowing rust-colored hair of a gallant knight, he approached Maefon. His chiseled features were handsome, and his copper eyes burned bright. He wore the same black garb and equipment of the Caligin, but being a man, he filled out his attire with hard muscles.
Maefon gave him a quick bow. “Good morning, Darkken.”
He offered her a warm smile and clasped her hands. “Good morning to you as well, my darling.”
She slipped her hands out of his firm grip. Her fingers climbed up his broad chest and locked around his neck. Rising up on tiptoe, she kissed him. “I’ve missed you.”
“Of course you did.” He put his arm around her waist and looked into the pool. “Ah, what do we have here?”
“It seems that the slavers are scourging your little brother again,” she said. “But aside from that, little has changed. He remains… obstinate.”
“As he should. After all, he is a dragon. If he’d been broken sooner I would have been disappointed.” He moved away to a high-backed leather chair that sat adjacent to a fireplace. He took his boots off and tossed them on the hearth. With a flick of his fingers, the logs inside caught fire, creating a warming crackle. “I might need to turn the heat up on him, so to speak.”
Staring into the pool, she said, “I thought we would be patient. Wear him down through attrition.”
“Perhaps, but we don’t want him to get too used to something. He’ll build up a resistance to it. And frankly, I’m looking forward to meeting him.” He laid his head back against the soft leather of the chair and sighed. “Ah, this feels good. So good that I could almost get used to it. But I’m too selfish with my intent to destroy the dragons. Of course, once that is done, I’ll rest.”
“You’ll never rest,” Maefon said.
“Oh really? Why is that?”
She crossed the room and sat down on Darkken’s lap. Caressing his hair, she said, “Because no power will ever be enough for you. You said it yourself, there is always more power to be had. Power that created the world itself.”
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “You know me as well as any, Maefon, and lucky for you, I find you worthy. It would be a shame to cast you aside like all the o
thers.”
“Others?”
“Oh, don’t worry about them. Focus on the future. Your future.”
“Of course. I am as always.” She noticed bloodstains on the shoulder of his armor. “Darkken, when you were gone, did you do battle?”
“Oh, the blood. Well, it had been a long time since I swung a blade, so I went and got myself into a skirmish.”
“Really,” she said, sounding interested. “Tell me more about it.”
“Well, as you know, I like to take very long walks. On my journey, I came across a small bridge that crossed a barren gulch. Well, there was a group of dwarves on the other side, coming back from laboring in the mines. Seven in all. They wanted to cross the bridge, and I told them no. If you could have seen their faces. Talk about angry.” He opened his eyes. “Did you use the pool to search for me?”
“I did. But I had no fortune finding you.”
“Good, that’s the way it should be. Now, where was I?”
“The dwarves.”
“Yes, the dwarves. They came right at me with shovels, picks, and axes. I think they thought to bowl me over, but I was too quick. My blade slid from the sheath and cut the first one through his beard into his neck. Now that really incensed them. Like angry hornets they came on. I chopped them down one by one.” He patted the pommel of his longsword. “I forgot how good I was with this thing. Anyway, those dwarves are dead, aside from one. I let him live with a severely wounded leg that will give him a stiff limp on his stubby lump for the rest of his life.”
“By the sound of it, I’m surprised that there isn’t much blood on you,” she said, rubbing the stain with her thumb. “So, who did you blame this slaughter on?”
“I was wearing an elven tunic, which the dwarven blood ruined. I did a little dabbling with myself as well.” He combed his hair back over his ear, revealing a pointed tip. “The spell still lingers, but I’m pretty sure I was one of the biggest elves they ever saw. Of course, I wanted to leave an impression.”
Enslaved: The Odyssey of Nath Dragon - Book 2 (The Lost Dragon Chronicles) Page 4