Slave War

Slave War

Juriy Tashkinov

© Juriy Tashkinov, 2024

ISBN 978-5-0062-2854-2

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Slave War

Chapter 1. Desert

The sun is high, so bright and hot, and sunset is not soon. At night in the desert of Lorraine it is sometimes frosty, but now the blinding rays seemed to be able to burn out the soul and leave it to die among the eternal sands. And sand is everywhere: on your teeth, accidentally caught with food, the wind carries it into your face, forcing you to squint. You can drive for several days and not see a soul. Even sadder is that during this time you may not come across a single well. And water supplies decreased at double speed in the heat. Silence. Only the wind sometimes hummed melodies. People are too exhausted to get a word out. Here it seemed that the heat and sand even smelled.

The royal family from Northern Sartoll crossed the cursed lands. A long line of camels carried the companions, but an even longer line of slaves walked behind.

– What is this? – Dorkhand asked. The boy sitting unsteadily on the camel looked about eight years old. Dark-skinned, as for a representative of the northern people, fair-haired, curly.

– What are you talking about, son? – asked Linder, a fair-haired man of about thirty, with a mustache and a thick but short beard.

– Look there, dad! – he pointed his finger somewhere into the distance.

– And what is there?

– Do not you see? – The child’s eyes are widened.

– What are you talking about? At least give me a hint! – said the man.

– Oasis. Water. Palm trees, under the friendly shadow of which you can hide, – said the boy.

“Mirage,” said Councilor Langer with a knowing look.

– What? – asked Dorkhand.

– A waking vision. This often happens when it’s hot.

– God! I’ll go crazy if I have to spend another day or two here. These sands. And the heat from which there is no escape. A soul-burning star across half the sky. And constant thirst.

“It’s hard for everyone,” Linder said. – Do you think I like the heat? But a man must learn to endure. Hardships and hardships are our eternal companions. If you fight them sparing no effort, sooner or later you will give up. Therefore, sometimes it is worth giving in to them.

– Dad, I’m thirsty. A few more minutes and I’ll fall off the camel.

Linder held out his flask, and Dorhand sipped on it, eagerly taking several large sips.

– Thank you! – said the child.

“Not long yet, son,” said the king.

They drove in silence for some time. Then the boy spoke:

– Dad, tell me, why do we ride camels, we have flasks on our belts, and these go, exhausted, exhausted, and they are driven with a whip?

– Are you talking about slaves?

Dorhand nodded.

“That’s why they are slaves,” said Linder. – This is their fate. We are all in Her hands, and we trust only in Her!

– But dad! I read in the book of the traveler Khorel that in developed countries they abandoned the slave trade a long time ago. Free people live in Eldoras and Velzuvik.

– The absence of slavery does not mean freedom. There are slaves there too. They are forced to work tirelessly from early morning until sunset in order to earn enough bread for at least one more day, so as not to die of hunger. Tell me, are you talking about this kind of freedom? At least we’re honest. We give no illusions to anyone. Although, even I, in a golden crown and expensive silks, am not so free. My chains are the bonds of royal duty to the people.

– But you are not a slave. You have the right to choose. And they don’t have that either. You also ride a camel and drink water from a flask. And you don’t get whipped.

“These are the laws of life,” said Linder. – For some to live well, others must pay with time. You know, son, you talk like an adult. At your age! Other boys play warriors and chase each other through the city streets with sticks in their hands. And you spend all your free time reading books. So you will miss your childhood. Time is fleeting, it flies by, leaving shadows on the sand. Books are not your best friends. Perhaps we should ban you from reading. It is better to devote as much time as possible to the sword or spear. It will be more useful. The world needs soldiers, not readers. “Here, this will be better than any of your books,” the king took off the bracelet from his wrist and handed it to his son.

– What is this? – Dorkhand asked, taking the gold jewelry from his hands and looking at it with curiosity.

– He will help defeat the enemy when he does not expect it. Click here and the bracelet will throw out blades that you can use to kill whoever attacked you. The unexpected sometimes strikes more accurately than a sharp sword.

“Books are not the best friends, but they are good advisers,” the boy whispered, having thoroughly admired his father’s gift. There was silence for a while.

“One day I will become king,” said Dorhand. “And then I will abolish slavery in our country.” I swear.

Langer looked reproachfully at the prince. And Linder said:

“You shouldn’t say that in Lorraine, the capital of the slave traders.”

The desert could not grow anything. Only the seed of evil found fertile soil here, and from which the sprout of a state of villains grew. Bandits, slavers and other adventurers from Sartoll, Beelzuvik and Suthering found refuge among the sands that had long belonged to the Snake Charmers. They were expelled from the enlightened lands, since rabble had no place there among the pious people. They say that the robbers chose their king, whom Linder would never recognize. But now the Sartoll detachment was crossing their territory, so they had to be careful.

– What is this? – asked Will, one of the officers, pointing his finger at the sand rising into the air.

– Looks like a storm will start soon. We need to hurry so that it doesn’t cover us completely,” said Councilor Langer.

– No! The wind is blowing in the other direction. Take a closer look! This is a squad!

– Then we must ride twice as fast! We must not fall into their hands, under any circumstances!

“I’ll distract them with a small detachment,” Will said. – And you rush as fast as you can! – the soldier turned the camel, loading his crossbow as he walked. – For the king! For Sartoll! Behind me!

The warriors have long wanted to warm up, but not with the same superiority of strength!

Linder, his children, Langer and several other people rushed away from the battlefield. Musket shots rang out. Dorhand, out of the corner of his eye, saw Will fall from the camel onto the hot sand.

– Dad! But why are we running? Shouldn’t we fight side by side with them?

“The main thing, son, is to save your life,” Linder said. – You are the future king! We should think about Sartoll first and not about the battle. And not about myself. We must survive at any cost. Your life is worth an entire nation.

– Dad, but the slaves are not even armed! They will be killed like cattle, and at this time we are hiding from the battle!

Linder hit his son on the back of the head with a heavy hand.

– Never call me a coward. I have many shortcomings, everyone knows that. But I’m definitely not weak in spirit.

Meanwhile, the clatter of hooves approached.

– Looks like they’re looking for me. They know for sure that I’m here,” Linder said. – Langer! Take Gutan, my little son. And take Dorkhand with you. They must survive if Fate overtakes me, not allowing me to live until the morning.

– But Your Majesty, I will never leave you! – said the adviser.

– You’ll quit. Swear that you will serve my son just as you have served me these years.

– I swear! But…

– No buts! Run! Run as fast as you can!

Linder, sensing the approach of the enemy, loaded a smoothbore musket with a ball of bullet.

“It’s a pity that I had to exchange my father’s crossbow for this… A bullet won’t do half of what a crossbow bolt can do.”

They say that in Velzuvik they came up with some kind of notches in the barrel that increase the power of the bullet. But there are various rumors about this country, guess which ones are true, and which ones are just fairy tales that are told to children at night. Although, their lands are rich in native nitrate, which is formed in alkalis and rotting grasses. She, like the snow in the North of Sartoll, dusts the earth. Therefore, the Belsuvians began to use gunpowder earlier than others, including gunsmiths. But for a Sartollian, the sword is the best weapon in battle.

Linder fired the first shot and was loading the second bullet when an enemy arrow overtook him. Dorkhand almost screamed, seeing how his father was being killed, but Langer covered his mouth with a rough palm.

– Gods! Keep quiet! Otherwise they will notice us! Your Majesty! You must not open your mouth without my permission. It might be too dangerous!

After some time they were noticed. The bandits pulled them out from behind a stone. Dorhand bit the man who grabbed him by the arm.

“If you bite me again, I’ll knock out your teeth!”

The advisor fell to his knees. Not all people are equally brave. And the majority can only boast of courage in words.

– Take what you want! – Langer yelled. – Do you want me to give you all the gold I have? And if you want, take all the slaves. Take it. But leave us life.

“Okay,” said one of the robbers. “But we will take this boy with us too.” In the Market they will take this for double the price.

Dorhand started to hint that he was a prince, but Langer did not let him finish.

– Take the boy. But let me live! – said the adviser. Dorhand tried to break free. He looked reproachfully at the traitor, but Langer lowered his gaze to the sand. The boy spat on the ground.

So the prince became a slave.

Chapter 2. Market

On Tuesdays the slave market was always full of people. Locals called this day the “golden river”, because the wallets were filled not only with manpower traders, but also with the owners of local taverns and brothels. The smell of sweat and fish alternated with the aroma of rose and olive oils. It was a rare nobleman in the Sands who could afford a bath. The nearest oasis was a hasty camel ride of five days. Therefore, many doused themselves with oils and Suthering perfumes to fight off the stench. Those who are poorer could not afford to do this either.

When the hot disk of the sun was at its zenith, steam rose from the ground along with dust. The city turned into an oven at such moments. Or to the bathhouse. Usually even camels were freed from work at such moments. And the silk merchants drank tea to somehow replenish the loss of moisture. But on the day of the Sale, a roar filled the Square.

– Ten gold, and this beauty will join my harem! – shouted a fat old man with a sparse beard and a turban on his head. He was reclining in the shade of the tent. Two girls fanned him with palm leaves. In front of him lay a tray of grapes.

– Twenty-two buckets of water, and she will go with me! – hissed a bald man of about forty, with a scar under his left eye. He burned under the scorching sun of Lorraine. The skin is red. It seems that he is not used to the southern sands, most likely he came from the north. From Velzuvik or Sartolla, but here no one cares about the origin. The main thing is to pay. Without money, you yourself can become a slave. And without security, even the money will not be saved: it can be taken away in the nearest gateway.

The crowd gasped and stared at him.

– This is Lord Latrich himself! – people whispered.

– It’s not fair! – the fat man shouted. – Using water as a currency is unthinkable! Twenty gold pieces for a young maiden!

– Sold for twenty-two buckets of water! – the slave’s owner shouted. The girl was brought to Latrich. The lord looked at the fat man with an undisguised grin. The old man grimaced and turned away. He called one of the servants, whispered something in his ear, and he walked away. After a while, the bald man grabbed the cobra in his fist, which almost bit him on the leg. He tore off the bastard’s head. All eyes are directed at the owner of the scar.

Latrich pulled a musket from his belt and fired. The fat man fell, swaying. Several soldiers of the dead man immediately rushed towards the lord. But he shook his head. Their path was blocked by Latrich’s thugs. The lord smiled.

– Who else is dissatisfied with my trading methods?

No one had them.

Latrich often participated in trades. And it was he who won the best slaves. None of those present here knew exactly where he was taking them and for what purpose the lord needed so many slaves. He is rich, and this is the main thing for the locals.

– Next lot!

Dorkhand was pulled onto the wooden platform. He tried to escape several times. Moter, one of the soldiers, applied medicinal alhans to moderate the pain of the boy’s finger that had almost been bitten off. That’s why the prince was tied up. Hidden under a thick linen shirt is a bruise. If it were not forbidden to beat those intended for sale, then his face would have been beaten.

– Starting price – seven gold!

– I’m placing a bet! – said an unpleasant-looking woman.

“Four buckets of water,” Latrich said.

– Six buckets! – the woman shouted. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at her, not hiding surprise and admiration.

– Four buckets of water and three pinches of Eldevian spice.

Now the eyes are directed to Latrich.

– Sales!

Dorkhand, even tied up, almost escaped. Latrich’s servants grabbed him under the arm and dragged him to the rooms bought by Latrich. A dark-skinned old woman slave with a kind face cut the ropes.

– I am the prince of blood! I can’t be bought!

– You better not kick. My advice to you. Otherwise Latrich will skin you alive. He is not a good person and will stop at nothing. Better wash yourself before meeting the lord.

She sat the boy in a barrel of warm water. Dorkhand took his first swim since they found themselves in the damned desert. Then they put new clothes on him and took him somewhere. He tried to break free, but in vain: the soldier squeezed his shoulder tightly, something almost crunched.

– It hurts!

– Go peacefully – then everything will be okay!

Latrich sat at a long oak table and ate dates, spitting out the seeds directly onto the floor.

– Well, well, interesting!

Dorkhand could only see from close up that there was a ring on each of the lord’s fingers.

– Sir, there has been a terrible misunderstanding! I am the prince of the blood! My name is Dorhand! I am the heir of Sartoll! My father’s advisor got something mixed up, and I…

– Be silent! You sucker are now my slave! – Latrich grabbed Dorkhand by the ear, and a tear flowed from pain. – Forget your past life. You will only speak when I allow you to. I don’t like empty chatter. Take him to the barracks.

Latrich pushed Dorhand away, and he almost hit his head on the corner of the table. The same soldier approached him and pulled him somewhere by the collar. When they disappeared behind the door, Dorhand read sympathy on the face of the giant soldier.

– You… be careful with the lord. He has a short temper. It won’t be good for you. What is your name?

– Dorhand. And you?

– Volume. Big Man Vol. Come on, Dorhand, eat an apple. It’s a long time before dinner.

The sour apple juice flowed pleasantly across the tongue. Dorhand only now remembered that he had not eaten for two days.

– Thank you.

– Only you… no nonsense. You won’t be able to escape from the barracks.

***

It stank not only of sweat, but also of sewage. The owner of the inn did not do any landscaping, so the slaves had to relieve themselves in the middle of the barracks. Dorhand sat down on the bare wooden floor, where it was not so dirty. This looks like his home for the next few days. Maybe years. “The main thing is not forever!” – thought the boy. Dorhand lowered his head to his knees. The body itched and hurt. From beatings and burns left by the inhospitable sun on the skin of a northerner. The face of his father appeared in his thoughts. He is now dead. Is your brother alive?

The boy was distracted from his thoughts by crying. Not far from him he saw a girl. The same one that was bought with him.

– My name is Dorkhand. And you?

– Lina.

– Why are you crying? – Dorkhand only now noticed a trickle of blood flowing down Lina’s leg. – Were you wounded?

– Don’t think. The lord touched me. Do you know what I mean? Touched there!

Dorhand nodded, although he did not fully understand what the girl was talking about. He read about something like this in an adult book, but he never fully understood what it was.

– Do not Cry. Everything will be fine. Touched, but remained alive.

– You do not understand anything! He’s a real monster! I come from a rich family. I’m not used to being treated like this. I had a nanny. She taught me etiquette. Do you know what this is?

– I read about it. The traveler Khorel wrote about something like this. In his book about Beelzuvik.

– I’ve been to the Capital. Not once. And then… and then…

She burst into tears.

– My parents were killed. I was rich.

“And I am a prince,” Dorkhand almost said. But then I thought: “I was a prince”

– My father was killed too! – Dorkhand said, and a terrible light flashed in his eyes.

“One day I will avenge this!”

At sunset the food arrived. There is sour porridge in the bowls. They didn’t give me spoons, so Dorkhand, grimacing, stuffed it into his mouth with his fingers. I ate a crust of stale bread and washed it down with unpleasant-smelling water. But this also seemed like a royal dinner after a long famine. Tom quietly put an apple in the boy’s pocket and smiled friendly. At first Dorkhand didn’t like the big guy, but he turned out to be the kindest person. The boy broke the fruit into two parts. He handed the big one to Lina.

– Thank you! – she whispered. Others looked at the newcomers with envy. But one of the slaves looked at them, and therefore no one dared to attack Lina and Dorhand to take away the sweetness or cause harm.

Dorkhand fell asleep as soon as he rested his head on the floor. His father appeared to him in a dream.

The morning began with several blows of whips on the wooden floor. Most of the slaves left the barracks, heading to work.

– Why don’t they take us away?

“It seems that the owner has a more unenviable fate in store for you,” said the slave who yesterday protected Dorkhand from attacks on the apple. “Tam,” he extended his calloused hand.

– My name is Dorkhand. So what is the fate?

– The owner is a sorcerer. He selects slaves to conduct experiments. Many die. And those who are alive lose their own will, and sometimes even their reason.

A shiver ran down Dorhand’s spine. He read in books about sorcerers. Lately, more and more stories have been written about the King-beyond-the-Mountain, one of the new Dark Lords, who settled in the eternal ice of Sanem. The northern lands are many leagues from Sartoll, but do not think that the dashing will remain there forever.

After a while, Tom entered the barracks.

– The owner wants to see you.

Dorhand almost cried on the way to Latrich. The lord personally tore the sleeve of the boy’s shirt. Latrich lowered the iron rod into the flame. And then he left a brand on the boy’s shoulder. He screamed.

– Jump on one leg! – Latrich commanded. Dorhand felt that he had lost control of himself. An unknown force forced him to do everything the lord said, and it was impossible to refuse him. – And you said that you were a prince. A real slave.

Latrich laughed ominously, and Dorhand clenched his fist in impotent anger.

“One day I will take my revenge on you!”

Revenge is not the best advisor, but sometimes there come moments in life when there is nothing left but revenge. She becomes the only thread that does not allow her to say goodbye to the world of the living.

Chapter 3. Escape

They stayed a couple more weeks in the Desert and then headed north. Heather was more common here than anywhere else, so Dorhand guessed that they were somewhere in South Sartoll, in one of the provinces, perhaps Silerine or Hewick.

The spacious castle could not be compared with those untidy barracks where we had to live for the last month.

“But this castle is far from the fortified city of Lindell,” thought Dorhand, sighing. White marble, statues of maidens and warriors of his native city forced Dorkhand to shed a single bitter tear. Memories never give us peace. Or maybe as long as we remember, we live?

There’s something scary about this place. The feeling of unreasonable fear and anxiety did not leave here.

– I’m scared! What awaits us here? – Lina asked. Dorhand repeatedly glanced at Lina’s shoulder as she exposed him. There was no trace of a brand. So, she didn’t have the same fate! Slaves with this mark often walked bare-chested. The sign on their shoulder glowed with blue flashes, like lightning on a stormy night. And the eyes are empty. Dorkhand often lost control of himself. At such moments, he heard the commanding voice of the sorcerer in his head, and could not resist his will.

From the very first days, Dorkhand was haunted by the dream of escape. But there seemed to be no way to salvation. The castle is an impregnable fortress, there were always guards scurrying here and there. And of course, the voice of the magician in my head. But you can’t stay here forever! The people are waiting for him! And revenge for the death of his father. He will kill the traitor Langer. And the whole of Lorraine will turn into a lifeless desert, as it was half a century ago.

One day Dorhand discovered a library behind an unlocked oak door. Books have always been a refuge from the real world, a window into other universes. Therefore, that same night, when everyone fell asleep, the boy secretly went to the mysterious room.

“Runes,” read the book that lay on a rough oak table, not varnished.

“True magic has long been dead,” said the author of the book. – This is the magic of thoughts, words and movements. An experienced sorcerer did not need additional funds. Later they began to use objects in rituals, and eventually even runes and other signs.”

After some time, he saw the rune that was on his brand.

“Rune of Submission. The Dark Lords of the War of the Lords era put one on the shoulder of a slave, and a rune of power on a ring or other decoration. This gave them complete control over someone else’s mind.”

Many of the books were written in an ancient, incomprehensible language, but Dorkhand greedily absorbed even these crumbs of knowledge that he managed to squeeze out. While presenting food to Latrich, he allowed himself to briefly examine the signs on the rings on the sorcerer’s hands. Runes of power. Lightning runes. Magic amplifiers. Only Dorkhand could not decipher the signs on the iron ring.

Latrich worked tirelessly. He sat in the library, making extracts from the book that Dorkhand studied at night. And then he conducted experiments on slaves. Tonight, after an unsuccessful test, slaves carried Durich to throw him from the castle window. Freemen were buried in the Valley of Stones, outside the city, but why would a slave need such honors? Bon died yesterday. The day before yesterday… Why, people were dying every day, and Dorkhand knew that one day his turn would come to take part in the incomprehensible experiment of a bald sorcerer with a scar.

Dorhand glanced at Durich’s finger. Latrich put a ring inscribed with runes on the slave. Dorhand is too smart for his age. And he often practiced the language of runes.

“Looks like Latrich is trying to find a recipe for longevity, or even immortality! He wants to write runes on the ring with his tongue so he can live forever! How many more must die for one to continue to live until he has lived all the lives of the people he killed?”

To say that the slaves were fed disgustingly is the same as remaining silent. Pigs – and besides rotten porridge, sometimes they were given boiled fruits taken from compotes. Sometimes, of course, they spoiled him with beans, but Dorkhand never stopped dreaming about meat. When no one was looking, Tom would sometimes throw in a handful of strawberries or cherries. On Sundays they gave us wine or beer, a whole barrel for the barracks. But Dorhand refused. His father’s words stuck in his head forever.