The Last Dragon: Book Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Princess Elizabeth

The man who was my captor never talked unless he had to, never told me his name or anything personal. That made him seem more dangerous and prevented any feelings from developing by either of us if you exclude hate. He was nameless, faceless rode with his scarf pulled over his lower nose and mouth and refused to speak unless required.

It had worked. He scared me. In addition to all that, he didn’t appear impressed by traveling with a princess, didn’t seem to care at all about my royal position, young age, or importance to the Kingdom of Dire. There was a job to be done. Deliver me to people in Dagger. That was all. While riding, his eyes never ceased to scan the horizon, peek behind every shrub, or listen for voices on the wind. He was not scared, but cautious.

It was not that I required verification of my royal position by needing his respect, but his total lack of humanity worried me. Without a word of warning passed between us, I understood that if I made an attempt at escaping, it had better be successful or he would kill me and move on to his next assignment.

All that information roiled around in my mind meant that I wouldn’t fail in my escape attempt—which meant that my plan needed to cover all aspects and must work the first time. It need not be complicated.

However, I also had to consider that the nameless man would kill me without reservation, so my first strike had to be my best. Could I do less to him than he would do to me? Worse, he intended to use the kidnapping to transport me to Dagger where the Council of Nine would have free rein to do what they wished with me in secret. There might be rumors, but nobody would know where I was, or that I’d been tortured and killed. To Dire, I’d simply disappeared in Vin, after being abducted from a ship.

My mission to negotiate a treaty failed if that happened. Others would die because of my failure. I couldn’t do less than my best.

All that flashed through my mind after hearing the whisper of material rubbing against material, as someone snuck up on us. Actually, I believe there might be two of them since the sounds came from slightly different directions. If they woke my captor, my chance at escape might not come again.

The pair sneaking up on us might be rescuers. Or rapists. Or thieves.

No matter, my pot shard had already sliced through the last fibers of the bindings, the shard was held tightly as a small knife might be. If the people creeping up on us woke the bounty hunter, and he killed or ran them off, he would naturally check to see if I was tied—and he would find my ropes cut and a little pottery knife in my hand.

A second chance might not come, so I steeled myself to use the pot shard to slice his throat while my other hand reached for the rock I’d identified earlier. A slashing cut followed by a rock from the darkness would end him.

Another sound broke the night air. A sort of a tap of wood. Not loud. Unnoticed by anyone not listening or more than a few steps away. Then a second sound. A short hiss followed by a solid thump.

A groan followed, as well as the rush of four feet.

They had passed right by me. Two men had rushed the bounty hunter in the dark. A few grunts and other unknown sounds that I assumed were them hitting him, and then they returned to me. Before I could move, the rock was knocked from my hand, and the potshard went flying as I tried to protect myself from a fall. Hands grasped me. A dark figure cuffed me with the heel of his hand so hard I nearly passed out. He hissed, “Quiet.”

The other man rolled me over on my back, roughly took my upper arm near my shoulder in one hand and drove his fist between my knees. In a twist of movement, he used those two points to lift me over his shoulder as he stood.

The other hissed close to my ear, “Not a sound.”

We ran. Better said, they ran, and I bounced so high and so hard, my stomach hurt by the second step. They didn’t stop at two steps. They continued for a hundred or more.

I vomited down the back of the man who carried me, to his disgust. His hands clenched painfully tighter for a moment; then we continued into the darkness. Finally, he slowed, slipped me from his shoulder, and the other placed a noose around my neck. He had me leashed like a dog.

“Do not try to escape,” the one who carried me panted.

The other tugged the leash to tell me which way to walk. It seemed I’d gone from a bad situation to one worse. However, it didn’t seem the time to talk or complain. The coarse rope around my neck provided all the instructions needed.

One took the lead, the other followed me. The soft sand pulled with each step. My legs burned with exertion. We moved slowly, but steadily. Twice we paused for long drinks from gourds hung by strings from their necks. Both men smelled of sweat and lack of washing. One smelled of vomit. Mine.

After what seemed half the night, we paused. The night air was chilly, but the sand still held warmth and one said, “We sleep here.”

The rope was used to truss me, and I had no potshard to work with. Besides, I was exhausted and no sooner sprawled in the sand than I slept. I awoke with a blinding sun in my eyes. It had risen above the flat floor of the Brownlands and intensified by bouncing off the sand.

I sat and shielded my eyes with my forearm. The movement woke my new captors. However my task was harder with the rope holding me. My eyes adjusted, and I got my first look at the two men.

Both wore desert robes that hung to their ankles, sandals, and while one had a pale green scarf wrapped around his head, the other wore the same color as his robe. They were smiling. Not at me, but to each other. Job well done, I interrupted.

“Do you know who I am?” I decided to begin with the most relevant question. If they had snatched me from the bounty hunter because they knew me, it opened several doors to negotiate. If not, those doors might still be opened.

“Young, pretty women, bring good prices at the auction houses of Kaon,” one said.

The other added, “We will be rewarded richly for you.”

Kaon. The kingdom separated from Dire by impassable mountains where there were deposits of valuable minerals. Digging them was hard, dangerous work. Miners demanded high pay, but slaves were only paid for once. Men and women.

The one had stressed my looks and age, which suggested other things before being sent to the mines. However, there are slaves who are worth more than others. The sellers would want to know of any special skills that might earn them more on the auction blocks. While not seeing how I could accomplish my mission in Kondor, my release might be bought.

We stood and continued walking with the sun on our right, so we were going north, in the direction of Kaon. Away from Dagger. With the revealing of my name, the right person might agree to release me—after receiving enough gold to last a lifetime.

With those thoughts in my head, I walked faster. Once released, I would again take a ship to Dagger. However, it would be filled to nearly sinking with the best troops Dire could send. Maybe two ships. The thoughts of the ships arriving in port and slaying my enemies made the walking easier.

The sun heated the sand until any part of my feet that touched it burned. We paused for water again, and between the three of us, we emptied the remaining water gourds. That said we were close to wherever we were going because they couldn’t be so stupid that they would run out of water. They were people of the Brownlands and knew how to live in the waterless expanses. The desert had more rolling hills, and the nearest barren mountains were near enough to make out detail.

We climbed another long hill and from the crest found a shallow valley filled with small trees and lush vegetation. In a clearing were five tents, and far to one side a larger one. People moved about their duties, and slaves were chained to each other in strings of about ten.

My semi-euphoria from earlier evaporated with the first sight of the chained slaves. Tied to a post was one being whipped, and two others carried a dead man between them to a pit that had been dug, a pit large enough to hold dozens.

A hand pushed me forward, even as I digested what lay below. Dead slaves are worth nothing. Killing one is like a farmer plowing his own crops just before harvest. It isn’t done. A poor harvest is better than none. Slaves are money. Slavers don’t have to treat them wonderfully, but they do need to feed and care for them until they reach the auction blocks if they wish to earn the most from each sale.

The one being whipped while tied to the post would be worth fewer coins at the blocks because of it, so his offense must have been major. The wounds wouldn’t heal for weeks, long after he was sold, and the scars would last a lifetime. They would warn buyers of a problem with the slave and disobedience. It was like trying to sell a cart with only three wheels. Farmers want all four. The dead were a worse statement. Even a slave in poor health, or one stupid, was worth more than one dead. That fact there were bodies meant a certain amount of them were expected to die as part of the process of taking slaves.

My feet carried me down the slope while my mind churned. At the bottom, instead of pushing me in the direction of the other slaves and tents, my captors turned me to the largest tent. At the entrance, a huge Kaon warrior stood with the massive curved blade I’d heard about worn at his side. It appeared to be a fixed scowl he wore.

One of my guards bowed and as he faced the ground, said, “Is the Slave-Master reviewing new ones today?”

The Kaon warrior nodded once, curtly.

One of the pair that had captured me now stood to either side, as if proudly showing off what they’d accomplished in capturing me. We walked ahead, pushing aside the diaphanous material that kept the insects outside. Within the coolness of the tent, the ground was covered with throws, carpets, rugs, and even tapestries.

A raised dais such as might be found in a throne room in a palace held five nearly nude young women and one enormous man who sat on soft pillows. He held a goblet of wine high and said, “Welcome.”

“Welcome? That’s your first words?” I demanded.

“What should they be?” he asked, a hint of amusement evident at the corners of his mouth.

I had a few choices to make. If I pretended to be just another young pretty woman, and I’d end up beside him, feeding him grapes or pouring his wine. Worse, when I later tried to reveal my position, he wouldn’t believe me.

If I told him who I was now, it would go one of two ways. One meant instant death because the Slave-Master would want no part of the revenge my family would convey. He wanted no part of the assassins they would send his way, and the small army to back up the assassins. If that was his decision, I’d be killed immediately and probably anyone who heard my confession, too.

But he was a businessman. A seller of goods to the highest bidder. A valuable commodity had just entered his tent, and the potential for profit would be too great to allow harm to come my way. I said as I raised my chin to meet his gaze, “I am Princess Elizabeth of Dire.”

My words may well have been the same number of sharp spears poked at him, from the way he reacted. The goblet fell from his hand, red wine spilled on the pillows, and as he sat straighter, he pushed a beautiful woman who had been resting her head on his knee aside. His face contorted and turned crimson. He said, “Do you know the Dragon Tamer called Kendra?”

“My servant?” My voice was hushed, too. How could this man know her?

“Her brother’s name?” he demanded. “What is it?”

“Damon.”

His lower lip twitched as he prepared to ask his next question. “Do you play the game of blocks?”

The entire conversation was going sideways. I admitted, “Yes.”

“Are you as good as Damon?”

His words shocked me. The twinkle in his eyes was both caution and humor. How he knew Damon also was the first puzzle. “Better than him. I taught him to play.”

He patted the pillow at his side. “Then sit here. We must talk. Are you as temperamental and sly as Kendra? She is an evil woman, you know. I have stories to tell you, Princess.”