Red’s face was grim.
A long line of chained slaves was being taken away, and it was clear that the sale was almost over as the buyers gathered to settle up and take their purchases home. The crowd was thinning quickly when one of the sellers stepped forward. “One more, we have one more to offer today, but this one’s not fit for more than feed for your dogs.”
The handlers dragged out a man in chains and dropped him to the platform. If man it was. Red had seen better corpses. Skin clung to bone, with every rib showing. The man was naked, crusted with filth, his skull shaved. Naked, that was, except for the welts, bruises, and open wounds, and the shackles tight around his wrists.
Dog food, indeed.
“Come, now. Someone bid and rid me of this piece of shit,” the seller called out. “Not even a copper?” He bent down and tore the shackles off the slave, leaving bloody wounds at the wrist. “Of course the copper won’t buy the chains.”
Red started in surprise when Bethral’s hand moved, and a single copper coin flew through the air to land at the seller’s feet.
FIVE
RED’S mouth fell open in shock.
“Your dogs will have bones to gnaw on, warrior!” The seller picked up the coin with a flourish.
Bethral ignored him. She just stepped to the platform and carefully pulled the slave to a sitting position. Not so much as a groan to be heard. She eased him up onto her shoulder, paused to make sure she had her balance, and started walking in the direction of the inn.
Blinking, Red watched her go, shook her head, and then ran to catch up. “What were you thinking?” she hissed softly. Not that she needed to bother. They drew no real attention, even though Bethral had a naked, filthy man over her shoulder. In point of fact, the townspeople were averting their eyes and minding their own ways.
“I’ll not leave him in their hands.” Bethral’s voice was soft and somewhat breathless. For all that the slave was skin and bones, he was still a dead weight. And a stinking mess, truth be told.
Red shifted the packages in her hands as she walked alongside Bethral. “What in the name of all of the Twelve are you going to do with him?”
“I doubt he’ll last long.” Bethral kept walking steadily, but she was planting her feet carefully.
“Where are you going to take him?” Red pointed out.
“Where else? The inn. He’ll die free, at least.” Bethral sucked in a deep breath and kept walking.
Red rolled her eyes. She could just imagine how Three Toes would feel about a slave dying in one of his beds. But she kept her mouth shut. Partly because Bethral didn’t have the breath to talk. But also because the hairs on the back of Red’s neck were standing up, and there was a tingle at the base of her spine.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. She looked around, without turning her head, and saw nothing different. But suddenly the townspeople who had seemed no threat before were now setting her nerves on edge.
“You feel that?” Red asked. She made sure her lips barely moved.
Bethral gave a short nod. They were both alert and tense, sensing trouble even as they kept a steady pace.
They’d reached the cobblestone yard and the gate of the inn when a shout came from behind them.
Red dropped her burdens and spun on her heel to face the gate, sword and dagger in her hands.
The slave seller was running toward them, holding up a copper coin. “Warriors, please.” He stopped for breath, looking warily at Red. “No need for alarm. I made a mistake, warriors. That slave was not to be sold. Please forgive me. I’ll return the purchase price, of course, or replace that one with anoth—”
Bethral was slower because of her burden, but she’d turned to face the gate as well, the slave still balanced on her shoulder. “No,” she growled.
“A simple mistake,” the seller offered, holding out the coin again.
“He is mine, bought and paid for,” Bethral spat.
The man stepped back, taken aback by her response. Red stayed between him and Bethral, weapons at the ready. She caught movement at the door of the inn, but didn’t take her eyes off the man before her.
“My master will have him back, warrior.” The seller paused, licking his lips. “Let me keep the peace. Take back your coin.”
Three Toes emerged from the door of the inn, far enough that Red could note his presence.
“My master will insist.” The seller puffed himself up. “He will come, with those who will aid him. He will take the slave.”
“Your master can try.” Red took a step forward, and the man fled through the gate.
Three Toes moved close, sweating heavily. “Warriors, I can’t afford this trouble. The slave master will come with his bullies. Please, I—”
“We’re leaving.” Red still faced the gate. “Now.”
“Stin!” Three Toes bellowed. The stable boy popped out of the barn. “Saddle their horses, boy. NOW.” The boy was gone that quick.
Bethral spoke. “Our gear is—”
“I’ll gather it myself.” Three Toes was already moving. “The faster you go—” He disappeared, bellowing orders.
Red sighed. “So much for a warm bed and a bit of company.”
“I’m not company enough?” Bethral asked.
Red snorted.
Three Toes appeared with their saddlebags and bedrolls. He was followed by one of the serving wenches, who started to gather up their purchases and stuff them in two bags. Another man ran up as well, with an old blanket and two water-skins. Judging from his apron, he had to be a cook.
“There are some salves in the sack, with bandages.” Three Toes helped stuff the items in the saddlebags. “The skins are filled with ale, for your journey.”
Stin ran out, leading Steel. He handed the reins to Bethral and ran back into the barn.
Bethral dropped the reins. “Stand,” she ordered Steel.
The horse stood straight and still.
“Go, girl. Get inside,” Three Toes ordered. The serving wench scurried off.
Three Toes and the cook helped take the slave from Bethral’s shoulder. Red glanced back to see that they were wrapping him in the old blanket, struggling to keep him upright as Bethral mounted.
“Pah,” the cook said with a grimace. “Stinks.”
“Poor bastard,” Three Toes muttered in agreement.
The slave showed no sign of awareness.
Once Bethral was seated, the two men lifted the bundled slave into her arms. They then strapped the bags on the horse, making sure the load was even. Three Toes hung a wineskin from her saddle.
Bethral settled the man securely in front of her. “Is there a back gate?”
“Aye,” Three Toes grunted as he tightened a strap. “Stin!”
The boy popped out, leading Beast, who was snorting his displeasure. “Done!”
“Open the back gate. Go!” Three Toes ordered. The boy darted off.
“Stand, Beast.” Red commanded.
Three Toes spoke quickly, as he and the other man loaded Beast. “Behind the stables, beyond the privies, there’s a gate. It will take you out a path toward the river.”
Bethral gathered her reins, and gave him a nod.
“They’re coming,” Red warned.
Three Toes and his helper ran for the inn door and slammed it shut, leaving them alone in the yard. They disappeared just as a group of slavers ran through the gate.
“That’s them!” The seller was pointing them out to a large, sweating, fat man and four armed men. “They’ve got him.”
“Warriors,” the fat man gasped, making a show of mopping his brow. But Red noted his eyes narrowing. “A simple mistake,” he continued, gesturing for his men to move up on them.
“Go,” Red snapped over her shoulder at Bethral. She heard the clatter of hooves on cobblestones behind her, as she turned to meet her foe.
BETHRAL pulled Steel to a halt in a clearing, and listened for sound of pursuit. But all she could hear was Steel’s labored breathing
and the pounding of her own heart.
She’d followed a deer path deep within the woods, leaving the inn and the river behind, never once risking the road. There was pine here, enough to shelter them for a moment. Dusk was coming on. That would help even more to hide them.
Steel dropped his head, and heaved a sigh as he shifted beneath her.
“Sorry, boy,” she whispered as she patted Steel’s neck. It wouldn’t do to dismount. She wasn’t sure she could wrestle her burden back into the saddle, and she couldn’t do it quickly. Better to stay mounted until she knew for sure that they were safe.
The blanket had fallen over the slave’s face as they’d ridden. A tug revealed his face. It was a long moment before she was even certain that he still breathed. There was no spare flesh on those bones, the cheekbones in stark relief, lips dry and cracked. She winced in sympathy.
“What’s within you, that they pursue you so?” she whispered.
There was no response.
Bethral shook her head, not sure what impulse had come over her, to buy an abused slave. Anger—that was certain. Disgust that anyone could treat another being so, be they man or beast. Red would have her head for this.
Provided Red was still in one piece herself.
The normal sounds of the woods were returning, with the skitter of small animals and the soft cries of birds. Bethral relaxed slightly, since there didn’t seem to be an immediate threat.
With one hand she held the man close, and with the other she reached for the bag that Three Toes had tied to her saddle. There were some bandages, and she pulled one clear with her free hand. It took some effort, but she managed to get the cloth wet from the wineskin.
She pressed the wet cloth to his lips, trying to at least soften the skin. It took a moment, but eventually the lips moved against the cloth, and she heard him suck at it.
“That’s it,” she crooned softly. “Let’s get some ale in you.”
She kept an eye and ear to her surroundings as she wet the cloth, and let the man pull as much moisture as he could. She’d look down once in a while, then return to her vigilance.
At last, she pulled the cloth free of his mouth and the man sighed. She looked down, and found that his eyes were open, the greenest eyes she’d ever seen, green with flecks of gold.
“Can you hear me?” she asked softly. “Who are you?”
The eyes took her in, roaming over her face. But there was little awareness to them that she could tell, and only his eyes moved.
“Sleep,” she whispered. “You’re safe, here in my arms.”
His eyes fluttered closed, and she thought the corner of his mouth turned up a bit, as if trying to smile.
Steel’s ears perked up. Someone was coming.
Bethral jerked her head up, dropped the cloth, and pulled a dagger.
A barn owl call echoed through the trees.
Bethral rolled her eyes, and hooted in response. As the brush rustled, she shook her head. “It’s too early for owls to be about,” she said softly.
Red emerged into the clearing, riding Beast. “It was supposed to be a duck.”
“You never get that right. Stick to scarlets. You can chirp like one well enough.” Bethral relaxed, seeing no wounds on her sword-sister.
“I haven’t seen a scarlet since we entered that damn bog.” Red responded sourly, ducking branches as she moved Beast closer.
“Did you kill any of them?” Bethral asked.
“No,” Red said. “I didn’t want to give them a reason to pursue us. I just sliced a few, then got to Beast. We charged through them to the gate and the main road. Beast and I ran for a while, but then we circled back and picked up your trail.” Red frowned, dismounted, and picked up the wet cloth. “But there’s a mounted group on the main road, searching for us. They want him back.” She nodded toward the slave. “How’s he doing?”
Bethral looked down. “He breathes. Not much more.” She covered the slave’s face and tucked the blanket loosely around him. “Will they follow?”
“Best to think so.” Beast snorted, and they both paused and listened. A breeze was picking up, and the leaves about them rustled. Red mounted Beast. “You keep going. I’ll muddle your back trail, and discourage any pursuit.” She looked at the darkening sky. “The darkness will aid us, but it will be a long night.”
“Where are we headed?” Bethral asked.
Red grimaced. “The goatherder’s. Where else?”
THE pounding at his door brought Josiah to his feet before he was even awake. He stood there for a moment, blinking in the faint light from the coals in the fireplace. The door trembled again, as the pounding started back up. With three steps he was there and threw open the door.
Red Gloves stood there, glaring at him.
“You came back,” he blurted.
“Not my choice.” Josiah gave way as Red shoved past him and dumped two saddlebags by the fire. Bethral was next through the door, carrying a man wrapped in a blanket. She pushed past as well, and placed the man on Josiah’s bed.
“I’ll get the rest of the gear.” Red pushed past again. “You see to him.”
“What”—Josiah looked back to Bethral—“what has happened?”
Bethral pulled back the blanket to reveal the man’s body.
“Sweet Sovereign Sun,” Josiah cursed. “Who—”
The frantic bleating of goats interrupted. “Out of my way, you—” Red shouted at the top of her lungs. Josiah pulled the door open to let her in as she struggled with the parcels, and the goats, who were trying to push their way past her. Josiah kept the goats out as she stomped in with saddlebags and two sacks. He shut the door behind her. “Who did this to him?”
“Your countrymen, goatherder, and their slavery,” Red snarled as she dropped her load by the hearth.
“No men of mine,” Josiah snapped at her. He glared at the warrior, but her gaze was on the slave. As was her anger, he realized.
“It’s a wonder he still breathes.” Bethral knelt, spreading the blanket out over the bed. “We had to ride hard to get here.”
Josiah took a step closer to the bed and sucked in a breath at the sight of the man’s wounds. “You stole a slave?”
“No.” Bethral’s voice was flint against steel. “I paid the seller his price. But he demanded the slave’s return, for a refund of the price, and I refused.”
Red scowled at him. “We are not thieves.” She went to the door. “I’ll see to the horses. We’ll all sleep here this night, just in case.” She yanked on the door, then turned to Josiah and smirked. “You might want to put on some trous, goatherder.” She pulled the door shut with a thud.
Startled, Josiah gathered up his trous and dressed hurriedly. “Why all sleep here? There’s not much room—”
“They gave chase,” Bethral said. “We’ve lost them, and covered our trail, but we should stay together, just in case.”
Josiah sighed. “Few will venture into these lands.”
“Still.” Bethral shrugged. “Red will insist that we take no chance.” She glanced back at the man on the bed. “I’ll bathe him, at least. Get some of the filth off him.”
“I’ve not much in the way of medicines,” Josiah said.
Bethral cast a glance at the herbs drying among the rafters, and Josiah caught the look. “Cooking herbs, mostly. I’ve some yarrow and bruise balm.”
Bethral rummaged in one of the sacks that Red had brought in. “There’s bandages here and some jars. I know how to treat battle wounds, but not enough to truly aid him.” She sighed, looking down at the man. “We may have rescued him only to watch him die.”
“We could get some broth in him, perhaps.” Josiah reached for a bucket sitting by the hearth. “Maybe a gruel. I’ll draw some water.”
RED was watering the horses by the well when Josiah emerged from the hut. She smirked to see that he’d pulled on trous. A fine figure of a man, bare of chest and feet as he walked through the moonlight toward her. Her eyes half-closed, she i
magined his body moving under her, filling her—
She turned back to her task. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, being forced to return here. The horses could rest up, with a good graze, if the goats would let them. She scowled at the little beasts cavorting around them, getting in her way.
Bethral could see to her slave, and maybe she could lure—
“You are the Chosen, you know.”
Red wrinkled her nose. In the rush, she’d forgotten about his madness. Why was it that all the good ones were insane? Cooled her ardor, certain sure.
She stepped back, to give him room. “That’s as may be,” she answered. “All I care is that Bethral be allowed to do what she can for that man.”
Josiah began to pull up a full bucket of water from the well, his muscles rippling in the moonlight. “She fears he will die.”
“She cares over much.” Red responded absently, moving through the goats, shooing them out of her way.
“And you don’t?” came the challenge.
Red grabbed the horses’ halters to lead them to the barn. “We’ll all sleep in your hut this night.”
“Not much room.”
Red shrugged without looking at him. “The floor is all the bed I need.”
“Red!” Bethral’s shout from within had them both running for the croft.
Red was first through the door. “Bethral, what’s wrong?”
Bethral was half-seated on the bed, her arm around the slave’s shoulders, supporting his head, a mug in her other hand. Her face was white as she looked at them. “His tongue’s been cut out.”
SIX
“HE’LL die, then.” Red spoke through her clenched jaw, anger and disappointment flowing through her.
Bethral shrugged, her pain reflected in her eyes. Her blonde tresses had spilled out of her bun, and over her shoulders. “He’s so weak and wasted even broth trickled down his throat would not be enough. I fear he is too far gone for our aid.” She sighed and set the mug down on the floor. “Why didn’t they just kill him and have done?”
Red gritted her teeth against Bethral’s sorrow, a pain she was helpless to remedy. “To make him suffer.” She grated out the words.