The Slaves

Her calculating gaze sought out the other captives with her.

The blonde girl beside her started crying again. Her own chest gave an uneasy squeeze at the sight.

Could she afford to save them as well? Or could her conscience allow her to leave these girls to fate?

"Salute the Emperor!" one man shouted in the native language of the South. Every warrior rigidly turned to the source of the voice and made a waist-deep bow, their closed right fists raised in front of them as if they were about to pound on a door.

A dark War God descended from the heavens.

He was no man, surely, with eyes as black as lust diamonds and a strong, muscled body seemingly sculpted out from the finest marbles of the crafty earth people. He wore hardened leather and a midnight black fur cloak. Black boots. Black gloves. Even his weapons were made of black steel. He would have dissolved easily into the night if not for the gold and silver lining his clothes.

Each step of his was fluid and silent, like a shadow stalking, and even at a distance, one would shiver at his presence.

She could feel fear deep within her bones, and she did not understand why.

Was it because the men around her looked at this man with awe and reverence? Or was it because he held himself in a regard that made her feel like a speck of dust?

"Rise," he said in a deep, roguish voice that caressed her skin with cold dread.

She felt the warriors straighten around her. As she continued to look down on the icy ground, she did not see that the leader of the heathens was pacing in front of them. Not until she could see his black boots directly in front of her.

He unsheathed his black sword from its plain scabbard and used the flat side of the blade to raise her head.

His black eyes met her silver ones. He scrutinized every line and curve of her face, watched her bosom move with every shallow breath she pulled. And then he moved on to the girl next to her and studied her just as intensely.

The Spirits had spared her.

"Talim," the emperor called and one man with grave features instantly appeared by his side. It was the man with the spotted fur cloak. "Take this one to my tent. The rest, sell them to the traders."

"The males?"

"Kill them. All of them."

"No!" two girls cried out, and in one swift motion, two heads crowned with glorious golden hair rolled on the ground. The snow was stained deep red.

No one moved. No one breathed. No one blinked.

The only sound was that of a sword being sheathed.

The leader of the heathens walked away as if he did not just heartlessly kill two young girls. As if he did not care that innocent lives were lost tonight. As if he did not just order his men to slaughter and destroy what once used to be a peaceful village of the North.

This was the cruelest son of Summer, emperor of the twelve Southern kingdoms, Jadron Galheebri.

Tyrant. Murderer. Monster.

**

The survivors were placed in metal cages where the heathens could openly leer at them, appreciating the goods before they were sold. The young warrior called Lakas looked incredibly silly with parchment and quill in his bloody hands, and his annoyed look did not escape her when he was tasked to make an inventory of the slaves.

"Name?"

While the prisoners around her sobbed and wailed for their losses, Enna merely tried to make herself small in a corner. She never spoke. She never raised her head.

Lakas snatched her chin. He was scowling. "Name?"

When she refused to answer, the bald man behind Lakas growled before backhanding her. "Stupid girl! Tell us your name so that we can be done with this sham and leave!"

Elbows shaking, she sat up, gazing at them with tired silvery eyes. Still, she did not open her mouth.

"You – "

Lakas stopped the man with a wave. "Drop it. I will simply write Silver."

The man smirked. "Yes, a name befitting a horse."

They could call her whatever they want. Why would she bother when she would escape sooner or later? Fighting them would only be a waste of time.

What mattered was that she study how these so called sons of Summer work. The rotation of guards, when do they eat, when they rest, where the keys were kept, how they reacted, as well as differentiating the fools from the cunning.

No doubt an opportunity would present itself. An opening. A mistake. She just had to be patient.

Days wore on. She watched with impassive eyes as more towns were destroyed and more women were captured. Eventually, the cage became crowded until the Southerners were forced to build more. The wails of the women around her were getting to her. She did her best to tune them out. Most of the time, it was working. On rare days such as today, she felt a flicker of anger towards the rotten bastards who enjoyed harming these innocents. These heathens robbed and raped and killed without humanity and mercy. The cruelty of these bronze-skinned people knew no bounds. She could not make herself think of them as humans.

And somehow, these thoughts kept her sane.

A grimy hand shot out and grabbed her hair, pulling her so that her cheek was pressed against the cold metal bars. One of the heathens grinned maliciously, caressing her with slimy fingers from his other hand.

"Wanna taste me, you silver shiarri?"

Enna had picked up from her observations that the heathens call the citizens of Nyebe shiarri, "pale cattle", as derogation that they had the status of less than a human slave. 

She spat on his face.

The heathen punched her. Or would have, had there been no bars separating them. As it was, he was stupid enough to react on instinct and hit the metal bars with his bare hand. She almost smiled at the brute's lack of intellect.

"I will kill you!" he roared.

"That you will not do," said a familiar drawl she recognized to belong from Lakas. Despite all odds, knowing he was around gave her a sense of security. Although fairly younger than the others, she had come to know that Lakas was no mere foot soldier; he was with title and thus authority.

He was by far the most decent among all the heathens she had met. He respected and obeyed orders of his superiors, but never did anything beyond, strictly adhering to his duties. Meaning, the prisoners could not be exploited with him on the watch.

However, she had no real reason to be comforted by his presence. He was decent, but not kind. He was among those she considered cunning. Cunning and dangerous.

In fact, he was almost always covered in fresh blood. He had no qualms when it came to killing people as long as he believes he was in the right. This she discovered a couple of days after capture. The heathens fight in duels whenever there were conflicts between them. It was either to death or until one surrenders, but from what she had seen, no man had ever chosen to swallow his pride and admit his surrender in a duel. For the heathens, honor was more important than human life. It was in this occasion that she witnessed how Lakas impaled another man in the chest just because the foot soldier insulted him.

It was disgustingly barbaric and self-righteous.

"This shiarri spat on me! How dare she degrade a warrior! I shall punish her with the whip until she begs for mercy!"

She did not understand what came into her. Other captives were killed for doing lesser acts. If today would be her last day to live, then she would live her last seconds with pride and dignity.

Lakas gazed at her, and she gazed back with no trace of fear. He turned back to the furious man with a bored look. "You must have done something that deserved her action."

The warrior gritted his teeth. "What did you say?"

"I said, this girl is mute. Flagging her till she begs for mercy is out of the question. She will die and not ever speak a word."

"All the better!"

"Then, you wish to disobey the emperor's direct order?" Lakas challenged. "He specifically said that these girls will be sold as slaves as soon as we return to Arrao. You know this white-washed color is popular among the aristocracy. How much will she fetch us? A merchant's year-worth of taxes? Will you rob our treasury of the money it is due? Or do you have enough gold coins stashed in your bag to pay for her life?"

The man suddenly stopped, taken aback by the consequences that Lakas had just narrated. "Forget it!" He spat at her before he marched away. She wiped the disgusting slime on her arm with the smelly hay layering the insides of her cage.

She was grinning.