The Slave War: The Dragonspire Chronicles Book 4 Page 3

  “When do we leave?”

  “I checked our gear and horses this morning. As soon as Silas gets up, we’re good to go. With the bad weather coming, I don’t want to waste any time.”

  “Young lord!” A group of four men had gathered at the base of the wall below Yaz and Brigid. They were the strongest and healthiest of the rescued villagers that they brought in yesterday.

  “What’s this about?” Yaz asked.

  Brigid shrugged. “No one said anything to me.”

  Yaz made his way to the closest staircase and climbed down with Brigid behind him. When he reached the gathered men, they offered a slight bow.

  “Was there something you needed?” Yaz asked.

  “We want to come with you to rescue our people,” said a burly, bearded man dressed in a torn tunic. “We can’t hide here like cowards while our young people do the hard work. How would we ever look your father in the eye again? We all have militia training though I admit it’s been a while. Get us weapons and we’ll fight.”

  Yaz considered for a moment. Having more people would be useful, but the more of them there were wandering around, the easier it would be for the Carttoom soldiers to find them. He snapped his fingers. While having them come on raids would be a problem, these men would be perfect for maintaining and guarding a base.

  “There is something you can do,” Yaz said. “We need a camp from which we can strike and then bring back rescued slaves. If you would be willing to build and protect such a position, it would be a great help to us.”

  “My father was a carpenter,” said a second man, younger than the first though just as bearded. “I can set something up.”

  “I’m a fair hunter,” another offered.

  “Excellent,” Yaz said. “I’ll see about getting you four horses, weapons, and supplies. If there’s anyone to whom you need to say goodbye, do so now. I hope to be on the road within the hour.”

  Yaz and his companions chose a grove located deep in a thick evergreen forest for their first base. After several days of searching they’d found a spot with easy access to drinking water via a nearby brook and on the ride in Yaz had seen plenty of deer and turkey signs. Even a mediocre hunter should have little trouble keeping a small group fed. The former slaves set to work at once with axes provided by the Rend garrison. They’d basically thrown open their armory to Yaz and the others and they took full advantage. Maybe Rend wouldn’t do anything to help directly, but they were certainly generous with supplies.

  After consulting his mental map of the area, Yaz selected this spot because it was close to a number of their targets. If his information was accurate, they should be able to collect thirty or so slaves in a few days. Of course, that was easier said than done. The first raid would be the easiest, but he suspected word would spread quickly that a group was freeing slaves. Once that happened, all bets were off.

  Brigid touched his shoulder. Yaz flinched and turned to face her. “Yeah?”

  “Are we riding out tonight or waiting until morning?”

  “Tonight. I want to scout the easternmost targets so we can strike at dawn. I know you wanted to find your parents first, but the farms that bought them were too small to make General Rend’s map. We’ll need to question some of the locals to find them.”

  “That’s okay.” Brigid blew out a long sigh. “It was selfish of me to suggest finding them before anyone else. It’s important to rescue everyone. My parents aren’t more important than anyone else.”

  Yaz put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “They are to you. I understand, believe me. At least we know where your parents are, more or less. No one has any idea where mine are. My only hope is that one of the slaves we free will have heard something. But the gods know who might bring me that information or when.”

  “We’ll find them, don’t worry.”

  While he appreciated Brigid attempting to make him feel better, Yaz refused to get his hopes too high. Not that he was giving up on finding them, he’d just made peace with the fact that it might take longer than he’d like.

  Yaz, Silas, and Brigid left the others to work on their camp and rode east. Half a mile away they left the forest and entered the plains. The southern portion of Carttoom served as the kingdom’s bread basket, producing over half their food and ninety percent of their grain. That was why so many of the slaves ended up in this area. Anyone without special skills, as well as their blacksmith, had been sold to a variety of farms.

  Packed dirt roads made for easy riding, but Yaz chose to avoid them. The fewer people they encountered the better. They kept going until they reached the edge of a partially harvested field. The wheat was golden and swaying in the faint breeze. A group of six workers labored with scythes under the watchful eyes of a pair of mounted men armed with crossbows.

  “Only two overseers,” Silas said. “We could take them easily.”

  They certainly could, but this was only a fraction of the farm. Riding around like bandits without knowing where the rest of their people were was a recipe for disaster.

  “Let’s look around a little more.” Yaz nudged his horse into motion.

  Taking advantage of the last of the light, they circled the entire farm, spotting three more work crews like the first. Twenty-four slaves and eight overseers. According the slavers’ records, four of them were from the village. Not that Yaz intended to leave anyone behind.

  The fields were so vast that they couldn’t see the main compound from the edge. In the twilight gloom, the slaves were led away.

  “Let’s give them an hour to relax before we move in,” Yaz said.

  “I saw some trees where we could tie the horses up,” Brigid said.

  “That clump of poplar to the south?” Yaz asked.

  She nodded.

  “Perfect. Great minds think alike.”

  Ten minutes later the horses were tied up and they were unloading their weapons. Yaz had helped himself to the weakest bow in the armory and a quiver of arrows. He also had a pair of long, curved daggers on his belt. Tonight wasn’t going to be a night for fair play and an honest fight. It was going to be quiet and brutal.

  Yaz wanted to suggest Brigid stay behind, but knew she’d refuse. Besides, if they messed up and the alarm was raised, they’d need every fighter.

  “So what’s the plan?” Brigid asked. “Will you use that same spell that disabled the border fort?”

  Silas shook his head. “No good. We need to be able to move around and that spell binds everyone that enters its area of effect.”

  “We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way,” Yaz said. “We sneak in, take out any guards, free the slaves, and flee, hopefully before the alarm is raised. We’ll repeat the process at each farm for as long as we can.”

  It was hard to read her expression in the dark, but Yaz doubted she was happy. He wasn’t all that happy either, but this was war, a war they had to win with limited resources.

  An hour later they were slipping through the unharvested wheat, working their way toward the farmhouse. The farm was every bit as huge as Yaz thought. It took nearly half an hour to finally reach the main compound. There was a sprawling two-story house where he assumed the owners lived. Several barns sat on the left side of the main house along with a handful of smaller outbuildings. On the right side was a single longhouse with no windows and two armed guards in front of the doors. That had to be the slave quarters.

  Lanterns hanging from the porch at the main house, the barn, and the slave quarters created pools of bright light surrounded by darkness. If they doused those lights after the slaves were free, it would make sneaking out simple.

  “Can you deal with the guards?” Yaz asked Silas.

  “No problem.”

  “What about that one?” Brigid pointed at a flat platform on top of the barn.

  Yaz hadn’t even noticed the man pacing up there with a crossbow. He moved in and out of the shadows, appearing and vanishing like a ghost.

  “Good catch.
” Yaz drew an arrow and fitted it to his bow. “When you’re ready, Silas, I’ll take the lookout.”

  “Count of five.” Silas murmured a spell and touched the black amulet around his neck.

  Yaz mentally counted down, drawing his bow at two. At zero his arrow arced out and slammed into the lookout’s throat. He clawed at the arrow, staggered around and finally fell from the platform.

  The guards on duty noticed nothing. They were ensnared by tendrils of darkness and quickly collapsed.

  Yaz blew out a breath and fitted a second arrow. “Let’s go. Brigid, check the guards for a key. We’ll keep watch.”

  The three of them rushed from their position to the longhouse. Brigid knelt by the closest guard and started rummaging through his pockets. Seconds dragged into minutes as she switched to the other man. Any moment Yaz expected a door to open somewhere and a shout to go up. At least five guards remained. He’d like to avoid them if possible.

  “Got it!”

  “Shh,” Yaz said. “Get the door.”

  Brigid inserted the key into a big iron padlock running through a chain that held the door shut. It opened with far too loud a click. She dragged the chain aside, making Yaz wince. How could no one hear that?

  Together the two of them pulled the door open, allowing light to shine in. The slaves were lying in simple cots. Most of them sat up when the door opened.

  “Allen, Melinda, Sal, and Bren, my name is Yazgrim Yeager and I’ve come to set you free. Anyone that wants to join us is welcome.”

  The four people Yaz called out rose and hurried over to him. He had only met Allen and that was a year ago when he was having wolf problems. He looked much as Yaz remembered if a little thinner and less clean.

  “Gods bless, Yaz,” Allen said. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Is your father with you?”

  “No. Do you know where he is? The slavers didn’t have a record of who bought him.”

  “No, lad, I’m sorry. Yazguard and the other riders were separated right off. Where they ended up is anyone’s guess.”

  It was the answer Yaz expected but didn’t want. He knew where the riders were, but his dad’s name hadn’t been mentioned in the ledger he studied at the Slavers Guild.

  “Thanks anyway, Allen. We’d best get out of here before the other guards wake up.”

  “Good thinking. They’re mean bastards, no doubt. Never thought I’d taste the lash, but I’ve gotten my fill these last few months.”

  More of the slaves gathered around Yaz and his companions. “Are we really free?” a woman asked.

  “You are,” Yaz said. “The Kingdom of Rend has offered shelter to any slave that makes it across the border. We have a temporary camp set up and when we’ve rescued all the slaves in the area, we’ll make a run for the border. Whether you’re from Dragonspire Village or not, you’re welcome to join us.”

  The murmur of “we’re free” ran through the gathered slaves and grew louder and angrier by the second.

  “I’m not going anywhere until I teach these bastards a lesson,” one of the slaves said.

  Yaz couldn’t make out who spoke, but a big man forced his way over to the fallen guards and took one of their truncheons. Scars covered his face and arms. He glared at the farmhouse with such fury that Yaz expected it to spontaneously combust.

  A second slave snatched the remaining truncheon while others grabbed their belt daggers. As a group, those slaves not from the village turned toward the farmhouse.

  “Wait,” Yaz said. “We need to get out of here quickly.”

  “Then go,” the scarred slave said. “I am grateful for my freedom, but I will have satisfaction.”

  There were murmurs of agreement. Soon enough twenty-four slaves began marching across the yard toward the farmhouse. What was he supposed to do now? Yaz didn’t free those people just to see them get killed. On the other hand, he didn’t want the farmers slaughtered either. If they killed everyone that owned slaves in Carttoom, there wouldn’t be many left alive. Not that he imagined the government just standing aside and letting them do as they pleased. Freeing the slaves was bad enough, but this…

  “What do we do?” Brigid asked. “Do we stop them?”

  “I doubt we could if we wanted to, short of killing them.” Yaz fitted an arrow to his string. “Let’s see if we can keep them alive. Silas, send Wicked up to keep watch. If we’re going to do this, no one can survive. Should word get out, we’ll have the army bearing down on us before you know it.”

  “Understood.” Silas pointed at the sky and his familiar took off.

  When the slaves reached the farmhouse, one of them ripped the hanging lantern off its hook and hurled it through a ground-floor window. A few seconds later bright orange flames flared up.

  Half a minute after that the door burst open and a man came running out. He wore fine pajamas and carried a naked broad sword.

  The scarred slave’s truncheon took him square in the side of the head, turning it to pulp. He collapsed and the other slaves hurled his body back into the house.

  “Yaz, the barn,” Brigid said.

  Three guards had emerged armed with crossbows. Behind them more figures were moving in the shadows. The fight was on now.

  Yaz drew and loosed, putting an arrow into the center guard’s neck just as he was about to squeeze the trigger on his crossbow.

  The dying guard swung wildly and shot his bolt into the leg of the man beside him.

  That moment of chaos gave Yaz a chance to fire a second arrow into the uninjured guard, dropping him beside his companion.

  The slaves had finally noticed the threat and were charging toward the barn. Yaz readied a third arrow just in case, but it wasn’t necessary. The armed slaves raced through the door and the sounds of battle emerged a moment later.

  Two minutes later it was all over. The farmhouse was fully engulfed and the slaves were slowly emerging from the barn. A few of them had minor cuts, but otherwise they appeared fine. As though all the energy had been drained out of them, they slumped their way back to Yaz and his companions.

  “Feel better?” Yaz asked.

  “Not really,” the scarred slave said. “This was a small thing compared to the slaves still being held all over the kingdom. My name is Sandul, and I’m grateful for what you’ve done for us.”

  Yaz offered his hand and Sandul stared at it for a moment as though uncertain what it meant. “It’s been so long since someone treated me like a person and not a piece of livestock.”

  They shook and Yaz said, “Will you join us? There are six more farms in the general area we mean to raid before crossing back into Rend.”

  “If you mean to free slaves,” Sandul said. “I am with you to the end.”

  Yaz nodded, altering his plans as he did. “Were there weapons in the barn?”

  Sandul shrugged. “I didn’t even think to look.”

  “Let’s go see what we can find. The more supplies we have, the better our chances.”

  Sandul grinned. “I like the idea of killing them with their own weapons.”

  So much for quiet raids. Now, it looked like they really were in for a war.

  Chapter 4

  Rondo followed Lord Black down a dark, damp secret staircase. The entrance had been hidden by an illusion at the rear of a storage closet in the middle of the Dark Sages’ citadel. The other high sages must have known about it, but Rondo assumed fear of Lord Black kept them from snooping. Rondo stumbled and barely caught himself on the rough stone wall before he would have slammed into Lord Black. A ruddy light from the most high’s ring just managed to let Rondo know where to put his feet.

  Apparently Domina had claimed a workspace for herself at the bottom of this passage years ago. She had been largely absent for the past few days, working on some super important project for the next step in Lord Black’s plan. All this was perfectly clear to Rondo. What he was less clear on was why he was joining them for today’s session instead of Umbra or Shade. His curiosity warred with his
fear of annoying Lord Black until they reached the bottom of the stair where a closed, iron-banded door waited.

  “I’m not sure what I can do to help, my lord,” Rondo said. “Alchemy isn’t my specialty. In fact, I know next to nothing about the subject.”

  “Your meager knowledge is neither needed, nor wanted.” Lord Black reached for the door. “We need your blood.”

  Rondo nearly choked. His blood? Hopefully not all of it. He looked back at the now totally dark staircase. Running wouldn’t do any good. He wouldn’t make it five steps. If Lord Black wanted him dead, he was dead. Better to face it like a loyal member of the cadre.

  He turned back to find Lord Black moving quickly deeper into the lab. Rondo grimaced and hurried after him. The space was perhaps twenty by twenty and most of it was packed with tables covered with beakers, test tubes, little flame things, and more that he’d never dreamed of in his wildest nightmares. Rondo occasionally caught a glimpse of someone, Domina he assumed, moving behind the furthest table. The setup reminded him unpleasantly of the lab where they found the dragon hybrids.

  Lord Black turned to him with the barest hint of a smile. “Accepted your fate? Good. I feared I’d have to drag you back. Domina assured me you’d cry like a baby. Even wagered a bottle of imperial-vintage wine. Don’t worry, we only need a few drops to catalyze the magic.”

  Rondo blew out a sigh. “Why my blood? Couldn’t Domina use her own?”

  “She did. She also used mine, Shade’s, and Jax’s. Every portion of the wakening process requires blood from a different source. Yours, we hope, will be the final step.”

  “You hope?”

  Domina stepped out from behind her screen of bubbling beakers. “Yes, we hope. Waking a dormant imperial artifact isn’t a simple process, at least it isn’t simple for us given our limited knowledge of the process. I just hope your gutter blood is good enough. Though if Shade’s was, surely yours will suffice as well.”

  She grabbed his right wrist and dragged him around to the far side of the table. In the center sat a bowl made of green stone – jade was his guess – filled with a steaming liquid so dark he couldn’t see past the surface. Domina snatched up a curved silver dagger, held his hand over the bowl, and flicked the edge across his thumb. So sharp was the blade that Rondo didn’t even feel it cut.