The Slave War: The Dragonspire Chronicles Book 4 Read online

  A crimson drop appeared to prove she had. When ten drops had fallen, she shoved him aside and added a pinch of glittery powder. The liquid roiled and churned.

  Rondo leapt back, so quickly he hit Lord Black’s chest. He scrambled aside, but the most high was focused on the bubbling bowl. Rondo sucked his bloody thumb as the steam intensified, nearly filling the air of the lab.

  When it cleared, the bowl was dry. Sitting in the bottom was a gold circlet engraved with runes. All but one of the runes glowed with a cold, blue light.

  “It didn’t work,” Lord Black said.

  “No.” Domina glared at Rondo like it was his fault. “We’re going to have to use it.”

  “You said there was a risk of the circlet shattering if we attempted to use the dragon blood in the awakening ritual.”

  “There is, but I’ve tried everything else. Frankly, Leonidas, this is our last option. The dragon blood will either awaken the artifact or destroy it.”

  “Without that artifact my plans come to nothing,” Lord Black said with as much emotion as Rondo had ever heard.

  “I know,” Domina said. “But if we can’t wake it, the artifact is every bit as useless as it will be broken.”

  Lord Black rubbed his hand across his face. “Do it.”

  Rondo looked from one to the other, unsure of what he should be doing. Both Lord Black and Domina seemed to have forgotten he was there.

  Somehow that didn’t bother him as much as it should have.

  Chapter 5

  Moz yawned as he rode. He had turned off the main trade road and onto an old cart path that led through the prairie and away from the forest. Much as Moz liked the woods, there were simply too many places for the assassin to hide. In the open at least he’d have a chance to see his enemy coming.

  A second yawn popped his jaw. Moz hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night. After he made camp, the assassin’s presence had remained right at the edge of his awareness. The bastard made no move to attack, instead staying just close enough to be an irritant. Perhaps whoever he was wanted to wear Moz down before making a second run at him.

  If that was the plan, it was working. Moz wasn’t as young as he used to be and missing a full night’s sleep took more of a toll. Out on the open road in broad daylight, the assassin had fallen away enough that Moz couldn’t feel his lethal intent. Not that he doubted the assassin remained somewhere behind him. The only question was when they would come to blows again.

  Moz had an idea about that. There was an old way station from the war that had been abandoned when peace was declared. The building was little more than a single-story, two-room warehouse. There was only one entrance. A few traps and tripwires would ensure no one approached him unnoticed.

  Most importantly, the warehouse was in the middle of nowhere, so no one would be at risk. Whatever else he did, Moz had no intention of approaching civilization again until he’d dealt with his shadow. No more innocent people would die, not if he could help it.

  Moz’s eyes were drooping badly when he finally spotted the station. It looked just as he remembered. Ugly, squatty, and covered with moss. It sat about ten yards off the path. No fresh tracks led up to the door. As he’d hoped, the place remained abandoned. The single entrance was a wide set of double doors big enough to accommodate a wagon. They hung slightly askew, but still appeared solid.

  He glanced at the shadows. About an hour and a half remained until dark. He needed to work fast if he wanted his surprises ready before the sun set.

  His horse shied as they approached the doors. Considering the reek coming out of the building, he didn’t blame her. He dismounted and patted the horse’s neck. “Easy, girl. Nothing in there’s going to hurt you.”

  Moz held his breath and pulled the doors open. The main storage area was devoid of supplies but did have a half-rotten corpse lying in the center of the loading area. That explained the smell at least. Probably a squatter looking for a dry place to spend the night. Sharing the building with the body wasn’t going to make his evening any nicer. Best to get it out of there and air the place out while he worked.

  Grimacing, Moz took a length of rope from his saddlebag, tied it to the corpse’s leg, and dragged it fifty yards away before cutting off a foot of corpse-slime-covered rope. The rest of his job couldn’t be any nastier than that, hopefully.

  With the body gone, his horse entered without trouble. He tied her up and set to exploring. It didn’t take long to check the entire building. The main area was now empty and a small side room that would have served as the overseer’s office when the station was still operating held a partially collapsed desk and a chair that had its stuffing torn out for rats’ nests. At least the door to the office was solid and that was all that mattered.

  Satisfied with his look around, Moz unsaddled his horse and set her free outside the warehouse. He couldn’t fight with his mount in the way after all and if she ran off, a sharp whistle would bring her running in the morning. If he lost his fight, at least his horse would have a chance of surviving.

  While he still had light, Moz set half a dozen tripwires around the main room, and a falling-blade trap inside the office door along with a wire noose. None of them was apt to kill or even maim the assassin; what he’d seen indicated the man or woman – he hated not knowing which he faced – was extremely skilled. No, Moz only wanted to use his traps to slow the assassin and alert him when he or she arrived. In a straight fight, he was confident he could take out the enemy.

  With his preparations made, Moz settled in the office and ate a dry, bland supper of jerky and bread with raisins for dessert. He sighed and washed it all down with a long swallow of water. Though he had plenty of experience roughing it, Moz would have preferred to spend the night at an inn with hot, fresh food and a mug of ale. He was too damned old to be camping out every night in the woods or ruins.

  Oh, well. You seldom got what you really wanted in life. He spread out his bedroll, drew his blades, and lay down in his armor. Maybe he could get a little nap before the assassin made his move.

  Moz’s rest was undisturbed and he didn’t wake until the sun had risen and sent light creeping under the office door. He stood and stretched. Now that Moz was on to him, it appeared the assassin was reluctant to make a move. Pity, now he had to decide whether to wait him out or move on and see what happened tomorrow night when he might not have walls to shelter behind. It was like suffering through a one-man siege.

  Sitting still wasn’t Moz’s specialty. He’d ride out and see what happened. As long as he stuck to the open fields, there was no way the assassin could strike out of nowhere. The problems would begin at sunset.

  After a quick breakfast that was basically a rerun of supper, Moz shoved the warehouse doors open. In the bright glare of the sun he found his horse dead in a half-dry pool of its own blood.

  “Son of a bitch!” That horse had never hurt anyone.

  And now Moz was on foot. He was starting to thoroughly hate this assassin. The ground around the horse’s corpse gave away little. A few scuff marks might have been tracks, but they vanished a few feet from the horse. It was like he was dealing with a ghost.

  Moz frowned. A ghost. He had yet to actually see the assassin in the daylight. Even when Moz felt his presence in the forest, he hadn’t seen anything. Was it possible this assassin could only act during the night?

  From everything Moz had observed, that made the most sense. That black cloak was probably magic of some sort. That would explain how the assassin killed all those soldiers without raising an alarm.

  Figures it would be magic, especially if he was working for the Dark Sages. They seemed to have a ton of the stuff at their disposal. Well, Moz had friends with magic as well. From now on he’d travel at night and sleep during the day. Whatever power the assassin had, he doubted anyone could defeat all the bards at the college.

  Chapter 6

  The night was pitch black, the moon hidden behind a thick bank of clouds. Yaz, his companions,
and over a hundred freed slaves were gathered in a now much larger clearing where a trio of fires burned. Only fifteen of those ex-slaves were from his village. They were gathered together around one fire, while everyone else mingled around the other two. Despite his successes, Yaz felt matters were spiraling out of control. While the villagers looked to him for leadership, Sandul had taken command of everyone else.

  The scarred slave had fought in the Carttoom army before a disagreement with a superior officer got him shackled and sold. He harbored a bitter hatred for his homeland, and spending ten years as a slave had done nothing to improve his feelings. He found an eager group of followers in those they rescued. They were all keen for revenge. At small, isolated farms they enjoyed considerable success, adding to their numbers and killing their former masters – sometimes the whole family, sometimes just the adults when Yaz was able to convince them to be merciful. He didn’t succeed as often as he would’ve liked. Despite that, it was only a matter of time before a real band of soldiers arrived. And when that happened, slaves armed with stolen weapons wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Since they had rescued all the villagers within a hundred miles, Yaz was eager to get them across the border and move on. On the other hand Sandul and the other slaves were determined to rescue every slave being held captive in Carttoom. Yaz shared their sentiment, but it was a fool’s errand. Even rescuing everyone from Dragonspire Village would be a tall task. Anything more was hopeless.

  “Young lord?” said one of the villagers Yaz had left in charge of the clearing, a man named Carlen.

  “Yes?”

  “What are we going to do about…” Carlen nodded toward the other slaves, who were getting riled up by Sandul.

  “Nothing. They’re free men now. It’s not our place to tell them what they should or shouldn’t do. I’ve extended Rend’s offer to every slave we’ve freed. Anyone that wants to join us when we cross tomorrow is welcome. The rest will have to do as they think best.”

  When Yaz looked around at the gathered villagers, more than a few refused to meet his gaze.

  “Is there something else?” he asked.

  “Some of us have been talking,” Carlen said. “We were thinking maybe we should help the others. Having been slaves ourselves, it doesn’t seem right, letting others stay in chains.”

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  Yaz flicked a glance at Brigid and Silas, but they both shrugged as if to say he was the boss, so he needed to sort it out himself. Or maybe Yaz was projecting his thoughts onto his friends.

  “I understand your anger,” Yaz began. “I feel for everyone still held in bondage. My feelings don’t change the fact that my first responsibility is to the people of our village. If we end up getting killed in a meaningless fight, who will free them? My parents are still out there, so are Brigid’s. That is my priority. I’m not your chief. Any who want to follow me will be a great help, but if you wish to join Sandul in his rebellion, I won’t stop you.”

  Yaz stood and beckoned to Brigid and Silas. “We’ll take a little walk and let you talk amongst yourselves. Whatever you decide, there will be no hard feelings.”

  When they’d moved out of earshot Brigid said, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave it up to them? Plenty are angry enough to join Sandul even if it means getting themselves killed.”

  “I didn’t free them just to take their choices away,” Yaz said.

  “Where is the next group of villagers?” Silas asked.

  “These were the closest to the border. We need to move deeper into Carttoom to reach the rest. Even worse, they’re way more scattered. One here, one there. On the plus side, the farms should be smaller which means fewer guards.”

  “Which means less chance of someone getting hurt,” Brigid said.

  “At the very least, less chance of one of us or one of the villagers getting hurt. The slave owners, on the other hand, I make no promises about. Anyway, I hope at least a few of them will hang around to watch over a camp for us.”

  “Young lord,” Carlin said. “We have finished our discussion.”

  Yaz returned to the group. “And your decision?”

  “We will stay with you to help our fellows. But, none of us wish to go to Rend until everyone is free.”

  Yaz considered a moment. Sneaking around with such a big group was going to be much harder than just him, Silas, and Brigid. At least the group didn’t include any children, though one girl didn’t look much over fourteen. He would have preferred to send her and a handful of other teens across the border, but they were separated from their parents and he could understand why they didn’t want to go.

  “Very well,” Yaz said. “However, if you come with me, you need to follow my orders. That’s nonnegotiable. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Carlin said.

  They shook on it and Yaz immediately began trying to think how he was going to move such a large group across the country without drawing unwanted attention. Hopefully, an answer would come to him by morning.

  Yaz woke up just as the first rays of the sun appeared. The camp was already busy, mostly on Sandul’s side. On his side only two women had gotten up. They were busy getting a fire going and fixing a pot of porridge that had become their default breakfast. The dried fruit sprinkled on top helped, but it was still an awfully bland way to start the day. At least there was enough for everyone.

  He took a step their way to lend a hand but was quickly waved off. Maybe they thought he couldn’t cook, or they just didn’t need help. Either way he was content to let them work in peace. Across the camp he spotted Sandul talking with a pair of burly men that had taken on the roles of his lieutenants. Both of them were angry and aggressive and Yaz preferred to avoid them as much as possible. Still, he wanted to have one last talk with Sandul before his group set out.

  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Yaz crossed the camp. Sandul noticed him coming and sent his companions away so they could talk alone.

  “Morning,” Yaz said. “Everyone seems to be doing well.”

  “We are. As soon as everyone eats, we’re going to hit three farms today. Will you be joining us?”

  “No. My group will be moving northwest. There are some small farms where our people have been taken. If we want to free everyone from Dragonsipre Village, we can’t stay here any longer. I wanted to offer one last time to lead you across the border. Much as I respect what you’re trying to do, Carttoom is too big to free all the slaves.”

  “I know,” Sandul said. “We all know. The point isn’t to free them all. The point is to make the slaveowners pay. If we hurt them badly enough, maybe they’ll think twice about their practices.”

  Yaz nodded, not terribly surprised by his response. “Fair enough. You’ve got the map I made of the border crossings, right? You can always change your mind.”

  Sandul smiled a fraction. “You are a good man, Yazgrim Yeager. If we don’t see each other again in this life, I hope we meet again in the next.”

  “Likewise.” They shook and Yaz returned to his companions. The smell of porridge was bringing everyone around. Soon enough it would be time to move out.

  An hour later they were on the road. Yaz, Silas, and Brigid walked at the front of a ragged line of men and women that had survived the slave raids. At least that was the story they planned to tell anyone that asked. Allen had laughed out loud when Yaz explained their cover story. It was true, more or less. It even explained why everyone carried a weapon.

  “Do you really think this is going to work?” Brigid asked.

  “Assuming we’re questioned, there’s no reason for anyone to doubt our story. No one survived that might identify us. The authorities aren’t what concern me now. I’m worried about keeping everyone fed. Our share of the food from the last raid won’t last a week and we don’t have enough money to buy supplies. This is why I didn’t want to bring everyone.”

  Brigid looked back over her shoulder. “If we hadn’t brought them, they’d have gone with
Sandul and probably gotten themselves killed.”

  “Yeah, that’s about the size of it. You know the old saying, ‘Men plan and the gods laugh.’ I wonder if this was what it was like for Dad running the village, just lurching from one problem to the next?”

  Brigid squeezed his arm. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great.”

  “It’s worth a lot. Thanks.”

  Chapter 7

  After two days of preparations, Leonidas was once again standing in Domina’s workshop beside a steaming cauldron. It was just the two of them today. Shade and the others had returned to the capital ruins to prepare the ships. Assuming this last-ditch effort succeeded, he wanted to be airborne as soon as possible. If the ranger warned the target that he was coming by flying ship, it would make grabbing the girl much harder than it had to be.

  Domina sniffed the steam and nodded in seeming satisfaction. “It’s ready for the dragon’s blood.”

  She looked at him with her wide, mad eyes. This was it. Success or failure after decades of planning came down to this moment and ten drops of dragon blood. It was nearly more than he could stand. To fail after coming so close might break him.

  Leonidas took a deep breath and steadied himself. He refused to accept the possibility of failure. If the circlet shattered, he’d find another way to control the dragon singer.

  “Do it.”

  Domina grinned and picked up a vial filled with crimson liquid. Like she was handling the most toxic of poisons, she added ten drops to the cauldron.