The Lord Son's Travels (43 page)

“Leave
her!” Adrien hissed.
 
He hefted up
the blade again, as his guards moved in closer.
 
“She’s mine.”

The
leader laughed good-naturedly, sure in his people's advantage in any resulting
fight.
 
“You’ve had first taste
then, eh?
 
How is she?”

Adrien
hoped his tutor had taught him the truth and not just hopeful rumor.
 
“We’re wed.
 
You’ll not touch a married woman.”
 

To
his relief, the bandit paused.
 
“Where are your marriage cloths?”

“We’ve
not made them yet,” Adrien lied quickly.
 
“We’re not yet spoken by a Student.
 
That is why we ride this Lady-damned road.”

The
bandit turned back to Elenna.
 
“You're sure you want to keep that oath?
 
I can offer you something much grander if you know what I
mean.”
 
His lecherous grin sickened
Elenna.
 
“I don’t know,” the old
man mused out loud.
 
He stuck a
finger inside the waistband of her britches.
 
“This is a tasty piece to pass by.”

“You
don’t touch her again!” Adrien in a rage had now burst past his escorts to aim
his sword directly at the crotch of the old man’s britches.
 
The other traders flanked him in a
tight formation, ready to strike at their leader's command.
 

One
glance at his impassioned expression and the leader relented.
 
He motioned for his men to release
Elenna.
 
She glared at him as she
twisted out of their grips to return to Brendan's side.
 
The old man grinned at her in
reply.
 
“Remember what you could
have had every time you lay with him in disappointment.”
 

Adrien
had not removed the blade.
 
“Your
word the wounded man comes with us.”

“Aye,”
the bandit agreed immediately.
 
“If
I leave the body here he’ll scare off
 
travelers and our profits.”
 
Several of his men roughly lifted up Brendan into a wagon that had
arrived after the first wave of traders approached.
 
He had at some point dropped into unconsciousness.
 
Elenna kept close to Adrien, willing
herself not to think about the previous confrontation and start
shuddering.
 
Their hands were
roughly tied behind their backs as the rest of their belongings were packed up
and tossed into the wagon next to Brendan.
 
Finally the leader ordered them to march behind the wagon,
with a number of traders riding behind them and to their sides to discourage
any thoughts of escape.
 

They
kept to the road for some time, heading back in the direction they had come
from, until some landmark appeared that signaled it was time to turn from the
road off into the desert to the north.
 
After several hours of relentless marching in the heat without any
pauses for rest or drinks, they arrived at a small compound of building
surrounded by high sturdy fences.
 
At the camp they were locked into a corral-like area with other
despondent captives.
 
Brendan was
carried in and dropped carelessly on a wooden table in a lean-to structure in a
corner.
 
Adrien and Elenna huddled
around him.

“This
wounds is too deep!” Adrien muttered in despair when he had unwound the soaked
cloth for examination.
 
“I will
have to stitch this closed or it will not heal."
 
Part of the training in the Allé-dônian army was field
medical care.
 
He had not practiced
for a long time, but he remembered the procedure.
 
Adrien removed his right boot to search the small pocket in
the side.
 
He smiled slightly when
he removed a needle with thick black thread.
 
The blue-tree oil, the best salve to help heal wounds, was
unfortunately gone.
 
He had given
his remaining supply to Elenna to carry, who had stored it in the safety of her
backpack.
 
In this place, he
doubted that they could even acquire water and soap to clean his injury and
prevent infection.
  
He asked
Elenna to search their facility and see what supplies she could acquire.

The
rest of the captives slowly began to approach them when they realized what was
happening.
 
Some of the more recent
arrivals offered words of pity.
 
Someone brought an old horse blanket still smelling strongly of its
previous owner.
 
Brendan had
started shivering violently as the loss of blood brought him closer to
shock.
 
Elenna worked through the
crowds asking for cloth to make bandages.
 
Returning to the table with a few dirty scraps, she watched as Adrien
made careful stitches to close the cuts.
 
Thankfully Brendan stayed unconscious throughout the process.
 

“What
about alcohol?” Elenna suggested.
 
“To clean the cuts?”
 
Adrien
agreed, if they could find a supply.
 
He left her to guard their patient as he went to arrange a deal with the
guard.
 
Luckily, the brigands had
never thought to search him on the off-chance of his carrying gold.
 
He offered some of his supply to a
guard in exchange for a splash of what Adrien suspected was homemade
liquor.
 
He hoped it would do the job
as he poured it over
 
the
wound.
 
When the other inmates saw
the alcohol and realized the value of the trade, the pitiful looks turned to
more like crafty greediness.
 
Adrien sighed, knowing they would now find no allies within the pen.

“We
must talk,” he said to his companion.
 
They tried to create a workable escape plan, but none of their ideas
would work when their injured comrade was included and neither allowed the
notion of leaving Brendan behind.
 
Finally they concluded they would wait until the next day and see how he
had recovered.
 
Until then, they
decided to bide their time and save their strength.
 
One of the guards had openly posted himself near the table
and was now attempting to listen in, so they abandoned their discussion and
took turns watching over Brendan and resting.

 
When night fell and their dinner of
moldy bread and warm water was served, Brendan came to for a moment, moaned in
pain, then fell back unconscious.
 
Adrien ordered Elenna to sleep for the remainder of the night, as he sat
guard over both of his companions.
 
Towards the first glow of morning, Brendan woke again, complaining of
thirst and tiredness.
 
Adrien had
saved his cupful of water in the hopes Brendan would soon want it; he helped
his friend raise his head enough to take slow sips, while telling him a short and
optimistic version of their arrival at the camp.
 

The
next morning, the lead trader appeared at the gate of the corral and announced
gleefully that it was time for his merchandise to go to market.
 
The captives were herded into a series
of wagons, each pulled by a set of tired old horses.
 
Adrien and Elenna carried their wounded friend between them
when it came down between that or having to leave him behind.
 
Packed in like cattle on the way to
market, they rode in the wagons through the desert for most of the day, baking
in the sun without food or water, arriving in a small quiet town only a few
hours before sunset.
 
Brendan dozed
off early in the journey and awoke again late in the afternoon; coherent enough
now to understand what was happening.
 
He clutched his arm and pretended that he was feeling much better.

The
people of the town turned out in droves to watch the arrival of the new slaves
at the market.
 
Elenna's presence
caught the attention of the crowd.
 
A few men pointed and made obscene gestures for the entertainment of the
audience.
 
Adrien glared at the few
who approached the wagon to study her more closely.
 
The wagons stopped in what must have been the town
square.
 
The captives on their
wagon were all tied together with one long rope and led through the center of
the crowds to where a rough stage had been erected.
 
Brendan kept to his feet the best he could.
 
He didn’t know what happened to slaves
who were rejected at the sale, and he didn’t want to find out.
 
Adrien whispered a warning in Elenna’s
ear, and kept his hand on her arm or shoulder at all times.
 
The catcalls as she climbed on to the
stage were nearly deafening.
 

“Aye,
good folks!” the leader took the stage in a leap and a bound.
 
The crowd roared.
 
“Aye, you see what fine merchandise we
have today!”
 
He paused, with a devilish
glint in his eye.
 
“I think I know
what’s caught your interest!
 
But
we shall start at the lower end.”
 
One by one the captives were bid on and sold.
 
The newly made slaves stayed impassive, accepting their
fates with no argument.
 
They
stepped forth to the front of the stage when asked for, and meekly followed
their new owners when the bidding ended.
 

Brendan
was first of their group.
 
He
raised his head high against the torrents of insults against his obviously lame
condition.
 
Finally he had one bid
from an earnest young man in the front, who had made an offer for all the
previous slaves and been outbid.
 
Brendan paused as he was ordered down from the stage and turned to his
friend expectantly.

“Too
many,” Adrien mouthed.
 
Brendan
shook his head, knowing his own uselessness in battle, and followed the young
man through the crowd and disappeared.
 
This left Elenna and Adrien alone on the stage.
 

“Aye,
this is what ye waited for!” the leader called out to the cheering group.
 
Many of the men were already waving
fistfuls of coins and shouting bids.
 
The leader shook his head.
 
“I must disappoint ye.
 
This
fine young piece has taken that man as her husband.”
 
The disappointed crowd booed as Adrien was pulled
forward.
 
“I know what ye mean,”
the leaded nodded sadly.
 
“’Haps
you can use a work man too?
 
One
staying in the fields all day and night?” the crowd laughed at his
meaning.
 
“How much for the
blissful couple?”

No
one made an offer.
 
“You disappoint
me!” the leader harangued the audience.
 
“She has more than one use, I’d wager.
 
And he is a fine strong one, tis true.”
 
One older man stepped forth and made a
low offer.
 
This broke the
logjam.
 
Others stepped in, and a
bidding war ensued.
 
Finally the
old man dropped out, and a big burly farmer was about to seal the deal when a
well-dressed man stepped forward.
 
His offer was twice the last one.
 
No one spoke.
 
The abrupt silence
lay heavy on the crowds, but it did not affect the auctioneer.
 
He declared the bid accepted.
 
Money exchanged hands, and the man
motioned for Elenna and Adrien to follow him through the crowds to his
wagon.
 

He
pointed to the back of the freshly painted wagon, already half-full with bags
of flour and other household goods.
 
They climbed up, helping each other the best they could with their hands
tied behind their backs.
 
The
well-dressed man climbed up to the drivers seat and muttered a command to the
horses.
 
Adrien studied the scenery
as they left the bustle of town and followed a narrow road back into the
desert.
 
As far as he could tell
they were far north of the camp they had left that morning.
 
He turned to his companion, who from
her intensive study of their conveyance was plotting a method of escape.
 
He nudged her and shook his head
slightly.
 
Both were armed and
could conceivably escape their middle-aged, pudgy driver, but they would never
be able to find Brendan, much less escape with the seriously injured man.
 
Wherever they were going, they were
going to have to bide their time there.

Sunset
was approaching quickly.
 
Adrien
noted a series of lights growing closer, which hopefully signaled their
destination.
 
As they approached up
the long main drive, he realized their new home was a large wooden house.
 
Not grand enough for a seat for a Lord,
but still impressive.
 
The
construction was recent; built from wood that must have been brought a long
distance at great expense.
 
Several
buildings surrounded the main house: a cookhouse, a large barn surrounded by
cattle in grazing fields, and at a distance another medium-sized building which
probably housed most of the slaves.
 
This view relieved some of his anxiety.
 
At least it appeared they hadn’t been bought for field
hands, he shrugged mentally.
 
Allé-dôn had never allowed slavery, but several of their neighboring
kingdoms condoned the practice so he was aware of the societal layers of slave
work.
 
He glanced again at Elenna,
barely visible in the starlight of the darkening evening.
 
As a ‘married’ woman, she was exempt
from the most degrading of potential duties, and he was glad he could spare her
that.
 
They would also be kept
together, so he wouldn’t have to worry about separation from both of his
companions.
 
He could only hope that
Brendan was getting some kind of care for his injury, if only as a way to
increase his value to his new owner.