Bardess of Rhulon Page 6

  Rose’s mind worked furiously. Snatches of their conversation offered fragments about what her fate held. Crossing the border? Head east? But to where?

  Rebec jumped down from the wagon. “Lock the dwarf up with the others. She’ll sell fast. Not many Rhulon women in the whore trade. If she’s virgin, that can triple her price.”

  Albin opened the back of the wagon and pulled her out, feet first. He dropped her on the muddy ground. He looked down on her and said, “Never had a dwarf girl before.” He scratched his scalp and cocked his head. “She’s a pretty one. Ripe as a plump peach, she is. She could be a virgin. Never had one of them before neither.”

  “Keep your lust tucked in or I’ll slice it off,” Rebec warned. “She’ll bring a higher price if she ain’t split between her little legs.”

  “How can they tell if they’ve been split?” Albin pondered, scratching his head again.

  She shuddered at that question. She did not want to know and blocked further thought about it by wondering if Albin’s scalp itch was a nasty habit or lice infestation.

  “Just do as I say,” Rebec ordered and stomped away.

  Albin lifted her easily with one hand and carried her into the cave. Inside the cave’s mouth, there was a cooking area where a fat man squatted, stirring a large iron pot over a low fire. Rose smelled the thick slabs of bacon that sizzled in an iron skillet and spied thick loaves of round bread and yellow cheese laid out on a cloth.

  “Hey, Borlon, I’m hungry. When’s supper ready?” Albin asked in passing.

  “It’s coming,” Borlon shouted back. His frayed clothes were patched and he carried more than a spoon, eyeing the dagger in his belt. Tatters of crumbs and twigs clung to his frizzy black beard like an old nest. She wondered if those ended up in the cooking pan. What Borlon stirred in that pot had an odd pungent spell, but hunger trumped taste. She might just eat anything, including that mystery stew! Albin shifted her in his arm like a sack of potatoes. The cave was even bigger as they moved deeper inside, the darkness lifted by rows of torches on the walls. They moved into a vast chamber where several rough looking men milled about. The homey scent of bacon was vanquished by the foul odors of human waste and unwashed bodies.

  Albin dumped her on the ground and snatched a ring of keys off the wall. Women were confined in tall metal cages. She did not see any male captives, so their trade must be women only.

  Albin unlocked the nearest cage and bellowed, “Stay back wenches.”

  The women remained huddled together at the back of the cold jail, defeated and mute. He cut her ropes and removed her gag. Her relief diminished when he pressed the tip of the knife against her cheek. “You behave, tiny woman,” he threatened, “or I’ll cut your pretty face.” He roughly shoved Rose inside and slammed the door, locking it with a quick turn of the key.

  She landed face down in the dirt. This final act of humiliation, along with the long hours of being bound up and terrified fractured her temper.

  “Wicked Scum! Goblins have better manners! A scourge on your lice-ridden head! May the gods shrivel your balls into dried-up walnuts!” she muttered violently in Rhulonese, pushing herself off the dank ground.

  “What’d the hell you say?” Albin asked, squinting down at her.

  Rose looked up at him squarely. “I merely extolled your refined charms, Albin,” she replied coolly.

  He grunted, confused by her smooth reply. “Well, keep yapping in gibberish, tiny woman, and I’ll gag you again!” Albin threatened. He walked away, scratching his scalp vigorously.

  “The smell is doing that already!” Rose choked, covering her mouth with her hand. The source of the wretched smell was a small wooden bucket in the back corner of the cageand that was overflowing with filth. Obviously, it was the only place for the poor women to relieve themselves. These brutes did not intend on letting anyone out of their prisons for any reason.

  Several women were clustered together in the cage. They stared dully at Rose. Rose studied the large cavern. Torchlight enabled Rose to see coarse, mean looking men in shabby armor carrying swords or spears. The cave itself was enormous and she noticed paths leading upward to caves and tunnels. From where she sat, she counted several sturdy cages all crammed with women just like this one. The stink was so horrible she thought not think. Rose held her arm up to her face, but it did little good.

  “Your nose will go numb soon enough,” a deep, feminine voice commented.

  “I doubt that,” Rose choked.

  A tall redhead stood up from the pitiful group. Though her clothes were stained and torn like the rest of the women, she possessed a regal air this dreadful jail could not sully. The woman lifted her skirt, ripped a thick strip from the hem of her petticoat and handed it to her. “Here child, it’s not much, but it does help until you get used to it. Tie it around your face to block the smell.”

  “Thank you,” Rose replied, accepting the cloth.

  The stranger was kind to her, even in this grimy place where cruelty reigned. In fact, this was the first kindness she received since entering Tirangel.

  The woman moved closer and squatted down to eye level with Rose. “My name’s Meg,” she offered.

  “I’m Rose.”

  “You have an interesting accent. You’ve got quite a temper too. I can relate to that. At first I thought you were a child, but upon closer view, I see you’re a young woman. Are you from Rhulon?”

  “Yes, I just crossed the border today. Sadly, the first men I met were these highwaymen.”

  “The roads are dangerous. You should never talk to strangers.”

  “I didn’t!” Rose replied sharply. “I even hid from them off the road and thought they had long passed me by, but they found me anyway.” She instantly regretted her anger. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I should not unleash my temper on a fellow prisoner. Especially one who has been so thoughtful.”

  “It’s all right. You’ve had a tough day. You look rather young to be traveling alone on such a long trip.”

  “I’m eighteenwell I’ll be eighteen in a few months. I’m quite able to take care of myself, though current circumstances may not accurately represent that fact,” she added dryly. “How’d they capture you?”

  “Me? I live on a dairy farm near a small village outside of the city. I was walking home from the market and they ambushed me on the path. They hit me over the head and I woke up here two days ago.”

  “That’s terrible. I overheard them talking when I got here. They’re leaving tomorrow. If we don’t escape before that, our fate is to be sold to slavers when they cross the border.” Rose dropped her head to her knees and whispered in a shaky voice, “I’m just so damned scared.”

  Meg knelt down next to her. “You hid it well from that idiot, Albin.”

  “My bravado is a hollow defense, I’m afraid.”

  Meg grinned and stoked her head gently. “What did you really say to him?”

  Rose whispered it to her and Meg burst out laughing. “It’s best that you lied to him. Albin is stupid, but he has a violent streak.”

  “Thanks,” Rose remarked. “He didn’t actually believe me when I said I extolled his charms, did he?”

  Meg shrugged and settled next to Rose, crossing her legs. “With that moron, it’s possible. Why were you traveling alone?”

  “I wanted to come to Tirangel to be a bard. White Thorn has an academy. I planned to work and save money.”

  “What about the academies in Rhulon?”

  “They don’t accept girls. My choices of a vocation back home were limited. In the end, it was either run away or succumb to marriage.”

  “Arranged?”

  Rose hugged her knees closer to her. “Yes, in the worst way possibleby my mother. His name was Simon Split-Oak.”

  “Was Simon at least handsome?”

  Rose laughed. “He always smelled of soot and onions.”

  “Best to run then,” Meg replied, smiling lightly.

  “Simon was
n’t horrible. He just wasn’t for me. We had nothing in common. I don’t think I’m made for marriage, so I decided to follow my dreams and become a bard.”

  “You couldn’t do that in Rhulon?”

  Rose shook her head. “In Rhulon, things are very traditional when it comes to girls. I was going to leave the proper way when I came of age. I wasn’t of legal age yet in Rhulon, so even if someone wanted to give me work, they couldn’t without my parent’s permission.” Rose turned her face away, unwelcome tears of frustration brimming. “I’m not like other girls. I was terrible at all the girly things, like cooking and sewing. I was the opposite of what my mother wanted in a daughter. I was her bane and she mine. My mother arranged the marriage bond with Simon and I had only a week to plan. I had no one on my side but Belenus, but he had no legal rights to speak for me.”

  But my father did, Rose thought sadly. He abandoned me to mother’s machinations. How could he allow something so wrong and think it was for my own good? I always thought papa would stand up for me, but he did not speak for me. That hurt more than anything.

  “I understand. Being different is something of a curse,” Meg answered softly, eyes somber.

  “It’s a curse,” Rose agreed, “that’s gotten me into loads of trouble. They locked me in my room until I agreed to marry Simon. That was the only time I ever lied to my parents. As my matrimonial fate loomed I plotted my escape. I thought it was destiny too, because the night I ran away, Belenus, my Bard Master, left me his favorite lute. It was a symbol of his faith in me and it’s gone now. Albin tossed it away when they kidnapped me on the road. Now I have nothing. Well, that’s my story. I must sound silly.”

  “No, you’re not silly. Sometimes flight is the only path to take,” Meg whispered.

  Rose did not know why she confided her heart’s secrets to this stranger. For some reason, she trusted her. Meg shared her cloak with her to ward off the chill and for the first time since she saw those dreadful men on the road, she was not afraid.

  “Hungry?” Meg asked.

  “I was, but this smell killed my appetite.”

  “Just as well. I doubt they’ll feed us,” Meg whispered. “Even if they do, it might be drugged. So take care.”

  A thickly-muscled man with a flat nose and a bald head covered with intricate blue tattoos strolled toward her cage. Shirtless, his tattered black leather vest and his muscular arms encased in brass armbands strained against his girth. Rose noticed his left eye was swollen and bruised. He carried a water bucket and a tin cup with a long warped handle.

  “Come and get it, ladies! Jardo has a treat for you. Nice clean water,” he called, stirring the dipper in the bucket.

  The frightened women were desperate for any sustenance and rushed to the front of the cage. Rose would have been knocked aside if it were not for Meg, who remained steadfast by her side in the chaos, her strong, gloved hand a firm comfort on her shoulder.

  The women desperately crowded together and gulped water until he kicked the cage and growled, “Get back now! One at a time, else sweet ole Jardo will get mad!” He allowed each woman a quick drink and then barked at them to move back. When Meg took her turn he jerked the dipper away. “No water for you! You’re too much trouble, Red.”

  Meg kicked at the bars and sneered, “What’s the matter? Still smarting over that black eye, Jardo?”

  He thrust his hand through the bars and grabbed Meg by her bodice and pulled her roughly against the cage. “You’ll suffer more than that before we leave, whore!”

  Meg jerked away and spit at him. “You don’t scare me, baldy!”

  “Bah!” he roared and stomped away. “You’re not worth a piss!”

  Meg glanced down at Rose. She then kicked at her cage. “Hey Jardo! Come back! The little dwarf girl needs some water. Have a heart! It’s her first night in hell.”

  Rose held her breath and waited tensely, parched for water despite the foul smell around her.

  He glanced at Rose and grunted. He marched back and quickly shoved the dipper through the cage bars and ordered. “Hurry up and drink!”

  She barely swallowed before Jardo jerked back the reviving cool water and stomped away to another cage.

  Rebec strolled by, swilling from a brown jug. She doubted it was anything wholesome.

  “Jardo, how are the sluts?” Rebec asked.

  “Scared and witless, just the way you like’em.”

  “Good. We’ll fetch a nice fat purse off these sluts this go round.”

  He strutted away like a ridiculous rooster. She had known this wretched man for less than an hour and she loathed him with every pulse of her body. This time, she began to imagine a combination of drooling ogres and goblins falling upon Rebec. His end was not pretty.

  Borlon carried in a bucket that sloshed with something that vaguely looked like soup. He filled small tin cups with the gruel and handed them out to the women.

  “There now, sluts,” Rebec announced loudly, strutting around the cavern. “Remember I offered you all this fine meal before your journey to a new life better suited to your talents. Rebec takes good care of his property.”

  Frantic women rushed to snatch the tiny cups of thin soup. Rose and Meg each grabbed a small cup. Rose held the cup to her mouth, but hesitated. It smelled like the strange concoction Borlon was stirring. Meg’s gloved hand covered the cup and shook her head.

  “Ladies, stop!” Meg hissed. “Don’t eat this swill. I think it’s drugged.”

  But the famished women had gulped down the soup, oblivious to reason. Only Meg and Rose did not drink the soup. Meg dumped hers in the bucket when the men were not looking and Rose followed her example.

  “Why do they need to drug us?” Rose whispered.

  “To keep us docile and quiet on the road,” Meg answered bitterly. “It’s a long way to the border. This many women would take a caravan of wagons. Slavery is illegal in Tirangel, but there are other kingdoms not so enlightened and do not ask where the slaves come from. They do not want the Emperor’s Rangers to suspect.”

  “Rangers? Rose asked. “I have read about them since I was a child. They have a stellar reputation as warriors. They patrol the roads and forests of the Empire, to keep it safe for the people. Do you think the rangers might rescue us before we reach the border?” Rose asked hopefully.

  “We must always hope,” Meg replied.

  Soon the drug-spiced gruel did its work and the women fell asleep. Rebec remained out of sight, so the men relaxed and indulged in the distractions of ale and dice, gathering in loose circles near the fire.

  “We better feign sleep too,” Meg suggested, propping herself against the bars with the unconscious women. “We don’t want to arouse suspicion.”

  Rose’s nerves were rattled. She was not sure she could even close her eyes, frightened by the grim fate of slavery and worse. She kept her head covered with her share of Meg’s cloak and prayed to all the gods for deliverance, along with the addition of a few potent curses for these foul slavers. Meg’s eyes were only partly closed, as she watched the guards carefully.

  Borlon and Albin played dice for a while, but Borlon soon grew bored and crawled into a blanket near the wall, hugging his crock of ale. In moments he was snoring. The games broke up and the men drifted off to their corners to sleep or stand guard listlessly against the defenseless women. Fendrel stumbled in and wrapped himself in a leather cloak. Albin began singing. He sounded like a sick hound. Rose winced. He staggered toward her cage, swilling a jug of spirits and shaking a ring of keys.

  “Want to play with tiny woman,” Albin slurred, unlocking the door and swinging it open.

  Rose feigned sleep, hoping he would not bother if she was unconscious. She had a horrified thought he would not care about that either.

  “Wake up, tiny woman,” he coaxed, grabbing at Rose.

  “Leave her alone, scum,” Meg demanded, throwing off her cloak and jumping to her feet.

  “Out of my way, slut!” Albin replied gruffly
and shoved Meg against the bars. He dropped the jug and seized Rose, pulling her out of the cage by her hair.

  Rose screamed as he dragged her across the rocky floor. He let go of her braid and stood over her. Trembling, she raised herself on her elbows. “Albin, stop! Remember what Rebec said! He wants his cargo untouched.”

  Borlon grumbled from his curled position, “Keep it down!”

  “Piss off,” Albin shouted, swaying in his drunken stupor.

  Rose scrambled to her feet and bolted, but even in his inebriated state, Albin was quick and strong. He grabbed her and flung her on the hard ground. He descended upon her small body, ripping her shirt open. She kicked and fought, but her exertions were useless as Albin pawed at her body. None of the men in the cave helped her despite her screams, but merely watched with dully amused eyes or turned over in their sleep.

  Suddenly, Jardo was shouting. “Albin, you damned idiot! You heard Rebec’s orders! No one touches the women! Get away from her!”

  “Back off, baldy!” Albin mumbled, unlacing his trousers.

  “Hey, Albin!” cooed Meg from behind. “Wouldn’t you rather have me? You want me more; I’ve seen it in your eyes. I’m nakedjust for you.”

  Albin’s grin was revolting. “Knew that damn redhead lusted for me,” he slurred and twisted around to look. His face blanched with panic when he saw Meg. He released his grip and Rose pushed herself away from him. When she glimpsed the weapon in Meg’s hands, Rose scrambled to get out of her path of fire.

  The bucket!

  Meg hurled the foul contents at Albin. Howling with disgust, Albin crumpled to the ground, dripping a disgusting mixture of urine and fecal waste.

  The other men in the background, roused by the ruckus, were equally repulsed by Albin’s foul state. Some laughed at his humiliation and some threw things at Albin, swearing at him to go away. The drugged women in the cage were oblivious to the chaos and mess.

  “Whore!” Albin spat, drawing his dagger and swaying from the stench. “I’ll slit your throat for this.”

  Jardo’s face twisted with disgust, but he jumped forward and immediately put himself between Albin and Meg. He kicked Albin to the ground.