You are the future king! We should think about Sartoll first and not about the battle. And not about myself. We must survive at any cost. Your life is worth an entire nation.
– Dad, but the slaves are not even armed! They will be killed like cattle, and at this time we are hiding from the battle!
Linder hit his son on the back of the head with a heavy hand.
– Never call me a coward. I have many shortcomings, everyone knows that. But I’m definitely not weak in spirit.
Meanwhile, the clatter of hooves approached.
– Looks like they’re looking for me. They know for sure that I’m here,” Linder said. – Langer! Take Gutan, my little son. And take Dorkhand with you. They must survive if Fate overtakes me, not allowing me to live until the morning.
– But Your Majesty, I will never leave you! – said the adviser.
– You’ll quit. Swear that you will serve my son just as you have served me these years.
– I swear! But…
– No buts! Run! Run as fast as you can!
Linder, sensing the approach of the enemy, loaded a smoothbore musket with a ball of bullet.
“It’s a pity that I had to exchange my father’s crossbow for this… A bullet won’t do half of what a crossbow bolt can do.”
They say that in Velzuvik they came up with some kind of notches in the barrel that increase the power of the bullet. But there are various rumors about this country, guess which ones are true, and which ones are just fairy tales that are told to children at night. Although, their lands are rich in native nitrate, which is formed in alkalis and rotting grasses. She, like the snow in the North of Sartoll, dusts the earth. Therefore, the Belsuvians began to use gunpowder earlier than others, including gunsmiths. But for a Sartollian, the sword is the best weapon in battle.
Linder fired the first shot and was loading the second bullet when an enemy arrow overtook him. Dorkhand almost screamed, seeing how his father was being killed, but Langer covered his mouth with a rough palm.
– Gods! Keep quiet! Otherwise they will notice us! Your Majesty! You must not open your mouth without my permission. It might be too dangerous!
After some time they were noticed. The bandits pulled them out from behind a stone. Dorhand bit the man who grabbed him by the arm.
“If you bite me again, I’ll knock out your teeth!”
The advisor fell to his knees. Not all people are equally brave. And the majority can only boast of courage in words.
– Take what you want! – Langer yelled. – Do you want me to give you all the gold I have? And if you want, take all the slaves. Take it. But leave us life.
“Okay,” said one of the robbers. “But we will take this boy with us too.” In the Market they will take this for double the price.
Dorhand started to hint that he was a prince, but Langer did not let him finish.
– Take the boy. But let me live! – said the adviser. Dorhand tried to break free. He looked reproachfully at the traitor, but Langer lowered his gaze to the sand. The boy spat on the ground.
So the prince became a slave.
Chapter 2. Market
On Tuesdays the slave market was always full of people. Locals called this day the “golden river”, because the wallets were filled not only with manpower traders, but also with the owners of local taverns and brothels. The smell of sweat and fish alternated with the aroma of rose and olive oils. It was a rare nobleman in the Sands who could afford a bath. The nearest oasis was a hasty camel ride of five days. Therefore, many doused themselves with oils and Suthering perfumes to fight off the stench. Those who are poorer could not afford to do this either.
When the hot disk of the sun was at its zenith, steam rose from the ground along with dust. The city turned into an oven at such moments. Or to the bathhouse. Usually even camels were freed from work at such moments. And the silk merchants drank tea to somehow replenish the loss of moisture. But on the day of the Sale, a roar filled the Square.
– Ten gold, and this beauty will join my harem! – shouted a fat old man with a sparse beard and a turban on his head. He was reclining in the shade of the tent. Two girls fanned him with palm leaves. In front of him lay a tray of grapes.
– Twenty-two buckets of water, and she will go with me! – hissed a bald man of about forty, with a scar under his left eye. He burned under the scorching sun of Lorraine. The skin is red. It seems that he is not used to the southern sands, most likely he came from the north. From Velzuvik or Sartolla, but here no one cares about the origin. The main thing is to pay. Without money, you yourself can become a slave. And without security, even the money will not be saved: it can be taken away in the nearest gateway.
The crowd gasped and stared at him.
– This is Lord Latrich himself! – people whispered.
– It’s not fair! – the fat man shouted. – Using water as a currency is unthinkable! Twenty gold pieces for a young maiden!
– Sold for twenty-two buckets of water! – the slave’s owner shouted. The girl was brought to Latrich. The lord looked at the fat man with an undisguised grin. The old man grimaced and turned away. He called one of the servants, whispered something in his ear, and he walked away. After a while, the bald man grabbed the cobra in his fist, which almost bit him on the leg. He tore off the bastard’s head. All eyes are directed at the owner of the scar.
Latrich pulled a musket from his belt and fired. The fat man fell, swaying. Several soldiers of the dead man immediately rushed towards the lord. But he shook his head. Their path was blocked by Latrich’s thugs. The lord smiled.
– Who else is dissatisfied with my trading methods?
No one had them.
Latrich often participated in trades. And it was he who won the best slaves. None of those present here knew exactly where he was taking them and for what purpose the lord needed so many slaves. He is rich, and this is the main thing for the locals.
– Next lot!
Dorkhand was pulled onto the wooden platform. He tried to escape several times. Moter, one of the soldiers, applied medicinal alhans to moderate the pain of the boy’s finger that had almost been bitten off. That’s why the prince was tied up. Hidden under a thick linen shirt is a bruise. If it were not forbidden to beat those intended for sale, then his face would have been beaten.
– Starting price – seven gold!
– I’m placing a bet! – said an unpleasant-looking woman.
“Four buckets of water,” Latrich said.
– Six buckets! – the woman shouted. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at her, not hiding surprise and admiration.
– Four buckets of water and three pinches of Eldevian spice.
