Magistrate of the Dark Land

Part Six

by G. Lawrence

Misery and death in a corrupt city

This is a fantasy novel providing high adventure and romance, but there are no dragons or wizards. There will be mysteries. All characters are over 18 years old.

Recap; Seeking to find the lost daughters and Jalana's kidnapped forest sisters, Owen is taking a boat upstream to the corrupt city of Kannae armed with writs and a lawbook.

* * * * * *

Chapter Seven

SLAVES OF KANNAE

I secretly took ship the next morning, waving goodbye to a few friends on the dock as rowers pulled the old barge upriver. Jalana was still upset I was going alone. I would miss her, but it was a relief to know she'd be safe from Kannae's slave trade, for even her sword could only defy so many odds. And I also couldn't be sure she'd keep her temper if her kidnapped sisters were harshly held, or worse. I nodded to Captain Toban who stood on the dock beside her, reminding him of our discussion.

The first day on the river was cold and wet, occasional rain keeping the handful of passengers in the deck cabin. With the wind kicking up, the crew was able to break out the sails, greatly adding to our speed. The barge was called the Sirius, sixty feet long and fifteen at her widest, generally a carrier of wheat or wool. Twelve rowers, six to a side, were helped by two pole men when the river was shallow enough. The hull leaked like an old bucket, keeping the pumps busy. A potbelly stove used for warming the passengers had little coal, and the cushions smelled of mildew. I shivered to think what the bunkroom would look like.

"Business upriver?" an older gentleman asked. By the age and style of his faded frock coat, I guessed him to be a spice merchant or tobacco grower, luxury industries that had fallen on hard times.

"Searching for lost daughters," I replied, tugging my thick bear cloak tighter to shut out the cold.

"Your daughters?" the gentleman inquired.

"No, the daughters of neighbors."

"You don't look like a bounty hunter," he said, grinning with yellow teeth.

"I'm what they can afford," I said, lightly brushing the question off. "My name is Owen, up from the Saber River country."

"They say fine horses are bred on the Saber," he graciously said.

"The best in the world," I assured him.

"It's a big world, sir."

"Mine isn't."

The old merchant laughed and took out a flask.

"Something to keep the chill off?" he offered.

"Thank you," I said, tasting a fine southern brandy.

A wind stirred, causing us to bundle against the wooden railing. Water frothed off the oars waving in unison below us. The land along the river was green, often lined with cottonwood trees and the occasional small farm. Every once in a while we saw youngsters fishing from the riverbank. We also I noted several barges going downstream, though not so heavily loaded as in days past.

"Sebastian Yallow, late of Yallow Farms, once the biggest tobacco grower in Nodding County. Now I seek new markets in the north. You must be headed to Kannae?" he said. I nodded without elaborating.

"Nodding lies in Farland. King Breton's domain," I said.

"The late King Breton. He passed away last fall after many years of notorious rule. Now we call our land the Farland Protectorate. Young King John rules in concert with parliament," Yallow explained, apparently with approval.

"Such an arrangement will never last."

"Perhaps, but we've started well. Now that citizens have a voice in government, all talk of rebellion has vanished. Even trade will improve once the war fades from memory."

"Can so many competing interests really share the same hall?" I asked in thorough disbelief. "Proud barons. Opportunistic merchants. Greedy landowners. Even the clerks and clergy? Can they truly administer your kingdom's needs without resorting to self-interest?"

"Yes, they can. But it's not done quietly," he said with a tired smile.

The galley food wasn't good, much as I had anticipated, and even the crew avoided eating with us. Judith had given me a basket of rye bread and jam that I treasured. Our bunkroom, shared by eight, was grimy and populated with rats. Fortunately, a game of cards won me an upper hammock. Fur kept out the cold and a small bribe gained us an extra bucket of coal for the stove, making me popular with my fellow passengers. During the evenings I'd play my flute, often joined by the crew on their handmade instruments.

By mid-afternoon of the third day, a hundred and twenty miles above Arbor, we saw the sacred refuge of Crowley on an island in Solith Bay. Blessed with hot springs, the town is well known for its curative pools, universities and medical schools. Crowley is where I spent a year and several winters training in the law. I would have studied medicine there if my mother's wish for me had come true. A white flag embossed with a golden lantern flew from the tallest building, a church of the New Faith.

Beyond Solith Bay is the River Moth going southeast to Barlington, and the Farris River, going northeast through the Salisbury Plain. The Farris had once marked the boundary between the lands of Baron Lackston of Drew, a vassal of Duke Rykar, and those of Baron Hollis of Richman, who owed fidelity to Earl Robert. Lackston now held all lands as far south as the Moth. Trodden Castle, the central point of the dispute, had been sacked three years before. Richman had died during the siege with his son's claim in doubt, leaving the border disputed ever since.

Our final days on the river were rough. Foul weather forced the Sirius to drop anchor below The Fork, the barge rocking in the turbulent water. Though nearing the end of our journey, the confluence of the Great River and the North Reach was ripe with treacherous currents. The six-day voyage reminded me why I spent so little time on boats.

The weather cleared the next morning as we veered up the North Reach, a brisk wind filling our sail. By late afternoon we caught site of Kannae off to the right, the third largest city in the kingdom after Quarterstone and Wheat Harbor. We docked at one of the sturdy piers below the town wall.

"Good fortune on your quest, Owen," Mister Yallow offered as we prepared to disembark. The harbor was large, located just before a high wooden bridge spanning the North Fork into Lord Kirkon's lands. A rickety gangplank allowed us to disembark.

"I trust your business will prosper, sir," I said, shaking his hand. He had been good company, his knowledge of commerce enlightening, and he played a fair game of chess. Though not quite fair enough, much to his surprise. Provincials such as I weren't supposed to play such a strong game.

"All will prosper when peace returns. Until that day we can but pray," he said, looking at me with an unspoken thought.

I was not a stranger to Kannae, having visited several times for conferences during my magistrate days. The walls are tall and made of huge gray blocks interspaced with occasional panels of bleached sandstone. Ten towers guard the corners and two main gates. I guessed the population at ten thousand, though no one had performed a census for years. The towering steeple of the Old North Church rises from town center, an elegant structure hundreds of years old.

From a large portal adjoining the docks, I passed under the wall between two warehouses, walking briskly toward the city plaza. A small hill to the west allows some of the wealthier residences to rise above the common rabble. The south side of town houses merchants in their comfortable second and third floor dwellings. To the northeast corner, on a cliff above the river, stands Kannae Castle, with five towers and a tall rectangular keep made of red stone. The southeast side of town, sunken and often dank due to poor drainage, provides living space for the peasantry. It was among the taverns that I would look for the stolen daughters, slaves being easier to hide among the squalor. But first I intended to visit the county magistrate.

I walked through the streets casually, bear cloak over my brown woolen suit, Sir John's sword on my hip. My leather shoulder bag contained writs I'd prepared in Arbor. Five gold robbins, twenty silver circles, and twenty silver flats would meet my needs.

The town looked aged, paint peeling and banners worn. The street needed repair, several potholes filled with water from the recent rain. Animal pens below the warehouses reeked of pigs and sheep. The dress of the citizens ranged from fine for a few to slovenly for most. I nodded greetings to many, sometimes getting a friendly response, but more often not. There was a dreariness to the place that had nothing to do with the turbulent cloud cover.

The courthouse overlooks the plaza, a stately tree-lined park dominated by a statue of the mythical King Aragon. A beautiful marble fountain surrounded by granite paving stones provides fresh water. Merchants and taverns along the periphery were doing a lively business despite the drizzly weather.

Two veteran guards armed with halberds stood at the courthouse steps wearing steel helmets, their expressions bored. They glanced briefly but made no effort to prevent me from entering. The foyer was impressive, burgundy marble walls, sturdy oak floors, and silver trimmed Turlian tapestries. The city administrators were not skimping on luxuries. I went to the constable's office, usually the first step for making an appointment with the judge. My reception there surprised me, though in light of Elias' warning, it should not have.

"I have a message for Justice Ashton," I announced to the pair, a young man and a middle-aged woman in olive green uniforms. Both appeared professionally attired, though their awards of service seemed excessive. I rarely met constables who wore more than a badge of rank and perhaps an order of merit, if earned. These two were so gaudily decorated they looked ready for carnival.

"Are you a friend of Ashton?" the woman asked. Her tone was cold, the courtesy of Judge Ashton's title missing. In truth, I was not a friend, but we were acquainted. And respectfully so.

"No, but I have instructions to see him," I answered.

"That will be hard, stranger. The man is dead," the younger constable informed with an annoying smirk.

"I understood the justice was in good health?" I inquired, struggling to remain calm.

"The dungeons are cruel, especially for those who serve their office poorly," the woman said.

"One who violates the law should expect no less. What was his offense? Embezzlement? Selling favors?" I asked.

"Failure to obey his liege lord," the youngster said, staring at me as if I were guilty of a similar crime.

"Praise God none have ever found such fault in me," I said, holding a hand over by beating heart. I tucked the bag with the writs tightly under my arm, glad I'd said nothing of them. Judge Ashton had been an honest man in a dishonest city. I would remember that.

"What business have you in Kannae, stranger?" the youngster asked.

"Up from the Saber River country. We expect a surplus of winter wheat. Perhaps there are markets in Kannae willing to trade?" I explained.

The constables relaxed. Winter wheat in the harsh north was always welcome.

"Many will seek your business, stranger. May I suggest John Raleigh on First Street? Tell him Philip sent you," the youngster said, no doubt expecting a gratuity from the merchant for the referral.

"That I will, sir," I answered, happy to escape so easily.

"What of your message?" the woman asked.

"Naught but a missive from Arbor. The new magistrate sends greetings," I said.

"We've heard of this criminal. A persecutor of honest merchants. Do you know him?" the woman asked.

"I know what they say of him. He is called a great warrior who keeps a harem of luscious concubines. He is rich with gold taken from freebooters. I, for one, do not hold him in high esteem," I answered.

They nodded with satisfaction, the conversation over. I let out my breath, trying not to sound relieved, and quickly left the building. It was nearly dusk, a good time to look for a room before the streets grew dark. In years past I had stayed at the King's Table, an adequate inn for honest men of modest means. I thought less conspicuous lodgings nearer the slums more suited to my purpose, going down East Street and then south toward Wall's End. I found a rooming house there located next to a stable, a run-down firetrap with four floors. I liked it because the jump to the stable roof was acceptable should the teetering structure actually catch fire.

"A two-copper flat, please," I said to the innkeeper, a trim middle-aged man with a weak chest. His frock coat was stained with ink at the sleeves.

"Two coppers will buy you a mud patch out back with the hogs. Five coppers will get you a bed under the morning window," he said in a deep voice.

Rooms near the east windows always went for less because few in this part of town cared to be awoken so early by the rising sun. Offering such a room was usually intended as an insult.

"Isn't five a bit heavy, good sir?" I asked.

"City's crowded. With the barons at each other's throats, few travel the roads without escort. Lucky to get a bed at all. Straw's clean."

"Five nights for a half silver flat? West side?" I bargained.

"Good enough. Top of the stairs, first curtain on the left. Keep that bear cloak near, no blankets up there," he warned.

The top floor was a narrow tower used for roof access, the slats so loose that wind blew through on one side. The bed was a mat of bundled straw, warm if dragged against the inside wall where the curtain provided shelter. I thought it sufficient for a few days, though if fortunate enough to find the daughters, I'd need more exclusive accommodations. It was good my travel clothes had been washed in musk scent. The smell would keep off the fleas.

After prying up a floorboard to hide the gold, I took the silver and began my search. In honesty, I was nervous. Kannae had not seemed so hostile on previous visits. At the very first street corner there was a grizzled blind man selling brooms. I gave him a copper, tore off the stiff fibers, and used the pole as a walking stick. And a weapon, for it would provide me with better protection than a sword.

The eastern wall had a heavily guarded gate with dozens of wagons parked beyond the drawbridge between the moat and the forest. Dense woods ran for miles into the nearby foothills, causing the sentries to be cautious. The courtyard just inside the gate was crowded with slat board stalls selling every kind of merchandise, some of it black market. I bought a goblet of ale but drank so fast I soon needed another.

"Times are good, stranger?" the ale seller asked, a burly fellow with thick hairy arms. No doubt he saw profit in the quality of my clothes, which were well-made but not expensive. Just the impression I was seeking.

"Times will be better if I can find company for the long ride home," I said.

"Female company?" he asked.

"Young and pretty. Resalable. Wouldn't want the wife getting the wrong idea," I suggested with a wink.

"Plenty to be had with no wagons going north," he said with a gap-toothed smile.

I looked around as if I didn't want anyone to notice, which attracted plenty of attention, and dug deep into my pocket for a half-silver flat. Several rough men noticed, but my effort to find a coin was great enough that few would think me worth robbing. Not in daylight.

"It's good to find friends in new cities," I said, sliding the coin across the serving stand. He quickly put the token in his breast pocket and began whispering, mentioning the local brothels and several places strictly devoted to selling captives. And there were, of course, the wagon traders. It was fortunate my room was rented for five nights.

I spent the remainder of the first day acquainting myself with the east end, wanting to be thoroughly aware of every avenue, byway and alley before walking the streets at night. If presented with sudden danger, it's important to know which way to run.

My first day of searching proved fruitless, the brothels tawdry but not engaged in anything illegal. The second was equally unpromising. On the third day it began to rain just after sunset, chasing me into a tavern only two blocks from my inn. Blissfully, a large fireplace kept the main room warm, and the kitchen sold hot food. After escaping from the damp cold, it smelled like heaven.

"Greetings, sir, welcome to the Horse's Tail," a tired serving wench said, one holding a tray of empty wooden goblets. I recognized the voice. I had last seen her in my bed at the Lost Prince Inn. It was Jasmine, the tavern girl from Arbor. She gasped in surprise when I turned my head.

"My name is Jurat. What's your name, lass?" I asked.

She was speechless at first, the tray nearly toppling. Her knees grew weak, forcing her to the nearest stool.

"I heard you were killed," Jasmine said.

"Not yet. May I assume you haven't come here of your own free will?"

She looked over her shoulder at the two barkeepers. Rough men, one with an eye-patch and dirty black beard, the other missing his right arm below the elbow. Former soldiers. I had no wish to fight either of them.

"Taken in the raid," she confessed.

"Are you for sale?"

"I don't know. Rented often enough. They think me clumsy and beat me. I'm not clumsy and don't care."

"Spill the tray on me when you get up," I whispered.

She did, the cups clattering loudly as they tumbled to the floor.

"Brainless idiot! What kind of service is this?" I shouted, jumping to my feet.

It was early, only seven patrons at the tables and three at the bar. The one-eyed saloon keeper ran over wringing his hands.

"Sorry, sir. Sorry. She will be punished. Punished severely, I promise you," he said in a deep northern accent. I looked at Jasmine as if angry, brushing down my jacket. The goblets had been empty so there'd been more noise than damage.

"I do my own punishing," I said, starting to take off my leather belt.

"Sir, you can't do that. Not here. It sets a bad example," One-Eye objected. I paused, grunted, and tightened my belt.

"This wench needs manners. And training," I demanded.

"That she does, that she does. She's new. Can't keep a single order straight. Drops everything," he explained.

"One of the southern sluts? Spoiled by silks and wine?" I asked.

One-Eye grew quiet. Apparently those buying slaves were tactful enough not to admit the offense. He looked at the customers, most not paying attention. I drew the saloon keeper aside, looked carefully in every direction, and whispered confidentially.

"I'm sorry to have spoken without discretion. Tell me straight, good sir, for I would buy the sassy lass. What's her price?"

The saloon keeper seemed surprised, looking to his partner but not asking any questions. Perhaps Jasmine had made a nuisance of herself just as she'd hoped. She was a smart young woman.

"Tavern wenches are hard to come by. We paid a good price," One-Eye said.

"She's a clumsy fool, and slaves from the south are more plentiful than sheep. I'll give you a half silver flat," I offered.

"Half? Half a silver? We paid... Sir, we paid more than a half silver, and expect to make a profit. We are all businessmen here."

I turned to look at Jasmine as if my interest was waning. Had it not been for my years on the bench before hushed courtrooms, I doubt my acting would have been so good.

"Has she any useful skills? Other than the obvious?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. She cooks. Serves. Shows passion in the furs," he lied.

"All wenches do that, or pretend to. Let me see her hands. Now! Her hands!" I demanded.

Jasmine was pushed forward for inspection. I studied her slender fingers as if unfamiliar with what they could do.

"She might make a fair seamstress when not providing more luscious service," I grudgingly conceded. "Give me a fair price, but not a copper more. I'm up from Wheat Harbor where slaves aren't tolerated. If there are no factory jobs, I may have to resell the tart to a passing barge captain."

"Five silver circles," One-Eye offered.

"What? You think wheat growers are bumpkins? Sad excuses for homesick men? I have two eyes, sir. I know what I'm looking at," I countered, a hand on my walking stick in case he took offense.

"Four silvers and five," he said.

"Three circles and five. And tonight's fare is free. And the girl serves me exclusively, better so that she learns her place," I insisted, pounding my staff on the floor.

"Done, and good riddance to the girl-thing. God save you from her endless blathering," One-Eye agreed, a touch of revenge in his tone.

I did not smile, much as I wanted to.

That night I ate like a king. Roast beef, chicken, and a fair portion of pork ribs. Two pitchers of ale disappeared. Jasmine served me on her knees, eating scraps from my hand and pretending to be afraid. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. When I paid the ransom, I reached from one pocket to the next as if I didn't have enough to keep the bargain, only meeting the price with a last-minute burst of relief. I didn't want to be robbed walking back to the inn. When Jasmine and I left, one hand stayed on the staff and the other on my sword. Drunk or not, I was scared.

My tower loft was empty when we returned. No surprise. The night was cold, the wind stiff, and only a small area of the room was immune to the chill. Jasmine and I bundled together under my bear cloak to stay warm.

"You're a miracle," she said.

"I don't think I've been called that before," I said, glad to have her warmth pressed against me.

"I will serve you, master. Serve you like no other," Jasmine promised.

"You will not serve me. You're not a slave, now or ever again. When we return south, I'll find you a worthy husband. Until then let's make do as best we can."

"I would like that," she said.

"Jasmine is a colorful name for a tavern wench, but I've never heard it used in the country. Would you like to tell me your real name?" I asked. She looked down in embarrassment.

"Suzie. Suzie Smith," she confessed. "You've come to Kannae looking for the lost daughters, haven't you?"

"Yes, and several more. My quest grows harder with each day."

"I'm not a slave? Free once more?" she asked.

"Yes, and ever may it be so," I insisted.

"Then I shall do as I will, Owen," she said, pushing me back in the straw.

Suzie was a very grateful girl.

* * * * * *

I was reluctant to get Suzie involved in my quest, but she would not be refused. We developed a story about acquiring women for our textile mill on the Mohana River, with Suzie hinting that I was not interested in ugly seamstresses. It was a clever idea, and having a woman with me would keep the slavers from guessing our real purpose. The inclement weather didn't make our task any easier.

When the rain finally let up, Suzie and I ventured toward the town center where we shopped for more suitable clothing, a trying experience, for women are not good at deciding such things. I bought her a leather traveling outfit and two nice gingham dresses for our stay in Kannae. After a pleasant lunch at Peter's Pies, we visited several stables on the way back inquiring about horses. I also bought blank journals, a bottle of ink, and a pack of quills.

We wanted to start with the wagon camp outside East Gate, but the drawbridge was pulled up. We settled for a walk down Wall's End instead, Suzie needing rest from the harsh servitude she'd been subjected to. Not that she complained, for I never heard a word of dissent. She would make someone a good wife.

Wall's End only had a few brothels and one tavern, not likely to attract expensive slaves like the lost daughters or Farina. We found several young women held in serious violation of the law. They could not be bought out of slavery without risking our task, but I made notes. After a long day, we returned to our inn past midnight, wet and cold, and sat by the fire downstairs sharing a bottle of warm cider.

"We'll do better tomorrow," Suzie said, seeing my spirits were low.

"This is an evil place. I wish I'd come with fire and sword," I whispered.

"Did you have fire and sword to bring?" she asked.

"No, it's just a wish. When we visit the Old Church on Sunday, I'll light candles and make my prayers heard."

"I didn't know you were of the Old Church."

"My wife brought me into the Old Church after we married, but I've spent more time with the New Church since she died. It doesn't matter. Old or New, God will hear my prayers regardless of where I kneel."

"It must be nice to have such faith," she said with envy. "I lost mine when my mother died and my sister was lost. God did nothing to help my family."

"God does not serve us, we serve Him. Through His Light does moral authority become law, and only in that authority can we find protection from evil. There lies our danger and our obligation."

"Maybe I will see this light," Suzie hopefully said. "You've told me of the lost daughters. Who are these Farina you speak of?"

"Friends, of a sort. I met them in my travels. Jalana and four of her sisters. We haven't known each other long, but already they feel as kin to me."

"I thought Farina were myths, like trolls or ogres."

"Rest assured, they're real enough. And I don't suggest calling them trolls to their faces," I said with a laugh.

"Are they truly warrior women?"

"Truly."

"But there are only five of them?"

"Not enough to attack Kannae," I confirmed. "Three more are still missing. I hope to find them here."

After relating a few of my adventures with the Farina, we went up to our room that I had been forced to rent for several more days. We were still the only boarders on the fourth floor, but quest or not, I promised myself better accommodations in the near future.

The fifth day was more miserable than the first four, a freezing rain keeping all indoors near the fire. Suzie and I huddled under a newly purchased quilt to stay warm, eating chicken pies and drinking warm cider.

The following afternoon we visited a shabby tavern across the lane from our rooming house, avoiding our decrepit inn due to the leaky roof. Four coppers bought us a roast chicken dinner, extra candles, and all the ale we could drink.

"You scribble like a clerk, Owen. Do you write a chronicle?" Suzie asked.

Though confident that the handful of patrons could care less what I did, nevertheless I looked around before answering.

"This is a report for the town fathers at Arbor. Every captive we see, every name we hear, and their locations. I'm also including the identities of the slavers with instructions for filing indictments," I quietly explained.

"Ink and paper won't free these girls. It will take an army, and you know that."

It was true.

"I'm not a soldier. All I know is the law. This will be my weapon until we have a stronger one. And someday, by the grace of God, these indictments will bring justice."

I don't know if we were drunk by the time we decided to turn in, abandoning the warm tavern for our dark tower. The wax-lined leather case I'd purchased protected my scribbling, but keeping dry was more problematic with the wind persistently spraying cold rain through the porous wall. Suzie didn't find me the best company that night. I was too sodden and tired.

Our luck finally changed the next day. The weather improved to a light drizzle, allowing an early start. We walked up River Street to the warehouses in the northeast corner of town. It was here that my sources said slavers devoted themselves to selling women rather than prostituting them. As Farina were unlikely to make cooperative trollops, I thought they might be difficult to exploit.

The first stop was a basement beneath a bakery on Front Street, a dark subterranean series of chambers few would enter without purpose. The entry was occupied by a bookkeeper, though a guard quickly appeared the moment we stopped at the receiving desk. Suzie clung to my shoulder while flashing her eyelids as if our visit was a lark. The bookkeeper may have thought us a wealthy couple pretending to be of modest means.

"My husband would have a selection. Something soft and delicate. A helpless farm girl, perhaps. And another one. Something vicious. A wildcat. Something with claws," Suzie purred, a mean twinkle in her soft hazel eyes.

"We may have what you want, though such goods are rare," the bookkeeper said, a small man with thick eyeglasses and a squeaky voice. Suzie grabbed the leather pouch hanging on my belt, making the coins jingle. The sound of twenty silver flats made the bookkeeper's ears perk up. Bad weather and unsafe roads are not good for trade.

"Berlar, show these fine people to pen three," the bookkeeper ordered.

"Three? Mister Fastings, are you sure?" the guard questioned.

"They want spirited girls, do they not?" the bookkeeper answered with an evil wink. The guard sighed and led us through a thick oak door into the dank passage beyond.

"Are you skilled with sword and dagger, sir? You'll need them if I unlock the pen," the guard warned.

We passed a cell where a rag-covered woman lay half asleep on the straw-strewn floor. She stirred but did not raise her head. The next cell was empty. The third held two naked women who rose from the rear wall to stand at the gate.

The shorter of the two had an arrow tattoo on her upper arm, the taller bore a tattooed dagger. They were shapely with eyes like cougars. Their body language spoke of death to any who approached. Suzie looked at me with the unspoken question. I nodded. We had found two of the missing Farina.

The tall warrior's hair was strawberry blonde, long and silky. The other's hair was more yellow, like a morning sun, though dirty from lying in the cell. Red streaks indicated they had been whipped. Slender bellies hinted at a lack of food. Raw marks on the wrists and ankles proved they had been bound for long periods of time. Yet they were still defiant, no doubt preferring to die fighting than live as slaves.

"They look hard," I said, backing away from the iron bars.

"Don't be afraid, dear. You wanted a challenge," Suzie said, flipping her long brunette hair over her shoulder.

"Come closer, male," the taller of the two said in the accent of the forest, her voice dry. Apparently they were kept short of water, too.

"Beautiful, aren't they? May they be tasted before purchase?" I asked.

"This isn't a slut house," the guard named Berlar said.

The strawberry blonde lunged at the gate, thrusting her right hand through the bars at my throat. Fortunately, I stood at a safe distance.

"Spirited indeed. Is the other a tigress as well?" Suzie asked.

"Enter the cage and find out, city bitch," the smaller Farina sneered, her fists clenched. Suzie laughed, a hand poised on the ivory handled knife tucked in her belt.

"One of these may do, but my husband seeks gentle company as well. Have you anything less blood-thirsty?" Suzie requested.

"A few," Berlar responded.

"Take a look about, dear heart. I will ask which of these she-devils prefers your soft furs to a stone cell," Suzie encouraged.

"You're too good to me, rose petal," I agreed, giving her a long tender kiss.

I followed the guard down the corridor inspecting more cells, hoping the lost daughters may be among the slavers' inventory.

"You are truly fierce women," Suzie said, relating the tale to me later. She looked about and noticed shining eyes secretly watching from a dark corner. Reflections from the bookkeeper's spectacles. Suzie was no fool.

"Give us a breath of freedom and you will learn what fierceness is," the taller Farina declared.

"If you love whips and stone floors so much, I will gladly leave you here. No doubt your price is too high," Suzie dismissed.

"We care naught for your whips and threats," the smaller replied.

"That's too bad. We wished to take you back to Jalana with us," Suzie answered.

The women fell quiet, pondering the meaning. I returned with the guard.

"Any honey on the tree, sweetheart?" Suzie asked.

"No. Scarecrows and sows. What have you decided about the pretty wildcats?" I inquired, wrapping a loving arm around Suzie's waist. The guard glanced down at her rounded hips, thinking well of my taste in women.

"They like their cage. I thought they would be happier coming south with us, but they refuse," Suzie said.

"We do not refuse. What can you tell us of Jalana?" the smaller demanded.

"Quiet, slave. Speak to your betters with respect," Berlar demanded, smacking a baton against the bars.

"Thank you, good sir, but have no fear," I calmly urged. "Jalana is our destination. Fierce as the ancient forest. Dark and brooding as a cloudy day. Those we take with us will eagerly accept their rightful place, for it is where warriors dwell."

"They will be forced to wear the leather of Jalana's clan. What do you think, husband, would these girls not look good in red?" Suzie suggested.

"Indeed they would. Most natural for ones of their sort," I agreed. "But if they cannot be managed, it's best to do without."

"They can be managed," Berlar said, taking a whip from the wall behind us and giving it a sharp crack.

The women cowered against the back wall, though as one familiar with Farina, I knew their fear was false. The beating of their young hearts was an excitement of a different kind.

"Sister, I do not care for this place," the smaller cried, shoulders shaking.

"I, too, am weary of the whip, yet we must not lose courage," the taller replied.

"I would buy the little one. How much?" I inquired.

As if from nowhere, the weaselly bookkeeper suddenly appeared, the one called Mister Fastings. He greedily rubbed his grubby hands together.

"Twenty silver circles, good lord. But we could not possibly break up the set," he said.

"The big one looks dangerous," I complained.

"But surely a man such as yourself could tame her?" the bookkeeper flattered.

"It has the manners of a polecat and smells like a skunk," I protested.

"A sharp whip and a touch of sweet water will cure all. Sir, sir, look what a pair they make. A barbarian twosome that would awe the gods. If you could break them-- I mean, when you break them, more will be the delight. Certainly such a challenge is to your liking?"

"I don't know. Yet, as you say, they are beautiful. Ten silver circles for both," I offered.

"Sir, I cannot. If you only knew the expense that has gone into their maintenance, even twenty silvers would sound reasonable," the worm bargained. I shrugged as if ready to break off negotiations. Suzie clutched my arm.

"I like them, husband. The little one can empty my chamber pot in the mornings, and the big one can pick peaches in our garden, when not bent over for other duties," Suzie urged.

The Farina gave deadly frowns. The bookkeeper suppressed a grin, unable to imagine the troublesome prisoners regulated to such menial tasks.

"Give me a realistic price. And no more nonsense or we'll leave without your unruly barbarian trash," I said.

"Eighteen silver circles for both," the bookkeeper said.

"Twelve," I countered.

"Sixteen," the weasel persisted.

I stood quietly rubbing my chin, letting the slaver have a moment of suspense.

"We'll need robes. We can't parade such female flesh through the streets as they are. And they must be well-secured with good leather, none of these rotted bindings that come loose so easily," I insisted.

"Of course, sir, of course. Berlar, see to it at once," the bookkeeper ordered.

Two more guards were summoned, probably the entire staff. Securing the women was not expected to be easy, but the other knelt without trouble, her hands tied behind her. The tall blonde only struggled for a moment as if too disheartened to resist. Collars and leashes were attached to their necks.

I returned to the front office with the bookkeeper to complete the transaction, requiring a receipt. It surprised the foul lump, but as a merchant, I needed to account for the business expenditure. Surely he didn't think I was buying slaves out of my personal funds? As they could not put a slave purchase on the manifest, they were officially listed as bond servants. Not the first time I had seen that subterfuge.

The young women were brought up, brown robes wrapped around their bodies and tied at the waist. Cheap sandals protected their feet. Their heads hung low under hoods that covered their faces. Suzie held the leashes. I let out a relieved breath when we reached the street and the door closed behind us.

"We need to find them clothes, Owen. They can't travel like this," Suzie said.

"Give us swords and all else will be taken care of," the smaller one said, struggling against her restraints.

"Hurry, male, free us," the tall one insisted.

"Soon enough," I answered, not willing to let them run wild. "Which of you is Mapps and which is Fuschia?"

"How do you know our names? We said nothing of it," the taller said.

"Jalana sent me to find three sisters. Rotanna is First Sword, wearing dagger tattoos on both arms. I only see one dagger here," I explained.

"I am Fuschia, warrior of the Red Leather," the tall strawberry blonde said, brown-eyed and straight shouldered.

"Mapps, hunter of the Red Leather," the other said, blue-eyed and thinner boned.

"This is Suzie Smith, a friend. I am Owen, though some in this evil city know me as Jurat. Jalana waits for us at Arbor," I introduced.

"Then unbind us and find the trail," Mapps said.

"And leave Rotanna to the mercy of slavers?" I asked. The women flushed in shame, their nearness to freedom making them forget.

We returned to our rooming house by a different route, Suzie finding clothes for Mapps and Fuschia in a shop on Market Street while I held them close. I did not want the warriors taking action on their own initiative, as their culture and instinct would dictate. We also stopped by the local apothecary for salve and a tanner for sleeping furs. Twelve coppers bought us a private room on the third floor as we needed extra space. And I was tired of the rain.

With the curtain drawn tight, I took the robe off Fuschia and laid her on a fur, rubbing the salve into the welts on her back. Suzie gave hot broth to Mapps.

"You can't leave them tied up," Suzie said when I refused permission to free them.

"When the war captain of the Red Leather allowed me to come here alone, I promised to keep her sisters safe. Should I now be foresworn?" I asked.

"But they are safe, Owen," Suzie said.

"No, they are warriors bent on revenge. We won't find Rotanna or the lost daughters with swords," I protested while working the salve in deeper. Fuschia twisted against the leather but also groaned with satisfaction under the pressure of my fingers. Once finished, I put a light cotton cloth around her shoulders and began work on Mapps. She was equally appreciative, though she refused to show it. Suzie turned her attention to feeding Fuschia.

"We are not stupid, male. Tell us what you want," Fuschia said.

"I would have you obey me as you would obey Jalana until you once again stand in the war captain's presence," I requested.

"Obey a male?" Mapps said in disgust.

"It is not our way," Fuschia added.

"I know it's not your way. That's why you remain bound. No dishonor comes to you in such a condition, for the decision is not yours to make. The dishonor is mine alone. In truth, I have no solution for this problem. You must be protected. Those who are lost must be found. I'm not a warrior, neither is Suzie. We have hard days ahead."

I finished putting the salve on Mapps and covered her as I had Fuschia, putting a heavy fur across the legs of both, for the day was turning cold. Suzie fed each of them boiled chicken and a cup of watered wine, patient with their frowns.

"Tomorrow I'll go up Harbor Street where the other slavers keep their dens. And I'll check the barge schedules going south," I announced.

"I'll protect them with my life, Owen," Suzie swore, half-drawing her small knife.

"A city female will protect us?" Mapps objected.

"I'm not a city female, Mapps. I was born in a village. My people were farmers and smithies," Suzie answered.

"But you are no warrior," Mapps insisted.

"No, I've never used a weapon in my life. But I will if I have to," Suzie promised. "I'm worried about you, Owen. How will you free anyone without my help?"

"I'll find a way," I assured her.

"We understand your meaning, male. The pretense may now cease," Fuschia said.

"You think us so easily fooled?" Mapps asked.

"No, warriors. We only seek to show you our dilemma," I said in an apologetic tone.

"This you have done. I give oath, one called Owen. All will be as you say until the war captain takes proper command," Mapps swore.

"My oath is also given. We will not let pride stand in the way of our sister's rescue," Fuschia concurred.

They hardly had a chance to blink before I cut the leather from their wrists.

"Is our freedom restored with so little debate?" Fuschia asked in surprise.

"Farina have given their oath. There is nothing to debate," I answered.

The next morning, I made Mapps and Fuschia remain in the room while Suzie and I ventured to Harbor Street. They were weakened enough that several days rest were needed before joining the search, and I wanted to be sure they would stay out of trouble. Fear of what they might do had already caused me a sleepless night.

The first slaver we visited had eleven women in captivity, all in better health than the ones discovered the day before. Quality stock, as the slaver bragged. But not the stock we were searching for. The fierce woman that Suzie daringly inquired about proved merely arrogant.

We stopped for lunch on the north side of town square where soldiers-for-hire took their leisure. The taverns, theaters and merchant stalls were bustling with customers now that the weather had improved. I noticed several fine swords for sale at an affordable price, thinking they might be good for the Farina, but I confined my purchasing to two daggers. A tavern called The Drake offered hot soup and a hearty lamb stew. After finding seats near the fire, I encountered an unpleasant surprise.

"Well, if it isn't the damn lawyer," a gruff voice said from behind me. The tavern was crowded, Suzie and I sharing one of a dozen small tables. Windows and gas lamps kept the room well lit. I recognized the voice.

"Friend Golan, how special to see you again. Will you join us?" I eagerly replied, anxious not to have my name blurted out in such a public place.

The bold mercenary thrust down on a spare stool. On the trail, he had seemed big. In the confines of the tavern, he seemed a giant. The muscled arms and thick neck caused me to wonder once again why I had ever thought to challenge him.

Having abandoned his trail clothes, Golan was now dressed for town, wearing a blue flannel shirt, a fancy brown vest embroidered with silver thread, and red leggings over his high black boots. His long blond hair hung loosely around his shoulders. I thought him well clad for a carnival rider, though I suppose there are ladies of the lower sort who would think him dashing.

"Are you buying?" Golan asked, aggressively leaning forward.

"I have a few extra flats today. Take your fill," I said, pushing the pitcher of ale across the table. Golan grabbed a goblet with his huge hand and filled it to the rim. He eyed Suzie with hunger.

"What brings a cowardly crawler like you to man's country?" Golan inquired, draining the goblet and pouring another. I sought attention from an overweight tavern hostess, indicating we needed more ale.

"Will you share food with us, brother of the Black Axe?" I invited. Golan took hold of our server's apron.

"Beef steak, big and well done, woman. Bring the sauce tray and all your spices," Golan ordered, a six-copper meal at least. He smiled to see me counting the cost in my head.

"Are the Black Axe now in Kannae? I thought you sought employment in Earl William's lands," I questioned.

"We hold the duty at Two Bridges. Thory gave me leave to drink and whore in a civilized town for a few weeks. Speaking of whores, what happened to that black-eyed wildcat?"

"She's back with her women, as far as I know," I sighed.

"You let her escape, didn't you?" he accused.

"Yes," I admitted.

"You loved her," Golan concluded.

"Yes, but she's a warrior, and I'm a crawling coward. Not much future there," I conceded, sipping my ale. Suzie glanced at me with a trace of jealousy.

"You owe me use of a woman, bitch-slave. Maybe I'll take this one," Golan said, flashing white teeth in a grin. His eyes ran down Suzie's body as if ready for dessert.

"Suzie is the daughter of the county advocate. You'll have to ask him," I said dismissively. The mercenary's face lost its grin.

"Sorry, miss. Very, very sorry. No offense," Golan instantly apologized, his broad brow bent in embarrassment. And worry, for rowdy visitors to a strange city can ill-afford trouble with the local prosecutor.

"That's quite all right. I take it as a compliment from a true warrior," Suzie graciously said, flashing her long eyelashes. Golan smiled, thinking he might get lucky after all.

"Still one with the law. Thought you were headed for Arbor?" Golan asked. I hunched over with a furtive look, cupping my hands before me.

"Decided to make money instead. Gold," I whispered, grasping for a way to steer the conversation away from my former profession.

"How much gold?" Golan asked, also hunching forward in a whisper.

"Enough to make a man comfortable," I said.

"Enough to make two men comfortable?" Golan hinted.

"The task is far below a warrior's skills," I objected.

"If it wasn't far below a warrior's skills, you wouldn't be involved. Such goes without saying. Yet you are clever and devious, one accustomed to getting your own way. Now tell me about the gold before our friendship grows strained," he demanded.

"Wait, Owen, you promised to keep it secret. My father insisted," Suzie said.

"That's true," I conceded, thoughtfully scratching the beard I'd been too lazy to shave.

"Have no fear, lass. We're old friends," Golan said, looking to see if I would call him a liar. I was not so stupid.

"I must have your word, swordsman," Suzie insisted, scrunching her eyebrows.

"By the Brotherhood of the Black Axe, I swear," Golan promised, pounding a fist over his heart.

I glanced around the room again to make sure no one was watching. Golan did the same.

"Bounty hunting," I whispered.

"You? Who could you take with a sword? Or is Suzie here another of your warrior women?" Golan mocked. I pretended insult.

"The city is filled with kidnapped women taken from the south. Their fathers want them back. A half-robbin per head. But we'll need to steal them if we want to make a profit. Still interested?" I asked, fairly sure he wouldn't be.

"Rescuing women for money. Just the kind of half-baked lunacy you'd be up to. But a crown or two would be useful. What's in it for me?"

"A fifth of the proceeds, payable on delivery," I offered.

"Half," he countered.

"One third. I know the product and the buyers, you don't," I insisted.

"Okay, a third. How many head are we talking about?" he wanted to know.

I rocked back in my chair trying to think. Having an experienced sword at my disposal could make a difference. And there was money in the proposition, for as magistrate I could issue a draft on Arbor's treasury. Not a half-robbin per head, but enough to be worth Golan's time. Could I free more than the lost daughters? How many more? How dangerous would it be? My heart was racing.

"Are you all right, Owen?" Suzie whispered, seeing my hands tremble. She reached for my arm. Golan envied me.

"By myself I was only going to steal a few women. With your help, we can do better. Would a trip to Arbor be worth three and a half robbins?" I asked.

"Twenty women?" Golan said much too loudly. I put up my nervous hands to keep him quiet. He calmed down, settling in his chair. "Stealing twenty women from the slavers would be... It would be..."

"Profitable?" I suggested.

"Legendary," Golan said, gripping the hilt of his broadsword. Nothing he said could have surprised me more.

"Owen, do you really think we could rescue so many? How?" Suzie asked.

"My name is Jurat, remember? A merchant from Wheat Harbor. Golan is right, if we manage this, we'll be legends. Well-paid legends," I emphasized.

Golan's steak arrived and he ate like one possessed. Suzie and I shared a heaping bowl of lamb stew. Golan finished another goblet of ale. I studied him carefully, wondering how far he could be trusted.

* * * * * *

I paid for Golan's meal, six coppers as I suspected, and agreed to meet him the next day. Two silver flats as a down payment proved my commitment to the partnership.

"What do you know of Golan?" Suzie asked as we walked back up Harbor Street in the mid-afternoon.

"The last time we met, he wanted to kill me," I recalled.

"Is he honorable?" Suzie said.

"I don't know. He likes gold," I speculated.

"You can't free twenty women. It's impossible. What are you really planning?"

"I'm thinking of freeing twenty women, I just don't know how to do it yet."

We visited the last of the slave houses devoted strictly to sales, finding sixteen women kept in cages. A few were undernourished, but like before, the slavers were trying to sell their product at a high price. Conditions were bad but not the worst. We didn't find the lost daughters or Rotanna.

"Have you no more?" Suzie asked the slave keeper just before we left.

"These are your best choices, ma'am," the lout said. "No fresh meat up from the south until we get rid of that new judge in Arbor. Better pick now."

"We're looking for something different. Know of any other girls? Something out of the ordinary?" Suzie persisted, fondling a half-silver flat in her fingers.

"There is a place. Sharp practices, though. Not a place for ladies. The gentleman might be allowed for the right price, but I'll need to get permission first," he said guardedly.

"See to it," Suzie agreed, handing him the coin.

"Check back tomorrow," he instructed, shoving us out the door into the damp twilight.

We walked down Harbor Street looking for better accommodations before crossing over to Wall's End. The Farina waited in our third-floor room, quiet as promised. Much to their objections, Suzie fitted them in dresses suitable for city wear, put on the heavy coats we bought them, and the four of us went out for dinner, going up to Gate Street where the wagon masters took their meals. With the rain subsiding I hoped to visit the wagon park the next day. Mapps was still a little unsteady on her feet, but Fuschia was doing better.

"It's cruel to use our word against us in this manner," Fuschia complained, struggling against the new dress, a nice blue cotton outfit with black trim and high leather boots. Mapps wore red, which looked good on her, but it wasn't the red leather she desired.

"You will have your leathers soon enough. Tell me, sisters, when you go hunting, do you dress for the forest?" I questioned.

"Of course, foolish male," Mapps said, allowing me to support her with my arm. I used my other hand to hold the walking staff. Sir John's sword hung from my belt covered by my long black cloak. Suzie wore a new bearskin coat and floppy fur hat.

"Then listen well, warriors, for we are on a hunt. Hunting in a perilous land among merciless enemies, and the prizes are sisters held in bondage. Stop your damn whining because I'm sick of it," I criticized.

"Owen, don't be so mean," Suzie said.

"Call me Jurat, and I'll be as mean as I want. Before long these so-called warriors will once again be free among their own, returning to their forest without worries or cares, while you and I carry on the struggle against this pernicious evil. Not once have they thanked us for the risk we take or expressed interest in helping anyone but Rotanna. Sorry, Suzie, we owe these selfish creatures no courtesy."

The forest women fell quiet. I thought Mapps seemed particularly upset, but neither contradicted my opinion. In truth I was in a bad mood, for the meeting with Golan and my impulsive rescue plan were weighing heavily.

"Owen, up ahead. Men in the shadows," Susie whispered.

I glanced forward, seeing several darkly dressed ruffians on a street corner preparing to block our path.

"Fuschia, if I give word, draw my sword," I whispered, peeling back my cloak to give her a clear reach. "Mapps, you will draw my dagger. I'll use the staff. If these hooligans choose to give us challenge, make them sorry."

Suzie put a hand on her knife, knowing as I did that the streets could be dangerous at night. Only one gas lamp illuminated the crossroads, and it was dim. There were three men in all, and by the looks of them, complete scoundrels.

"What? Three wenches with one gentleman? Hardly seems fair, does it friends?" one bold scalawag said in a crusty northern accent.

"Not fair at all," his companion said, a tall man missing several front teeth.

"You must share, sir. Your women and your purse," the third said, a fat waddling pig. They carried daggers but no swords.

"We should avoid these strangers, Jurat," Suzie said, staying close to my side. I looked around, as they had, seeing no one else on the street. A good location for a crime.

"Sirs, I beg you. We are but poor visitors to your city seeking a quiet repast," I requested.

"And we are but poor citizens of the city seeking a humble living," the boldest answered, backing us toward a dark alley.

"We want no trouble," I insisted.

"But we do, stranger," the waddler replied. I sighed, realizing the three were not easily discouraged.

"Fuchsia, give the man what he wants," I said, keeping my hands visible, for it was me the villains were watching. I felt the tug on my belt. Then another as Mapps drew my dagger. The warrior women flashed past me taking advantage of the darkness to catch the villains unaware.

"My god," Suzie muttered, pulling back in surprise.

I had raised my staff, scared but determined, only to find no one to strike at. Fuschia ran the first man through so quickly he never saw the weapon in her hand. Her second blow, a two-fisted swing from the heels, sliced the tall man's throat to the spine. Mapps plunged forward with the dagger at the squat fat man, gutting him with several ruthless thrusts. It all happened so fast not a sound escaped the dying men. I knelt down in the shadows to ransack their pockets, recovering ten coppers, two silver flats, and all three of their daggers. Not a bad night's work. We went on to dinner.

* * * * * *

During the next few days, Suzie played her role of the spoiled wife and I maintained my persona of the bored merchant seeking beautiful helpers for my factories. We visited many of the brothels and taverns searching for new clues without any luck. The Farina joined us on several of these forays. As the forest women were only good at looking frustrated and angry, we made them our servants. Once their strength improved, I decided it was time to investigate the wagon park outside the east gate.

It felt good to be outside the city walls, the woods only a few hundred yards from the moat. I studied the ground should we need to leave through the eastern gate, connecting as it did to the Barlington Road.

Three dozen wagons were formed in six large circles, the camp being a city of its own run by the teamster's guild. Barbecued pork and rye whiskey were in abundance. We found no captured women, but we did hear that the barons were settling their differences. Within a few days trade would once again be moving freely, including the road north. Suzie and I made inquiries.

"Farm girls, hey? There were two like you describe. Came through Arbor, I believe. I have no brook with such doings, you understand, but a man has to make a living," one tradesmen said, a burly fellow with a long brown beard and thick forearms. His wagon carried dry goods brought overland from Rohan's Crossing.

"Of course, sir," I said, refilling his cup from a jug I'd purchased.

"Don't know that you'll find them here, youngster. Came up a few weeks ago and got sold the first day, if I recall," he added, scratching the shaggy beard.

"Yeah, cute little things. One claimed to be the daughter of a knight," his wagon driver added, a tall skinny man with thin bones.

I felt sick. One way or another, one excuse or another, I had waited too long. The lost daughters were truly lost, and I had failed. Suzie took my hand, sensing what I was feeling. I took three rapid gulps from the jug. Fuschia took the jug away from me.

"We have work to do. This is no time for indulgence," Fuschia chided. Mapps was kinder, gently holding on to my elbow.

"There is someone who might know more," the bearded man said.

"Who?" I quickly asked. He put out his hand. I gave him two coppers. He looked up at me. I gave him two more.

"Man who brokered the deal. Old hunchbacked Stolmeister. Only handles a few select clients."

"Where do I find this wonder of nature?" I asked.

He put out his hand again. I dug into my pocket for several more coppers but Fuschia pushed me aside, staring into the man's face. She was half a head shorter and not carrying a weapon. She made no threats, but her shoulders were squared and fists clenched. Her vivid blue eyes gave warning that she had run out of patience. The bearded man was stronger and could no doubt win a fight, but he'd be pitiful to look at afterwards. He gulped and took a step back.

"Does business at the Copper Kettle on Lark Street. Should return from Alcester in a couple of days. Best take your sword if you go to see him," he informed.

"Thank you, sir," I said, gently drawing Fuschia back. The man let out a sigh of relief, but he also looked at the forest woman with a new interest. She laughed, flipping her long golden red hair across her shoulder with a defiant smile.

There was nothing more to be had at the wagon camp. We crossed the drawbridge, passed through the massive gate, and returned to Wall's End for the final time. I dug my gold coins out of the floorboards, thanked the innkeeper for an unforgettable experience, and went over to Harbor Street, checking into the Boatman's Inn. A room on the second floor with a private fireplace provided unimagined luxury.

Leaving the Farina to rest, Suzie and I went to the courthouse, walking up three flights of stairs to the records library on the top floor. There I spent the rest of the day writing out what I had discovered in Kannae, the locations of the victims, and swearing out complaints against those complicit in the crimes. It took many hours, for I wanted a comprehensive document that would hold the city administration accountable for the actions of its guilty constabulary. I thought Suzie would be bored sitting all afternoon in a quiet room filled with musty scrolls, but she had also taken up quill and paper to write a journal of her own.

Just before sunset, when the court building closed, we went back to the Drake and another meeting with Golan. The dining hall wasn't crowded yet, giving us privacy near the largest fireplace. The ale was good, though I should not have drunk so much.

"We need a few more days," I explained, choosing not to say why.

"Don't think to trick me, Magistrate," Golan complained.

"He wouldn't do that," Suzie objected.

"Yes, he would. I am a Brother of the Axe, bound to honor by the oath of my guild. Owen is a lawyer."

"Your treatment of Jalana showed no honor," I said, unwisely getting angry.

"Would you not want revenge if she stabbed your brother?"

"Another mercenary excuse," I dismissed.

"No, Owen. I don't think that's what he means. Golan, are you saying Thory is really your brother?"

"My older brother. We may disagree, and fight, and at times I think myself the better leader, but I would gladly die for him. And gladly cut the throats of his enemies. Sadly, Thory does not think of Owen as an enemy. And he did save his life. For that reason alone this crawling coward remains among the living."

Obviously I had not known, nor even suspected the bond between them, though it would be in Thory's character not to show favoritism. It still did not excuse Golan's rage against Jalana, but it did explain it.

"I intend to keep my word, even if I am a lawyer," I insisted, pushing my half-filled goblet away and standing up. "But what we plan is dangerous, and there is no gold for the dead. We'll see soon enough where honor lies."

"Do not dream of matching me, with a sword or with a woman," Golan answered, also on his feet. "I may not be quality, and an advocate's daughter might deserve better, but by the time this is finished Suzie will be begging for my furs instead of yours."

"You have quite an imagination for a dimwitted ape," I said, stepping around the edge of the table. Clearly I'd had too much to drink.

"Gentlemen, please," Suzie protested, her cheeks flushing.

Golan laughed and wrapped a big arm around her shoulders, pretending to be charming. And he had called me a fraud.

Suzie and I made one last stop on the way back, at the slaver who offered us word on a disreputable holding place. The pesthole was even worse in the dark.

"You may visit tonight, an hour after midnight," the little scum sucker informed. "You only, not the wife. Do not eat a full meal, you will not hold it down. My man will stop at your inn."

I was glad we had upgraded to better rooms at the Boatman, for Wall's End would not have given the right impression.

"I must come, too," Suzie objected.

"You may not. It's no place for females," he denied. I took Suzie's hand to calm her down. The man was determined, and no amount of argument would change his mind.

"A half-silver now and another if the entertainment is adequate," I said, giving the rogue another bribe. Though not usually a violent man, I quietly hoped I might hang the son of a bitch someday. Suzie and I returned to our inn where I took a bath, needing it badly.

"This isn't wise, Owen. What if it's a trap?" Suzie said as I prepared to visit the secret location.

Fuschia and Mapps turned their heads, looking up from the red leather hides I had purchased for their travel outfits. Most of the night they had been too busy with their cutting and sewing to pay much attention.

"Maybe we should all go?" Fuschia said, the first time I remember her caring one way or the other.

"We can plunder more of these city dwellers," Mapps said, no doubt looking forward to another street brawl. Her belt now held two daggers. Fuschia kept one dagger in her belt and one in an ankle sheath.

"I go alone, as instructed. You have the money belt, Suzie. If something goes wrong, take ship to Arbor and give the council my journal," I said. "Mapps and Fuschia, your sisters await your return. If I can't find Rotanna, Jalana will know what to do."

"You frighten us with gloomy words," Mapps said, standing to look me in the eyes. She was quite attractive, as all Farina seemed to be, though in a clinch I would prefer Suzie. The Farina were a bit aggressive for my taste.

"I shouldn't be gone long," I answered.

I went downstairs and waited by the fire, the grandfather clock chiming within a few minutes. I drank half a cup of ale but was afraid to have more. I clutched the hilt of Sir John's sword wondering if I'd have the courage to use it. A sulking youngster appeared in the doorway and waved. He seemed in his early twenties, thin, with badly cut black hair. One eye was slightly clouded.

"We do not travel far, good sir. Near the docks," the young man said, walking with a pronounced limp. I gave him a few coppers for his trouble.

In a dark alley off Spider Street, we came to a steep stairwell leading underneath a slaughterhouse. The smell of rotting animal flesh reeked but wasn't so bad once the door closed behind us. The stone chamber was dark, the only other door veiled by a curtain. One guard stood duty, a roughneck sitting on a tall stool. He paid me little attention.

"This way, sir," the youth said, taking me through the curtain. A dark hall went to the far end of the basement, the floor a damp gray rock. A handful of flickering torches were the only light.

"First time?" the youngster asked.

"Yes. I'm a stranger to your city," I replied.

"Not my city. Down from Two Bridges for the season. Not much work in farm country for cripples this time of year," he bitterly said.

"So you've chosen a year-round trade?" I asked.

"This ain't no proper trade, sir. Sorry, but it ain't," he protested.

"I heard Duke Rykar approves of such traffic."

"Not so much as some think. The Good Duke may wish to be king someday. Such doings would not reflect well on his honor."

"You think he would make a good king?" I asked.

"A strong king. Better than no king at all," he answered, revealing what many in the north must be thinking. No one I knew in the south would accept such a choice, but Rykar was a soldier of much experience. If he made a claim on the throne, opposing him would be dangerous. We entered a back alley and stopped before a narrow door at the far end. My guide fell back.

"Have a good night, sir," he said, disappearing before I could reply.

The door was heavy oak, latched but not locked. I knocked. The door half opened.

"Two silver flats," a grizzly voice said, an old man with no hair and a wrinkled face. I handed him two coins and turned sideways to squeeze through the opening.

The first thing I heard were moans. Then the crack of a whip. Torches lit the interior of a gothic chamber with caged cubicles off to the sides. Straw covered the floor. Next to the old man was a large brute in black leather.

"Welcome to Coven's Cove, esteemed sir. I am Carnova. My assistant is Fastero. Our doorman is Pelles," the elderly man introduced.

Carnova was a skinny, leathery old thing, with sunken black eyes and a gap-toothed grin. His clothes were drab, well-made but unremarkable, hanging loosely on his thin frame. The only hair left on his bald head was stringy and gray. His bony hands rubbed nervously together.

Fastero was of a different sort, wide-shouldered and broad in the chest, probably forty years old, and suspicious by nature, though not terribly bright. A hired thug anxious to please his master. Pelles lingered back in the dark, staring underneath a black hood, so quiet that I couldn't hear him breathe. I guessed him to be a tall man, but it was only a guess.

"I prefer not to deal in names, sir. Rumor says you stock women of unusual fierceness. Such a one interests me," I suggested, keeping my voice low.

There were more moans. A suppressed scream. I walked to the first cage, seeing a woman chained hand and foot, her back lashed in red stripes. The second cage held a woman on a table in similar condition, a subject of unspeakable practices. My stomach heaved, but thankfully I had eaten lightly that evening.

"What is your pleasure, sir?" old Carnova asked.

My pleasure was to draw my sword and hack off the bloody bastard's head, but my chances of leaving the basement alive would be poor. The cage at the rear was larger than the others. A game room. A woman hung there by her wrists, lashed close to death. Dagger tattoos decorated her upper arms. A slender man stood in the cage with her, a whip in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other. He looked winded from delivering the beatings. By his dress, I marked him a member of the minor nobility out for a night of cruel sport.

"The stock is in poor condition," I remarked.

"There is always more stock, sir. What good is a toy unless you play with it?" Carnova said.

"A bit long in the tooth, isn't she," I asked, pointing at the nearly dead red-haired Farina. Rotanna was a decade older than Jalana. She wasn't tall like Yana or wide shouldered like Obina, but stout and muscular. Blood dripped in pools on the floor.

"Older than most, but her fierceness is priceless. For weeks she has shouted defiance and fought with every fiber of her arrogant being, and even now she is not defeated, only dying. Our clients pay well for such a challenge," Carnova said.

"I have taken her myself," Fastero boasted, shaking the whip. "Even I could not make her beg for mercy."

"The bitch sounds much to my preference. How much to buy her?" I asked.

"We do not sell our stock, sir. When they've served their purpose, we take the carcasses upstairs to the butcher shop where they fetch three coppers each," Carnova said with a sinister grin.

"May I inspect the product?" I inquired, struggling to keep my voice calm.

"She's rented by the hour," Fastero said.

I produced three silver flats, thrust them in his hand, and entered the cage. The noble rogue tormenting her looked surprised. I threw him out, a hand on my sword warning him not to come back. Bravery had found me, at least for a brief moment.

"You lack vigor, slave," I said, standing before her.

Rotanna tried to raise her knee, hoping to do me damage. She was too weak.

"Death to you, male. Do your worst," Rotanna grunted, trying to spit.

I might have thought her an attractive woman had she not been covered in bloody lash marks. Her eyes were puffy, the lower lip split. The smell of her festering wounds was nauseating.

"Do you wish to live or die?" I asked.

"I wish to kill you," she grunted.

The chains around her wrists were cutting deep as she could no longer stand. I unlatched the clasps, letting her drop to the floor in a heap. The slavers thought I intended to rape her. I left the cage, closing the door.

"Give me a fair price," I demanded.

"It is as I said, noble sir. We must not sell the stock," Carnova patiently explained.

"Not even for a gold robbin?" I asked.

Carnova gasped. Fastero gripped his whip more tightly. I had gotten their interest.

"Sir, I..." Carnova started to say.

"Let me be clear, good merchant. I want the woman for purposes of my own. What I want, I get. A gold and eight, but she must be reserved for my personal use."

"She's past her use. We take no responsibility if her life fails," Carnova warned.

"I'll have my man bring payment. Until then she is to have water and what relief is available. If anyone damages my property, that man will pay dearly. Am I understood?"

I clutched my sword, daring anyone to disagree. Carnova was not a small man, but elderly. Fastero was big but armed only with a whip. I wasn't a warrior, though at the moment, few would have guessed it. Even I wouldn't have guessed it.

"A gold and eight," Carnova agreed. "Four now, the rest on the Sabbath."

"The Sabbath? Why so long?" I inquired.

"Our associate must agree," he answered. "Have no worry, the woman will be ready."

"See that she is," I said, digging in my pouch for four silver circles. "I have friends in this city. Perhaps not so many as you, but enough. No one cheats me and gets away with it."

"Fear not, we keep our bargains," Carnova promised.

I wandered through the dark streets of Kannae angrier than I'd ever been. Boatman's Inn was only a few blocks away, but I stopped at the Drake instead, not ready to tell my women of Rotanna's situation. The sights I had seen in the torture chamber burned like a hot iron. How could any man surrender his soul to such sacrilege? How could God permit it? There was no doubt in my mind that every one of the misbegotten wretches needed to die as painfully as possible.

The tavern was quiet, only a few hours left before dawn. Two men sat at the bar bantering with an attractive waitress, the lamp lights low. A fire glowed in one of the two hearths.

"Whiskey," I ordered, sitting at the far end of the oak counter. The waitress brought my drink and went back to flirting with the bargemen.

"Magistrate? Out late, aren't you?" Golan said, coming from the chamber pots in the back of the tavern.

"I told you not to call me that, you goddamn sheep-humper," I muttered, gulping the first whiskey and pounding on the bar for another.

"The bookworm is a man tonight. What brings this on?" Golan asked, thinking me too poor a challenge for insult. I struggled to take a deep breath. My better judgment was clouded with rage. I gulped my second whiskey and demanded more, loudly and without politeness.

"Slow down there, lawyer. You can make no gold for me dead from alcohol. Or dead from a bar fight if your manners don't improve," Golan warned.

"You talk to me of manners? You who would have raped Jalana? Killed her for your own vile ego? Face me, dog brother, if you have the courage."

I jumped off the wooden bar stool and drew Sir John's sword, the blade glistening in the dim light. It didn't seem enough. I pulled a dagger with my other hand, waiting for Golan to charge. The handful of tavern patrons turned to stare but not interfere. Golan never left his stool.

"Sit down, Owen. I'm buying the next round," he said.

The flush of anger subsided as I sheathed the weapons and sat, embarrassed by my behavior. My hands shook as I slowly sipped the wheat beer Golan ordered for me, keeping the whiskey glass for himself.

"I apologize," I whispered, my head hung low. Golan had done nothing in our recent experience to merit such treatment.

"Tell me what troubles you, lawyer. And be honest, hard as it is for your kind," Golan said, ordering us bread and stew to off-set the strong spirits.

I told him of my search for Rotanna, and what I'd found. I nearly vomited. Golan was perturbed by the tale. The Brothers of the Black Axe hailed from kingdoms that prided themselves on a higher standard of civilization than the barbaric north. Mercenaries were professional soldiers, not criminals for hire. Honor meant something even to bad tempered brutes like Golan.

"I think you should enjoy your drink and whores, Black Axe. I'll give you a few silver circles and call us even," I suggested.

"You're cutting me out of the deal?" he objected.

"You didn't believe I would really try to free twenty women from this hell-hole, did you? Even Suzie didn't believe it. Such a project is filled with danger and scant chance of reward. At the time it was a hopeful daydream. But not anymore. God has spoken to me, and I will answer him with my life," I said, draining my cup.

"Did God mention anything about gold in your vision?" Golan asked.

"Enough to make a brave man comfortable," I decided.

"When do we strike?"

"Tomorrow night."

* * * * * *

To be continued in part seven, Bartering in Blood