Magistrate of the Dark Land

Part Seven

by G. Lawrence

When the law fails...

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

Recap; Owen is seeking to rescue kidnapped women in the northern city of Kannae.

* * * * * *

Chapter Eight

BARTERING IN BLOOD

It was good I'd given myself a day to get ready, waking fatigued and hung over the next morning. Such behavior did not improve the Farina's opinion of me, and even Suzie seemed disturbed. I would have preferred to sleep all day in the large bed the four of us shared but there was much to do.

My first task was to get a haircut and bath down at the Merchant's Guild where I exchanged a gold robbin for silver. The guild maintained a manifest of docked barges, allowing me to investigate their cargos and destinations. Later I shared lunch with a ship's captain to inquire about his goods. He had a load of wool blankets down from Quarterstone which I arranged to buy, promising to send my wagons on Monday. Suzie and the Farina met me in the plaza afterwards, impressed by my clean appearance and smartly ironed clothes. We went to an arms merchant on Battle Street.

"Swords for young girls?" the armorer asked.

"Just the blonde younglings. We're doing a performance of Catello and they must look the part," I explained, noticing the angry stares of the Farina. The armorer noticed the stares, too.

"They must be wonderful actresses. They look just like blood thirsty Amazoi. You know, I saw Catello once, down in Crowley. A blood performance. Your girls look much more realistic," he said, admiring the shapely figures. Fuschia scowled, a hand on her dagger. Mapps smiled, finding the chatty merchant amusing. Had he not been so overweight, her interest may have gone farther.

"We lost a chest of props in the Dwallers, and we only use the best. Patrons of quality expect no less. Ladies, please select what you like," I said, pointing to the racks of gleaming broadswords.

Mapps and Fuschia spent half an hour choosing their weapons, hefting and swinging the swords in mock combat. The armorer whistled in admiration.

"You've trained them well, sir. They almost look like real warriors," the merchant said, leaning over the wooden service counter on his elbows.

"Almost? Step into the street, pig of a male, and I will prove who is almost a warrior," Fuschia threatened, waving the blade in his face. Suzie dared to drag her back, a brave deed in my opinion.

"Hah! Wonderful! Wonderful! I was actually frightened for a moment. A tenth off your purchase, good sir. After you perform for the quality, will you do a show for the commons?" the merchant said, clapping his hands. The street wasn't busy late in the afternoon but there were enough spectators to draw a crowd.

"I hope to bring the performance citywide before long," I replied. "We also need agile bows for our next rendition of Robin Hood's Merry Maids. Green quivers would add a nice touch, and the arrows should have red and black fletching. Can you recommend a good bowmaker?"

"My brother-in-law, and I know what you want. I'll have him bring his best to my booth tomorrow, if that's all right," the merchant eagerly suggested.

"I appreciate your courtesy, sir," I happily answered.

After completing the purchase, the four of us went to the courthouse where we spent two hours in the records room. I needed to finish the writs and research a point of case law. The Farina were not strangers to books, having learned to read their sacred scrolls, but I didn't think they'd ever seen a library. Surprisingly, they were not bored, looking at an illustrated study of modern warfare.

"Owen, what is this thing called siege?" Mapps asked, pointing to drawings of strange wooden machines set before her.

"When a city's walls are too strong, such as these at Kannae, an army weakens the enemy through siege. They cut off food and reinforcements. The water, if possible. The machines batter the walls and rob the defenders of their will to fight. If a siege is successful, the city will surrender or be overwhelmed."

"There is no honor in such battle," Fuschia scorned.

"Do not mistake it, Red Leather. Such battle takes courage, determination and patience. Those skilled in siege techniques are held in high esteem," I said.

"Are you versed in these skills?" Fuschia asked.

"Me? No, I know little of engineering. This is my battleground," I said, indicating the books.

"What battle do you expect to win with etchings?" Mapps asked.

"The final battle," I answered.

The clock chimed five. Rushing to the window, I saw the city magistrate leaving the courthouse and turning west toward the better neighborhoods. I ran downstairs to the clerk's office.

"I have a notification for Judge Branch," I breathlessly said, a rolled document in hand.

"The judge is gone for the Sabbath. Bring it back on Monday," the clerk said, anxious to leave. The New Church celebrates the Sabbath on Saturday, the Old Church on Sunday. Being loyal bureaucrats, the civil employees would be gone both days.

"I don't wish to cause trouble," I said, jingling a few coppers before putting them absently on the desk. "Making another trip is hard in such cold weather. If you could but stamp the letter, we could leave it on the judge's desk and think no more about it."

The clerk thought the suggestion over, but only for a moment. He stood up and opened the door to Judge Branch's office, a nicely paneled chamber cluttered with mountains of paperwork. A gilded portrait of Baron Lackston hung on the far wall. Imported carpets and tapestries indicated a successful practice. The clerk pressed an ink stamp on my document and threw it contemptuously into one of the larger piles. I turned to see the coppers were gone.

"If I may have my receipt?" I asked.

The clerk gave me an especially dirty look before stamping off my duplicate copy.

"The office is now closed," he announced.

"Thank you, sir," I said, going back upstairs to the records room. The clerk had no idea what had just occurred. One day he would.

Our day in the library was done, the cleaning woman ready to throw us out of the building. I set aside a few sparsely worded parchments and sealed the journal in a leather courier pouch. Mapps and Fuschia put their war books away.

"What now, Owen?" Suzie asked, taking my arm as we descended the steps into a cold twilight evening.

"We're to have dinner with Golan at the Shark's Breath. At midnight, he and I will go to redeem Rotanna from the slavers. She's not in good condition, which is why we bought the extra medicines from the apothecary."

"This Golan sounds like a villain. We must have a reckoning for what he did to our war captain," Fuschia said, toying with the hilt of her new sword.

The Farina wore red leather outfits under their autumn coats. Knee-length boots protected their legs from a chill wind. Black headbands held back their long hair, a red feather indicating Fuschia as a warrior, a green feather showing Mapps to be a hunter. Every male head turned as we passed by.

The Shark's Breath is a large dance hall on the waterfront near the docks, important enough to have a private tunnel beneath the northwest tower. The common sort, which included us, took tables on the floor while important personages enjoyed private boxes on the balconies. Golan was there ahead of us wearing a stylishly cut gray woolen suit with maroon trim and polished black boots. With his long blonde hair washed and freshly shaved chin, the gruff rogue actually looked dashing.

"Jurat, my good friend, come join me," Golan called out for the benefit of those not minding their own business. "By the stars, what lovelies are these?"

We took seats at a table off the main floor well away from the bar, less likely to be overheard. Golan could not take his eyes from the forest women, irking me greatly.

"These are Mapps and Fuschia, friend Golan. They are sisters to Jalana," I introduced.

"What a family these Farina must be," Golan praised. He already had a decanter of fine red wine and three crystal glasses. He took two more glasses from the adjoining table, annoying the patrons who nevertheless did not object.

"An excellent Madeira, ladies. Imported from lands far, far away," Golan said, filling everyone's glass. Even mine, winking as he did.

"You led us to believe this Golan a mangy cur, Owen. Your vision is less than a warrior's," Fuschia said, moving her chair closer to Golan.

"Yet will we need words for what you did to our sister," Mapps said, more standoffish.

"Me? It was Thory who bought the spiteful vixen from the slavers, and Owen who raped her. What did I do?" Golan asked.

The Farina turned on me with harsh stares, another reckoning being promised. I sipped the wine, finding it robust. A band called the Terrapins formed on stage getting ready to perform, several fiddlers and a flutist. They were known for rowdy tempos popular with dancers.

"Have we business tonight?" Golan asked. I reached in my pocket, took out a gold robbin, and put it on the table before him. He looked puzzled.

"What's this?" he inquired.

"If you would rather change your mind, it's my way of saying thank you and no hard feelings," I said, pushing the coin closer. He picked the robbin up, fondling the thinly minted coin bearing the image of King Tarten.

"There is more to this than you're saying," Golan astutely concluded.

"Less money than I promised, and more murder," I said, leaning forward.

"You, a murderer?" he said in disbelief.

"It's not murder. We do no more than free innocents," Suzie quietly disagreed.

"And slay those who deserve death," Fuschia added, scrunching her eyebrows.

"You take these women into the stews? What the hell are you thinking, Magistrate?" Golan said in anger.

"Please, no titles. In truth, I would rather not, but they're stubborn foxes and well-armed. Tonight, we free the last of the missing Farina. Mapps and Fuschia will not be denied. I tried to talk Suzie out of coming. Perhaps you can do better."

"You will not do better," Suzie interrupted. "Owen saved me. And Mapps and Fuschia. He saved the women and children of Arbor, and the villagers at Varna. But now he faces a greater danger. One man against many. What freedom could I savor letting him go alone?"

"What freedom will you have in Carnova's slave pit, little bird? Owen is no match for trained fighting men," Golan correctly said.

"Do not trouble your conscience if you are afraid, male. Farina need no help to save our own," Mapps vowed.

"The Dread Goddess decrees our destiny, to live free or die in glory. Ever has it been so," Fuschia proudly announced. Golan sipped his wine slowly before speaking.

"I am Brother of the Black Axe, ladies. Swords for hire should the cause be lawful. I see nothing wrong in killing a few slavers for good pay," Golan responded. He put the gold robbin on the table and slid it back with defiance. "Pay me when the job is done and not before."

I sighed with relief, for I dearly wanted a strong sword at my side. I took the rolled parchments from my pocket, handing one to each of them and keeping one for myself. Suzie's eyebrows shot up in surprise when she began reading. Golan's reading skills weren't the best but he also seemed surprised. And he had questions.

"I don't understand," he whispered.

"Friend Golan, I do not serve the Magistrate of Ravenshire. I am the Magistrate of Ravenshire. By the power of extended jurisdiction upon local filing, which I did this afternoon, you are all appointed deputies of the court. These documents indemnify you from prosecution," I carefully explained.

"They'll still chop our heads off if we're caught," Golan said.

"They might, but once in Arbor, you'll be protected by the full force of the county government. It allows you to collect your bounties and go about your business without fear of retaliation."

"This is thoughtful of you," Suzie said, seeing Golan agreed.

"It makes your actions legal. I want no misunderstanding later that we are merely stealing women from raiders for personal profit," I stressed.

"I am," Golan corrected.

"I'm not. Suzie has your draft for the bounty money when you reach Arbor. I'm not claiming a share," I revealed.

"You're a fool," Golan decided.

"Yes, that's obvious," I agreed.

The Farina seemed confused by talk of drafts and bounties. They just wanted to fight. Suzie had seen the draft and knew her name was included for a share. She would need a dowry to find a good husband.

"What is the paper you're keeping?" Mapps asked, tucking the scroll in her boot.

"A writ of summary judgment. I've left space for several names to be filled in later," I said, putting the document back in my pocket.

"Summary judgment?" Fuschia wondered.

"An execution order," Golan knew.

"Execute who?" Suzie asked.

"Any slaver who gets in our way," I replied.

We ordered an expensive meal of roast lamb and boiled cabbage, drank two bottles of wine, and went out to the dance floor. Suzie and I paired off while Golan danced with Fuschia and Mapps. The room grew warm, and I must say, it was nice to have an evening of civilized entertainment. Even Golan turned out to be decent company, for a wretched soulless mercenary. An hour before midnight, we bundled up for a walk along the wharf. Golan and Fuschia held hands. I thought them evenly matched in fierceness and temperament.

Kannae's harbor is similar to Arbor's. We found six barges tied to the docks and three floating at anchor in the river where a breakwater protected the bay. There were also many smaller boats, most used for fishing or transporting nobility. One barge had Belly Beast painted on the bow in Old Script. It was the ship holding my recently purchased dry goods. Golan noticed my interest.

"Hah, and I called you a fool," Golan grunted.

"What means you, warrior?" Fuschia asked.

"Magistrate said he would steal twenty slaves from this city. I thought him deluded. Now I see he is clever. Cleverer than I," Golan said.

"Such goes without saying," I granted.

"I see only a big canoe with a hut on it. And dark water," Fuschia said, walking close to the pier. The barge creaked at its mooring, riding the river well. The few hands onboard were playing cards in the galley, their conversation muted.

"The boat, little ferret," Golan said. "We'll free the slaves, load them on in the dark of night, and be downriver before anyone can mount a pursuit. In three days we'll be in Arbor protected by Magistrate's scraps of paper. We're not just thieves, but pirates, too."

"These women are not slaves, any more than we were slaves. They are stolen. Those who did this must die or there is no honor," Mapps angrily insisted.

"I mean no disrespect, hunter," Golan apologized.

"Then try to give none," Mapps warned.

"Never again. I promise," he said, raising her chin to look her sincerely in the eyes.

Mapps blushed. Golan was dishing out the charm so thick it was making me ill. Fortunate the Farina didn't know his black heart as I did.

"It's a good size boat, Magistrate, and the voyage short. The weather getting better. Why can't we take more than twenty?" Golan suddenly asked.

"There's no extra profit in it, mercenary. Your draft carries the maximum payout Arbor will provide," I grouched, knowing he was only boasting.

"To hell with that. My share is plenty enough already. What say you, sisters? Shall we give these slaving city dwellers something to remember? A night to wake the gods?" Golan asked, wrapping his huge arms around both Fuschia and Mapps.

The women snuggled close, obviously because of the damp chill. I knew Golan was striving for a night to remember all right, but doubted it had anything to do with rescuing abused women. Fuschia could not see through his pathetic ploy, excited by his bravado, and I could not afford to call his bluff.

The cold air was good for clearing our heads. I knew Suzie was nervous, as I was. Attempting to free Rotanna would put us in a dangerous situation. Golan and the Farina were accustomed to such risks, we were not.

We divided into two groups, Suzie, Mapps, and I going first, Fuschia and Golan behind us. The streets were dark in the quarter of the dreaded chambers where Rotanna was held, rats scurrying into the alleys as we passed. I saw the sign of the Headless Bull off Spider Street and the steep stairwell leading underneath the slaughterhouse.

"There, to the left," I whispered.

I wore Sir John's sword in plain view. Mapps' sword was hidden under her long cloak. Suzie carried a dagger tucked under her heavy coat. It was midnight. I knocked on the door.

"Enter," a gravelly voice said after making us wait. It was Pellas, the watchman, with old Carnova standing a few feet away. Another man stood on the far side of the room, but it wasn't Fastero. An extra guard, possibly. I didn't like the look of him.

"I have the payment. Show me the woman," I said, producing a gold robbin and four silver circles before closing them in my fist.

"Who are these beauties? Are they for sale?" old Carnova asked.

"You can't afford them," I answered, a hand on my sword.

The room was poorly lit by a single torch, dim enough that they couldn't see my apprehension. We could easily become prey in such a place, nor would screaming avail us, for screams from this quarter must be common. It occurred to me that if Golan chose this night for betrayal, my worst nightmares would come true. It made me sick just thinking about it.

We were led though the first room into the long corridor. Somewhere above us the slaughterhouse nightshift was slitting the throats of fat hogs, hanging the carcasses on meat hooks before carving them to pieces. When we approached the inner chamber, I saw Fastero and another man sitting on stools against the wall, both armed with swords. A third man stood in the doorway of a rear corridor holding a whip and wearing a hood. He wasn't a client.

"It's a trap, Owen," Suzie whispered.

"I fear so. Be ready," I said, a trembling hand gripping the sword hilt. Mapps was concerned, too, watching all with a hunter's eye.

"The slave does not thrive, yet still do we expect your gold, stranger," Carnova said, the bald weasel slowing his pace. I turned to see Pelles and the other rogue had lingered behind.

"Does she live?" I asked.

"Barely. We had a guest this afternoon who was not kind," Carnova explained.

"But he paid well," Fastero mentioned.

The central chamber had better light, a half dozen torches burning. The straw covered floor showed streaks of crimson. A woman whimpered in the first cage to my left, her injuries difficult to see. The table in the second cage was empty, chains dangling off the sides. Rotanna occupied the third, curled in a ball and covered with lash marks. To my right, a naked woman hung by the wrists, her eyes staring vacantly in death. Still another woman lay dead at the mouth of the rear corridor, the body bound hand and foot. I could not tell if she died that way or was bundled for transport upstairs to the slaughterhouse.

"You've done harsh deeds today, sir," I said, appalled by such inhumanity.

Suzie clung to my right arm in terror. Mapps stood close to my left, also badly shaken. The place reeked of unimaginable suffering.

"We need more women, stranger, and yours will do nicely. Give us a price," Carnova said. It was not a request. In another time and place, I might have sold the girls and ran for help, but there was no help to be found in this godforsaken city.

Carnova paused before me, two men to his left blocking the way we came in, two more guarding the rear corridor leading upstairs. I sensed they were not our only problems, noise from both directions hinting at additional enemies. An eighteen-inch piece of lead pipe lay at my feet, one end molded round for use in unspeakable ways.

"May I have this?" I asked, reaching for the ghastly object. It had a nice weight, about three pounds.

"Keep the damn thing for all I care. A silver apiece for your women. Ask more and you get nothing," Carnova demanded.

"Nothing but the lash, and plenty of it," Fastero added.

The hooded man behind him remained mute but waved the long leather whip for emphasis. A man frightened to the edge of self-control may respond in two ways; take flight or strike out in blind desperation. I had no place to run.

"I don't wish to take your unholy tool, sir, only use it for a brief moment," I said, hardly able to breathe.

"On one of these lovelies?" Carnova asked.

I raised the pipe and brought it down on the top of his foul head with all my strength, cracking his skull. He crumpled to my feet with a groan. Mapps threw off her cloak to draw her slender sword. Our enemies quickly did the same, three swords suddenly drawn. The man with the whip struck at Mapps trying to hit her sword hand. Suzie rolled the gate to Rotanna's cage open, giving us room to retreat. Still another villain appeared from the rear corridor. I pushed Suzie into the cell, swinging the lead pipe in every direction as I backed up.

Mapps placed herself in the cell doorway, her blade thrusting in quick controlled motions. She cut one of the slavers before receiving a slash on her forearm. I threw the pipe, hitting the wounded man in the face, and drew my sword. There was little I could do standing in the cell behind Mapps. The slavers were striking hard, struggling to get at Mapps whose flanks were protected by the cell's iron bars.

One man tried to slide the door shut to lock us in but Suzie saw what he was doing. With great bravery, she jumped forward with her dagger and hacked at his hand, severing two fingers. The man cursed and drove his sword through the bars, catching the tip in her shoulder. Suzie cried out and fell backward, but the victory was not inflicted without a price. Seeing the coward's arm fully extended, I half turned to strike down hard with my broadsword, taking the villain's hand off at the wrist. He howled as blood sprayed in all directions. I picked up the still twitching hand and threw it in his face before lunging with my sword through the bars, missing him by inches. The One-Hand drew a knife to throw at me, the butt bouncing off my forehead. Suzie dragged me away as two swords sought to skewer my intestines.

Mapps was growing tired, pressed by too many blades. She was a hunter by training, a warrior only by forest tradition. I stood up to take her place in the doorway, though knowing my skills, the respite would be of short duration. I could not help wondering what had happened to Golan. Had he betrayed us? Seized Fuschia for himself and fled into the night? Had my colossal ego condemned Suzie and Mapps to a fate worse than death? Yes, I decided, that must be what happened. How could I have been so stupid? My anger competed with my fear as I saw the murderers closing in on us, despair ripping my heart.

Suddenly there was a blood curdling yell from the first corridor, and a clash of steel. It was a Farina war cry furiously bent on violence. A guard blocking the exit was soon driven backward in our direction, and then Fuschia appeared.

Here was a true warrior to test the slavers' mettle, stripped down to her red leathers, hair flayed out as she drove relentlessly with sword and dagger. I was never happier to see a merciless savage in my life.

"Come to me, city vermin. The Dread Goddess awaits your homage," Fuschia summoned, cutting down the man before her and plunging into the group surrounding our cell. The men were startled, struggling against the vicious onslaught. One was wounded. Then another. Fuschia took a flesh wound in the neck but kept up the pressure.

Mapps slashed at the man closest to her, but she was exhausted, blood running from the laceration on her arm. I stepped in front of her and tried to jab the nearest opponent before jumping at the villain instead, rocking him with a punch to the jaw. The big man was tough however and didn't go down. A sword cut though my coat almost catching my ribs. I drove forward trying to bunch the men together so Fuschia could hack at them. Something hit me on the head and my knees wobbled. Another blow knocked me to the floor. All around me seemed chaos as the slavers shouted defiance and Fuschia screamed horrendous oaths of vengeance, but she was still outnumbered four to one. I desperately tried to get up but could only grab the hooded man's leg. He kicked me in the face, but I refused to let go.

Fuschia turned with her back to the cell door, standing over me as she protected Mapps and Suzie. She was breathing hard, her guard beginning to drop. The slavers took courage, forming a group to rush her. They were due for yet another cruel surprise.

"Save some for me, pretty ferret," Golan said, coming from the rear corridor, a heavy broadsword in one hand and a stunned young wastrel gripped by the collar in the other.

Golan threw the young man down with such force his head cracked on the flagstone floor. Then he set to work on the four slavers. His first blow hacked Fastero's skull in half, brain matter splashing the walls. Turning, he held up an arm to block a cracking whip and countered with a deadly thrust that opened the hooded slaver's guts. I crawled back into the cell next to Suzie and Rotanna, splattered enough already.

"Ragnall, help me! For Hell's Sake, help me!" Pelles pleaded.

"Can't! This witch is all over me!" his friend shouted.

The villains were backing toward the exit, Pelles hard pressed by Golan, Fuschia driving on Ragnall. Mapps leaped up to block their retreat, scowling with fury. Ragnall went down under a thrust to the heart, a quicker death than he deserved. Pelles backed up against the cage where the dead woman hung in chains. With no chance of escape, he dropped his sword.

"I yield, warriors. I pray you spare me," Pelles begged.

Golan paused. In the world of mercenaries, such surrenders were accepted. For ransom if not courtesy. Fuschia stepped up and drove her sword through the villain's chest. Once the man dropped to the floor, she put her foot on his throat and pulled her sword free.

The chamber was suddenly quiet. Only the injured Carnova and the unconscious wastrel Golan had dragged down from the stairwell remained among the slavers. Golan sheathed his sword and rushed to Fuschia, sucking the blood from her neck wound before wrapping it with a silk scarf.

"You were supposed to wait for me, sweet cake," he chided.

"No honor is found arriving too late," Fuschia said, flattered by his attention. I could hardly believe Golan's boldness. Even among the wretched carnage of the torture chamber, all he could think of was seducing Fuschia.

Mapps wiped her blade and went to Rotanna's side. The First Sword of the Red Leather was beaten nearly to death, her body made a bloody wreck by the lash. I had no medicine with me other than an opiate, nor the training to deal with such severe wounds. She would need a doctor and quickly.

"What of the others?" I asked, knowing they could not be left behind.

Mapps was soon in the first cage tending the poor young woman who lay there, the injuries not so serious. Golan went to check on Carnova's young assistant, a lad not yet twenty.

"I'll tell! I'll tell on all of you!" the lad suddenly shouted.

"Calm yourself, man. You'll be free soon," Golan said.

"My master will reward me! I'll tell! I'll tell!" the youngster insisted. Golan backed from the cell, leaving him chained. It posed a quandary.

Suzie and I still sat on the floor. I wrapped her wounded shoulder and helped her up. We were both unsteady. I felt nauseous. My head throbbed, ears ringing. Clear indications of a concussion. Suzie went to help Rotanna. Carnova stirred. I found the lead pipe and bashed his head in with three hard blows. Another blow ended the wastrel's life just as quickly.

"Now what, Magistrate?" Golan asked.

"We must retire quietly to the inn until ready to launch the final raid," I answered.

"I'm going to tell! Telling! Telling!" the lad continued to shout, though how he had the energy was a mystery.

"We can't take him with us calling out like that, and if we leave him here, we'll never leave this city alive. What should we do?" Golan asked, knowing there could be but one answer. A regrettable one, but the world is hard. I found my sword on the blood-soaked floor.

"I'll take the duty," Golan graciously offered.

"No, Golan, I think not," I said.

"It's no business for a lawyer," he protested.

"I don't like you, axe brother. Never have and never will. But you've proven true to your word. You will find no honor in this, and I have none to lose," I sadly insisted.

Golan stepped aside. It wasn't a responsibility anyone would relish.

"I'm not afraid. My master will reward me," Carnova's deluded minion said as I approached.

"Your master is dead, lad. Give yourself over to God's Grace," I urged.

"I'll tell," the mad youth said a final time.

He had been abused too long. Exposed to too many horrors. Given time he might be cured, but there was no time, and many lives were at stake. My shoulders sagged as I said a prayer and prepared to cut his throat. Suddenly a dagger flew past me and buried itself in the pathetic lad's heart. He moaned, falling limp in the chains. I turned to find Mapps looking at me.

"It's our sister we protect," Mapps explained, no happier about murdering the pitiful lad than I.

I nodded thanks as Mapps went to help Suzie make a litter. Fuschia was standing guard. Golan picked up the surviving women from the first cell. She was badly bruised, conscious but withdrawn, not daring to look at anyone. I guessed her at nineteen years of age with the darkest skin I'd ever seen. Perhaps brought from lands beyond the Middle Sea. If so, she was expensive property.

"The wenches are in bad shape," Golan whispered to me, setting the girl down next to Rotanna so Suzie could sponge her wounds.

"I know a doctor on Carver Street who might find favor in our doings. If you can take the women back to our inn, I'll bring him there," I suggested.

"My inn would be better. I'm known there. No questions will be asked," Golan suggested.

The Drake was indeed closer, and Golan had connections through his brotherhood that I lacked. I was uncomfortable trusting to his mercy but saw little choice.

"Suzie and I will get the girls ready to move. Drag this filth into a corner and throw straw over them," I said.

While Golan was piling bodies in a cell, I went to check on the women. All were wounded, but fortunately, none seriously except Rotanna. I wasn't sure if she would live.

"Fuschia found a roll of linen. We're cleaning the cuts as best we can," Suzie said. I made her stop for a moment to bandage her shoulder better and give her a drop of opium. Just enough to take the edge off the pain.

"I fear the First Sword will die," Mapps said, despairing of Rotanna's condition.

"Let's not give up hope," I answered to give encouragement.

Golan stacked the dead quickly, taking the best swords as prizes and finding several money pouches. Then he threw a canvas tarp over them and covered it with straw. Once the torches were put out, none would discover the carnage until the smell grew bad. Beneath a slaughterhouse, that could take several days.

"Are we ready?" I asked. They nodded, even more anxious to leave than I was. "Fuschia and Mapps, take the litter. Golan, you'll need to carry our guest. Suzie and I will wait a few minutes before following so we're not seen as a group."

"Can either of you walk?" Fuschia asked.

A good question. I was dizzy, Suzie weak.

"We only need to go a few blocks. Don't worry," Suzie said.

"Move quietly, stay to the alleys when you can. Don't let the nightwatch see you," I cautioned. Golan gave me a reassuring look. The rogue knew what was needed.

"What about these poor women? We can't just leave them here," Suzie protested. One still hung in chains, the other bundled near the rear door.

"We must. When this hellhole is discovered, the authorities must have no doubt what monsters we've slain. Even those in the pay of slavers won't be able to justify this obscenity," I said.

"Magistrate is right," Golan agreed. "It's the living we need care for. We don't want the hue and cry raised against us."

We extinguished the torches and went to the outer room. Golan's party disappeared into the dark night. I closed the door after they left.

"Search the room," I said.

"For what?" Suzie asked in surprise.

"Records. Customer lists. Probably a strong box."

"We're stealing their money?"

"Confiscating illegal proceeds," I corrected.

It took a few minutes, but we found what I wanted, an account book kept in the creaky old desk and a steel box hidden behind moldy bricks in the wall. A glance at the book made me happy.

"More scribbling," Suzie said, unfamiliar with the shorthand script used by the trade guild. Old Carnova had once worked as an accountant.

"This is a list of their clients. I don't recognize any of the names, but others will. The list of indictments will be long," I promised.

"Good, then the monsters who allowed this will be punished," Suzie said.

"Not exactly. As all the witnesses are dead, no cases can be proved. But many will pay to keep their names out of the public record. Funds that will be used to wage war against the slavers. This book is a powerful weapon."

"What of the metal box?" she asked.

I pried off the rusty bolt holding down the clasp. The box creaked when it opened. I was surprised.

"By the gods," I whispered.

There was a gold crown, three gold robbins, and a sack of silver circles. Fighting the slave trade was proving very profitable.

"It's enough to buy a farm. Two farms," Suzie said in awe.

She was exaggerating, but not by much. There was a knock on the outer door. I drew my dagger, Suzie her knife. I let the door open slowly.

"Who are you?" an old woman asked. She had a basket over her arm that smelled of fresh bread. She was delivering a late dinner.

"Guests. Give me the basket, I'll pass it on to Mister Carnova," I said.

"I deliver my husband's food myself. Where is he? Why isn't he at his desk?" the crone said, pushing her way in.

She was Carnova's age, about sixty, with long gray hair and thin bones. Her wolf skin jacket was not of the best quality. Did Carnova have a partner who kept most of the profit?

"Mister Carnova is back there," I said, pointing down the dark corridor.

When the old woman turned to look, I cupped a hand over her mouth and drove my dagger deep into her back. She struggled for a moment before slumping dead to the floor. I dragged the body into a dark corner before wiping the blood off my blade.

An hour later, Suzie and I arrived at the Drake with Doctor Hartmeyer. We dallied in the saloon for a few minutes as if negotiating Suzie's price before retiring without attracting attention. The white-haired physician did not seem embarrassed by the arrangement. I had heard good things of him and hoped they were true.

Golan had taken a large room on the second floor, the door overlooking the tavern from a balcony. A rear window looked out to the alley. He seemed the only one not injured in the fighting, but I'm yet to know a mercenary who can't dress a flesh wound. Rotanna lay unconscious in the middle of the bed. Fuschia and Mapps rested on either side of her. Our guest sat on blankets in the corner, her brown eyes filled with fear. She was nude, a cool salve spread on her lash marks.

"I'm glad you summoned me, valiant sir. These doings sicken all righteous men," Doctor Hartmeyer said, taking a quick look at the dark-skinned woman before going to Rotanna. Suzie and I sat down on the floor near the door. Her arm was in a sling. I pressed a cold rag against my head. Golan was considerate enough to bring us a pitcher of beer.

"You've done brave work tonight, Magistrate. I had not such expectations of you," Golan said, either with deluded sincerity or merely to impress the women.

"I killed an old man and an old woman. Hardly a night to boast of," I tiredly answered.

"Don't waste your time, Golan. Owen's in a sour mood and his head hurts," Suzie said. Golan leaned forward, pushed the rag aside, and ran his thick fingers through my hair.

"That's quite a lump there, lawyer. Stay put awhile, the healer and I know what needs be done," he generously said.

It was only a few hours from dawn. I sipped beer, ate a few bites of cheese, and the next thing I knew, it was morning.

"Sleepy bear," Suzie said, seeing I was awake.

The sun shone through the alley window. Mapps sat cross-legged on the floor cleaning our swords. The dark-skinned woman was straightening the room, now wearing a light wrap. Rotanna was sleeping comfortably, much of her body draped in bandages. Golan and Fuschia were gone, as was Doctor Hartmeyer.

"Come to me, girl," I said to our guest.

Much of the fear seemed gone, though she moved awkwardly. She knelt at my feet dressed in a soft white robe, her forehead almost touching the floor.

"You don't need to do that. You're not a slave here," I said.

"So the handsome man has told me," she said, leaning back on her heels. "I pay homage to he who freed me from the devil's grip. My life, body and soul are yours to command, master."

She peeled back the robe to sit naked before me. My face turned red, making Suzie smile. I wondered if it was someone's idea of a prank.

"I am no one's master, now or ever. What's your name?" I asked, draping the robe back over her shoulders.

"I was Khanadia, daughter of Loess, Forward Tent of the Mahadi," she answered in a strange accent. A proud name for a once proud woman. I didn't know if she'd ever see her people again and made no promises.

"In a few days we take ship for Arbor. You will be free there to decide what steps to take next. The town will give you what help they can," I offered.

"Thank you, master," she said, briefly putting her head to the floor again before going to help Mapps with the weapons.

"Where's Golan?" I asked.

"He and Fuschia went to see the bowmaker. Golan thinks we'll need them to escape the city," Suzie said, setting down next to me.

"I think so, too. How's the shoulder?"

"It hurts," she said, tucking the wounded arm tight against her body. She had washed her hair. It smelled good.

"I'm sorry. I never should have gotten you in such a place."

"No, don't ever say that. Freeing those women is the finest thing I've ever done. I'll remember it the rest of my life," she said, taking my hand. "Fuschia and Mapps feel the same way. They say it's rare for young warriors to prove themselves in the forest because so few enemies dare enter, but with you they have found true glory. They understand now why Jalana has such fondness for you."

"Then they understand more than I do," I decided, slowly getting up.

"The water closet is down the hall to the right," Suzie advised.

"Good to know, but I'll be leaving for a little while," I said, finding my boots.

Suzie and Mapps instantly grabbed their footgear. Mapps strapped on her sword. I shook my head.

"No dangerous mission, ladies. Stay here with Rotanna."

"Tell me where you go," Mapps demanded.

"It's my Sabbath. I'm going to church," I answered, pleased to discover someone had scrubbed the blood off my good coat.

"I'll go, too," Suzie said, putting on her jacket.

"I will not, but be careful Magistrate. This foul place is filled with vermin," Mapps warned, going back to cleaning the weapons. A fine stone was being used to sharpen the blades and oil to keep them keen. Sir John's sword was in the pile. I wouldn't need it on the street in broad daylight, though I took my staff.

As a city of the Old Church, Kannae boasted several tall cathedrals located in different quarters. St. Luke's, the most magnificent, rose on the skyline to the west for the benefit of the wealthy classes, but the New Church was not forbidden, a humble meeting house available south of town center. We entered after morning services were over, even the pastor having departed.

"Lean, aren't they?" Suzie asked, seeing the small chapel was spare of ornamentation. They typically were, though this church was even plainer than most. I went to the first row of pews, empty at the moment, and dropped to my knees. Suzie took a seat behind me watching for trouble.

I prayed for a good hour, mostly for myself, but also for the sacred mission on which I'd been sent. I had not seen God's purpose when I'd set out from Falmouth Crossing several months before, naïve of His Will and unready for danger. I was tempted to curse Him for placing so great a burden into such inadequate hands. I did not wish to die, but already I knew my days were dwindling. Even if I managed to leave this cursed pit of unholy evil, there seemed little chance of ever returning home. Was I to be a martyr?

Such could not be known. I could not see myself in such an exalted light, but if my example could inspire others to their better natures, who was I to deny God's Will? I put my hands together, shoulders trembling and eyes filled with tears, begging only that my end be swift with a minimum of pain. And that the following night's trials might be successful, for much depended upon a courage I desperately needed. My final prayer, as always, was for the souls of Martha and my children.

After church, Suzie and I ate a leisurely lunch of catfish and green melon down by the docks where we could watch the river traffic. We visited the barge captain holding my consignment of blankets, promising completion of the transaction in two days' time, and walked along Carver Street on the way back, stopping at Doctor Hartmeyer's. For reasons I did not wish to share with Suzie, Hartmeyer and I spoke privately for half an hour. The outcome was as I suspected. I paid him a fair amount for his many troubles, visited a few minutes with his charming wife in their sitting room, and headed back to the Drake. My talk with the doctor made me wish I'd spent an extra hour in prayer.

A quick stop at the Copper Kettle gave no sign of the mysterious hunchback Stolmeister, the bartender reporting him away on business, but I left word that I was in the market for something young. If I could find out who had bought the lost daughters, maybe they could be recovered someday.

We rested the remainder of the afternoon, taking our meal in the room, and had a full breakfast downstairs the morning of the second Sabbath. Golan rented the room next to ours so he and Fuschia could have privacy, though from the noise they made, there were few secrets. Rotanna continued in healing slumber, wrapped in warm blankets. At lunchtime we sat down to decide on the final plan.

"I think your adventure is ambitious," I warned.

Golan was commanding the operation, but insisted on calling me the leader. And everyone believed him. I did not make an issue of the deception, for our small band needed all the confidence we could get. Spread out on the floor was a hand-drawn map of the city from the Drake to the docks. Next to the map were drawings of two slave pens based on observations from my earlier visits.

"Both lay in our path. We have three wagons and the element of surprise. Why rescue twenty when we can save fifty?" Golan asked.

The women looked at me for a response. I could suggest how dangerous it was. How striking two targets doubled our chances of failure. How I feared none of us would ever make it to the barge and freedom. But, of course, none of that mattered to them. Everyone in the room except Golan had been held slave and each sought to strike back in any manner they could. His plan was bold, and if successful, more than worth the risk. I would not shame myself by mentioning the obvious drawbacks.

"I'll lead the assault on River Street," I said. "They've seen me before and won't suspect treachery. We need someone to watch the wagons while we're killing the slavers."

"I have five stable boys well paid for the service," Golan said. "I get to lead the attack on the second slaver while you take the booty to the docks. It's a smaller pen, only four guards. Fuschia and I will have no trouble."

Fuschia smiled, leaning into his big arms with contentment. I had not thought Farina susceptible to crass male charms, but apparently this young warrior was an exception. No wonder so few Farina were allowed to leave the forest.

That night each of us took turns watching over Rotanna while having our dinner downstairs, dancing and conversing around the fire. No one had more than a single cup of beer or wine. The first wagon pulled up in the alley behind the inn just after ten o'clock. The next two arrived a few minutes later, each drawn by two horses and covered with canvas. We secretly lowered our weapons and baggage from the rear window. It caused no trouble with the innkeeper as we were still paid for another week.

"What of the First Sword?" Fuschia asked, the litter too unwieldy for the window.

"Doctor Hartmeyer and his assistant are bringing her to the docks," I lied.

"Rotanna should come with her sisters," Fuschia insisted.

"Then she will die before reaching the river. Is that what you want? You know she's too weak for the wagon," I answered.

"The healer is a good man. He'll not harm the First Sword," Mapps said, giving Fuschia comfort.

There was really no choice. Hartmeyer made it clear that Rotanna could not be moved for at least a week, preferably two, and we could not linger so long in Kannae without great danger. Mapps and Fuschia would be going downriver without their sister, they just didn't know it yet.

I started out on the first wagon with Suzie, Mapps, and Khanadia. A true farm girl, Suzie knew how to drive the team though she needed Khanadia's help because of her wounded shoulder. Three of the stable boys handled the second wagon while Fuschia and Golan followed in the last, all moving slowly to keep the noise low.

We reached River Street where the basement beneath the bakery housed the largest slave pen in Kannae. I knocked on the door, Khanadia and Mapps behind me as if ready to be bartered. Golan and Fuschia stood close by in the shadows, Golan with his sword drawn, Fuschia with a nocked arrow in her bow. I made Suzie stay on the wagon.

"Who comes so late?" a voice on the other side of the door called.

"It is I, Jurat. He who bought some women from you. My luck at cards has not been good. Will you buy them back?" I quietly offered.

"Not full price," the voice said, the door opening just a crack.

"Half," I asked.

"A third, if they're still in good condition," he countered, his words slurred by a lack of teeth. He had beady eyes and a shaved head, scythe tattoos on his cheeks.

"They've been well treated. See for yourself," I suggested.

The door opened wide enough for the slaver to hold out a lantern, the light showing the beauty of my wares. I had my cloak pulled back despite the cold so he could see I carried a sword but wasn't preparing to draw it. Beyond him I saw only one guard, somewhat old and half asleep.

"A half silver each," the slaver said.

"A silver and four for the pair," I bargained, pushing the girls forward.

My heart was beating hard, the breath getting short. When my sword hand trembled, I instantly suppressed it.

"Bring them in for a closer look," the slaver said.

Khanadia went first, as we had discussed, giving Mapps a chance to find her sword without being seen. I put a hand casually on my sword hilt while holding a knife behind my back. Once fully in the entrance chamber, I saw the toothless slaver only had the old man with him. Noise from the rear corridor hinted that one or two more guards may be watching the stock. There was no evidence of alarm.

I looked at Mapps. She nodded. Speed was essential.

"Khanadia, kneel down before your masters," I ordered.

The moment she knelt, Mapps put her sword through the slaver's heart. His eyes went wide in surprise as blood spurted from his mouth. I grabbed the old guard by the collar and drove my knife into his vitals, letting him drop to the floor with a soft groan. Fuschia appeared in the doorway, an arrow ready to fly. I motioned to move forward.

The corridor was especially dark, no torches needed so late in the evening. I heard Golan following but no one spoke. Only our footsteps on the straw rushes made any sound. We reached the inner chambers where the rustling of slaves and an occasional moan were heard. There were six cages per chamber and three chambers. We assumed one watchman in each but were wrong. Only one guard held duty in the central chamber and one at the rear door. Fuschia put an arrow into each of them, Mapps rushing forward to cut their throats. Most of the slaves were sleeping so soundly they didn't even realize they were being rescued.

"Thirty-eight women and two cooks, Magistrate. Better than we expected," Golan said while the Farina were opening the cages.

Most of the slaves had scraps of clothing to wear, though not all. The wagon ride to the docks would be cold, but fortunately, they had blankets waiting on the barge. We dumped the slavers' bodies into the darkest cell and herded the bewildered women out into the wagons. I stopped to collect the account books and money box.

The streets were quiet. It was now well after midnight. In the poor quarter of the city, few could afford to keep their windows lit. A handful of freight wagons heading for the river would not attract attention.

"My turn," Golan said as our caravan stopped short of the second slave pen.

This time he went first with Fuschia pretending to be the product. There was no bartering. No elaborate charade. The moment Golan got his foot in the door the killing began. When the swords finally stopped flashing, we discovered twenty-six more young women, and surprisingly, three craggy crones stolen for their formidable cooking skills. In the back of the dank hole, we found four older boys impressed for day labor. The slavers were expanding their product line in a manner not seen since the Dark Ages.

I left Mapps with Fuschia to finish loading the third wagon. Some of the rescued needed to walk but they didn't seem to mind, anxious to be free again. A few thought they were merely being stolen by rival slavers until the name Magistrate was bandied about. At this they took hope, raised their shoulders, and went to help others who were weak. I was immensely proud of these brave women, though why speaking of a magistrate would inspire such confidence made no sense. It pleased me that not one slaver was left alive to tell the tale.

Suzie and I rushed to the dock with the first wagon, going up Harbor Street, passing through the River Gate, and turning left along the wharf until reaching the piers. The barges floated peacefully in the dark night, cloud cover trying to hide the nearly full moon. Captain Everett happened to be on deck when our wagon rattled to a halt, sitting at the tiller smoking a pipe. I'm sure he wondered why I was making a sudden appearance at such a late hour.

"Greetings, Captain. I'm here for my blankets," I said, climbing down from the rig. A few oil lamps lit the pier.

Noise from some of the closer boats warned me the night crews had noticed our arrival. Two of the older boys we had rescued pulled back the canvas on the wagon, revealing our cargo. Groups of women on foot began appearing from the darkness as the second wagon arrived.

"Are those your teamsters?" Captain Everett asked, an eyebrow going up.

"They are the ones using my blankets," I answered, walking halfway up the wooden gang plank. "Did I mention they'll be using the blankets in Arbor?"

The captain came to the top of the ramp just a few feet away. He was holding a club. Behind him, two swarthy crew members appeared with cutlasses.

"We have no barter with slavery, Mister Jurat. Take your fleshpots somewhere else," Captain Everett said.

I had a hand on my sword but made no motion to draw it. Nevertheless, the crew came forward as if ready to throw me in the river. Suddenly Suzie stood up on the wagon with an arrow nocked in her bow. With her wounded shoulder, she'd never be able to hit anyone, but the river men couldn't ignore the threat. Khanadia held up a bow, though I doubted she'd ever used one, and then two of the rescued youngsters also came forward with arrows ready. I wasn't sure if they knew how to use the weapons. It didn't change the danger felt by the river men.

"Captain, my name isn't Jurat. I'm Owen Vander, Magistrate of Ravenshire," I announced softly enough that those on the other boats wouldn't hear. "Tonight, we've raided Kannae's pens, killed the slavers, and now we take these women back to their families. We have no choice but to flee, for it's death to stay. So I tell you now, this will go one of three ways. You can accept these passengers at a fair price. You can surrender the ship and reclaim it at Arbor in a few days. Or you can resist, in which case your crew will get hurt. Choose quickly for time is precious."

"I will not give up the Belly Beast," he replied. I took a rolled parchment from my pocket and handed it to him.

"This is a writ mandating transport of these women. If you ignore it, you will never again dock at Arbor, round Watchman's Point in safety, or trade with any town between Wheat Harbor and Wycliff Falls," I said, forcing the document in his hand.

Everett stepped back to read the opening paragraph by the lantern hanging from his mast. The writ was carefully worded and specific in its requirements. I, myself, would have been loath to ignore it, for the consequences were dire.

"Transport is granted at a fair price. And by this injunction, the authorities of Kannae may not hold me responsible," Captain Everett agreed. "Board your cargo, Magistrate, and be fast. The sooner the Belly Beast strikes mid-channel the better for us all."

Suzie climbed down from the wagon slowly, Khanadia helping. The boys ran up with the bows still nocked.

"You lads know how to shoot?" I asked.

"No, sir," one said.

"I do, sir. I can hit a rabbit from thirty feet," the other boasted. Both boys were eager, filled with adventure. Good lads.

"Guard the gangplank, but don't let fly unless Suzie or I say so," I ordered, not wanting unnecessary homicide on the docks.

They nodded, watching the nearby berths and the gate from the city. The women rushed across the cold dock into the barge. Captain Everett's crew hurried to open the deckhouse for them. Several of the women paused to kiss me on the cheek, prematurely thanking me for their freedom. One or two offered to say thank you in a more personal way when time allowed. Golan and Fuschia arrived with the final wagon.

"No pursuit yet, Magistrate. What of the captain? Did you slay him?" Golan asked, breathless with excitement.

"I thought it best to hire him instead," I said.

"Damn lawyers, always doing things the hard way," Golan complained, though I suspected he was jesting. Murdering river captains wasn't part of the mercenary code.

"More women? Will you empty the city?" Captain Everett said, working his way down the crowded gangplank to the dock.

"This is the last of them. Seventy or so. Is that a problem?" I asked.

"Yes, sea dog, is saving seventy innocent women from this devil hole a problem?" Golan said, a hand on his sword. He had become quite the zealot, as men will do after many days of planning and stress.

"No problem, warrior. Your name, sir?" Captain Everett asked.

"This is Golan, deputy sheriff of Arbor. It's his responsibility to deliver these women to safety. Woe to anyone who stands in his way," I warned.

"Mere woe would be a mercy to you, sir," Golan said.

"I am captain of the Belly Beast, sir. Every passenger on my barge becomes my responsibility, and I know my duty. Do not seek to remind me of it again or you'll sleep in the hold with the rats," Captain Everett said, standing before Golan without fear.

Golan slapped the man on the shoulder and grabbed Suzie around the waist.

"Magistrate picks his minions well, as he does his women. One would not guess such talent simply by looking at him," Golan said.

Mapps and Fuschia rushed up the ramp with the last of the rescued women. The stable boys put our baggage on deck, including the confiscated gold and silver hidden in my satchels. So far, only Suzie knew the true extent of the plunder.

"Where is the First Sword?" Fuschia asked, bleeding from several superficial wounds. Even Golan had a few traces of blood. The slavers had not gone down without a fight.

"The First Sword is safe, warrior. Attend to business. Three days from now you'll be reunited with your war captain. Jalana will want to know why her straying sisters have lured Farina so far from home," I responded, all in truth.

Fuschia and Mapps reacted to my rebuke as expected, for their desire to leave the forest had created much trouble. They finished loading the freed slaves aboard the barge while the stable boys backed the wagons off the dock, returning to the city through the gate. The two youngsters with the bows went up the plank, taking positions on the stern. They seemed disappointed not to have shot anyone.

"Everything went as planned, Owen. I'll be so glad when we're back in Arbor away from all this danger," Suzie said.

Only she and Golan were left with me on the pier except for the deck hands untying the lines. Most of the women were already below deck wrapping themselves against the damp cold.

"Are you going to tell her, Magistrate?" Golan asked.

"Tell her what?" I said.

"Tell her you're not coming with us."

"Not coming?" Suzie shouted. Golan put a hand on her shoulder.

"Anyone familiar with severe wounds would know, girl. The Farina sister is not aboard the boat, for the journey would kill her. Am I right?" Golan asked.

"I'm afraid so," I confessed. "Hartmeyer is with her at the Drake. I'm expected back before dawn. It's best Mapps and Fuschia don't find out until you're downriver."

"They'd cut your throat if they knew," Golan unnecessarily informed.

"That must be why I didn't tell them," I replied, peeved by his superior manner.

"I'll stay, too," Suzie volunteered.

"No. You have my indictments. My journals. I'm depending on you to deliver them to the town fathers. In two or three weeks, once Rotanna is stronger, we'll ship for Crowley or take a carriage south to Trodden," I hopefully speculated. Stupidly, as it turned out.

The moment Suzie boarded, Golan and I helped untie the barge from the dock. He jumped to the deck as the boat floated away from the pier. The crew put up the sail and within minutes the Belly Beast was taken by the current, becoming nothing but a dark shape in the moonlight.

* * * * * *

To be continued in part eight, Varied Shades of Death