Diallo blinked.
Over his many years as a slave trader, he could count on one hand the number of times a living owner had willingly asked to release their slaves. It was just that rare.
Slaves were considered investments and assets, the property of their master. Unless their owner made special provisions in their will to free a favoured servant - usually their mistress – they would be passed on to the next heir.
“You want to free the Dwarf.”
Diallo didn’t repeat words, he didn’t need to, but this bore repeating. He had heard of slaves being released, only to find them carving away the face of their former master in a fit of psychotic rage.
“I want to free Tsarra, here is the 700 Denars, her purchase price.”
Only the person who initiated the binding could break it. That, or another slave trader with more years of experience. This restriction was the reason such a high price was charged for the service. It was similar in principle to notarized contracts.
Diallo leaned forward on his desk and spread out both hands, palm upward. He motioned for them to approach.
Exill placed his hand in Diallo’s, while Tsarra, shivering slightly also placed hers. The Slave Trader channelled mana into both their hands.
There was panic in the timid Maiden’s eyes, remembering the familiar sensation of subjugation. An electric current incrementally coursed up her arm and into her core. When Diallo felt it was enough, he uttered the mana-laced command.
“[Break].”
Exill and Tsarra felt a shiver climb up their arms, culminating in a deep resonance between them. The Dwarf summoned her Card with glistening eyes to find after four long years, she was finally free.
“Thank you.” Exill said, while shuffling the teary-eyed woman out of Diallo’s office. He was similarly touched but time was pressing. The slave market bell rang nine times, startling him further.
“We need to go.”
He grabbed Tsarra’s intact hand, causing her to squeak in surprise. They raced through the alleyways and emerged in a large paved square overlooked by the imposing Magistrate’s. The main dome shone dully as its copper surface reflected the overcast sky. They hurried through the imposing double doors guarded by a pair of knights and stood in line at a fortunately short queue.
While they waited in line, Tsarra admired the vaulted ceiling, elaborate wall panelling and even the artwork that hung on the walls, expressing their quiet eloquence. People talked in hushed tones while going about their business. She nervously fidgeted with the intricate silver ring Exill had loaned her.
“How can I help you sir and madam?”
“I would like to update her record; she should be listed under my name as a slave.”
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The Clerk scrutinized both their Cards, frowning slightly. He was struggling to remember the process for transferring a slave while the owner was still living. “Let me talk to my manager, I’ll be back shortly.”
Exill inwardly swore as the minutes ticked by. These bureaucrats were insufferable in sticking to their procedures. Precious time passed before the apologetic clerk re-emerged holding a red token between his fingers. “I’m sorry for the wait, it’s all done and here is your temporary residence permit.” Smiling softly down at Tsarra, the Clerk continued: “Please return your green token… and congratulations on your freedom.”
Tsarra struggled not to cry while pressing the green token into the genial Clerk's palm, replacing it with the red. Not even in her darkest days had she dared to hope for this moment. Exill led the blubbering woman to the side, pressing 200 Denars into her palm.
“Congratulations, and I know how much this moment means to you, but I’m sorry and I need to rush. You need to tell Envy what happened if I don’t return. I know she is scary, but you have to pass this message to her – ‘Meet me in Brieshire two days from now’. After that, go to Savta’s Clinic and find Luna, tell her I sent you.”
Exill squeezed her hand tightly before turning away. Staying up all night, he had managed to come up with a rudimentary plan to escape in the worst case scenario. He had tried his best given the short time available. Now it was time to face the music and hope for the best.
***
He stood still, hesitant in front of the Cathedral, standing majestic under the grey overcast sky. Buttresses supported the burgeoning arches of the gothic building, framing exquisite windows crafted from stained glass. A tall spire stood alone at the rear of the massive complex, housing the church bells that rang out for miles around the city. It was the regional headquarters of the religion catering to the World Spirit.
The church bells began to ring as he passed through the imposing studded doors.
Exill approached a priest who stood beside the donation box and flashed the white card given by Inquisitor Deroch. The Priest’s eyes opened wide in recognition, and he wordlessly gestured for a young boy, who couldn’t be older than twelve, to approach from a nearby alcove.
“Escort this esteemed guest to the Inner Sanctum.”
Exill followed the boy down a side passageway, twisting and turning while drawing deeper into the depths of the complex, like the intestines of some gargantuan beast. They emerged into a large corridor, at the end of which stood a heavy studded door guarded by a single man.
‘So that is a Paladin.’
The man wore an unadorned breastplate over his crimson priest robes, and a tower shield lay resting against the wall, within a moments reach. The Paladin’s eyes never left the approaching duo while Exill drew near, his hand resting gently on the pommel of his sword. Despite his relaxed stance, the Witchdoctor suspected he was capable of immediate violence, should it be required.
He vaguely remembered Iris’s lecture yesterday how Paladins were the elite of the military arm of the church. Exill raised Inquisitor Deroch’s card for the stern man to inspect, and he glared at it for several seconds, reluctantly waving him in. However the Paladin grabbed the lapel of the young boy following after the Witchdoctor.
“You’ll wait here with me, boy.”
Exill stepped through the archway into a quiet cloister surrounding a small garden. The overcast sky was visible through the branches of what Exill suspected was an original cutting of the Eld Tree. It loomed over the entire garden, its leafless branches casting stifling shadows across the whole courtyard.
Inquisitor Deroch stepped out silently from behind a large pillar on the colonnade, hands clasped behind his back and frosty eyes glittering in amusement. The disquieting man approached him, the edges of his thin mouth turned upwards in a subdued smile.
“Witchdoctor, I’m so glad you could make it. Come, let us pay our respects.”
Exill’s heart thundered while following the Inquisitor to a bench under the eaves of the Eld Tree. There sat a young woman of unworldly beauty, loose threads of platinum hair falling across her black blindfold. Her full lips pursed as she recognized the Inquisitor’s voice, when her blind gaze suddenly snapped in the direction of the Witchdoctor.
Exill felt his heart stop as he halted beside Deroch.
The incorporeal golden thread of Fate wafted in the air, unerringly pointing at him.