“Woah, woah. Alright slow down there.”
Several voices from the head of the convoy rang out in a clamor as the horses were led to a stop.
Beyond the train of wagons that stretched for several hundred feet, the dense grassland had come to a stop.
There, the natural met the artificial as the group was finally able to take in the sight of their destination. A pale visage of concentric brick walls, piled up several stories high.
As the wagons grounded to a halt in the clearing before the city gate, several of the Eagles’ members came off horseback to lead the slaves in.
It had been less than a day since their encounter with the knights. As it had been during the very last leg of their trip, they had reached the city of Whitefinger before the sun had come down.
Kalen rested with an empty expression as he felt the tug of chains around his wrist. They beckoned him to stand, and so without reaction he did so.
Kalen’s eyes, long having dried from the misery of losing his sister that same day, looked around listlessly as they shuffled forward.
“Kalen, look at the wall. You see that script above the city gate?”
Kalen looked up at where Maurice was pointing, surprised to see that there was indeed some sort of script above the grand city gate. Though it appeared to be a language by the formation of its lines, Kalen could not decipher it.
“The sign is written in Sterling, the language that nobles and royalty use. I obviously don’t know how to speak or read it, but that sign is above every city in the Empire. It reads like a hymn, and even commoners know how it goes.”
Kalen looked up at the engravings as the boy read them out.
“Man cast his tongue in a silver mould.”
“To butcher elves and steal their gold.”
“The king swore his name and land upon heaven.”
“To worship blood and the red gods seven.”
Kalen followed as Maurice was speaking, seeing how the different lines of script above the city door really did break apart like a hymn.
Yet the words still seemed odd.
The hymn didn’t seem to be particularly approving of the actions of humanity. Butcher elves and worship blood?
Kalen was sheltered, but he wasn’t an invalid. He could guess that the ‘elves’ were the name of another group, though he didn’t know whether they were the people of a country or creed. But worshiping blood didn’t feel like it could have another meaning. Was this saying really inscribed on the gate of every city in the Empire?
Suddenly Kalen felt a lump form in his throat. If that was the case, he didn’t want to imagine what kind of people he would be interacting with in the future, with this rhyme representative of their culture.
“Why does it say they worship blood?”
Kalen looked at Maurice, who could only look backward for a moment since he was in front of Kalen in the chain gang.
“I…actually never understood that one myself. If I had to guess, I’d assume it has something to do with the gods and inscriptions, but Wellynd would know more about that than me.”
“Hmm.”
Kalen nodded. Remembering that it had been Wellynd first who had said that word. He above all the other slaves here seemed to have the most knowledge on whatever ‘inscriptions’ were. As Kalen remembered the look of recognition that came over the boy as the company leader had torched those people that night.
“Oh look, they’re letting us inside.”
Kalen’s attention came back to Maurice’s direction. The gigantic latticed gate had finally opened before the company, and they had started to shuffle in. Kalen looked back at the wagons for a moment, thinking it was odd that they weren’t following.
Apparently, slaves were only allowed into the city on foot.
And as Kalen began to look around, he saw this was true for other groups as well. It appeared that the Eagles weren’t the only company in the business of slave trading. Kalen could see plenty of other slaves in chains, many who were being led alongside them by others in uniforms or matching armor.
Peeking through the crowded entry area, Kalen even caught a glimpse of another person with those etched lines on their body. This time it was a woman who bore inscriptions, also probably the leader of her company, Kalen assumed.
Though she didn’t have as much skin visible, Kalen could see that her inscriptions varied from the Eagles’ leader, and looked more geometric and jagged across her arms instead of the sharp curves of the leader.
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His intent observation of the woman was only brought to a stop when he heard the familiar voice of the leader boom over their group. His few words said everything.
”Women to the left! Men, right!”
Before the slaves could get riled up at the news soldiers walked down the line, unlatched some people’s restraints and readjusting the chain gangs to match the new configuration.
In a few moments it was as such.
Kalen looked across the street to Ayana, who was following the next words of the leader.
”The men will follow me. Lars, take the women over to the central market.”
Kalen looked over to the female line, and saw the eyes of the girl he had traveled with gazing back at him.
”Forget it, Kalen. There’s nothing you can do.”
Kalen looked over helplessly at Maurice.
”What do you mean nothing? What’s going to happen to her?”
Kalen asked as his chest constricted.
He was just fourteen, and had now lost yet another person of significance in his life.
This time it was someone who had treated Layla and him after they had escaped from Willowhearth. He felt he had owed her something, like he needed to repay her for her generosity. Such was the way he was raised.
Yet all he had done so far was to stand back and watch as she was carted away.
”I don’t know much more than you, but my guess…is that they’ll take them to the market in the city to be sold as domestic slaves. She won’t…necessarily have a difficult life ahead, but it will be better than our own, either way.”
Kalen was finally yanked back into the line with that.
After seeing the form of the wordless Ayana disappear into the crowd, he let the motion of the slaves ahead of him pull without resistance.
For a while, they just walked forward.
Down the streets of the city of Whitefinger, as it was called, Kalen was able to see for the first time what made an Imperial city a capital.
In fact it was the first time he had even been in a city, and only the third settlement he had been to at all, after Yurth and his home village.
Despite the dreadful nature of Kalen’s circumstances, taking in the city buildings and people was still overwhelming for someone who had spent their whole life in a single village.
But regardless, Kalen still found himself surprised by what he witnessed.
Whitefinger was a city resembling its name. Stone laden streets curved with maze-like complexity, lined by pallid multi-story buildings of concrete and marble.
Pillars seemed to be a common theme in the city’s architecture. As wherever Kalen’s eyes went, the houses and businesses both used them in great quantities.
Even stranger to Kalen though, were the people of the city.
As his group walked chained through the streets, a few of the citizens looked at them, as if to appraise their quality.
Kalen’s mind couldn’t place their status.
They seemed to be of the common folk, the basic citizenry of the city, yet their garments and the tunics they wore featured colors that Kalen had never seen applied to cloth.
It was immensely strange to Kalen.
Either, he figured, these people were of a social class not present in or known to Willowhearth: a kind of wealthy aristocracy that had the wealth of nobles yet population quantity of the peasants, or the common citizens of Whitefinger were just so affluent they could afford this degree of luxury.
Kalen couldn’t wrap his mind around either of the possibilities, as both seemed too foreign in his worldview to exist.
But he didn’t need to, as soon enough they came across their destination.
Shadows and sunlight flashed over the heads of the line of slaves as the silhouette of a building composed of stacked arches came into view.
Kalen squinted his eyes to look up as he took in the massive form of the structure.
Eventually the train of slaves stopped in place in the square before the arena. Kalen took that moment to address a thought to Maurice.
”I keep hearing that…”
”What?”
”Everyone is talking about our future, about how bad we’ll have it. Do you really think it's going to be that terrible?”
As Kalen asked the question Maurice turned back to him.
”You don’t know what comes of slaves in the arena?”
Kalen shook his head.
Maurice opened his mouth to reply, but a different voice came to answer from behind them both.
“Don’t worry. You’ll soon find out.”
Kalen and Maurice’s eyes widened as a man in red and black armor came from around the chained group of slaves, passing by them with a smile. Clearly, he had been listening to their conversation before he chose to respond.
“Ha! I surprised you two, didn’t I?”
Kalen flinched as the man’s hand reached toward him.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”
The man chuckled as he inspected Kalen.
“At least not the men.”
Kalen practically held his breath as the man looked at him. Just like before in Yurth, the man seemed intent on inspecting his unusual features: his hair and eyes. Kalen didn’t know why the people of the Empire were so fascinated by them when it hadn’t been an issue in WIllowhearth, but as he was told to turn his head, he could see down the line of slaves.
They had clearly arrived at their destination, the city arena, and the chain gangs were now being inspected by the arena staff. Dozens of people in light armor were walking down the line of slaves to mark things off on parchment, likely to inspect the goods, Kalen realized. But even so, the man with Kalen felt far more carefree than any of the other inspectors.
Kalen waited as the staff member finished examining him, before the man walked away.
“Interesting. Odd, even.”
The man mumbled under his breath as he walked toward the front of the line.
There Kalen saw as he joined a group of people who were speaking in a circle, composed of a few faces he recognized, like the Eagles’ leader, and the woman from another company that he saw at the entrance.