remembered that the young messenger boy had interrupted them. “Two thousand cavalry, two thousand infantry, and all the city guard that can be spared,” Ra’Gren told him. “I want the cavalry riding today. They are to compress Queen Rachel’s little army between themselves and Ra’Carr’s sell-swords. When the infantry and the city guard arrive at the bottleneck at Seareach, I want them to find that there’s no one left to fight. Do you understand?”
“I will lead the cavalry myself, my King,” Captain Da’Markell said with a sharp salute.
“Good, Overlord Da’Markell,” Ra’Gren nodded. The new title of overlord made Da’Markell’s eyes widen and his chest swell visibly.
“We will be expecting word of your victory soon,” Ra’Gren finished with a dismissive wave.
The man saluted again, and hurried off to begin carrying out his orders.
Ra’Gren turned toward the court’s scribe, whose desk was at the side of the hall. “Remind me later, Brackly, to send a bird to Shaella. The Dragon Queen owes us a favor or two.” The King surveyed the throne room then. It was nearly empty now, save for a few men still waiting patiently in the pews. “What else do we have today?”
“A Lord Northall and his associates from the Island of Salazar,” the scribe answered dutifully. “They are seeking to purchase a large quantity of slaves.”
“Lord Northall,” Ra’Gren said expectantly as he sat back down on his throne. The redness had left his face and he seemed to be far calmer than he had been earlier.
Lord Northall rose and strode forward, his expression that of a nervous businessman, while inside he was torn.
He wanted to help King Jarrek, and in the process get the mines and forges of Wildermont up and running again, but he had doubts now. He didn’t think Jarrek could protect the people he had released, much less any others. King Ra’Gren’s attack on Wildermont seemed far more serious now than it had before. It wasn’t just a bunch of greedy sell-swords now. Trained city guard, and cavalry were about to be involved.
The fact that Queen Rachel was sending men to aid Wildermont brought about another set of problems. If Ra’Gren killed her men, she would retaliate, and after all the death and destruction that Pael and King Glendar left behind, Seaward and Dakahn had taken the fewest losses. Both countries still had strong militaries. A war between them could have unforeseen repercussions for Jarrek and the slaves he sought to free. Lord Northall decided to go about his plans to purchase a thousand slaves and free them. But he needed time to sort out his company and the island’s best interest in all of this. It pained him how his personal feelings had to be put aside. If it were up to him, he would buy all the slaves, and the sell-swords, right out from under the power hungry tyrant, Ra’Gren. He’d set them on the man like a pack of wolves. He took a breath, and mentally checked his expression to make sure his hatred for the King before him wasn’t showing. Once he reached the foot of King Ra’Gren’s dais, he bowed graciously.
“Salazarkian coins are always welcome in Dakahn,” Ra’Gren said encouragingly. “But it is a strange request when the island folk want to purchase slaves. Slavery is forbidden on Salazar, is it not, Lord Northall?”
“It is Your Highness,” Northall answered, and offered no more.
“Explain your need to me, and why you are choosing to break the law and custom of your people then.”
“King Ra’Gren,” Northall started his well rehearsed and mostly factual story. “The sudden lack of iron ore and forged products from abroad has caused the prices of those items to take dragon’s flight. To compensate for the extra expense, some of the wiser builders are trying to cut down on the cost of labor. We believe the entire industry will come around to our way of thinking after they realize the losses their coffers will feel if we cannot continue to build and sell our ships.”
Ra’Gren tilted his head, considering Northall for a moment. “How many do you need?” he finally asked.
“A thousand head,” Northall said, hiding his disgust at the way he was speaking of human beings as if they were chattel. “Some of them need to be prime laborers. Men from thirteen summers to fifty, but we would like at least half of them to be younger, with women to look after them.” Northall smiled and shrugged. “We want some of them to grow into the trades, and the women can cook and tend the others.”
“Ha,” Ra’Gren half laughed. “If you would have asked for all able bodied men I might have thought you were consorting with the Wolf King. Don’t think I’m a fool, Lord Northall. You don’t want women and children for the reasons you stated here.”
Northall cringed inwardly. Were his true motives to free the slaves so obvious? He began to worry. He couldn’t believe he was so transparent.
“Don’t look so chagrinned, man,” Ra’Gren laughed. “It is wise to think about the future.”
The future, Northall thought. What in all the hells?
“There’s no sense hiding it,” Ra’Gren scolded. “You want breeders. Some men to do labor now, some youth to grow into the work, and women to breed, so that a dozen years from now you’ll not need to come to us for more.” Ra’Gren nodded as if he respected the plan.
With a continuous effort, Northall tried to keep from commenting out of character. “Since you do not disapprove of our intention, I think we can double our first order.”
“Approve, disapprove, it doesn’t matter,” Ra’Gren laughed. “By the time your breeders’ offspring have matured enough to perform, you’ll have fattened my coffers aplenty. As it is, I will have owners bidding away to fill your order, with so many extra mouths to feed, the sellers are competing by upping the throne’s take. I’d bet my crown that one of the slavers offers me half the profit just for the honor of filling such a healthy order.” Ra’Gren’s gaze ventured past Lord Northall to the slavers still sitting in the back of the hall. They seemed to be conferring amongst themselves. A few of them had pallid expressions on their faces. Finally one of them stood and gave a nod to the King, indicating that he would split the profit of Lord Northall’s purchase evenly with the crown.
“Mortram Grail will see that your needs are met.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” Lord Northall said with a broad-faced smile. He bowed and made his way over to Mortram Grail. Once the great oak doors of the throne room closed behind them, the slaver sighed and turned to Lord Northall.
“It will take a few hours to ready the herd for your inspection,” he said in a way that showed his disappointment at having to pay his kingdom half the profit from this sale. “I assume you’ll want to pick from the lot?”
“Yes, yes,” Northall answered. The relief at being out of the King of Dakahn’s presence was visible on both of them. “I’ll be taking a meal at the Sea Master’s Inn. Do you know it?”
“Of course, excellent choice. The pen we keep the herd in is not far from there,” the slaver said, nodding his approval at Northall’s choice of eateries. “I’ll send a man to the inn to fetch you when we’re ready.”
“Very good,” Northall said. His group of private guards, posing as his associates, had gathered behind him.
“Come,” Northall ordered his men and started out of Ra’Gren’s lavish palace. As soon as they were away from the place and its many ears, Northall ordered one of his men to ride to Salazar’s embassy house. He told the man to immediately send birds to Wildermont and Dreen to warn King Jarrek and General Spyra of Ra’Gren’s intention. Northall wasn’t sure a warning from a Salazarkian lord would prevent what was to come, but at least he would know that he tried to tell King Jarrek of Ra’Gren’s intent to bottle up the approaching Seawardsmen. He could only hope that Jarrek had the men to stop the attack. If the Red Wolf couldn’t hold there, Ra’Gren would be able to take Wildermont with ease.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Having just heard from Lady Trella about the death of Father Petri, High King Mikahl was in low spirits when he walked into the Lost Lion Inn and saw his good friend Hyden. The look on Hyden’s face filled Mikahl with dread. A quick scan of the room explained the expression. Neither Phen, nor Brady Culvert was among them, and the reason was obvious.
“It gets worse,” Hyden said, seeing the look of grim understanding come over his friend.
Talon fluttered down from a roof beam and landed on Mikahl’s shoulder. The big hawkling softly cooed a greeting.
“Hey, Talon,” Mikahl said softly to the bird. He took a deep breath then sat at an empty table. Talon leapt to the tabletop and began preening himself, content to just be near his old companion.
