“Oh, I suspect you want more than that,” Ocmallum answered with a smile that dripped with guile.
The northerner stood frozen by those words. After standing silent for a moment, he asked, “And what is it you believe I seek?”
“Why, freedom, of course,” the man answered with a creepy certainty.
Dulnear suppressed a wry smile as he thought about the old man’s words. “I am a free man,” he said. “More free than any man on this wretched estate.”
“Are you though?” the slaver pressed. Looking Dulnear up and down, he observed, “You’re a northerner, and you’re here in the south. I’m sure you’re trying to distance yourself from your barbaric northern roots, but somehow, you just can’t. Is any of this ringing true?”
The man from the north was both stunned and angered by the veracity of Ocmallum’s words. All that he had worked to leave behind over the past few seasons seemed to taunt him from underneath the old man’s voice. His knees felt weak, and he wanted to strike him down but needed the information he was there to collect. “My burden is my own,” he answered as calmly as he could.
“It’s not that large a thing,” Ocmallum replied. “I could lift it for you, if you’d let me.”
“Just information,” Dulnear said in a clear, authoritative tone, taking a step forward.
The slave king’s face fell. “How incredibly boring you are,” he sneered. “I suppose you’re looking for someone. Is that why you dragged poor Tcharron here? Now his body rots in my courtyard and it’s all your fault.”
The man from the north felt queasy upon hearing about Tcharron. Despair, anger, and anxiety beat on his neck, but he continued to stand. Placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, he replied, “I am looking for a young girl.”
The old man laughed heartily until he began to cough. “Why didn’t you just say so?” he said. “I have many young girls that I would be happy to sell you. I’m sure they would bring you great pleasure.”
With each passing moment, Ocmallum appeared older, and somehow more decayed and grotesque to Dulnear. The circles around his eyes became darker and his teeth seemed more jagged. The warrior tightened the grip he had on his sword. Raising his voice, he clarified, “A little girl was taken by one of your crews in Laor. A man called Sevuss was in charge. It was an illegal transfer of life-rights and I have come to bring her home.”
“Hmm, little girl, you say. Well then, I suppose I will have to look at my records,” the slaver claimed as he stood from his chair, holding the lantern out in front of him. He was somehow taller than he seemed before, and moved in a quick, disorienting fashion.
The man from the north turned his attention toward the desk, expecting to see Ocmallum standing there. Instead, he heard the door slam behind him and the room became black as pitch. Reaching for the latch, he found that the door would not budge. He was trapped.
A searing pain pierced his left side and another his right arm. The strange odor that filled the room seemed to intensify and he had difficulty thinking clearly. Drawing his sword, he swung it wildly in the air but struck nothing. Then, agony began to radiate from his lower back as a dagger was driven into it. Frantically searching his clouded mind, he tried to make sense of what was happening. Pushing aside the now suffocating fear, it dawned on him. They are blind!
Dulnear quickly considered his options. If he turned to try to break down the door, he would be dead before he could get it open. His only hope was to take away the silent guards’ advantage. Remembering that there was a desk to his right, he ran toward it, twirling his massive sword with his left hand and smashing down hard with his iron-fisted right, eventually knocking over furniture and scattering papers to the floor. Quickly darting behind the desk, he could hear subtle footsteps moving over the papers.
One blind guard was moving toward him from his left, and the other from his right. When he could no longer hear footsteps from his right, he swung his weapon in that direction, catching only the tip of his sword on the man’s tunic. At the same time, the sudden whoosh of a blade could be heard beneath his left ear and his shoulder began to bleed.
Furious and disoriented, the man from the north kicked the desk away from him, then spun with his sword, still striking only the air around him. He would continue to fight Ocmallum’s guards until he could no longer move.
Until my last breath, Dulnear thought to himself. Then it dawned on him that perhaps the strange odor in the chamber was clouding his mind. He did his best to recall the layout of the room and hoped he was correct about the location of the window. He ran toward it and stumbled into the slaver’s throne. Recovering quickly, he tossed the large chair through the window, bringing massive shards of glass crashing to the ground below.
The man from the north breathed in the night air and almost instantly, his mind began to clear. The angst that had been covering his thoughts like a heavy blanket lifted and he was able to gauge the movements of the guards with greater perception. Sensing a blade coming down upon him from behind, he blocked with his sword then spun around, landing a steel-fisted punch on the blind man, sending him reeling back.
The other guard leaped upon Dulnear’s back and begun striking him repeatedly. Stabbing pain shot through his shoulder, causing him to drop his sword. He reached behind and grabbed the man’s
