Mostly, his works are run of the mill textiles; unique only in that they’re woven by hand, rather than by machines as the mass-produced carpets of other worlds are.
However, I once picked up a beautiful, woven rug from the Denang dynasty – a ruling family from eight-hundred years ago – and it was still in perfect condition. That rug is now in my bedroom and I relish in walking over something even older than I am.
But nothing excites me today. Terrence shows me his wares – purchased from visiting traders and noble estate sales – but it’s all mediocre. Despite his protests, I withdraw myself and continue walking.
“Why do you look at that garbage?” Cyrus laughs behind me. I glance over at Terrence, confirming that the rug merchant didn’t hear his words, and then shoot my battle-brother a dark glare.
“Do not insult a man’s pride,” I telepath to him.
Cyrus shrugs apologetically. Though he’s a troublemaker, Cyrus doesn’t like to do real harm with his words; and while he feigns indifference, I can sense within his aura that he feels remorse.
These humans are merely trying to earn a living.
A sudden commotion draws my attention. There’s yelling from across the marketplace, and I hear a shrill scream that sends a cold shiver running all the way down my spine.
I don’t know why, but the anguish of that scream triggers something inside of me. Before I even consciously decide to, I’m already running toward the sound of the commotion.
Cyrus and Varian instinctively follow – sprinting to catch up with me. Our hands dart to the hilts of our Orb-Weapons – the signature weapon of our species.
We’re warriors, born and bred – and while none of us have had to draw our weapons in all the years we’ve lived on Deemak, we still carry them wherever we go.
We approach the source of the scream. A crowd is forming around a man, huge by human standards, looming over a terrified young woman.
The burly thug has her by the scruff of her drab, maid’s outfit.
“You want to sneak out?” He shakes her violently. “You want to run away? You owe me, bitch! You’re coming with me.” The man yanks her forward, the combination of his strength and her smaller size making it easy to wrench her off balance. Yet, this human woman is not without spirit. She kicks and fights, despite the fact that he’s far too strong for her to resist him.
I step forward, leaving my Orb-Blade sheathed. We won’t need those lethal, otherworldly weapons to deal with this brute.
Cyrus and Varian flank the burly man, who’s too focused on the kicking, struggling girl to even notice them. Once I’ve confirmed that my battle-brothers have cut off any possible retreat, I approach the thug.
All it takes is clearing my throat to get his attention. To a human – even one as big as this thug – it must sound like the rumble of thunder, or the roar of a lion.
The hulking man turns, glaring up at me. He’s wearing light robes of a fine fabric. He’s probably moderately wealthy; which explains both his arrogance, and the chip on his shoulder.
“This is not your business, Aurelian,” the man blusters. He sounds angry – defiant – but I can see by his body language that he’s intimidated by me. I don’t blame him. I tower over the thug. Nevertheless, like a smaller dog yapping at a larger one, the man snaps: “Keep your haughty noses up your own arses, and out of human business.”
As he says that, the man makes to leave – dragging the struggling girl with him.
That’s when he notices I’m not alone – and his only retreat would require going through Varian and Cyrus.
I keep my voice low and dry.
“You cannot take her.”
I deliberately ensure my words are flat. Disinterested. I’m merely stating a fact to this man. I know he is as much physical threat to me as the girl he’s manhandling is to him.
Speaking of whom – Gods!
The young lady is a true beauty. Her long, auburn hair gleams in the sun, falling in a tousled mess and framing a face that might otherwise eclipse any of the works of art in my substantial collection. Humans have such a flawed understanding of beauty, but I can see the perfection in her features.
But not today. Today, this beauty has a black eye – her face bruised and purple from what I assume was the impact of this man’s big fist.
Anger surges up inside of me. Cyrus and Varian’s auras harden as well – our protective instincts instantly triggered. All three of us suddenly imagine ripping this man’s throat out with our bare hands; showing it to him as he stares, wide-eyed, with his lungs flooding with his own blood.
And yet the man foolishly defies us.
“I can’t take her, eh? I’ve got a signed document that says I can, you grey-skinned bastard. She works for me, not you.”
So, she’s his employee.
Cyrus steps closer.
“Last I heard, my friend, slavery isn’t allowed on Deemak. If she wants to leave, she leaves. If you try to stop her…”
Varian cracks his knuckles, adding punctuation to Cyrus’s unfinished sentence.
The huge man’s beady eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. Just one of us would have intimidated the thug – but to be confronted with three Aurelians? I’m surprised he didn’t soil his pants the moment we confronted him.
The big man gulps dryly, then slowly releases the woman from his grasp.
She instantly staggers back, gasping for air and rearranging her disheveled clothing.
The man sees us soften the moment he releases the girl – but foolishly follows that with more angry words.
“Slavery? Slavery?” He points an accusing finger at us, waving it back and forth between Cyrus, Varian, and me. “Be careful with your allegations, Aurelian.” He says that final word with a sneer – as if the word itself leaves a bad taste on his tongue as he speaks it. “You’re a long way from
