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Slave War
Juriy Tashkinov
A prince who was never destined to become king. A boy who became a slave to a sorcerer who conducts terrible experiments on slaves. The only way to freedom is soaked in blood, not only of enemies, but sometimes of friends. Is a boy who loves to read willing to pay such a price for the sake of removing the shackles?
Slave War
Juriy Tashkinov
© Juriy Tashkinov, 2024
ISBN 978-5-0062-2854-2
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Slave War
Chapter 1. Desert
The sun is high, so bright and hot, and sunset is not soon. At night in the desert of Lorraine it is sometimes frosty, but now the blinding rays seemed to be able to burn out the soul and leave it to die among the eternal sands. And sand is everywhere: on your teeth, accidentally caught with food, the wind carries it into your face, forcing you to squint. You can drive for several days and not see a soul. Even sadder is that during this time you may not come across a single well. And water supplies decreased at double speed in the heat. Silence. Only the wind sometimes hummed melodies. People are too exhausted to get a word out. Here it seemed that the heat and sand even smelled.
The royal family from Northern Sartoll crossed the cursed lands. A long line of camels carried the companions, but an even longer line of slaves walked behind.
– What is this? – Dorkhand asked. The boy sitting unsteadily on the camel looked about eight years old. Dark-skinned, as for a representative of the northern people, fair-haired, curly.
– What are you talking about, son? – asked Linder, a fair-haired man of about thirty, with a mustache and a thick but short beard.
– Look there, dad! – he pointed his finger somewhere into the distance.
– And what is there?
– Do not you see? – The child’s eyes are widened.
– What are you talking about? At least give me a hint! – said the man.
– Oasis. Water. Palm trees, under the friendly shadow of which you can hide, – said the boy.
“Mirage,” said Councilor Langer with a knowing look.
– What? – asked Dorkhand.
– A waking vision. This often happens when it’s hot.
– God! I’ll go crazy if I have to spend another day or two here. These sands. And the heat from which there is no escape. A soul-burning star across half the sky. And constant thirst.
“It’s hard for everyone,” Linder said. – Do you think I like the heat? But a man must learn to endure. Hardships and hardships are our eternal companions. If you fight them sparing no effort, sooner or later you will give up. Therefore, sometimes it is worth giving in to them.
– Dad, I’m thirsty. A few more minutes and I’ll fall off the camel.
Linder held out his flask, and Dorhand sipped on it, eagerly taking several large sips.
– Thank you! – said the child.
“Not long yet, son,” said the king.
They drove in silence for some time. Then the boy spoke:
– Dad, tell me, why do we ride camels, we have flasks on our belts, and these go, exhausted, exhausted, and they are driven with a whip?
– Are you talking about slaves?
Dorhand nodded.
“That’s why they are slaves,” said Linder. – This is their fate. We are all in Her hands, and we trust only in Her!
– But dad! I read in the book of the traveler Khorel that in developed countries they abandoned the slave trade a long time ago. Free people live in Eldoras and Velzuvik.
– The absence of slavery does not mean freedom. There are slaves there too. They are forced to work tirelessly from early morning until sunset in order to earn enough bread for at least one more day, so as not to die of hunger. Tell me, are you talking about this kind of freedom? At least we’re honest. We give no illusions to anyone. Although, even I, in a golden crown and expensive silks, am not so free. My chains are the bonds of royal duty to the people.
– But you are not a slave. You have the right to choose. And they don’t have that either. You also ride a camel and drink water from a flask. And you don’t get whipped.
“These are the laws of life,” said Linder. – For some to live well, others must pay with time. You know, son, you talk like an adult. At your age! Other boys play warriors and chase each other through the city streets with sticks in their hands. And you spend all your free time reading books. So you will miss your childhood. Time is fleeting, it flies by, leaving shadows on the sand. Books are not your best friends. Perhaps we should ban you from reading. It is better to devote as much time as possible to the sword or spear. It will be more useful. The world needs soldiers, not readers. “Here, this will be better than any of your books,” the king took off the bracelet from his wrist and handed it to his son.
– What is this? – Dorkhand asked, taking the gold jewelry from his hands and looking at it with curiosity.
– He will help defeat the enemy when he does not expect it. Click here and the bracelet will throw out blades that you can use to kill whoever attacked you. The unexpected sometimes strikes more accurately than a sharp sword.
“Books are not the best friends, but they are good advisers,” the boy whispered, having thoroughly admired his father’s gift. There was silence for a while.
“One day I will become king,” said Dorhand. “And then I will abolish slavery in our country.” I swear.
Langer looked reproachfully at the prince. And Linder said:
“You shouldn’t say that in Lorraine, the capital of the slave traders.”
The desert could not grow anything. Only the seed of evil found fertile soil here, and from which the sprout of a state of villains grew. Bandits, slavers and other adventurers from Sartoll, Beelzuvik and Suthering found refuge among the sands that had long belonged to the Snake Charmers. They were expelled from the enlightened lands, since rabble had no place there among the pious people. They say that the robbers chose their king, whom Linder would never recognize. But now the Sartoll detachment was crossing their territory, so they had to be careful.
– What is this? – asked Will, one of the officers, pointing his finger at the sand rising into the air.
– Looks like a storm will start soon. We need to hurry so that it doesn’t cover us completely,” said Councilor Langer.
– No! The wind is blowing in the other direction. Take a closer look! This is a squad!
– Then we must ride twice as fast! We must not fall into their hands, under any circumstances!
“I’ll distract them with a small detachment,” Will said. – And you rush as fast as you can! – the soldier turned the camel, loading his crossbow as he walked. – For the king! For Sartoll! Behind me!
The warriors have long wanted to warm up, but not with the same superiority of strength!
Linder, his children, Langer and several other people rushed away from the battlefield. Musket shots rang out. Dorhand, out of the corner of his eye, saw Will fall from the camel onto the hot sand.
– Dad! But why are we running? Shouldn’t we fight side by side with them?
“The main thing, son, is to save your life,” Linder said. – You are the future king! We should think about Sartoll first and not about the battle. And not about myself. We must survive at any cost. Your life is worth an entire nation.
– Dad, but the slaves are not even armed! They will be killed like cattle, and at this time we are hiding from the battle!
Linder hit his son on the back of the head with a heavy hand.
– Never call me a coward. I have many shortcomings, everyone knows that. But I’m definitely not weak in spirit.
Meanwhile, the clatter of hooves approached.
– Looks like they’re looking for me. They know for sure that I’m here,” Linder said. – Langer! Take Gutan, my little son. And take Dorkhand with you. They must survive if Fate overtakes me, not allowing me to live until the morning.
– But Your Majesty, I will never leave you! – said the adviser.
– You’ll quit. Swear that you will serve my son just as you have served me these years.
– I swear! But…
– No buts! Run! Run as fast as you can!
Linder, sensing the approach of the enemy, loaded a smoothbore musket with a ball of bullet.
“It’s a pity that I had to exchange my father’s crossbow for this… A bullet won’t do half of what a crossbow bolt can do.”
They say that in Velzuvik they came up with some kind of notches in the barrel that increase the power of the bullet. But there are various rumors about this country, guess which ones are true, and which ones are just fairy tales that are told to children at night. Although, their lands are rich in native nitrate, which is formed in alkalis and rotting grasses. She, like the snow in the North of Sartoll, dusts the earth. Therefore, the Belsuvians began to use gunpowder earlier than others, including gunsmiths. But for a Sartollian, the sword is the best weapon in battle.
Linder fired the first shot and was loading the second bullet when an enemy arrow overtook him. Dorkhand almost screamed, seeing how his father was being killed, but Langer covered his mouth with a rough palm.
– Gods! Keep quiet! Otherwise they will notice us! Your Majesty! You must not open your mouth without my permission. It might be too dangerous!
After some time they were noticed. The bandits pulled them out from behind a stone. Dorhand bit the man who grabbed him by the arm.
“If you bite me again, I’ll knock out your teeth!”
The advisor fell to his knees. Not all people are equally brave. And the majority can only boast of courage in words.
– Take what you want! – Langer yelled. – Do you want me to give you all the gold I have? And if you want, take all the slaves. Take it. But leave us life.
“Okay,” said one of the robbers. “But we will take this boy with us too.” In the Market they will take this for double the price.
Dorhand started to hint that he was a prince, but Langer did not let him finish.
– Take the boy. But let me live! – said the adviser. Dorhand tried to break free. He looked reproachfully at the traitor, but Langer lowered his gaze to the sand. The boy spat on the ground.
So the prince became a slave.
Chapter 2. Market
On Tuesdays the slave market was always full of people. Locals called this day the “golden river”, because the wallets were filled not only with manpower traders, but also with the owners of local taverns and brothels. The smell of sweat and fish alternated with the aroma of rose and olive oils. It was a rare nobleman in the Sands who could afford a bath. The nearest oasis was a hasty camel ride of five days. Therefore, many doused themselves with oils and Suthering perfumes to fight off the stench. Those who are poorer could not afford to do this either.
When the hot disk of the sun was at its zenith, steam rose from the ground along with dust. The city turned into an oven at such moments. Or to the bathhouse. Usually even camels were freed from work at such moments. And the silk merchants drank tea to somehow replenish the loss of moisture. But on the day of the Sale, a roar filled the Square.
– Ten gold, and this beauty will join my harem! – shouted a fat old man with a sparse beard and a turban on his head. He was reclining in the shade of the tent. Two girls fanned him with palm leaves. In front of him lay a tray of grapes.
– Twenty-two buckets of water, and she will go with me! – hissed a bald man of about forty, with a scar under his left eye. He burned under the scorching sun of Lorraine. The skin is red. It seems that he is not used to the southern sands, most likely he came from the north. From Velzuvik or Sartolla, but here no one cares about the origin. The main thing is to pay. Without money, you yourself can become a slave. And without security, even the money will not be saved: it can be taken away in the nearest gateway.
The crowd gasped and stared at him.
– This is Lord Latrich himself! – people whispered.
– It’s not fair! – the fat man shouted. – Using water as a currency is unthinkable! Twenty gold pieces for a young maiden!
– Sold for twenty-two buckets of water! – the slave’s owner shouted. The girl was brought to Latrich. The lord looked at the fat man with an undisguised grin. The old man grimaced and turned away. He called one of the servants, whispered something in his ear, and he walked away. After a while, the bald man grabbed the cobra in his fist, which almost bit him on the leg. He tore off the bastard’s head. All eyes are directed at the owner of the scar.
Latrich pulled a musket from his belt and fired. The fat man fell, swaying. Several soldiers of the dead man immediately rushed towards the lord. But he shook his head. Their path was blocked by Latrich’s thugs. The lord smiled.
– Who else is dissatisfied with my trading methods?
No one had them.
Latrich often participated in trades. And it was he who won the best slaves. None of those present here knew exactly where he was taking them and for what purpose the lord needed so many slaves. He is rich, and this is the main thing for the locals.
– Next lot!
Dorkhand was pulled onto the wooden platform. He tried to escape several times. Moter, one of the soldiers, applied medicinal alhans to moderate the pain of the boy’s finger that had almost been bitten off. That’s why the prince was tied up. Hidden under a thick linen shirt is a bruise. If it were not forbidden to beat those intended for sale, then his face would have been beaten.
– Starting price – seven gold!
– I’m placing a bet! – said an unpleasant-looking woman.
“Four buckets of water,” Latrich said.
– Six buckets! – the woman shouted. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at her, not hiding surprise and admiration.
– Four buckets of water and three pinches of Eldevian spice.
Now the eyes are directed to Latrich.
– Sales!
Dorkhand, even tied up, almost escaped. Latrich’s servants grabbed him under the arm and dragged him to the rooms bought by Latrich. A dark-skinned old woman slave with a kind face cut the ropes.
– I am the prince of blood! I can’t be bought!
– You better not kick. My advice to you. Otherwise Latrich will skin you alive. He is not a good person and will stop at nothing. Better wash yourself before meeting the lord.
She sat the boy in a barrel of warm water. Dorkhand took his first swim since they found themselves in the damned desert. Then they put new clothes on him and took him somewhere. He tried to break free, but in vain: the soldier squeezed his shoulder tightly, something almost crunched.
