Chapter 5

One tree fell after another, and with every descent, the ground shook profusely. Hundreds of men, wearing only a plain tunic and just enough cloth to cover their groins, labored tirelessly to cleave the lush forest into sharpened spears and shields.

Atop a rickety platform, a single well-dressed man spat insults at the chained men below.

“Oi, be quick ‘bout it, ey? We ain’t got all day, so why don’t ya move dem hand’n feet!”

The slaves looked to the man with undisputed ire, however, the armed mercenaries dissuaded any thoughts of retaliation. Tired, but not allowed to rest, the chained men bite their lips and continued working. On one occasion, one of the older men fell as he labored on the logs.

“OI, WHAT YA THINK YA DOING?! THEM CHAINS COSTIN MORE THAN YOU DO! SO WHY DON’T YA GET OFF YAR LAZY SACS, EY?! AND WATCH YA STEPS SO YOU AIN’T BREAKIN MY CHAINS, EY?!”

“S-Sorry… sir… my leg… it’s grown weak. I… ” The fallen man pleaded, but it yielded no sympathy from his jabbering master.

“I AIN’T GIVE NO RATS ASS OUT YA LEG, GET UP AND GET TO WORK!”

The mercenaries unsheathed their blades, scaring the slave senseless.

“Y-Yes sir!” He groaned and cried, but was eventually able to stand.

Carius watched from afar, his back pressed against the rigid bark of the shaded tree. He witnessed the scene unfold, and a feeling of disgust twirled within him.

“What a parasite.” He muttered under his breath, for he despised slave drivers. Carius himself came from an impoverished town, so he saw firsthand the despicable tactics used by these vile individuals. If he hadn’t enlisted, he too may have had to labor in the fields before him.

“Carius!” called a voice from behind.

“Who?” Carius quickly turned around, ensuring that none of his sour expression remained. Upon sighting the man, he placed his hand on his chest and bowed. “Warmaster.”

“No need for such formalities, we are both sons of the kingdom. Such mannerisms are not necessary.”

The young scout straightened his postured and smiled.

“Then… Warmaster, may I address you by name?”

“Do as you wish.” the bulky, middle-aged man gave a simple wave before his eyes shifted to the busied fields. He wore a simple white tunic under a leather vest along with brown work pants, unbefitting of someone of his status.

“This is it?!” Zilimor scoffed. “This is what my gold paid for?”

“What do you mean?”

Without answering Carius’s question, the Warmaster charged furiously toward the slave driver. Having spotted Zilimor, the slave driver speedily descended from his platform.

“M-My… how ya be, Warmasta?”

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? THIS IS IT?!” the Warmaster screamed. “I SAID THREE HUNDRED STRONG!”

Taken aback, the slave driver began to stutter.

“S-Sorry… sir, I ain’t got enough men in this shipment to…”

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT!” Zilimor grabbed the slave master by the collar and pulled him closer. “Now, I believe I gave you enough gold for three hundred men, and I don’t see three hundred. Believe me when I say that I can put you on the gallows faster than your fat mother can whore herself for liquor. So you either return my money or give me the number I paid for.”

The slave driver gulped and fearfully stared in silence.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!”

“A-Aye… I-I-I’ll get’em…!” Upon the release of the grip, the man fell to the ground, legs still trembling. Two of the mercenary guards immediately ran to assist the slave driver.

“B-Bring’em h-here!” shouted the quivering man.

“Bring who… sir?”

“Bring-bring t-the women, the women!”

The two mercenaries briefly glanced at each other before responding.

“How many… sir?

“BRING ALL OF ‘EM!”

“Yes… yes sir!”

One of the mercenaries dashed off. In the ten minutes that he was absent, Zilimor stared down the slave driver with eyes of fury. Finally, the mercenary returned, followed by a group of tattered women.

There was no real consistency, as some were old, others were young or anywhere in between. Almost all of the women seemed starved to some degree, the worst displayed visible outlines of their rib cages. The unpleasant sight displeased the Warmaster.

“Slave Driver!” commanded the Warmaster. “Tell the men to rest and get everyone some food.”

“A-Aye, Warmasta!” the slave driver signaled to the mercenaries and stale bread was distributed.

The Warmaster sighed in displeasure.

“I said give them some FOOD, not this crap. WARM FOOD.”

“B-But Warmasta, that ain’t need-” Having crossed Zilimor’s piercing gaze, the slave driver dare not disobey. “Get’em s-some warm grub!”

The slaves simultaneously cheered, some even began to laugh at the pathetic display put on by their former master. Humiliated, the bitter man clenched his teeth but did not dare to show it. As the soup was distributed, the mood lightened. The dreary faces of despair shifted to those of warmth and hope.

After a while, the slave driver scurried off back to his tent, mumbling curses under his breath. The Warmaster watched the slaves from afar in silence, until Carius approached from behind.

“Zilimor, was that really necessary?”

“An army marches on its stomach.” the burly man responded. “I think they’ve earned their long-due rest.”

“No, not that.”

“Then what were your concerns?”

“The women, is it necessary to send them too?”

The Warmaster sighed, “where do you think the slave driver would send them afterward?”

“I do not know, Zilimor.”

“It is not a pleasant place. The arrangement may be different, but the result is all the same. They will all become used tools filled with emptiness. Those who are strong-willed will grasp onto hope, false promises of a better future. And suffer the misery until their last breath.”

“So you think it better to send them off like this?”

“I think it better to die with a purpose, Carius. That is all we men of war yearn for, death with a reason.” The Warmaster turn around and place his hand on the young scout’s shoulder. “I know you are of common birth, thus their lives must mean much to you. But the lives of my men mean even more to me.”

“Even so, why send the women?”

“I believe in strength in numbers. Hopefully, their opponents will show mercy.” As the Warmaster walked away, anger drew on to Carius’s face.

“I’ve seen the attack on Strosten… and I can assure that they do not!”

Zilimor ceased walking midstep.

“Well…” the man’s voice was cold, stern, and deep. “It is a better fate, still.”

***

It was the next morning, the slave’s morale has greatly improved following the generous meal coupled with a good night’s rest. Each man and woman, who were able, equipped themselves with the wooden spears and shield they had made the previous day. Some were able to fashion makeshift bows and arrows, however, nearly none of the slaves have archery training.

On the fields near the tents, the slaves gathered their gear and made their final preparations before heading out.

“Papa…” a young, brown-skinned woman voice worryingly. “Are they really going to free us…?” She then wrapped a piece of wood over her chest and back, hoping that it would hold against a simple blow.

Her father, Ar-zu, an old man with streaks of white hair did the same, fastening crude plating to his body.

“Ar-ki…” The man shook his head, not willing to lie to his daughter. “I don’t know, but we don’t have any other choice.”

Ar-ki began to tear up, for she yearned for what she had lost. She wanted her life back, together, living happily with her family. It was just months ago when their caravan was traveling through the deserts of Kuruk. Ambushed by raiders, her mother perished underneath the sands. And now, her current fate brought uncertainty at every turn.

“Papa… I don’t want to die…”

With a heavy heart, the man grabbed his daughter and embraced her.

“We will not die, Ar-ki. I’m sure they will keep their word and free us.” Even though the man had doubts, he desperately wanted to believe that they will be released from their shackles. It was already a blessing that he was reunited with his daughter, but he yearned for more. “I will keep you safe.”

“Do you really believe that?” A bald old man interjected. “Do you really believe their lies? They are probably going to shoot us down for target practice or sacrifice us to monsters. Like they are kind enough to free us slaves.”

“Papa…” Terror grasped onto Ar-ki’s heart, though she tried to hold it back, the tears began to flow.

“You shut your mouth!” Ar-zu screamed. “What is the point of scaring her?!” Despite Ar-zu’s anger, he could not blame the old man for thinking that way, after all the situation seemed too strange. Just a few days ago, they all heard the strange and thunderous roar from the forest, the ground beneath them shook as if it were the beginnings of an earthquake. And now they’re being told to clear a forest village of raiders and bandits, after which they would be set free. These set of circumstances would seed doubt in anyone’s mind.

“I didn’t mean to scare her, but think about it… they don’t have enough men to clear the village themselves so they send a bunch of slaves?”

“We outnumber them.” retorted Ar-zu. “They can’t take on all of us.”

“You’re missing the point!” The old man raised his voice, allowing the surrounding slaves to hear as well. “They’re sending us alone! A bunch of slaves without guards to keep us in line?! They are sending us to our deaths!”

The crowd of slaves looked and each other and began to mumble. Pieces started to fit together. “Why did they feed us a full meal?” some asked, “I have never heard of any slaves being set free before!” others claimed. Before long, an uproar started among the slaves. The mercenaries quickly drew their weapons and prepared themselves to subdue the protest. Before the situation could devolve into a full-blown riot, Warmaster Zilimor stepped in.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” The crowd immediately became silent upon sighting the fully armored Zilimor and his guards.

It took a while, but the old man was the first to speak.

“Y-You are sending us to our d-deaths! W-Why else would you send us alone?!”

“YEAH!” some of the slaves shouted. “Does our lives mean nothing to you?!”

The Warmaster raised his hand and the crowd quickly silenced.

“If that is what bothers you, then the slave master will accompany you.” he then shot a chilling gaze at the pale man. “Right?”

“B-But…” the Slave Master stuttered.

“RIGHT?!”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“Good, now if anyone else has complaints, they can come to me personally. Otherwise, get ready to move out!”

With that, Zilimore retired back to his tent, the slaves were left stunned as they were not expecting what they had witnessed.

“H-Hey…” One of the slaves voiced. “They might actually be telling the truth… We may be set free!” The moral of the group soared, their doubts quelled as they will now be accompanied by experienced mercenaries.

“Are you satisfied, old man?” Ar-zu picked up his spear and began to sharpen the tip with one of the worn axes.

“Y-Yes…” the old man replied as he sat down in relief.

Ar-zu then handed a thick wooden shield to his daughter.

“Ar-ki, stay close to me at all times. We’ll make it through this.”

The young woman held the shield tightly against her chest, though her expression showed that she was still worried, she had faith in her father’s words.

“Yes, Papa…”