Avarice Blacksteel

Passage of Misery

This is only a temporary condition Aran tried his best to reassure himself. The pain in his back and shoulders most paramount. He would have given almost all to be able to put his arms at ease by his sides. He had walked all day, head down, eyes part closed, one foot in front of the next. Each step the total measure of his world. There was not one part of his great body that did at this point not annoy him.

He longed to be free, the early days of captivity were always the hardest. His subjugators had been considerate in very few things but those most base. They fed him well, gave him plenty to drink, and had allowed him to relieve himself. That was the sum of their caring, he was livestock to be kept in good condition, but not to be trifled with.

The cart he had so steadily followed all day stopped. Aran was just grateful to stand, the dark was closing in and the camp was being set. He hung his head beginning to shiver as his body cooled. He had no option but to stand idle like a tethered horse. His calves and thighs ached, the heavy shackles although lined in leather had chafed his ankles raw. The earth beckoned him, he so wanted to lie down, but the chain on his collar was too short to allow him to do so.

He could see a fire lit in the distance. His captors had erected some of the tents. He could smell meat roasting. They were heading south, he knew his people were only a few miles to the east. He was so tantalizingly close, yet he was so far.

Men were approaching. He tried to look behind, he was awkward and sore and moved slowly. It was as he had figured his two guards and his keeper. He looked away determined not to satisfy the mature man. Aran had never been artful at sub-ordinance even in his own well ordered clan, it had caused him many issues in the past. Not to mention copious criticisms from his dear brother.

He was struck with a whip on the lower back, it was not the lightweight crop of earlier, it was a cat, designed to move a recalcitrant man such as himself. He flinched slightly but compared to his other discomforts it was nothing. “You are very hardened.” The voice behind him said, “and willful.” Aran wondered what it was this man was trying to prove.

He ignored him looking away to the east, toward his desired home. The cat struck him again, it was a purposely low strike over his kidneys. Designed to be painful. Aran reacted to the stinging instrument this time. He turned and spat at his antagonist. For long moments the two men’s eyes locked on one another in the fast fading light, his tight lipped aggressor unmoving as Aran’s spittle dripped from his finery on to the sand.

The man smiled pulling the cat through his strong, short fingers. Even in this failing light Aran could see they were the hands of a fighting man such as himself, they bore numerous tight scars just as his own did. “I think he needs twenty-four more hours.” He turned on his heel and left.


Aurianne peered at Aran from behind the tent flap unnoticed. He was some distance away still chained to the cart which was parked in the clearing. He was suffering now it was obvious in the posture of his body. He bore it well. He was her enemy yet she had to begrudgingly admit he was brave. Darius he would have been the same way, possibly this was justice done for the torture of her beloved mentor and father figure. Where was he now? She missed him so strongly it tore at her.

She let the canvas fall and sat on the carpet on the floor cross legged. If it was not for the length of chain that was attached to her ankle she could have felt she was a free woman. Jhary’s advice had so far been constructive, treat them well and you will be allowed liberties.

The diminutive, smiling man had been right, she could hear him now plucking at his guitar entertaining the men about the fire. Aurianne was fine with this as long as no man tried to molest her, and so far they had not. She would bide her time and seek escape when the chance presented itself. The young woman had eaten well, and was unusually tired. She lay on the mat and put the pillows beneath her head listening to the man of song as she drifted off to sleep.


While most in the camp slept well Aran stood shivering in his chains. His eyes closed but he jerked them open, if he slept he would fall, and if he fell he would choke. He spent the entire night thus and was by far most malleable the following morning. His good behavior was not rewarded. He was provided with his usual ration of good meat and clean water, but no release from his bonds.

He looked out mutely across the encampment. Its faceless occupants were stirring for the day’s march ahead. He sighted her as they led her to the cart, she was still as beautiful and alluring to him even in his pain filled, sleepless daze.

Aurianne looked across at him, he focused on her face, the high cheek boned beauty and the ageless blue gray eyes framed in her luxuriant red hair. He drew himself straight in spite of his aching unresponsive body and screaming muscles, he was aware she saw his pride, and recognized his courage.

Aran held that vision this frozen day clutched to his heart. It drove him on, gave him the will to continue. However as strong as he was, mid afternoon his body foundered and betrayed him. He fell and found he could no longer rise, the heaviness bound to his body too much for him to lift one more time.

The cart was halted swiftly, one of his guards had seen him fall, he was valuable property after all. He was to be disciplined not destroyed. Aran was still trying to rise on legs that would no longer obey him as the men unchained him from the wagon. He realized he was free but was too exhausted to take any advantage of it.

He felt great relief and lightness as the weighty yoke was at last removed from his shoulders, he cried out as his arms dropped to his sides. They were alarmingly lifeless and numb before the circulation could return to them. The hands of many men hoisted him from the sand and loaded him into the cart he had so achingly followed.

I will remain free Aran thought with a great sense of delight, this hope was crushed almost immediately as he was again shackled to the uprights on the cart. They were made of stout wood, he stood no chance of moving them, at least not in his present weakened state. He did not recall much more, sleep was more important.

The cessation of movement was what woke him, the camp was being set. Aran had been dreaming he was looking up at a full moon, a bright and beautiful silver disk that hung suspended in an indigo sky. For one moment Aran thought he was really doing so, he blinked away the remnants of sleep and the magical dream was gone. The sky ominous and dark as it had always been, with not a solitary star in sight. His situation was none too cheerful, he was cold, stiff and sore. His movement still most limited.

This was how Aran would now spend his days, the majority of the long hours chained down in the cart. Sometimes he was allowed out to walk, shackled behind the slow procession of human misery to maintain his fitness and worth. His fur cape had been returned to him, he was glad of it nights and used it as a blanket to stave off the bitter cold that invaded the world even more severely after darkness fell.


These feared men did not appear to raid settlements. They were opportunists preferring to prey on those who strayed carelessly too far from the bounds of their villages, lone or small groups of travelers, or the predestined marks of their scouts; men like Jormugar. It was a clever strategy, their method of predation ensured while they were feared and possibly ostracized by certain sectors of some communities they could never be rightly blamed for atrocities against settlements. People like Aran and his clan wore the shame of those deeds.

As they continued their passage further south more captives were added to their retinue. Aran bore witness to many transactions just like his own, mercenary lone men who brought in a single captive or two selling them just as he had been sold into slavery for a handful of gold.

Aran was most restless to be taken in this direction, his experience with the subhuman ones left him feeling vulnerable and agitated. They passed by the places these unfortunates inhabited with impunity, there was no show of violence against the heavily armed column of men.

They were now headed southeast, through rolling scrub country not unlike the type of land John’stown was situated. Aran cast his mind back to the strange religious community he had visited at the beginning of his exile, prompted by the sighting of the abandoned stone buildings that littered the hillsides. He had been confident then and had borne himself like a king. He was afraid to feel what he had become.

The harsh cold here had all but denuded the trees and savagely marred the landscape, it appeared nowhere was unscathed from the rapid climatic change. There were no birds and Aran saw very few signs of wildlife. It had now been a passage of many weeks since he had first borne these chains and the numbness of captivity.

Aran lifted his head, his golden hair was tangled, his wrists rubbed raw by the irons, his ankles and neck had fared little better, but his green eyes were still vibrant. A few days of rest and he would be ready to fight again for possible freedom, but for now all he had to do was concentrate on walking.

There was a sudden commotion up ahead, a group of riders went forward urging their tired and lathered mounts to a gallop. Aran’s interest was piqued and he looked past the cart to see they were approaching what looked like a high mud walled compound. The gates swung slowly outward admitting them.

The enclosing walls were some twenty feet high, well constructed, wood skeletons with hard baked mud sheathing them. There was an array of broken glass embedded a top them, and even ribbon wire in places. The courtyard was large with easily enough area to admit the now swollen procession of human chattel and their guardians.

Amid the confusion Aran cast his eyes about the compound. There was a central well. Arranged about the walls were many buildings, some were homes, others were stables and places of storage, some had unknown purposes. Aran could already sight numerous holding cells, so this was his destination, his finality after the forced march of all these long weeks.

He could do little but stand in the milling press of people and livestock chained as he was. He wished he had been in a better position to use this time of confusion to run. He looked over to the collection of larger buildings, they too constructed in the adobe style, of mud, brick and wood, some of them were multiple stories.

The man in suede Aran now knew as Master Jacques stared across at him whip in hand, he was speaking to another man who had appeared from the largest home in the compound, the two of them were now looking Aran’s way. Many of the unfortunates the slavers had returned with were being unceremoniously herded into the holding cells. There was much activity and angst in the compound as many of their captives did not take kindly to being separated. The masked men having to resort to whips and force to bend many of their captives to their will.

Aran’s interest sparked as he saw Aurianne and Jhary being led into the large house after most of the less valuable human merchandise had been dealt with. He had as usual been left to the last. He saw Jhary cast a look in his direction over his shoulder as he disappeared through the large doorway.

It was not until then that Master Jacques made his move, he and the other man he had been conversing with came across the compound at a relaxed walk toward Aran. He cast his eyes to the ground. A low whistle followed by just one word. “Impressive!” Came from the lips of the unidentified man whose voice was very deep and gruff. Master Jacques laughed.

“Even better Keith he was brimming with gold and jewels, they alone were worth ten times what he is. Not to mention the fantastic weapon he was wielding and the unexpected woman.”

Aran stiffened as they spoke of his possessions, and of her.

“Jormugar did well. I will be interested to see your treasures Sir, and of course to see what his capabilities are in the coming days.” Master Jacques nodded.

“Yes, Jormugar often does. He is by far the best tracker in my employ. I will be keeping this man Keith.” Aran felt the butt of the cat tap him high on the shoulder.

The other man made a satisfied sound. “Very well Sir. I will make the preparations.”