Avarice Blacksteel

Cheated

Aurianne found it most difficult to contend with her new found situation from which there seemed no escape, nothing in the young woman’s life had prepared her for this. Always she had been free, cared for, respected in her community. Living in a settlement that frowned on slavery and was ruled by fairness, where no one was below the next man. Through the long sleepless night she vowed she would never be a slave, least of all his. She would never obey the demand of this boorish man nor any other, no matter what the cost. She would end her life first.

Morning crept slowly over the landscape seeping into the dark cave and waking the sleeping men. Aran was awake first, he did not linger beneath the warmth of his cape but set to rekindling the fire. He was eager to be gone though he did toy with the idea of bathing in the oasis below, however he did not act on this impulse. He would though after many hungry days of traveling sate his appetite first.

Aurianne just sat observing the large man. He was not displeasing to look at. To be honest he had quite the opposite effect on her, which in its self was quite disturbing. Her captor was a little older than she, but still bore the last fading traces of boyish youth, softening his stoic features at moments. His body was true and strong, no longer that of an adolescent. His harsh existence in the wastes forging the hard warrior and his habits, always under the surface lurked the no nonsense mercenary, with very little room for pity or remorse.

Aurianne could sense all this and more, and she shivered. Though he was fair and golden, there was the presence of darkness beneath, an unbridled savagery. All this combined to make the usually fearless woman want nothing more than to run from this man and never set sights on him again.

His smaller more joyous companion stirred stretching and yawning noisily, and Aurianne could smell the meat cooking, realizing she was more than just a little hungry this morning. Aran met Aurianne’s eyes a slight one sided smile curled his stern lips and Aurianne looked away, however he did not, again appraising his fine captive and all his anticipated pleasures.


“I wish to at least take my horse.” Aurianne said strongly risking his ire as Aran marched her forward hands tied. He was pushing her ahead of him down the narrow path, towards the herd of animals that drank from the sandy beach of the oasis. Jhary some distance behind humming a merry tune to himself and looking up at the heavily blanketed sky. He was as annoyingly cheerful, as this other awful man was dour and cruel Aurianne lamented.

Aran did not acknowledge her request if he had even heard it. Instead he took his own large chestnut gelding from the herd as his companion fumblingly sought his own mount in the milling press of horses and cattle. Isabou came from the centre of the confusion to nuzzle her Mistress, Aurianne smiled.

At least she still had one friend. She cast her eyes about the canyon, she had not sighted Beauty for some time. Just as well she thought, though she had missed the shaggy black hound. Guessing at last the creature had moved on.

“This one?” Aran said as he threw the rope halter over Isabou’s massive head.

Aurianne nodded pleased with her one tiny victory, let there be more she thought. She was most unready for Aran to haul her over the horses back and secure her hands to her legs beneath the great mares belly. It would be an uncomfortable journey ahead. She wanted to protest but knew it would be ignored. He was going to make her life very uncomfortable until she agreed to be what it was he wanted. So be it then, but she would not give into his demands.

The trio climbed from the steep sided cleft up into the biting wind and cold. Not that it was not still cold below, but at least it was sheltered. Today the wind was vicious and beating in their faces. It was a foolhardy day to travel. Jhary sat his mount unimpressed with Aran’s judgement. One more day here would not have mattered and possibly it would have been very restful. However there seemed no stopping him.

Aran all but closed his eyes as he faced his mount into the prevailing wind, pulling his hood over his face and let the animal take his lead. The others followed in his wake. Not far Aran thought, tonight I shall be home. He could not wait to see the look on both Bennett’s and his brothers face.

Jhary sat, face shielded behind his horses neck, eyes watering with the stinging sand lashing his face. He felt great trepidation to meet the others of Aran’s clan, this was madness he ruminated, feeling more panicked with each forward step of his mount. They must indeed be fierce to survive out here. He had seen firsthand Aran’s stoic acceptance of the exile and the rigors of the environment, nothing seemed to daunt this mountain of a man that rode before him. Aran’s will was greater than his.

Jhary looked up startled, his own horse almost plowing into the rump of Aran’s much larger one. He had been very inattentive, not hard to do in this rising dust. He was spending all his effort focusing on breathing clean air. He watched the mighty warrior slide from the animal he was riding and stand very still, his hand reaching across his hard stomach for his blade.

Jhary fought down his morbid fears as he scanned the immediate periphery from horseback. He too drawing his sword. There was no one here, not in this dust storm surely? Aran did not move, he was listening. Though what he could hear, and what had triggered his caution was most mystifying to Jhary?

Their captive wriggled on the third horse uncomfortable and straining to see what the issue was. Jhary looked across at her, she was brave and proud he was not sure he could have lasted this long tied thus without complaint. The big mare’s head shot up, she reared, and a multitude of faceless black clad figures closed in about them.

Aran backed into the bulk of his own mount, sword already poised, and Jhary slid off his own frightened animal racing to join the large warrior’s field of protection. As great as Aran’s prowess was the battle was all but non existent. Caught out in the open, hampered by the lack of visibility in the driving sand; and overwhelmed by far superior numbers.

Aran was ready, the heaviness of his blade reassuring in his hand, the warmth of his horse against his broad back. He did not even have the time to remove the restriction of his cape, and he did not try. Let them come, let Blacksteel taste their blood.

He prayed his warrior’s prayer. There was no tomorrow, only now. He felt the heavy weight of the net before he saw it, becoming almost hopelessly entangled in it the moment it fell over his shoulders and head. He fought wildly to remove it but many hands were dragging him down, the more he fought the more entrapped he became. His sword all but useless to him under such conditions. He cast it to the ground reaching for his poignard that he may be able to continue the fight at such close quarters.

Aran was aware his companion was already down and being dragged away, the horses and his female prize had also fallen into his assailants hands. Aran was angered, and surrounded by a wall of unknown men. His knife sought and found flesh, he heard the grunt of pain as he pushed the blade further into the man’s abdomen. He felt satisfied with his kill and pressed for another. His wish was not to be granted, white light exploded before his eyes and he could remember no more.


Aran fought down the strong urge to vomit, his head hurt. It was dark, and he was cold. The dust storm of earlier that day had subsided. The pain and nature of his awakening was nothing he had not dealt with before on the battlefield, but the worst thing by far was the heavy downward pressure across his back, shoulders, and arms which he could not relieve. Not at all helped by the aggravation of his badly bruised shoulder.

He made to move, soon realizing he was securely yoked to a great split wooden beam, his arms roped at intervals to the length of the heavy wood, his wrists shackled to either end in locked iron bracelets. His ankles were bound tightly together, he could not rise if he tried. He sighed and closed his eyes, he so desired to be ill. Attempting to will it away without success, and as he vomited on to the sands he saw dark boots appear before him.

He looked up, a well dressed man clad mostly in black suede accented with silver studding stood before him flanked by many others in the moonless night. He poked at Aran with a plaited leather riding crop. His thinning and receding dark hair reached just past his shoulders, lank and oily.

His frame still powerful, Aran judged him to be a fighting man himself, aged somewhere in his mid forties. He possessed a tight lipped unkind mouth, framed in a very neat dark brown goatee. All but one of the other men who accompanied him wore black head cloths rendering them anonymous.

“You were right Jormugar he is exceptional. A fine animal. I have not seen one this good for a very long time. I do have a use for him. Worth the wait.” His voice carried an imperiousness that sparked even Aran’s difficult to arouse sense of fear. The athletic, wild man beside him nodded. He had a longbow cast over his lean shoulder, the white of the boars teeth in his ears. One of his only features apparent in the enveloping darkness.

Aran felt entirely crushed only hours from his goal. He looked to the ground he was hurting and too demoralized to hate. The knot of men lingered by him inspecting him in the dark like he was a prize bull. He was bound in such a manner he could do naught to resist their inspection of him. He spat at one who came too close and tried to bite another, all the action did was elicit a laugh from the majority of his captors, and someone slapped him hard on the back with a whip for his behavior.

After some time they departed leaving Aran to his private despair and pains. During this time the warrior realized he had also been divested of every piece of his trademark cache of gold and gems he always wore. Only one item remained, the ruby eyed dragon ring. Whey they had not taken it he could not fathom. The remainder of his fingers and neck quite bare.

He cast about as far as the heavy beam across his shoulders would allow. He could not see the others, they must be imprisoned elsewhere beyond his sight. He tried to rest willing the headache to subside. He was successful somewhat however he could not sleep, contenting himself with observing the workings of the large camp. There were multiple fires and many tents for accommodations, he could see the horses including his own and the great mare tethered beyond. This was a very well organized and mobile affair.

Early that dawn as the camp was stirring two men came toward Aran. His ankles were secured in sturdy irons. This time there were no locks, just a simple heated pin that was driven through them and hammered closed before he was released from the rope which bound them. Aran was glad of this small liberty, he was by now more than a little uncomfortable. He was given food after this, one of his guards patiently fed him morsels of beef which he devoured with gusto. He had after all not eaten anything since yesterday morning.

He thought about retaliating and even biting the man, deciding it would be in his best interest to just eat. His strength would be important to him in the coming days. Besides the heavy beam he was bound to would ensure he would not go far, he would have to wait for his chance. After this he was urged to drink. He was horribly thirsty he realized, gulping down the entire vessel of water and still wanting more.

He was goaded to his feet with the sting of a whip. Staggering under the heavy beam as he attempted to comply with his faceless guards. He was summarily allowed to relieve himself. Aran was none too happy to stand and feel the guard’s hands on his privates as he was assisted with his pressing need. They wanted him whole and well, but why? Aran liked it not.

In the daylight the suede clad man visited him again as the men broke camp. There were less followers with him this morning. Just the two guards that seemed to have been assigned to Aran’s care, and the wild looking man who had accompanied him last night, this time shadowed by a large rust colored dog trailing in his wake.

He again looked over Aran with much completeness. Circling him and commenting on various things he saw. “Yes, very strong.” He poked at Aran’s back with the tip of the whip. “I see in the past he has taken a considerable flogging.” He traced the plethora of scars from the incident again with the tip of the whip. Aran eyed him acrimoniously. “I will be interested to see him fight. He looks like he can.”

His companion nodded, though he never once spoke. Aran looked at him as well. Lean and dark he was, a creature of the wild, a true survivor. His upper torso decorated with intricate designs in black ink that ran into one another, dark brown hair braided, and his dark eyes unreadable. He gazed at Aran without pity or remorse, he was simply fulfilling a business transaction, that was all.

The man in suede paused at the sight of the scar running the length of Aran’s sword arm. He had not registered it last evening. He touched Aran then inspecting the old wound carefully with questing fingers. Aran longed to pull away but he could not. His muscles bunching as he fought the heavy beam trussed to him.

“I guess this doesn’t affect him?” The man said slightly concerned. Going so far as to dig his fingers into the scar tissue in various places to see if there was indeed any residual pain or weakness remaining from the old wound.

Aran glowered at him but bore the examination quietly. The two guards were hovering ready to subdue him painfully at a moments notice he knew. This went on for quite some time. The two men speaking of him as though he was not present, or worse still as though he was a mere farm animal.

“Yes, Jormugar you have done well, your ten percent.” The dark man dropped a pouch of gold into the lithe man’s outstretched palm. “Until next time then.” The man named Jormugar nodded and smiled, the transaction concluded he whistled to his dog and left for his horse. Aran watched him ride away. He would remember that name, and he would exact vengeance on him if he ever had the chance to meet him again. The world was smaller sometimes than a man chose to believe.

The suede clad man turned from him then. “Where is she?” Aran blurted out. He could help himself no more. He turned about, brown eyes alighting on the chained warrior. The day was cool, Aran could observe the steam rising on this man’s breath. “She is safe, as is your male companion. Fine prizes you all are. You will all fetch a good price.”

Aran felt anger then, it was sudden and unbridled. The pain in his body did not seem so limiting, and the rigid beam across his shoulders was no longer so heavy. He would not be enslaved, he would not be sold like a horse at market. He had not fought his entire life just to end up like this, naught more than a pathetic beast. To be traded and sold at will.

Aran charged at the swarthy man, he was the object of his hate after all. As he closed the gap he saw the raw fear in the man’s eyes as he was knocked to the earth. He felt hands on his back pulling against him in his onward rush, they could not halt him.

The entire camp erupted into confusion as men rushed from their tasks to help subdue him. There were so many, he fought as well as he might using the beam as a weapon. He hit one man hard. He went down immediately, broken and screaming in the sand. Aran was elated, he would have more. Then he felt the chain that linked his shackles being jerked hard, his feet going out from under him and the heaviness on his back pitching him forward.

He lay face down and helpless spitting sand and his own hair from his mouth, a crush of men pressed against the beam across his back. The pain in his shoulder raw, clouding his reason. “He is a fighter, a natural.” The dark man said with admiration as he rose, dusting himself off and rearranging his attire. Aran could only see his boots in the limited field of his vision as he breathed heavily face down on the sand. “He’s dangerous men, do not take chances with him.” Their leader warned.

Aran felt the sharp sting of the crop on the side of his face. “Today you will walk. I will make you so tired you will have no fight left. I am your Master now and you will learn to obey me!” Another slap to the cheek, Aran was most annoyed, he growled his displeasure it was in the majority muffled by the sand. The man above him just laughed mockingly and walked away.


Jhary had been watching on from the cart, he had prayed even if his hope was only small and somewhat misguided that somehow Aran would triumph. He sighed as he witnessed the brutal spectacle played out before him. The odds were too great he realized, the large man was being overcome.

Unlike Aran Jhary knew exactly what these men represented, he had known from the first terror filled moment he had sighted them. They were slaver's, prevalent in the south and the goods they plied very lucrative. These men were experienced, and dejectedly Jhary knew even one mighty as Aran stood little chance of escape from their purpose.

He watched on as they dragged the unwilling large man to the fire located in the center of the camp. He could hear the sound of smith’s hammer on steel as they riveted the iron collar about his neck; no there would be no easy escape from the steel they bound him with. All the resistance in the world would do his savage friend no good.

Jhary had tried a different tact, he was no man of violence after all. He was pleasant to his captors and most importantly cooperative. His capture would if he was agreeable go easier, he had warned Aurianne she had best do the same. He hoped she had heeded his advice, they had split them up soon after capture and he had not sighted her again.

Jhary Brannon was fortunate, he knew this. Being both pleasant to look at and possessing a rare talent, one people would pay handsomely for. At the very worst he would be sold to a wealthy individual and serve to amuse his family and friends. He would dine well, live well, and who knows what opportunities he could come by in time.

The bard looked across through the confining bars of the cart towards his companion, they were chaining him to the rear of one of their carts. The brave but foolish warrior would be forced to endure the weight of heavy beam lashed to his shoulders and arms while he walked this day. Jhary did not envy him at all. Nor the future Aran would have ahead. He sighed, closed his eyes and looked away; some things were best not dwelt on.