world suddenly turned sideways and she passed out on the cushions. Alarmed, Zeliph called his
wife to assist him. Together they carried the unconscious girl into the women's quarters at the
back of the tent.
His wife did not stop berating him. "What were you thinking of?" she scolded. "Questioning the poor child like that? Can't you see she's been through an ordeal?" She flapped him out of the
room and efficiently set about nursing the stranger, stripping off her rags, washing her cuts,
putting ointment on her bruises, and finally burning a feather under her nose to rouse her.
Tashi opened her eyes to see a dark brown pair gazing down on her.
The woman touched her chest. "I'm Larila."
"Tashi," she replied, touching her own chest. She then realized she was naked under her cover.
"Where are my things?"
"I have sent them to be washed."
The girl burst into tears, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Don't do that!
They won't smell of him anymore if you do that."
"It is too late. They have already gone," Larila replied, wondering at this irrational response. Was the child mad?
The girl turned her head to the pillow, her shoulders heaving, and refused to answer more
questions.
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Ramil chose to look upon his situation as a war and plan his strategy accordingly. Sitting in the
filth of the pen, he was in retreat and had to move on to the attack. His greatest and only
strength was that many others shared his predicament. All the slaves penned for the sale the
following day would be potential recruits. There was no advantage in waiting for a better
opportunity because he was unlikely to find one. But he had to allow for some being too fearful
to get involved and others that might see it in their own interests to betray any conspiracy to the
masters. The captives had no weapons but their bare hands and chains. Looking round the slave
market with its guards and whip-bearing overseers, Ramil knew that the first task would be to
break out of the pens and hold a defensible area of the city, before he could get involved in
more ambitious plans. Ramil had already set upon Fergox's palace as his ultimate target. Like a
flea biting a man in armor, Ramil's hope was that he would distract the warlord from his fight
with Gerfal by attacking his soft part underneath.
"Send out the whisper," Ramil told Melletin, "starting with all Brigardians in the pens. Tell them the Dark Prince who escaped Fergox has come to lead them--"
"But you're in the cage with them," Melletin pointed out.
Ramil shrugged. "They don't need to know that. Keep it vague and majestic.
See if the ones who have
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been here longest know who we can trust. There's bound to be a few slave rats among us. We'll
make our move during the sale once we're out of these pens."
Melletin nodded. "And what's the sign?"
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Ramil looked at Gordoc. "Our new masters are so proud of their big man that they haven't
stopped to ask just how strong he is. Gordoc, I've seen you bend bars in Felixholt. Do you think
you could break our chains?"
The giant looked down at the hefty links shackling his hands to the collar around his neck. "I'm
not sure. But I could certainly break that pretty necklace of yours. The bolt's the weak point."
"That will do. With the ring attached to the chain, I'll have a useful weapon to swing at someone.
So the sign is when I take my collar off and attack." Ramil smiled wryly at the ease with which he made that suicidal statement. "We'll only win if we have overwhelming numbers. Everyone has
to join in or this'll be the shortest slave revolt in history."
Under the cover of darkness, Gordoc slipped his stout fingers inside Ramil's collar. It felt like
being throttled, but then the strong man pulled and the collar snapped open. "Thanks," croaked Ramil, rubbing his neck. He then replaced the neck ring, securing the broken hinge with some
cloth ripped from his shirt. "I hope they just think I'm trying to stop it from chafing."
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Gordoc moved silently on to the other men in the pen, starting with Melletin.
All the slaves, bar one, had agreed to join the revolt. The exception, a thin mad-looking man who
was a defrocked priest of Holin, had been too crazy to trust with the secret.
As dawn approached, Ramil gazed at the men crouched around him: his first army. He knew that
he was probably leading most of them to their deaths.
The whole plan had only the barest chance of success. But he made no apology for the attempt.
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"I'd rather die than be a slave," he murmured, thinking of Tashi's desperate plunge into the river.
"What's that, Ram?" rumbled Gordoc.
"We'd rather die than be slaves, wouldn't we, my friend?" Ramil said with more confidence,
knowing that his men were listening.
"That's right." Gordoc laughed. He seemed untroubled by the enormous risk they were about to take. "What about you, my brothers, is that what you think too?"
The men grinned at each other recklessly, eager eyes shining in the darkness of the cage.
"Aye, big man, we're with you and the Dark Prince," said a man from Kandar.
"We'll give Fergox a bloody nose before we're done."
The market began mid morning. In the shade of a pink silk canopy with gold tassels, rich
merchants, farmers, and mine owners lounged on chairs, conveniently close to the block on
which the slaves stood for display. The slaves were hustled from their pens lot by lot. The
majority of those who had already been
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sold waited to one side with their new masters--good news for Ramil because it meant potential
allies were in the open. Finally, it was the turn of Ramil's slave masters to bring out their wares.
They started with the women.
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"Now here's a sweetener to open bidding," the southerner called, prodding a mother carrying a baby onto the block. Ramil made a mental note that he would have to do something to protect
the women and children in the battle that would follow. He murmured to Melletin, who nodded
and passed on the message.
The mother went for a good price to a family needing a wet nurse and was led away. Next onto
the block was Yelena. Rather than treat the block as humiliation, she stared around her with a
scornful look like a queen on her throne. The slaver prodded her with the end of his whip.
"A house girl, fresh caught and spirited, a pretty addition to any household."
Bidding for Yelena was intense. Two merchants had their eyes on her and drove the price up.
The southerner was clearly delighted when he finally closed the bidding at a hundred heralds.
Ramil watched anxiously as she was led from the block to her new master under the canopy. The
merchant pinched her cheek and said something to his neighbor as she glowered at him. Ramil
was relieved to see Yelena being told to wait behind her new master; they would have had little
chance to find her later if she'd been led away now.
The women all sold. It was now the turn of the male
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slaves. Ramil had been hoping to be one of the last so that most of his men would be out of the
pen; instead, he found himself hauled out first. He made a rapid change in plans: he would have
to allow himself to be sold before he gave the signal.
The southerner propelled Ramil up to the block.