"It is strange to find Deep Ones out here."
We were inside Claevor the Healer's. Most of his shelves had been cleared; their contents packed into leather bags or stacked in twine-bound packets of papyrus. On a large table in the center of the tent, lay one of the deep ones that I had killed. Its body was stretched out, it's chest cut open, and the skin peeled back. Sheets of papyrus lay on the table, covered in sketches and scribbled notes. The Deep One's head had been removed and placed in a glass jar, It stared at me through the pickling solution. It had died, I felt was some satisfaction, screaming.
Claevor sat across from it, a selection of herbs on a stool beside him. He worked the small mortar and pestle, grinding them.
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"An army of Elder Things and Shoggoths drove their kind from here, centuries ago," he said without looking up. "And their lord, Dagon, command them never to return. Also, these had no human followers with them, no half-human bastard crossbreeds. And this one," he pointed to its chest, "has old scars from battle. Blade wounds, and other cuts I cannot recognize."
"So why do you think they were down our well?"
"You mean their well. Some battle beyond the Mist Wall must have set them to flight. If so, there may be more of them coming. What if they come in a horde?" He went back to crushing herbs. "This is almost ready. If you idle here, I would you set to purpose."
"What do you need done?"
"Come outside with me, Hunter."
We stepped outside the tent.
A small, wooden pen had been built alongside Claevor's tent. Kneeling inside it, their wrists cuffed behind their backs were fifteen slave girls. They were a mixed group, and two wore red cords.
Across from them, separated by a knee-height fence, were the five slave girls we had rescued. The brunette I'd found in the cage quickly crossed her wrists and ankles as if for binding. The other four, who had been mounted on the breeding crosses, just stared at me. They blinked and squinted in the light as if awakening from a dream in the dark.
"Start with these girls," Claevor indicated the larger group, and handed me the bowl and a small, wooden, spoon. The paste had turned green-brown and smelled like cinnamon. "One spoonful, each."
"What is it?"
"Mismating spice. These girls are the day's breedings. Give them the spice, and their matings will fail."
I stepped into the slave pen, the slave girls looking up at me. Closest to me was a tall, slender, Shang girl.
"Open," I commanded, cupping her jaw.
Her mouth opened. I spooned the green-brown paste in, and she licked it clean as if it was a penis.
"Good Slave. Show."
She swallowed and showed me her empty mouth.
"These are beautiful, healthy, women. It feels a bit of a shame to mismate them."
"They will be bred, Gerard. But, by the men who buy them. Not our slaver trash."
"I'm slaver trash."
"I'm sure you are."
I mismated the slaves. It was a strange feeling, having such binary power over their fertility. But this was what it was.
I stepped over the partition and stood over the girls we had rescued.
"Kneel, Slave," I said to the brunette.
She obeyed, knees apart, her palms down on the ground between them. She looked up at me with blue eyes, a brown lock of hair falling across one.
"I was not bred, Master," she said.
"Open your mouth, Slave."
She opened her mouth. I put the spoon of paste into her mouth, and she swallowed it.
I regarded the pale, slender, Celtic girl with the long, dark hair. Her eyes were green, she had full lips and strong, high cheekbones. I reached down and stroked her cheek. She lifted up her hand to touch mine with her fingertips and smiled at me with an expression of angelic, unknowing, innocence.
I scraped a spoonful.
"Do not give it to her," I heard from behind.
Rindar was standing outside the pen.
"You look ten years younger," I put down the spoon.
"Liar. I feel ten years older."
"I was trying to be nice."
He stepped into the pen with me and squatted before the Celt.
"I think they are too far gone," he said, holding her arm. "They will never recover from ordeal suffered. Look at her; this is what madness looks like. This is the face of one who has seen that which belongs behind the Mist Wall."
She peered at him as if seeing weird fish moving just below the water of a pond.
"So-what happens to them? Are you going to try to sell them with the rest, anyway?"
"Not with the rest," he stood. "They will end up sold by flesh weight, and culled for their skins before their chains grow cold. No, we will sell them, well-fed and with bellies swelling, to a temple of Dagon."
I dropped the bowl.
"Are you serious? Monsters are being bred, right before your eyes. They killed your men. They killed your slaves. You think we need more of those things in the world? And don't you think these girls have suffered enough?"
Rindar shook his head and cleared his throat.
"Their suffering is of interest to me," he said quietly. "Not in even the smallest part. Nor, should it be to you. They are mere livestock, Gerard. Did you save them to be a hero to animals, or to protect our brothers and our merchandise?"
I said nothing.
If it was to be a hero, to any at all, then you are a fool. This is not the world you came from, Gerard of Stone. You cannot change Hyperborea into that world, even through acts as brave as you took. And why would you even want to? You have a great future ahead of you, a champion among men and a master of many women--but only if you accept it. Remember what you're friend Jean-Paul Sartre told you."
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a red cord.
"Here is my thanks for what you did for us. Your share is doubled; gold due on the sale of our stock. Now, go and find the loveliest slave in the camp, and make her yours."
***
I returned to the river.
It was a very different scene; there was order, calm, even quiet. Moored to large rocks along the shore were large rafts with square sails. There were 50 of these; they stretched on both sides of the bank a good 300 feet in either direction.
Crates and bags were lined up along the shore, facing each raft. Teams of naked slaves carried them onto the rafts. Overseers stood idly by, whips tucked into their belts.
Spiked palisades had been thrown into the water on either side of the small fleet, keeping away large, deadly fish. There was no sign of the grizzly impaling that had happened just three days ago, or of any other deaths
I found Amber at one of the rafts, trying to drag a sack far too heavy for her. Her long, straight hair had been done up in a ponytail. Her body gleamed with sweat; it was a delight watching her buttocks move and the jiggling of her well-formed breasts, with each tug. Her brand had healed nicely; it felt like only yesterday that I had marked her as a piece of meat.
"Master!" Her face beamed. She quickly crouched down and lowered her head, her wrists crossed over her lap.
The other slaves kept working, heads down, but trying to steal glances at me from the sides of their eyes. I had become something of a patron saint among them.
Livestock.
I pulled a pair of metal cuffs from my belt and took hold of Amber's small wrists.
"Oh!"
I pulled her arms behind her back and cuffed her. The metal made a loud, clacking sound.
"Master!"
I took another pair of cuffs and clamped them over her ankles. There was a two-foot long chain between the ankle cuffs; she could walk but hobbled.
Last of all, I took hold of her hair and pulled her head up and back. She looked up at me with Brown eyes, her throat bared.
"Remember this?" I showed her my personal collar, which she had worn around her throat that night she had come to me.
"Yes, Master."
"Get used to it." I put it around her throat and locked it into place. I took my second red cord, knelt down on one knee, and tied it around her thigh. She stared at it, her eyes wide and her mouth open in surprise.
"Master! I am your property!"
"Get up, Slave," I gripped her by her collar.
She stood. I bent her over at the waist, my arm locked around her throat.
Keep up, or I will whip you when we get to my tent."
"Yes, Master!"
I left with my property, a Hyperborean slave girl.
***
We were at our tents, packing away the last of our effects and taking down the tent poles when I heard heavy footsteps approaching. I stopped and looked up. It was Gudea. He was not smiling.
"You killed one of my men," he said, like a human crocodile.
I stood up and turned to face him.
"Yes, I did. And if you came here for an apology, you're not getting one. I only wish I killed him sooner."
His eyes flared, and his knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists.
"Do not think that because Rindar did not find you at fault, that this is over," he said quietly. "There is unfinished business between us, and you."
"Then let us finish it, Butcher," Duzil stepped forward, his hand on his sword hilt. Fogrim and Ettun stepped forward as well. "A quarrel with my brother is a quarrel with my claw."
Gudea grinned at him and laughed. His eyes settled on me for one last, long, look, and he turned and walked off.
"Do not worry," said Duzil patting me on the arm, as he watched the man leave. "The butchers are not warriors. They do not have the courage of one dog, among them."
"They can strike at tied, female, slaves," said Fogrim, "but not warriors."
"Why so down?" Asked Duzil.
"I am sorry that I have got you into this. I would rather settle this on my own. I will take responsibility for what I've done, no one else should have to bear that."
"But you settled it," said Ettun sitting down on a box. "It is Gudea who brings fresh quarrel to matter judged upon and closed."
"He will do nothing," said Fogrim. "And he is no foe compared to the children of Dagon. Upon their account, I only ask that you cease from passing new insult, either in word or act."
"For your sake, I will humor you."
"Yog, Set, and Cthulhu be praised! May tomorrow let more reason seep into your thickest of skulls."
***
We departed early the next morning, riverboats, cart lizard-drawn barges, and 50, single-sailed, rafts. The convoy began slowly, rafts launching five at a time, keeping 30 to 50 yards distance between each other. It was a fine sight led by Rindar's flagship. We had a week of travel ahead of us before our stop, the river town of Yuk Dara. There, we would sell the first of our slaves.
Of 1002 females captured, 50 had died of landing sickness, and 78 to other illnesses. 62 had died on the cross or been slain for refusing to submit. Five had been killed by the deep one predators, and 14 during the day of panic when decamping had been ordered.
All in all, only 4 out of 5 females survived the slave camp. To me, this was disastrous.
"So waste is hard to believe," I said to Duzil while waiting for my raft's launching time. "1 in 5 perished!"
"No, that is a good rate," he replied. "At most camps, 1 in 4, or even 1 in 3 will perish."
"Christ. That doesn't mean we have a good rate, just-"
There was a sound like thunder as several sonic booms broke overhead. Everyone stopped and looked up.
Streaking above, trailing glittering sparks so bright that they could be seen in broad daylight, came four landing beasts. They arced across the sky; one went beyond the horizon. The other three came down short of the mist wall and its mountain range. All around, men started cheering and waving their weapons in the air.
"Bounty falls this land in ceaseless rain!" Duzil's eyes flashed. "Apologies," he turned back to face me, "what were you saying?"
***
The white sail was puffed with wind, straining at its ropes. Painted at its center was the red design of Rindar's slavers. I sat on a box at the back of the raft, my hand on the rudder. Water sloshed and glistened as it raced past the craft. Beneath, lit by bright morning light, I could see dark fish swimming alongside us, and thick mats of river plants.
Kneeling before me in four rows, were twenty girls. They sat back on their heels, knees apart, their ankles cuffed and their wrists in manacles behind their backs. Their naked bodies were oiled; mostly to protect them from the sun and wind (mostly). Each girl's collar was chained to that of the girl in front of her. The chains clinked as they swung. They looked about the beautiful, harsh landscape, a luxury I did not begrudge them.
Lying at my feet, their leash chains wound around my wrist, was the lovely Haley and Amber. Haley leaned against me, head against my thigh. Amber sprawled before me like a cat. Both were naked, their wrists cuffed in front of them.
"Master," asked Haley, looking back up at me, "may I ask a question, if it pleases you?"
"It might, slave. What do you want?"
"What happens now?" Her large, brown eyes were inquisitive.
I looked out over the water.
"Whatever I want."