Leslie Moore - Griffin's Shadow

Shivering, Ashinji buried himself beneath the pile of musty blankets and tried to quiet his mind enough to fall asleep. Despite his best efforts, the memory of Sadaiyo’s betrayal kept rising up, unbidden, to torment him.

Never in his worst nightmares had Ashinji ever imagined that Sadaiyo’s jealousy would lead to such an act.

Somehow, I’ve got to survive and return to hold my treacherous brother accountable.

Sleep came to him at last, shortly before dawn.

Marcus rousted his men at sunrise, and had them pack their gear for a speedy departure. Ashinji looked for Claudia among the knot of castle dwellers gathered in the yard to see them off. He caught a glimpse of her kerchief-covered head at the back of the crowd. As the wagon trundled out through the castle gates, he saw Claudia break free of the group to stand apart, hands clasped together before her as if in prayer.

How you must have mourned when you awoke that day nearly a year ago to find your Jelena gone, he thought. I hope, now that you know Jelena is safe, you can find some peace of mind. Farewell, Claudia.

Claudia raised her hand and waved.

Fourteen days later, filthy and in chains, Ashinji entered the heart of the Soldaran Empire.

Darguinia had grown up around a natural, deep-water harbor. The flows of two mighty rivers emptied tons of silt into its murky waters, keeping the dredgers busy year round. The city functioned as the hub of a vast network of trade routes that supplied it with every conceivable commodity from all corners of the far-flung empire.

The main slave market, located in the city center near the Grand Arena, was the largest in the empire, according to Marcus. There, a buyer with enough imperials in his or her purse could purchase living chattel to suit any purpose, from field hand to housemaid, gladiator to pleasure slave. Separate, smaller markets set up within the main precincts dealt in specialty items, such as skilled artisans, children, and exotics. Marcus intended to offer Ashinji up for sale at the latter.

The arrow wound in his shoulder had healed well, leaving Ashinji with only a small, puckered scar and some residual pain. He attributed his relatively easy recovery to the fact that he had done nothing for the last two weeks other than eat, sleep and watch the scenery roll by. The further south they traveled, the warmer and drier the climate had become. The landscape had changed accordingly, shifting from lush grassland and broadleaf forests to low, scrubby vegetation, dry meadows, and stands of tough-looking, waxy-leafed trees.

The wilderness had gradually given way to farmland; Ashinji noted how the fields of late summer wheat and rye lay sere beneath the relentless sun. Marcus had clicked his tongue in dismay. “There wasn’t enough rain last spring, and the summer’s looking to linger past its welcome,” he’d said. “A poor harvest’ll mean hunger in the cities for sure, and that means big trouble for the empress.”

The slaver had been true to his word and had fed his captive well and prohibited his assistants from abusing Ashinji physically, although the two men had delighted in verbally baiting him at every opportunity. Ashinji had little trouble ignoring them, having mastered the art of shedding hurtful words years ago under the harsh tutelage of his brother.

As Marcus deftly maneuvered the wagon through the steady stream of traffic heading into the city, Ashinji observed everything around him with keen interest. He knew he could not escape-at least not any time soon-but he had faced his death and had survived, an outcome he had not expected. His survival ran counter to the prophecy of his dream, proving that the future remained fluid, and could be shaped by his own determination. If given the opportunity, he would attempt escape; therefore, he needed to commit to memory every detail he could of the way in and out of Darguinia.

The broad road upon which they traveled ran for a time through a sprawling shantytown. Everywhere he looked, Ashinji observed masses of humans shoving, walking, crawling, squatting, eating, selling, buying, sleeping, and dying.

Ashinji had always been aware on an intellectual level that the human race outnumbered the elven, but the reality of how much so now became shockingly, terrifyingly clear.

We elves are in serious trouble, he thought.

Ashinji could only stare at the crowds and wonder how Alasiri would ever prevail over such odds.

As the wagon rolled on, the shacks and shelters of the shantytown gave way to small houses and businesses made of wood and brick. The dirt road turned into an avenue paved with a smooth hard surface Ashinji could not identify. When he dared to ask Asa, Marcus’ salt and pepper-haired assistant about it, the man answered “It’s concrete, ya stupid tink!”

The sun had crept past its zenith when the road finally passed the massive public buildings of the city center. Despite the fear that gnawed at his gut, Ashinji still felt impressed at the grand scale of everything. No elven scholar had ever denied the engineering and architectural abilities of the human race, and among all human peoples, the Soldarans were universally acknowledged as the best builders.

The Grand Arena hove into view like a mighty ship, its massive walls of white stone rising to dizzying heights, dwarfing the other structures around it. Marcus drove out onto a road encircling the huge round building and turned the horse’s head to the right, following the curve of the wall eastward. He began to whistle a cheerful tune.

No doubt he’s anticipating the profit he’ll make on me, Ashinji thought.

After following the road for a short distance, Marcus drove the wagon through a set of tall stone gates. The words, “Grand Slave Market” written in High Soldaran script, decorated the plinth.

Ashinji watched in horrified fascination as they rolled past an auction in progress, one of several going on at once in various areas of the market. A young woman stood on a raised platform, naked except for the chains on her wrists and ankles, blank eyes staring through a curtain of tangled black hair. A crowd of men ringed the platform, all shouting and gesturing with their fingers. Another man, dressed in gold- trimmed robes, stood beside the girl, prodding her thighs with the butt of a leather whip. When the handler spun the girl around, bent her over and kicked her legs apart, Ashinji turned away in disgust.

The scene he had just witnessed, coupled with the noise and heat, left Ashinji shaking and nauseous. He leaned against the side of the wagon and struggled to breathe, a mere hairsbreadth from panic.

There’s no way I’ll let Marcus strip and parade me naked in front of a howling mob of humans. I’ll find a way to kill myself first!

The wagon stopped in front of a smaller, walled-off area. Marcus set the brake and jumped down from the driver’s seat. He scrambled onto the wagon bed and stood, hands on hips, looking down at Ashinji. “Your new life is about to begin, Ashinji,” he announced. “This is the exotics market. Mostly humans from faraway lands with different colored skins are sold here, but half-breeds and some non-humans end up here as well. You’ll be a special prize. Not too often a pureblooded elf ends up in your circumstances. The bidding should be spirited!” His eyebrows lifted in amusement.

Ashinji remained silent.

“First things first,” Marcus continued. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up.” He snapped his fingers and his assistants came to attention. “Take him to the wash yard. I’ll be along shortly,” he ordered.

Marcus’ assistants escorted Ashinji to an enclosed yard deep within the exotics market area. Stone troughs lined the walls on three sides. The cobble-paved yard sloped inward toward a large circular drain hole in the center. A crowd of people, some washing themselves, others being washed against their will with varying degrees of struggle, filled the space.