A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (4 page)

I was in the back of a cart pulled by a team of mules. I was behind bars, and I was not alone.

There were nine other cages around mine. Each held a small child. Most were scrawny, pathetic things. I reckoned I was the oldest.

A man with long, white hair sat at the front, directing the animals. He was humming a song I had never heard before.

Then again, I had not heard any songs before.

The cart bumped and lurched along a dirt road. I looked around. We were in a forest. Rays of sunlight pierced the green foliage. For a boy who had never been in the woods before, it was a magical sight.

I noticed that the child in the cage across from mine was also awake. He huddled back, rocking on his heels. His eyes were wide and owlish, as if he expected someone to hit him at any moment.

“Hey!” I hissed. “Psst! Hey, you! Where are we?”

The boy looked at me in absolute terror. He started rocking faster.

“Psst! Hey! Where are we going?”

The boy clamped his hands over his ears and started moaning.

Then it hit me: He couldn’t speak.

He was one of Three-Grin’s slave children, raised only for the Arena. Except that the treatment I received seemed to have broken him.

I saw movement from out of the corner of my eye. I looked over, and ducked just in time to avoid being hit by a rotting apple thrown at my head.

The white-haired man in the front had a companion. Apparently, he’d been sleeping before, hidden from view by the back of the seats.

He was short. Ugly red pimples covered his face. His small, beady eyes reminded me of a rat’s. And he seemed to take sport of tormenting the children.

He threw another apple at me. This one hit the bar of my cage and splattered sickly-sweet juices over my face. The small man laughed.

The white-haired driver looked over. “What the hell are you doing, Karl?” he asked. He saw the small man hefting another rotten fruit, and caught his arm before he could throw. “Idiot! Those are for selling in the city, not for throwing away like trash!”

“What city?” I asked.

My voice startled the men. They both jerked their heads toward me. Karl’s jaw dropped open. The older man simply stared.

The moment seemed to last a decade. It was the first time I was acknowledged by someone other than Alicia or Three-Grin.

The white-haired man pulled on the reins and stopped the cart. The other one hopped into the back and peered down at me over his belly.

“Well, well,” the old man said. “We’ve got us a talker. Been a long time since Three-Grin’s given us a talker, hasn’t it, Karl?”

The short man grunted in reply.

The white-haired man climbed out of his seat and came up to my side of the cart. Our eyes were on the same level. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Dagan,” I said. That was the name Alicia had given me.

“Dagan, eh? A good, strong name. How old are you, Dagan?”

“I don’t know.”

He chuckled. “You don’t know? Now, how does a smart young man like you go about not knowin’ his own age?”

I looked around at the forest. “I’ve never been outside,” I said.

The old man seemed shocked. For a moment, I thought he was genuine. “You’ve never been outside,” he muttered, shaking his head. He gestured around at the woods. “Well, welcome to the great, big world, then.”

“Say,” Karl said from behind me. I turned toward his voice. “The kid looks hungry. Are you hungry, Dagan?” He produced a shiny red apple from out of his sleeve. He held it out to me. “Would you like a bite?”

I was starving. The provisions Alicia had managed to sneak to me were getting smaller and smaller each week. Or perhaps they only seemed that way because I was growing. I didn’t know how long I’d been in the cage, either, so I had no idea when my last meal had been.

But I was also cautious. Something about the offer did not feel right. Kindness and generosity were not things in abundance in my world.

I didn’t answer.

The short man squatted down. He brought the apple to his mouth and took a large bite. Juices leaked down his chin.

“It’s sweet,” he said, showing me the mulch in his mouth. A small piece of apple stuck to his whiskers. “You sure you don’t want some?”

“Maybe he’s thirsty, Karl,” the other man cackled from behind me. “Would you like a drink, boy?”

Even the cruelest slaver had to give his property water. I was parched. “Yes,” I answered.

The sound of Karl rising behind me was all the warning I got. He took out his cock and started urinating on my head.

I was drenched in hot, stinking piss.

Let me say this. If my stay with Alicia taught me one thing, it was the importance of appearances. Her father beat her. He raped her. In her rooms, she allowed herself to cry.

But the moment she stepped over the threshold of her door, she became as regal as a queen. People feared her because she was Three-Grin’s wife. She allowed them to see her only as such.

That was the true power behind the words she spoke to my three masked tormentors on the day she rescued me. They feared Three-Grin. By extension, they feared her.

So, I did not cower, or sputter, or shy back from the stream. These men could try to humiliate me. But they would not see me afraid.

Karl laughed as he shook out the last few drops. The older man hit the cage, rattling it. He got my attention.

“That’s what we do to talkers, boy. So, keep yer mouth shut. If I hear so much as a whimper from you again, it won’t be piss landing on your head next time.”

“And have your Goddamned bite,” Karl added. He took a mouthful of apple, chewed it up, and spat it at me.

I spent the rest of the day cold, hungry, and reeking of urea.

Chapter Six

The cart stopped for the night in the middle of an abandoned field. There was a crumbling farmhouse to one side. We’d left the forest together with the setting sun, and have been continuing over flat, grassy land for last few hours.

Not once along our journey did we see another soul. Because of that, I started to think we were the only people left in the world.

The other children got their provisions of bread and water. I was told the gifts Karl bestowed upon me earlier that day would suffice.

The two men started a fire. They deliberately positioned the cart far away so that we would not feel any of the warmth.

They drank and smoke and ate. They told stories to each other and laughed. They drank some more, until the embers of the fire were the only things left aglow. Then they fell asleep, and we continued on in the morning.

I spent ten days in the back of that cart. Ten days where I could not stand or stretch my legs. Ten days where I was forced to shit in the corner of my cage like all the other children.

On the eleventh day, things became interesting.

We’d stopped early for the evening. I heard the men talking about the mules getting tired and needing to give them a break. They treated the animals better than they did us.

The white-haired man started tending the mules, while Karl went to start a fire. I anticipated another ten hours spent shivering in the cold. At least it wasn’t raining.

But then my ears picked up a distant sound. It was like a low rumble that came from the earth. Karl and the white-haired man were too preoccupied to notice. The other children did not care.

I turned my head toward it. It was coming from the side of the road we had not gone down yet. It was getting louder. It sounded like trampling feet.

The two men both heard it at the same time. The old man cursed. He rushed to get a canvas from the back and throw it over the cages. It landed crooked and did not fully cover mine.

By then, the sound of men and horses was too distinct to remain unknown. While I knew better than to expect a rescue, my heart still swelled with the hope of seeing other people.

You might think that I should have felt scared. But, I had already suffered the cruelty of torture. I had watched as the only person I cared about—and the only who cared about me—choked and died on her own blood. I had been beaten, burned, and pissed on.

In short, there was little I feared from men anymore.

So I watched, fascinated, as a cavalry of riders barreled past us on the road. They did not spare a single glance in our direction.

They were tall. They wore silver swords over their backs. Their armor shone white in the dying light. They sat straight and proud, with their heads held high. They were defiant.

I would later learn the riders I saw were named the Knights of Valamor
.
They and I have history. I will get to that at its proper time.

It would not be a stretch to say that, at that moment, I did not know much of the world. But even I could tell the sight of the riders unnerved the old man with the beard.

“Noble pigs,” he spat after the last of them was out of earshot. “No better than cowards, the way they always group together. I tell ya, the moment I find one of them alone, I’ll—”

He did not get to finish his threat. An arrow fell from the sky like a diving bird and struck him in the middle of the forehead.

For a second, he just stood there, too stunned to move. It was as if his body was slow telling him that he was dead.

Then, he fell to the ground like an upended sack of potatoes.

Shadows started to move.

More accurately,
shapes
started to move in the shadows. A small army of foes had gathered around us while Karl and the now-dead man were distracted by the riders.

I saw a hundred pairs of eyes encroach upon the cart in a silent circle.

Karl looked around in fright. He took out his sword and held it in one shaking hand.

“Who goes there?” he cried out. An arrow hissed by his ear. “Show yourself!”

A man stepped forward from the rest. His face was veiled. Black, tattered robes hung off his body like dark smoke.

His clothes were deceptive. They were not the shabby scraps of a beggar. They were the garb of a killer, and they hid him well in the night.

Karl tried to make himself tall as he faced the man. His round bulk and poor coordination made the attempt laughable.

He looked around, trying to get a count of his enemies. But I knew he would never fight. He was craven.

“W-what do you want?” he stammered. He pointed his sword at the neck of the tall, masked man. “Stay back. I-I’m warning you, s-s-stay back!”

The man raised one hand. I heard a rush of air, as if the very earth had just released a long-held breath. The tall man’s companions all rose from their crouched positions by the ground.

I was wrong before. They were not one hundred. They were not even ten.

“Peace, friend,” the tall man spoke. He had a strange, lulling accent. His speech was not of the common tongue. “We are not here to harm you.”

“You killed John!” Karl accused, glancing back at the body of his friend. “You killed John in cold blood!”

“Lay down your sword, and we will not touch you.”

“A-a truce?” Karl asked. He nodded. “Yes. Yes. Okay. Okay, I will—

“NO!” he roared. He gripped his sword harder. “Why would I trust you? I’ve heard of you savages! The minute I drop my weapon, you’ll gut me like a pig!”

“It is not you we want,” the tall man said. He looked past Karl. His eyes met mine. “It is him.”

For a second, my vision faded from shock. I could not believe my ears. What use could I be to them?
Who
were they?

Karl looked over his shoulder. I saw his face. It was the pale face of a man who knew he was already dead.

“T-the kid?” he sputtered. “Take him. Take them all! Just please, spare me.”

“We will,” the leader answered, “if you drop your sword.”

Karl looked around. I could almost see the wheels turning in that pimply head of his. He was outnumbered now, just the same as before. He could not fight. But, if he surrendered…

“O-okay.” Karl eased his grip on the sword. “Okay, I’ll do it. H-here. N-nice and slow now, a-a-all right?”

He bent forward. The tip of his sword touched the ground. He let the hilt roll out of his fingers.

“There,” he said, standing up. “T-there. Okay? I did what you said. N-now, you promised to let me go.”

“I did,” the tall man nodded. Casually, he reached over his shoulder and nocked an arrow.

Then, he aimed it at Karl.

“Run, fat man,” he whispered.

A space cleared behind Karl. He looked around wildly, unsure of what to do…

“I said,” the man repeated, “
run
.”

Karl ran. He ran as fast as his short, stubby legs would carry him. He ran into the night, gasping and squelching as he sucked in air. He ran until I could no longer see his shape in the dark.

“
Now
,” the tall man breathed. He released his arrow. For a moment, all was silent save for the reverberation of his string.

Then I heard a dull, wet
thud
. Karl made one dying choke as he fell to the dirt.

The man and his companions turned their attention to the cart. Two of them cut the mules loose and sent them running with a sharp slap on their hindquarters. Another pulled the canvas off. It rippled to the ground.

The tall man nudged John’s cold body as he approached. “Human traffickers,” he muttered. “Scum of the earth.”

I heard hoof beats in the distance.

“They’re coming, m’lord,” one of the veiled men announced.

“Yes. I can hear them.” He raised his voice. “Break open the cages. Free all the children! Offer them the same choice I gave you.”

Sounds exploded around me as his subordinates went to work. The cart rocked as they pulled all the cages off and splintered open the doors with swords and axes.

All, that is, except for mine.

“Not you,” the leader said, stepping toward me. “I have a special place for you.”

My small hands gripped the bars of my cage as I stared at him, trying to understand who he was. I felt no fear. But I did feel an extreme curiosity.