White Road

Digus asked, surprised.
    “I’m a trader myself, sir, and travel long distances. These three are good, loyal slaves and I work them hard. They need steady beasts for that.”
    “Well, I don’t have any saddles for them, but I can spare a few blankets and bridles.”
    The bargain was struck, and Micum parted on good terms with the man.
    “Always good to make a friend here and there,” Seregil told Rieser as they rode on. “You never know when they’ll prove useful.”
    At the next crossroads, they overtook a drayman with a load of turnips, heading in the same direction they were going.
    Seregil and the others pulled up the hoods of their cloaks. Between that and the veils, only their eyes were visible. Thesharp, dangerous look in Rieser’s was enough to warn Seregil that the Hâzad might find the role of slave harder to play than he’d bargained for.
    “Lower your eyes!” Seregil whispered in Aurënfaie. “And stop looking like you’re about to kill him.”
    They rode forward until Micum came abreast of the man.
    “Where are you headed, friend?” Micum asked as the farmer reined in his dray horse.
    “Rizard market, if it’s any of your business,” the man replied.
    “Why, so am I!” Micum exclaimed. “I don’t suppose you’d mind us riding along with you?”
    The man scowled up at him, taking in the long sword at Micum’s hip. “I might, or I might not. You speak my tongue well enough, but with that red beard I don’t think you’re a countryman.”
    “No, but I’ve been a trader here nigh onto twenty years now.”
    The man turned to look at Seregil and the others. “Are you heading in to sell these?”
    “Are you looking to buy?”
    Seregil was glad that Rieser didn’t speak the language.
    “They any good for field work? I got no use for any fancy house slaves.”
    “Ah, you’re right. You’d be throwing your money away on this lot for field work,” he scoffed good-naturedly. “But Sakor’s Flame, I wish I had three more just like ’em. They’re loyal as hounds. I hardly ever have to beat them.”
    The farmer was still sizing Micum up. “What is it you do?”
    “I trade in horses, friend. I’ve sold most of my string, as you can see. I’m here for more, and then sailing north. Can you recommend an honest trader?”
    “There’s a man in Rizard, but his stock is nothing to speak of. You’ll have better luck among the rogues in Riga, if you want better.”
    “Riga it is, then.”
    “So, you’ve been up north? What news of the war?”
    Seregil rode behind the wagon with the others, leavingMicum to trade lies for gossip with the drayman. In no time they were laughing together like old friends.
    “He’s good at this,” Seregil whispered to Rieser.
    “So I see. A useful skill.”
    They were nearly to Rizard when they were met by half a dozen riders in brown coats, all carrying whips and cudgels as well as long swords.
    “The damn slave takers!” the farmer muttered under his breath. “They’ll be stopping us on your account. I want to be off the road before sundown.”
    “Halt in the name of the Overlord!” their leader ordered. “What’s a dirt farmer like you doing with slaves?”
    Meanwhile his riders had surrounded Seregil and the others.
    “They’re nothing to do with me,” the drayman told them. “This red-bearded fellow’s the one you want for that.”
    “Lornis of Nanta,” Micum replied, extending his hand.
    The slave taker ignored it. Turning instead to Seregil and the others, he ordered sharply, “Take off those hoods, all of you.”
    When they quickly complied, the one closest to Alec grabbed him by the hair. “Look at that, will you? Soft as a girl’s! You a girl?”
    “He’s pretty enough. Look at those eyes!”
    “What does it matter what he is?” another said with a crude laugh. “‘When whores are few, a boy will do,’ right, Zarmas?”
    Alec kept his gaze averted, but his hands were curled into fists on the reins. He might not understand much Plenimaran, but he clearly got the gist of it and none of his experiences with Plenimarans had been good ones. If nothing else, he wouldn’t like strangers manhandling him.
    Rieser’s eyes gave nothing away, but Seregil suspected he understood well enough, too.
    “You’re a northlander, aren’t you?” their captain asked Micum. “We don’t see many of you this far south these days.”
    “I’m a horse trader, and these three slaves are mine,” Micum replied, relaxed and friendly.