Chapter3: Into the Unknown

Lord Maron turned to his clerk.

"Once you've finished the paperwork, get him away from me."

The guard dragged Falaar to the foot of the stairs, where two men who had been bought before him stood waiting. A shorter chain was fastened around his wrist, its other end handed to a guard wearing his new master's colors.

Then the seller called for Lorin.

She climbed the steps, searching for her brother.

She stood on the wooden platform with her hands clasped in front of her, pressing her thumb against the spot where the rope had cut her skin. The seller offered her for household service, but one buyer objected to her age.

"And I'm to pay to feed her while she learns?"

"You'll have years of service out of her," the seller replied. "Who will open the bidding?"

A man in the front row raised his hand.

He had a thin face and wore a blue cloak fastened with a silver clasp shaped like a long-necked bird. Behind him stood two servants with the same emblem on their chests.

He named a price.

The seller waited, then raised his stick.

Falaar did not realize it was over until the stick came down on the wood.

"Sold to Baron Eldric."

The clerk leaned toward the baron.

"Shall I prepare her travel permit for Vernas, my lord?"

"Yes. She'll leave with my servants. Make sure it's stamped. I won't delay the ship over a piece of paper."

Falaar had no idea where Eldric's home was, or how far it lay from Silmar. All he saw was the servant approaching Lorin and the guard releasing her from one chain to secure her to another.

Falaar lunged forward.

The chain jerked his arm back, but he hauled on it with all the strength he had left. The guard stumbled, and Falaar managed to reach the foot of the stairs.

"Lorin!"

She came down two steps toward him before the servant caught her by the shoulder. She reached out. Their fingertips brushed for a fleeting moment, and he caught her hand.

"Let her go! Take me with her!"

Another arm locked around his waist and dragged him back. Lorin clung to his hand, trying to come down while the servant pulled her back from above.

"Falaar, don't let them take me!"

He turned toward the man in the blue cloak.

"Please, listen to me! I can serve you… do any kind of work. I won't ask for anything. Just take me with her—"

His voice broke off as he was forced to his knees. Lorin's hand slipped from his.

He lifted his face. She was still struggling to free herself from the servant, her tearstained face drawn with exhaustion.

"You promised… you said you wouldn't leave me!"

Falaar tried to rise, but the guard yanked on his shackles, forcing him to bend forward.

"Take him to the wagon," Maron said from where he stood. "I don't want trouble with Baron Eldric."

They dragged him toward the side door. He struggled and stumbled, twisting around to keep her in sight. He could still make out the silver bird clasp through the crowd. Then its wearer moved, and the two servants followed.

"Lorin! Listen to me… I'll find you!"

He did not know whether she heard him. One of the men had stepped between them, and whenever he tried to peer around him, the guard dragged him forward.

He reached the door still calling her name.

Behind him, the seller announced the next prisoner.

• • •

In the wagon, Falaar kept staring at his hand.

A thin scratch left by Lorin's nail ran to the tip of his finger. He passed his thumb over it once, then stopped, as though afraid of erasing the last trace of her touch.

The wheels rattled over the stones, and the sounds of the market faded. He tried to memorize the route, but soon lost track of the turns. He looked down at the scratch again and silently repeated Eldric's name. He was afraid he would forget it, afraid the names he had heard on the platform would blur together until he no longer had even the name of the man who had taken her.

When the wagon stopped, they were in front of a high wall, its gate flanked by two banners. Beyond it stretched a paved courtyard ending at a broad flight of steps. Lord Maron stood on the steps, speaking to a man carrying ledgers.

The slaves were taken down from the wagon and lined up near the stable.

An old man waited at the foot of the steps, wringing a worn cap between his hands. When Lord Maron finished speaking, the man stepped forward and bowed.

"My lord, I know I'm late. Give me until the end of the month. I'll sell my beast and pay what I owe."

Maron went on removing his gloves.

"You promised to pay last month. What came of that?"

"The harvest wasn't enough, my lord. All I have left is a few scraps, and what I've saved for the next sowing…"

Lord Maron regarded him with contempt.

"I don't care. You will pay what you owe, whether your harvest thrives or fails."

The man fell silent.

Maron handed his gloves to a servant and gestured to the man with the ledgers.

"Take whatever grain he has left and record the balance he still owes. If he hasn't paid by the end of the month, turn him off the land."

The man fell to his knees, weeping.

"Please, my lord. If you take the seed, I won't be able to plant. How am I to pay you next season?"

Maron looked at the guard beside the steps.

"Get him away from the stairs."

The man was taken away, still pleading. Falaar watched until the wagon blocked him from view. Then a hand pressed against the back of his head, forcing his face down.

"Don't stare at your master."

Maron approached the line, keeping enough distance to avoid touching any of them. He looked at the two men, then stopped in front of Falaar.

"Is this the one who clung to his sister at the market?"

The clerk nodded.

"Yes, my lord. His name is Falaar."

"I don't care what his name is. Does he understand what awaits him here?"

The clerk said nothing, so Maron turned his gaze on Falaar.

"Raise your head when I speak to you."

Falaar looked up.

"When the overseer gives you an order, you obey at once. Don't hold up my work. Do you understand?"

Falaar felt the words rising in his throat. He wanted to ask about Vernas, about Eldric, about any way he might see Lorin again. Then he remembered Maron's answer at the platform and merely nodded.

Lord Maron's eyes narrowed.

"I want to hear your answer."

"I understand, my lord."

Maron turned to the clerk.

"Send him to the woodcutters at the eastern end. They need more hands before the winter ships arrive."

The clerk hesitated.

"His shoulders aren't strong enough to fell trees yet, my lord."

"Then let him split firewood and carry it. I don't care. Just put him to work."

His gaze passed over the entire line.

"And from now on, bring them through the rear gate. I don't want the stink of slaves in my courtyard."

He went up the steps, and the servant opened the door before he reached it.

Falaar kept looking at the spot where Maron had stood. At the market, he had thought the man had not understood. He had thought that, if he could only find the right words, Maron might look at Lorin and change his mind.

"It's no use now. Lorin's gone… damn it. I promise you, Lorin, I'll find you, no matter how long it takes or how hard it is. For now, I just have to stay alive long enough to find her."

• • •

They reached the logging camp as the sun sank toward the horizon.

Beyond the fence lay felled trunks and tall stacks of firewood. Men stood among them, raising their axes and bringing them down, each at his own pace. At the far end, two men worked a large saw back and forth, sawdust falling at their feet.

The smell of freshly cut wood mingled with sweat and smoke. Falaar knew that smell from the boats being repaired near his home, and its familiarity hurt in a way he had not expected.

The guard handed him over to a broad-shouldered overseer carrying a short stick and a thick ledger.

"One of Lord Maron's purchases. He's to join the woodcutters."

The overseer examined the bill of sale, then looked up.

"What's your name, boy?"

Falaar was slow to answer.

"Falaar."

The man wrote something down and closed the ledger.

"You'll split firewood here. When the bell rings, leave your axe with the tools and go for your meal. If you need anything, you ask me. No one goes beyond the fence without my permission."

A guard unlocked his wrist shackles but left his ankles joined by a chain that allowed only short steps. Falaar moved his hands slowly. The skin beneath the shackles was paler, bordered by two swollen bands.

The overseer thrust an axe toward him.

Its weight threw him off balance as he took it, and he gripped the handle with both hands.

"Start with that pile. One piece on the block at a time."

He pointed to a broad chopping block with a short log set on top.

Falaar walked toward it, dragging his chain through the dirt. On the rise beyond the fence sat a guard with a bow beside him, watching the yard without any sign of haste.

Falaar raised the axe.

His arms trembled before he had lifted it as high as he intended. He brought it down. The blade struck the edge of the block and slipped down the side. A brief laugh sounded somewhere, then died as the overseer passed.

"Plant your feet. Try again."

He tried to free the lodged blade, pulling hard until it came loose so suddenly that he staggered back and nearly fell.

"Move the log closer to the middle of the block… like that," a worker beside him said. "And don't grip it so tightly. You'll tear your palms raw."

The man did not ask his name or look at his face. He returned to his work before the overseer passed between them.

Falaar raised the axe a second time. Lorin's voice on the platform came back to him.

For a moment, he stood staring at the gap between the gateposts. Then he bent over the handle, and his tears fell like rain onto the wood.

No sob escaped him. He pressed his lips together and tried to draw breath, but his chest tightened. He had to wait until the trembling in his shoulders subsided.

Lorin was somewhere he did not know. Perhaps she was asking for him now. Perhaps she was waiting for him to appear in a doorway, as he had every evening.

He pressed his thumb against the small scratch on his finger.

He still remembered the man's name. He still remembered the silver bird on the blue cloak.

The overseer tapped his stick against a nearby block.

"Stop staring at the gate and get back to work."

Falaar wiped his face against his shoulder and put his hands back on the handle. He did not know how he would get out of this place, or how he would cross the sea to follow his sister. But for the first time since the market, he was afraid he might die before he could even try to find her.

To be continued…