Faded Light: Book II

(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see top of Chapter 1.)


Chapter 13

The Slave Master

Mel had been falling asleep against her father’s shoulder, as they walked home from the marketplace and he hummed a soft Elven lullaby, when they came to the palace gardens, and he stopped.

“Ada?” She looked up, feeling her father’s arms suddenly tighten around her.

Then she saw what had made his mood change; the fat old slaver she knew all of the palace servants feared...

“What a tender picture,” said Arya jeeringly; leaving the wall he had been leaning on and weaving a little on his feet.

“Nin mir,” whispered her father in hurried Elvish, as he set her down. “Go to your room, and stay with your Nana.

“Do not argue. Go.”

“Such a pretty child,” said the brothel-keeper, as Mel obeyed and swiftly disappeared inside one of the great palace doorways.

“And she’ll be more beautiful still, I think...one of these days I’ll convince Javad to set a price...”

The Elf raised blazing eyes to the hateful Man, his gaze not wavering as it met his former master’s. “If ever you go near her, I swear, I will kill you with my own hands...and give not a thought to the fact that my own death will follow.”

“It seems you have forgotten your lessons, elf,” snarled the whore-master, coming close enough that the slave could smell the strong drink on his breath. Suddenly, it occurred to him how much the vicious Man actually resembled an Orc; though what would have been hard muscle on an Orc, on Arya was nothing but sagging flesh.

“Too much time in the King’s bed has made you insolent.”

“You think because I do not cower before you that I am insolent?” whispered the slave. “That I could forget for one moment what I am...what you and others of your kind made of me,” he said, and even he was surprised by the bitterness in his own tone.

What did not surprise him was the hand that flew toward his face as soon as the words had left his lips. He barely winced at the first blow, which only made Arya more furious and he struck the slave again, this time with enough force to knock him to the ground.

“...you always were an arrogant little whore,” he spat nastily, “as if you actually thought yourself better than every other piece of flesh...”

“Better than you will ever know,” he retorted and gritted his teeth as he felt the weight of Arya’s boot pressing down on his hand on the ground.

“...ar amilelya fummë nu rauco,” he muttured, trying to maintain his obstinate posture, but was not totally successful, in not to flinching as Arya squatted down beside him; fighting through the pain of the Man’s weight crushing his hand, a dozen different memories flying through his mind of being forced to submit himself to Arya’s disgusting desires...

“There was a time you would not dare raise your eyes to me,” said the whore-master angrily, taking the slave’s chin in a bruising grip. He tried to pull away, but the Man’s grip only tightened, almost cutting off his air.

“...it is far preferable like this,” said the slaver, licking his lips lasciviously, “you looking up from beneath me...”

“...nal saura...amin feuya ten' lle...” the slave spat, making his contempt clear in every word though he used his own tongue.

He had been bracing himself for a beating or worse since first blow, but then something in the Man’s dark eyes changed, as if something had just crossed his twisted mind, some new cruelty doubtless.

“’Twas such a pity,” began the slaver inexplicably, “that your other brat slipped through my fingers...a few more years, and he would have been earning his keep…”

Arya stopped and smiled wickedly at the young elf’s confusion. “That’s right,” he pretended to only just remember, “...that’s a story you don’t know is it...?”

“...there is no story,” he whispered, the old pain cutting deeply once more. ”The child was dead at birth; you made sure of it...”

“Make no mistake, elf,” said the brothel-keeper, sitting back on his heels, “I had no other intent; though the tale really is not a very long one...

“...the child had looked dead at first,” he began, “but as it turned out, Amalda, that stupid woman, she got the little thing to start breathing after a few minutes...”

For a moment he almost looked to be thinking deeply about something. “I left it in her keeping, but when the war started, the old whore fled with the brat...”

He shrugged carelessly and looked back at the horrified elf, “...gods only know what happened after that...if the desert didn’t finish them, they most likely died in some Umbaran slave pit...

“Pity, he was a beautiful boy; I’ve no doubt his sale alone would have made me as rich as any of the king’s noblemen...” Fat fingers traced the elf’s cheek, hard nails leaving light scratch marks on his face, before none too gently moving over his throat.

“Utinu en lokirim...you lie...”

“I much preferred the sounds I could get from you when you were mute,” growled the Man, taking the courtesan’s face in a hard hand again.

“Auta miqula orch,” he hissed, adding as venom as he could to each syllable.

“I wonder if Javad would want you still without that pretty face,” the Man reflected nastily, “maybe then he’d be willing to part with you...”

Dafi tried to keep the quaver from his voice and remain as impertinent as he had before. Changing his tone, he lowered his voice, sounding every bit the whore he was supposed to be, “and how much will your customers pay to screw with a maimed pleasure-slave...?”

He could see growing lust in the whore-master’s eyes at his perceived weakening, “...so you do still remember how to fear me...I can see it in your eyes no matter how you try to hide it...

“I’ve missed that look...”

The youth couldn’t keep from recoiling, as oily hands moved to the lacings of his tunic, “Fight me if you want,” whispered Arya in the elf’s ear, “I’d probably enjoy it more...”

“...whatever you’re going to do be quick,” said the slave, trying for the same whorish tone; though he wasn’t sure how convincing his act was just then. “Though I suppose with your age and bulk, that would be too much to expect,” he taunted, laughing lewdly.

“If I know my daughter, she ran to find the nearest Guard...you’ve no more than few minutes,” he stopped, even managing a wanton smile.

“...too late,” he whispered, “someone is at the end of the path now.”

With a frustrated growl Arya grabbed a handful of the slave’s hair and pulled himself to his feet, yanking the elf’s head back as he forced him to meet his furious glare.

“Next time slut,” he whispered dangerously, ”don’t ever make the mistake of thinking you’ll be rid of me...sooner or later Javad’ll be done with you...even if I have to wait for his death, I’ll have you and your brat under my boot again...”

“Erui le mereth en draugrim...”

The next thing he knew, Arya had shoved him back to the ground, and he heard the voice of Princess Saterah speaking angrily, and Arya, in his most affable tone, trying to explain himself before the princess ordered him escorted out...

“Ada...?” he heard Mel’s frightened voice at his side, but everything seemed very far away just now even his own emotions; he could not bear to look at his child...

“...I thought I told you to go to your room,” he said coldly instead. “Do you never listen...?”

“...Dafi, are you well?”

He looked up to see the concerned expression the face of the king’s niece and pulled himself wearily to his feet, holding his injured hand close, “Aye...thank you, my lady. He was merely...

“...he was merely drunk and needing to beat something...I’m fine...”

She frowned as her dark eyes fell on his hand and the dark bruise she could see forming on his pale face even in the faint light of the garden torches. “I think perhaps you should see the Healer.

“I’ll walk with Mel to her room,” she offered, placing a gentle hand on the child’s shoulder, and he distantly remembered why he had agreed to consider the Princess’s offer of apprenticing Mel in Horondor...it would be for the best if the plans that had been forming in his mind came to nothing; she would be safe and far from Arya’s reach...

“I think the healer would be a good idea...but your highness should not trouble yourself about...”

“Do not worry; you should see if your hand is not broken.”

“Thank you, my lady...

“Mel go with her highness now,” he said softly, “we will speak later.”

The child merely nodded, fighting back tears, unused as she was to being so rebuffed and scolded by her father...but everything for him seemed to have fallen into a great darkness and he did not think he could bear anyone’s presence another moment; not when he felt as if he were physically breaking...

TBC...

Elvish Translations:


Adar, ada / Father, dad, daddy

Nin mir / My treasure

Naneth, nana / Mother, mom

...ar amilelya fummë nu rauco / ...and your mother slept under a monster

Nal saura / You’re foul

Amin feuya ten' lle / You disgust me

Utinu en lokirim / Son of snakes

Auta miqula orch / Go kiss an Orc

Erui, le mereth en draugrim / First, you’ll be a feast for wolves