Chapter 19

The next few days slid by with relative ease. Marie's promised layabouts were two strapping young men just as eager for something to do as she had said they would be. With them in tow he headed down to the docks to retrieve their baggage.

The docks were still fairly empty so finding the Pinya was easy. Separating their gear from the rest of the loot piled on the pier took some time but was finally accomplished. As they were loading up the handcart they brought with them Dent saw the figure of Captain Vel coming down the pier with a Jeevel clerk bobbing in his wake.

"Good morning, Captain!" Dent greeted, strangely pleased to see his former employer.

"And a good morn to you also, Warrior. What brings you down here this day?"

"Picking up our baggage. Now that we have a place to stay I'm getting some complaints about the lack of proper clothing and other things."

"I suppose you would. So where have you come to roost and how are those lovely ladies of yours?"

"Doing very well, thank you for asking. We've a room up at the Cracked Cask, in Coopers Town I think they call it."

"Aye I've heard of it although I've never been there. I hear the food is worth the trip though."

"That it is," he replied smiling. "In fact if you have the time I'd like to invite you there for dinner sometime, tomorrow night maybe?"

"Why that would do very well indeed," the redheaded giant said surprised.

"Good, if you don't see one of us, ask for Marie. She'll know where to find us. Now I'd better get this back before I'm in more trouble than I normally am."

Marie's nephew's looked at him rather strangely.

"I don't think they've ever heard of a Master being worried about being in trouble with his slaves before," Vel laughed.

"Yes, well they've never been on the sharp end of one of Nesho's scoldings before, nor Sosho's temper for that matter," Dent grumped.

"Well, better you than me," he said still laughing. "I'll be there tomorrow, but right now I'd better get this loot properly inventoried and inspected before my little friend here has a fit."

"Until tomorrow Captain," Dent sketched a little salute as they parted.

"How could you invite him here?" Sosho hissed after he told the women about his meeting the Captain. "He's the reason we're here and the cause of all our problems."

"Well I suppose you're right in a way," Dent said trying to placate her. "Really he was just doing his job as he saw it, and besides it didn't turn out too badly, did it?"

Sosho just snorted and turned back to empting one of the chests Dent brought back with him.

"Don't mind her, dear," Nesho said as she shook out a dress just retrieved from another chest. "You know she gets grumpy just before her time of the month, she doesn't mean it."

"I do too mean it! He's a horrible man and I never want to see him again. Besides, I am not grumpy!"

Nesho just rolled her eyes at Dent who tried his best to keep a smile off his face. "Of course, little bit, I didn't think you were and I know how you feel about him. I don't know why, but I like him. But since you don't, you don't have to eat with us. You can eat earlier or later or even back in the kitchen with Marie's girls, whichever you want."

"What? And have him think you can't control your own household? I think not!" Gathering up an armload of clothes Sosho snorted and stomped into the bedroom. Dent stared after her shaking his head.

"She'll be fine dear," Nesho said smiling softly. "Sometimes the changes a woman's body goes through can be a little overwhelming, especially in one so young. Never fear: both of your torDents will be there and do you proud."

"I know you will," he sighed. "I'm always proud of both of you, but what is this torDent business? I remember now, Barth introduced you two as torDent to Marie. What does that mean?"

"I asked Marie about that. Tor means 'the slave of', torDent means we belong to you. It's something like the family names some cultures use."

"Oh." Dent was familiar with the custom although it wasn't used much in Salas. He knew Nesho's original family name had been denSiso before she married, the same as his mother's. Nesho's family had come from a part of Salas where that convention was more common. It was more common in Salas proper to differentiate someone based on their occupation rather than family name, hence Dent would be Dent the Warrior or t'Warrior and Sosho might be Sosho t'Seamstress.

"I don't know if I like that," he continued. "I don't like being reminded you two are slaves even if you are technically mine."

"Well I can't say it bothers me very much," she answered. "I'm beginning to see that the reality of being a slave here is a lot different than I thought it would be." She continued quickly, "Not that there aren't bad aspects to it. I hear a lot of men are sold to the mines and that conditions there are truly horrific. We can still be bought and sold at an owner's whim and I'm sure the women used as prostitutes wouldn't agree with me, but for most of us here it's a pretty normal life.

"Take Marie for example; she has been a slave all her life as were her mother and father, but for the most part her master leaves her alone to run this inn. She's had children although from what I gather the fathers have very little to do with raising them." Here she frowned, "in fact their whole concept of sex and family seems to be very different than what we're used to. I hope that's not how you're planning to handle fatherhood."

Chuckling, Dent pulled her down into his lap and gently rubbed her stomach. "I intend to be right here for this little one," he said. "I hope I'll be a good father, at least a damn sight better than mine, anyway."

"I'm sure you will be a wonderful father, love," she said tickling him under the chin. "But here they definitely do things differently. Here the child's the master's responsibility. Care, feeding, everything. But then they consider it property just like anything else, and as for sex," she just shook her head, "I never considered myself much of a prude but here they seem to couple with anyone that strikes their fancy, unless they're being held back by their Master for breeding. That's how she put it: breeding."

"Well," he grinned, "I certainly intend to breed you, but I guarantee there will be only one sire and I know just who it is."

Nesho blushed and leaned against him. "I'm glad to hear that, my master, but actually I don't think that will be much of a problem."

"What? Not interested in coupling with Marie's nephews? Big strong boys, handsome too, not that I'm much of a judge of that."

"No, I'm not," she said playfully slapping him on the chest. "You idiot! But there was something that Marie said, about these." She reached up and touched her salidin. "Now she wasn't sure mind you -- it seems these haven't been here in Harv'el for that many years -- but she said the bonded ones -- that's what they call us around here -- can't have sex unless their master allows it. She said something bad would happen if it was tried but she didn't know what. You know, this thing is much more than just a symbol like the marks. It changed us and it might be a good idea to learn a bit more about them if we can."

"Hmm, you're right of course. We need to find out just what I got us into. But who to ask? Probably we ought to find that old fellow who put them on you, what was his name? Don? Anyway Vel seemed to know him rather well, when he's here tomorrow we can ask him how to find this Don. He also seemed to know more about these things then he let on. Maybe he can tell us something himself."

"Well, we will see. Now what do you have planned for tomorrow?" For a good while they talked, in between cuddling and kissing, about what they needed to do over the next few days.

After breakfast Dent quickly gathered his armor and gear and headed off to the Guild Hall. Sosho was still in a snit so he took the coward's way out and ran like the wind before the storm. Women's "problems" may be a fact of life, he thought, especially when you're living intimately with the women involved, but avoidance makes them much easier to deal with, from the man's point of view anyway.

At the Hall he bypassed the front entrance and made his way around to the side where he found an attended door. Using the directions given he made his way back to the practice arena where another attendant showed him where to hang up his armor and weapons. His sword he turned into the Armsmaster to have a new edge put on it; it had been severely nicked during the last battle and although he generally liked servicing his own weapons he felt confident the Guild's man would do a better job of it then he could.

For the first few hours he worked on the available training machines. The long weeks at sea had perceptibly affected his strength and conditioning and his body needed the workout desperately. With muscles feeling the ache of a good workout he went searching for a sparring partner.

He found a few waiting around for the same thing. There were plenty of practice swords available and he chose one slightly heaver than his own. There wasn't anything like his dirk but a stop at the Armsmaster got his fitted with a bright orange lead ball capping the end; the edges weren't sharp enough to cut so they were left as is.

Most of his sparring partners used the classic long sword and shield or buckler (a small round shield held in the hand.) Dent was familiar with this style of combat, although of the two he felt the buckler in the hands of a skilled opponent to be by far the more dangerous. The great shield was fine for defensive work, especially against opponents restricted in their movement, such as large formations battling against each other, but was slow and cumbersome against a swift and mobile opponent. The buckler, however, was small and as mobile as the user's hand, and since many of them had their own sharp spikes could be used offensively as well as defensively. Dent could use them but preferred the extra speed afforded by his dirk.

"What is that you're using?" one of his partners asked after a match.

"This? A dirk," Dent answered.

"May I see it?" Dent handed it over without hesitation.

"Doesn't look like any dirk I've ever seen," the warrior mused. "Hey, Brent! You ever see something like this?" An older man resting along the wall between bouts strolled over and looked at Dent's weapon.

"Fuck me!" he exclaimed. "Yeah I've seen them before." He looked up at Dent. "You're from Salas aren't you?" Dent nodded. "Good with it?" Dent just shrugged. Brent turned back to Dent's sparring partner. "It's a swordbreaker, they call them dirks but they aren't. See those tines? He can trap your sword with a twist of his wrist and break it in two with his own sword. You use the short slasher don't you? Thought so. See how much thicker this is than a regular knife? How the edges aren't really dull, just a really wide bevel? It won't cut you like the edge of a knife or sword but if he hits you with it hard enough it'll open you up, acts more like a mace than a knife. Then of course there's the point which can drive through anything except maybe plate steel."

"Dangerous?"

"Fucking deadly, bucko. I went up against a group from Salas a few contracts ago and let me tell you I was glad to get out of there with my life. Thank our luck there aren't many of them and you rarely see them outside Salas. Which begs the question lad, just what are you doing here?"

"I was heading for Malshall," Dent said again shrugging. "The ship I was on got captured. The captain of the privateer hired me under contract and here I am."

"Still under contract?"

"No. He offered me my release when we made port. He wasn't sure what he was going to do and didn't want the expense of a warrior." Not exactly the whole truth but Dent didn't see any reason for strangers to know the full story. Vel would have kept him on but he didn't see the point of mentioning that.

"I'll bet there's a good story there. Sometime I'd like to hear it over a mug of beer." Again Dent just shrugged.

"I wondered what was happening to my sword," muttered Dent's sparring partner. "It seemed to get stuck for some reason, I couldn't use it like I usually do."

"Hmm," Brent pursed his lips. "Lad, what is your name anyway? Dent? Good. Dent would you mind going full speed against Marc here? Oh yeah and show him the disarming move. He needs to see that."

"Well, all right," Dent said uncomfortably. "But I don't want to actually break anything here. These aren't my weapons."

"Fuck 'em," Brent laughed. "If they break the Armsmaster will put 'um back together. Don't worry about breakage; that's what they're here for. If you can't practice full out how do you expect to live through the actual thing? You ready?"

Both men faced off and crouched down. Marc watched Dent's dirk like he expected it to jump out and grab his sword. Seeing this Dent feinted with the dirk and slashed at the unprotected arm when the buckler moved to intercept. The blunted edge smacked the padding just above the elbow and Marc let out a howl of pain.

"You just lost an arm, bucko," Brent cackled. "I warned you about the breaker, I didn't think you'd forget about the sword. Just go at him like you normally would and let's see what happens."

Marc faced Dent again and started wildly swinging at him hoping to overpower his defense. For a while Dent moved back and to the side, brushing the strokes away or jabbing at the buckler to keep his opponent off guard. Finally Marc cut down from an overhand swing leaving Dent the opening he wanted. Quick as a snake Dent reached out with the dirk allowing the sword to strike down on the cross guard. Flexing his wrist Dent trapped the blade between one tine and the dirk's blade. Twisting into his opponent Dent smashed down on the trapped sword striking it with the shoulder of his own weapon. His personal sword had a flattened knuckle guard specifically used for just this maneuver but this practice sword didn't; hitting it with the shoulder was as close as he could come.

Using the shoulder he wasn't able to bring quite as much force to bear as normal and so the trapped sword didn't break but the impact was great enough to drive the weapon out of his opponent's hand. Instead of a back swing, Dent used his elbow to move the buckler aside and with a short punch drove the pommel of his sword into Marc's side under the arm where armor would usually be thinnest. The breath whooshed out of his sparring partner and he fell to his knees gasping for breath.

Brent sauntered over to his fallen friend and roughly helped him to his feet.

"Gods!" Marc gasped. "What happened?"

"You normally have a spiked pommel, don't you?" Brent asked and Dent nodded. "Thought so. Well, bucko, he disarmed you and then he spiked you. Could have cut off your sword arm or brought it up for a throat slash but the spiking keeps the sword in for defense and ready faster. I've see it used before but never that well." Then he laughed, "We have an expert here bucko, a real live Salasian expert. You're a Specialist aren't you?"

"Hmm, yes," Dent answered curtly.

"Hey, don't get your feathers ruffled, boy; it's not like it's a big secret or anything. I told you I met a group of your fellows once and after having the piss scared out of me I set out to learn a bit more about them. Even took a turn as visiting instructor for a season or two in Salas so I know all about your ranks. Marc, this fellow here is as good as you can get and not be an instructor. Salas turns out the best and this here is the best of that best. Damn, boy, what are you doing in this shit hole?" Again Dent just shrugged.

"What?" Marc wheezed. "What can you do against that?"

"Well now there's a good question," Brent mused. "I can see three things up front. One: you can run like the hellhounds are after you, my personal favorite. Two: you can kill him while he sleeps, not easy. Or three: Five of you can attack and hope you get him while he's killing the other four. I suppose there is a fourth way: contract to the same side he's on; that's probably the least dangerous option."

"Fuck me!" Marc hissed.

"Exactly," Brent nodded sagely. "But hey, nobody said this would be easy."

"Now, bucko," he said turning back to Dent. "Are you done beating up on us poor old sods? Join us for a drop of ale in the taproom?"

A nice cool drink after a relaxing soak in the hot baths sounded just fine to Dent so he raised his eyebrows and nodded.

The small coach pulled up to the plain but heavily fortified door. Garishnie climbed down daintily mincing his steps trying to keep his new slippers out of the animal filth littering the alleyway. As he approached the door a pair of guards with crossed halberds stopped him.

"Counselor Garishnie," he said imperiously. "I have an appointment to see His Excellency." The halberds drew back and one of the guards pushed open the door. Inside he met another pair of guards and again stated his purpose for being there. Satisfied he was on the approved list, the senior guard signaled a young slave boy and sent them off towards the Putram's audience room.

Garishnie entered the small room and oriented himself on the figure seated on the low dais (this wasn't the throne room so the dais was only a low platform.) Coming to a stop he bowed low, almost a curtsey. He straightened up but kept his eyes lowered to the ground. If he had looked he would have seen a rather normal looking young man of about twenty-five, light brown hair down to his shoulders and slight of build. A perfectly normal young man except when you looked in his eyes you saw a touch of madness, or maybe it was just evil. Is there a difference?

"Your Excellency, I have come as you ordered!" his voice dripping adulation. "What can this humble one do for you now?"

"The same thing you always do for me, Garishnie. Why else would I call you?" came the sarcastic whine. "This toy is just about used up and I want you to find me another and I hope she lasts longer this time." The small whip in his hand lashed down on the trembling figure of a naked woman, girl really, chained to the floor at the foot of his chair. She was sobbing which didn't bother Garishnie at all, nor did the bright red stripes crisscrossing her back and front.

"Of course, Your Excellency. I'm sure I'll be able to find any number of suitable, ah, toys, for you. Give me a few days and I'm sure I can come up with some very lovely choices..."

"None of the normal sluts you usually drag in here, Garishnie. I want something fresh, new. Something I can really enjoy. What about something off that ship that was just brought in? They usually have interesting things on them."

"Well there was this very young one, but some sailor bought her and besides I don't know how fresh she would be; you know how hard they use them on the ships before they bring them in."

"Yes, yes, I know all that, but at least they're different. Besides I don't want one too young this time, all they do is cry and wail. They don't even scream well before fainting, a real pity."

"Of course, Your Excellency, you would know best, but there is very little new coming in these days. I mean with trade being what it is nowadays and all."

"What do you mean by that? Are you inferring that maybe we aren't perfectly capable of dealing with this Malshallian problem?"

"Oh no, Your Excellency, of course not! I just mean that there aren't as many that would meet your high standards coming in lately. There were those two, but no, nothing we can do now unfortunately."

"What two? Why unfortunately and why too late?"

"Well there were two, one older and the other younger but still old enough, I'd say. Sisters maybe, maybe even mother and daughter, very pretty, but unfortunately their owner put salidin on them. He is a most disagreeable young brute and I doubt he could be persuaded to sell them. I had them followed but he kept them with him the whole time."

"Nonsense! Tell him whom they're for and I'm sure he'll sell right away. If that doesn't work offer him double what they're worth. Sisters, now that sounds very interesting."

"But Your Excellency," Garishnie whined, "I really don't think he will sell them!"

"Well then have him killed and take them for back taxes or something like that. You're a sneaky little snake. Think of something."

"But he's a Warrior, Excellency!"

"So what? I said think of something, now get out of my sight!"

Vel strode through the streets of Harv'el like a man without a care in the world, which was pretty much the case so far as he knew. He could have hired a carriage -- hell, he could have bought a carriage -- but Harv'el wasn't that big and he needed the exercise anyway. Slaves in and along his path stopped to bow and sometimes he even got a flirty come-on from some of the ladies. Few knew who he was but all knew he was free, very big, and probably wealthy from the looks of his clothes. That was good enough for them.

It only took a couple of stops for directions and he was at the Cracked Cask. He liked the homey, open feeling of the front door and the delightful smells coming through the windows. It wasn't the best place he'd been in but it was far from the worst. It was an inexpensive kind of place that any sailor might rent while in port if it weren't so far from the docks. He paused for a moment then stepped through the door. It was getting darker outside so his eyes didn't need to adjust much to the dimness inside. Looking around he spotted Dent at one of the back tables, his two women sitting at his side. Across the table from them sat another comely lass, a bit older than Nesho but well favored. Dent saw him and stood up to wave him over.