Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) by Catherine Johnson Page A
Authors: Catherine Johnson
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even to the king. You best make sure he thinks you run a tight crew. Keep the other girls for another day. If he thinks you're better than the rest, he'll buy more in the future. His prejudices are well known."
Lyssia's senses had latched more firmly onto the discussion when she had realised that she was the subject of it.
"Noted. Now get her out there. You've already taken too long. Shinu, and the king, if he's coming, could well have left while you're were lecturing me."
"Fuck you, Seff. When he buys her, you'll see, and you'll owe me. I want half the price she fetches."
"Fuck off... a quarter."
"Forty percent."
"Thirty."
"Done."
Lyssia felt like her fate had already been bought and sealed before she'd even been made to stand on the auction block. She decided that now was as good a time as any to let the threatening cloud of unconsciousness settle over her. She welcomed the drugged sleep as a warm blanket on a cold night, even as shouts began to sound in the room around her.
Chapter Eight
The building that was the venue for the slave auctions was located towards the northern edge of the city. Several streets around it contained buildings of a similar size and construction, all owned or rented by the traders for storage. They were all low-grade buildings, nothing prestigious. Nothing about the area hinted at the esteem in which Vuthroans held the blood toast. Kavrazel thought that many slaves would experience a marked increase in their standards of living once bought, but their beginnings were worse than those of cattle. If the slavers were to be persuaded to treat their stock with more humanity, then perhaps their business needed to be conducted in a place fitting for humans, not for animals.
Kavrazel followed Shinu through the small wooden door in the side of the building. It had been many years since he'd visited the markets, but nothing had changed. The door opened into a short corridor, at the end of which was a desk with a bored officer collecting details of the attendees. The practice was supposed to stop people turning up and bidding as a joke before leaving without making payment. The young man, not even old enough to grow his first facial hair, was slumped in his chair, picking at his nails with a pocket knife. He snapped to attention when he saw them approaching. Kavrazel had the wry realisation that the lad had recognised Shinu before his king. They were not required to leave any security, or to sign any chit, before they were waved through to the main room.
The cavernous auction room was already a hive of activity. Numerous voices were speaking at every level a voice could speak at, and the sheer commotion of human activity resounded off the walls into a cacophonous din. The room was laid out in rough rows, delineated by wooden staves that were fixed into the dirt floor. The lots for auction, the slaves, were tied to the staves. Each post had a plaque fixed atop it, on which was written the number of the lot. Rushes were strewn over the floor in a cursory attempt at cleanliness. Kavrazel's steps rustled over the grimy stems. The air was thick with the stench of body odour and urine.
The human contents of the room disgusted him. He was overwhelmed by nausea. He was tempted to wield the full extent of his authority and shut the place down before the auction could even take place, but he knew it would be political suicide to do so. He would have to take the slavers in hand sooner rather than later. It would be foolish to allow this group of degenerates to think that they could operate above and beyond any law of their own king and country. Taan be damned, but his people were better than this. They knew better. They treated each other with respect. They did not need to treat blood slaves, people who would be resident in Vuthron, with less regard than that of a scavenging rat. The goods for sale were more pitiful than he had imagined they would be.
Lyssia's senses had latched more firmly onto the discussion when she had realised that she was the subject of it.
"Noted. Now get her out there. You've already taken too long. Shinu, and the king, if he's coming, could well have left while you're were lecturing me."
"Fuck you, Seff. When he buys her, you'll see, and you'll owe me. I want half the price she fetches."
"Fuck off... a quarter."
"Forty percent."
"Thirty."
"Done."
Lyssia felt like her fate had already been bought and sealed before she'd even been made to stand on the auction block. She decided that now was as good a time as any to let the threatening cloud of unconsciousness settle over her. She welcomed the drugged sleep as a warm blanket on a cold night, even as shouts began to sound in the room around her.
Chapter Eight
The building that was the venue for the slave auctions was located towards the northern edge of the city. Several streets around it contained buildings of a similar size and construction, all owned or rented by the traders for storage. They were all low-grade buildings, nothing prestigious. Nothing about the area hinted at the esteem in which Vuthroans held the blood toast. Kavrazel thought that many slaves would experience a marked increase in their standards of living once bought, but their beginnings were worse than those of cattle. If the slavers were to be persuaded to treat their stock with more humanity, then perhaps their business needed to be conducted in a place fitting for humans, not for animals.
Kavrazel followed Shinu through the small wooden door in the side of the building. It had been many years since he'd visited the markets, but nothing had changed. The door opened into a short corridor, at the end of which was a desk with a bored officer collecting details of the attendees. The practice was supposed to stop people turning up and bidding as a joke before leaving without making payment. The young man, not even old enough to grow his first facial hair, was slumped in his chair, picking at his nails with a pocket knife. He snapped to attention when he saw them approaching. Kavrazel had the wry realisation that the lad had recognised Shinu before his king. They were not required to leave any security, or to sign any chit, before they were waved through to the main room.
The cavernous auction room was already a hive of activity. Numerous voices were speaking at every level a voice could speak at, and the sheer commotion of human activity resounded off the walls into a cacophonous din. The room was laid out in rough rows, delineated by wooden staves that were fixed into the dirt floor. The lots for auction, the slaves, were tied to the staves. Each post had a plaque fixed atop it, on which was written the number of the lot. Rushes were strewn over the floor in a cursory attempt at cleanliness. Kavrazel's steps rustled over the grimy stems. The air was thick with the stench of body odour and urine.
The human contents of the room disgusted him. He was overwhelmed by nausea. He was tempted to wield the full extent of his authority and shut the place down before the auction could even take place, but he knew it would be political suicide to do so. He would have to take the slavers in hand sooner rather than later. It would be foolish to allow this group of degenerates to think that they could operate above and beyond any law of their own king and country. Taan be damned, but his people were better than this. They knew better. They treated each other with respect. They did not need to treat blood slaves, people who would be resident in Vuthron, with less regard than that of a scavenging rat. The goods for sale were more pitiful than he had imagined they would be.
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