satisfaction defending his terrified sisters, picking up a spear and hurling it into the stomach of an approaching rider, sending him crashing to the ground.
An instant later, a net had swept over him and tightened, throwing him to the floor where he was dragged across the cool, night sand, before smashing senseless against a rock.
His sisters, where were they now? He shuddered, trying not to think of the awful stories he’d heard of the court of Invictus, where slave-women were gifted to war-weary warriors upon their arrival, to do with as they pleased.
Even worse, those who bid in the markets to purchase people, as though they were objects; for the needs of a soldier were base and easy to understand. But those with wealth and time on their hands? They often descended into darker, seedier routes in search of their pleasure, thinking nothing of wasting the life of a slave to satisfy some craven whim…
Jafari flinched, realising that he had stopped in his task for an instant, slackening off his effort as he’d lamented his family. The sharp crack of a whip split the night sky, leaving a burning red line of agony down his bare back, bringing him back in an instant to harsh reality.
“Urgh!”
He grunted through gritted teeth, not crying out, denying his foreman the pleasure of his suffering, before heaving forwards once more on the block in front. The slave to his side, a tall, lean fellow with blond hair, a northerner, looked sidelong to him, concern in his eyes, a silent bond between all those forced to endure these hardships together despite the language barrier of their lands. Jafari gave a nod to show that he was alright.
Finally, the ramp levelled out, the burden easing somewhat, as they no longer fought the pull of gravity. With a grinding squeal of stone on stone, the block finally slid into its allotted place, amongst its brothers and sisters, one tiny, tiny piece in an ever growing edifice that rose, like an accusing finger, into the stormy sky.
This one block, heaved up many hundreds of feet of ramp from the bottom of the tower; the sole fruit of an entire day’s labour for the three, tired, aching slaves. Yet, as he leant forwards, hands on his knees as he struggled to regain his breath, Jafari was certain that it wouldn’t be their last.
Their toil would endure, at least as long as they would.
How would they get back down? The route up had been narrow, precipitous and he’d seen no other slaves making their way back past them. There must be another route. Yes, that’s it; there must be an…
With a creeping sense of dread he noticed his fellow slaves standing, trembling, as they surveyed the line of blocks that stretched out on either side of them. The lightning flashed, illuminating the wrathful skies and flashing into visibility for an instant the horror of the scene before them.
The slaves had never made it down. And neither would they.
The stone blocks, that each group had broken their backs to haul for unappreciative masters, were held together not with mortar of sand or mud, no.
But the mortar of human flesh.
Limbs outstretched in plea for mercy, faces contorted in final agony; the corpses of all the previous slaves that had gone ahead lay cold and lifeless atop the blocks they’d pushed into position, ready to affix by virtue of their own organs and juices, tomorrow rows of fresh blocks hauled up to these heights by unwary slaves.
Jafari stumbled backwards a couple of paces, wide-eyed with the unthinkable horror of what he was seeing, but the creak of bows made him turn, with his two fellow slaves, to the foreman who stood, flanked by Clansmen, to their rear.
Arrows loosed, but a flash of lightning bleached the scene and, powered by adrenaline, Jafari leapt to one side, even as his fellows were cut down. Amidst the deafening roar of thunder, the foreman cried out, the Clansmen reaching for fresh arrows to halt his flight, but the Nomad had fear lending him wings.
If only they had
An instant later, a net had swept over him and tightened, throwing him to the floor where he was dragged across the cool, night sand, before smashing senseless against a rock.
His sisters, where were they now? He shuddered, trying not to think of the awful stories he’d heard of the court of Invictus, where slave-women were gifted to war-weary warriors upon their arrival, to do with as they pleased.
Even worse, those who bid in the markets to purchase people, as though they were objects; for the needs of a soldier were base and easy to understand. But those with wealth and time on their hands? They often descended into darker, seedier routes in search of their pleasure, thinking nothing of wasting the life of a slave to satisfy some craven whim…
Jafari flinched, realising that he had stopped in his task for an instant, slackening off his effort as he’d lamented his family. The sharp crack of a whip split the night sky, leaving a burning red line of agony down his bare back, bringing him back in an instant to harsh reality.
“Urgh!”
He grunted through gritted teeth, not crying out, denying his foreman the pleasure of his suffering, before heaving forwards once more on the block in front. The slave to his side, a tall, lean fellow with blond hair, a northerner, looked sidelong to him, concern in his eyes, a silent bond between all those forced to endure these hardships together despite the language barrier of their lands. Jafari gave a nod to show that he was alright.
Finally, the ramp levelled out, the burden easing somewhat, as they no longer fought the pull of gravity. With a grinding squeal of stone on stone, the block finally slid into its allotted place, amongst its brothers and sisters, one tiny, tiny piece in an ever growing edifice that rose, like an accusing finger, into the stormy sky.
This one block, heaved up many hundreds of feet of ramp from the bottom of the tower; the sole fruit of an entire day’s labour for the three, tired, aching slaves. Yet, as he leant forwards, hands on his knees as he struggled to regain his breath, Jafari was certain that it wouldn’t be their last.
Their toil would endure, at least as long as they would.
How would they get back down? The route up had been narrow, precipitous and he’d seen no other slaves making their way back past them. There must be another route. Yes, that’s it; there must be an…
With a creeping sense of dread he noticed his fellow slaves standing, trembling, as they surveyed the line of blocks that stretched out on either side of them. The lightning flashed, illuminating the wrathful skies and flashing into visibility for an instant the horror of the scene before them.
The slaves had never made it down. And neither would they.
The stone blocks, that each group had broken their backs to haul for unappreciative masters, were held together not with mortar of sand or mud, no.
But the mortar of human flesh.
Limbs outstretched in plea for mercy, faces contorted in final agony; the corpses of all the previous slaves that had gone ahead lay cold and lifeless atop the blocks they’d pushed into position, ready to affix by virtue of their own organs and juices, tomorrow rows of fresh blocks hauled up to these heights by unwary slaves.
Jafari stumbled backwards a couple of paces, wide-eyed with the unthinkable horror of what he was seeing, but the creak of bows made him turn, with his two fellow slaves, to the foreman who stood, flanked by Clansmen, to their rear.
Arrows loosed, but a flash of lightning bleached the scene and, powered by adrenaline, Jafari leapt to one side, even as his fellows were cut down. Amidst the deafening roar of thunder, the foreman cried out, the Clansmen reaching for fresh arrows to halt his flight, but the Nomad had fear lending him wings.
If only they had
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