Falerin
Legendary Loremaster
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Alia stood looking across the hot desert sand, the vastness of which was her home. Alia had lived elsewhere once. That memory was there, sometimes surfacing to pain her. Always she repressed it. Her decisions had been made, and now she was here, her life very different than any she had ever intended.
The decision was made; the group would seek their wealth in the remains of the city. In doing so, they would fortify themselves. Alia’s goals were one step closer to their eventual accomplishment. The institution, of which she was now a reluctant partner, would die.
That the remains of the lich’s horde would aid that goal was an added benefit to her. Something good could come out of the evil, after all.
Alia stood there, a moment of doubt crossing her expression. Many others would undoubtedly seek the treasures of that city. Many others knew of the wealth it contained. Alia reached down and grasped some of the sand, letting it course through her open fingers. Then, she turned and faced the people for whom she was fighting, and felt her determination renew.
“Lets go,” she said simply, and began to press on across the hot desert. As she marched, she had plenty of time to reflect and think upon the events that led her to this place in time….
* * *
The hot desert sun blasted the caravan of merchants mercilessly. Alexandria Larnien felt as though Ryscsan himself must have held the caravan in some scorn to be sending such merciless rays against the travelers. At eight years of age, Alexandria, though not of the desert herself, was intimately familiar with the environment. Though her father, Jarel, repeatedly advised against such trade expeditions, her mother was fiercely determined that nothing, not even a state of war, would dictate her fiscal decisions.
Alexandria had much of her mother's spunk in this regard, but she found herself somehow more genteel. Her passion for the arts of arcane lore directly passed to her from her father, and presumably from her uncle, who was occasionally mentioned with some rather mysterious familial scorn, by her father. Alexandria had oft been given cause to wonder what her uncle had done to so separate himself from her father and from the family, but the discussion was taboo, and no explanation seemed to be forthcoming.
Once, Alexandria’s mother took her aside after her father had shouted at her, exasperated at this line of inquiry. “Listen to me, Alexandria. Your father loves you dearly, but he needs things to be in their order, you understand. Never let him try to put you into your place that way. He thinks he always knows what’s best, and many times he is right, but don’t let him overrule your own free will”
At the time of the conversation, Alexandria found the admonition to be fairly meaningless. Her father never forced her to do anything. Certainly he encouraged her to do some things, and restricted her from doing others, but never had he blatantly tried to control her.
When the war came about, Alexandria began to understand a little more intimately what it was that her mother had meant by the warning. Jarel Larnien began to issue edicts. He tried to issue prohibitions about travel along certain routes. Alexandria’s mother blithely ignored most such exclamations, and even on some occasions was given to public display on the issue. Jarel, being a person of considerable decorum found himself to be an individual of few options. Certainly engaging in public debates with one's spouse was not an acceptable practice among any of the citizens of Center City, Tardandegon.
When her mother had suggested Alexandria travel with her on this occasion, Jarel just about threw his reserve to the wind, and considered abducting spouse and child both and placing them in bondage until they would rethink such a foolish course. Over the years that followed, Jarel would have much cause to regret not acting on this impulse, but that is course for another narrative entirely.
In the end, Jarel had relented, and the caravan pressed on toward the desert city of Juropel, the Sathland center of commerce and military might. Their destination was past the city, but the need for supplies drove them toward that center of commerce.
The wind had begun to build, which assured Alexandria’s mother of the signs of an approaching sandstorm. It was impossible to predict the actual time or date of arrival, but she assured Alexandria that the caravan would reach Juropel in time.
Alexandria was startled out of her reverie by a bestial noise that was only haltingly familiar. Looking up into the desert, the glaring, blowing sand partially obscuring her vision, she noted the approach of an animal she knew to be a camel. The camel was ridden by a solitary humanoid figure, which she took to be a desert merchant seeking to reach Juropel, or perhaps even to clear the desert in the direction of Tardandegon before the howling sandstorm overtook him.
The merchant caravan stopped short of the oncoming traveler. Up ahead, Alexandria’s mother called out a greeting in fluent Sathland. The oncoming traveler did not respond in any way that Alexandria expected, rather, he brought out a wickedly curved scimitar, it’s blade gleaming in the desert sunlight. With a swift determination, he swung at the air in front of him in a most curious fashion, the point of the blade facing the ground at the end of his stroke.
For the life of her, Alexandria could not comprehend the mysterious gesture, but the merchants' caravan seemed to find the gesture considerably alarming. Alexandria’s mother directed her to the back of the wagon.
“If anything should happen Alexandria, you are to run, to run with all your might in the direction of the city. Do you understand?....”
“But mother what if I should become...”
“No Questions!” Her mother cried fiercely before the last of Alexandria’s worried interrogation could continue.
“...lost...” Alexandria finished to deaf ears.
A large band of other humanoid figures moved over the hill. They were of varying descriptions but no small number of them appeared to be human. Suddenly Alexandria believed she understood what was happening. The world was at war, and this was a band of brigands set to take the merchant caravan’s goods to re-supply.
Seeing the oncoming party, Alexandria’s mother turned to her. “Go now, child”
“But mother....”
Alexandria’s mother slapped her firmly across the cheek.
“Go now! Gods damn you! If you value your life, you will run and you will not stop running until you reach Juropel or collapse trying. If these follow you, as they undoubtedly will, and catch you, you will have cause to wish that you had died under your own power.”
Alexandria understanding the implications of her mother's statement needed no further impetus to begin her flight, but she could not help glancing back after some distance of running. She could hear the sounds of battle, could see the merchants falling under the onslaught. Then she saw her mother fall too and she could stand no more. She ran into the desert as fast as her young legs could carry her. The running could only take her so far however before the heat and the exhaustion overcame her and she collapsed under Ryscsan’s fury.
Later, after she had been rescued by the Stormrider, Serik, Alexandria had no reason to believe further explanation for the attack upon the caravan was necessary. Her father had been correct; the world was at war. This explanation chilled her. She realized that her father would use this as a method of keeping her close to him. Her mothers' admonitions haunted the child.....
“Don’t let him overrule your own free will”
In that moment, Alexandria understood that she could not go home, not now, perhaps not ever. The memories of what happened to the caravan haunted her as much as the brief glimpses of recollection she felt for the man who had saved her life.
Not for one minute did Alexandria entertain the idea that her mother’s caravan had been specifically targeted, that knowing where she would be and at exactly when was anything more the fickle hand of the gods. Never did she think that any of the brigands might have fled, not only with goods but with some of the fallen. A world at war was explanation enough for her. That explanation was however far from complete.
Alexandria went forward with her own explanations her own expectations, what happened to her is again, like the tale of her father, Jarel, another story.
Let us go back to the caravan in the desert and approach the situation from a fresh perspective and in doing so perhaps shed some light on the situation.
* * *
Darien had been serving the Larnien trade group for just over 2 ½ years. He had little interest in material trade, however. His commerce was that of information. For some time he had been visiting Southside, Tardandegon where he made contact with a fellow named Oliver, who acted as a broker for the information. Darien knew that Oliver was himself somehow a blood relation of Aribrathas, but he suspected that Oliver was not the source of it. While Aribrathas’ name lent an air of credence to the data and while the information always proved unerringly accurate, Darien was sure that the information came from someone else. Oliver was no spy; he just did not have the makeup.
To this point all dealing had been done very carefully. Darien would send someone to deliver a preliminary message, and then would meet the recipient in either Juropel, or in some unusual cases, Carnista. His travel arrangements were paid for by his service to the Larnien family, and being respected Center City merchants, the front was both effective and held a subtle twist of irony that Darien appreciated.
By this point, however plans had changed, the information that Darien had been given did not relate to this war, which Darien’s contacts had already deemed to be a lost cause, but rather to information about preliminary contact with a culture of people to the distant west. Darien’s superiors believed that they should abandon the war to the lesser fools who in the intervening time, had forgotten that the squabble’s chief goal was money, and the war had already cost more than either side could hope to gain.
Darien’s superiors were not interested in money, but rather in power. They found the people encountered to the west and the various humanoids that fell easily under their persuasion, to be of greater interest. So yes, the war would be lost and 10 years or more would pass, and then a new force would return, intent on marching by surprise on Tardandegon itself.
This information which Darien got not from Oliver, but from a shadowy stranger known to him only by the decidedly showy moniker “The Voice”, would almost ensure that the peoples of the Tardandegon Military Alliance were the victors in the current hostilities. Once Darien’s superiors withdrew from the war, the rest of it would lack the numbers required to continue a sustained effort. This however was not of concern. Let them build their military, when the waves of forces came not only by land but by sea, we would see what war could in fact do. Darien himself would be reassigned. He would return to the desert and pose as a slave trader and trade information along those routes. The caravan he was in, he knew, would never make it to Juropel.
Darien’s reverie was broken by the sound of a disturbance ahead. He heard a voice telling the child, Alexandria, that should anything happen, she should run. Darien briefly considered quietly preventing the child from escaping, but then decided that she was frail and undoubtedly worth very little on the open market. Given the distances across the open desert involved, Alexandria would undoubtedly be a liability.
On cue the humanoid masses swarmed the caravan, Darien swung his hollow wooden staff about, making a show at resisting the invaders. He then moved closer to Mrs. Larnien, his gestures deliberate and calculated. As a woman with a knowledge of trade she would be particularly valuable. Darien pointed the tip of the staff at her as a signal to his contact, and then on schedule, was hit from behind. At the moment of impact, Darien released the spell that shoved him deep into a deathlike catatonia and slumbered.
* * *
Alia Larnien watched as a single camel crested the sand dune ahead. The rider was dressed in the garb of the deep desert. Briefly, she considered shouting her greeting in Rysillic, but then decided the traveler, to be this far toward the edge of the desert, would speak Sathland.
“Greetings, Traveler, and well met” Alia called out in the tongue, her voice picking up the accent so well that all but the most experienced would not have known that Sathland was not her native tongue. She then turned and waited for a response.
Alia Larnien watched as the approaching camel rider brought his sword up and around in a circle. Alia’s uncle had served in the military and she recognized the sign to be a bad one. Alia turned to her daughter with considerable concern.
“If anything should happen Alexandria, you are to run, to run with all your might in the direction of the city. Do you understand?....” she said hurriedly, concerned.
“But mother what if I should become...” the child started.
“No Questions!” Alia cried.
“... lost...” the child finished.
Alia could not answer the question, if Alexandria were to flee into the desert getting lost was the least of her concerns and Alia well knew it.
As Alia watched, a large band of other humanoid figures moved over the hill. Mostly, they were human, but several appeared to be orcs.
‘What are orcs doing here ?’ she wondered somewhat absently then quickly turned to Alexandria.
“Go now, child”
“But mother....”, the child responded maddeningly.
Alia Larnien had never before struck her daughter, and before that moment she never would have thought herself capable of doing so, but strike her she did and resoundingly.
“Go now! Gods damn you! If you value your life, you will run and you will not stop running until you reach Juropel or collapse trying. If these follow you, as they undoubtedly will, and catch you, you will have cause to wish that you had died under your own power.”
Alia watched, making sure she was obeyed and only then turned her attention back to the approaching raiders. She watched in considerable horror as some of the caravan guards moved to intercept.
“Circle the wagons, damn you”, she ordered uselessly.
In a few more breaths the raiders were upon them, and all about the sounds of battle rang out. The caravan guards scored one or two kills, but the number of enemies was overwhelming. Alia watched in horror as Darien, one of her best workers, was taken from behind trying to protect her.
Alia stabbed the fellow that did it with a dagger in the upper arm, and then to her dismay discovered the dagger stuck. She backed quickly away from the masses now unarmed, and moved toward the wagons.
Alia felt something heavy come down on her head and send her sprawling. She looked up to see the orc she had stuck with the dagger smiling wickedly. He grabbed her and forced her away from the group shoving her over the far dune toward the camel and its rider.
With brutal precision he shoved her down into the sand and used her own dagger to strip off the clothes she was wearing, coating her with a thin layer of his blood in the process. Then he reached down and released the fastening on his own trousers.
Alia realized that for being poked in the arm, the orc was about to return the favor with some poking of its own, and began to scream.
* * *
Darien watched the proceedings witch considerable interest, everything was going according to plan. In a few weeks, he would be an extraordinarily wealthy slave trader living high on the Larnien largess. That innocent people died in the assault had little or no bearing on him. In his mind, war had casualties, and these were simply among the ranks of the fallen.
Darien noted with some amusement that his boss was now being raped by a rather ugly looking orc. The brutal entertainment got a rise out of Darien, but he lost interest quickly as the stubborn woman calmed and refused to scream. ‘Just like her to deny me some entertainment’ Darien thought angrily.
Darien looked back at the battle. Those of any value were claimed. All that remained was to slaughter the remaining witnesses and claim the prize.
The orc let out a guttural growl of release, and Darien looked over again, he carefully twisted his face into an expression of mock horror. His employer and the other slaves were ushered into the circle. He allowed himself to be herded too He could not drop the act, not yet.
* * *
The orc’s rape was painful but quick and methodical. When he was done he forced her up and into a line of other people, and she was circled and herded.
Alia felt curiously empty, the horror of the rape suppressed. She watched over the dune and saw something amazing, that for the briefest of moments, filled her with a sense of hope.
A single, large human figure who Alia knew was no one in her party, had taken on a group of the attackers, and inexplicably, despite being horribly outnumbered, was winning. She watched as one after the other moved to engage him, and one after the other they fell. He felled them quickly and methodically and with a style of fighting unlike anything Alia had ever seen.
Alia turned and saw Darien standing among the others and smiled slightly.
“We may have a chance yet”
Darien raised an eyebrow and she pointed to the figure in the distance. Darien frowned slightly and then called out one word.
“Serik”
The camel back leader nodded and then turned and grabbed what they had gained, and the people pushed off quickly into the desert.
Alia looked at Darien confused as they were both ushered along, and felt somewhat deflated. Why had Darien let the raiders know the rescuer was there ?
As they pressed further and further into the desert, Alia realized that ‘Serik’, whomever he might be, was not going to be her salvation. Still, as she thought of the events that occurred and the way he had handled himself, she felt a surge of hope. Alexandria, she at least could survive this.
* * *
Alia broke her reverie for a moment and turned toward Falrik, the leader of her group, and her current mate with consideration.
“Do you recall the day of my abduction ?” She asked simply.
Falrik looked surprised by the inquiry.
“Why do you trouble yourself with such painful memories now, Alia ?”
“Will you not give me a straight answer Falrik ?” she said with a considerable frown. “Do my questions not deserve that at least ?”
Falrik frowned himself and then reluctantly spoke “Yes my love, they deserve that. Yes, I painfully recall the day I took you. It haunts me, and rightly it probably always will.”
Alia considered her next question carefully. “Darien ? He worked for them too didn’t he ? He always did ?”
Falrik looked away into the desert, a pained expression crossing his face at the mention of Darien, and the directions which brought him to Alia in the first place. Then turned to Alia and simply nodded.
“Ah.” Alia said and then looked of into the desert her mind once again lost in the past…
* * *
“We may have a chance yet”, A voice called out forcing Darien to pay attention to the here and now.
Darien looked over as Alia called to him, startled by the look of hope in her eyes. He followed her gesture and squinted slightly. The blowing sand and the desert sun obstructed his vision. Ahead of him he saw something which chilled him to the bone.
Fighter after fighter fell to the wrath of the solitary desert figure, and none seemed to be gaining headway in the least.
‘Curses’ Darien thought. ‘The bastard would show up and muck up what should be a perfectly easy transaction.’
“Serik” Darien called to Falrik, still watching the figure’s progress. If the Stormrider came this way he might overtake even the main group, and whereas his chances might be slim, Darien was unwilling to give him any chance at all. Darien turned and whispered an instruction to the nearest orc.
“Abandon the caravan. We count our losses and press on now.”
As the throng began to move forward, Darien looked back at Alia. ‘Just like the witch to have a cavalry come to her rescue. Well this is one time the cavalry is gonna miss it’s mark. You rich center city trollop, so high on hope. Someone needs to show you some humility.’
Darien looked out as the group pressed out across the desert. Then reached over and grasped an orc by the arm.
“You touch another slave in my presence and I will strike you down myself.” Darien grunted in orcish “but the woman who stabbed you.. she is different… she’s yours.”
* * *
Falrik the camel rider looked out over his slaves, a sick twisting in his gut. This was dirty business and deep inside Falrik knew it. Falrik had worked for another trader once, and had spent a long time digging himself out of the trenches. There had been a time when Falrik had considered allowing himself to fall into slavehood himself, knowing in desperation that at least then he would be cared for.
He had been young and foolish then, and also incredibly lucky, a slave trader saw one of his passing magic demonstrations, a somewhat desperate attempt to earn money, and had decided he wanted a magic user as an asset to his caravan.
So Falrik had found a better way, or so it had seemed. He served the caravan as a linguist and a negotiator, and when the time came, an enforcer. The caravan kept him fed and clothed, and gave him a means for his own continued advancement. Advance Falrik did, and quite well, his grasp of magic was always quite strong and the wealth involved in the market was quite sufficient to advance both his research and continued learning.
In the end, what caused Falrik to leave that caravan and start his own was not discontent on his part but his boss’ decision to retire. By this point Falrik was well versed in the evils of slavery, but was so wrapped up in it as a means of survival, that he could give no thought to anything else.
For some time business had been good. He made enough on trade of items to prevent the necessity for any large scale trading of slaves. When the first groups of anti-slave parties began digging into the desert, things began to change. Where once the market was open, secretiveness was now the norm. It had been a long time since people had made such attempts to forcibly abolish the trade, but the protocols were known well enough. Easier channels of trade became blocked, and the market grew far more uncomfortable.
When the war came things changed once again, individuals set on one goal or another had no objection to sending their travelers along with a team of slavers to accomplish their goals. The risk involved in such strikes on merchant caravans, and even occasionally on military ones, especially as they drove closer to Juropel, was considerable. The payoff was even more considerable. No small number of slavers increased their folds, and their wealth in that fashion.
At first, Falrik had avoided trade in this fashion, and the avoidance cost him. With no other ready source of cash, Falrik finally acquiesced. Up until now, he had robbed caravans only for their material wealth, letting the survivors of the attacks go. This contract had specific instructions that people, and most specifically Darien, must be taken alive. He had been given several orcs to add to his service and several human warriors in addition to his gold and platinum to complete the task. The price was very good, the labor minimal. The risk was high but it was surmountable. He was assured that Darien would fall easily and in fact come willingly, so he agreed.
They had followed from a discreet distance for several days, the merchants caravan apparently unaware of their presence. Then with the sandstorm close, and the party getting uncomfortably close to Juropel, Falrik gave the order to strike.
Almost immediately, Falrik regretted taking the assignment, as a merchant caravan bearing goods from Center City, Tardandegon among other places, it was exceedingly well guarded. An inordinate number of guards had to be killed. Then several of the orcs took prisoners of their own, and more then a few engaging in brutal rapes of both heterosexual and homosexual varieties. Worse, the people were taken back into the encampment and were allowed to see far too much. If even one of them returned to the city and reported details, a slaver-hunting group might well be sent to hunt them down. Roadside robbery was hard to track, but a large slaver group was another issue. Such a botch would lead to his back door, as the other slavers would not support him in what they would undoubtedly consider idiocy that put them all at risk. This of course meant they had to be taken and impressed forcibly, something which Falrik had avoided at all costs. He knew the evils of the institution, but he eased his conscience by convincing himself that his slaves were all either born into it, or had voluntarily indentured themselves.
Falrik felt himself very near vomiting in the sand. For the first time in many years the nature of his profession making him feel uneasy. It was evil, which in turn made him, evil did it not ? ‘Never again’ he swore ‘never again will I do something like this.‘
* * *
For the next three weeks the nomadic group pressed into the desert, stopping only briefly for the approaching sandstorm. The rape at the hands of the orc became a frequent ritual, usually happening twice a day, sometimes more. Other than this abuse, Alia was well cared for. She was fed almost as well as she was at home, and given more than her share of water. The other slaves were not treated as well, and she began to wonder why she was given such special treatment.
By the middle of the second week, it became quite apparent that Darien had stopped being treated like a slave altogether. He was now giving other slaves orders rather than taking them. Alia did not understand why he had gone from the first week where she had seem him struck repeatedly for acting out, to this where he was seemingly a master rather than a slave. What was apparent, was that Darien was no longer a friend and he could not be trusted.
Darien himself found the issue easy to comprehend. Several times various merchants had encountered him talking to the orcs or the Falrik, the camel rider. He could not risk them openly suspecting that he was behind the attack, not while he felt if they made an attempt at escape, they might have a chance at survival. He had a feeling that Falrik was somewhat lax in that regard. He spent much of the time brooding in some kind of distant state. Darien also knew that he had taken a strange amount of interest in Alia Larnien.
During the first week Falrik had approached him.
“Why did you signal to the orcs to take other prisoners” He asked somewhat angrily “I was told you would come along readily, not that you would circumvent my orders and force me to take others”
“But” Darien had said at the time “The slaves will turn a handsome profit you must admit. Especially their leader”
Falrik rather then seeming pleased had blanched considerably at the idea and marched away.
As for the other slaves and the orc workers, they were confused. The solitary orc who had raped Alia continued his behavior, as he had been told he could do. The others having been told Darien was the leader by their initial employer, ignored the activity, uncertainly, but they followed Falrik’s commands in all other things concerning her to the letter. Falrik was rumored to be a potent magic user; a rumor circulated that he had once meteor swarmed an attacking anti-slaver group. This reputation did not induce them to disobedience at all. Darien himself had threatened more than one of them, so they were not about to disobey him, or incriminate him either, especially when the higher ups told them that he was the boss.
By the middle of the second week, Darien had been convinced that they were far enough into the desert that their was no way that anyone fleeing could possibly survive. He then happily took up his public role as leader, quite amused to see how his sudden change of status amazed people.
By the beginning of the third week, Darien was quite ready to be moved to his own slave group, the thrill of forcing slaves to do his bidding was quite alluring to him. The transfer itself occurred quickly and quietly, the other group took the orcs and all of the merchants accept Alia, who Falrik retained as the price of his job, claiming her alone worth the delivery. The time leading up to it was a bit more interesting.
* * *
During the middle of that week, Alia was approached by Falrik.
“Have you been treated well ?” He asked “I gave specific instructions”
Alia momentarily considered spitting in his face.
“As well as a person raped daily by an orc can be” she said sharply.
“What? You mean he has raped you more than that first day ?” Falrik was stunned and sickened. His orders had been explicit. He had determined that he would spare Alia as much of this mess as he could. His guilt was immense, and he had to do something to make it up to the merchant. He could not release her, but he could certainly make sure her stay was more pleasant.
Alia considered this carefully and then nodded. “Many times. Twice or more a day:”
Falrik looked quite livid and went about to several people barking orders. The other traders and the slaves became quite alarmed by his anger. The orcs were still terrified of Darien however and were not about to implicate him in the fiasco. Instead they eventually pointed out the member of their brethren responsible who Falrik angrily forced before Alia.
“Was it him ?” he asked thinly.
Alia only nodded.
Falrik turned, his anger beyond control, these orcs had done something even more evil, it was their fault Alia was even here, and now they had violated her, in the most personal way possible, over the course of three weeks. Falrik knew that because Alia was at the end of a trade mission when she was abducted, and since menstruation proved an impediment to trade, this could very well mean the bastard had impregnated her too. Falrik finally pointed at the orc and muttered something arcane. The orc gave a shudder and then collapsed to the sand.
“He will not be forcing himself upon you or anyone else any longer.” Falrik said his anger abated but his terror taking new bounds as he realized he had just used enervation, and it had killed the orc without giving him any chance whatsoever. ‘Have I become totally evil? Will it be Oxalis that greets me as Elysia spurns me completely?’
Alia was stupefied by this display. To her mind, the caravan leader, apparently a magic user of some sort, had just killed the orc who had raped her, as punishment but without provocation. It was as if he was defending her honor in some strange way. ‘Why,’ she wondered ‘am I different from other slaves ?’
Two days later the Caravan met up with the trade group in which Darien departed. She was given further cause to question what was going on then.
Falrik could not bring himself to look upon the slaves that he had forced into their state so he got rid of them all at once. Alia he kept because he knew she might be pregnant and he felt he personally owed her some kind of payment for her suffering. He also felt himself growing protective of her, and her unborn child. Despite his horror at the situation, in this to Falrik something felt right, and despite himself he knew he was beginning to fall in love with her. As he watched her spunk and how she interacted with other slaves and with the other Traders, Falrik knew she was never meant to be a slave. She however was never given the opportunities that he was.
Shortly thereafter, Alia began showing the first clear signs she was pregnant with the dead orc’s child. At this point, she was treated even better. Falrik had various people see to her, and she was given several foul tasting liquids.
“When your child is born,” Falrik assured her “it will be most singularly beautiful subject of it’s race you will have encountered. I will not have your beauty sullied by ugly children. Orcs and humans alike will find it attractive.”
Falrik did it for the mother but he did it for the child as well. For reasons unclear to him he had been presented with this situation. The child would have obstacles enough to overcome being born and raised in such a harsh environment. Falrik had also killed his father which to Falrik meant the duties fell to him.
For the first time Alia began to suspect that Falrik was attracted to her. The idea was horrifying. She loved Jarel, her spouse, and could never love her abductor. Falrik, for his part, did not expect his love to be returned, nor in fact that he would be given anything for it. To him his obligations to Alia were quite clear and his actions belied this fact. His ministrations only enforced the decidedly uncomfortable idea, in Alia’s mind, however.
* * *
Sometime in the middle of the pregnancy, Falrik called upon Alia for her advice in a trade decision. Alia’s first impulse was to refuse. She rejected it for two reasons. The first being that she still feared Falrik would do something to punish her, if she refused. The second being that Falrik had done nothing to punish her, till now, and had in fact listened to her when she demanded the other slaves be treated more equitably.
By this point Alia, figured that Falrik has some kind of feelings for her, and that she might use these as a way to secure better treatment for the slaves, and a means of escape for herself.
The trader with which Falrik was dealing was pushing daggers that was could have been by any average metalsmith in Tardandegon.
“These daggers, being of moderate quality, are no doubt of use to us. We offer 3 gold for the entire lot” Alia said seriously.
“Three gold Madam! Surely you mean 3 platinum, these are the finest dwarven crafted blades shipped all the way from Durtia”
Falrik looked incredulous but Alia merely looked at the blades again.
“Made from dwarves in Durtia, you say. I tell you sir, no dwarf would lay claim to these blades, an orcish metalsmith could do as well. I will offer you 2 gold for the lot”
“2 gold Madam but you just say….”
“Did I say 2 gold… quite sorry I meant to say…..”
Seeing the direction this was headed the merchant quickly reconsidered.
“2 gold, indeed yes a shrewd business woman”
Later that evening, Falrik approached Alia to commend her, but she only grunted.
“They were worth about 4 gold” She said finally and looked out over the desert.
“What do you want Alia?”
She considered telling him she wanted to go home but instead said with determination “The weather is particularly hot of late, and sandstorms are more frequent. You need to double the slaves water rations”
“Double it? But Alia. If I double their rations I will lose more money than this transaction just made me”
“And if the slaves suffer dehydration their productivity will hit the floor. Your own ration is 10 times what the slaves get. Cut it back and the cost will be deferred a bit.”
Falrik looked annoyed and momentarily she was sure he was going to strike her or worse, then his expression softened. “You are right of course, and productive slaves will bring me a far greater profit than dead ones. We will need to stop at an oasis more often, however”
Alia turned to him tiredly “The increase in productivity, will more than cover the extra time spent still.”
* * *
Over the next several months Alia was involved in several more trades, and made Falrik and the other Traders in the group considerable amounts of money. At first her directions annoyed the other slave traders, and they told Falrik as much. After time the truth in her words bore out however, as mortality rates dropped dramatically and productivity rose to an even greater level. By the time her child had been born, she was respected by both the slave traders and by the slaves
.Falrik allowed her to raise the baby, but acted as the child’s father. Falrik himself fell in love with the child, who Alia had named Lamech, at least as much as if the half orc baby were his own. He let it be known quite clearly to the other traders that Lamech was born his son and not as a slave.
Alia learned that Falrik had also declared her as his personal property, and she was marked as such. This increased her unease about the idea that Falrik being in love with her, and she longed for Jarel’s arms more than ever.
Falrik’s predictions about Lamech proved unerringly accurate. Among half orc males there could be none more beautiful. Even as an infant, Lamech’s slightly upturned nose and raised cheeks and ears, were blended with his non porcine features in a way that was distinctly handsome. The entire affect was curiously ethereal.
Despite the horror of the rape, she could not love Lamech any less then she loved her precious Alexandria, and while the desert hardened and embittered her, Alia was softened by Lamech. Falrik’s love and affection for the child was unmistakable and Lamech loved his would be father too, that much was obvious.
* * *
During of the visits to the Oasis when Lamech was about four months old Alia had gone out into the encampment to relieve herself when she was approached, from behind by a drunken trader from another caravan who quite blatantly ignored the markings that said she was unavailable merchandise.
The trader forced her to the ground and prepared to rape her. When Falrik appeared behind him and placed a large palspar to the fellows neck.
“If you find your manhood of any value to you” Falrik said menacingly “You will remove yourself from on top of my mate”
“Falrisk” the trader said drunkenly “I sorreee I didnst realise she was yur mates. I though she was a slave”
“If I catch you treating a slave in that fashion I will be sure you cant even treat yourself that way when I am done with you” Falrik said coldly “Now get the hell out of my encampment and if you are wise I wont see you on this side of the oasis again”
The trader quickly moved away and then looking concerned Falrik turned back to Alia.
“Can you not defend yourself from the likes of that scoundrel?” Falrik asked concerned
“A slave must service the traders” Alia said simply
Falrik blanched at this.
“You will undergo training” Falrik said angrily “You must have an ability to handle yourself should the need arise. You have cluttered your mind with many things. They will serve you well in trade with us, especially the languages, but you will learn what you are being taught, and not just to the simple levels either.”
* * *
Her combat instructor was a nasty slave trader, and he drilled her without mercy. His style was however effective, despite her limitations after only a short while she had grasped enough of the basics of combat to function in that regard.
The teacher was like many others among the people she seemed to have the misfortune to encounter, a letch as well. Falrik had wanted her to continue her lessons with him until she was quite competent with arms, but Falrik learned from another trader that the instructor had plans to hold special lessons with Alia. Having learned of it he sent him away, determining that he himself must teach her skills necessary to advance herself and protect herself. He acquired a spell book and set to training her in magic.
As a teacher Falrik was no more forgiving in his instruction of magic, then the combat instructor had been in teaching fighting. Whereas he was kind and gentle with Lamech, and with her in private situations, he was inflexible and stubborn with the training. It was relentless, and not until she could cast and understand second level spells did he stop the incessant barrage that was only allowed to stop for an occasional trade deal or for the necessities.
* * *
When Lamech was a little over a year old Alia contracted a serious illness from contact with a Seindali trade group. Since they were far from their own climate, the Seindali could not offer any treatment for the ailment.
During her fever Falrik had one of his most trusted advisors care for the child, Falrik himself tended to Alia. When it became clear that he could not himself treat the illness. He called in clerics to perform the treatment at great personal cost. Still it seemed likely that Alia would die, her condition continuing to deteriorate by the day. When it seemed imminent that Alia would die, Falrik became bereaved. He refused to leave her side, despite warnings that the illness might still be contagious, and attended to her comfort as much as possible.
Two and a half weeks of fighting the fever passed before Alia’s health began to show marked signs of improvement. Falrik was overjoyed and waited on her hand and foot. When Alia learned of all that had done she had a crisis of conscience. Falrik was obviously in love with her. He had ministered to her and tended to her. She did not feel she could ever really love Falrik, but did his devotion deserve not a return kindness ? Was he that abominable that she could not show him at least some fondness ?
Fondness grew into contentment. She felt a pang of guilt at her current state. How could she be considering allowing Falrik to share her bed ? She was a married woman. She stilled loved Jarel her husband. In the end one conversation marked the decision and altered her course irrevocably. Falrik had been standing off to the side playing with young Lamech and turned to her a deep sorrow in his features.
“Do you suppose ...” he asked gently, pain in his voice “Do you suppose that your older child escaped the hand of my evil after all ? Surely, Serik found her.”
Alia turned bitter at the mention of Alexandria. She considered tearing him down, knowing that he loved her, and she no longer risked him harming her by evoking his wrath. She looked into his eyes and saw the pain there. She considered the words that he spoke and the torture in his voice and looked away so as not to let him see her anger.
“I pray every day that Alexandria is doing well. It is all that I can do.”
“No it is not.” Falrik said, pained. “You can take our child ... Your child ...” he corrected. “You can take Lamech and leave this place. Steal into the night. You know enough of the route, you could reach Juropel and be free of me and the evil I brought to you. The evil that damns me already.”
“What do you mean ?” Alia asked in confusion.
“I mean,” Falrik said, “that you are free Alia ... that you can go ... that you should go. You will not be followed. You can go to Juropel and report what has happened to you. You can find your family, and you can have justice upon me for what I did to you. Every day that passes, I am tormented by that evil. I see the institution that I am trapped in and what it has done and I know I must be damned. I swear to you, we did not intend to take you. No one was to be impressed into slavery. Things went very wrong. I guess it means fairly little now. Yet, when you were ill, I realized I had nearly murdered you by bringing you here. By being a desperate, deplorable man….. I….”
Alia kissed Falrik on the lips, cutting of the flow of lamentations. She was not sure why she did it, what it was in her that responded to the trader brought open and low like this. She felt a pang of guilt even as she started it, yet she did not break away.
“I must be honest. Even if I could make the trek across the desert with no supplies, I could not take Lamech with me. He would not survive a trip like that.”
“You could take supplies. Oh, Alia, if only I could do something to fix this mess… if only I could do something to break out of this evil I am a part of to stop it.”
“Change is slow, Falrik, but it can come. What good do these runs on the other trade groups do. We see it with our own eyes. Innocent slaves starve. Traders still make a profit, but they go deeper into hiding, some taking up even less reputable habits. We can change the institution, though, we might even be able to put an end to it from inside; not violently, not insidiously, but calmly and with our own actions. Think what we have accomplished. In nearly a year not one slave has been beaten, not one slave has rebelled. The work they do is good, and they are happy. We can destroy slavery by making it outmoded. With my business skills and your knowledge, we can show slavery to be antiquated. You go into the oasis and tell the slaves you are setting them free ... that they can leave, or that they can continue in their roles working for you, but as freemen. You may lose five slaves. The rest are not foolish. They know how good they have it. They won’t rebel because they have no reason, especially among those who have served other slavers.”
“You say ‘we’ an awful lot, Alia Larnien.” Falrik said.
“Alia Larnien is dead, Falrik. That person died in an attack upon her caravan. I am sure all the paperwork in Tardandegon supports my conclusion. Even if Jarel ... even if my husband still mourns me, he can not for much longer. If he has moved on and accepted, what can my return bring but pain, not just for Jarel, but for you, and for little Lamech. Lamech will not be accepted in Center City. He is not only the product of a rape, he is the product of the rape of a married woman by an orc. Jarel would suffer because of it. Elana, his mother whom I love dearly, would suffer. I know if asked, they would choose me. Sometimes it is the better act not to give the choice. Besides, perhaps I can do more good here. I have done some already, or I hope that I have ”
After this conversation, Falrik got rid of most of the other slavers that served directly with him. He still contacted them, and did business with them, but not close enough that they could inspect the everyday running of his caravan. His was a slow rebellion from within. The number of slaves that he purchased went up dramatically as did his profits. Others spoke of his incredible results, to which he pointed merely to Alia and smiled. Alia in time grew to love Falrik in his own right in spite of her reservations. He was not Jarel, and she did not love him that way, and perhaps never could or never would. Yet she loved him in a fashion all his own, and she loved him for what he was doing and how he loved Lamech.
In time she became pregnant three times by Falrik. Only two of the children made it to term. The elder child, a beautiful olive skinned girl she named Mira, and the youngest they named Awen, after Lamech’s father.
After this point, Alia found herself in heading many negotiations. She had become the right hand of Falrik, and found herself well respected. Nowhere were ‘slaves’ more content and better treated then amongst her caravan and nowhere were the mortality rates more low. In spite of her training, she found the mindset of the caravan infectious. She found slavery abhorrent, but she was a merchant, and she was good at what she did. Inside out she worked on the problem and she believed in the results she saw. She never thought that she would be a leader drawing a caravan of willing servants across the desert, looking for all the world like any other slave trader herself. She never thought she would be abducted into slavery.
* * *
Alia came up short of where the contact was to give them further directions to the lich’s city. They were at his back door now. Somewhere beneath the miles of burning sand was a throve of treasure that would further the cause immensely.
Alia, pained, looked over at Falrik.
“I guess we wait.” she said simply.
“I guess we do.” Falrik answered
“Nothing much to do but remember why we are here I suppose…”
“I remember.” Falrik replied, and stared off into the desert lost in the memory…
* * *
Shortly after the first anniversary of Awen’s birth, news of the city that rose and fell with the desert moons reached the oasis where Alia and Falrik were staying. The horrors described and the roving undead that preyed upon the living to feed the appetites of even greater masters were hard to imagine and comprehend.
Still Falrik and Alia vowed to stay far away from the area where these events were supposedly taking place. For a short while, their plan seemed to be working and then further news reached the desert. A deathpriest was roaming the desert far and wide, demanding a sacrifice from every caravan. Those foolish few who refused the deathpriest were slain entirely, entire caravans joining the ranks of the marching undead.
Falrik and Alia became alarmed and set about to leave the desert before the deathpriest would come to make such a demand of them. They could not sacrifice the people they traveled with. They were slaves in appearance only. It was not their place to choose a person to be sent to the glory of some evil undead lord.
As it happened, they were not fast enough. When the deathpriest came and demanded a sacrifice, it was not a slave that he wanted. He chose Awen, the youngest of her children. Awen screamed as he was taken from her arms by the priest’s mindless servants. She wanted to stop them but there was nothing that she can do. They took him into one of the tents and did something to him. Suddenly, his childlike screaming changed; became a deeper sobbing. The odd noise coming from her child was too much for Alia, and she rushed headlong into the tent.
“Stop, please. Release my child. You can have me instead. Please let him go.”
Alia drew up short as she saw them dragging a handsome young man of about 14 years before the deathpriest.
“I am sorry,” the deathpriest said with mock sympathy “but I have chosen this one. Of course, if you will miss your child terribly, I can always grant you the gift of immortal life, too.”
Alia shuddered, realizing that the handsome young man who had been dragged screaming before the deathpriest was her child.
“I see that idea does not suit you.” The deathpriest gave an evil, toothy grin. “I will not deny you a chance to talk to him for a minute or so. Do say your good byes. Get to know him. It is the closest you can ever come to seeing him as an adult.”
Alia moved over, and the screaming adolescent stopped at her approach, comforted by her presence. Falrik, horrified beyond words, moved to the tent flap and watched in.
“It will be okay, sweet Awen.” she said, looking over his handsome face, unmarred like most faces around by the long passage of time in the desert sun. “Beautiful, sweet Awen, it will be okay.”
:”Indeed it will be better than ‘okay’.” the deathpriest said. “Bring the sacrifice to me.”
Alia felt the child once more pulled from her grasp. He was brought to stand before the deathpriest, and his screaming begun anew.
She turned to leave, but found the exits blocked by the deathpriest’s unnatural, mindless servants. She noted Falrik just within the tent flap and shuddered. She was forced to watch the ritual execution and resurrection of her child as an undead.
“Give your mummy a hug and kiss goodbye now, Awen.” the deathpriest said with mock sweetness. “Tell her you love her.”
The new undead shambled over to Alia and grabbed her in its embrace. Its mouth issued forth an incomprehensible sound, and then the dry, dead lips caressed her cheek. Alia wanted to scream. She wanted to run, but all she could do was hope and pray that his soul was gone before his body was animated a mindless husk.
“Don’t let it be said,” spoke the deathpriest, “that I do not let the family participate in the final farewell.”
Shortly thereafter the deathpriest left the area, his grisly quota apparently met. Alia could not sleep for two weeks after the incident.
“That” Alia said “is evil. For Awen’s sake, do not let me ever hear his father describing himself in the same category again,”
By this point, Alia had learned of the possibility of undead who were not evil. She considered briefly finding a way to come back in that state to avenge her son, but quickly learned the rituals involved were far beyond her, and the process was horrifying indeed. Instead, she became hateful, deciding that she would claim payment from the deathpriest and from its master..
Her plots of long term revenge were shattered by the news that both the deathpriest and the lich had been destroyed. On one hand, she was overjoyed that no more mothers would suffer through the evil she saw. On the other she felt empty and cheated. Then she learned of the reputed treasure in the lich’s fallen city, and she knew the answer to her dilemma. She would seek the treasure and use it to do some good in Awen’s memory. All was not lost. With Falrik and the caravan they began their trek across the desert, seeking answers.
* * *
Alia looked up as Falrik finished his dealings with the other slaver, her reverie broken. The moons hung in the sky, and the desert night was fairly cool, unlike the day many years ago where the journey that lead here began.
“We are very close.” Falrik said. “I am told these directions will place us in relatively close proximity. Then after the initial contacts, we can begin to dig. If we are smart, we will use the work of the other searchers to our advantage. Nothing is left now to do but start marching, I guess.”
“So,” Alia said simply, “let us march….”
The End / The Begining
< Message edited by Falerin -- 7/15/2008 19:03:35 >
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