No Good Men: Volume One

Chapter VIII: Gifts for the Masters

Calari Bay, Calcor

"Get up! Everyone, up!", yells a soldier standing at the bottom of the stairs.

The prisoners all rise, stumbling and swaying side to side as their weakened legs hold them up once more.

"Stand up!" He taps his foot against the wooden steps as he impatiently waits for everyone to get on their feet.

"In a few minutes, I will come back to bring you all upstairs. You are to follow the orders of us and those on the docks who will take you to the harbor. Don't try to do anything now, you've made it this far and I would prefer to not injure or kill any of you for something stupid. Heed my warning, and the worst will be over by tomorrow."

One of the prisoners raises his hand, and steps forward from within the crowd. Stumbling on his words, he asks, "s-sir, where are we?"

The soldier looks out into the crowd, "Calcor, the trading capital of Utkara. You're all home."

*****

A warm breeze sprays the ocean's mist across the harbor which sits just beyond the walls of the city of Calcor. The wooden arms of docking stretch out into the bay, and are surrounded on both sides by the fleet of ships from Askarai. The vessels are all behind one another, with each type carrying a different type of cargo. The small schooners dock first and the closest spots by the harbor holding barrels of food, water, and supplies for the rest of the fleet.

As the space between the lines of the docks becomes full with the larger vessels, bells atop the walls of Calcor and in the harbor commemorate their arrival. Men and women along the harbor rush to the ships, helping the sailors anchor their ships to the dock with heavy rope and chains.

Atop the walls, a man blows into a curved black horn with gold rims around its mouthpiece and exit. The blaring sound stretches over the harbor and docks, reaching the sailors tower off the shore of Calcor. The crews aboard the ships scramble across the decks, before they begin to draw out the cargo from their holds. Barrels roll onto the ramps, chests are hoisted over the rails, and slaves are slowly herded out onto the docks.

At the bow of one of the ships docked closest to the harbor and its many shops, Sergeant Jarro stands with his hands on the rails and a subtle grin on his face. Beside him, a young woman with messy black hair and brown skin stands in a tattered green dress with her head down. An arid wind seasoned with the salt of the sea and the sand of the short beaches howls over them, and the woman's hair flies back behind her.

Sergeant Jarro turns to her and raises the back of his naked hand against her cheek, slowly stroking as a tear rolls down from her eye. His fingers graze against a small bruise above her cheekbone, and she flinches away from him. Somewhat concerned, Jarro asks "which one of my men hurt you Nadia?" He points to the crowd of Askarai natives being guided up and off of the ship, "was it one of those slaves?"

Neither of his questions spark a response in the young Nadia, and he dismisses them with a heavy sigh. He watches as the slaves aboard his vessel are escorted to the docks, and catches a glimpse of Zayn glaring at him with wide and disturbed eyes as he walks up the stairs to the surface deck.

"Don't look!", says Azhir.

Zayn dips his head down and whispers, "That's her! It's the same woman who was crying all night when that man Edward died from his wounds. She's with the Sergeant."

"It doesn't matter anymore Zayn, there was nothing you could've done. Besides, who knows what that woman did to get captured by that man. Lets just be glad that it wasn't us," says Yvette.