Of Monsters & Men

Chapter 5.3: Oagard

The sun was scorching down hard on the prison wagon that lazily made its way down the dirt trail leading north. The wagon was surrounded by guards using the same pointy helms and face masks Oagard had seen in the city. They marched on relentlessly, rarely looking back.

The caravan had left the bustling port city days ago, and for as far as the eye could see, all that dotted the barren landscape was a few shrubby bushes, dust covered stones and an acacia tree or two. Reddish brown rock formations could be seen far off on the southern horizon, and the only other living beings in sight were merchant caravans and lone travelers every once and a while.

At the head of the prison wagon, which was pulled by two strong bulls, was the dungeon master atop a reddish stallion. He wore typical Kyrosi garb and constantly took sips from a water horn be carried at his side, much to the envy of his peers and prisoners alike.

Ton had remained unusually silent ever since they left Tarsh, and Oagard could only regret not having joined Namir at the brothel. At first, he had kept his hopes up, believing the incident in the tavern to have been nothing more than a cruel twist of destiny, but now, his lips cracked from dryness and his body weak from hunger, he couldn't help but harbor a bitter resentment in his heart towards the faun he had aided.

Other prisoners were in the wagon with them as well; among them a skinny old Kyrosi man and two young faun brothers, their horns barely poking from out of their heads; this made Oagard the only dark elf in their company.

Just then, a glimmer of reflected light caught Oagard's eye and, peering at the dungeon master atop his horse, he could see his royal Astarite scimitar, given to him by his father, at the wicked man's side. Anger boiled inside of him from head to toe, threatening to drown him in his own rage. He was about to curse the man when the wagon stopped abruptly, followed by the guards who stopped marching as well.

The dungeon master unmounted his horse and greeted a group of men that approached them, arms extended. The men all rode beautiful horses decorated with fine silks and gemstones, clearly indicating they were very wealthy. Their leader, a large, bearded man with a Kyrosi hood, held a small leather pouch in his hand. He tossed it to the dungeon master.

The elven prince had no idea what was happening, but the look on Tonkawa's face was enough for him to know that it was nothing good. The young faun brothers were shaking in fear and the old Kyrosi man, who had passed out from the heat just a few hours back, was slowly coming back to his senses. Oagard continued to watch intently.

The muffled voices and heavy accents would not allow him to understand what was being said, but he could see the dungeon master weighing the leather pouch in his hand and smiling after he found the weight pleasing to his covetousness. The two leaders then clasped forearms and walked towards the wagon. Oagard held his breath.

As they approached, Oagard noticed that the bearded man had a leather whip which he carried at his side, and judging by the look of terror on the twin fauns' faces, he deduced they were being sold to slavers.

'They're all yours.' Said the dungeon master, smiling cynically at Tonkawa.

The other slavers who accompanied the bearded man immediately grabbed Oagard and his companions and led them by the scruff of their necks towards the horses that were waiting nearby.

Without resistance, and with no choice but to comply, Oagard allowed himself to be led by the slaver at his back and stopped only stopped when the bearded man ordered them to halt.

Turning his head, he saw the lead slaver grab the old Kyrosi prisoner by the chin. He turned his head from side to side, inspecting him closely.

'This one's too frail to even make the journey to Titanfall.' He said finally.

The dungeon master shrugged. 'I didn't even charge you for him. The dungeons were just too full to keep him.'

'What crime did he commit?' Asked the slaver, caressing his beard pensively.

'I committed no crime.' Interrupted the old man, his voice cracking from age and hunger. 'Is it a crime for a man to refuse to pay abusive taxes when his wife is ill and in need of expensive medicine that could only be bought with tax money?'

'Is this true?' Asked the bearded man, turning to the dungeon master.

'Taxes are taxes.' He replied with a shrug. Oagard wondered if it was even possible for him to hate this man more than he already did. He didn't even know his name, but felt like he knew him to be the the most terrible person he ever met.

'What do you want from me?' Asked the lead slaver, turning his gaze once more to the elder.

The old man's eyes widened in hope. 'All I wish is for you to set me free sir. My wife; she is still very ill and will most certainly die without my aid.'

The man caressed his beard once more, most likely considering the man's offer. The silence made Oagard wonder if this slaver had a heart, despite his low views on the value of life. He took his time, considering the man's offer. 'Very well.' He said finally. 'I grant you your freedom.'

Before the old man could express his gratitude, the bearded man took a long dagger from his belt and plunged it into the man's gut, twisting it as it entered his body and causing the man to scream in pain. Oagard suppressed an indignant shout; his shock upon viewing the murder rendering him speechless.

The elder slumped onto the bearded man's body, gasping for air as tears streamed down his face leaving trails of dust on his wrinkled cheeks. The slaver held him up by the shoulder and looked him deep in the eyes, savoring the man's agony.

'I wish your wife well.' He said with a smile before pulling out the dagger and allowing the man to fall bleeding on the floor.

As Oagard looked away, he could hear the other slavers along with the guards and dungeon master laughing in the background, amused with the injustice that had just taken place. Meanwhile, the bearded man clasped arms once more with his business partner and signaled for the other slavers to lead their prisoners once more toward the horses. They tied them to their saddles with rope and turned their steeds with clucking sounds, ready to head north to Titanfall.

As Oagard followed, yanked on by the rope tied to his chains, he could only help but wonder what fate lied ahead of him. He missed his home deeply, but before tears of longing could stream down his face, he was reminded of the bitter truth that he would most likely carry for the rest of his life; he had no home.