The Slave World Abductions Ch. 04

"You, lad. Are you leashed and life-linked?"

A leash is basically an invisible chain linked to the owner. He can't escape. Any footsteps will always bring him back. Life link means he can't kill his owner either. His owner dies, he dies.

"Leashed yes'm but not lived. It makes me easier to trade. Please don't kill me sir. I have to obey his orders."

"I'm not going to kill you. You had no choice. Any legal bond on you, with transfer of ownership?"

"No sir."

"Come here." I smeared glamour on his brand and gave him a bag, same as the lass. "Get on down to Umbra. Get to the Alfheim consulate if you can. They might get you out. Try to avoid the inn near the border. It's got a pig demon roaming about."

"What about the leash?"

I put a bullet through the innkeeper's head. "That won't be a problem."

The two former servants scampered out. I shot the other tiefling, put the rest of the gold and silver in my purse, and went to double-check the rooms.

Satisfied no one was left, I planted a couple of phosphorous grenades on two straw beds and set a timer. I came across a barrel of paraffin at the entry way to the kitchen, stuck a phosphorous in there and went to the stable.

I deactivated the spell on the chestnut, saddled him, trotted out of the village, and set off at a gallop down the road.

The chestnut made good pace before I slowed him to a trot. We made good time for a couple of hours. I looked back occasionally for signs of a posse.

A flock of birds flew up near a turn in the road two miles back. A field of tall grass stood to my right. I scanned for dangerous animals and spell traps, finding none. I steered the chestnut into the grass, made him lie down, and chanted a spell returning the trampled grass to its former state. Then I laid behind the horse and waited.

In short order, I glimpsed five riders, all tiefling, at a hard gallop. Definitely a posse.

I let them pass, but I'd have to deal with them later. I'd either run into them on their way back, or they'd set an ambush up ahead. The surroundings were mostly grassland now, with few trees. Tromping through the grass wasn't going to be easy but there was no help for it.

I came across them an hour later, after I crested a rise. They were at a crossroads. Tilled fields beyond meant I was back in farming regions.

I laid the chestnut down again and took out my rifle. I took a look through the scope. The day was warm, partially cloudy, with a light breeze. I wished I had a spotter but that couldn't be helped either.

****

"You think he went this way?" Rocas the Miller asked.

"Naw, he probably went into the grass soon as he heard us," Sheriff Carac answered.

"How do you know?" asked Tarca the Merchant.

"Instinct and scrying sense. I've chased enough fugitives to know some of the tricks. We should've doubled back. There's a spot, I think, where he left the road."

The others nodded. Carac was a good sheriff. He brought in good revenue with fugitives, and saved even more with escape prevention.

"The inn's a total loss," Parcar the Butcher growled. "No more revenue from that and my brothers murdered besides. I'm going to flay this whoreson alive, sell his giblets in my shop, and give the skin to the tanner."

"Get in line," snarled Nemeda the Procurer, "I had a good stake in that inn. That pig-spawned human's cost me five gold a month. Taras (the innkeeper) was a good fuck too."

"You sure the info was good?" Rocas asked.

"The human saw him go down this road. No reason to lie, given the money he wanted," the sheriff answered.

"Loved the look of surprise when you cut his throat, haw!"

Carac grinned a savage tiefling snarl at Tarca. "I loved the extra money we found on him. Greedy fuck."

The sheriff turned his head down the road. "He'll be coming up soon. Don't hurt the horse. We can fetch a fair price for it at the Market."

Crack!

"What the bloody hells was that?!" Carac looked startled at Rocas. The others looked around confused... except for Parcar. He was on the ground, dead eyes staring at the heavens, his head ruptured like a melon.

"What the f..." Carac started, then his head exploded. Another crack followed a split second later.

Nemeda barely had time to react before something hard struck her chest. She looked down, confused, at the hole in her sternum, coughed blood, and collapsed off her horse, dead before she hit the ground.

"Black sorcery! Run!" Tarca said no more afterward. His head went the way of the sheriff and Parcar.

Rocas managed to get his horse to a gallop. He got a few yards before a bullet caught him in the throat, nearly decapitating him.

****

The whole thing lasted a minute. When the last tiefling went down, I put away the rifle, let up the horse, mounted, and rode past the bodies.

I have no regrets killing these tieflings. They were slavers after all. I shooed away their horses and set my path towards Felldis estate.

****

The farms grew more frequent, the further I traveled into Cassari. Then they grew larger.

The crops ranged from wheat to cotton to fruit orchards. The number of indentured servants and slaves, working the fields, increased as well.

Some of the owners and overseers were present. They were a mixed bunch, dark elves mostly, plus tieflings and a few humans.

One can see the Svartalfheim hierarchies at work in Cassari. Tieflings heavily represented the overseers and foremen. Dark elves, the owners; humans were present in all occupations. Indentured workers and slaves were mostly light elves and humans, and a rare orc. Orcs rarely allowed themselves to be taken prisoner, much less slaved. It was usually the other way around.

Slaves, indentured, overseers, and owners all looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

The farms grew into estates and plantations. The properties were separated, by fencing for the smaller estates, then stone walls for the bigger.

One wall, a twelve foot limestone, topped by an iron fence, extended for ten miles before I came to a large, imposing gate.

It was solid iron; no elaborate designs other than bolts, and large iron words in elvish script welded to its surface: Felldis. This was the place.

****

I made the usual scans. Security and repulsion spells were powerful and state of the art here. Breaking in would take too much energy. The obvious approach was the direct one.

I dismounted, went to the gate, and used the knocker; difficult, the darn thing was pretty heavy. It made a loud noise. I suspected a sound amplification spell.

I went back to my horse and waited. Ten minutes later a slit in the gate opened. Hard, cold eyes peered at me suspiciously, then the slit closed.

Another ten minutes. A door, unnoticed initially, in the gate opened. A large door.

A very large, very imposing orc wielding a nasty looking ax stepped through, followed by an equally imposing ogre with a mace and, finally, a much less imposing pipsqueak of a goblin. Of the trio, he was the most officious, gazing at me with open contempt.

"We have nothing for vagabonds here," he sniffed, "Move along."

"What makes you think I'm a vagabond?"

"Lady Felldis has no appointments scheduled and neighbors message before visits. The common folk dare not come near. So you're a vagabond, or maybe a tinker. We have no work for tinkers either. Go away."

The orc and ogre made menacing moves. I menaced back, opening my coat to reveal my gun, my bullets, and knives. They didn't know a gun, or the grenades, but they knew the knives.

"I am not a vagabond, or a tinker. I am, however, here to see the Duchess. A legal matter has arisen regarding a recent purchase on her part. She needs to be informed, and to discuss options for a resolution."

The goons looked at each other, unsure. The goblin was pensive.

"What legal matter?"

"Purchase of illegal contraband."

"Nature of the product."

"That's between me and the Duchess."

"We don't want trouble."

"That's up to the Duchess."

The trio were silent. All three retreated through the door.

I braced myself, raising defenses, with my hand on my sword, and the other near the gun. A whole bunch of goons could swarm out. I had to be prepared to kill a lot of them.

The big gate opened instead. They didn't swarm out. I mounted the horse and rode in.

The inside entrance was a gatehouse, like a big box with blockhouses on each side. The trio were waiting, along with twenty odd orcs and ogres. All bore an array of battleaxes, maces, spears, and all were armored.

I kept myself on the ready. The others kept their distance. The tension dripped from the ceiling.

The goblin stepped forward. "We're going to escort you"

"Just you three. The others stay here, and keep your distance."

The goblin sniffed and walked ahead. I set the horse to a trot and followed. The orc and ogre kept to each side, walking fast to keep up.

The goblin kept a steady pace in front of me. Goblins are fast walkers.

My first impression, when I viewed the Felldis estate, was of the movie Giant. The part where Elizabeth Taylor and Rock Hudson arrive at his ranch, and she gets a good look at its sprawl.

The difference here was much less dust, more green grass, close cropped. Reata meets Tara.

Orchards were to my left, lemon trees it looked like. My right was a huge immaculately landscaped yard with a few cherry and apple trees interspersed.

The goblin saw me looking.

"We also grow cotton here," he said with a little pride, "As well as bees for pollination and honey. We make the best cider, mead, and lemonade in Svartalfheim."

"Good aesthetics here," I remarked. Privately, I wondered at the amount of slaves it took to maintain this place. Alfheim and the other realms have Svartalfheim under economic sanctions, officially, but thriving black markets keep the Department busy.

The end of the path led to a small house. That's Felldis manor? I wondered if the tiefling did a con on me.

I realized as time went on, I was looking at an illusion. An illusion not of magic but of perspective. The path was longer than I thought.

The closer we approached, the larger the manor grew. Trees lining the path on either side obscured its true size. When we came to the end, I couldn't help but feel awe. This wasn't a manor. It was a chateau easily matching Versailles.

"Impressive."

"I thought you'd be," the goblin smiled.

The orc and ogre were sweating by the end. It was a long walk but I'd expect better stamina from these two.

I also noted the lax attitude of both the guards and the goblin. It occurred to me the reason came from Lady Felldis' power. A daughter of the Lilium rarely needs personal protection. The guards at the gate were there for show, and to police the estate. I suspect the goblin thought he was leading me to slaughter.

A broad marble set of stairs, much like the Potemkin stairs, led up to the entrance.

"I'm leaving you here," said the goblin, "The steward will see you at the door. Just ring the bell."

"Thanks for the escort."

"I would wait to escort you back but I won't see you again," the goblin grinned savagely. "That's a nice looking horse. I suspect it'll fetch a good price at the Market."

I chanted the spell I used at the inn. "Keep waiting," I said ascending the stairs.

"That spell ends on your death. Which will be excruciatingly painful, I suspect," the goblin flashed a poisonous grin and walked away. The other two followed with savage chuckles.

I choked down a retort. I wasn't quite sure the goblin was wrong. It all depended. How strong were my shields, the nature of her defenses, her attitude concerning the Compact.

The door to the chateau was stout but elaborately carved mahogany. A rope dangled to the side. I tugged, a faint musical note sounded.

The dark elf who opened it several minutes later, looked on me with even greater contempt than the goblin.

Dark didn't describe his skin color. He was obviously a drow from Surtur, an extreme northern kingdom above Skartaris. The drow was pale, like an albino, with snow white hair, tied in a severe pony tale, and ice cold blue eyes. His suit was immaculate, blue satin, with knee breeches, and white cotton shirt and hose, and white suede shoes.

He didn't speak so much as sniff, "The servant's entrance is in the back," and moved to close the door.

I blocked it with a foot and a spell. "I am not a servant. I am here to see Lady Felldis on a legal issue."

The steward's face was stone but his aura radiated intense hostility.

"If you're a lawyer, you should have sent a messenger for an appointment."

"The issue came up recently, and I have other related errands. I wish to see the Duchess to resolve it, in a quick and efficient manner."

The steward raised his nose higher, but let me in with extreme reluctance. He led me to the parlor.

I gazed around, impressed again. Light and airy, plenty of crystal, and pastel. Unusual for a denizen of the Fell regions.

"Wait here while I notify the Duchess."

"No, show me to the Library."

The steward's expression mingled, disdain, outrage, and incredulity.

"The Library is for honored guests. A human such as you certainly does not qualify."

"Would you like me to start breaking things here, starting with you? The Library, now."

The drow had some magic. Some of the crystal vibrated. I stared back, ready for a chat. Ultimately his control won over.

"Follow me," he tersed coldly.

I followed him, defenses on the ready. This guy might be unpredictable.

The rumors of the Library, if anything, proved understated. The place gave main city libraries good competition. Rows on rows of high shelves, full of books. It didn't have the musty smell of old libraries however. In fact it smelled, "New. New construction?"

"An ongoing project," the steward answered, with less disdain and some pride. "The new Librarian is redesigning the Library and categorizing the books. She's become Lady Felldis most valuable investment."

"Hmmm," Shame to spoil it but... "I'll meet her here then. The Library table over there."

It was near the center of the room, table and chairs, like the door, dark polished mahogany.

The look of outrage on the steward's face almost brought a laugh to my mouth. A low born inferior human, scruffy, dusty, and fresh from the road, sitting at the immaculately polished table in his mistress' library; outrageous! I smiled to see him nearly apoplectic with indignation.

"Whom, may I ask, should I say wishes an audience?" he didn't quite grit his teeth.

"Just tell her an agent of the Department is present to discuss the legal issue."

The steward's eyes widened for a second. He knew what Department I was talking about.

"And she comes here. I don't go to her."

The steward nearly burst. "I shall inform her immediately." His quick departure was more about keeping composure.

Under normal protocol, I'd pay her proper courtesy by waiting in the parlor, until summoned. I dispensed with protocol, in part as a power play, in part to demonstrate the seriousness of the issue.

I sat at a chair at the end of the table, draping my coat, and setting my hat on the surface, and I waited.

The Librarian.

Kim walked through the rows, inspecting the work so far. She'd managed to get one section of the Library remodeled and organized, but by all accounts, an enormous amount still needed to be done.

The new shelves for the east wing were not complete, and work on the floor had just started.

The engineer hired by the Duchess was setting up plans for the new lighting system. Kim didn't quite understand it. The system was primitive by her standards, but effective. She explained to her mistress, ether, without the "A", had a different meaning on her home world.

The thought of her mistress brought fresh heat to Kim's pussy. The Duchess' tongue on her clit was a good memory, among many from last night.

Kim's snatch was dripping from the Duchess' whip, before she flipped the Librarian on her back to eat her out. Kim shrieked herself hoarse from ecstasy. It was the best fuck yet.

Clear your head girl. Kim needed another distraction. Days were for the project, nights were for fucking.

She went to a stack removed from the old shelves, and selected three books of poetry by Taurian of Atlantis. Atlantean script was difficult to get through by any means, especially the archaic writing, but months of intense study brought some understanding.

Still, she needed more work to properly categorize the tomes. She carried the books to the completed section. There was a man at the table. He was black.

Not many black people lived in Kim's old neighborhood, nor had she seen many on Slave World, not even in the pens or dungeons.

She'd gone to school with some, and was even friends with a few. Her parents were okay with her being friendly, but opposed her dating one of "Those Negroes." Her uncles sometimes bragged of "Busting nigger skulls," during the busing riots of the seventies.

Dark elves weren't exactly black by human standards. They came in shades of white, gray, and a kind of black with hints of blue. Their hair was invariably white too. This man was human.

His skin was dark brown. His short cut hair, dark and woolly. He was dressed like Indiana Jones or Rick O'Connell. A trench coat was draped over the back of his chair. A wide-brimmed hat was on the table, along with a satchel. A pack lay on the floor beside him.

He wore a vest over his khaki shirt, throwing knives, grenades, and bullets in the pockets.

The man was cleaning a gun when she came in. He looked up at her approach and smiled.

"Well, this is going to be easier than I expected," he said. "Kim O'Brien? I'm Maxwell Grant. I'm here to rescue you."

To Be Continued.