Chapter 3: Market Day
The black-sheep slavers led us to the front of the port.
A long wooden stage waited there, the kind built for hanging—tall enough to scare you before anyone even touched a rope.
Just then, Rowanda appeared behind us. She muttered something about her brother, the emperor, coming.
So she was royal.
Lucky me.
A bell rang.
The crowd shifted like a tide, making a path without being told twice. A silvery carriage rolled in, pulled by three white horses so clean they looked like they'd never stepped in mud in their lives.
It stopped by a second stage—fancier, polished, with two fancy chairs that looked like they cost more than my whole town.
Guards hurried to open the carriage door. They set down a small ladder.
First, a man stepped out in a fine blue cloak. I couldn't tell what it was made of, but it didn't move like wool.
Then a woman followed, wrapped in a matching blue dress. A veil covered her face, so all I saw was the shape of her and the way people bowed without being asked.
A short bald man climbed onto the fancy stage, followed by a small boy who held up his cloak like it was a sacred duty.
The bald man raised his hands and shouted, "People of Ilana! I represent your Emperor Gendry Alfaro of Ilana, the magnificent master—ah…"
He hesitated mid-speech.
Then he bowed toward the boy and whispered.
The boy shrugged.
The bald man's smile twitched, but he recovered quickly and pointed toward the man in the blue cloak.
"Trader Theo," the emperor said, already bored. "You can get off the stage now."
Trader Theo practically ran down the steps and scurried toward our hanging-stage like his feet were on fire.
"Your majesty Rowanda," he began, "before the trading starts, the emperor must have—"
"Must have a quarter of our spoil first. Yes, I know," Rowanda cut in. "I already sent one hundred and fifty slaves to his palace, to do as he pleases. And a quarter of the gold and silver we found, which wasn't much."
She waved a hand.
"Can we start selling now?"
And just like that… we became items.
They sold the strongest men first.
Mine owners bought many of them. Those men were branded with a circle on the chest.
Builders bought some. Those men were branded with a triangle.
After the men, they sold the women.
The women didn't get brands. They got tattoo marks instead, ink pressed into skin like a gentler lie.
Then came the young girls.
Some were bought for cleaning and cooking. Some for sewing. Some for work people didn't speak about loudly.
Then came us.
The boys.
Some were bought for farming. Some for shoemaking. Some for training—fighting stock.
And then there were only six of us left.
All skinny. All small.
No one wanted skinny boys.
Trader Theo looked us over like he was trying to decide whether we were worth the rope it took to tie us.
His eyes lingered on me too long.
He muttered something about my face and the kind of buyer who paid extra for boys who didn't get chosen.
My stomach turned.
There was no way I was going to end up like that.
So I did what I always did when I was desperate.
I looked for an exit.
And I saw a workshop nearby.
An armoury, more specifically.
My mouth opened before my brain could stop it.
"A blacksmith!"
Trader Theo snapped his head toward me. Rowanda did too.
"What did you say?" they asked at the same time.
I swallowed and forced my voice to stay steady.
"Put me in an armoury," I said, "and I'll make you weapons like the sword you took from me. My father was a blacksmith."
It wasn't the whole truth.
But it was close enough to live.
Trader Theo's eyes gleamed. "Let me see that sword."
"Say please," Rowanda snapped at him.
Trader Theo forced a stupid smile, eyes too eager. "Pretty please, your majesty."
Rowanda finally tossed him the sword.
Theo examined it like a priest touching a holy relic.
"Yes… yes. Fine blade. Fine metal. Beautiful work." He frowned, running his thumb too close to the edge. "Ow! Too sharp."
Then he looked at me.
"Where did you get this sword, boy?"
I lifted my chin and smiled innocently. "I made it myself. My father taught me."
Rowanda's eyes narrowed. "You? I doubt you can lift a hammer with those skinny arms."
"Put me in an armoury," I said again. "And you'll see."
Rowanda stared at me for a long moment.
Then she spoke.
"I want half a dozen swords by tomorrow morning."
My heart jumped.
Then she pointed at two of her men. "Take him to the armoury. Guard him until morning."
I tried not to look relieved.
Because relief is how traps win.
They shoved me through the city and into the armoury.
Inside, an armorer was asleep on a chair, reeking of beer. The slavers shook him and told him he'd be working with me. He only grunted and nodded like his neck was too tired for words.
Then the guards stepped outside the door.
I immediately started searching for a way out.
There was a narrow passage in the back. I slipped through it and found a door at the end.
I shoved it.
It didn't move.
It was barred from the outside.
I cursed and kicked it hard.
"Door won't open, boy," the armorer grunted behind me. "Been barred for eight years."
I turned.
He had a big belly and skinny legs, but his arms were hairy and thick with muscle, like he'd wrestled iron for a living.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"Name's Brandon," he said. "And you're in my armoury. Who are you, boy?"
"I'm Leno," I said. "And I'm looking for a way out of here."
Brandon snorted. "There's only one way out, and you used it to come in."
He scratched his beard and nodded toward the city beyond the walls.
"Even if you escape, where will you go? West is cannibal forest. East is dryad forest—no one passes there. South is ice, mountains, and miles of death before you find habitable land."
He leaned back in his chair.
"So you should start making those swords… before someone decides you're not worth keeping."
I swallowed.
Then I did the only thing I still had that belonged to me.
I sat on the nearest chair, pulled out Grogan's book, and opened it.
I hadn't opened it since I stole it.
I had no idea what was inside would change my life forever.