Master (Book 5) by Robert J. Crane

Author:Robert J. Crane [Crane, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Midian Press
Published: 2014-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 43

The square was a depressing place, a center for a city caked in the grime and dirt of the swamps and ovens, unclean and still possessed of that same stink. Cyrus walked along steadily, waiting for no one but not outpacing his army. He could feel them at his back, waiting, following, and it carried with it a reassurance even in the silence.

The sky above held an odd tinge of yellow, the sun refracting through a large cloud. Plants sprouted in the cracks between the dusty dirt roads, making the city look half-abandoned even though he knew by what had happened only moments earlier that this was not the case.

“There are slaves in some of the houses,” Vaste said from behind him, and Cyrus halted at the edge of the square. He turned around to look upon his army even as he shot a glance at Vaste; the army seemed to be in fine condition. Bodies of their foes, on the other hand, lay strewn in the street on either side, giant green-skinned mounds pushed out of the thoroughfare and abandoned.

Cyrus felt a sigh build behind his lips. “Assign groups to go house to house. Do trolls understand the human language?”

“Well enough to get the job done, as you just witnessed by your speech,” Vaste said. “Still, I can handle this; there are only a few words of troll necessary to convey the meaning we’re looking for, and I think I can make myself understood.” He paused, and then let loose a sonorous voice that seemed to reach up to the yellowed sky above. “Unchundah, for-unadhn, Cyrus Davidon! Charenay, ghruntal yas jhraunsah, erti chraumastie!” He adjusted his robes as he stopped speaking, and Cyrus could hear nothing but bare silence over the army and the city.

“What did you say?” Cyrus asked.

Vaste stared at him, unblinking. “‘Now comes the master of your city, Cyrus Davidon of Sanctuary; make way for him and cast out your slaves, or he will become the master of you through spell and sword.’”

“How poetic,” Vara said, and try as he might Cyrus could not discern whether she was being sarcastic or not.

“I’m not making myself master of anyone right now,” Cyrus said as he caught motion in the doorways behind them. He stared, and bodies began to appear from behind the cloth curtains, haggard figures with bowed backs, ranging in size from gnomes to men of a height with Cyrus himself.

Cyrus stared; fewer than half the homes had cast out slaves. He pondered it for a moment and cast the gaze over his army. “Find out from each of the slaves just cast out if any of the neighboring houses are harboring unfreed slaves.” He made a motion with his hands, which was matched by immediate movement in the army.

“And if they are harboring unreleased slaves?” Vara asked, sidling closer to him so that she could lower her voice. “What then, oh master of Gren? Spell and sword?”

“If need be,” Cyrus said, coldly watching the street.

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