The Dragons' Graveyard: The Dragonspire Chronicles Book 3 by James E Wisher

Author:James E Wisher [Wisher, James E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781945763526
Publisher: Sand Hill Publishing
Published: 2019-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Ten men and three women had been sold off before the first refreshments appeared. Ten attractive, scantily clad women wearing slave collars and carrying trays laden with mugs entered the auction hall through the main door. They fanned out through the gathering offering drinks and tolerating pats and pinches. This was what they’d been waiting for.

Yaz discreetly tapped Silas on the shoulder and murmured. “It’s time.”

Silas gave an imperious wave. “For the gods’ sake, my mouth is dry. Fetch me a drink and fetch it now.”

That was Yaz’s signal. One of the serving girls was headed their way, no doubt having heard Silas’s outburst. Yaz hurried to intercept her.

“I would have brought it, Master,” the girl said.

Yaz took a mug and smiled. “No need. My employer can be grabby if you take my meaning. You, I suspect, have had enough of that for one night.”

“Gods bless,” she whispered before hurrying off to find another thirsty patron.

The relief in her voice broke Yaz’s heart. He allowed himself one breath to grieve for her situation then hardened his will. He had a mission and others counting on him. That girl was beyond his ability to help.

Yaz brought the mug back towards Silas and when he got a few feet away faked a stumble. Red wine splashed all over Silas’s ridiculous outfit.

He sprang to his feet and bellowed, “Damn your clumsiness! That’s the third mess you’ve made this week. Get out of my sight before I thrash you!”

Silas raised his staff and Yaz cowered. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Yaz ran for the exit, chased by the derisive laughter of the other buyers. Bastards! Let them laugh. Nobody would ever think someone as pathetic as Yaz would do something like sneak off to the records room.

The grinning guards even opened the door for him. One tried to kick him in the butt to speed his retreat, but Yaz dodged it. The moment he was in the clear and the door slammed behind him, he straightened and turned right. Yaz walked with purpose down the hall, a servant on a mission. Whenever he didn’t want a chore as a kid, Yaz would do his best to look busy. His mother knew him too well for such a gambit to work, but he was convinced the theory was sound.

His footsteps echoed in the empty halls. Silas hadn’t mentioned any guards during his scouting run, but that was the middle of the night and this was an hour after noon. Hopefully everyone was busy with the auction. As he followed the labyrinth passages it quickly became clear that the slavers didn’t have much use for decorations. Everything was gray stone with an occasional sconce for torches. It was depressing, not that he expected slavers to be interested in interior design.

At the final turn, Yaz froze. In the hall beyond, a single guard dressed in familiar leather armor and carrying a heavy curved sword stood watch. The man didn’t appear to be protecting anything in particular.

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