''They were hungry, and so they were fed, is it so wrong?'' Tom said sternly. Khavin took a step inside, and closed the door shut behind him. Thalrick wondered where Jon had been, and hoped he would not find out about this until they were gone in the morning. He did not know how cruel the older slaver was, but predicted Jon would not be forgiving if he were to know. Khavin took a step forward, and slid a knife from his leather belt. It was a knife made for cutting beef and chicken and pork, but Khavin used it to slice off ears and fingers and noses. The innkeep took a step back.
''See this, see it?'' the slaver asked menacingly, brandishing the knife before him, ''I've cut off more flesh than you've made hot stews, innkeep. I know how to cut a nose right off, clean, too. While you spend your waking days cutting up potatoes, I'm out in the great world, cutting off toes and fingers and ears and tongues. I'd stick ya with this and you'd squeal, I wager.'' He took a step forward, and Tom another back. The slaves were between them, but it did not matter. Khavin was quick for an old man, and there was nowhere for his host to run, lest he could squeeze out from a hole in the wall. His round belly would deny him that escape, however.
''What're you getting at, slaver?'' The innkeep asked nervously, lifting up the pot like it was a shield. Khavin cackled, one that reminded Thalrick so much of Jon. He hoped he would not enter through the door, for he was void of any reason and would kill the innkeep immediately. Maybe Khavin would give the generous old man a chance. A cold wind rolled in through the patchy walls, one that suited the mood. Thalrick got goose-prickles.
''I'm merely telling you a tale, now you will return the favour. Tell me, Tom Sternshanks, why have you fed these people without my consent? Surely you understand that they are all my property, and the property of my companion.'' Khavin asked curiously. He spun the knife around in his hand, slicing at the air. Tom gulped, and breathed a heavy breath that made his shoulders rise and fall.
''I fed them on account o' them not getting enough supper. They all look starved, and so I fed them. A man should be nobodies property, I say. This is a life we're talking about here, not a piece of clothing or a bloody cow!'' Tom had anger in his voice, and his skin soon went a dark shade of red. Thalrick hoped he would not do something he would regret. It would be a life on his hands, a man who had died because of them, just common slaves.
Khavin had a giggle at that. ''No, they're not bloody cows. Cows would be more loyal and obedient. You may not believe in slavery, innkeep, but it's real and it's happening. These people are all property of another, whether you say so or not. And for you to feed them without their owners permission, well. . .'' he pointed the knife at the innkeep, ''that's plain treacherous.''
Tom threw the pot aside, breathing so hard that his anger nearly became materialised. ''You come into my home, my inn, and call me treacherous? You are under my roof, and so you follow my damned rules. And a rule of mine is to always keep my guests well fed. They may be treated as animals, forced to sleep in the bloody stable, but they're still my guests. And I will feed them. I've treated you kindly enough, so why not them? They've got stomachs to fill just as you have, and a starving mouth is not a healthy one. How do you expect them to work for you on empty stomachs?'' By the end of it, Thalrick could tell the innkeep was trying to keep things calm, trying to keep his life. He needed to reason with the slaver, make him see the beneficial side in it all. At first, it seemed like it had worked.
''Hmmm, you are right. They do need to be fed. But they also need to know discipline and punishment, and treating them like gods for no reason teaches neither.'' he took another step forward, this one bringing him within arms reach of the group of slaves seated on the ground. The innkeep was backed up against the pillar in the centre of the lane, and so had nowhere to go without looking like he had been fleeing. ''you should have consulted me first, you should have asked. Maybe I would've granted it. . .'' he inhaled, breathing in the aroma of the little stew that remained, ''and it smelt so good too, mayhap me and my companion would've wanted some for ourselves. I thought you wanted your guests well fed? And my own belly grumbles so.'' He took another step forward, his knife clutched down by his hip. The innkeep's fury quickly turned to fear, as he had nothing but his fists to protect him. Khavin mustered a throaty laugh.
Don't hurt him, petch you, don't hurt him. . .
''I am an easy man to offend, innkeep, it's a flaw of mine. You've offended me, now I have nothing left to do but--'' the slaver was cut off as the foreign rat-looking man jumped at his leg, yanking on it so hard that he toppled to the wet hay below. Before he had a chance to react, another bald slave jumped forward, and wrestled the knife from his hand, while the rat man held him down. The foreign man clawed at the slavers shoulder like the beast he was made out to be, biting and clawing deep into the flesh until it began squirting blood. The other man pressed his own weight against Khavin to hold him down, using his bound hands to punch the old man over and over again in the face. The bald slave was broad and heavyset, so every blow made a sickening thud that sounded like bone shattering.
A minute later they both stood up, and what was once a face was now a gruesome mess of blood and damaged bone. His eye had been nearly popped out of the socket, and his cheeks were swollen and bruised. His tunic had been torn at the shoulder, with claw marks that could have came from a mountain lion, scratches so deep they had torn into his muscle and exposed fat. Khavin was still alive, but barely. They all thought him dead, until he coughed up bile and blood all over himself. ''Petchin'. . . Petchin' bastards. . .'' he said, barely able to speak in more than a whisper. Armin suddenly breathed a heavy breath, picked up the cast-iron pot in both hands (for how else could he, they were bound), and stormed over to his former master.
''This is for Alya,'' Armin groaned, and slammed the cast-iron pot against the old man's chest, he coughed and struggled for air, and then Armin hit him a second time, and then a third, each time proclaiming who the hit had been for. The second had been his ear, the third for Bethany's nose, and then the next dozen all blurred in together in the blonde boys rage. When he was done, Khavin's features in both face and body were indistinguishable. He was the product of his own cruelty, all gore and blood and bone. Armin dropped the blood-covered pot beside him, breathing loudly, trying to stop himself from starting again. Then, he turned back to Tom.
''I'm sorry about your pot, and your stable.'' He said politely. Tom shrugged, and managed the best smile he could. It was hard to smile when he'd just watch a man be beaten to a bloody pulp in front of him. ''Better he than us,'' he said, and waddled over to pick up the knife, ''I'll cut you all loose, and you run, you got it? You run until your legs damn well fall out from under you. That fat one's still alive and he won't take kindly to what happened here,'' he began sawing through their ropes until they were all loose, but when it came to Thalrick, he frowned, ''what, what's this boy? You play up or something?'' He did not know what to do, and went to tuck the knife away in his pocket. Armin interjected.
''Let me take that, innkeep. For our protection.'' He held out a hand, and Tom thrust the knife into it, nodding. Some freed slaves had already started heading for the door, but Armin did not. He stood there, all lean and ragged, his long blonde hair clinging to his cheeks and neck, his clothes wet and stained in mud. Bethany put a hand on his shoulder and urged him to leave, but he did not.
''I am not this man's slave, I am under Jon's command. You should hurry and go, you are free now. Have a good life, Bethany Tankler.'' He told her when she tried to yank at him to move along. The copper-haired woman looked so furious she might have slapped him, but instead she just turned and walked away, after the rest of them. Thalrick could hear their foot steps outside, slow at first, but they soon burst into runs. The foreign rat-looking man had bid them farewell before leaving, then shut the door and started his journey back the way they had came. The innkeep looked at Armin like he had just seen a ghost.
''Are you crazy, boy? Why don't you go, why don't you escape? You're free now, you have no bonds. . .'' He said, in a tone almost as frightful as when Khavin had been alive. Armin just shook his head.
''By law, they were freed when the old goat died. I am not free, bonds or no bonds. Jon bought me, and I am his property. I doubt he'll punish us with death. He does not seem like a man that would care about anybody else aside himself, does he Thalrick?'' He asked, and Thalrick shook his head.
''No, he doesn't, he's cruel and selfish, like any other slaver. But. . . but why are you staying? You can go, he won't catch you, I can say you went off in a different direction, lead him away from you all. . .'' He proposed, just as confused as Tom was as to why Armin had not fled. The tall boy shoved a comforting hand on his shoulder and rocked him back and forth gently.
''Well, there is still the matter of your freedom, I am not going anywhere until you can too. It simply wouldn't be fair.'' he smiled then, but it quickly faded into a frown when he looked over at the innkeep. ''I'd wager my good Jon will think you had something to do with this, innkeep. You should hide yourself until the morning, we can tell him you went off somewhere, and that might be enough to lead him away and keep you safe. Thankyou again, for the stew.'' Tom wanted to say it was not a problem but his lips couldn't find the words. He only nodded and smiled, then left the stable to find a hiding place.
''Tonight's sleep may be . . . unpleasant,'' Armin began, looking over at the corpse, ''but the morn, I fear, will be twice as much so.'' He didn't say anything after that, and instead found a spot amongst the hay that wasn't so damp, where he rested his head and soon drifted off to sleep. Thalrick did the same, or at least tried too. The smell of the dead ran too rampant through his nostrils, the thought of impending freedom too rampant through his mind . . .
Perhaps soon, Jon will die just the same, and there will be nobody to command me. . .
He smiled up at the hole-covered ceiling, and for a moment, he thought he had seen the stars form a smile back. |
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