Read [Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers for Free Online

without. When Honus and Yaun passed through the sagging and unguarded gate, the smell of sewage assaulted their noses. The rude buildings inside the walls were shoddily built and blackened by smoke from foundries that stood ready to melt down gold or silver at a moment’s notice. Most were marred by graffiti, and none looked caringly maintained. Despite the warmth, only the taverns had open doors and unshuttered windows.
    The narrow streets seemed remarkably crowded, considering the town’s isolation. Most of the pedestrians were inspecting items laid upon the ground; some were haggling with vendors; and the remainder were drinking or brawling. Everyone seemed edgy, causing Honus to speculate that they’d heard news of the battle. More than a few he spied seemed preparing to flee.
    Yaun was obviously familiar with the tangled lanes, for he led Honus without hesitation to a small stone building near the town’s center. A knee-high stone cube stood in front to display the establishment’s human wares. Yaun pounded on its iron door, and eyes appeared behind the slot near the door’s top. “We wish to purchase a slave,” Yaun said.
    The eyes traveled from Yaun to Honus. “Is the Sarf with you?” asked the voice behind the door.
    “Yes.”
    “He must leave first.”
    “The slave’s for me,” stated Honus.
    “For you, Karmamatus?” asked the voice in oily tones. “Times are indeed strange.”
    “You know me, Peshnell,” said Yaun. “This is no trick.”
    “Karmamatus,” said the man in the dark, “do you pledge your word to preserve me and mine?”
    Honus arched his thumb across his chest, making the Sign of the Balance. “I so pledge.”
    The eyes disappeared. Then came the sound of a bolt being drawn. The door opened, spilling sunlight onto a stone floor covered with soiled straw. A smell like that of a filthy stall issued forth and overpowered the stench of the street. Several ragged figures sat huddled against the far wall. A sharp-faced man with a scraggly black beard stepped into the light. His long, brightly colored robe contrasted with his dismal place of business. He smiled, revealing missing teeth. “You’re fortunate indeed. I’ve acquired fresh stock.”
    “From where?” asked Honus.
    Peshnell shrugged. “Who knows? But I was told the children are bred slaves.”
    A harsh voice echoed from deeper inside the dim room. “Outside!” The figures rose and there was the clink of chains. A large man with a thick switch in his hand and a club dangling from his leather tunic approached the slaves. The switch whistled, and a sharp snap mingled with a cry of pain. “Move!”
    The slaves stumbled out the door in single file, for an iron ring locked their right ankles to a heavy chain. They were barefoot and wore identical gray garments—loose, sleeveless tunics made of cheap, flimsy cloth. All the tunics were the same size, so that upon the children they nearly dragged the ground, while upon the adults they didn’t reach the knees. Three men, one woman, and two children stood blinking in the sunlight.
    “The old man can figure sums and…”
    Honus cut Peshnell short. “I’m interested in the two young men.”
    The leather-clad guard, a burly version of Peshnell, unlocked a pale-faced man from the chain. Honus watched him mount the stone block. “This man has a wound,” he said. He lifted up the man’s tunic to reveal a sword cut on his upper thigh. Pus oozed from the gash and the skin around it had already turned black.
    “It’ll heal,” said Peshnell, “but, for you, I’ll reduce his price.”
    “I’m not interested,” replied Honus. “It’s a marvel he could even mount the block. Let me see the blond fellow.”
    The slave stepped down from the block, this time not attempting to hide his pain. The guard made a move to lock him to the chain again, but Honus’s hand gripped his shoulder. “There’s no need for that,” he said. “That man’s going nowhere. Let him die