When Kas entered the Black Ember Tribe, what shocked him wasn't the clamor of hammers striking anvils, the oppressive heat, or the toxic gases and dust particles hanging in the air.
It was the slaves.
A foreigner dressed in finery had lined up the slaves and made them stand at attention, their hunched bodies so emaciated that their ribs showed, awaiting the War Chief's inspection. There were men and women among them, and even a number of young children.
They were filthy and disheveled, like livestock awaiting slaughter, their eyes dull as they stood on the hard-packed street.
The foreigner wore a purple-red velvet robe and a round felt hat adorned with peacock feathers. A brass necklace inlaid with turquoise, agate, and jade covered his bulging belly, and pomade had polished his neat mustache to a shine.
He hurried over to Kaike, bowed, and greeted him in accented Reshman:
"Honored War Chief, it's a pleasure to meet you. I must report an injustice: the smithy refused to accept the materials I prepared for your glorious conquest.
This is a disgrace. He keeps saying this batch of materials is too fragile to withstand the furnace's roaring flames."
The merchant pinched one slave's chin and pried his mouth open with his fingers to show a set of fairly straight teeth.
"But look at them. I personally selected every one of these materials. Each is premium kindling that will burn for a long time."
Kaike glanced at the slaves the merchant had brought. They were clearly starving, and their frail bodies were fit only to be used as tinder for the Blood-Ash Furnace.
Kulan stepped forward and murmured in the War Chief's ear, telling him about the merchant.
The War Chief nodded, took the merchant by the hand, and led him to one of the slaves. He said courteously, "Honored Schnecke, I'm grateful that you've brought this friendship all the way to the Black Ember Tribe. Yes, they are precious—more precious to me than gold.
I'm very sorry for the injustice you've suffered. Please hand them over to me. When you set off for home, I'm sure your wagons will be filled with the friendship of the Black Ember Tribe."
"Of course, of course. Thank you for understanding, Your Excellency."
Schnecke was overjoyed. He had risked bringing a batch of slaves over the Sorrow Mountains and visited several tribes, but no one would take them because they were too frail.
He had come to Iron Peak Mountain on the off chance of finding a buyer, hoping to sell the slaves before winter. Otherwise, he would have to bear the loss himself and sell them cheaply to a clan that ran a mine.
The merchant left happily. Kaike shook his head in disappointment and looked over the substandard materials.
Keeping slaves was a luxury in the Sorrow Mountains. Food was scarce and supplies were limited. Only the War Chief and clan leaders had enough to spare to keep a few female slaves or servants. No one else would consider keeping slaves through the winter.
"Kas, pick a woman who looks decent. You're a warrior. You shouldn't be distracted by tedious chores."
Kaike lifted the chin of a woman with flaxen hair. Her fierce gaze struck him as rather novel.
"I don't like that look in your eyes. Slaves shouldn't have minds of their own, but I know young men like breaking in an unruly bitch."
He pushed the woman toward Kas.
"Learn to tame her. If she can't satisfy the strong young men of the Zagwell Clan, all the women here are yours."
To be honest, Kas knew this was a heartfelt kindness, but he couldn't accept it.
He put a hand on the woman's shoulder and smiled back. "My wife's right here, Kaike."
"She's only a slave. If Seneya gets jealous because you're paying a slave too much attention, she can exercise her rights as your wife and kill the slave who won her husband's affection. That'd make for an amusing story."
Kas shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He looked over the line of slaves and pointed to a black-haired man who seemed relatively healthy.
"Him. I want him."
"Oh..."
Kaike understood at once and gave him a knowing look. He pushed the woman Kas had refused aside, then leaned close and whispered:
"Boys always get into scuffles when they're young, and sometimes they develop a yearning for each other and want something beyond the physical.
"I understand that, but as Malik's blood-sworn brother, I have to remind you to leave the clan an heir..."
He glanced at the werewolf who had dissolved into dark mist.
"I mean a seed from the treetop of an oak, fallen to the ground."
Kaike went behind the man, tugged the reins around the slave's neck, and placed them in Kas's hand.
"Fine, but don't break him. It's hard to find fresh playthings in Ferode Canyon during winter. Ha ha!"
The War Chief clapped his hands and had the slaves taken to the Blood-Ash Furnace. A fool had died today, and a valuable set of blood-forged armor had been ruined.
He needed time to find someone he could trust to take Blackheart's place.
"Kulan, take our guest to the White House. The children of Ferode Canyon don't like the noisy dust of Iron Peak Mountain."
The White House was clean and sat on the edge of the Black Ember Tribe. Oaks planted there were coated in dust, keeping the poisonous fumes from the smelting works outside.
Clearly, the house had been built especially for guests.
Kulan lit the charcoal in the hearth and glanced at Kas, who was studying the wooden house's decorations. "The banquet will begin as dusk falls. We look forward to hearing the poet tell the legend of Iron Bone Morse again."
Kas nodded at the simple hint.
He knew the Ancestor would have to attend at least once. The honored guest of the Black Ember Tribe was the legendary Iron Bone Morse, not some unknown young clan member.
"I'll be there on time."
Kulan left, leaving only Kas, Seneya, and the slave he had asked Kaike for.
As for Morse... In Kas's eyes, the dead weren't people.
Kas told Seneya to rest for a while, then sat on a bench and beckoned the slave over.
The slave approached fearfully. He had seen the savagery of the barbarians of the Sorrow Mountains along the way, and now, facing an Iron Tower twice as broad as an ordinary man, he lowered his head and inched closer. In a hoarse voice, he said,
"My lord."
"You can speak our language?" Kas asked, curious.
"I learned a little from listening to Stad speak with the lords... I'm still not very fluent."
"What's your name?"
Seeing no murderous intent in Kas's eyes, only curiosity, the brown-haired man hurriedly replied,
"Isidore, my lord. My name is Isidore. I'm from Riverside Town in the Bashkui Kingdom, and I was a teacher at a school..."
Perhaps he thought the barbarian didn't understand what a school was, so he went on to explain, "A school is a place where children sit together and learn knowledge and culture..."
"Isidore, of course I know what a school is. Go on. I'm curious about your story. How did a respected teacher end up a slave?"
Kas leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied the man kneeling on the ground.
He looked about twenty-five. The dullness in his eyes had given way to liveliness now that he had a glimmer of hope.
Isidore's throat bobbed a few times. Kas seemed unlike all the barbarians of the Sorrow Mountains he had met. Beneath his reckless manner, his eyes held a clear quality untouched by custom.
"War. My hometown was overrun by the Haman Mercenaries. Those savages lived like beasts, burning our churches, schools, and libraries to the ground. They killed the men and abducted the women and children."
Before you continue