He’d grown tired of counting the number of times he’d been sold, bought, resold, and bought again over the past year.
The only thing he liked here in the north was the night sky with its colorful plumes of light. They sliced through the black velvet of the night, making the barbarians and desert dwellers gasp in amazement and the northerners smirk.
They called it the Ancestral Glow. Sankesh hoped that somewhere out there, amidst the emerald, violet, and pink light, his mother was living a happy afterlife.
Chapter 418
Already accustomed to these fairs, Sankesh immediately took the most favourable position for himself. Among the slaves who had ridden with him, no one thought that the more you cost, the easier it would be for you to survive. The proud barbarians refused to undress and, accompanied by the buyers’ laughter, received painful jabs from spears and other weapons. One girl, a former warrior, got her nose broken. Now she would cost a lot less.
Girls were in great demand in the north. And not because the northern men wanted to have sex with them. Northern women participated equally in military campaigns, hunts, and skirmishes. So, they needed maids and babysitters, and they didn’t want to have a freak hanging around in their house.
All the slaves, twelve of them in total, stood on the dais. Stripped to their underwear, they shivered and huddled together. At the moment, even a tiny bit of warmth was more important to them than any wealth or even their freedom. A person couldn’t survive half-naked in the north for long.
The bidding began with one of the barbarians.
“He’s a strong fighter,” the caravan leader proclaimed. “Don’t laugh! In his homeland, in Balium, such a hero would cost you at least a tenth of an Imperial coin!”
Compared to the desert dwellers, the Baliumian really did look like a giant. Broad-shouldered, muscular, and pale, he towered over the others by a head.
When Sankesh heard the price the owner was asking, he could barely suppress a grin. In Balium, a person could buy a whole squad of warriors for that sum! And in the other barbarian kingdoms as well. Damned beggars…
As a result, the barbarian was sold for a quarter of an Imperial coin. After that, the usual bidding began. The caravan leader ruthlessly stripped the northerners. After living in their wilderness, they knew almost nothing about the outside world. Only once a year, in the spring, when the snows melted and opened the passages, did they go to trade in the capital of their province. Sankesh guessed that those who sold goods (mostly precious furs) were glad to profit off the ignorance of their countrymen.
“Finally, our last lots.” It all felt like a circus as the caravan leader pointed at the three remaining figures on the platform — the girl, her mother, and Sankesh. “Let’s start with the boy. His name is Sankesh. Strong, healthy, tall for his people’s standards. He’s still quite young too — only fifteen springs!”
He deliberately understated Sankesh’s age, and, while describing his characteristics, showed off his teeth, his muscles, and banged his stick against Sankesh’s tendons. He also mentioned that the slave would be able to make his master a few more slaves and forced Sankesh to lower his pants for a while.
“As you can see, despite his small stature,” Sankesh did look kind of tiny compared to the northerners, “he has a considerably large…”
The slave trader didn’t finish his sentence and just smirked instead. Several of the northern women grunted, and the men looked at him without envy, simply eyeing him pragmatically. Sankesh was used to it. Moreover, it was the organ in his pants that had allowed him to leave the previous auctions as a very valuable slave. No one wanted to buy a slave who couldn’t procreate. Many of the northerners bred them and then sold the offspring.
“Let’s start with... half an Imperial coin!”
Sankesh almost choked on air. For that kind of money, you could buy an Earth level artifact weapon in the Sea of Sand! When the bidding reached one and a half coins, he stopped trying to apply the standards of the desert to the northerners. He himself wouldn’t have paid even a twentieth of that for himself.
“Two coins,” a heavy bass thundered.
A white-haired man stepped forward. Almost eight feet tall, he was as broad as a bear, and his strong muscles were visible even under his furs and armor.
“Chief,” the slave trader saluted. They slammed their wrists together. The bracers on their hands clanged.
“I’ll take that girl, too. My grandchildren need a babysitter. Who will challenge me on this?”
In the north, there was only one law which everyone, including the local konungs, obeyed: glory to the strongest, humility to the weak. Those who had the power could do as they pleased. Anyone could challenge that in the simplest and most direct way — challenge them to a duel.
Naturally, no one dared challenge the chief to a duel. Maybe there were a few people among those present who were more powerful, but no one dared to go against the chief’s authority... Sometimes, power wasn’t just about one’s muscles and weapons. The slave trader also didn’t dare to object, and the chief got two slaves for the price of one.
“Mother!” The girl screamed in the desert language as the guards tore her out of the woman’s arms.
“No! No!” She cried, bursting into tears.
The woman lunged toward her sobbing daughter, only to be sent sprawling to the ground by a powerful slap. The slave trader’s boot pressed the woman’s head into the icy boards. Ulcers burst. Muddy goo drenched the snow.
“Take. Me. Pray. Daughter. Pray.”
The girl’s mother spoke the language of the northerners quite poorly. The desperate mother didn’t take her pleading eyes off the chief. He gave her a cold, appraising look and shook his head.
“No one will buy this wretch,” he thundered. “Finish it, trader. Don’t torture the poor mother. Let her go to her forefathers.”
Even without knowing the language, the woman realized what was going on. She probably knew that she was worthless to them. The slave trader knew it too. At the fair, he’d bought the girl, and her mother had been part of the deal. Knowing that the northerners greatly appreciated young girls, he’d decided not to skimp and had taken both. The girl had felt more comfortable with her coming along, after all.
“Mom! Mom. Mom…” The girl sobbed, trying to get out of the guard’s grip.
“Be strong, Aisha, be strong!” The mother cried, seeing her end coming. “I love you, my dear girl.”
“MOTHER!” Aisha yelled as the slave trader pulled a dagger from his boot.
“Cover her eyes, Sankesh.”
Sankesh couldn’t refuse a dying woman’s last request. Walking over to the guard, he cautiously reached out and, seeing that he wouldn’t be knocked away, covered the girl’s eyes. She screamed as if her soul were being dragged out of her. When the final wheeze of her mother sounded, Aisha went limp in the hands of the northerner. The girl had fainted. Perhaps that was for the best.
The bidding was over, and the slave traders were already preparing for the trip back. Although slavery was a legal practice in the north, the slave traders weren’t respected here. No family was willing to house those who had soiled themselves with such a trade.
The buyers took the slaves back to their houses, and those who’d been left empty-handed discussed the possibility of buying the first ‘litter’ — the children born from the slaves breeding. They would be treated the same as puppies. They would be taken from their mothers at birth and brought up at their new masters’ houses.