NAVI

ORIGINAL

FANFICTION

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UNCLASSIFIED

Chapter 1

Micah rubbed at his eyes tiredly. His fingers were stiff and smudged with ink from all the writing he'd done. His master had left ages ago, (probably to visit the nearest inn) and the house was quiet. Not that he minded. It was almost...peaceful.
Standing up, the boy stretched carefully, mindful of the bruises on his back. Hopefully his master would get so drunk and decide to rent a room at the inn for the night. Or maybe he'd get robbed by some cut-throat who'd decide to kill him for a silver Tsal.
Why do I bother hoping?
The boy stifled another yawn. His mind was wandering off on him again. That was a bad sign. If he wasn't careful, he'd make mistakes and get into trouble like last time.
Micah chewed at his lip. Maybe he would have a little rest, and then get back to it. There was no point in continuing if he was going to get everything wrong. He placed the quill back into the inkpot at his elbow and laid his head and arms on the desk. He'd wake up a bit later and finish it before his master returned...

* * *

He dreamt that someone was shaking him. He wanted to tell them off. To tell them to leave him alone. He was so tired. Why must his dreams torment him like this?
The shaking got harder.
Micah woke suddenly to find rough hands shaking him by the shoulders. Unthinkingly, he flung his arms out to try and stop the other man. Something fell off the table and smashed on the floor. The shaking stopped suddenly. He was grabbed by the hair and forced to turn around.
The boy's eyes widened in fear, as he came face to face with his master.
"Now look what you've done, whore" the man snarled at Micah.
"M-master...you...startled me...I didn't mean-"
Micah was cut off as the man backhanded him across the face. Hard. The slave bit his lip to keep from crying out.
"Didn't mean it?" the older man sneered. "I don't care whether you meant it or not, whore. I gave you a job to do. Not only do I come home and find you asleep, you spill my ink and tell me it was my fault for startling you??." The master's voice took on a dangerous edge. For a moment, cold gray eyes regarded Micah. The man's expression, however, was terrifyingly blank.
Fear twisted keenly in the boy's stomach, making him want to throw up.
Suddenly, he was thrown to the ground, landing hard on his back. Micah cried out as pain lanced through his back and side.
Ink seeped slowly into his clothing and hair as his master held him down effortlessly. The man then picked up a piece of the broken glass and held it inches from the terrified boy's face.
"I've been too lenient toward you, whore" the master whispered harshly, his nose almost touching Micah's. "If you won't learn from your past mistakes, then I'll just have to teach you the hard way. Perhaps pain is the only way to get through to you...?"
Micah flinched and closed his eyes as the man moved the shard of glass down to touch his cheek. Micah's master smirked as he traced over his slave's face lightly, taunting him.
"You have such a pretty face, little one..." the master whispered mockingly.
With his other hand, the man unlaced the boy's pants and pushed them down to expose the slave's thighs. Underneath him the boy whimpered softly.
He moved both hands, pinning Micah's arms above his head with one, and pressed the shard against the boy's thigh with the other. Roughly he forced the slave's legs further apart, and, ignoring the boy's screams, his master dragged the peice of glass down Micah's inner thighs leaving deep bloodied lines in its wake.

* * *

Rowan dismounted and walked his mare over to a nearby tree and loosely tied the reigns to a branch. Working quickly, he unsaddled his mount and set about making a fire. Once this had been achieved, the man retrieved a hunting knife and began to clean the rabbit he'd killed earlier. He didn't really like rabbit all that much, it was probably about as exciting as chewing on leather, but it was either that or starve slowly. He'd hoped to travel straight on to Silden and north into Romney without too much of a delay, but he was running low on supplies, and he was damned if was going to eat rabbit again for at least another three months. And a bath wouldn't hurt either, he mused.Rowan rubbed at his face, feeling the rough stubble underneath his fingers.
Why the hell was I so eager to grow hair on my face as a lad?...
The young man stood and walked over to the edge of the campfire. A few miles away, faint lights could be seen, growing brighter as the twilight faded. Rowan sighed. He'd have to resupply there. It wasn't that he hated cities, although the crowds got on his nerves, it was the fact that it was a Tenran city. Tenra was a small Empire to the south, which he unfortunately had to travel through in order to get to the northlands.While the the Tenrans were, on the whole, an exotic people, they were also infamous for their smuggling ring, pirates --and their slave markets. Being from the Ailanace, Rowan totally disapproved of the idea of a person being a slave. Someone else's property. It was utterly....barbaric. For the past hundred years, there had existed a peace treaty between all counties in the Realm, including Tenra. This was the only reason the Ailanace hadn't pushed Tenra to stop their slave trade. And since Tenran pirates didn't plunder Northland boats, preferring the Islands to the west, the Realm weren't interested in trying to control the problem. Rowan snorted. Politics could be so bloody stupid sometimes.

Suddenly remembering his dinner, Rowan hurried back to the fire. Careful not to burn his fingers, he picked up a piece of meat and put it into his mouth. And burnt his tongue instead. Swallowing quickly, he grabbed his waterskin and took a long drink.
Rowan glared blackly into the fire. This was going to be another long night. He could just tell.

* * *

As soon as Rowan had entered the city, Kanthal, he asked for directions to the market squares intending to get in and out of the city as quickly as possible.

Two hours later the Ailan's coinpurse was somewhat lighter and he had acquired a few vegetables, a wheel of cheese, hard biscuit, salted meat, rice and horse grain.
Checking off the items mentally, and, satisfied he hadn't overlooked anything, Rowan began to head in the general direction of the gates. Hoisting his travel bag onto his shoulder, the Ailan nearly dropped it as a sharp, stabbing pain exploded in his head. Stumbling slightly, he cursed. People nearby shot him curious looks, but didn't offer any aid. Instinctively, Rowan raised his mind's natural shields. Moving into a less crowded area, the swordsman stopped and frowned. Rowan was firstly a swordsman, but when his father had found out that he'd had latent magical ability, he'd been ordered to train those skills also.
Carefully reaching out, after making sure his shields were tight, Rowan traced the magic pattern. Brushing against the other mind lightly, the young man gasped.
Barely contained magic tried to wrap around his mind, which the Ailan pushed away gently. The other's magic was wild, having hardly any pattern at all. Emotions were intewoven with the magic and Rowan could feel the other's pain and overwhelming despair.
Quickly withdrawing his mind, the swordsman was stunned. Whoever owned that mind had a frighteningly strong amount of magic, but wasn't even trained! That could be a danger in itself.
In Ailanace, the magic school sent out masters to find children with talent and set to train them immediately. Without training, a person might hurt somebody without meaning to, or might receive damage to their mind because they couldn't control the ability. It was almost a miracle that this person hadn't gone insane with the amount of power stored inside.
It was highly unusual that a Tenran had such magic.
Rowan rubbed at his face, tiredly. The last thing he wanted to do was go hunting around the bloody city, but whoever it was definitely needed training.
And what are you going to do? Order them to leave their home and train? Threaten them?A small voice whispered in Rowan's head. The swordsman admitted that the voice had a point. I must be bloody crazy, or really stupid, doing this. Rowan thought, moving as he slowly began to pinpoint the other person. This was going to take awhile...

Rowan kept his eyes trained to the ground as he passed rows of pens, tents, caravans and establishments with questionable motives.
He was starting to worry. Long ago, he'd moved out of the market squares and into another quarter of the town. The slave quarter. Quickly, the Ailan had learned to keep his head down, therefore saving himself the trouble to having to explain over and over that no- he really didn't want to buy a slave and no - he wasn't interested in bedding one either.
Young boys and girls called out suggestive sounding things and traders haggled over prices for their slaves. Most of the slaves in this part of the quarter were young, with beautiful features and lithe bodies.
Well these defiantly aren't the housework slaves, Rowan thought bitterly to himself, hating this place more and more by the minute. No-one deserved this kind of life.
Checking for a sign of the other's magic, Rowan found that he was practically on top of them. Turning a corner, he felt the other's presence. Looking up, he found himself in front of a pen.
A man sat outside it on a crate, and was having a heated argument with a mean-looking man.
Scanning the pen, he saw a half-dozen young boys. Most looked miserable, and one look at their thin chests suggested that they weren't fed very well. Among other things.The swordsman reached out with his mind and found the signature.
It belonged to a young boy with cropped black hair, wide green eyes and a strikingly beautiful face. Rowan was taken aback. He'd never seen any boy look beautiful before. But then, he was Tenran, and nearly everyone looked extremely exotic here. His attention snapped back to the arguing men outside the pen. Hesitantly he walked over them and cleared his throat. They didn't even pause.
"Hey. Excuse me?" he inquired loudly. Both men turned to stare at him.
"What do you want, foreigner?" the trader asked rudely.
Rowan wasn't put off as he answered, "I want to buy one of your..uh...slaves".
The trader looked him up and down. "Strange to find one of your people interested in slaves, foreigner? How much do you bring with you?."
"Enough." Rowan said simply. He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. He had no idea how much slaves were worth.
"Then take your pick." the slaver drawled, amused.
Rowan didn't hesitate. "That one."
He pointed to the boy and both the slaver and the other man turned to look.
"The foreigner has good taste..." the other man remarked.
The slaver made a comment to the other man and they laughed. Turning to the swordsman, he said, "I'll get him for you, and you may look at him closely."
He opened the gate and beckoned to the slave.
"You! Ink-hair! Get over here!"
The boy moved to stand in front of Rowan, head bowed.
"How much?" Rowan was suddenly afraid of the answer.
The slaver thought for a moment. "He is young, pretty, and fully capable - that is, he has not been gelded -"
"What!!??" Rowan interrupted.
The other man replied blandly. " It is a common practice to castrate slaves, although not everyone does so. Some like their boys fully intact....though they can be less trouble if they're gelded. We can geld him for you, but it will cost you, foreigner...."
Rowan fought a sudden urge to punch the man's face.
"Ah.....no thanks. How much is he?"
"40 sildens" the slaver announced.
Rowan winced. There goes most of my money........ "I don't suppose you'd take 20?"
"35" "Done..." Rowan agreed, resignedly. The two men clasped wrists together to seal the deal.
Rowan handed the money to the slaver's outstretched hand. The swordsman stood in front of the boy, wondering just what the hell he'd gotten himself into. Rowan suddenly noticed that the boy had patches of blond in his hair- he reached out and tugged on a strand.
The dealer stopped counting the money, noticing the foreigner's scrutiny of the slave's hair.
"We had to cut his hair- it had ink all through it. The black will grow out soon enough, foreigner." he paused. "Perhaps you'd like a closer inspection of the slave?"
He muttered something to the boy, who then reached for the ties on his selta and he swiftly began to unlace them.
The Ailan caught on, shocked. Quickly, he grabbed the boys wrists.
"No" he shook his head.
"You do not wish to inspect your slave?" the trader questioned.
"I am in a hurry to get my other errands done. Tonight will be soon enough, I think."
Both Tenran's face's turned to knowing smirks.
"Have fun between the sheets with him, foreigner." The other man said lightly. Rowan just smiled tightly. He wasn't even going to dignify that with an answer.
Realizing he still held the slave's wrists, he let go as if burnt.
"Lace your selta." he motioned to the slave.
Walking away with the young slave, Rowan wondered what the hell he was going to do now...