The gates of Ironhaven rose above the small group as they approached. The massive iron-bound doors that were reenforced with thick beams of dark wood and ancient rivets. Despite the obvious age they stood unyielding, symbolic of the brutal efficiency of the city behind them. The road leading inward towards the yawning portal was well worn, not by travelers seeking fortune but instead by the relentless passage of the enslaved and those who profited off of their suppression.

  As they drew closer to the entrance of the city, Xavier shifted his posture to better mimic the mercenaries they had passed. He stepped forward with the self-assured gait he had observed in the clusters of sell-swords. He kept his expression blank and unreadable as if nothing surrounding him had any effect on him at all. Ella and Lianna followed close behind him, their heads were lowered as they moved in practiced submission. What made them stand out was the fact they were armed and armored, fighting slaves by appearance. They kept their hands well clear of the weapons they carried so as to not give the guards reason to suspect them. Behind the women, finally, came Valkra and Frostclaw. The two great felines moved in near unison, light and shadow trailing the group giving the impression of guards on the fighting slaves.

  A pair of guards bearing the sigil of the Kingdom of Arenvalis stood at the checkpoint just before the gate entrance. They were clad in reinforced leathers with plate accents, a long sword at their hips and a heater shield slung across their backs. One, clearly a grizzled veteran who bore a hooked nose and scar that twisted the corner of his mouth into a permanent scowl, barely looked up from the table and his papers. As each slaver group passed by his attention fixed on the coins that flowed from palm to table to chest, the concerns of the slaves themselves beneath him. The second guard, younger but no less hardened than the first, straightened as he noticed Xavier’s group drawing closer. His eyes flicking from Xavier to the two “slaves.”

  “Papers,” came the demand from the scarred guard. He did not bother to look up expecting simple compliance.

  Xavier drew out his papers and handed them over without a moment’s hesitation. They were the documents they had used at the first checkpoint and had been crafted carefully in Verdantspire to withstand scrutiny. The older guard barely spared them a glance while he flipped through them with the air of practiced disinterest. He only glanced up for a moment until Xavier dropped several coins on the table as he had observed the previous groups do.

  The younger guard, however, was much more attentive. His gaze lingering on Lianna for several moments longer than necessary. His lips curling into a cruel smile at the sight of the collared Iskari.

  “Not often you see one of these properly collared,” he mused aloud as he tilted his head admiring her form. “Snow leopard stock usually bite harder than they are worth. Did this one give you any trouble?”

  Xavier didn’t hesitate to answer, his arm reaching towards Lianna and his fingers curling on the metal ring around her throat. With that grip he pulled her closer.

  “Not yet,” he replied, his voice clipped with irritation. “She took some work to break her, but she knows well what happens if she were to forget her place.” His thumb caressed the runed metal as if to suggest its use in punishment.

  Lianna, for her part, remained utterly still after coming to stand at Xavier’s pull. Her ears flicked once, a miniscule barely noticeable betrayal of her tightly restrained fury at the situation.

  The younger guard grinned clearly enjoying the show of force. “Good, that kind needs the right reminding of their place.”

  On Xavier’s other side, Ella carefully schooled her expression to neutral, however the tension she carried in her shoulders was palpable. They had expected interactions of this sort, they were routine and commonplace in slaver communities, that didn’t make it any easier to tolerate, however.

  The older guard, done with his inspection of the papers and coin, finally waved a hand. “Their papers are all in order, they are clear. Move along”

  With that the scrutiny on them was gone, the moment of tension passed. They stepped forward and through the gaping maw of Ironhaven’s gates, and the city swallowed them whole.

  Inside the city their senses were assaulted anew. The streets of Ironhaven were a tangled web of uneven stone, narrow alleyways, and only served to channel the thick air the cacophonous odors of unwashed bodies, sewage, smoke, oil, damp wood, forge-fire, and a myriad collection of other revolting scents. Overhead the light of the moons were dimmed by the thick smoke and haze produced by innumerable fires changing the glow to a sickly reddish purple from the combined light.

  The mess of alleyways and buildings was cut though by several main throughfares and side streets. The throughfares had cages lining the sides of the streets, filled with those unfortunate captives awaiting their eventual fates. Some of these caged individuals were silent, resigned to their captivity. Others were either pleading or cursing those who passed by. In a few cages small forms huddled in corners, children too weak to cry or call out. Xavier’s jaw clenched painfully at what he observed but he forced himself to keep walking by, he could not free them all. Not yet at least.

  The crowds flowing through the streets were thick, sell-swords, slavers, merchants, all moving in a steady current, the lifeblood of the business and trade of the crossroad city. As they walked the trio observed something in the distance, a raised platform stood in the center of the market square. A permanent slave auction platform, where daily sales took place.

  Lianna kept her eyes down and forward, but her tail stood rigid betraying her overall disgust. Frostclaw, silent and watchful, padded along just behind her his ears pressed flat in his own discomfort at the surroundings and his mistress’ stress. Though the great beast was careful to keep his distance ensuring that no one truly associated the pair.

  Valkra on the other hand, moved past the women to keep close to Xavier’s leg instinctively feeling the tension in the air. She had no grasp on slavery but recognized the predatory mien of the slavers and mercenaries.

  Ella spoke softly, her voice cast low enough to be lost beneath the chatter and noise of the crowd. “What is our first move… Master?”

  Xavier tensed at the appellation but took a deep breath before speaking. “We need to get our bearings. Ironhaven seems to not be just slavers, its mercenaries, contracts, power struggles. There has to be a thread we can pull to find the right people and a way deeper into what is going on.” He paused and glanced towards the platform, “and we see who’s being sold next. Those slaves we were tracking will end up on the block eventually.”

  They maneuvered through the throng, careful to keep to the edges of the crowd to keep from being separated and enabling them to watch what was going on around them. At the center of the market the next auction of the evening was already underway. A line of captives stood at the stairs to move up onto the platform. The slaves were shackled though their expressions ranged from resignation to defiance depending on their individual situation.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Upon the platform stood the auctioneer. He was a round bellied man whose greed and slimy nature was on easy display. With a flair of theatrics, he called out the bids and details of the slaves brought up to the block. “Fine Animari flesh from the far north,” he called out. “Strong backs, obedient, perfect for labor or fighting chattel.”

  Xavier forced himself to impassively watch each slave brought to the platform. He memorized faces, details, buyers and locations where they were claimed to be from. Some of these people had been taken in raids, usually as the auctioneer stated, in the lands north of the Wildlands. However, others more than likely came from raids on caravans or from the small settlements in Silverwood and the Ironpeak mountains.

  The line had dwindled to nearly finished when a familiar figure was drug up onto the stage. Xavier recognized her from the caravan they had been following. While the other slaves had been tied to the wagons with rope she alone had been chained. She must have been the runaway. The one they had tracked and followed the trail of her escape and recapture.

  Her clothes hung in tatters, once-functional traveling gear had been reduced to ripped fabric and frayed edges. Dirt clung to every seam, blood dried into rusty stains across one sleeve, and a deep purple bruise blossomed across her right cheek, swollen slightly beneath a trail of dried blood where the skin had split. Despite the filth, despite the injuries, her posture was defiant. Her back remained straight, long rabbit like ears flicked forward in sharp alertness, and amber eyes burned with wary fire, watching the square with the cautious, calculating gaze of someone who had survived more than once.

  The auctioneer gripped her arm tightly, twisting it with just enough force to make her wince, but not enough to drop her gaze. The Leporini’s muscles tensed beneath the touch, not out of fear, but restraint. It was clear she was strong, a fighter, perhaps even a former gladiator, and the only thing keeping her from retaliating was the knowledge that doing so would bring more pain.

  Her legs were scraped and bruised, but steady, her fluffy tail twitched in subtle agitation. One wrist still bore the chafed, raw imprint of a restraint, and a fresh lash mark peeked out beneath the edge of her sleeve, an attempt to force obedience, clearly resisted. She was not broken. She was cornered, trapped, and painfully aware of it, yet still watching, still waiting, still seeking to escape. Because something in her refused to kneel.

  She had been brought up on the stage with the last of the “merchandise.” From the sounds of the crowd most of them found the others more desirable products and few had the desire to fight or expend too many resources for a wounded runaway. It made the bidding process short when her time finally came. Her price, while still high was paltry in comparison to the others and Xavier was able to secure her purchase.

  When Xavier first raised his hand to bid Lianna had stiffened and scowled at him until she realized what he was doing. Ella remained silent but gave the slightest of nods to him when he looked to her. It had only taken a couple bids before the challengers went silent. Xaiver had expended minimal effort, and better, minimal coin for the woman.

  He stepped over to the small desk at the side of the stage and presented his forged identity papers and several large golden coins to cover the cost. The inspection of his papers was shorter than at the gate, the bore all the correct markings. The scribes in Verdantspire had been meticulous in their work and as far as the clerk was concerned it was just another routine transaction and soon the updated paperwork on the Leporini was completed and it along with her collar’s rune was passed to Xavier.

  The slave was shoved down the small stairs and towards Xavier’s group. Lianna reached out and steadied the rabbitkin woman without a word. Ella stepped in beside her murmuring something to low for others to hear causing the newly purchased slave to stiffen for a moment before scowling in distrust.

  For his part the auctioneer, finished with the spectacle, moved on through the crowd and the moment passed as quickly as it had come. The market was done for the day and slowly the gathering started to break up and go their own directions.

  Something intrinsic had changed though. For the first time since Xavier’s group had entered the Wildlands they had actually done something. Though the mission and the breaking of the yoke of slavery was far from over, a single chain was on the brink of snapping. Its collar now held by one who detested its meaning.

  With his new “purchase” in tow, Xavier’s group moved deeper into the city, one step closer to the hidden truth within its walls. The streets of Ironhaven were dim and oppressive by the time they slipped away from the auction square. The echoes of haggling voices, the clink of coin, and the low moans of defeated slaves still lingered in the air like ash after a fire, but Xavier and his group didn’t stop. They kept to the shadows, moving with practiced caution until they came upon a smaller lane, tucked between a pair of squat stone buildings where the stench of the market began to fade. There, half-hidden beneath ivy and soot, hung the sign of a small inn. It swung gently in the wind, creaking against rusted iron hinges.

  The paint was faded, but the carving remained clear, The Emberdrift Hearth. Its image was simple but deliberate: a lone fox curled beneath the roots of a gnarled tree, fire smoldering within its hollow trunk. The edges of the flames were charred, almost as if the wood had been burned for real. Beneath it, a single, deliberate inscription had been carved: Sanctuary to those who seek it. Shelter to those who keep it.

  Lianna tilted her head, studying the imagery. “It’s meant to be subtle. If you don’t know what you’re looking at, you just see an old inn.”

  Ella gave a low, approving hum. “And it’s just far enough from the main streets. Less scrutiny. Less chance of being overheard.”

  Xavier didn’t hesitate. “Then it’ll do.”

  Inside, the inn was quiet, its main room lit with low-burning hearths and flickering lanterns. A single barkeep nodded at Xavier without asking questions. The right coin bought more than just a room; it bought silence.

  They secured a modest room on the second floor, tucked away in the corner of the inn where the walls were thicker, and the single window faced the back alley. The wooden beams groaned softly under their weight as they stepped inside, the space just large enough to fit them all.

  The Leporini sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her small rabbit-like tail curled tightly into a ball against her back. Her ears flicked slightly, betraying her tension even as she fought to appear unaffected. She had been silent since leaving the auction, but her amber eyes remained sharp, flicking between each of them, weighing their words before they were even spoken.

  Xavier crouched nearby, resting his forearms on his knees to meet her gaze without looming. “You’re not a slave here,” he said simply.

  Her ears twitched and her gaze narrowed but she did not flinch. “It did not look that way in the auction.”

  Ella stepped forward, gently setting down a steaming cup of herbal broth from the tray she had retrieved below in the common room. “That was a cover. We needed to blend in to get this far.”

  Lianna leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed. She hadn’t spoken much since the auction, but her gaze never left the Leporini, not out of hostility, but calculation.

  The rest of the room was taken up by furniture and the two furred forms of Valkra and Frostclaw. Though her eyes kept returning to Xavier the Leporini slave examined each in turn.

  Xavier continued, voice calm. “We’re not slavers. We’ve already freed others.” He hesitated, then added, “And when we leave this place, when we’re beyond Arenvalis’ reach, I’ll remove that collar myself. For now, what is your name? I cannot just call you slave.”

  She stared down into the cup, then looked up again. Her voice was low, skeptical but not hostile. “Sihri, Sihri Swiftclaw. So, what am I now?” Sihri’s amber eyes studied him, really studied him, as if she were searching for the catch, the unspoken deception that had fooled her in the past.

  Xavier didn’t hesitate. “Free in all but name.” Silence stretched, thick with the weight of trust not yet earned. He lifted her collar’s rune to his lips, having minimized the prompt to set her restrictions when it was first handed to him. “By my will, you are bound to my commands alone, no other restriction is placed upon you, until I can safely free you once again.” The runes on her collar flared with magical power updating the restrictions of the metal band before settling back to the normal dull state.

  Sihri stared at him in shock at those words until, finally, she nodded once. “Fine. I’ll follow. But I keep my eyes open.”

  Lianna smirked faintly, the ghost of amusement in her voice as she murmured, half to herself, “Good. You’d be foolish not to.”

  The tension in the room eased but never vanished. They were strangers, bound by circumstance, but trust was not something freely given. Not here, not in Arenvalis and especially not in Ironhaven. For now, Sihri was as she always was, watching, waiting, listening. For now, that was enough. A quiet if temporary understanding settled over the room as the night pressed in beyond the wooden walls of the Emberdrift Hearth. They would rest. But in the morning, the rebellion would begin in earnest.