Bound by Truth Page 7

  “Your motto, if I recall,” Holt said with a nod. Reed smirked at the goateed man before turning to face Dora again.

  “I have a gift for you, young lady. As payment for you services the other day.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble,” Dora protested, but the elderly crime lord waved her off.

  “I pay my debts. Take it, please.”

  Nodding hesitantly, the half-orc approached as he reached into his robes, which had somehow remained pristine despite the grime and dust everywhere.

  Reed handed the young woman a small wooden case. It was plain, but possessed a heavy looking iron lock.

  “The key,” Reed said with a smile, passing Dora a hefty wrought iron key. Taking it, she carefully unlocked the case, opening it and revealing three ceramic jars.

  They were more like thimbles with the amount they tiny containers could hold, but each one was of impressive craftsmanship. One was blue, one was yellow, and one was green. They were nestled in soft padding and enchanted with simple durability effects to prevent cracking.

  “This, my dear, is an Assassin’s Set,” Reed said proudly, pointing at the individual pots. “Blue contains Salve of Slumber, yellow has Salve of Sharpness, and the green one holds some Dread Poison. Each jar has enough to coat three or so daggers or crossbow bolts, or one sword.”

  “Um, thank you,” Dora said, not sure how to respond to this sort of gift.

  “It’s insurance, my dear. The Dreadlands are not kind, as you well know, but you have yet to truly see the depths of depravity that lurks here, and in the hearts of men.” Reed’s voice was sharp, yet his eyes held a knowing look. It was as if he knew a secret Dora should have known as well, but was pitying her for not possessing it.

  She bowed her head in thanks as she closed and locked the box

  For some reason, Dora could tell that Scarrot was torn between appreciation of the gift, and annoyed at the way it had been handed over. And deep below those two emotions was a third she couldn’t immediately identify, and it was repressed too fast to properly notice it. Had it been envy? She wasn’t sure. And why would the old orc have that emotion in him?

  “Say what you want about the disciples of Arshold, but they know their way around hazardous substances. As to be expected from the followers of the God of Poison,” Reed said, grinning as she tucked the case under her arm.

  Thank you, sir. I’ll make good use of them,” Dora replied.

  .

  That evening, as she sat in her tent, Dora carefully examined her new possessions with a more critical eye. The contents of the pots were thick, viscous oils that were meant to be smeared onto a weapon. What their effects were, she could only hazard a guess from their names.

  Removing the cork from the blue ceramic pot, Dora leaned in to take a whiff of the azure goo. Her nose went numb as she did.

  After stoppering the container, she lifted up the yellow jar next, and this time a faint hint of steel came to her from the piss colored substance, just barely noticeable through the numbness of her nose.

  As she hefted the green jar, a snort of laughter caught her attention.

  “If you sniff that one, at least let us tie you down first,” Reesh jokingly called out as she slipped into her tent.

  “What are you doing, Reesh?” Dora asked, a tinge of annoyance at the breach in privacy.

  “Boss wanted me to teach you about what you’ve got in your hands, lest you hurt yourself or others. That green stuff in your hands is Dread Poison, also known as Nightmare Oil. It causes pain and the target to hallucinate some of their worst fears if it gets into you. A whiff might cause you to panic a bit, so we wanted to avoid that.”

  “Alright, thank you for stopping me. But next time wait for me to allow you inside,” Dora scolded. The handyman raised his arms in surrender.

  “Fair enough. Now, the blue stuff is Salve of Slumber. It basically induces unconsciousness in its victims. That whole pot might keep someone out cold for half a day at most. What makes properly made Salve of Slumber scary is that nothing can wake you while under its influence. Neither magic nor a bucket of cold water. So be careful with whom you use it on.”

  Dora nodded, making room on her cot for Reesh to sit on so he could explain their uses of the alchemical substances.

  “Next is Salve of Sharpness in the yellow bottle. It’s probably the most useful of the three in my opinion. Anything you coat with it becomes insanely sharp, like someone cast a Sharpening enchantment on the weapon. And with that oil, you could technically turn even a wooden spoon into the equivalent of an iron dagger with enough salve.”

  “Impressive,” the half-orc praised. “These three items seem very useful. How much would it cost to buy it?”

  “Each bottle would probably run you about fifteen gold each,” Reesh said, his grin widening as he watched Dora do a spit-take without any water.

  “H-how? What?”

  “They’re fairly uncommon potions to begin with, and the ones who make the best stuff, Dead Flask, are servants of Arshold. After the War of Fallen Gods there aren’t many of them left.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Dora accepted.

  Framed by the World Rebellion for the assassinations of hundreds of notable people across Erafore, the cult of dark alchemists Dead Flask had been hunted to near extinction centuries ago. Only in recent years had they begun to recover their former glory.

  Looking over the painted ceramic containers, the young Healer felt a surge of appreciation for the extraordinary gift.

  Reesh jolted her from her revelries with a heavy pat on the back before standing up.

  “Best get some shuteye, Dora. We’ll be up early preparing for the long trek ahead of us. And, you’ll have a new friend to watch over. Fun, fun, fun!”

  Dora rolled her eyes at the fake cheeriness in the man’s voice. “Don’t sound too excited, Reesh. Wouldn’t want others to think you actually liked us, would you?”

  “Heh. Yeah. Alright, pleasant dreams,” the repairman of the convoy said, stalking out of the tent without a backward glance.

  The half-orc couldn’t help a small smile creep across her face. Reesh was perhaps the one person she was the closest to in the entirety of the Yellowmoon Menagerie.

  Uldo, while silent, always was there to help if someone needed it. But he rarely spoke. Most newcomers to the caravan believed him to be mute, and maybe a little bit simple.

  There was Rindel, the gnome, who was like an uncle to her. He always made sure she had enough toiletries and food, and the diminutive Quartermaster was a font of wisdom on tidbits and knowledge on the world around them.

  Holt was a decent man, but busy. He kept the books, and interacted with customers who might consider Scarrot no better than a dumb brute and try to cheat him for that.

  Dora frowned as she thought of the leader of the Menagerie. He was an enigma to her. He refused to call her by her name, and she had yet to figure out what exactly ‘Ildora’ meant in orcish, since it didn’t mean anything in any of the other languages she knew.

  And the way he acted; aloof but constantly watching her. As if he expected her to bolt or break from what she had to do as a slave trader. Or hoped she would break, and leave the Menagerie.

  She shook her head, clearing away her thoughts. This wasn’t the time to ponder her relationships.

  Pulling the tent flaps closed and sealing them with wooden toggles slipped through holes in the fabric, Dora got ready for bed. A part of her had a bad feeling about this whole deal. Where exactly was the caravan headed that everyone she knew feared and refused to speak of it?

  .

  Dora shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting next to Scarrot for Reed to arrive and deliver the items for transport.

  The boss of the caravan was not happy to be used as a delivery service, his mood further soured by the thought of who and where he had to go to.

  For Dora, she was experiencing something akin to excitement alongside her jittery nerves. She’d never had friends, an
d the few women she’d encountered since leaving her home for a life in the Dreadlands had been enslaved or cruel taskmistresses. For her to be in charge of caring for another female for the duration of the trip gave her hope she could have something close to kinship for but a brief moment. And although this woman would be a slave, Dora could at least try to make an acquaintance. Brief though the relationship might be.

  “It’s always a pleasure to see youngsters up and early and ready for the day to start,” the creaky voice of Reed called out.

  He approached the pair with a smile on his face, though it was sadly a forced one. He leaned heavily on his cane, each step measured due to pain.

  Dora unconsciously stepped forwards, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him back to where she’d stood earlier. That his guards did not move to attack her was something she was belatedly grateful for.

  “It’s not much, but this should keep you on your feet for the rest of the day,” Dora whispered, discreetly casting a few minor healing spells on the aging mayor of Creidor.

  “My thanks, little lady. Scar found himself a good follower,” Reed said with a nod of his head in thanks.

  Once he was sure he could act without pain, he gestured to the armed men behind him. There were only two, but they were dressed in ornately tooled leather armor and wielded curved swords, Shamsirs she believed they were known as, which were popular in Saluda. Just a single glance was enough to show that each one was at least B-rank in terms of combat skill, and had total loyalty to their employer.

  Between them, a single woman was being escorted. Normally, this might be considered excessive, seeing as she clearly had a collar around her neck that designated her as having been branded a slave, though it was silver, marking her a skilled practitioner of magic. Such collars were designed for restraining their ability to use any kind of magic without permission.

  This woman was clearly unusual. And that wasn’t all that struck Dora about the new slave.

  Normal people don’t have raven black hair that seemed to drink in the morning light. Normal people didn’t have a figure that looked as if they were closer to a work of art than an actual human, carrying themselves with a mature charm and sensual appeal.

  Normal people were not blindfolded by a strip of crimson cloth etched with strange sigils that made the head swim if looked at. Normal people did not need to have customized silver and iron manacles that completely covered her hands.

  And, if Dora was completely honest with herself, normal people did not walk as if they owned the place while clad in tattered, baggy rags or while being a slave.

  This human woman had an appearance and presence so far out of the norm Dora could only blink stupidly as she tried to process it all.

  Even Scarrot looked taken aback, and that was not something that happened often.

  “Meet Kari, the woman you’ll be escorting,” Reed said, smiling widely at the astonished looks on the orc blooded traders.

  “Who in the Hells is this woman that you needed to seal both her sight and to slap a set of mana extinguishing gauntlets on her?” Scarrot demanded.

  “She is a rare little minx who possesses two unique Bloodline Traits,” Reed explained. “The Divine Eyes of Appraisal and the Godhands of the Artifact Wielder as hers to command.”

  “Um, what does that mean, exactly?” Dora inquired, confusion written upon her face.

  “My Divine Eyes of Appraisal allow me to instantly judge the worth of an object, as well as where it was made and from what and when and by whom. It even works on people, showing me their talents, aptitudes for magic and other abilities, and more,” the woman spoke up. “While my second gift allows me to use any sort of magical item without needing to learn how to use it. As soon as my hands touch an item, I know exactly how it can be used.”

  She then snorted and tossed her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head.

  “I really got stuck with the geniuses this time around, huh? No hope that I might be able to have a stimulating conversation, then. At least escaping will be easier.”

  Dora felt her hopes shrivel up and die in a fire as she beheld the person who was to be her companion for gods know how long.

  “Has a bit of a mouth on her, unfortunately,” Reed grimaced, shooting the two slave traders an apologetic look. “I’d throw in a gag of some kind to shut her up, but she’d still find a way to annoy you. Better the devil you can deal with than one you don’t know.”

  “So long as she obeys Ildora’s instructions I will not have to discipline her,” Scarrot said, his words carrying clear warning.

  The raven-haired beauty simply tilted her head in response.

  “Does the blindfold have to stay on the whole time?” Dora asked, looking at the strange binding over her eyes.

  A quick Detect Magic showed that besides the runes woven into the fabric, the cloth itself was fairly saturated with magic.

  “Not really. Kari can turn her Divine Eyes on and off at will, but they allow her to see all sorts of things about whatever she looks at. Unless you feel fine literally baring your soul for her to look at, keep the blindfold on,” Reed cautioned.

  “I see,” Dora acknowledged.

  “Where’s the other item?” Scarrot asked, growing impatient.

  Without a word, Reed reached into his robes like he had done the previous day for Dora’s gift, but this time the object he removed was much more ornate.

  It was a treasure box. That was the best way to describe it. Made of silvery metal that had a slight blueish tinge, a number of amethysts were set into the lid, forming a five-pointed star. The lock looked small and delicate, but Dora could sense that the amount of magic in the container would make anything short of an adamantium hammer bounce off if it tried to open the box without the key.

  Not to mention the curses. Yeah. Having your blood boil in your veins while your flesh turned to stone sounded distinctly unpleasant. Dora took a step back from the nasty little box.

  “Try not to lose it,” the lord of Creidor joked. “That object inside is worth ten times more than the rest of the goods being delivered.”

  The scarred orc just nodded and pocketed the tiny treasure chest while Dora stared in shock at it, trying to imagine anything worth that much that wasn’t a castle.

  As it was, she nearly missed the white-haired man slipping something else into Scarrot’s hand, the orc giving a barely perceptible nod in understanding. He then turned to the half-orc.

  “Ildora, bring our ‘guest’ over to the horses. She’ll be riding with you.”

  “Wait, what? What about the cages?” Dora asked, looked back at their camp.

  “I’m not going to risk having her around other people. I know her type, and I’d rather not have to put down a slave revolt. Keep her close.”

  “Oh, one last thing,” Reed said. “Dora, please press your index finger to the lady’s collar. That way it will register you as her temporary owner. A handler, if you will.”

  The young Healer obeyed, putting her fingertip against the back of the collar.

  “Bind to one, and none other. In blood there is truth, and in blood there is knowledge. With the power of the souls, our contract is established. In the name of the all-binding chains, I seal this contract in the name of Naliot,” Reed intoned, and Dora felt a prick on her finger before the runes flashed red.

  He then handed Dora a scroll bound in a red ribbon. “Here is the written contract and proof of purchase for the client. Be sure to keep it safe.”

  “That’s all. Now, be safe on your journey!”

  With the elderly crime lord of the Cracked Land waving goodbye, the Yellowmoon Menagerie headed off, dipping south to reach the center of the Dreadlands, and their destination.

  .

  “How do you do this for days on end? It’s only been a few hours but my posterior is sore!” Kari complained, sitting gingerly on a crate next to Dora.

  The half-orc just shrugged and held some bread up for the raven-haired beauty to
eat. Kari accepted with a grimace.

  Blind and without her hands, the haughty woman had eventually caved in to hunger and let her handler feed her. Plus, the rations weren’t all that great, either. That was more than enough to warrant a frown in her opinion.

  “You get used to it,” Dora said when she remembered her companion could not see. “Though, I admit, even after two years of riding I still feel like my buttocks will fall off some day.”

  “At least there’s a saddle. I shudder to think of doing this bareback,” Kari noted, and the two shivered in terror at that thought.

  “So, tell me, where are you from?” Dora asked as she raised the water skin to the dark-haired woman’s lips.

  After taking a deep drink, the slave replied. “The Crawling Coast. My father is a successful merchant who owns several ships and runs an important business. He’s a partner of the Merchant-Prince himself!”

  “So, he’s a pirate captain. That’s impressive!” Dora said.

  “What?! No, he’s not a pirate!” Kari shouted, insulted.

  “He isn’t?”

  “No, why would you think that?”

  “Well, you know the old joke: What’s the difference between a merchant and a pirate in the Crawling Coast? Nothing!”

  Dead silence fell on the pair, and in the distance a groan could be heard from Reesh who’d overheard the terrible joke.

  “Was that your attempt at breaking the ice?” Kari asked incredulously.

  “Yes?” Dora replied hesitantly.

  “You’re almost as bad at talking to people as I am! And that’s saying something!” Kari crowed, a smirk gracing her face.

  Dora looked away, a blush across her face.

  “You do know that I can’t see you, right? You don’t have to turn away to hide your embarrassment.”

  “It’s the principle of the matter!” Dora retorted.

  Kari let out a peal of laughter. “You know, I think I might come to find this an agreeable arrangement for now. At least until I find a way to escape.”

  The half-orc simply raised an eyebrow at her declaration.

  “You’ve been branded, Miss Kari. The contract has been established. And there’s nowhere to run out here,” Dora said, feeling pity for the enslaved woman.