Warning: This is a long one.
"It's a foul moon tonight," the slaver said, rubbing his hands together. "Wouldn't it be more prudent to wait until the morning? I assure you, the stock will be in much better shape then."
Under her massive scarf, the woman shook her head. She had said little since she had enlisted the slaver's help, speaking primarily in only clipped commands. The slaver sighed and walked on, his foot slipping in the shifting sand. Ahead of them, the tents of the slave caravan stood lack against a murky sky. Their large bonfire, now extinguished, still smoked, sending spiraling plumes of filthy smoke that dyed the moon sickly yellow.
"Do you know of Ulthar the Giant?" the slaver asked. "That's his tent on the far edge of the camp. He's a terrible man, stronger than wolves and just as rabid. Why, one time, I saw him tear the arms off a man who stepped on the back of his heel. Bare-handed!"
The slaver turned to the woman in the scarf. She said nothing.
"Such a man," the slaver finished sulkily, "is not one whose sleep should be interrupted lightly."
"I have no time to wait for customary business hours," the woman said. "My journey takes precedent, and I head east at first light."
"What business have you there, lady?"
"My own."
"I don't believe Ulthar will accept such an explanation for rousing him this time of night."
Again, the woman maintained her silence, and the two continued their journey with no further words shared between them.
Six hours earlier, just at the close of the market day, the strange woman found the slaver wallowing in a drunken mire inside the tavern. She roused his senses with a splash of hot water and a purse full of money. For his assistance, the stranger promised a generous reward; so generous, in fact, that the slaver did not see fit to tell her that he had only that morning been discharged from Ulthar's service.
Perhaps, the slaver thought, by presenting Ulthar with such a promising client, he could redeem for his earlier errors.
The caravan guards were reluctant to awaken their chief. "Be on your way," they said. "Business is to be conducted during the day."
The slaver nodded and bowed away, but the woman would not be dissuaded. "Bring me to your chief," she said, "and I will reward you handsomely."
"You wish to make a purchase?" the guards said. "Perhaps we can offer you the services of one of the under-merchants. They know our stock as well as Ulthar himself does."
"That may be," the woman said, "but I was told to trust no one but Ulthar himself."
"Then you must wait until morning." The guards stood again at attention, satisfied that the conversation had ended.
"I have no time!" the woman snapped. The slaver noticed a curious edge in the woman's voice. It was not impatience, anger, or frustration not getting the treatment she wished. Her voice commanded, as one who was accustomed to being obeyed. The guards, too, noticed the strength in her voice. The slaver watched their rigidity dissolve gradually. Their faces shifted, ill-hiding their discomfort. One leaned over and whispered to the other in a voice so low the slaver couldn't hear. Then, much to the slaver's surprise, one of the guards turned and walked away.
"Wait here," the remaining guard said. "We will bring you to Ulthar if he agrees to see you."
Now the air about them seemed to thicken with murky foreboding. The slaver felt a chill, despite the oppressive heat of the night air. He knew well the stories of Ulthar - the one called King of the Slave Runners. The man - a true barbarian, a demon in human skin - was rumored to lead his savage warriors into small villages, where women and children were bound and bundled together for sale, while the men who stood against them were permanently and cruelly injured, if they were lucky. The slaver shivered with horror as he recalled sitting in grueling conversation with those survivors he had encountered.
He thought to tell these stories to the woman, but she no longer seemed to notice him.
The guard returned, slowly shaking his head. "Ulthar will see you," he said. "Be warned, though - If you have disturbed him only to waste his time, he will have your head on a sword."
The bundle of scarves about the woman's head shifted as she nodded. "I expect no less."
The slaver shifted his feet, ready to move away since he had been apparently forgotten. The woman's hand clamped on his shoulder. "Once my business here is concluded," she said, "I will give you the reward I promised."
"If it please you, madam," the slaver said, "I will consider my contract fulfilled as an act of service."
"I won't hear of it."
The slaver licked his lips and whispered, "Truth be told, I have no desire to meet with Ulthar personally. I thought you were just looking for a servant. I had no idea you intended to haggle with the Giant himself, and at this profane hour"
"I do not haggle," the woman said. "And I do not back out of a contract. You are to come with me."
The slaver followed meekly behind as the guards led them to the larges tent in the center of the campground. He nearly coughed at the thick clouds of dirt that had been kicked up hours before from the slave auction - tired and beaten souls struggling against bonds that, once clapped on them by Ulthar's brutish hands, would forever wear them down. The slaver stopped outside the tent and meekly suggested that he wait outside. The woman did not speak to him, but grabbed his shirt and dragged him through the tent flaps.
Ulthar towered over them - truly a giant of a man. The large bonfire danced behind him as though he were a devil newly arrived from hell. Scars crisscrossed his face and burly arms, somehow glowing silver in the firelight. His eyes glimmered red with anger - but there was a sparkle of curiosity to be seen as well.
"You seek to trade with me?" Ulthar said to the woman. His lip twisted - was it a smile? The slaver could not tell. "What is so urgent that it could not wait until morning?"
The woman spoke coolly, unimpressed by the hulking warrior before her. "I travel through the sands tonight, and by tomorrow I must arrive at my destination. I am looking for a girl child to travel with me."
"As a companion?" The giant's grin turned to a derisive sneer. "We do not sell pets here. You have aroused me for nothing."
From within her sleeves the woman produced again the large bag of coins she had bribed the slaver with earlier. Ulthar paused, his rage momentarily abated. "It's a paltry sum," he said, "but I imagine we could find a sickly waif to trade for that amount."
"This is not the price of a slave," the woman said. "This money is yours if you will let me see a girl in your caravan."
"You wish to see a girl?" the giant said. "And you pay for the privilege? No, there is something more you desire."
"You are wise to suspect me," the woman said, depositing the bag of coins at Ulthar's feet, "and you are correct. I do not wish to purchase just any girl. There is one in your care, a particular girl I have heard you captured at great cost to yourself."
Ulthar scratched his chin. The slaver thought he appeared surprised - a thought that terrified him. "You speak of the daughter of Caine, I presume." Ulthar rested his hands on his hips, a move which, the slaver noticed, brought his hands nearer the hilt of his sword. "I have heard the story, but I would not stand by the truthfulness of a tavern legend."
"Would you deny the story?"
"If I did," Ulthar grinned, "would you believe me? A man who traffics in human beings could easily be called a liar."
"Tell me the story," the woman said. "As you heard it."
Ulthar sighed deeply, resigned to indulge his wealthy visitor. The slaver noticed how casually and disinterestedly Ulthar rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and broke out in a sweat.
"As I heard it," Ulthar said, "our caravan set up shop near a small village by the banks of the Hawseed River. The villagers were poor, many ill, and none hardy enough to buy or be sold. However, it was rumored that the family Caine had taken up shelter there, and their daugher, a fair young thing with coal black hair and pale skin, was often seen playing by the river. She was much loved by the village people. Her voice, it is said, could still a racing heart, and the touch of her hand drove off fevers.
"Miraculous, certainly, but I do not believe in miracles. The story says that Ulthar the Giant was bewitched by the child and slew all in the town so that he alone could possess her. He took the child away, leaving nothing in the ruins for the dogs to chew on."
"What of the rest of the family Caine? Did you kill them, too?"
Ulthar shrugged. "I admit to killing no one, although I imagine they were among the screaming dead of the village. But that's enough of a bedtime story." Ulthar drew his sword and rested the tip of the blade in the dirt. "You paid to see a girl we do not have. I have done my best to accommodate you. My duty as a humble merchant is complete. You are dismissed from my presence."
"Minus the gold I left you, of course."
"The price of trying my patience, I fear," Ulthar said. "Try it further, and you will surely lose your head."
The guards stepped menacingly forward, spears brandished. The slaver cowered behind the woman and tugged desperately at her cloak. She ignored him.
"I will not leave here until I see the girl," she said. Her hand shot to her neck and pulled at the scarves that covered her face. They unwound and flew through the air towards the first of the guards, blocking for a brief moment his vision. The second guard lunged at the woman with his spear. She caught the weapon just behind the spear head and swung up with her elbow, catching the guard under the jaw and slamming his mouth shut with a violent snap. The guard staggered backwards as blood dripped from his mouth.
The slaver gasped at the sight of the woman. Her head was completely bald except for two serpentine eyebrows. Her right eye was webbed and pale from a slash wound that healed poorly. The scarves had covered her visage, but the dispassionate voice with which she had spoken was her cleverest disguise, for her gritted teeth and flaring nostrils revealed her to be a woman of great emotion.
The first guard had now freed himself from the scarves that blocked his vision and swung his spear towards the woman's head. She jumped backward, pushing the slaver to the side, and she drew a sword of her own from within the flowing robes that now swirled around her like waves of the ocean. The sword flashed in the firelight, severing the spear. Without faltering, the guard drew a dagger from his belt and lunged, only to be cut in half as well. The woman kicked, and the bleeding guard fell to the ground.
Ulthar watched the battle, amused. "So you seek vengeance," he said. He brandished his sword and leered. "I suspected as much. Come and die, then - I thirst for your blood."
"I thirst, too," the woman said, "but not for vengeance. A mother separated from her child can not quench her thirst until she finds her again."
"Fool!" Ulthar lunged and swung his sword. The slaver clapped his hands against his ears as the giant's blade ripped through cloth and canvas. No scream - the woman danced nimbly aside. "I told you already, I have no such child."
"A daughter fears her mother more than the evils of men, and will always obey her voice." The woman swung, moving so quickly that the slaver could not follow her hand, and slashed at Ulthar's wrist. The giant howled and struck out again. His sword swished ineffectively through the air. "Sasha!" the woman cried. "Come out!"
From behind the giant's bed, a small girl stood, thin and dirty, but with beautiful white skin and luxuriously dark hair. She shook visibly - despite the roaring fire, she must have been cold. The slaver wanted to run and wrap a cloak around her, but he soon noticed her expression change. Fear turned quickly to hope, and then, surprisingly, to pity.
The giant struck again and again, but each time his sword cleaved only the empty space his opponent had just left. Meanwhile, the woman's sword landed again and again, carving new scars into Ulthar's flesh with every pass. Infuriated, the giant swung his arm around until it latched on to the woman's neck. He lifted her into the air and bellowed incomprehensibly. His bellow ended abruptly, though, and was soon replaced with a horrifying death gurgle. He loosened his grip, and the woman dropped to the ground. Ulthar collapsed, and behind him, clutching one of the fallen guard's daggers, stood Sasha Caine.
The woman swept the child up into her arms and held her tightly, her sword still clutched in her hand. Sasha nestled her head against the woman's shoulder, who buried her face in the girl's hair. Through the crackle of the fire, the slaver heard the girl whisper, "I knew you would come." Shaken, the slaver rose to leave, but before he could make it to the door of the tent, he felt the tip of the woman's sword pressed against his neck.
"Please," the slaver begged, "don't kill me."
The woman's face had adopted a mask of impassivity. "I told you, when my business was concluded, I would reward you." She kicked the bag of gold she had laid at Ulthar's feet. "Yours, as promised."
The slaver stooped to pick up the coins, but the sword was again at his throat. "If I were you," the woman said, raising one sinewy eyebrow, "I would look for a new line of work."
The slaver swallowed hard. "You're the child's mother?" he said.
The woman nodded. "I am the Lady Caine," she said. "My lands and wealth may be gone, but my title and family are still mine. When you next tell tales of Ulthar the Giant, tell the hearers my name, too."
The tent flap moved, and the slaver jumped. A camp guard poked his helmeted head through the opening. "The giant is dead!" he shouted.
Caine swung a fist at the guard's face. Nose cracked, and the guard fell backwards. She looked at the slaver and, for the first time, smiled. "You can run away now," she said, and then she disappeared through the doorway.
She ran miles without stopping for breath, her daughter always clutched tightly to her. At last, just when the morning sun began to rise, the two stopped to rest under the shade of a dead tree.
"Mother," Sasha said, "can we go back to help the others? They wear these heavy chains, and they all look so sad."
"Tonight, child, I promise," Caine said. She drew her daughter close to her again and embraced her. "For now, though, I am content to have you back."
Okay, so this is my trying my hand at a genre short story again. Probably the first time I've written something like this since high school. Frankly... I don't like it much.
I mean, there's some stuff here I genuinely enjoy. Back in high school, I loved writing fight scened. I kind of remember why now. And this whole idea came about after I wondered why there weren't more action-star moms in pop culture. This story is my attempt to tell a "Conan the Barbarian"-style adventure with an awesome mom as the lead - an idea I still think is worth exploring. Just, you know, by someone more suited to genre fiction.
Fantasy stories and the like require so much worldbuilding... I just don't have the patience for it.
