The Tales of Miriela: Shadowborn

Chapter 5: Odwin

The shouting voices of the Overseers were nearly silenced by the sounds of clashing mallets. Odwin had no interest in their words, he ignored their threats, even though he often knew they became much more than words. He lifted his hand and struck the hot steel before him. The routine was familiar and required little concentration. Odwin's thoughts were never with his work. Instead he dreamed of being elsewhere, of being alone. He dreamed of the world outside the Grounds, and wondered what it must be like. He hoped that one day he may be able to see for himself.

The slavers never did come, but word of their delay had. Storms across the Farsea had delayed their arrival. The slavers were men from Miriela, a group of former thieves and highwaymen. They sailed mostly to the West, in search of those they could enslave. It had been several days since Kline Wullmont had arrived to the Grounds. And it was said that today, the slavers would finally arrive.

Daniel had been working near Odwin, in fact, he'd hardly left his side. Odwin had begun to grow tired of the unwelcomed company, but having a friend was better than he'd thought it would've been.

Bells started to chime just an hour or two into the morning's work. Odwin stopped, as did Daniel beside him. They looked towards the horizon and saw exactly what they had been expecting, There they were, a group of men riding into the Grounds from the North. The slavers had arrived, in all their glory.

"Quit ya workin' and stand in line, you sorry bastards. Everyone of ya'. Come on then. Form a line!" Overseer Simmion yelled. Somehow, Odwin despised him even more than he had Kadrin Redford.

"Are these the slavers?" Asked Daniel, innocently as usual.

"Yes. That's them alright," Odwin said.

Overseer Simmion continued to shout in an attempt to instill fear in the young men and boys before him. His face was so close to Odwin's, that he could smell his stinking breath and feel his cold spit fall upon his face.

A group of men, six on horseback, rode slowly into the camp. The other Overseers all took their men toward the middle of the camp as well, where Simmion's post was located. It was here that the trade would be done. A large wooden platform stood in the middle. The slaves to be sold would line across it, and the Overseers would barter with the slavers or vice versa. The best price always won.

But the Grounds could only hold so many men and feed so many mouths. If an Overseer wanted to be rid of one of his men, but the slavers had no interested in buying him, a sharp blade to the throat usually settled the matter.

"Overseers of Ferenor, please assemble your slaves," Shouted the slavers as they passed through.

The others stood, fearful and shaking, but not Odwin. If Odwin was traded, he was sure no place could be worse than the Grounds. If he was killed, maybe he would finally find some freedom somewhere else. Or at least, perhaps he would no longer be a slave.

And so it began. Overseer Killhorn, who's post was a bit East of Simmion's, made a few purchases. "Good, finally got some hard working men in my Grounds. That means no need for those who won't produce." He grabbed one of the young men by his dark curly hair and drug him to the center, in front of everyone. The man fought and punched, but he was no match for Overseer Killhorn's brute strength.

"The Overseers will not tolerate underproduction. The King does not tolerate it, I think that we all can attest to that, after seeing what happened to Kadrin Redford. It is our responsibility to remove those who stand in our way of survival. A war is coming for Miriela, and we must be ready, we must make sure every Kingdom is ready. Underproduction will prevent that from occurring," Killhorn shouted. He took a dagger from his belt and pulled it quickly across the slave's neck. His blood began to flow and his life slowly faded from his eyes. "This is the fate of those who threaten Miriela's survival."