6. Three

I rode for Ostovan the next morning, leaving the Elven host behind, a thousand swords at my back. There were more than three times as many humans in the city, and they could've beaten us soundly.

Instead, the lords sat in their stone towers growing fat on wine and bread, counting coins, and multiplying while their people starved. No matter how many times we came to Ostovan, there were always more peasants. More hungry faces peering out from the holes in their crumbling wall, more thin men barely strong enough to hold shields. More women with babes at the breast, sometimes two or three at once. They bred like vermin inside those walls, their only cares food and fucking.

The city lord came out on a thin white mare, a young man with a golden mask over half his face. He was much younger than the king I remembered from two years before, but that wasn't particularly concerning. Human cities changed power quickly enough we could hardly keep them straight from year to year.

"Warlord Tarathiel," the lord said through a translator at his side. He inclined his head. Not a bow. He didn't even get off his damn horse.

I frowned. "You speak of my father. He sent me as his emissary. You may address me as Prince Ruith."

Katyr translated for me, speaking their strange tongue with its stuttering cadence and sharp edges.

The new king turned to his advisor, and they whispered among each other briefly, probably deciding if my presence instead of my father's was meant as an insult. It was, even if it was strategic.

"I wasn't expecting you either," I relayed through Katyr, interrupting their parlay. "Am I to assume King Zygfried is dead, then?"

After a moment, the king nodded and turned back to me, again speaking through his translator. "Welcome, Prince Ruith. I am King Michail. Regrettably, my father passed away several weeks ago. May the Mother guide his soul to her bosom." He made a strange sign with his fingers and several others muttered whatever reverent thing humans said for their dead.

I had no doubts that the new king had probably killed the old to seize his throne. That was a common way to transfer power in the human world. The humans seemed indifferent about whichever ass was warming their throne, so long as they had full bellies and empty balls.

"Wise and ancient is my house," the king was saying. "My family has ruled this land since the first uprising, when we overthrew our elf masters in the second century."

My redheaded younger sibling, Ieduin, leaned in on my left side. "And you thought I was a braggart. This fucker is bragging about shit his ancestors did a thousand years ago like their accomplishments are his. What a shithead."

"I didn't come here for a history lesson," I snapped, cutting off the human's yammering. "We were promised a tribute. If that tribute is satisfactory, then I will turn my army away from your gates. If it is not, then it won't matter how many generations of soft men separate you from real warriors. I will kill your soldiers and your diplomats. Then I will fuck your daughters. And while I'm at it, I'll fuck your sons too. Why not? I'm nothing if not an opportunist. Then I will cut off your head and piss in your neck stump while my men take every scrap of gold they can find before I put this shithole of a city to the torch. How does that sound?"

Ieduin snickered.

The human king's brow furrowed, and he looked to Katyr for a translation. Katyr coughed into his fist and spoke a few words, far too few to convey exactly what I'd said, but that was his job. He was the diplomat. I didn't have the patience for petty games with human kings.

"I see," said the human king at last. "Very well then." He raised a hand above his head and the great iron gates at his back groaned open.

The slaves came in two columns wearing simple garments and sturdy shoes. They walked with their heads down, their overseers assigned one to every twenty. Simple leather colors adorned their necks with matching cuffs on their wrists and ankles. At first glance, they all seemed young and in good health. No white-haired old men with shaky knees and weak spines. No, Ostovan had offered us a fine selection of young men, women, and children ready to work.

A wagon interrupted the march of slaves every dozen pairs full of heavy chests overflowing with furs, leather, or other supplies, while others groaned under the weight of wheat, corn, or sacks of rice and other grains. There were twenty hogs, a dozen chickens, and twelve decent horses. They would be useless in battle, but they'd do for pulling carts or plowing fields.

Ieduin dismounted and inspected each cart while Katyr directed the slaves to line up to march. My silver haired commander, Aryn, walked down the line of humans, conducting a preliminary inspection to make sure they were all in good health.

"I am told your primarch has a rather extensive harem," said the human king, drawing my attention back to him. "Males and females. Is that true?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What a stupid way to categorize people. Sorting them by how many holes they are born with. If I poke another in you, what does that make you?"

"Dead, most likely," Ieduin supplied with a smirk.

"Ruith," Katyr warned without translating.

I sighed. "The fool should learn to keep his mouth shut. Just answer him. I don't want to listen to him anymore. His language is grating."

While I had no idea what Katyr said to the human king, it seemed pleasant. The king replied with a smug grin and clapped his hands.

Katyr's frown deepened. "He says he has a gift for Father. Someone who will make a fine bed slave."

I was only half listening to Kat. The humans had rolled out another wagon, this one carrying a large, gilded cage. The gold bars shimmered in the morning sun, flashing obscenely. Chained in a kneeling position in the center of the cage was a man with an ornate collar hugging his throat, one fashioned to look like a serpent. Steam rose from his nearly naked, well-muscled body in the cool morning air. Only a thin strip of cloth between his legs served as clothing, that and an array of gold chains and clamps attached everywhere they could go. More elaborate jewelry had been attached to his biceps and thighs, and his ears fitted with jeweled cuffs. All that effort was apparently an attempt to make him a more attractive prospect, but it wasn't needed. He would have been the choice of any noblewoman and quite a few noblemen for a companion without all that ridiculous jewelry if not for the silent glare of defiance in his eyes.

It wasn't until his gaze settled on me, dripping with hatred, that I truly appreciated him, however. There was something lovely about the way he knelt there, muscles coiled in the promise of violence. It was like meeting a butterfly with a stinger.

The wagon stopped next to my horse, giving me a good look at him. He wasn't my father's type at all. Tarathiel preferred his men to be much more docile. This human was a caged beast who would sooner claw out my father's eyes than submit. That was more my type. The harder they fought, the harder I got, especially when I knew they'd give in eventually. What was the point of easily won submission?

So this is why Ostovan wanted us to come all the way out here. What's so special about you, my little angry sun? Why is your king so keen to send you away?

"Ruith?" The way Katyr said my name told me he'd already said it a few times without being heard.

I tore my attention away from the caged human's searing brown eyes. "What?"

Kat's brow furrowed. "He says this one hasn't been broken. Perhaps Tarathiel will enjoy breaking him."

I snorted. "He would sooner tame a mountain. This one is wild. Look at him. How they got such a feral creature to wear this finery is a mystery."

"He's clearly high born, Ruith. Why else would they treat him with such care?"

I shrugged. "Does it matter if he is? We have only two options. Either we refuse him, which would be in direct violation of Tarathiel's orders, or we take him."

"But Tarathiel will kill him," Katyr whispered. "He'll be a terrible slave, and a drain on our already limited resources."

I slid out of the saddle and approached the cage on foot, meeting the wild man's eyes. He glared at me, nostrils flaring like an angry bull. Such fire in those eyes, such fury. It was as if they had taken the sun itself and tried to cage it. He would burn anyone who came too close, friend or foe.

The human king shouted something at me.

"He says not to get too close," Kat translated. "Apparently, this one bit off someone's finger not so long ago."

My lips curved up into a smile. "What's he called?"

"The king says he's…Nothing? From Nowhere?" Katyr tipped his head, unsure at his own translation.

Not anymore, my furious little sun. Now, you're mine, and I'm going to take you apart one burning piece at a time.I turned away from the cage and marched back to mount my horse. "Tell the king we're satisfied with his tribute…for now."

"Really?" Kat's eyebrows shot up. "We're taking him?"

"Of course we are," I said, gathering the reins. "Only a fool leaves such a valuable weapon in his enemy's hands."