With a bump, the Sirene came to rest up against the dock. On deck, the sailors scurried about, throwing down mooring lines to the dockhands below who tied the ship fast. Along the waterfront, a small crowd had begun to form; sailors off other boats docked in port, locals come to see what the newest arrival in their city had brought. Conversation hummed through the crowd in anticipation.

They were not disappointed. The low murmur turned to excitement as the first slaves appeared on deck, herded off the ship by the sailors. The naked girls were yoked together at the neck, two by two. Their hands were lashed behind their backs with rope. Wooden bits silenced their murmurs of fear as the captives stumbled down the gangplank towards the waiting crowd.

Aisha, Layla and Hasni were the last to descend. Unlike the other slaves, the three hadn’t been yoked with wood. Fine metal collars, of gilded brass polished till they shone in the early morning light, circled their throats. Short lengths of chain linked the three together and to the burly sailor who walked in front, leading them down the gangplank. And unlike the other girls, the three were not bound and had even been allowed to keep their dresses on. The slavers knew how valuable the three sisters were. Their masters weren’t taking any risks of seeing them damaged before they could realize that value.

During the long voyage north, following the western curve of the continent, the sisters had been kept in the captain’s cabin. It had spared them the attentions of the crew; in the evenings, they could hear the lusty sounds of the sailors, the helpless cries of the poor girl selected to be their plaything for the night. They’d even been allowed to share the captain’s bed and sit at his table for meals, probably eating better than the sailors; certainly better than the other captives chained down in the hold.

Despite that, there was no doubt the three were slaves like the other prisoners. They were chained at the ankle to a ring bolted to the floor, given them enough reach to move around the cabin that was their cage, but not to leave it. Imrall, the captain of the slavers, made no bones about the fact they were now slaves. Well cared for, but slaves none the less.

“You’d have been put in chains, regardless.” Imrall told them at the captain’s table one evening. “The only difference being you’d be Harga’s property, and I guarantee you that would be far less pleasant for the three of you.” That was hard to argue with, but it was still hard for the sisters as the ship turned northward, away from home.

On the dock, the column ran the gauntlet of onlookers. The sister’s guard waved on beefy fist, warding the onlookers away from the three. The other slaves had no protection, of course. They could only whimper into their gags as the crowding hands pawed at their helplessly exposed bodies.

A short distance away, sailors were loading a horse cart with some supplies for the journey inland. The sisters were helped up into the back of the cart, where a small space had been made for them, with a folded blanket. Their handler secured their chain to a ring in the bottom of the cart. The other slaves, it appeared, were expected to walk behind.

At the front of the coffle were Dinah and Tollah, yoked together at the neck. Harga’s former barmaids looked up at the sisters, an ambivalent look on their faces. Dinah mumbled something through her gag. The two slaves had accepted their capture with relative ambivalence. Unlike the other captives, they were not losing their freedom, merely exchanging one cruel master for another, hopefully kinder one. Even so, Aisha couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for what happened to them.

Imrall climbed up into the cart, at the front alongside the guard. He turned and spoke with his second in command. “I’ll send you a message by scroll when we’re at the Three Crowns and I have a better idea what the market will be like for this lot.” He gestured with one hand at the coffle of naked women standing awkwardly behind the cart. “I don’t expect much trouble here. This is a friendly port for us, so tell the men not to do anything that could change that. But if the worst happens and you do have to leave in a hurry we’ll rendezvous the usual way.” With that, the two men said their farewells. The first officer returned to his ship, to supervise the resupply and make arrangements for the crew while docked. Imrall took up the reins and set the horses walking. The wagon rolled forward. Behind, the slaves in the coffle had no choice but to start walking after it.

The small caravan followed the road up from the dock through the city heading inland. It was late in the morning and the streets were full of people. All around, faced turned to watch the coffle march by. It passed through a gate, heading north and eastward from the city. Imrall took an easy pace that morning, but most of the captives were still weak from the long voyage, chained in the hold and the coffle did not stop. Had they had a choice, most of the girls might have thrown themselves on the side of the road, worn out. As it was, they had no choice, but to keep walking, fighting exhaustion and discomfort.

Aisha felt guilty, riding in the cart with her sisters in relative comfort, while the other women suffered. More than a few in the coffle eyes their position enviously. Aisha wanted to point to her collar, to the collars on the throats of her sisters. They had no choice about their position, no less than the other slaves. It was their captors who had decided the three valuable sisters would be spared the rigors of the road while the rest walked, not them., But she remained silent, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.

The caravan made good progress. By late morning, they were well into the countryside. Around noon, Imrall paused the cart in a shaded glade to take lunch. He and his henchmen ate ships biscuits, dried fish and cheese brought from the Sirene, occasionally passing some small morsels to the sisters and allowing them a sip or two from a wine skin. The other slaves knelt in line, taking the opportunity to rest. When the slavers had finished eating, Imrall’s henchman went down the line, giving their captives a few bites of stale biscuit and a gulp or two of water from a small wooden barrel. Then, their march continued.

That evening, just as the sun was beginning to set, they came to a large inn, situated where any caravan coming north from the port would stop at the end of the day’s travel. A small wall enclosed a two story inn with a separate stable to one side. As they came through the gate, Imrall handed the reins to his companion.

“Stable the horses…and the slaves, for the night. I’ll speak with the innkeeper.” He turned and unlocked the chain linking the sisters to the cart. As the girls clambered down, limbs stiff from sitting in place all day, their owner dug into the pile of bags and crates that filled the rest of the wagon. “Take these.” He ordered, handing Layla and Hasni their instruments, which the slavers had taken from them during their capture. He then jumped down, grabbing their chain lead. “Come!” He said, turning towards the front door of the inn. The sisters followed after him. Behind them, the other slaves trudged off after the cart towards a rough bedding in the stables.

The entrance to the inn led into a large common room. In the center, a fire burned cheerfully in a large fireplace, providing light and warmth for the room, helped by several oil lanterns hanging on the walls. Around it were a dozen wooden tables with rough stools. At the back, opposite the door, was a bar, manned by several pretty girls. A door behind led to a back storeroom where the barrels of drink were kept. In the far right corner, a stairwell led up to the higher stories of the inn, where there would be guest rooms for travelers to spend the night.

The inn was full, though not overcrowded. There was a mix in the clientele, half had the look of travelers; merchants, messengers, itinerant wizards and clerics moving between towns. The rest appeared to be local farmers, stopping in for a drink and conversation with friends after the day’s toil. The inn hummed with their chatter. A couple more barmaids moved between the tables, taking orders and bringing regular patrons their drinks.

In short, it was an inn of middling quality, like the dozens, hundred maybe, the sisters had stayed at and performed in across their travels. “We may have even stopped here once…” Aisha thought, reflecting on the ill fate that had brought them back this way when they had been just on the verge of returning home.

A moment after the small group entered the room, they were approached by an older, portly man in a tunic and an apron; the innkeeper, Aisha assumed. He glanced curiously at her and her sisters then turned to their owner and bowed his head briefly. “Good evening, gentle sir. Welcome to my humble establishment. What do you need tonight?”

“A room for the night, and before that a table and a cup of your finest wine.” Imrall told him. “Stabling for a cart, two horses and a coffle of slaves bound for Three Crowns. My servant is taking care of that now. Also, these three lovely beauties are skilled performers. If you’d let them entertain your guests, we will give you 10% of the take.”

“50%.” The innkeeper replied. The two haggled a while over the cut, and the rates for the room and stable, until they reached an amount both were happy with. Imrall passed the older man a few silver coins and in return got a small brass key. “Room 14 upstairs.” The innkeeper said, waving a hand towards the stairs. Imrall thanked him, then led the sisters to the center of the room, finding a free table that was in clear view of the entire room.

“You can do your performance here.” Imrall told the sisters, unlocking the chains from their collars. “Just like back in Trialle…just one difference,” he added, gesturing playfully at Aisha’s dress.

Aisha’s cheeks flushed. True, the three had performed naked for Imrall and the rest of the ship’s officers but she was still embarrassed disrobing in front of such a large crowd and getting up to dance.  Reluctantly, the young woman reached up and unfastened her dress, letting it fall to the floor. Her example gave some courage to her sisters, who likewise disrobed. Layla and Hasni sat beside the table, readying their instruments. Aisha mounted the table, her face burning with shame. She could feel every eye in the place watching her as she stood exposed up above them. At her feet, Imrall addressed the crowd.

“Gentlemen, for your entertainment tonight, this lovely trio, all the way from Sekairne, will play and dance for you. Gather round, enjoy and do be generous!” He motioned for the three to begin. Awkwardly, Layla and Hasni struck up a tune, one of the old ones from their hometown, one the three had done hundreds of time before. Aisha began to sway and launched into the movements of the dance. After a few awkward moments, she found things a bit easier. She could lose herself in the familiar rhythms of the dance and tune out the leering faces of the crowd that gathered around…

…Then one of the men reached out, as Aisha’s dance carried her towards him, and pinched the slave girl’s naked bottom. Aisha stumbled for a second, giving an indignant squeal. Before she could turn on the man, Imrall ordered, “Keep dancing, slave!” Emboldened, a few more men reached out for a touch. Aisha mixed up her movements, stepping quickly across the table whenever she saw one of the men reach out, darting out of reach of their fingers. The men laughed, drunkenly, seeming to enjoy the challenge and doubled their efforts trying to grab at the swift, dancing girl.

The sisters played several more songs after that. At the end of each, Aisha paused, arms outstretched, as the men cheered and threw coins. The dancer was amazed at the quantity of silver, even several gold pieces. “Too bad all of it goes to him.” Aisha thought, glumly, glancing over at Imrall, who was watching the growing mound of coins with a greedy look. Their master was already seeing a return on his investment in the three slaves.

“Thank you, thank you kindly!” Imrall called out to the crowd. “If any of you are heading eastward, tomorrow night we will be staying at the Green Stag Inn and these three will be performing again there!”

“East, huh?” One of the men in the crowd, a middle-aged man in the clothes of a moderately prosperous merchant, spoke up. “You’re heading to Three Crowns, right? That lot of slaves in the stable, they’d be yours, right?”

“They are.” Imrall replied.

“I’ll save you a trip. How much for these three?” The merchant asked, his hand going to his belt pouch.

“They’re not for sale.” Imrall told him in a firm tone. “Not at any price you can pay.”

“Then how much to rent one for the night?” The man asked, “How about the little one?” He pointed at Hasni. “She can warm my bed tonight and you’ll still have two…” He started to step towards her. The slave girl shrank back under the older man’s lusty gaze. Before his outstretched hands reached the little drummer, Imrall stepped in front of her, pressing up close to the merchant.

“They are not for sale or for rent and especially not for you.” Imrall said sharply. The merchant gave a muffled grunt of shock. He stumbled back.

“Is there a problem?” Aisha turned and saw the innkeeper. With him was an enormous woman of Amazonian proportions. Both had stout ironwood cudgels in their hands.

“Not at all.” Imrall said, his voice now cheerful and pleasing. Aisha noticed her master hurriedly pocket the small dagger in his hand, the tip dabbed with a hint of crimson, before raising both, now empty hands, placatingly.

“No…no problem.” The merchant wheezed, clutching a hand to his fat belly where Imrall had pricked him. He turned and stumbled away.

The innkeeper gave Imrall a stern look. The man grinned back, sheepishly. “Just a misunderstanding, is all. And before there are anymore, my slaves and I will retire for the evening.” He handed the innkeeper a pouch with his cut of the profits from tonight’s performance.

Aisha’s sisters packed up their instruments and then, to their relief, and the disappointed sighs of the men still watching them, were allowed to put their dressed back on. Imrall took out the chain and fixed it to the slaves’ collars once more. He turned and led them across the inn to the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, where the four were alone, Aisha spoke up in a quiet voice. “Thank you…master.” She added, awkwardly adding that last word.

“The three of you are worth far more than some petty grain merchant could ever hope to pay. And I expect to make much more off you and your sisters.” Imrall told her, his tone neutral. He held up a pouch, considerably larger and fuller then the one he’d handed the innkeeper. “Tonight was a good start. Keep serving me like you have thus far and you and your sisters will be well looked after.”

Halfway down the hall, they came to room 14. Imrall unlocked the door. The innkeeper had surely given him one of the finest rooms in the inn. It was wide and spacious, fine carpets covered the floor. Besides the carved oaken dining table and wardrobe, there were two large feather beds. Instead of a single, smelly oil lantern, a pair of magic glowstones were attached to the walls in silver filigree holders on opposite sides. The light they gave off was as bright as the midday sun.

Imrall led the sisters to one of the beds. He wrapped the end of the chain around one post, to make sure they did not run off in the night. Despite his words, Aisha expected the slaver would join the sisters on the first bed, while his henchman took the second. She was a little surprised when he lay down on the other one.

“Logar will be bedding in the stables, to keep an eye on the cart and the other slaves.” Imrall told her. “Though I expect he will take one or two girls to warm his cold berth tonight.” He chuckled, wrapping the fine linen sheets around himself. He spoke a word of command and the glowstones went out.

Aisha pulled the sheets of their own bed up over her and her sisters. She lay back, looking up in the dark room, wondering if they would untie the chain quietly enough not to wake their owner. From there, they could sneak downstairs, free Dinah and Tollah and the other slaves, steal the horses and cart and escape by morning…provided they could get the key to unlock the door to this room. She tried to remember where Imrall had put the key after locking the door shut…

Though Imrall had thus far been a kind enough master, certainly better than Harga would have been, Aisha didn’t want to remain his slave forever. What he planned for them when they arrived at the slave fair, she didn’t know, but it was probably best not to find out. And the sisters had to escape, if they ever wanted to see home again…      

Aisha stayed awake a little while longer, dreaming up increasingly unlikely schemes to escape, fighting tiredness and the seductive comfort of the soft feather bed and warm blankets. Beside her, Hasni and Layla had already drifted off into a gentle sleep. She could hear their quiet breathing close by in the dark and further off, the deeper sound of their master slumbering in the other bed. Soon, she was unable to still her own yawns and drifted off to sleep…

Before she knew it, it was morning. Aisha blinked in the sudden morning light as Imrall threw back the curtains. “Good morning, slaves. Time to get up!” He told them, cheerfully. The sisters rose from the bed as their master untangled the slave chain from the bedpost. As Aisha stood up, she saw a breakfast had been laid out on the table; fresh baked rolls, cut piece of fruit, thin cuts of meat and cheese, and an earthenware pitcher that proved to contain cold milk. Imrall led them over to the table and let the sisters eat their fill. He ate heartily as well.

“Now,” He said, dropping an empty rind onto his plate and wiping his lips with a linen napkin. “I think we must be going now. The cart is hitched and everyone else is waiting.” He let the sisters gather their few things and dress, then led them downstairs to the common room. The large space, where the three had performed the evening before, was still and largely empty, save one of the barmaids who was cleaning up and a few patrons, treating the previous night’s imbibing with a little hair of the warg that bit them. One of them managed to raise his head to wave wistfully at the sisters as they passed.

Outside, the wagon had been hitched up out in the yard in front of the inn. Logar sat at the front, whip and reins in hand. Behind, the other slaves had been once more yoked and chained in line at the rear of the wagon. Aisha and her sisters were secured in the back of the wagon, while Imrall took his seat besides the sailor. He took the reins and flicked them, whistling a command to the horses. The wagon rolled forward and the slaves chained to it had no choice but to trudge after it on the next leg of their journey.

The next day of traveling passed in much the same as the first. The small convoy kept moving all day, pausing at noon so the slaves could be rested, watered and fed. In the evening, they came to another inn, placed roughly a day’s travel from the first in good weather. While the horses and the slave coffle were stabled for the evening, Imrall took Aisha and her sisters into the inn and had them perform for the inn patrons. Once more, Aisha was forced to mount a table, naked, and dance for the crowd of merchants and local farmers, a few of whom had come from the previous inn and had seen her dance the evening before. Imrall and the innkeeper split the money the audience showered the slaves with, then they retired to a room in the inn for the night.

The next day and many more after followed the same pattern. Aisha found it easier after a time dancing naked for the crowds. Familiarity had dulled some of the embarrassment she felt from the leering stares of the men or their grasping hands. The young woman kept looking, and hoping, for an opportunity for her and her sisters to escape, but to her disappointment, they were never given a chance. Imrall took no chances with such valuable slaves and never slackened in his vigilance keeping them under lock and chain.

After a week on the road, the caravan saw ever increasing evidence they were drawing closer and closer to the slave fair. On the roads, they occasionally came upon other caravans heading with coffles of glum slave girls in tow. The inns they stayed at were built for the slave trade. In addition to the large stables, they had dedicated slave pens where the merchants’ living wares could be securely locked up for the night…for a token fee.

As they passed out of the civilized lands into Three Crowns Folly itself, the way stops and inns grew further apart as they passed out of the settled lands and into the wild county where the slave fair flourished free of kings and law. Some evenings, Imrall and Logar had to drive the caravan hard through the day in order to reach the next inn by nightfall. On other days, they stopped and camped on the side of the road. From the cart, they unloaded and pitched a large purple and gold tent and laid out blankets for themselves and their slaves. The combined body warmth of the slaves kept the tents tolerably warm in the mild summer nights.

Finally, after weeks of traveling, they came to the Fair. “There it is! Our destination!” Imrall said, pointing as the cart crested a tall hill. Aisha turned and followed her Master’s outstretched hand. A few miles ahead of them was another, larger hill, flattened on top. It was ringed around the top by a wooden palisade, enclosing a large area filled with tents and brightly colored pavilions. It was far enough away Aisha couldn’t make out the crowds of people she knew must be moving about between those tents; buyers and sellers and, of course, the hundreds of slaves being bought and sold.
   
Though she couldn’t see any of the people at the fair just yet, they could see plenty on the road, heading to the Fair. They passed people returning from the fair, men and women, humans, elves and dwarves, leading their newly purchased slaves in ones and twos and threes. At one point, the caravan passed a stern elf lady with several guards leading a glum coffle of naked, human girls chained together at the neck; fresh meat for her brothel on the western coast.

As they got closer, they caught up to the others heading to the fair. Some were buyers on their way to see what was for sale. They watched with interest as Imrall and his slaves slowly shuffled by. Aisha saw others, overhead, wizards and sorcerers flying in on carpet, Pegasus or griffin. On the ground, they saw other merchants leading slaves to the market. In the morning, the wagon rolled past another cart. Aisha saw it had been converted into a rolling cage. Peering through the bars were a dozen female faces. The naked figures were the size of children, but had an older look of women grown. They were halflings. A sign over the cart proclaimed them, “Gudrun’s Fine Halfling Slaves!”

Gudrun himself Aisha guessed, was a middle aged man in a grey wizard’s robes. He was bent over the wagon’s left rear wheel, which had broken a spoke on a loose stone in the road. Beside him was a seedy-looking dwarf hireling helping to replace the wheel. “Just a slight delay, ladies.” Gudrun told his captives cheerfully, “Worry not, we’ll be at the Fair soon enough.”

That afternoon, they passed another coffle of slaves, resting in the shade of a grove of scraggly trees. The slaves were heavily chained, with thick metal collars, joined in a line with heavy iron chains, iron shackles on their feet and hands. The latter were furthered secured with a chain around the slave’s naked waists. Finally, thick canvas hoods covered their heads, obscuring their features. The precautions were necessary. The slaves were huge, even kneeling they were taller than the dwarf slavers watching over them, and heavily muscled. Their skin was a dark grey-green and their chained hands and feet were clawed. She-orcs, captured from the badlands, to be sold as labor for the mines and plantations...

Then, they came to the Fair. The road split, running along the wooden fence to two gates, each topped by a large sign Welcoming the crowds to the Three Crowns Slave Fair, alongside the Fair’s crest: a red and blue shield with three golden crowns opposite a stylized pair of open shackles. Most of the crowd headed to the close gate while Imrall turned the cart to the second, which appeared to be for sellers. A short distance through, they were approached by a human man in the garb of a scribe, with a wax tablet and stylus.

“Imrall!” The man said, recognizing the slaver as a regular at the slave Fair. “Always good to see you. Good catch?” He said, eying the coffle of slaves at the rear of the cart.

“We’ll see.” Imrall replied. “Well, go ahead and have a look.” He said, waving a hand.

The Fair inspector walked over to the coffle and went down the line. Each girl was quickly examined with an easy, practiced eye and hand, establishing a price for the slaves, which was marked down on the wax tablet, to ensure the Fair received their cut from the slave’s final sale. Imrall dismounted the cart and stood by, watching the process. Occasionally, he’d raise a protest at the price set for this girl or that. “I have to find a buyer and make a profit on this trip.” Imrall told him.

“I doubt you’ll have much trouble with that.” The inspector told him. He nodded up at the sisters in the cart. “What about them?”

“I’m not planning on selling them.” Imrall replied.

“Even so…”

With a sigh, Imrall nodded to Logar. The sailor unchained the sisters from the cart. “Come down, slaves, and let him inspect you.”

Reluctantly, the three climbed down from the cart. They disrobed and stood naked before the Fair’s Slave Inspector. He stepped up in front of Aisha to examine her first. It was quick and methodical, with no passion to it. He ordered the young woman to open her mouth to inspect her teeth. Next, he felt her barred breasts, weighing them in both hands much the way a housewife might examine a piece of ripe fruit at a market stall.

“Turn around, bend over.” The inspector ordered. Aisha gave a quiet whimper, knowing what was coming, but complied. A second later, she felt the man’s fingers on her sex, casually checking it for any sort of damage or disease.

“Very nice.” He said after a minute. Face red with shame, Aisha was allowed to straighten back up. “Your turn, dear.” He told Layla. One after another, the other two sisters submitted to his probing hands. He finished up and named a price for the three sisters. It was almost as much as the rest of the coffle combined.

“I know they’re fine pieces of merchandise…” Imrall feebly protested. “But that’s rather steep…”

“I thought you weren’t planning on selling them anyway?” The inspector replied. “You know the rules, the Fair gets it’s cut if they’re sold in Three Crowns. If you don’t like it, take it up with management.”

“No…no, that won’t be necessary…” Imral replied hastily. He nodded for the sisters to get back in the cart. Hurriedly, they scooped up their dresses. “Leave them off.” Imrall told them as they climbed into the back. “Fair rules. All slaves will be completely naked while on Fair Grounds.” He turned and spoke a few more words with the Inspector.

“All checked out, you’re cleared to sell your slaves in the Fair.” The other man told him. “I’ve marked you for plot 147. It’s not far from the west gate.” Imrall nodded, getting back in the cart. They rolled through a second gate a few yards further on and came into the Fair proper.

The cart made slow progress through the Fair Grounds, against the press of people. Hundreds of buyers, leading their newly purchased slaves along. Aisha and her sisters had performed on Fair Days before, in small villages and large cities. This was very much like the latter, a riot of colorful pavilions and banners, emblazoned with words in a dozen languages. At the tents, the vendors hawked their wares while out in the crowd, other sellers sold food, drinks from trays; bards and acrobats and jugglers performed, hoping to separate a small fraction of the money being spent at the Fair from the main sellers. All contributed to the bright carnival atmosphere of the Fair.

The only difference between Three Crowns and the small village fair to celebrate the harvest, or lamb shearing or the carnival of the annual trade fleets in a large port was the product being sold on every side. It wasn’t grain, or wool or mundane commodities. It was female bodies; women and girls taken from all the races of the known world and brought in chains to be sold here. Everywhere Aisha looked, she saw slaves, standing on the market block, being examined, frightened captives huddling in cages, waiting for their turn to be brought out and sold, glum maids being led away by their new owners to a new life.

The majority of the buskers, performers, small time food and drink sellers, were slaves themselves, working for the various vendors or for the Fair itself. At one point, the cart was passed up by a smaller, one-person cart carrying a Fairgoer only, rather than a horse or mule or unicorn pulling it, hitched to the front was a young elf maid. She was naked, apart from the leather restraints attaching her to the light carriage and she wore blinders and bridle designed much like that of any other sundry beast of burden. The pony slave moved quickly through the crowd, finding gaps to slip through that said she had quite a bit of experience ferrying people through the Fair like this. While Imrall shouted and cursed at the people blocking the progress of the large horse cart, the smaller pony carried sped beyond and was soon lost behind the crowds and tents.

Finally, they came to a gap in the slave pavilions that seemed to have been set aside for them. The cart was unloaded and the tent set up. Logar took the now empty wagon and horses off to find a place to stable them. Imrall took charge of the slaves. He led them into the pavilion. The sisters were ordered to kneel in the center of the tent, the other slaves along the back opposite the open flap. Imrall set up a small table beside the opening, ready to do business.

At their master’s order, Layla and Hasni started to play, the sweet sound attracting a crowd. When people began to gather at the front of the tent, Aisha rose up and started to dance. The sisters went through their routine, playing several more songs. When they reached the end, Imrall took over. “Distinguished visitors! I’m afraid my dancing slave will have to rest now, but they will perform again soon enough. In the meantime, would you care to have a look at some of my other slaves for sale?” A few in the crowd turned and left, but plenty more stayed to examine the line of chained girls on display. While the sisters retreated to one corner of the tent where a blanket had been set out with some food and a pitcher of watered down wine to refresh themselves, Imrall turned on the charm, presenting each new slave girl as the finest ever sold in Three Crowns.

Inevitably, the buyers would point as ask “How much for them?” pointing to the sisters. Imrall’s reply was always the same. “They’re not for sale. Not as a price you can pay.”

Pretty soon, Imrall’s salesmanship started to show results. One by one, Imrall haggled he price of a slave with a buyer. Coin was given and the girl in question unchained from the rest and handed over to her purchaser. The coins went into Imrall’s strong box, along with the coin that had already been earned on the road here. The slave was led off by her new master.

By the late afternoon, about half of the slaves had been sold. Dinah and Tollah were purchased early in the day by the steward of a noblewoman in the nearby Tare for the manor house staff. Aisha watched the two shuffle out of the tent after the steward and silently wished they would find their new Mistress a kinder one then Harga had been,

“Well, most of the crowd seem to be done for the day.” Imrall said at last, peering out of the tent. “Most of the other vendors are packing up for the day or getting ready for the Night Market. We’ll get this bunch over to the Slave Pens for the evening…” He inclined his head towards the remaining slaves kneeling at the back of the tent. “Then I’ve rented a room at the chained Maid for the evening.” The slaver turned and started packing up, when the flaps of the tent was thrown back and a man entered.

“Welcome, sir!” Imrall said. “You’ve come just in time. I was just getting ready to close up for the day. Can I interest you in this lovely blonde, a merchant’s daughter. She can read and write and do numbers…”

The man ignored Imrall for a moment and tuend to where Aisha and her sisters sat in the corner. AS he looked them over, Aisha studied the man. He was old, his bald head covered by a cloth cap, with a curly grey beard plaited and threaded with gold rings, but his bright green eyes had a startling power being them. The man wore a long colorful robe of red and golds and greens in a fashion that seemed familiar to the young dancer. It and the man’s dark skin, marked him from the Southern Continent. In his hands was a tall staff, of ebony wood, topped with a polished quartz crystal. A wizard, she assumed.

“Are these the performing sisters I’ve been hearing about today?” The man asked in a deep raspy voice. When Imrall confirmed it, the man said, “Tell them to play and dance for me.”

Hesitantly, Aisha rose to her feet while Layla strummed her lute and Hasni readied her drum. As Aisha danced one of their old dances, she was intently aware of the man watching her with an intense, studied gaze. She was relieved to see a pleasant smile cross the man’s stern face as she came to a finish.

“It’s been many years since I’ve seen the Dance of the Summer Maid performed so well, child, or heard the old instruments bring forth such sweet music.” The wizard told the sisters, smiling cheerfully. “Yes, you three will do nicely.”

“I’m sorry but these three are not…” Imrall started, but his voice fell silent as the wizard withdrew a pouch from his robes and loosed the top. From inside, he pulled out half a dozen gemstones each the size of a robin’s egg.

“I believe that will be an adequate price.” The wizard told him. Imrall stared, speechless at the fortune lying on the grass at his feet. With a nod, the wizard motioned for Laya and Hasni to get up on their feet. As they did, the raised his hand again, pointing it at them and speaking an odd string of words. A gleaming brass chain flew from his sleeve and threaded through the slave’s collars, joining them together. Taking the free end of the chain in his hand, the sisters hurried after their new owner.

Outside, the crowds earlier in the day had departed, save a few customers leading their new purchases home and a few vendors with one or two girls yet left to sell, hoping to clean out entirely for the day. The wizard walked down the avenue, making his way towards the west gate, his three slaves following after him.

A thousand questions buzzed inside Aisha’s mind, regarding this strange man who now owned them. The answers to any of them might determine their future. But it wasn’t until they were almost past the gate that she managed to work up the courage to speak.

“Um…master…sir…if it would please you…by what name should we call you?” Aisha stammered her question.

The wizard turned. “Well, child, if you would know my name, I am lord Erabo, a sorcerer from the land of Kush. I am the court wizard for the Sontar of Sekairn.” Behind Aisha, she heard her sisters gasp at the mention of their home. The wizard, Erabo, smiled. “Yes, I thought you were from that land yourselves when I first saw you. When you danced I knew you were of that city for sure. But I am not to be your master, maid. My Lord, the Sontar has a son, Prince Adain, who in a few short weeks will celebrate his nineteenth birthday and become a man grown. You three are to be my birthday gift to him. At his age, there is nothing a young man appreciates more than a beautiful dancing slave.” He smiled. “But you need not worry. The prince is a kind master who will treat you well.”

Aisha dimly recalled, shortly before they had departed their home, performing in the city as part of the general celebrations of the Prince’s sixteenth birthday. She remembered seeing him from far away, a handsome lad standing in a chariot at the head of a procession of the Sontar’s guards. Already, one could see the handsome man he would grow up to become. And now, Aisha learned, he was to be their master.

“Now come, slaves!” The wizard said, giving a light tug on their chain lead. “The hour grows late and I grow weary. We shall take my carpet to the coast where a trade ship is waiting that will carry us to Sekairn.” Outside the gates, he raised his hand and called out in a loud voice. From somewhere far off, a brightly colored carpet flew down, landing at his feet. The wizard bade the sisters to kneel in the center of the woven square. Sitting at the front, he raised his hands again and chanted. Gasps of excitement rose from the three as they rose up off the ground. In moments, they were speeding through the air faster than they had ever thought possible. In a few hours, they would cover as much ground as they had with Imrall and the slow wagon had traveled in as many days.

Aisha turned her head, looking to her sisters. Both had smiles on their faces. Part of that was excitement at this new and amazing method of travel. The other part was hope at their destination. Aisha smiled, giving a slight shrug of her shoulders. Things had been far harder and the road winding but in the end, “Home again…"