At the crest of the steep, wooded hill Tiatha paused to catch her breath. She panted a bit. The air here was already noticeably thinner here then in the foothills and the grim gray peaks of the Altvari Mountains still loomed ahead of her, with the pass she needed to take to get to Destina Hold. Reluctantly, Tiatha resumed her journey. As she walked along, she pulled her green wool cloak around her shoulders tighter. Spring may have come in the lowlands, where the peasants were hard at work planting the year’s crop, but up here in the foothills, winter still clung on. She shivered, up in the mountain passes snow would still be thick on the ground.
Briefly, Tiatha considered casting a spell to warm herself up. She quickly dismissed that thought. Though she was a mage of the third rank, her magical reserves were not limitless and she might need all the magic she had. The pass ahead of her was seldom traveled by honest folks and unknown dangers could lurk in wait.
Not long after she was resumed her journey, Tiatha came upon the caravan. She heard it before she saw it. While the dull tramp of feet on the rocky path could have belonged to any large body of travelers, the rattling of chains and sharp snapping cracks of whips, accompanied by high, feminine screams mixed with the low moans of general misery told her at once the caravan ahead of her belonged to a band of slavers, hauling a train of human cargo up the high mountain pass.
Tiatha gritted her teeth. Not three years ago, the trade in female slaves had been all but unknown in these lands, practiced only in distant, heathen lands and a few lawless settlements on the edges of civilization. Those cruel men who engaged in the brutal practice of capturing and selling innocent free women were seen as nothing but common brigands and hunted ruthlessly by all law abiding folk.
But all of that had changed, and so abruptly. The wars that had ravaged across the land for so long had left many holds ruined and poor. Others found themselves with dungeons overflowing with female prisoners, whether soldiers captured on the battlefield or civilians caught up in raids and held hostage until a ransom could be paid by their families or holds. But with so many left destitute, those would be a long time in coming.
Seeing their opportunity, the foul slavers had begun to worm their way into civilized society, presenting the trade in nubile female flesh as a way to make use of these worthless hostages and prisoners while enriching the Holds, or at least the nobles who ruled them. More then one, it was rumored, had had the benefits of a legalized slave trade demonstrated to them by finding a beautiful young slave girl chained naked in their bed, a tribute from the agents of the slaving companies.
When Vitteran had become the first Hold to declare the buying and keeping of slave girls legal, Tiatha, like every other strong, independent woman, had been shocked, but not overly worried. Surely Vitteran would find itself shunned by all the other Holds and would soon be forced to change their laws back. To her dismay and growing horror though, wealth poured in to the rogue Hold. As Vitteran became a center for the revitalized slave trade, Hold after Hold passed similar laws, inviting the slave traders into their walls, bringing their wares of captive females with them and putting any woman or girl within their territory in danger of being snatched away into the awful trade.
For a time, Tiatha had been able to avoid those Holds, but soon her safe havens began to dwindle as other Holds were pressured to allow the trade into their territories and bowed to the inevitable. In almost every Hold now, all one saw on the streets were countless slave girls, often naked apart from their collars and shackles, the badges of their new status. Those few remaining free women hid in their homes, afraid to show their pretty faces on the streets, lest they catch the eye of a slaver and be marked for abduction, disappearing from their home suddenly one night only to appear days or weeks later on the auction block in the next Hold over.
Out in the countryside, it was even worse. Slavers roamed at will, openly grabbing any pretty maids unlucky enough to cross their path. As the supply of free women dwindled and the demand for more slaves increased, they had become ever more brazen in their depredations, storming isolated farmhouses and even smaller villages in number, threatening the locals and dragging off their wives and daughters weeping in chains.
Thus far, Tiatha had been able to avoid a slave’s collar, but she felt the risk constantly. Each time she stopped for a drink in an inn, she wondered if it had been drugged and she would awaken in the inn’s storeroom, bound and gagged, awaiting the next passing caravan. Each time she went to sleep, she had to wonder if she would awaken with a collar around her throat, her new master standing over her. And now here was a whole caravan of slavers up ahead of her, miles from any settlement and whatever meager help she might find in one of them these days.
She shook her head, steeling her nerves. She had no choice but to pass it. One woman, even walking slowly would soon overtake a caravan slowed to a crawl by what sounded like a dozen captives, all in iron fetters. Going around them, off the paths was no solution either. Who knew what worse threats lurked in the woods, assuming she didn’t simply lose her way entirely. Besides, a part of Tiatha fumed at the slave trade, what it stood for and the threat is posed to her future. If she couldn’t do anything to stop it, flaunting it by passing by so brazenly on the road would at least make her feel better.
Walking at a brisk pace, it didn’t take Tiatha long to catch up with the slave caravan. Rounding a bend in the road, past a grove of trees, it suddenly came into view. The first thing she noticed were the slaves themselves. There was a line of about a dozen girls and young women. Not a particularly large coffle, especially not compared to the endless lines of chained slaves Tiatha had seen shuffling to and from the major slave markets, but she guessed a smaller group would be easier to manage over the rough mountain passes.
Besides, they all looked to be choice lasses, young and comely with fair hair and fine figures. Not one had seen more then a score of summers, she guessed. Their clothes were a mix, some simple peasant garb, others finer dresses that might have been worn by a wealth merchant or a nobleman’s daughter. But by now they were all reduced to rags, torn and dirty, much like the wearers had been reduced to miserable slavery. Tiatha saw, to her outrage, how many had had their clothes deliberately ripped by their captors at the fronts, to expose a good deal of their bosoms, if not bare their chests entirely, or torn along the side so each short step exposed nearly the whole length of long, slender leg.
The captives could only take short, halting steps, for each was hobbled with a set of iron ankle fetters. Their hands were further locked into iron handcuffs, trapping them uselessly behind their backs. From her position behind the coffle, Tiatha could see leather straps circling the girls’ heads, doubtless holding some sort of gag in place. Completing their bondage were heavy iron collars around each slave’s neck. They were joined by lengths of chain, linking them together into a short coffle.
After giving the piteous sight of the helpless girls, bent double under the weight of the collars and despair at their bondage a long look over, Tiatha turned her attention to the slavers guarding their living merchandise. There were five of them, though she supposed there could have been more up ahead, scouting the route they were taking. Four walked alongside the coffle, while the last rode in a small horse drawn cart which she guessed carried the caravan’s provisions and equipment. Four, including the man in the cart, were humans, hard rough looking men, while the fourth looked to have some orc blood in him. They were dressed in a motley assortment of armor, bits of plate and chain, studded leather and padded jackets, none from the same original suit.
They likewise bore a range of weapons: one a long sword, another a burly falchion, one had a billhook over one shoulder and a bow. But all of them, except for the driver, carried whips, short braided lengths of leather, either with a single thin strand or a tangle of wider straps. They were not shy about using them in keeping the coffle moving at the tortured crawl that was all the captives could manage in their leg irons.
The slavers noticed Tiatha almost as quickly as she saw them. The man on the cart glanced back over his shoulder when the sounds of her approach got close enough to be heard over the din of the coffle. He shouted a word to his companions who turned to look as well. The young woman saw leering grins across some faces. She was well aware of what they would see: another choice piece of merchandise, young, fit, with fair skin, silky red hair and a full figure. Just the kind to tempt any slaver.
This far from a Hold, no one would say much if they were to grab her, here and now, and lock a collar around her neck. And once they got to the Hold, who would believe she had been kidnapped and illegally enslaved. It would be her, a slaves’ word, against the rich and powerful slave traders who dominated the region these days. And that was assuming she was even allowed to speak and not gagged like the rest.
Tiatha forced herself to keep her expression neutral, her head held high and proud. This was a tricky dance, to get past the caravan without incident. Most men these days, slavers like these especially so, seemed to view every woman as a slave; the collaring was just a formality. Showing weakness would only invite them to prove it so.
As she got closer, the Sorceress casually conjured ethereal flames into the palm of her free hand, letting her eyes flash with power. Both relatively minor illusions, not requiring much of her power, but it let the men know she was no helpless maiden, ripe for enslavement. She had power and could use it to defend herself and her freedom. Five men was still probably too many for her to take at once, or else she might have been tempted to try and liberate the coffle, but she could almost certainly take one or two down with her. Hopefully, they would decide it wasn’t worth the risk they would be one of the unlucky ones, just to capture one more slave.
As she closed the distance, the display seemed to be working. The slavers continued to watch as she passed, but their leering stares had a more guarded look to them. Aside from one man who mockingly suggested she stick with them on the road, saying they’d “take good care of you!” the slavers didn’t address her to try to impede her. Tiatha kept silent as well, looking straight ahead, though she made sure to keep the slavers in the corner of her eyes until she was well past.
She also did her best not to look at the chain of glum slaves as she went by either, though it was just as hard. While some of the women kept their heads down, worn into submission by their captors, a few turned their heads to watch with sad eyes as this free woman walked past. Hardest was a young peasant lass, closer to a girl then a woman, who grunted a plea around the leather-wrapped bit cruelly forced into her mouth. She strained against the chains joining her to the women ahead and behind her in line, shuffling after Tiatha.
“Quiet slave!” One of the slavers growled and his whip cracked, jerking a sobbed cry from the girl. Ahead, Tiatha big her tongue to keep quiet. Much as she wanted to try and help the poor maid, there was nothing she could do for her, or any of them. Their fates had been sealed when the collars were locked shut. But she could keep from joining them, at least for now.
Once past the slave caravan and out of sight, Tiatha quickened her pace, wanting to put as much distance between her and it as possible. She didn’t stop even as the sounds of the whips and chains faded from her ears. Though she could easily outpace the slow crawl of the hobbled slaves, Tiatha couldn’t completely discount the possibility the slavers might send one or two of their number ahead, hoping to creep up on the sorceress and ambush her once she had let her guard down, thinking herself past the danger.
“Have to be careful when I bed down for the night...” She thought. With only one trail, winding its way through the mountain pass, it wouldn’t be hard for the slavers to follow her and she dared go only so far off the path to search for a hidden place to unfurl her bedroll. Still, she knew some inexpensive illusion spells which would help obscure her location and others to warn her of any approaching dangers, whether in the form of brutish animals or brutish slavers.
Then Tiatha was well ahead of the slave caravan and once more enveloped by the still quiet of this wild, isolated place. She did her best to put the thought of the coffle, the distressing image of its poor members and the fear over how close she had come to joining it, out of her mind. Better to think of her own journey and what lay ahead at her destination.
Half an hour later, Tiatha came to a sudden halt. She stood still for a second, looking around, listening. Consciously, she couldn’t have said what it was, some subconscious sense, warning her of danger. The still, quiet mountain pass was no longer quite so still and quiet. The trees which had crowded close on either side of the trail were starting to thin as she neared the high mountain passes, but there were still thick stands of evergreens, rustling in the chill wind.
And not just from the wind… As Tiatha stood, wary, she saw some of the trees begin to quake, branches snapping as something moved through the thick growth. It gave her a few seconds of warning, then with a mighty crash and a bellowing roar, a mountain troll burst from the woods and charged at her. It was a terrifying sight to behold, nine feet tall and nearly as broad, loping forward in a stooped, apelike gait. It was covered in a thick shaggy pelt of white fur, leftover from the long mountain winter. In one long, gangly arm it held a thick tree trunk like a crude cudgel. Spotting Tiatha standing on the path, it opened it’s mouth, revealing long ivory fangs, and giving another roar, thundering down the path towards her.
Fortunately, those few seconds of warning had given the sorceress time to prepare. She’d dropped her pack and cloak to the ground, not wanting to be slowed down. As it came towards her, she raised both hands, palms raised outward, and called upon her magic. When it got within a dozen paces, she spoke a word of power and a tremendous gout of flames spewed forth, wrapping around the onrushing troll in a churning mass of fire and smoke.
The troll roared in shock and pain, but it kept coming. Tiatha had anticipated her first spell wouldn’t be enough to stop it in its tracks and even as it swung its club, she threw herself out of the way, rolling across the snowy path. Half blinded by smoke and cinders, the club thudded down, burying itself deep into the mud of the road.
Nimbly, Tiatha scrambled to her feet, calling forth more magical power. She’d hoped the troll might be scared off by the fire, or simply decide to seek less dangerous prey, but it had been a hard winter up in the mountains. The troll was evidently hungry enough it valued a potential meal more then the potential danger to itself. Mud flew as it wrenched the club back up. Raising it, the troll bellowed and charged up at her again again.
Again, Tiatha waited until it got close and unleashed another blast of pyromantic fire. Unfortunately, the troll had learned from the previous charge. With its simple, brutish cunning, it held one shaggy arm up, taking the brunt of the flames, shielding its face. Its thick pelt smoldered, but didn’t burn. Tiatha threw herself to the side, but the troll spotted the motion and turned its club enough to clip the young woman on her side. Had it struck with full force, her rib cage might have been shattered, but as it was she was knocked back, crying out as pain jolted through her body.
Heart pounding in her ears, Tiatha forced herself to concentrate, bringing a hand up to her bruised side, and spoke the words of a healing spell. Power flowed into her body, pain fading as the wound faded to nothingness. She staggered to her feet, panting heavily. Such healing, on top of two massive pyromancy spells had taken a lot out of her. She had enough left for maybe one more spell...
“It’ll have to do...” She thought, watching as the troll turned towards her once more, lifting its club it. She swore she saw a malevolent grin in its animal snarl, as if it knew she was all but spent and was savoring the kill to come. The mountain pass shook as it lurched forward into another charge, an arm raised to block her final spurt of flames.
Instead, Tiatha raised her hands and spoke the words of a different spell. Between her palms a long, thin rod if ice materialized from the aether, quickly forming into a wicked three foot ice spear. With a cry, she sent it hurtling forward, praying to the goddess her aim would be true. If not, the troll would be on her and that would be the end of her…
It was true. The icy spear shot forward, sinking over half it’s length into the troll’s shaggy breast. The tip of it must have found its way to the brute’s heart because it gave a low groan and toppled forward, dead. Unfortunately for Tiatha, in its final steps, it had closed the distance between it and the mage. Had it still been living and swung its club, it would have certainly killed her. Even in death, the several hundreds of pounds of troll that collided bodily with her sent the mage sprawling, rolling down the path for several yards until she came to a halt.
Tiatha lay there for a long minute, expecting at any moment for the troll to get up and come over to finish the job, but it remained where it lay. The sorceress was too exhausted from the fight to give a cheer, or even sit up, so she remained where she was, silently mouthing a prayer of thanks to the Goddess. Summoning the last of her arcane reserves, she cast another, minor spell to heal the worst of the bruises and sprains she’d taken in the last collision, but she stayed where she was, content to lie there for the time being, and catch her breath.
“I should crawl back over...” She thought, “get the bedroll out of the bag, and some food, make camp...” She was distracted from this thought by an odd sound coming up the path towards her. It was a light, metallic jingling. In her dazed state, she knew the sound meant something, but was too worn to think of what it was...at least until she heard the crack of a whip, following by a woman’s cry and suddenly remembered.
“Shit...” She cursed, struggling to rise, but in her weakened state she found herself unable to even stagger to her feet, much less run. A low moan of despair sank in as she realized what was coming and there was nothing to she could do.
A cry of alarm went up from the slavers as they saw the scene: the hulking, shaggy mass of the mountain troll, a few feet away the still form of Tiatha. For a brief moment, she hoped the sight would scare off the slavers, but after a few seconds had passed without it stirring, they realized the troll was dead. She heard footsteps drew close as they hurried forward to investigate. For the moment, their attention was entirely on the dead monster, but soon enough one of them spotted the prone mage.
“Hey, look over here!” Tiatha groaned, the sudden surge of fear giving her the strength to roll over and sit up. Her face went pale as she saw two of the slavers running towards her. A set of shackles rattled noisily in the hands of the lead man.
“Stay back!” Tiatha cried, throwing up a hand. She tried to conjure her magic, desperation drawing up the final scraps of power in her. A small flame appeared in her palm, flickering in the cold, mountain wind. The slavers slowed, growing wary at the sight, giving the mage some hope, but at that moment her reserves ran out completely. The flames vanished in a puff of sparks and smoke. She tried to summon up more, but she was totally drained. At that moment, she had no more power in her then any of the other women, chained together down the path.
With savage whoops, the slavers rushed forward. “Not so haughty now, eh bitch?” The first one to reach her snarled. As Tiatha tried to scramble to her feet, he roughly kicked her back down, another one rolling her over, roughly, onto her belly. “Run out of spells? Too bad!” He said with a laugh, settling down on top of the prone woman.
“Bastards!” She snarled, struggling under his grasp. “You wouldn’t be so happy if I hadn’t killed that troll for you.” She grunted sharply as her hands were wrenched behind her back.
“Lucky us, eh?” The man replied, sneering down at her. “Not only are we saved the trouble of dealing with that troll, but we get a nice slave out of the bargain as well!” He and the other men laughed. Tiatha gave a sharp cry of fright as she felt cold metal slip around one of her wrists, then the other. The shackles snapped shut with loud “clicks!” trapping her hands behind her back.
“You bastards!” She growled angrily. “Let me go, bastards!” It was about all she could do. She tugged frantically at the chains joining her wrists, but she had no chance to getting free of them. Another slaver passed over a second set of manacles which soon closed tight around her ankles. “You’ll pay for this!” She screamed, though the chances of that were slim. Even so, the slavers soon tired of her shouting.
“Shut her up!” One growled. Another passed something over to the slaver atop Tiatha. As he brought it round, she saw it was a thick bit, the wooden shaft covered with smooth leather dyed black. Straps of the same material hung off either end.
Defiantly, Tiatha clamped her mouth shut but the man pressed the bit up against her lips, increasing the pressure until she was forced to open up and let the gag slip between her teeth. She gagged, grunting as the thick rod was forced all the way back, wedging her jaws apart and pressing into the sides of her mouth. The straps were quickly pulled around and buckled on tight, ensuring the gag would stay there for the foreseeable future.
Satisfied Tiatha had been rendered completely helpless, the slaver got up off the young woman. Together with another slaver, they half marched, half dragged their captive back to the coffle. In the line, the other slaves looked up at her in horror. If even a woman as powerful as her could fall prey to the slavers, what chance did they have of ever escaping bondage?
The final slaver had been rummaging in the cart while the others were busy shackling Tiatha. As the young woman was led over, he jumped down off of it. He grinned, holding up what he had been looking for. It was a slave collar, a thick ring of steel, hinged on one side, much like the ones locked around the necks of all of the other women, but what set this one apart from those were the complex runes etched all around the ring, inside and out.
“Found it! Bought this off a trader a few months ago. Never thought we’d get the chance to use it.” The slaver said, holding it up to the young woman. Tiatha went pale, recognizing it at once: a spell collar. The runes marked on it were designed to drain a mage of their power and prevent them from casting spells. Once it was only used in those instances where a practitioner had committed some crime and needed to be safely locked up. But with the spread of the slave trade and more and more female spellcasters falling prey, such collars had proliferated, enabling the slavers to strip their victims of their powers and render them helpless against their captors.
Tiatha squirmed, fighting a hopeless struggle against the burly men holding her in place. She was too drained to cast spells now, but a night or two of food and rest, even what meager amounts the slavers usually allowed their chattel, would restore some of her power back. With her hands restricted and a bit between her teeth the spells she could cast were limited, but it gave her some hope at least that she could manage an escape before they reached their destination and she was sold. Now that hope was about to be snatched away.
“Mmmppphhh!!!” Tiatha grunted into her gag, shaking her head as the slaver advanced, holding the collar out in front of him, open towards the young woman. A long moan of despair escaped her lips as the steel ring slid into place and was closed tight around her neck. The instant it did, a heavy, exhausting sensation settled over the mage. The runes on the outside of the collar flickered with eldritch light as the tiny scraps of power that yet remained in the young woman were siphoned away from her.
The slavers grinned, jeering and taunting. They enjoyed nothing more then seeing a formerly powerful and haughty woman, what few remained these days, brought low and made nothing more then their property. Tiatha slumped down in the grip of the slavers, quiet sobs escaping her as she knew the nightmare she had dreaded for so long had at last come to pass: she was now just a slave, to be carried off by these men and sold.
“Let’s get a better look at our prize.” One of the men said, the others lustfully agreeing. Tiatha managed an indignant squeal as one of the men produced a knife and slashed the front laces of her tunic. The ruined garment was ripped open, baring her chest to the men. Her round breasts bounced freely, the nipples quickly hardening in the cold air.
Scarcely a moment had passed, though, before hands shout out to paw and knead the soft orbs roughly. Another slaver stepped around behind and grabbed her skirt, raising it up. Tiatha screamed in outrage biting down on her gag. She whimpered, rattling her chains in outrage, but there was nothing she could do to stop the lewd assault on her body. All she could do was endure it, praying it would be over soon.
Eventually, her prayer was answered. “Enough fun.” One of the slavers said, “We need to keep moving. Get her chained to the rest.” The others growled in disappointment, but obeyed. Tiatha’s skirt was dropped back into place, covering that much of her at least. Her tunic, though remained torn open, bare breasts bouncing with each awkward step as she was dragged to the rear of the coffle. A short length of chain was attached to the front of her collar, the other end running to a ring on the one of the girl in front of her.
The rest of the slavers took their places as before. One of them stopped to scoop up Tiatha’s pack and cloak and tossed them in the cart. Selling her former belongings would be an added bonus, on top of the coins they get from selling her.
“Move out!” The lead slaver cried. The others echoed it, cracking their whips, some in the air, others on soft female flesh. Tiatha winced as a livid streak of pain flashed across her flank. A second later, the girl in front of her started forward. The chain linking her and Tiatha snapped taut, jerking the former mage forward. With a whimper, she shuffled, moving awkwardly in her chains. Head bowed low, she marched off into slavery...