Through the barred window of the dungeon cell, Firrath could hear the voice of the town crier as he walked past: “Slave auction! Tomorrow at dawn! Strong workers! Exotic beauties! Slave Auction tomorrow!” For the past few days, the crying had gone on around the city, to ensure a big crowd the next day, when Firrath and the rest of the captives down in the dungeons would be taken out and sold to the highest bidder.

 The young woman sat in the dingy cell, leaning against the wall. There wasn’t room in the cell for her to lay down. A dozen other young women and girls shared it with her while a similar number packed the other cells in this wing of the dungeon. The men, near as she could tell, were locked in a different area. From time to time, one of the other captives would wake from their uneasy slumber, crying out for a missing father or brother.

 In that alone, Firrath could count herself lucky. The rest of her family and kin, so far as she knew, were still alive and free. She alone had taken the day to walk over to the next village, to visit one some friends and thus had been there when the raiders’ came in their ships.

 It had all happened so suddenly. One moment, she and her friends were sharing a pleasant conversation in the village market, when people began screaming and running as strange men in armor, with weapons drawn, came charging in bellowing their savage war cries. Surrounded and in shock, Firrath and the others had no hope. The next thing she knew, her hands were bound and she was stumbling up the gangplank of one of the raiders’ ships to be locked down in the dark hold for the long journey back to their homeland and the auction block.

 Outside, the crying continued, “Slave Auction! Tomorrow at dawn…”