A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (snow like ashes series TXT) 📗

how Erlan had imagined arriving at this almost mythical place, but still he couldn’t suppress the rising anticipation he felt. The chain slipped angrily through the iron hoops holding them to the bench and Erlan and his row-mate were jerked up and out of their festering pit. For a second, the brightness of the sun blinded him; the chain around his ankles caught on something, and he tripped and fell hard on his knees.

‘On your feet, cripple.’ Rough hands seized him and pulled him up again. As they did, his gaze was drawn beyond them, beyond the ship, out over the water and upwards. In that instant, everything and everyone around him vanished. He was transfixed. Stretching upwards towards a jagged skyline was a mountain of stone. He saw white walls striped with bands of red, huge houses of stone of three, four, even five storeys, vast temples of red and white with domes that bulged up into the sky. And everywhere people. Swarms of them on land and on water. Dozens atop the walls armed with shield and spear. Hundreds on the stone quayside, moving up and down the stairs leading to the choppy harbour water which stank of rotten fish and tar and human waste.

‘Welcome to the centre of the world, slave,’ Ramedios sneered, and shoved him towards the gangway.

He felt a strange mixture of humiliation and indifference, being sized up like a bull at a fair. As if he were a mere observer, looking out from the top of the auction block over the sea of faces, with no say in the matter, nothing to do but stand there.

Most faces were uninterested. But some eyes darted and glanced sidelong, shifting from him to the crowd. He noticed a new bidder, a dark-skinned fellow, thin on hair with a shocking red beard, wrapped in a sky-blue robe like a woman. The best Erlan could tell, this man was the fourth bidder. Four different fates beckoned, and as the price rose he wondered which the Norns had chosen.

Earlier, he had watched with impotent rage as Aska was paraded back and forth until eventually a man in a wide-brimmed fur hat had won the bid. The last he’d seen of his one-eyed companion was the fur hat bobbing through the crowd. The gods only knew what fate awaited Aska. Perhaps he was destined for the man’s cooking pot.

Later, he saw Ildur sold. Now it was his turn.

The sun beat down with its merciless heat. He felt he would melt away entirely if he had to stand there much longer. There was a stick wedged between his back and his elbows, meant to control him and make him stand up straight. He rolled his shoulders, trying to find some relief from its sharp bite, but all that did was earn him a jab in his ribs from the overseer’s staff. He jerked away, his foot turned, grating the misshapen spur of bone in his ankle. The old wound. His old weakness. His knee crumpled in pain.

Silanos wasn’t surprised. He had already noticed the way the Northman favoured his right leg and the slightly twisted angle of his left foot. The barbarian hadn’t shifted it once, not until this moment, and as soon as he did his left leg gave way like the stem of a wine glass. In truth, it was rather pathetic to see how easily he was felled.

‘That man is a cripple,’ he yelled. It hardly needed saying but there had been an uncomfortable amount of interest in this one and the price was getting too high. Here was his chance to shake off the competition. ‘What do you take us for!’ He pushed forward, swelling with sham indignation. ‘Are we a herd of peasants to be gulled out of our gold?’

The slaver had been content, thus far, to watch proceedings from the back of the auctioneer’s platform, slouched under an awning. ‘I assure you, friend,’ he called back, ‘whatever the man’s defects, you’ll never find a warrior more deadly with a sword.’

‘Horse shit!’ Silanos cried. ‘I know ten street-sweepers could best this fellow in a fight.’ He turned to the crowd. ‘This man is playing us for fools. This cripple can’t fight. He’s damaged goods. Great God, he can hardly stand!’ Silanos felt the sparks of his outrage take. Other bidders were complaining now, and the Northman wasn’t helping the slaver’s cause any; his face was a grimace of pain.

The slaver was arguing now, trying to quell the growing jeers of the crowd. At last the auctioneer tugged the Northman off the block. Angry words flew about. Then Silanos saw his moment of triumph; the rich Armenian, his main rival in the bid, turned away in disgust. The auctioneer was already pulling forward the next lot and the slaver’s men were dragging away the Northman.

Silanos smiled and followed them through the crowd.

Erlan wasn’t sure what had just happened. But the result was clear enough: he was still in chains and still a captive of Ramedios. He felt cheated. One day, he promised himself, he would pay the double-dealing Greek back in kind but right now any fate was better than remaining his prisoner.

They threw him back in the lock-up Ramedios had hired for his slaves. Erlan slumped down in the filthy sawdust. He was exhausted, his mind most of all, and for a while he let sleep slip over him like a welcome shroud. . .

He was recalled to his senses by a sharp kick to his ankle. ‘Get up, cripple. He wants you.’

He was dragged to his feet and led back outside to where Ramedios had set up a booth for the day. The slaver was reclining in the shade on a makeshift couch, quaffing wine out of a silver goblet. There was another man with him, also with goblet in hand. To Erlan’s surprise, he recognized the sky-blue robe and red beard of the bidder who had reduced the auction to farce.

‘Strip him,’ Ramedios ordered.

‘Just the