Chapter Three
A whip
snapped through the air as the struggled in the taskmaster’s grip. It hit his
exposed back with a loud crack, and he screamed in pain. He whimpered as the
whip came up for another hit, screaming louder when it hit the second time.
Javan
turned away, unable to watch any longer. Nathan had once been a member of the
Nathalael middle class, but had been caught in the act of robbing a priest. The
punishment had been slavery. He was being whipped because he had been caught
trying to escape, a crime usually punished by death. But Nathan had been put on
the lists of those who would be sacrificed in the Temple of the Sun at the end of the harvest
season, and Nathan had tried to run.
Javan went
back to work as the screaming continued. He blocked the sounds from his mind, focusing
only on the task at hand. He gathered more wheat, putting it in a container
several feet away. After several more minutes, the screaming stopped. Javan
turned back for a minute, watching the taskmasters carry Nathan’s unconscious
form into Rathanel’s house, the door shutting behind them. Several Salashien
took advantage of this opportunity to rest, but Javan shook his head and
continued working.
The
taskmasters came back out again. They yelled at the slaves that had not
returned to their positions quickly enough, and praised those that were
working. The taskmasters were only cruel to those who disobeyed their will. He
felt a hand clap his shoulder, and looked behind him. Inithi was a taskmaster,
but for some reason he had taken a liking to Javan. He was more lenient towards
him, and for that most of the other slaves hated him.
“Good job,
Javan.” Inithi said. “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you to get back to work,
and you didn’t surprise me.”
Javan
noticed that many of the taskmasters were shepherding the slaves into the
house. “What’s going on, Inithi?” He asked.
“The city
priest has ordered an evacuation.”
“An
evacuation? Why?” Javan said.
“A group of
Kalathi soldiers are headed toward Nod.”
The King’s men must have made it back to the
first group and continued fighting, Javan thought. He had assumed that the
ambushing forces had wiped them out. He thought fast, reaching conclusions
quickly. If I can avoid the evacuation,
than I’ll be reunited with the King’s Men and escape slavery. He nodded to
Inithi and walked into the house. He walked up a flight of stairs to an oak
door and knocked before entering.
“Rathanel,
its Javan.” He said.
“Come in,
Javan.” Rathanel said. Javan entered the room to see Rathanel standing next to
the window, loading a gun. “The city is going to be attacked, and I will be
aiding its defense.” He put the gun on the bed and loaded another one. “I’m
going to be supplying many of Nod’s defenders with firearms.”
“Are we
going out of the city?” Javan said.
“Yes. I
can’t trust most of your fellow Salashien with a shovel, let alone a gun.”
Javan
nodded. “I trust I’ll be in charge of them?”
“No, you
won’t.” Rathanel said, shaking his head. “You’re going to be leaving the city
by yourself.”
Javan
frowned. “But why?” He said cautiously. Most slaves that were sent out of the
city alone were killed or sold to another captor. Thoughts of escape surfaced
to the forefront of his mind, but he brushed those aside.
“Because
I’m going to be releasing you, Javan,” He said. “You will be given back to the
Kalathi soldiers when the Priest goes to parlay. You will be leaving with
them.”
Javan
ignored the tears welling up in his eyes. “So I’ll be free?” He said.
“As much as
I hate to say it, yes. You will be free.” The tears slid down Javan’s cheeks,
but he didn’t wipe them off. “You were one of the best slaves I have had,
Javan. I will be missing your work.” He said. Javan nodded, and left the room.
He went to his quarters and let loose his welled up emotions. He had made
friends in Nod, but now he would be going back to his wife and grandchildren,
who likely thought he was dead. He came back to the main hall after several
minutes. He was walking toward the door when Inithi’s hand clapped his shoulder
again.
“Where you
going, Javan?” He said.
“Inithi, if
you would be so kind as to escort Javan to the Priest’s home.” Rathanel said as
he entered the hall. “He will be released to his fellow soldiers at parlay.”
Inithi nodded, and together they walked to his car. They did not speak on the way
to the Priest. The drive was short, and Inithi waved briefly as Javan walked
toward the Priest’s house. He kicked the door, the Nathalael equivalent of
knocking. At Rathanel’s farm he had knocked because he was informal most of the
time, but here he would follow the Nathalael customs. The door opened,
revealing a tall, fat man.
“Are you
Rathanel’s soldier?” The man asked him, looking down.
“Yes,”
Javan said.
“You’re a
lot older than I expected.” He said. “Come in, and I will bring you to the
Priest.” The Priests home was humble, being only one floor. The only servant
the Priest had was the man who had answered the door. They walked into a room
with a small bed in one corner and a small bookshelf in the other corner. A
man, presumably the Priest, was meditating on the floor.
“Priest, I
have the soldier you requested for the parlay.” The servant said.
The man
looked up. “Good.” He looked Javan up and down. “Leave the room, Nardeth. I
would like to speak to the veteran alone for a minute.” The Priest got up as
Nardeth left the room. “You are older than I expected you to be.” He said.
“That’s
what your servant said, as well.” Javan said politely, trying to avoid
offending the priest in any way.
“Have you
fought in any wars other than the one we fight now?” The Priest asked.
“I served
for six years in the Kalathi military forty years ago, Priest.” Javan said.
“I presume
you fought in the last war against my nation as well, or are my assumptions
incorrect?” The Priest said calmly.
“You
presume correctly.” Javan said carefully. “I was twenty-one when I joined, a
young man who wanted to fight for his King.”
“And the
wars then didn’t give you your fill of battle?” The Priest said. “Why did you
join the military again, thirty-eight years later?”
Javan
paused. “I don’t know, Priest.” The Priest nodded, and sat back down.
“You may
rest until we are ready to leave, which will be at Highsun. He closed his eyes,
and Javan left the room. He searched for Nardeth, and asked him for some food.
He ate and went to sleep on the floor in the small hallway near the front door.
He woke up and checked the clock in the kitchen. It was five minutes to
Highsun. He went back into the Priest’s room. He stopped as he entered, his
joints aching. He had aged well, but it was finally beginning to get to him.
The Priest got up, opening his eyes and putting on a pair of glasses that had
been resting on the bookshelf. “Very well,” He said, “We will go.” They left
the house, walking toward the edge of the small city. They approached the
Kalathi army and saw them firing at a large group of Nathalael troops that were
taking cover behind a barricade of cars. The Priest paused for a moment and ran
to the group of Nathalael soldiers.
“What’s
going on?” The Priest said to one of the men taking cover.
“Several of
our men started to fire at the Kalathi, sir.” He said. “They fired back.”
“Who
fired?” The soldier pointed to four men who were firing above the bullet-ridden
cars. The Priest walked over to them and shot all four of them in the head.
“Ceasefire!” The Priest yelled. The Nathalael stopped firing and looked at him,
awaiting commands. A couple of the soldiers protested but were silenced by the
others. He walked around the cars toward the Kalathi, his hands held above his
head. Javan followed him, noticing several of the King’s Men reloading their
weapons. Javan was shocked to see Reuel Eleazar at the front of the army, his
face dirty and flecked with blood.
“I believe
I called for a parlay.” The Priest said.
Reuel
clenched his fists tightly. “We were ready to answer it, Priest,” He spat, “But
your men started shooting at us. We only returned fire.” He said.
“I know
what my men have done.” The Priest said. “I have killed the four men that
violated this meeting and your trust.”
Reuel
nodded and looked at Javan, making eye contact. “Javan? Is that you?” He asked.
Most of the soldiers at the front gasped when they recognized him from the
beginning of the campaign five years ago
“He was
Salashien to a man in the city.” The Priest said. “He has been released from
servitude to be given back to the group he once belonged to.” Reuel nodded in
shock as Javan walked over, clasping the King’s brother in a brief embrace
before standing next to him.
“We would
like to stop this conflict here, without any further bloodshed.” The Priest
said. “The gods have told us at our last meeting in the summer to end this war
as soon as possible, or our nation will fall.”
Reuel
nodded again. “We would like that as well, as soon as my men and I know why you
initiated the conflict in the first place.”
The Priest
paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “Will you talk to
me in private?”
Reuel went
with the Priest to a nearby building. As they talked, Javan looked back at the
men that were assembled behind him. He spotted a familiar face near the front,
making eye contact briefly before Lareth Eleazar turned away from him. Javan
turned his eyes away from Lareth to talk to the soldiers that were questioning
him. He recognized about a third of the faces in the company, but the rest were
all new to him. Either the King’s Men had been reinforced over the past five
years, or Javan’s memory was failing, probably both. He turned to where he had
last seen Lareth, but he had left. His attention shifted as Reuel came back to
the company.
“What’s
going to happen, Commander?” One of the men asked. It seemed that Lareth was no
longer commander over the company. With the way that he and Elan had been
treated, it was probably a good thing.
“We’re
going to negotiate a treaty as soon as the High Priest comes from The Temple of
the Sun.” The men cheered as Reuel said this. “If the negotiations work out,
we’ll be going home.” The entire company cheered. “But for now,” Reuel said,
“We need to set up camp.”
The
soldiers scattered and began setting up tents. Javan walked through the crowd,
looking for the Crown Prince. He bumped into someone as he was walking past.
“Javan!” A
voice exclaimed.
“Wiren?
What are you doing here?” Javan asked as the man shook his hand with vigor. “I
thought you were going to leave the company!”
Wiren was
one of the quartermasters whose tour had ended just before the ambush that
ended with Javan as a slave. He was a medium sized, stocky man with long hair
and a clean-shaven face. He broke into a smile.
“I was,” He replied, but a large
group of new men came in right before I was scheduled to leave. We already had
a shortage of competent quartermasters, so I was asked to stay for another
year.”
“Then you
should have left four years ago!” Javan said. “You didn’t upset the Crown
Prince, did you?”
The man
shook his head. “Even if I had, he wouldn’t have been able to do a thing about
it. He was released from command by his uncle a couple of months after the
ambush.”
“What for?”
Javan said.
“The way he
treated you and Elan, he was doing that with everybody after the ambush. During
meetings he would lash out without warning. Rumor went around that being saved
by Elan after treating him so badly and then watching the kid die messed him up.
But I’m not sure if I believe that. You’d have to ask him yourself.”
“Take care,
Wiren.” Javan said as they parted.
He wandered
around the camp for almost two hours before he saw Reuel Eleazar talking to someone
who Javan didn’t recognize. He could tell from the markings on his uniform that
the man was a general. Javan waited for the two men to finish talking before he
addressed Reuel.
“Commander,
I’ve been looking for your nephew.” Javan told him.
“He’s in
the tent over there with the gold emblem on it.” Reuel said. Javan nodded and
went to the tent. He announced his presence and entered when a voice gruffly
replied to come in.
Lareth
Eleazar had grown a lot since Javan had seen him. The boy had to be at least
twenty-two now, because he had been seventeen when the ambush had happened. He
sat on the chair that had been set up in the corner of the room and waited for
Lareth to speak. For ten minutes the room was silent. Finally Javan cleared his
throat, looking at the clock hanging on the wall.
“You’ve
grown a lot, Lareth.” Javan said.
“I don’t
think that’s all you have to say, grandfather.”
Lareth said with a poisonous tone. “Are you going to insult me, or tell me how
badly I led the company?”
Javan
paused for a moment before speaking. “You were a terrible leader,”
Javan began,
“Exactly!
What did the soldiers tell you? That I was released from command from my uncle
because I was doing such a terrible job?! Is that what they told you?” Lareth
shouted. Javan nodded slowly.
“They were
lying! I wasn’t released from command, I gave
up command. I quit! Those rumors were another attempt to slander me!”
“Why are
you telling me this?” Javan asked him.
“Because
you’re the one that started it!” Lareth yelled. “You’re the one that started
the ridicule in the first place! I gave up my position because I’m not fit for
command. I watched the man I had been cruel to die after saving me, not because
he thought I was important, but because I was the Crown Prince!”
“Don’t talk
to me about Elan!” Javan yelled back. “He didn’t die because you were the Crown
Prince, he died because he didn’t have time to get out of the way.” Javan
slowed his breathing to a more normal pace, struggling to keep his temper.
“Get out,”
Lareth said. Javan did nothing, but continued to sit. “GET OUT!” Lareth
screamed. Javan got up, saluting to the Prince before leaving the tent. He walked
around for a few minutes until he found Wiren again, and asked him where he
could get new equipment. After being issued new equipment, he set up his gear
and retired without eating. He sat late into the night, thinking about the
events of the past five years before falling asleep without interruption for
the first time in five years.
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