Dust of Gliza – The Slave Market

Roaming around, ducking the Klevian marauders who want to loot me for killing their leader made me swift on the toes. It took me a while to get away from them and blend in with the crowd. Whore house took care for my change of garbs, taken from the riders and drunkards who slept in the hallway.

With a mask on my face, nobody suspected at me. Mask usually meant the person was infected with a virus that took many lives, so no worries there. Masks are used to hide the monsters, and a monster I was, at least for the realms of knights and kings.

Constant bickering, shouting and applause brought me closer to the platform where life pods waited to be sold. Life pods, funny name fro a crate made of steel.

Those who sleep in them are used as slaves, usually older than the whole town put together, but strikingly young by looks.

Inspecting the icy capsules, I tried to see if they are bent, damaged or messed with. There was the time when everybody needed metal, and Orbiters were ravaged by the bandits who stuck their blades deep into the glass, broke the chamber and took the crate, leaving the body to rot in dust. Years passed, and thousands were killed because of it. It is a different time now.

People inside these chambers are fit for work in the mines, building castles, weapons, or heal the peasants so they can fight wars.

“The next item is taken from the Senshi 45!” The salesman proclaimed. “This specimen is a crate full of mystery and it is marked with a red symbol, so the beginning price is fifty chips!” The salesman added and waved his baton at the hands that rose sporadically, but spacious.

Huh, even scammers didn’t rose hands.

What they didn’t know is, that the red mark warned about low battery that kept the vitals healthy, so the crate was about to open. Red was the color of the infected, sick and contagious people, the color of the healers and shamans, the medics. I still ponder on how did I know the origin of the cross that was a symbol of a shaman.

“I offer 55 chips!” I raised my hand and the salesman happily pointed at me.

“Sold to the sick man in the back! I wish you a money well spent, sir. May he serve you in health.” He said and showed his workers to pull the crate down and mount it on a chart.

I packed my baggage around the crate, when the boy brought me my horse where I tied the cart for the horse and hit the road.

When I was a few kilometers out, I turned to see the beeping light on the life pod and saw the numbers. I paused to press the numbers in the box with digits, making the crate doors hiss and steam with cold. Inside the crate, two eyes looked at me, my slave has been woken up.


Rider Dronstad

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