Castle Kingside

A cart ready to be boarded stood on a dirt road. On one side were dense trees. On the other, vast misshapen fields tended to by nameless peasants. They dug dirt channels, paying no heed to idle oxen. White mists escaped from the beasts’ noses as mismatched bird songs filled the air.

The scenery was beautiful, but Dimitry afforded it little consideration. His thoughts returned to last night’s events. In some ways, he related to Saphiria. She was also passionate about mineralogy and yearned to return home, yet a void existed between them. It was the learned helplessness birthed when forced servitude mandated inescapable torture. Saphiria was passive about her circumstances.

Dimitry wasn’t. He would rather escape than mutilate unwilling strangers’ bodies just to deliver them alongside a slave who cared more for animals than she did herself. His conscience didn’t allow it. The gnawing guilt intensified every moment.

In all likelihood, Saphiria would feel similarly emboldened were it not for the collar around her neck. Everything from her combat prowess to her wilderness survival skills screamed competence and determination. She wouldn’t be like Arnest, who risked Dimitry and Samuel’s lives for sliver gambling pieces. The girl was too clear-headed for that.

But Dimitry needed as much certainty as possible before endangering himself and others with uncertain odds. Whether it was about his companions or the rules of the world, every data-point increased his chances. Now was another such opportunity to learn.

Rubbing his hands for warmth, Dimitry glanced at the girl to his side. “Do you mind if I drive today?”

Saphiria caressed the nose of a playful bull. “Have you ever driven before?”

“Never. I’m eager to learn, though.”

She paused. “I’ll show you how it works.”

Precious’ yawn tickled his ear, and she rubbed her eye with a small fist. “I’m trying to take a nap, so be careful.”

“That’s the plan,” Dimitry said.

“Use this to tell them to move.” Saphiria held out a whip. “Be gentle.”

Despite serious intentions, Dimitry couldn’t help but smile at her excessive concern for the oxen. A whip this small couldn’t hurt a beast with skin that thick. “And I have to say ‘walk’?”

She nodded.

“Walk.”

He guided the oxen across winding roads for hours until they arrived at a rickety bridge overpassing a narrow river. Years of erosion and abuse wore away at the timber beams, leaving them brittle. They were in a worse state than the last time they came to Vael.

“Whoa,” Dimitry commanded, and the oxen stopped. “Does it look safe?”

Saphiria leaned forward. “It… should be fine.”

“Walk.”

An ox hoof landed on the bridge’s edge, and it shuddered. Another step and a timber beam fell into the raging river below.

“Back!” Saphiria yelled.

The bridge collapsed through the center, and its two sides slammed against opposing river banks. Saphiria’s command reached the oxen in time, who stood on their back legs and tumbled backward. Although they avoided plummeting into the river, they fell to the side, as did the cart. Dimitry rolled out of the driver’s seat and across dirt.

Precious hovered over his head. “Dumitry, you okay?”

“I’m fine! What about Saphiria?!”

“She’s having a worse time than you, that’s for sure.”

Saphiria knelt beside two panicking oxen. She tugged at various cables, struggling to get the yoke off of their necks. “Help!”

“Coming!” Dimitry dashed towards her.

After a concerted effort, they detached the equipment from the oxen and calmed them down. Fortunately—as Dimitry was a surgeon and not a veterinarian—the animals were uninjured. The cart, however, lay on its side. It was too heavy for a faerie, a slender girl, and a recovering homeless man to lift.

Dimitry considered hauling dismembered organs out of the storage compartment to lighten the load, but not only would that coat their hands with congealed blood on a public road, the product’s quality would also deteriorate.

“What now?” he asked. “I don’t think Delphine would be happy if we just left it here.”

Saphiria stepped forward. “Get ready to help me lift.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll make it lighter.” She retrieved a dark green pellet out of her pocket and approached the cart. “Floatia.”

Nothing happened when the vol disappeared from her hand. The ability didn’t flip over the cart, empty its contents, nor did it float in the manner ‘floatia’ suggested it would. Same as before, their transportation lay sideways.

Pondering the spell’s precise effect, Dimitry approached the cart, squatted, gripped a wooden beam, dug his boots into the ground, and pushed up with all the force he could muster. However, instead of meeting overwhelming resistance, they lifted a cart containing ten dissected adult corpses as effortlessly as if it was empty.

How was that possible? Did the spell create another force pushing off the floor, unseen? Or did it decrease the mass of the cart? Wait. Could it have nullified the effects of gravity itself? Capabilities that powerful could change industry forever.

“There doesn’t seem to be any damage.” Saphiria stood and wiped dirt off her hands. “Now we have to find a spot where the river is shallow and wide.”

“What if the oxen tip over again?” he asked. “It’ll be harder to recover the cart if it gets caught in the current, and the oxen might drown.”

“Water isn’t the problem,” Saphiria said. “They’re afraid of heights.”

Precious landed on Dimitry’s shoulder. “Be careful. Despite their calm appearance, they’re terrified.”

“You can read animal emotions too?”

“Aren’t I great?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said.

They reattached the yoke, harnesses, and cart to the oxen. Afraid to let Dimitry drive across a river, Saphiria rode through a point she thought was safe, and to the small town that was their destination.

Vael, same as before, was a disarrayed maze of dilapidated buildings. The only difference was that a man in gray robes whacked a rummaging pig with a stick outside of a small stone church. Zeran institutions were everywhere.

If Dimitry escaped with Saphiria, even towns wouldn’t be safe. A disenchanted collar, like a homing beacon for the pious, would draw attention anywhere they went. She probably knew that.

Saphiria looked at Dimitry. “Can you handle the transaction while I purchase supplies for our return trip?”

“Do you know how much I need to collect?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” She jumped out of the driver’s seat in a single, smooth motion. “Delphine handles the payment.”

“Got it.”

Saphiria nodded before heading towards the market, her cloak flapping in the wind.

“So easy even you can do it,” Precious whispered. “Isn’t that great?”

“Want to come to the Church with me? I heard that deep-fried faerie is a delicacy around these parts.”

“Deep-fried? What’s that?”

“You’ll find out if you keep bothering me.” Dimitry ignored the faerie pinching his earlobe, picked up the whip, and drove towards the mansion.

A man with a vibrant orange tunic exposing his ankles and a fur-trimmed overcoat strolled from the mansion towards the rusted gate. The gold thread and gemstones decorating his clothing told Dimitry that it wasn’t a mere servant who greeted him. The man’s confident gait yelled ‘power’.

“Are you the butcher Gavin told me about?” He said, unlocking the gate clasp.

So Dimitry was a butcher. “... That’s me.”

The man lifted the wooden panel and the preservia blanket concealing the corpses. “A fine job, just like last time. The cores and circuits don’t seem to be damaged—it makes my work so much easier.”

“I’m glad.”

“Tell me, how many others did Delphine parade your work to? Who am I bidding against?”

Dimitry’s brow furrowed. Were severed corpses a popular item for auction in this world? Was his trip here part of Delphine’s marketing efforts? It didn’t make sense. If she intended to advertise his abominable product, wouldn’t she have allowed others to sample it? Or maybe she did.

He glanced at the cart’s stacked carcasses.

Solidified blood oozed from severed vessels and open wounds, filling the air with an iron stench. Coagulated liquids caked the sides. Organs bathed in its scarlet color like a macabre fondue, but grotesqueness wasn’t what stood out most. Today’s pile of mangled cadavers stood smaller than the amount Dimitry chopped over the past few days. Not every corpse was there. Were some sold previously?

If so, the man’s concern was evident. He was just one of Delphine’s clients, and she intended to demonstrate Dimitry’s skills broadly before auctioning bulk organs to gouge the highest prices. Shrewd, but disgusting.

“Delphine didn’t tell me about any bids.”

“What’s she planning now?” the man grumbled to himself. After staring at his gold-threaded boots in silence, he glanced up. “Look, I don’t know what Delphine wants, but winter’s coming, and there’ll be lots of bodies piling up. I’ll secure your… services here and now.”

Was he trying to hire Dimitry? His offer held little appeal. A city like Ravenfall had more opportunities to plan, fund, and prepare an escape than any small town ever could. “I appreciate the offer, sir, but—”

“Shut up and listen.” The man leaped towards Dimitry. “I have more than enough to feed you wine and mutton for the rest of your life. All you have to do is work. With product this clean, our study of magic could outpace—” The man cleared his throat. “It could help defeat the heathens once and for all. If you meet His Royal Majesty’s demands, I guarantee you’ll be the one living like royalty. It’s better than what any other will offer. I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to worry about a thing. What do you say?”

Dimitry didn’t know how to respond. Who were the heathens? Why were his services in such high demand? Were corpses used in magic? Partially convinced that a comfortable life here could offer better prospects than Ravenfall, he gave an answer that didn’t limit his future options. “I’ll consider your offer.”

“Good.” The man dropped a gold gadot into Dimitry’s hand. “Put in a favorable word with Delphine for me. You won’t regret it, and neither will she. Tell that Saphiria fifty golds if we can skip the bidding this time.”

“For the corpses?”

“I’ll call Gavin to handle the rest.” Hands in his narrow pockets, the man strolled back towards his mansion. “See you soon.”

The man’s words echoing through his mind, Dimitry drove towards the meeting spot. Their conversation nagged at him. But why? Was it the fact that someone bought butchered corpses for fifty gold coins, or that they would be used to ‘defeat the heathens’?

No.

While both concepts puzzled him, something more sinister lay underneath. It made little sense. Why was Dimitry out delivering corpses when he could be generating more profit for Delphine back at the brothel? What did the ‘other’s offers’ refer to? Were people really bidding stacks of gold over butchered carcasses?

Dimitry didn’t know, but he aimed to find out. “Hey, Precious.”

The faerie yawned. “Yeah?”

“Did you sense anything off about that guy?”

“He’s scheming something.”

“But was he lying?”

“Nope.”

Damn. That didn’t help. Whether the man plotted against Dimitry or Delphine was unclear. Thankfully, another avenue of questioning remained. “You said Saphiria’s collar has to be re-enchanted on occasion, right?”

“All enchantments run out, eventually. Even Church ones.”

“How’s Saphiria’s?”

Precious didn’t respond immediately. “It looked dull, and she obviously has some emotion, but with the silver aura against steel, I can’t be sure.”

Faint hope among inexplicable dread trickled through Dimitry. “The man told me to tell Saphiria fifty golds. Chances are she knows what’s going on, and if her collar’s glow is weakened, I’ll ask her.”

“What if she attacks you? You saw what she did to those fyrhounds.”

“I don’t think she will. I’m clearly too valuable a commodity to Delphine, and Saphiria’s not that kind of person. She would’ve killed you the moment you’ve met if she was.”

“Good point, Dumitry.”

After trudging across a town’s uneven, muddy roads, the cart came to a stop.

Dimitry alighted. He approached a cloaked girl with raven black hair.

Saphiria crouched by a rotting fence whose aging wood gave way to green mold. She turned her head, alerted by the sound of rustling grass. One hand held a half-filled bag. The slender fingers of the other wrapped around a violet flower that struggled against the wind.

“Are we ready to go?”

“Almost.” He crouched beside her. “May I ask something first?”

“…”

Hoping her nonexistent response was a hesitant ‘yes’, Dimitry examined her collar. It had a faded glow like Precious mentioned. Now was his chance to gather all the information he could. “When I was delivering the corpses, I was told to tell you fifty gold coins if you skip the bidding.”

Saphiria’s indigo eyes held a hint of regret before her gaze returned to the flower she held. “I see.” Her somber tone hinted that not all was well.

“Are there people bidding on the corpses?”

She said nothing.

“Why are there other bidders if we already delivered them?”

Saphiria looked up. As if fighting against an unseen and suffocating force, her lips struggled to part, and her breathing grew tense.

She knew something.

Although it pained Dimitry to pressure a girl who already seemed to carry the world’s weight on her shoulders, the foreboding sensation in his gut impelled him to continue. “Can’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please?”

She clutched her head as if suffering from a migraine. “I… I can’t.”

“I’m sure it’s difficult.” Dimitry leaned closer. “But I really need to know.”

“It’s…”

“It’s?”

She bit her lip. “You.”

“What?”

“They’re bidding on you.”

Dimitry froze. “What?”

“T-they’ll put a…” She winced. “A c-collar on you. Just like me.”

Open-mouthed, icy waves of revelation crashed into Dimitry as everything clicked into place. He understood. For once, everything was clear.

Corpses were never Delphine’s product.

Live people were.

She didn’t nurse Dimitry to health out of kindness, but to make him appear robust before sending him to deliver organs to an especially wealthy client. One that sought to enslave a new butcher. He was no more than a traveling salesman advertising himself and his skills.

To keep Delphine’s merchandise safe, Saphiria was forced to tag along on every trip, protecting him even on the night of repentance. And Dimitry wasn’t the first to suffer this fate. After his first job dissecting bodies, Dominic mentioned Dimitry was a much better butcher than ‘the last guy’, who mysteriously vanished before his arrival.

How many others had Delphine trafficked before he came along? Was he an exceedingly expensive product if someone offered fifty gold gadots and a lifetime of luxurious meals to secure his employment? Would he become a slave? If the ‘collar’ comment held truth, the answer was yes.

“Precious,” Dimitry said. “Is she lying?”

“I-I don’t think so.”

He jumped to his feet.

“Don’t run.” Saphiria withdrew her dagger and a vol pellet. “If you do, I won’t be able to stop myself. Please. I don’t wish to kill you.”

Dimitry considered disarming her, but in all likelihood, he would die trying. Even if he didn’t, could he live with himself after harming a slave who couldn’t control her actions? And what punishment would Saphiria receive if he fled? Where would he go? Would he survive in the wilds on his own?

Escape wasn’t the solution.

Not yet. Dimitry had much preparation to do, and he needed all the time he could get. But how much time did he have? “I promise I won’t run if you answer one last question.”

Saphiria nodded.

“When is my auction?”

“After tomorrow. On market day.”

Dimitry’s fist clenched. There wasn’t much time at all! Only one evening of freedom would remain when he reached Ravenfall, and he still needed supplies, maps, and weapons for surviving outside city walls. His preparations weren’t complete.

His heel restlessly tapped the ground as his gaze fell to the crouched girl with alert eyes. A capable girl. His jailer and his salvation. Although Dimitry considered asking Saphiria to accompany him before, she was now his only hope. There was no more time to vet personalities. No time to hire a caravan or plot a course. He had to act.

There were risks, but liberation was a possibility.

For both of them.

Unfortunately, a problem remained.

Despite Dimitry’s preference to let her in on a scheme that involved her future, if he divulged his plan to flee now, Saphiria would tell Delphine. Their fates would be sealed. The best he could do was provide a nonspecific warning.

“Saphiria.”

“I’m sorry. I was ordered not to say anyth—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Just stay alert and be ready for anything.”