Born a Monster

517 Salt Mines

The Kamajeen erupted with laughter.

“If it’s a matter of money...” Xeno said.

“Honor, Xeno.” I said. “Specifically the khan’s.”

“For sixty coins...” Asheph said, pausing to breathe.

“And no less.” said Venkatar.

“Yes, yes, and for no less.” Asheph said. “For that amount, you may take back your fellow citizen, and do whatever you wish with him, so long as it is outside the protected borders of this camp.”

Xeno showed his teeth while putting the bag back into his inventory. “Then I challenge him to a blood duel.”

“Absolutely not.” Asheph replied, “wounded people are not permitted to engage in duels. It would show favor to one or the other.”

Xeno snorted, waved a dismissive hand. “Two days, three at most. Unless the great khan proposes to remove me before then?”

.....

Venkatar stroked his beard. “Did my khan promise days?”

“A week.” he said, shrugging. “Is there any chance that Rakkal sent you with sixty golden coins?”

“Thirty.” Xeno said.

Some people laughed, but it was very quiet at the far end of the table.

“What we have here,” Venkatar said, “is clearly a misunderstanding between cultures.”

Asheph took a swig of his drink, the cold alcoholic one. He then held up two fingers. “First.” he said. “Your lord insults me by sending a warrior rather than someone of near or equal status, such as himself. Second, he mistakes this for a negotiation. Perhaps this next will show him that I, Asheph ibn Harran ibn Pesh, am not to be trifled with.”

“So I decree.” he said. “THAT thing,” pointing at me, “is to immediately be taken north, to the mines. There, it is to be chained to other slaves and criminals, where it shall remain until either it dies or your lord decides to pay sixty coins of gold for its release.”

He wiped his lips, and the guards from behind me moved.

“That will not be needed.” I said, struggling to my feet. “I am a Truthspeaker, and cannot go back on my vows and promises.”

They clasped steel manacles to my wrists and ankles, in a way that limited my motions.

“Haha!” the guard said. “Now, ambassador, you may leave. This way, your young lordship.”

“A few seconds.” I pointed at one of the glass jars. “That fish there, the blue one with green lines on the flank. It is sentient, aware, awakened. I was going to claim it as my fifth dish and return it to the river.”

Venkatar looked... sad. “If you don’t realize you have greater concerns, then you are incredibly stupid, even for a child.”

I took a deep breath. “I have a more profound understanding of what is about to happen than you credit me with. This way, was it?”

“If it please your highblood.” <1 >

When we were outside the tent, the guard asked, “What kind of ruckus do you have in mind?”

“In mind?” I asked. “None. But I’m reasonably certain that once in the mind, someone will breach hospitality, which frees me of that oath.”

He scratched his chin. “None of our mess, then. But you’ll be in a mine, surrounded by professional guards and slavers.”

I shrugged. “A magical creature, surrounded by Earth and Metal? I like my odds.”

“Metal?” he chuckled. “The Armpit is a SALT mine.”

“Salt mine?” I asked. “Why would anyone MINE for salt? It’s as easy to get as boiling seawater.”

“Not a lot of water where you’re heading, either. That cart there. Get in back with the others.”

“For this to be ready...” I said.

“They knew. The khan or the vizier, but most likely both. Personally, I’d have taken the thirty gold and let your ambassador walk out with your head in a sack. But our khan must be flawless, and so this is what he must do instead. Again, when you’re suffering and begging for death, remember I would have spared you from this.”

For an unreasonable trip, it was almost civil. We rode (and for the most part, lived) in the back of a cage wagon.

Thard al Imsa ibn Cloud, warrior convicted of striking one of his wives too hard or too often. <2 >

Sanwo ibn Massae ibn Garf, who insisted he was a lawful trader in riding lizards.

Al’Osward ibn Osward ibn Osgard, whose crime seemed to be turning up his nose at a plot of farmland. In his words, “I fight for wealth, not some plot of broken land that smells of dung.”

I am not going into detail of four days of conversation with those louts. We discussed escape, we discussed the make of the wagon, we discussed in depth what I could and could not do, and with what limitations. We spoke of food, and women, and song, and a great deal about the system of codified laws the Kamajeen lived by.

Or in this case, died by. I wasn’t really shocked to learn that slavery meant entirely different things in my native culture and that of the Khanate. It can be summarized: Slaves aren’t people, or folk, or even animals. Slaves are property, and have no rights. None.

I wasn’t too worried about that; on the second day of improper feeding, even my System realized.

[Hospitality has been broken. Your oath (here it included the wording of the oath) has been fulfilled.]

I smacked my lips together. They hadn’t even gotten me to the mines.

So... what would a loyal citizen of the Tidelands do, when not bound by other oaths? I had to days to contemplate, and one would think I could come up with a better answer. But the chains would have taken rating nine Strength (sub statistic of Might) to break, which proved to be the decisive obstacle.

Okay, honestly, I could have shifted, and slipped them off.

If it weren’t for my cellmates, that is.

Envision a barrel filled with live crabs. When they see one of their number about to escape, they grab for that member and attempt to pull themselves up as well. What happens is they pull the fortunate crab down.

It didn’t take six Insight (or four Charisma) to figure out that’s what would happen if I tried such a thing. They’d whine about their own freedom, loud enough that the guards would come before I’d slipped through the spaces between bars (yes, with cross-bars, the gaps were small but passable for me).

For their part, the guards ignored us so long as we weren’t doing something they considered problematic. Of the twelve of us heading north, two died, and they killed a third, who was too ill to gain consciousness.

Remember when I was reborn without any diseases at all? I’d gathered a sample of various ailments, though none of them were impressively fatal by themselves.

We heard it before we could smell it, and smelled it even as the lizards dragged us up the ridge before the ridge where we saw it. Sweat and dust and, yes, salt.

The entire mining camp was a nexus, a mingling of [Despair] and [Pain] and [Hatred]. Oh, the things a proper divine caster of level three or four could do with such a cesspool of dark emotions! I’d been expecting such, but not to the degree presented.

<Sustem. Trait. Purchase. Lore. Dark Emotions.>

And it was that easy, another layer of protection from magic that even magicians ought not to mess with. Not quite as bad as Taint, but...

Oh. Evil. Madness. Death. The only missing brand of Taint was raw Evil. It wasn’t quite a hell on earth, but clearly it wasn’t from any lack of effort.

Damned humans. Every citizen of the Kamajeen had a divine class; they had to know what they were living in.

I took note of the social classes people had as we rolled through toward the center of the camp. Slaver, Bandit, Conman, Merchant, another Slaver... It was clear that even the guards were people that the rest of the Kamajeen considered disposable.

“Welcome to your final destination!” one of the camp guards said, striking his poleaxe against the wagon ahead of ours. “Welcome to hell.”

Oh, Madonna, I’m sorry your soul was torn apart, but I am also so glad that you never lived to see the Armpit, and have it compared to one of the hells. <3 >

Eventually, our wagons stopped, side by side, unlocked, and we were manhandled out, a shackle placed from the left leg of each to the next, and only then were the manacles from the south removed. And march, march, march in a line to where the woman in charge languished in the shadow of the central watch tower.

She brandished a rod of scarlet wood, and said. “None of you know what this is, yet...”

“Daurian pain rod.” I said. “Doubtless enchanted to recharge from pain suffered in the mines.”

“Incorrect.” she said. “This, properly speaking is a pain WAND; it works at range. Pain five!”

“Gyaaaa!” I said, falling to my knees.

[You have taken twelve points of Pain (stun); after armor and ability activation, no damage has been received.]

<System. Title. Set. Survivor.>

If only I’d known, I would have been less confident.

<1 > Or noble blood, or well-bred. It depends how you want to translate it.

<2 > Don’t ask me. You do that at your own risk in Achea; your wife is likely to hit you back, and women have VERY long memories for anything they consider mistreatment.

<3 > No, I didn’t have to love her to miss her still.