Slave Unbound Ch. 06

Chapter 6

Up for Sale

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Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.

Looking up into the drab gray of the morning sky, Cornelius Venge scowled at the faint drizzle falling from it, making everything damp and miserable. His scowl deepened at the subtle squelch as he shifted his weight, feeling the suction of the mud upon his rather expensive shoes. He mentally added their value to the ever-lengthening list of costs he intended to slowly and horribly exact out of this stupid girl's flesh.

He'd never really understood why the Grand Arena's private auction yard was so common and, worse, open to the outside. For all the Arena's grandeur and opulence, it utilized a mere rudimentary scaffold, erected in a walled off green at the back of the massive edifice, to conduct the weekly auction of the slave lots who'd survived that week's sentence on the sands. To make matters worse, the sward was poorly seeded, leaving much of it as just bare earth, which turned to thick mud when it rained. While there was only the faint sprinkling from above now, the last two days had seen significant rain, turning the auction yard into a morass.

At least, he thought nastily to himself, he wasn't the only one obviously frustrated by the feeling of slowly sinking into a bog of slimy mud. Most of the heads of the Grand Arena's Houses had personally shown up for today's auction, nearly all of them with a personal entourage similar to his own. Most of them looked as disgruntled as he felt, likely considering the costs of their own shoes as well.

He'd been a little surprised to see so many of them. At least, at first. Houses usually employed proxy buyers who attended these auctions in their stead, given a set allotment of funds to use for bidding. Well versed in the sorts of gladiators their house preferred, the openings in the house stables, and the general performance of the week's survivors, such agents were more than adequate for the usual rank and file that were auctioned each week.

Only when someone had really caught an owner's eye did they show up in person, usually to make sure that they secured the slave they wanted. Proxy agents were often shrewd and careful with a House's money, more willing to let even a slave who'd shown good promise slip away if the bid got too high. Coming in person meant you were far more likely to get the slave who'd caught your eye, easily able to outbid the frugal proxy agents.

This morning, the head of almost every House was in attendance. And Cornelius felt quite sure they were all here for the same person. While there had been a few others during the week who had given impressive shows, this little servant girl had gathered quite a lot more discussion than most. Though he felt sure the majority of them recognized her as an untrained combatant, more graced by luck than skill, she'd still managed not just to survive, but to win her fight. Moreover, she'd won by killing her opponent, a rare feat.

While tales of bloody deaths in the Grand Arena abounded in all stations of society, the truth was that far fewer combats resulted in fatality than people thought. Even fights with weekly lots, where the point was for the slave to brutalized by a professional gladiator, few resulted in a death rather than just seeing the slave lose consciousness from pain or blood loss. The greater danger for them was that they received a crippling wound that left them unappealing for a House to want to purchase them, meaning they would go back onto the sands the next week, this time handicapped and more likely to actually get killed.

Even in the rare cases when they did manage to fight well enough to defeat a trained and seasoned opponent, the professional gladiator was able to concede the fight, a luxury they didn't have. There had been two others who'd won their Lots, but only the servant girl had ended her fight by killing the gladiator. That alone made her stand out, luck or not.

Even more, Maslo had been a mid-ranked fighter of House Venge, the third highest House of the Grand Arena, making the defeat all the juicier. The lower ranked Houses would seek to possess her simply as a thorn to House Victorious. House Blackorchid, in particular, led by Tylone Orchidbriar, would gladly pay five times what she was actually worth, just to spite Cornelius.

Maslo had been the slave who he'd personally deprived Tylone his own revenge on, ironically for much the same reason as he now sought retribution on this little servant girl. The diminutive master of House Blackorchid would want to return that favor, no doubt. Considering how many times Cornelius had spied the little man peering at him from his own knot of guards and attendants, there was little room for doubt of that.

Not that he was the only Housemaster who was already eyeing Cornelius, anticipating his desire to acquire the girl for revenge. Oscar Bellock of House Bloodwalker and Verdant Crahka of House Whitebanner were also repeatedly glancing his way expectantly, preparing themselves for what it would cost to outbid him.

Verdant was little concern, as his house lacked the sufficient capital to really be able to outbid him, the bleeding hearted man wasting most of what his House made in the games on pampering his gladiators, whom he treated more like orphans in his care than the slaves they were. Having inherited his ownership of the House from an uncle, the young nobleman was full of naïve idealism about the world and honestly seemed far less concerned with maintaining his House's prestige than just keeping its coffers with just enough coin to fund his next crusade.

Oscar, on the other hand, could very well raise things to an uncomfortable level. House Bloodwalker, though barely half as prestigious as House Victorious, boasted some impressive fighters who brought significant wealth in. Oscar, an ex-commander of the Karackan military, had a good eye for both gladiators and trainers. Though he'd managed to find a comfortable place among the House Owners of Solace, he'd never fully lost that military mindset, his shaved and tattooed head always wearing the look of a strategist considering his next big push.

Though he had no fear that any of them would be willing or able to outbid him, the three of them together could easily make the expense of his vengeance very costly. It was almost enough to make he consider whether this little housemaid was really worth it. Considering just how much he'd already lost due to her damned luck, he had to really consider a moment how much more he was willing to give up.

Beside him, the pleasure slave he'd brought along, a fairly new acquisition named Maria, gave an audible sniff, drawing his attention towards her, only to find her crying. Eyes flaring, he grabbed the length of gilded chain attached to her collar and jerked her roughly in close to him.

"Gods' Grace, girl!" He hissed at her under his breath. "How dare you embarrass me by weeping in public. Control yourself now or I will whip you ugly!"

Maria gave a frightened shutter and sucked in a hiccup of fear, quickly wiping at her wet eyes and forcing a plastic smile on her face. She started to respond, possible with a simple apology, but quickly caught herself. She had learned quite harshly not to speak, unless bidden to, during her first week, but had eventually gotten the point down.

He released her chain and straightened himself, smoothing both his tunic and his features, but caught sight of Tylone sniggering in the corner of his eye. No doubt the undersized Housemaster wasn't the only one who'd caught his slave's little faux pa. Calmly, smile on his face, he reached over and grabbed her by the back of her dark hair, roughly pulling her close again.

"I have decided to sit. Get on your hands and knees." He said in a sweet voice, despite the painful fistful of her hair he held.

With a frightened squeak, she immediately buckled her knees, Cornelius releasing her to let her get down on all fours in the soupy mud, making a human bench for him to sit on. He dusted off her back before softly giving her a warning. "If you drop me into this mud, darling, you will spend the rest of your brief life as a toy for my lowest stable of fighters."

As he took his seat, he noticed Donovan Solivir step into his view, paying him no attention. Unlike every other Housemaster in the auction yard, Solivir had only his House Recorder with him. Most Houses considered the size of their entourage to be a sign of strength, Cornelius' consisting of no less than a score of people, not even including the pleasure slave he was perched on. However, Donovan had a way of making his standing alone seem more like a show of ultimate power rather than a sign of weakness.

It made Cornelius's scowl return.

Looking up at one of his attendants, he gestured to Maria beneath him. "You, keep my chair warm." Standing, he motioned for his House Recorder to follow him and for his many bodyguards and other servants to stay there, then made his way over to stand beside the Master of House Warforger.

"Good morning, Cornelius." Donovan rumbled before he could say anything himself.

"Good morning, Donovan. Quite the day for a slave sale." Cornelius replied with wry cordialness, determined not to let his biggest rival in the Arena appear to be unnerving him in any way.

Looking up a moment, as if only noticing the sprinkle of rain for the first time, Donovan considered the gray sky then looked back towards the scaffolds where the slaves were finally getting lined up for the auction. "Been worse weather for one of these." He said with a chuff. "Here for the girl, I assume." He added, cutting off the new witty remark Cornelius was just about to give.

Poised, Cornelius showed no surprise at the forward remark, simply gave a courteous nod. "I am. She did defeat my gladiator. I'd think I should have special preference for the sale."

"I'm sure Tylone Orchidbriar thought the same thing six months ago." Donovan responded, not missing a beat.

Cornelius merely chuckled good-humoredly. "I'm sure he did." He looked back towards the little man, now eyeing him with a steely glare, and gave the Finnfolk a sly wink. The little man would never have had the nerve to step up beside the head of House Warforger and try to engage him as an equal, since, unlike Cornelius, he definitely wasn't.

"However, there is big difference between losing a low ranked fighter to a seasoned warrior slave and losing a well-ranked gladiator to a scullery maid." Cornelius added, turning his attention towards the scaffolds where the girl in question was standing with the other slaves up for auction. He noted that she only had a single bandage, wrapped around her thigh, that he could see, though she was obviously slightly favoring one foot over the other.

He felt a fresh wave of annoyance at the sight of her, standing so unharmed among a line of others who were all covered in bandages and signs of injury. Even the other two who had managed to win their trials of combat were only half visible beneath the many wrappings, splints, and healing ointments that had been applied to their many wounds.

The sight of it gave a strange pause, as a creeping revelation slowly formed in his mind. Suddenly, he snapped his gaze to Donovan, realizing something.

"You're here for her too." He stated a little more bluntly than he meant to. This was trouble. He'd never considered the idea that a House of equal standing, especially not House Warforger, would have even the first interest in some waif girl. However, realizing that Donovan was looking right at her himself, seeing the lack of wounds she bore just as he had, he realized he might well have a lot more to worry about than just a handful of fools driving her price up.

"She interests me." Was all Solivir said, keeping his gaze on the girl.

"I dare say, my good man, I doubt she would be really worth your time." Cornelius said with a chuckle, barely managing to keep it from sounding nervous. "Such a little slip of a girl, obviously alive on luck alone, wouldn't have any place in a House as full of fierce competitors as yours."

"One could say the same of yours, Cornelius." Came the smooth reply.

Turning back to look at the line of slaves, his scowl making a return, stronger than ever, Cornelius nearly growled his response. "I assure you that, if she ever found herself in the company of my gladiators, it won't be as one of them." Not that he planned to leave enough of her intact for them to find much pleasure with.

"Which only shows your own short-sightedness."

Cornelius fixed him a curious look, searching the powerful man's face for a sign of knowing something he didn't. Looking back at her again, he regarded her with fresh eyes, now seeing not just her lack of injury, but her steadiness. All the other slaves up for auction, even those who'd given impressive enough shows to expect to be bought, all looked fearful and anxious. She did not.

Suddenly, she seemed to stand out among them as a shining gem in a box of coal.

Cornelius swallowed hard as the auctioneer called the first lot forward and began the bidding, starting at a half dozen copper marks and ending at a single banner. The next started at the same value, but failed to summon a single bid, sent back to the cages with a look of utter horror on his swollen face. The third lot also found himself returned to the cages, having to be dragged from the stage, pleading for someone to bid even a single mark on him.

The next slave was brought forward, a heavily bandaged Orling woman who had managed to equally batter her opponent, a promising fighter who had been one of the Arena lots just two weeks prior to that. It had been enough for him to concede defeat and her claim the win, though she'd needed help to walk back through the gates. She went for only three banner by the end of the bidding, despite a performance that should have netted a price easily ten times higher.

Cornelius scanned around again at the yard full of Housemasters. He'd assumed most were here because of the girl, but figured most simply wanted to see who she went to or came in hopes that no one else tried to bid on her. The lack of bidding among the crowd meant they were being shrewdly conservative, knowing they would need to spend big to procure the prize they wanted.

They all saw her, he realized, as more than just as a way to take a petty jab as his House, but as someone with actual potential. He'd thought he only had to fend off the pesky bids of a couple rivals, suddenly he saw himself in a pit of hungry vipers who might wager a lot more on someone who could vault their House out of obscurity, instead of just an expense insult. His new assumption was only proven a minute later when a slave who should have at least gotten a couple of bids found himself returned to the cages as well.

When the lot that everyone else seemed to be waiting, this damned little scullery-girl, was brought forward next, all of the assembled buyers mirrored her motion, stepping closer to the stage almost in unison. Obviously, the auctioneer caught this too, as he paused a moment before setting the starting price.

"Bidding starts at...five gold crescents!" He called, nearly stunning everyone. Only a few lots even made up to that amount, much less started there. Despite this, she had three bids within moments, already driven up to ten.

Cornelius let the lower Houses make these early bids, knowing they would be loath to push the cost too high. When the bid reached twenty, most of them had already backed off, their willingness to take the gamble that she wasn't just lucky peaking. Then Cornelius heard Tylone call for twenty-five, Oscar instantly raising it to twenty-eight.

Tylone pushed it to thirty before Cornelius sighed and raised a hand. "Forty." Knowing that neither the Finnfolk or the ex-soldier would be willing to pay that much for her and inwardly laughing that young Verdant probably never bid because her starting bid was richer than he could likely afford.

Before the auctioneer could even acknowledge the bid, Donovan called. "Fifty."

"Fifty-one." Cornelius countered, glowering at him. Behind him, he heard a collective gasp from the other assembled buyers. As far as he knew, no one had ever spent more than fifty crescents on a single lot from the auction, which had been Donovan Solivir himself when he'd purchased his 'monster'. And that beast had been so impressive of a fight that half the Houses had refused to bid simply because they were too afraid that they couldn't control it.

Donovan turned his gaze to Cornelius coolly. "Fifty-two." He said slowly.

"Fifty-FIVE."

"Sixty."

"Sixty...six?" Cornelius was already getting hot and cold flashes. He'd never spent more than seventy gold coins for a gladiator, that being an already established fighter who had very well earned that price. To break that record on not just an auction lot, but for a petite servant-girl who he'd only intended to just destroy out of spite? It seemed ridiculous. Every other Housemaster had stepped back, already far beyond their limit even if had not been such a risky gamble.

Donovan stared at his rival hard for a long moment, sizing him up and obviously gauging just how far Cornelius was willing to push this. Certainly, he must be weighing his own concerns of if she was worth this much himself. Finally, he raised his fist and started to speak.

"I offer two hundred crescent in gold to close the bidding." Came a silky voice from out the crowd behind the both of them, causing Donovan and Cornelius to pivot suddenly around, eyes as wide as everyone else. Even the auctioneer appeared stunned.

Framed by her own entourage, Sabrina Marlowe, Headmistress of House Firebridge, strolled towards them, holding her clean pair of shoes, locking them both with her striking crystal-grey eyes. Even with her skirts dragging along through the mud, bare feet coated a dark brown, she managed to cut an impressive and beautiful sight, her silky auburn hair looking all the more sensual darkened by the moisture of drizzling rain. "Surely the gentlemen would allow a Lady this folly?" She drawled to them, a coy smile on her beautiful face.

Donovan's eyes narrowed and, for a moment, Cornelius was sure he was about to up her bid, but simply bent his head in deference to her, gathered his House Recorder, and began to take his leave of the auction yard, apparently having no interest in any of the other slaves up for auction. Her gaze turned to Cornelius as Donovan passed, quietly questioning if he was going to cede as well.

Regaining his poise instantly, Cornelius merely laughed charmingly and gave her a deep bow. "I fear that my limit was at sixty-nine, good Lady. She is all yours for two-hundred." With that he stepped aside, deciding that the girl was never worth more than the cost of a good whip to him anyway. He'd have his revenge on the sands, making Sabrina Marlowe regret every copper's worth of her 'folly'.