Ok here's chapter two, hope you guys enjoy! Tell me if you like it!
The two Bedouins stop their horses in front of a man lying motionless on the ground. One dismounts and walks over to the lifeless figure, inspecting it curiously. Was this what they saw limping across the desert? Long black hair rests at the man's shoulders and his skin is pale, odd compared to the people usually found in this part of the Roman province. The Bedouin turns to his friend who simply shrugs.
"Hada mish huy?" (This one's not alive?)
"Ma adri." (I don't know)
The dismounted brigand nudges the limp body with a sandaled foot, looking for signs of life. After a few seconds he noticed the faint falling and rising of his chest.
"Huy!" (He's alive!)
"Kalbash'hu. Hada mish huy." (Shackle him. This one's still alive.)
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Loki blinks, bright light blaring in his emerald eyes and heat searing his skin. The nervous cackling of a hyena and the roar of a lion fill his ears. Eyes widening in alarm Loki barley manages to lift his head, finding that he is lying flat on a wagon. He has been stripped of his Asgaurdian attire and now wears only a simple servant's tunic, a leather belt around his waist. His hands are bound and lie limp at his sides, looking around franticly Loki tries to think of a way to escape. Just as he tries to sit up a wave of dizzying nausea hits him and he fades into the darkness once more.
A hooded man glares down, wondering how such filth found its way onto his caravan. Surely it was not worth bringing to Zuccabar, in this condition a slave was hardly worth anything. He glances at the blood flowing freely from a large gash on the man's leg. No, this slave would not last in the area.
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A few hours later Loki wakes again, this time hearing a soft voice instead of growling beasts.
"Don't die; they will feed you to the lions. They are worth a man than we are."
He looks up and sees a face above his, a man with dark skin is looming over him. Loki mindlessly reaches for his leg and winces as his fingertips brush the torn flesh, the stone is still lodged in his thigh.
The same voice speaks again.
"No. They will clean it. Wait and see"
The dark-skinned man turns his attention to Loki's injury, removing a paste from his mouth and gently placing it on the gaping wound, creating a sort of poultice that Loki can only guess at. He bites his lip as blinding pain erupts, preventing a faint whimper from escaping his throat. But almost instantly the pain is gone, a soothing cool replaces the burning agony. The man gives a comforting smile.
"Better now? Clean. You see?"
Loki has just enough energy to nod in agreement.
Suddenly the wagon stops as the whole caravan slows to a halt. The first carts had made their way into the city and a few minutes later Loki is hauled from the wagon and forced to stand. He wobbles on his feet, trying to keep pressure off his right leg. Men line him and the dark-skinned man (Who Loki learned was called Juba) up with the 20 or so other slaves. Loki limps along as they lead the group to a marketplace and under a large tent-like structure. One by one the slaves, including Loki, are chained to the posts holding up the palm leaf shade. He is shoved to the ground along with the other men that share the wooded post. A brigand offers the slaves a small amount of soiled water which Loki gulps down in an instant, ignoring the foul taste.
Finally some water, how I've longed for such a precious thing.
Loki glares at the Bedouins in hatred, fists clenching and unclenching a sudden rage rises.
How dare they treat me in such a way? I am a god and a prince of Asgaurd, yet they see me no more than the lowliest of creatures. I will make them pay for such acts towards the son of Odin!
Finally two men appear and begin eyeing the new stock. One is obviously a slave trader, and the other one perhaps a potential buyer. The customer, an older man with graying hair and a short beard walk over to Juba, motioning him to stand.
"Get up," he barks
Juba does as commanded and stands still while the older man inspects him, slapping his body and checking for muscle tone. When he is done the man speaks to Juba again, his tone impatient.
"What was your Trade?"
Juba lifts his chin before answering. "I was a hunter"
The slave trader steps between the two. "No, no I bought him from a salt mine in Carthage"
As soon as the old man turns away the slave trader signals for Juba to sit.
"Sit down" he whispers.
The two men proceed towards where Loki is sitting lifeless in the dirt. The buyer looks him over, spotting the festering wound on his leg.
"A deserter?" he asks the slave trader.
"Maybe, but who cares? He's a Spaniard"
A Spaniard, what is that? More importantly what makes them think I am such a thing?
"I will take 6 for 1,000"
The slave trader turns to the older man, bewildered. "1,000? The Numidian alone is worth 2,000!"
"These slaves are rotten!" he replies, unimpressed.
"It adds to the flavor"
The buyer turns to leave as the trader tries to grab his shoulder. "No, no, wait, wait, wait we can negotiate!"
"I'll give you 2,000 and four for the beasts. That's 5,000 for an old friend."
"Fine Proximo, just this once"
Well there you have it... I might have time to start a new chapter tomorrow and hopefully it will be up by this weekend. Thanks for reading!