Pronunciation Guide
Dar'Isan - DAAR-ee-SAHN
Drakali - drah-KAH-lee
Qarqün - kar-KUUN
Rengar - RIN-gar
Z'tar - ZIH-tar
A Rumor
Far to the east, golden waves crashed against cliffs the color of blood, shriekers darting to and from the churning ocean and their precarious nests. Draped over the cliffs' edges and spilling towards the setting suns lay the vast city of Dar'Isan, its glistering lights burning away the nascent night sky and its stars. Through the haze of light and heat, the city hummed with activity, the shipping docks gouged deep into the cliffside beneath the sprawling metropolis continually consuming and disgorging hundreds of vessels of every size and shape from across the world.
Above, city pathways and mass transport tubes twisted and turned, all inexplicably and inexorably spiraling towards the glowing heart of the city: the shining ziggurat of the High Clan. It shimmered crimson, coral, amaranth and gold in the darkening twilight, and from its crown a beam of ivory light pierced the heavens, visible even from low orbit. Here, at the end of the world, did all things end and begin.
Below, the seething mass of the undercity toiled night and day, slave and freeborn oiling the machine of industry with their sweat and blood. Hunched shoulders and lowered eyes marked them as much as the silver collars hooked into their spines.
The thunder of the great ships within the cavernous ports fell silent as Rengar stepped through the sound shield.
It was the peak of the business hour for the slave market, collectors showing off the wares they had gathered from across the many lands of Ashann. Tall, spotted Drakali from the southern plains of Z'tar, pale-skinned warriors from the ice mountains of Qarqün, horned females from the volcanic islands of the far west, and pit fighters of every creed and color. The air was rank with perfumes to hide the musk of agitated slaves, a trick commonly employed by slavers whose goods were not always obtained legally.
Public bidding wars erupted every so often beneath the central stage for cheap stock that had gone unsold during the previous season. These were usually older or skill-less yautja, but occasionally a gem could be found amongst them.
His sale had been private and discreet, of course. Slaves obtained this way were less traumatized, the natural rage hardwired into their species less likely to be stirred. Rengar took his time, scanning the empty faces of slaves standing in front of their masters' shops. He felt little sympathy for those who rebelled against their place, deserved or not, especially those given the opportunity to serve in greatest city in the world. Power favored those willing to sacrifice weakness and he had done so many times, climbing higher and higher with every passing year. Warlords bowed to him and rulers treated him as an honored guest. What need had he of "freedom?" A meaningless word. Everyone was a slave to something.
A portly yautja with many rings squeezing his thick fingers suddenly stepped into his path, head bowed low. "My lord, forgive my impertinence, but I could not help but notice your discerning eye." He raised himself up slightly, gesturing to the interior of the silken covered entryway. "I bid you to come into my shop for just a moment to gaze upon its treasures. Tell me what you seek. An exotic musician? Perhaps a loyal warrior? I have everything a male of such high standing could think of."
Rengar suppressed a grimace as he glanced at the shop, the lilting sound of a stringed instrument sweetly beckoning customers. It would have been charming were not for the thick mist of perfume practically oozing from within. "I hope you are not wasting my time," he said as he stepped inside, his guards remaining outside to ensure privacy.
"Oh, we can be very quick, very quick. What do you seek?"
"A female. The more exotic, the better."
"Of course, of course. We have plenty to choose from." He turned, snapping his fingers at the other slavers to hurry.
They filed in, naked and sullen.
Rengar reviewed them with obliging interest, trying to hide his distaste at how malnourished some of them were. The head slaver hovered about, extolling the beauty and skills of each female. He tuned out his incessant noise, his eyes landing on a female with pale skin and red eyes. She was not much more than a child, but his master had always preferred them younger.
"That one," he commanded, interrupting whatever the slaver had been saying.
"Saa, excellent choice. Any others? We can always work out a deal."
Rengar slowly glided past the wall of females, feigning interest. "I have heard rumors that you acquired a female of great beauty, but I do not see her here before me." He turned, the light from the outside silhouetting his features. "Where is she?"
The slaver burbled, flabbergasted at the accusation. "Sir, I assure you this is everything we have."
"Everything? Are you sure?"
The insinuation was clear, but the slaver continued his prattling. Either he was too dense or he was dodging the question. Rengar clenched his fangs in irritation. He did not have time for this.
"What is your name?"
"My name? Oh, how forgetful of me. It is Orus, sir. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"
"Yan, you may not."
Orus flushed slightly at the brusque dismissal, but he quickly laughed it off. "Ah, you're a busy male. I've taken up too much of your time." He clapped and dismissed the females from the room before pulling out his holopad. "We'll settle the matter of credit now and you can be on your way."
"I think you misunderstood me, slaver. I'm not leaving without the female. Where is she? Did you sell her?"
Orus hesitated. "I don't know what you mean. I have sold a few females, but they hardly stood out from the others."
Rengar stalked forward until he was an arm's length away, no longer bothering to hide his growing animosity. "The female with red hair. My sources say you have her. What have you done with her?"
"Red hair? What are you talking…" Orus's eyes widened.
Rengar smiled triumphantly. "You do know something."
"I swear I don't have her. I tried to buy her but the sale fell through."
"Where is she?"
"Sahar. It's an oasis in the Red Wastes."
"Who tried to sell her to you?"
"The hajara. She tried to sell me the female and her mother."
Satisfaction filled Rengar. After weeks hunting down trails of whispers and dead-end rumors they finally had a location. "Thank you, Orus. You have been most helpful."
Greed swiftly overcame any fear the male held. "I don't suppose there is a reward for this information?" He grinned, his fat mandibles pushing back against his jowls.
Rengar turned away, grabbing the trembling little female by the hand. "You shall receive eternity."
"What?"
The slaver's confusion turned to cries of outrage as Rengar's guards swept in. They silenced his protests, quickly moving into the back of the shop. The music droning from the shop's speakers and swell of the crowd muffled the ensuing screams. He rubbed his aching temples, grateful to be rid of such a dull, loathsome male.
"Why did you kill them?"
Large eyes stared up at him, her red irises and furrowed brow brimming with confusion and fear.
Rengar forced a smile and pet her head. "Don't worry, they won't hurt the other slaves."
The lie set her at ease and she ceased her trembling. He wondered what it must be like to trust so easily. Perhaps that was what his master was attracted to: naivete.
When his guards had finished silencing the last of the witnesses, Rengar gave them the High Clan's seal and ordered them to wait for a clean-up crew. Under no circumstances were the city guard to be involved. This was beyond their jurisdiction and demanded a delicate hand. A massacre was not the most subtle of approaches, but he had no choice. The male hadn't just known about the red-haired female, he'd seemed to understood its meaning. He would send agents to trace the slaver's route to ensure those who'd been unfortunate enough to cross paths with him were ignorant of his find. Otherwise they would meet the God sooner than they'd planned.
Rengar hastened to return to the grand palace, passing the young female off to one of the keepers charged with overseeing the royal concubines.
He strode forward, slaves bowing in his wake. Despite the silver collar clamped around his neck, they acknowledged him as the representative of his master, the aura of his authority surrounding Rengar wherever he went.
The platform carried him higher and higher, humming quietly to a halt when it arrived at the top of the ziggurat. He breathed in the fragrance of sweet perfumes as he disembarked, the scent reminding him of a forest of blossoms before a thunderstorm. Auburn pillars shimmered with golden flecks in the crimson twilight, a warm breeze from the western sea whispering across the soaring ceiling above. He strode forward, passed gardens of silks and the inner throne room, up, up to the very top. Lyres and flutes called out to him, their musicians invisible amidst the golden curtains and flickering torches.
Rengar slowed as he reached his destination, falling to his knees before the sealed door, his mandibles grazing the cool marble floor.
The scanners cleared him and the door spiraled open.
A slave, black holes where its eyes used to be, waited for him on the other side. After Rengar rose, it commanded him to state his business.
"The one called Rengar begs to speak to his master."
"Come."
He followed the blind slave into the inner room, anxiety filling him despite its familiarity. Golden pillars shaped into great trees held the gem-encrusted ceiling aloft. Exotic weapons, art and murals of great warriors decorated the walls. The spices and incense filling the great room were so thick he lost his own scent. The only thing that could make such splendor even more grand were windows, but this was forbidden.
At the sound approaching footsteps, muffled by soft furs lining the stone floor, Rengar could not help but look away. The conditioning every slave of the High Clan went through ensured utter devotion and docility. Aggression towards the masters was suppressed by rigorous behavior modification, drugs administered via collars and even surgery if necessary.
The other slave advanced across the room to be closer to its master in case he required anything, deftly avoiding obstacles it had memorized over the course of its life. Its eyes stared sightlessly ahead once it reached its position, solemn and statuesque. It and others like it had the special privilege to live amongst the members of the heirs of Ashann.
His master's words interrupted his thoughts. "Welcome Rengar. Here to spy on me again?" The amusement in his voice set him at ease. He was in a good mood today.
"I come with news."
"Good news I hope."
He caught of glimpse of his master, regal and handsome and only a few paces away. Conditioning sent a surge of awe and excitement through him. He quickly quashed it in order to focus on his message. "I found her."
"Are you sure?"
"Our contact in Sahar will confirm the truth for us shortly, but I have no doubt of the veracity of the claim. The slaver was all too eager to ask for a reward."
"'Slaver?'" His master's tone carried a sharp edge, but Rengar was not afraid. Not that he could lie to his master if he wanted.
"Saa, the female is a slave. She and her mother were almost sold to him several months ago."
"A slave? Fascinating." He beckoned Rengar to look up and share a drink with him. The shock on his face made his master chuckle. "Rengar, you really must learn to relax. A little wine never hurt anyone." Sharp golden eyes froze him where he stood. "Do not deny me."
He bowed his head as he accepted the goblet proffered to him by the eyeless slave, who bowed low and retreated back into its corner.
Mechanically, Rengar sipped his drink as his master outlined the other tasks he needed taken care of. He was the hand and mask by which his master interacted with the world. Some people even mistook him for an actual member of the High Clan since none had ever been seen in person.
"I believe that's everything. There are other tasks, but the female takes precedence for the moment. As soon as it confirmed that she is in Sahar, I want you pay a visit to the shajara. The celebrations honoring his recent victory will be the perfect excuse. The Red Wastes have always been an unstable region and our support may quell any remnants of dissent."
"It is always wise to reinforce bonds," agreed Rengar.
"I leave the details to you. If you have nothing else, you're dismissed."
As Rengar set his cup aside, he remembered the other piece of news he was supposed to deliver. "There is one more thing, master."
"Oh?"
He bowed his head. "I acquired a young female for you. She's quite unique. I'm confident you'll find her to your liking."
His master flashed him a mischievous smile. "You stole her, didn't you?"
"Iyan, I saved her from an untimely death. Such innocence should not go to waste."
"As always, Rengar, you've served me well. Go now. I eagerly await the fruits of your labor."
Rengar bowed low and backed out of the room, his eyes locked to the floor until the door sealed shut before him. He allowed himself to breath as he straightened, fighting to maintain his composure as his collar sending a heady dose of pleasure and excitement through his veins, triggered by his master's words of praise.
He whirled, his eyes burning bright in the shadows, one thought driving him forward: He would not fail.
Author's Note: I've dilly-dallied with this chapter for months, struggling to finish it, rewriting it, rewriting it again, never happy with the results. So naturally I come back to it weeks later and finish it in a few hours. Writing's a weird process, ain't it? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it :)
P.S. In the previous chapter, it was mentioned by Sira that she'd spent the past few months sharing Tharrak's bed. I meant that literally and not as sub-text for intimate relations. Nothing has happened between them physically yet (much to Sira's frustration). Hope that clears that up.