A/N: Once again, comments & constructive criticism are much appreciated! In plain English: if you read this, we would really appreciate a review! No need to review every chapter; just please let us know what you think so we can write better! ~grovels on knees & begs~
Chapter 9: In the Slave Markets
Galad joined the corsairs with little trouble, especially when he showed the tattoo on his left upper arm that marked all pirates, a flipped C flanked by a sword and a torch. The voyage was uneventful, leaving the Ranger to contemplate whether he would be too late to stop the notorious slave trade. Two months later, the black ship docked at the Haradrim Port and unloaded its despicable cargo. Stealthily, Galad snuck away from the ship and hired a desert horse. The long ride was horribly different from the ship's familiar roll and it dealt a painful blow to his body. In the evening, he came upon a stretch of rolling sand, upon which was pitched a goat's hide tent and a small pen with a shaggy horse. A man, dressed in the long robes of the Haradrim, sat in front of the tent sharpening a scimitar with a worn rock.
"You're late," the man growled. "As usual."
"I was shipwrecked, Talston," Galad explained.
"That all the excuse you have?" replied the man unbelievingly.
"You don't believe me!" Galad exclaimed in mock horror.
"Last time it was a camel giving you five broken ribs," Talston grinned, looking up at Galad.
"That was legitimate!" Galad grumbled, rubbing subconsciously the healed-over ribs.
"Well you got back just in time," Talston drawled. "The biggest auction is day after tomorrow. We can destroy it."
"In two days?" Galad asked doubtfully.
"You question my planning?" Talston chided. "I've spent three months plotting this, waiting on you."
"It should be perfect then," Galad responded, flopping down on a mat stretched across the sand.
Talston snorted and the whetstone sung against his steel blade.
"When do we start?" Galad queried.
"Tomorrow at dawn," Talston informed.
"I am going to sleep then," Galad yawned, getting up. He walked over to the tent and stumbled into his bedroll. Who knew what would happen tomorrow?
"You are crazy." Galad's eyes shot daggers at Talston, who was wrapped head to toe in robes of a light blue, then turned his glare towards the two camels kneeling in the sand.
"It is what we must go into the city on," Talston directed. "It is what our disguises require."
"I am not getting on that beast," Galad protested.
"You will have to," Talston countered. "Besides, you missed planning this mission."
"I don't care! I am not getting any closer to that…that thing!"
"Well then I will drag you the whole way behind one and saving these helpless slaves will be out of the question," Talston screeched.
Galad lowered his head in defeat, but still refused to step one pace closer to the camel.
Talston frowned at him and huffed in anger. "This is a different animal, Galad. It's not the one that kicked you so hard."
Still wary, Galad growled and went to mount the animal, his crimson robes flying behind him. Both of the Rangers had dyed their skin to match the natives, although they both had tanned a deep brown already. The camel spat and Galad jumped backwards, much to the amusement of his companion. Scowling, he mounted the camel and the beast heaved to its feet. They were off!
"Who am I, again?" Galad asked, as the two Rangers in disguise entered the desert city of Rashaan.
"Hidar, slave trader of the Ugrat Desert. You own over 2,000 slaves and you have a sizeable harem and lots of children," Talston informed.
"I really just needed those first two things," Galad grimaced.
"You're welcome. Now hush," Talston droned.
The streets were lined with brightly colored tents and delicious smells wafted through the air. Sellers shouted offers at passersby and women offered up their goods to strangers on horseback or camels. Pastries made with figs or raisins covered with a thin light bread were being fried in pots of oil over small fires. Savory spices wafted into the morning breeze that flitted through the palm trees. Voices choked the streets as well as the animals and people and for once Galad was glad that he was atop the tall-backed camel. Already streams of people flowed down to the harbor to watch or participate in the slave market. But today was special. Two ambassadors of Umbar and two emissaries of Harad were meeting to discuss the use of a River for shipping and the usage of the Haradrim to raid Gondor. If the two Umbarians were killed, it would cause such a rift between the two nations that the slave trade would be abolished. Especially since they were going to drug the two Harad Diplomats while dressed in Umbarian clothing. Galad looked at Talston and he nodded. They turned their camels to a side street a plodded down the dark alley.
"Done," Galad said as the Haradrim slumped over unconscious. "Now back into our robes."
Talston nodded in agreement, wiping his forehead with a gloved hand. His opponent had been tougher since the Haradrim had discovered them. Taking the necessary items, the two Rangers left the Haradrim Ambassadors' apartments.
"It pains me to see these poor people driven like cattle to be sold or killed," Talston whispered in his assumed Haradrim garb.
"All will be over with soon," Galad answered.
They watched in horror as men, women, and children were being whipped into a tent, chains and shackles around their wrists, ankles, and throats. The cruel taskmasters hit them mercilessly with whip and spear butt. Galad turned away and silently swore that he would avenge these people, and the people he had kept in the ship. His thoughts turned to Cadoresa, Gwerraent, and the rest of the prisoners probably now home if he had judged the second ship to be Dol Amrothian correctly. No, he mustn't let his mind wander; they needed to set these poor people free.
"So thus you see the need for open access to the waterways in order to attain food," the Umbarian droned.
Galad fought a yawn and did his best to keep his head upright and alert-looking, but the longer the Umbarian spokesman talked, the harder it became. Talston's voice broke through the hazy fog of sleepiness.
"I'm afraid that won't do. Our people need that food. We have plans of our own…brother."
The signal word to begin. Galad was soon on his feet, the weariness gone, and had a knife to the nearest Umbarian's throat. Talston already had his dagger at the spokesman's chest.
"Now order all your men out of here," Talston growled. "Get into your nasty little ships and sail straight home."
"What about our pay?" the Umbarian squeaked,
"You get none. Leave each and every slave here, and consider yourselves grateful to leave here with your skins still intact," Talston snarled.
"You will hear from Umbar soon enough," the spokesman said, bravely enough. "We will not let you backstabbers go unpunished."
"Save your talk," Talston hissed. "Now, brother."
Galad took a deep breath and sighed. He hated doing this, but Talston had assured him the plan wouldn't work without it. Quickly he slid the blade across the Umbarian's throat, a tall cruel-eyed man, letting his life blood spill on the floor. The spokesman looked on with horror, his pudgy face growing green.
"Now git!" Talston yelled.
The spokesman scurried down the stairs muttering something about thieves and Galad cleaned his dagger on the side of his robes. Talston looked at Galad's disdainful face and sighed.
"We needed him to believe us," Talston explained. "Death does that. Besides, this is one of those overseers that they talk about on corsair ships as being the most cruel to their prisoners."
"Yes, you told me," Galad complained. "Now let's get this over with. To the Slave Pens?"
"To the Slave Pens."
Talston had used the time that Galad was stuck on the island to gain influence among the slaves. He had appointed several rebels to break out on his order, which would come today. The Slave Pens held the good, stronger slaves in the front in cleaner quarters, and the less favored slaves in the back in stinking pens.
Galad waited in the shadows as Talston visited his men and gave them the key. Already fuss was being made about "murder" and the Umbarians being cheated. Talston had better hurry.
One hour later, they walked down the streets in Haradrim warrior costume, with robes wrapping them from head to foot and long, curved scimitars hanging from their sides. Yells coming from the Slave Pens around the corner alerted Talston and Galad to the breaking out. Drawing their scimitars, they rushed down the street to help the slaves.
"All you need is a tempting amount of money," Talston said, pushing the Haradrim down.
"I see. Your plan works like magic," Galad responded sarcastically.
Moments earlier, an unsuspecting weapons dealer was pulling a cart of crudely made weapons to be "delivered to Sir Graum" for the use of teaching some of his younger men how to fight. What surprise the trade had found when slaves stormed his wagon, taking off with all his goods. Screeching "Attack!", he ran off to another part of the town. The guards were soon overpowered and the reinforcements had not been summoned yet. Triumphantly the slaves made it down to the docks to free their fellow men, women, and children ready to be sold.
Galad looked out in amazement as the Umbarian ships began to sail away. Rumors had started to spread that the Umbarians had raided the market, procured all the gold, and taken off in their ships to leave the slave revolt to the Haradrim. Soldiers were starting to form in the streets above. They needed to rally the eager slaves into fighting groups in order to escape in the Haradrim long boats, rarely used but close to shore. Calling to his bands, he formed them into compact lines.
Hours later, fierce fighting had exhausted both the Rangers and their followers. Many had wanted death over reimprisonment. Galad decapitated a Haradrim soldier while Talston struggled with another. The guerilla-style street fighting had taken care of most of the soldiers, but there were still troupes which could wreak much havoc among the slaves if they tried to escape now. Galad motioned to his troop and the snuck down a street to ambush a coming battalion of Haradrim.
He hadn't meant to sneeze, but how could he help it when the smoke of the burning buildings on the deck had gotten to his lungs and he was already wheezing. The sneeze was purely unpredictable. But nonetheless the Haradrim were alerted. Now Galad and his group were fighting for their lives. They were outnumbered three to one and the sortie was getting desperate. Suddenly, much to the relief of the slaves, Talston's horn blew a short blast. The rest of the slaves rushed upon the last of the Haradrim slaying them speedily. Hearty cheers rang among the slaves and the two Rangers as they trooped down the longboats, and from there, home.
"I do believe this is farewell, brother," Talston said slowly.
The older Ranger was taking his horse and riding back to Arnor, while Galad would be guiding the rest of the mounts down to the nearest Haradrim village and selling them. Then he would find a ship back to the city of Dol Amroth to seek his island companions.
"Thank you for rescuing us back there," Galad smiled.
"You know where to find me if you are ever in need again," Talston informed.
With that the Ranger mounted his shaggy horse and loped down into the sandy deserts of Harad. Galad watched him leave, then pulled the reins of his own Harad horse and trotted down the coast.
Once he sold the good steed, Galad spent a week in the town's inn before the ship docked. Another week passed before they were to sail. His Haradrim robes cast aside, he strode up the gangplank with civil-looking Amrothian clothes. The sailors were busy around the tall mast and they were off! The sea breath filled his eager lungs as he leaned over the bow. It was good to be at sea again.
"Are you sure, Damon?" the Captain questioned.
"Positive," Damon assured. "He was one of the bloody corsairs on island. About killed one woman when she caught him sneaking into camp."
"Give them the order to detain him," the Captain ordered his first mate. "We will not suffer a pirate to sneak into our fortress."
Galad was pacing the deck when three burly sailors surrounded him. One of them had chains in his two thick hands.
"What is the meaning of this?" Galad asked sharply.
"It means this!" one of the sailors shouted.
Despite his struggles they soon had him trussed up and in the darkest corner of the ship. He was a prisoner, headed for the cells of Dol Amroth, to be hung after a trial of a biased judge. With all he had experienced, this was the worst.
"Murderer!"
"Pirate!"
"Animal!"
The shouts rang out from either side of him as two sailors escorted him down the streets of Dol Amroth. The sailors' vigilance was lacking, however, for he had a blackening eye and several broken ribs where he had fallen to the merciless kicks. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glance of a young nobleman running through the crowd. Could it be?
"Human trafficker!"
Galad forgot his last thought as a heavy object hit him in the head and he blacked out.