Volume 3, Chapter 14 – Sand: Paying Off My Family's Debts

Nivarra woke early, as per usual; the elf was still facing away from her, his breathing slow and regular, and almost as if by magic the door to her chamber creaked open as she sat up, her maidservant entering the room and shuffling to her wardrobe.

Feeling awake, refreshed, and decidedly cruel, she planted her bare foot daintily against Sand's back and pushed, kicking him off of the bed. "Wake up," she said pleasantly. "Be ready to be summoned in an hour. I must speak with my father, and then I have no doubt he will have something for you." She slipped from the bed, letting her maid draw her to the wardrobe, and began dressing, ignoring Sand completely.

Sand hit the floor with a loud thud, the air expelling from his lungs, more shocked than hurt. He glanced up at her retreating form, waiting until she was out of earshot before muttering, "Well, good morning to you too, mistress Nivarra. Grumpy? Well I seem to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Oh wait, I seem to have woken up on the floor." He stood up and followed the guard to the bathing room. When he returned, Nivarra was gone. He glanced at the bureau that hid the secret door but decided against taking that chance. Instead, he sat in the high backed chair, toying with his ariik gem, waiting for whatever the gods were going to throw at him today.

Lord Dornan looked thoughtful as Nivarra placed the object on his desk. "And where did you find this, again?"

"Father," She said almost scoldingly. "You can't think that I don't have my own business arrangements to run? I acquired it. And now we have a cause to use it, I think." She pursed her lips in distaste. "He was apparently trying to 'escape' last night; one of the guards brought him back to my door at near midnight." She shook her head. "We can remove it when you need to use him, father, but he relies very heavily on his ability to manipulate magic so easily." She arched an eyebrow at Dornan, her eyes cold. "Sometimes you learn to appreciate the use of such power by not having it."

He narrowed his eyes at her...but after a long, tense moment, finally nodded. "All right. I'll acquiesce your request; but mark my words, girl, if this interferes with my workings even the slightest, I'm revoking your control over him."

Nivarra nodded stiffly, and called out, "Guard!" The answering clank of metal announced the man's movement to the door. "Bring the wizard here."

When Sand was pulled into the room a few minutes later, the guard drew the elf over to the desk, and ominously held the wizards arms at his sides. Nivarra gestured; a second guard came up, picking a wrapped object up from Dornan's desk.

"Have you heard of 'dead magic zones', wizard?" Lord Dornan asked, as the cloth was peeled back from a dark, metallic gleaming object. "Obelisks or gems, trinkets that absorb magic, causing spells that are cast within the area to fail utterly. Rather beautiful stones; they make for some fine craftsmanship, as well." Dornan stared hard into Sand's face. "I believe that today, we shall focus on the meaning of what it truly means to be a slave; you might appreciate the fine accoutrements that you, as my daughter's wizard, are entitled to...once they are taken away."

In the guards hands, unwrapped and gleaming, was a perfectly round, slender collar.

The panic that had been steadily rising in his chest burst out fully. "No..." Sand whispered, staring at the collar. He knew what that was. He shot a desperate look at Nivarra and Dornan. "No. Oh gods, please no. No." He tried backing up and away from the collar but the larger human guards held him firm. His mind raced; he could cast Time Stop and run...

And how far would you get, Sand, before the geas would knock you out for disobeying her?

He gave Nivarra a pleading look. "Please...don't."

Dornan merely arched a brow. Nivarra smiled at him coolly. "We do not tolerate disobedience, wizard," She said, her voice impersonal and sharp. "You will have to learn that." She nodded, and the guard swung the collar open, sliding it forward around the struggling elf's throat.

As soon as the collar went around him, he felt as though the very blood inside his veins was being drawn out into the collar. The faint crackling energy that he had taken for granted as simply being a part of him faded into nothingness and suddenly his whole existence seemed very flat, and gray. He felt dull. He was no longer Sand the Wizard; merely Sand. Then with a pang he realized he wasn't even that as Nivarra had claimed his name as well. He had become one of the nameless, faceless, expendable servants of Luskan...

It was terrifying.

The far door opened, and a tall, slightly heavyset man walking with the help of a thick cane entered the room, his eyes fixed almost greedily on Sand. Dornan intoned evenly, "You belong to the Housemaster today, wizard. No spells; no magic; no worth except the sweat off of your back." The tip of the cane snuck forward as Dornan spoke, touching Sand none-to-gently across the back of his legs. The Housemaster had moved so that he stood slightly behind Sand and the guard holding him, grinning.

Nivarra said, absently, "I would prefer he be returned to me in one piece, Master Yune."

The Housemaster spoke, his voice deep and rumbling and slightly hoarse. "Of course, my lady. We'll heal him right up when we're done with him."

So saying, the guard gave Sand an ungentle shove towards Master Yune, and the Housemaster tapped the back of Sand's shoulders as they walked towards the doorway. "The kitchens for you first thing, elf," he said as they exited the room. "The head cook will run you; obey her without question, or else..."

The cane tapped rhythmically against Sand's back meaningfully.

He gave Nivarra one last look before the Housemaster was guiding him out of the room, through the now familiar halls into the kitchen. He had just been here, a scant few hours ago and now he was back. Master Yune gave him a firm thwack across the legs, "Get in there and behave. You should be thankful Master Dornan has shown you kindness and not his whip."

Sand stumbled in and then stood awkwardly before a short plump human cook, not trusting himself to speak.

The cook eyed Sand up and down briefly, her face reddened from the heat of the kitchen around her; the servants worked at a backbreaking pace, eyes downcast, sweat gleaming off of their skin as they scoured pots, scrubbed floors, boiled water, moved hot pots and pans from the wood burning stove to the counters and back again. A thin, reedy man was preparing the food, a wickedly gleaming butcher knife in his hands as he chopped vegetables; he made no acknowledgement that Sand was even standing there.

"Hilna!"

"Yes ma'am!" A whip of a human girl appeared almost as if by magic at the Head Cook's side, her eyes pained as they darted briefly to Sand's face before looking obediently up at the heavyset woman.

"Get him scrubbing pots, for now. I want the entire row done in the next fifteen minutes, or I'm takin' it out on both of you."

Hilna's face paled. "Yes ma'am!" She reached out, grabbed Sand by the wrist, and dragged him towards the back of the kitchen, where a huge tub was filled with water and a foul smelling lye soap that stung the eyes merely from being near it. "Here," She whispered urgently, shoving a metal-bristled scrubbing brush and a grease covered, blackened cooking pot into his hands. "Scrub it, hard; if there's even a speck of grease still on the pan it'll be your back." She picked up another pan and bent to it, the muscles standing out on her forearrms and wrists as she scrubbed almost wildly, her skin reddening from the painful contact with the potent water in the tub below them.

Sand whispered, "Thank you, dear girl," and began scraping the grease off the pot. His eyes darted to her and her furiously quick and surprisingly strong scrubbing; then his gaze went to the daunting row of pots, pans, trays...

15 minutes. Or both of them...

More for her sake than his, Sand bent over and stuck the pot into the hot soapy water. He could feel the skin of his finger burning painfully from the caustic liquid but he ignored it, rubbing the brush hard across the blackened surface of the pot until the slimy grease melted away. Hilna was already on her second pot and Sand quickened his pace. He grabbed a large cooking tray and dunked it in the water, using a piece of steel wool to loosen the burnt bits of food. He could feel the heat on his skin, the sweat causing his hair to stick to his neck as he worked silently beside the young human girl.

The young girl was nearly panting by the time they were finished; her hands and forearms were streaked with painful red marks, the tips of her fingers beginning to blister, when the last pan was stacked clean on top of the others. Almost instantly, a pair of meaty hands grasped the back of both of their collars, and swung them away from the tub.

"Two minutes too slow," said the cook almost gleefully. "I'll be sure to inform the Housemaster of your shoddy performance, elf. Two minutes, two lashes; I'm sure he'll give you time to collect your debt at the end of the day."

Sand was tossed roughly against the floor. "Get him a bucket and a brush! Hilna, you know where to go; and don't dally coming back, it's only two lashes."

The girl's face flitted with a despairing, defeated expression before she turned and slipped from the kitchen. A bucket filled with the same foul, soapy water was dropped before Sand's face, and a white-bristled brush dropped into it, causing the concoction to splash over the edges and across the floor. "Scrub," said the cook, giving Sand a kick in the side. "Until I tell you to stop." The heavyset, red-faced woman turned and bent over the food preparations; the thin man at her side looked over his shoulder, glancing disdainfully down at the elf and smiling slightly.

Sand bit back the sharp words about to flow from his mouth and picked up the brush from the water. Was he really nothing more than a mongrel, to be kicked about by all of Luskan? He gritted his teeth and began scrubbing the floors. Multitude of feet scurried around him, stepped over him, tripped on him. After a time, he found if he just ignored the people moving around him and just focused on his task, the time seemed to go quicker and he seemed to get less in the way of the others.

He looked up occasionally, trying to catch the eye of a sympathetic servant. But they all kept their heads and eyes averted from him, running to and fro with a barely concealed frenzy as the Cook yelled, screamed, berated, threatened and then finally boxed the ears of a servant who dropped a carrot. He turned back to the floor and scrubbed with a renewed vigor.

Finally, close to noon, the bell sounded for the lunch time meal, and trays laden with the morning's work were carried out by well dressed, cool faced servants who looked as if they had never seen a days hard work in their life. Once the last finely-garbed, tray carrying form left the kitchen, the Housemaster entered, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone floor.

The head cook grabbed Sand by the back of his collar and pulled him up from the floor, held straight-backed for the Housemaster to inspect him. Master Yune eyed the elf shrewdly. "And how did he do?"

"Garnered himself two lashes, Master Yune," the cook said happily. "Would have been more but His Lordship asked for a three courser for lunch and I didn't have time to keep a close eye on 'im; suspect His Lordship's got some company over?"

"Never mind that," said Master Yune briskly. "Have you fed him?" When the cook shrugged, the Housemaster reached out, clamping his hand down on a half-loaf of bread. He thrust it into Sand's hands, saying, "There'll be water where you're going next; get that down, I'll not be responsible for you dropping from lack of nourishment. Come, come, eat while you walk."

With a tap of that cane against the back of Sand's legs, they were off once again. The Housemaster stopped more than a few times to gather some of the more bedraggled looking servants running around the estate and order them into line behind him; apparently while the day servants and those that worked visibly with Lord Dornan's visitors enjoyed some measure of comfort, the permanent, lower level servants and slaves were treated hardly any better than livestock; the almost silent shuffle of feet behind Sand as Master Yune led them outside onto the estate grounds was practically steeped in a miasma of desperation.

A large, burly, one eyed man was waiting for them, standing next to what looked like merely a pile of rubble. "His Lordship is building an extension to the main building of his Estate, and you, my friends, have the honor of adding your strength to the task! Hipshari will oversee you; work quickly and you will be finished quickly; laze about, and Hipshari will have to add speed to your limbs himself." The huge man grinned, unslinging a long, knot-ended whip from his belt. Yune gazed at Sand momentarily, and said, offhandedly, "And I believe the elf owes me two lashes already."

His whole body ached; it seemed as though every muscle (and muscles he didn't know he had) was throbbing, burning on fire. The sun was high in the sky and his heart sank as he realized he wasn't even half way through the day yet. The other servants moved quickly to the pile of loose and broken stone and picked them up, moving around towards the back of the mansion. His fingers twitched in an automatic desire to cast a spell. Just a spell or two and the entire task could be done, but the collar gleamed in the sunlight and rested heavily against his skin, the cool metal seeming sever him from the magic that made him who he was.

Master Yune was staring at him with a strangely satisfied expression; Hipshari was fingering the whip. Sand took a step back nervously. "Now?"

Hipshari laughed, circling around him. "I'm sorry, yer highness, did you have an appointment to make?" The whip dangled as the man arched it back, its knotted end floating almost gracefully through the air. "Master Yune says you get two, you get two." He arched a grizzled eyebrow towards the Housemaster.

Yune nodded, once, sharply.

The whip cracked through the air almost instantly after that, Hipshari not seeming to care in particular which part of Sand's body the instrument landed on, so long as it landed. The knotted end ensured that the thing strip of leather swung straight and true, and with a sick, wet crack! it tore through the thin layer of Sand's clothing, ripping through the skin underneath.

Hipshari chuckled, pulling his hand back for the second lash. "I think you're going to miss your appointment, your majesty." The second blow landed against Sand's legs, almost wrapping around the elf's thigh; Hipshari pulled the whip back viciously.

The first lash caught him diagonally across the chest; before Sand could even respond the second lash was on him, biting into the skin of his legs. Bright scarlet red blood sprang to the surface of the cut even as the pain sliced through him.

"Oh gods..." He staggered under the force of the blows, his hands going up to touch the wounds. Hipshari was waving the whip at him and pointing to the rubble. Sand limped over and picked up the first piece of smashed rock. He could feel the warm, sticky blood dripping down his leg but he ignored it.

That's a boy, Sand. How often have you had to march through the countryside with battlewounds or have had to cast with an arrow sticking out of you?

Yune smiled. "I think you're in good hands here, slave. I'll return for you at dusk." With that, the Housemaster disappeared into the building.

Sand half-closed his eyes as he walked, pretending, for a moment, that he was back in Neverwinter and he was carrying his pack on some random adventure. He would welcome a visit from even the githyanki at this point. He could almost hear the bickering, the inane comments about the trees, the laughing...

He bumped into a slave and was yanked out of his daydream. Dropping the rock onto the small slowly forming pile, he went back for another. He was already beginning to sweat, the hot sun sending its heat down mercilessly. His robes were heavy and clung to him; his arms were beginning to shake from the exertion.

His mind flittered to Torio and the corner of his lips twitched up in the barest of a smile. He wondered what she would say to him now if she could see him, as he picked up another stone.

Helkaer...

Every hour a break was called for five minutes and water was passed out amongst the workers. Hipshari grew bored often; he would, without warning, lash out at a particularly slow moving servant every few minutes, clucking his tongue. Soon, many of the men and women working alongside Sand were marked with slashes and criss-crossed whip marks, blood oozing through their clothing as they worked.

The rubble pile was beginning to shrink, while the pile by the house grew immeasurably larger, the stones piled neatly on top of one another. As the sun began dipping towards evening, the pace of work slowed; even Hipshari's whip could not encourage the exhausted servants to move faster or lift heavier weights.

The last break for water was called, and a weary, youthful looking human dropped down on the grass next to Sand, panting heavily as he raised his clay cup towards the elf's face. "To Luskan," the young man said bitterly, and drank down his water in a single gulp; his back and buttocks were crusted over with dried blood, long tears in his clothing from where Hipshari's whip had found him. "I haven't seen you before, elf. They just find you?"

Sand could barely lift his mug in response to the youth. "Found, purchased, forced into slavery. I suppose it's all the same here. I was captured aboard ship and I woke up here. It's been...3 days, nearly?" He realized he was starting to lose track of the time. "Fortunately - or unfortunately, I haven't quite decided yet - I belong to Nivarra." He drained his small cup and wished he had more. He pulled back the shoulder of his robe to examine a deep gash. The blood had already dried, crusting into a darkish brown. "What about you?"

The young man snorted. "Paying off my family's debts; my father borrowed heavily from Lord Durnan, the gods rest him...it was either this or prison." He shook his head, handing the clay cup back to the serving girl who was walking around, filling cups with water from a pitcher balanced precariously on her shoulder. "At the moment I'm almost wishing I'd picked prison. Or that my father had borrowed money from someone else." The man eyed Sand curiously. "So you're one of Nivarra's, then? Normally her servants stay inside the estate." He sighed wistfully. "What I wouldn't give for cold stone walls in this heat; all I've got to look forward to tomorrow is moving more rocks all over again."

Hipshari was now yelling at them to stand up; Master Yune was herding them back into the mansion. Sand stayed by the youth. "Yes well I suppose Nivarra is punishing me for trying to escape." He lowered his voice. "Look, if I ever find a way to escape this place, I'll try to take as many of you as I can. My name is Sand and I'm a mage and formerly a spy for Neverwinter."

The young man's face lit up almost instantly. "Neverwinter," he whispered. "By the gods, a spy for Nasher? You must..."

They were cut off by Yune's thundering voice, ordering the servants into their quarters. A short, squat old woman dressed in cleric's robes sidled up out of nowhere, and bowed to the Housemaster, who gestured her in after the servants. "Make sure they get their supper, Alysin. And when you've healed the elf, bring him back to Lady Nivarra's quarters! She's expecting him."

The old woman bobbed her head once more as Yune left, his cane tapping against the flagstones.

The servant's quarters were arranged so that privacy was almost impossible; small, two-walled alcoves were lined up along the walls, a set of beds in each one. In the center was a long, communal table, currently holding a large soup pot and various bowls waiting to be filled. Surprisingly there was no pushing or shoving; a few of the younger servants began spooning bowls and passing them out as the wounded, wearied men and women sank around the table. The relief of tension was almost palpable, and the young man whispered to Sand, "We're let into the washrooms once everyone retires to bed, in order to clean them, but it's our chance to bathe, as well." A bowl of soup was pressed into Sand's hands by one of the young women at the pot. Alysin the healer was making her rounds as the servants ate, healing them for the next day. The man grinned at him. "My name is Matthew; I'm glad to have met you, Sand of Neverwinter."

Alysin approached them, a tired smile on her face. "Well, don't you both look awful? Let's see if I can fix that for you, Matthew dear. And you, master elf, as well." She placed her wrinkled hands on Matthew's shoulders and began chanting.

"Well met, Matthew. I...hope to see you again my friend. It is nice seeing a friendly face here." He watched the activity in the room; the slaves and servants all seemed to get along, united by their common misery. He sighed; suddenly escaping by himself was no longer a viable option if he knew all these poor souls suffered under the yoke of Dornan's tyranny. He said to the young human, in quiet voice while Alysin was rummaging through her pack "Remember what I said earlier. I'll...be working on something. I'll do what I can. You have a friend; tell those whom you trust and only them. It...Well, boy, suffice it to say I don't look forward to what will happen to me - us - if we're caught."

Sand turned curiously to Alysin as she stopped fussing with her supplies and put her hands on him gently, "Are you a servant? A slave?" He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as he felt his wounds mend. He smiled at the cleric. "Thank you, dear girl."

Alysin clucked her tongue slightly, but smiled as her spell took effect. "You're most welcome," the old woman said amiably. "Yes, I work for Lord Dornan, if you must know. Voluntarily, of course; there's work enough for me here, within his walls." Her face looked sad for a moment. "Were it my way, there would never be a need for my services." She sighed, and then smiled at him, brushing down her robes. "Let me finish my round, master elf, and I'll escort you back to the Lady's chambers...eat up!" She tapped the edge of the bowl resting in Sand's hands. "You'll need your strength."

After the healer moved away, Matthew whispered, "I'll let in a few I know I can trust; there are a small number of servants that are so broken at this point that hearing such...dissention would only give them something to report to Master Yune to curry favor with him." His eyes were troubled. "Be careful, Sand. The house servants that work within the walls can not be trusted, no matter what they tell you. They've got much more to lose than we do, if any of this reaches Lord Dornan's ears."

A few minutes later, Alysin led Sand from the servant's quarters, to a chorus of friendly, if subdued goodbyes. The old healer walked at a brisk, clipping pace despite her derelict appearance, and her voice was not unkind as she said, "I've never seen you before; I take it your one of the Lady's favorites." She looked over at Sand, saying quietly as they turned down the hall that led to Nivarra's chambers, "I wish you luck, in this household. You're going to need it." The guards snapped to attention as they approached Nivarra's doors, and one of them opened it for Sand; the healer's wizened, smiling face soon disappeared behind the polished wood door as it shut behind him with a snick!