Excerpt: The Lord of Slaves

The skinny, straw-haired young boy stared down dazedly at the crowd in front of him. The mass of people chattered and laughed, gossiped and lied, sending waves of meaningless noise crashing into the boy’s ears. Their movements mixed with the heat shimmering off of the hard-packed dirt to form a dizzying pattern. The boy blinked hard and swayed slightly as their motions danced in front of his eyes.
“What’ll it be, folks?” A loud voice shouted next to him. “This young lad’s only about ten or so- at the perfect age to train him up! He’ll be one to grow up strong! Who’ll start with 200 taves? You there, in the front!” The man pointed a finger at a man with heavy jowls seated in the first row, a cigar hanging from his fat lips. The boy twitched his nose as the acrid odor of burning umjat mixed with the scent of salt water in the air.
The boy turned and looked around. Where was his mother? There. She was already seated in a wagon, hands tied. She had chafed them raw on the rope, but now she held them limply on her lap. She met his eyes for an instant, a bleak look of despair almost hidden behind wisps of her blonde hair, before he was pulled back around to face the front again.
“We have 200 taves. Who’ll go for 250?”
A man in the back raised his hand. The boy could not see his face.
“250, who’ll take this strong boy for 275?” The heavily jowled man raised his hand after a moment’s pause.
“And we have 275, who’ll go for 300? Anyone, anyone? 275 taves, going once, going twice… ah! 300 taves, sold to the man in the back!”
The boy gazed at the man shouldering his way through the back of the crowd, who was standing intently back. The boy watched as he stopped and folded his arms, waiting calmly. He was dressed in fine clothes, a silk shirt not quite concealing his muscles. The boy drearily wondered how hard he hit; on the way to the auction there had been plenty of time for him to hear the horror stories of cruel masters.
Large hands grasped him by the arms and lifted him off the platform. Then he was tugged towards the back of the crowd by the rope tied around his hands. He twisted around, trying to see his mother again. But the wagon holding her was already gone, and he received a clout on his ear for slowing.
“Here you are, sir.” The boy looked around to see his rope being handed over to the big man. He was very tall. “300 taves.”
“Good. He looks strong enough. He will be once I’m done with him, anyways.”
The boy peered up slightly, just enough to look into the hawk eyes of his new master.