Red Magic - Jean Rabe [72]
The man gestured, and the slaves moved closer so the centaur could get a better look. One scarred young man glared at the slaver. The slaver returned the stare and flicked his wrist, the whip snaking out from his hand and striking the man in the cheek, drawing blood.
"I was interested in quantity-a few dozen to work the fields near Thaymount," Wynter interjected, hoping to keep the slaver occupied so he wouldn't whip any more slaves. "I'm the chief buyer for a slave plantation there."
The man whipped the slave again, harder this time, then grinned at Wynter. "You've traveled a long way." His expression caused the beholder's central eye to rest about an inch above the bridge of his nose. "The best of the lot are gone. Sorry to disappoint you. You must be from the Agri Plantation. You work for Blackland Ironhoof?"
Wynter's dark eyes narrowed. "He's my father."
"Long time since someone from that plantation's been here. Heard you're doing all your buying from Eltabar lately. Heard you have a good breeding program, too." The slaver kept up the conversation, not noticing the centaur's unease. "Yep, biggest plantation in northern Thay. Eltabar running low on slaves?"
"No." The centaur pawed at the ground. "So which wizards beat me out of your best stock?"
"The Zulkir of Alteration, Maligor, got the best of them, or rather his woman did. A young Red Wizard near the market bought quite a few, too. He's still here. I can introduce you."
The centaur looked across the pens and spotted a scarlet-robed man eyeing the group of slave families. "No. But I am curious about Maligor. Where can I find him?"
The slaver laughed hard enough to make all the painted eyes on his head wiggle animatedly. He slapped his hand against a bony hip and stared up at Wynter.
"Now, I don't know anyone who wants to find a wizard as powerful as Maligor, at least anyone who works on a slave plantation-especially when the wizard seems to be up to something." The eyes eventually stopped quivering, and the slaver scratched a spot on his head above one of the eyestalks. The design remained unaltered; it was a permanent tattoo.
"Maybe I have some pleasure slaves to sell him," Wynter said, deepening his voice and making the conversation instantly somber. "Where can I find this woman or one of his other agents? And do you know what he's up to?"
"Don't know. Don't care. I mind my own business. Too bad your daddy hasn't taught you to mind yours. If you want to find one of his agents, look in the Gold Dragon Inn. You'll have to wait outside. They don't let centaurs in no matter how much gold they have. Maligor's people usually have a thorny vine tattooed around their necks. Looks like a collar, and I promise you that Maligor keeps them on a tight leash."
The slaver glanced over his shoulder at the wizard scrutinizing the slaves in the pen. "Now, if you're not going to buy anything…" He smiled broadly, grabbed the centaur's hand and shook it firmly, then moved toward the young Red Wizard.
Wynter peered across the slave pens at all the doleful expressions of the occupants. He knew that slavery existed in other pockets of Faerun, but nowhere was it more blatant than in Thay, and in no other country were there more slaves than free men. He reached inside his money pouch and felt the coins, then trotted determinedly toward the slaver.
*****
Galvin and Brenna neared the place where they had left Wynter. The number of people on the streets was dwindling, and the druid was feeling more at ease-until they turned a corner and he saw the centaur leading five dwarves by ropes.
"Damn!" Galvin cursed softly, running toward Wynter. Brenna hurried to catch up, but her new dress made running awkward.
"What are you doing?" the druid fumed, glaring up into the centaur's face. "Don't tell me you bought these slaves!"
"I had to," Wynter replied.