The dying sun cast a path of rippling gold across the scarlet water of the Antheian sea. The dread Aceton prowled silently down the path, its prow and sails silhouetted against the vibrant sunset. On her top deck stood her captain, his black gaze trained on the sandy inlet of the coast ahead. It was to this piece of land that he had directed all his focus for the last few weeks.

Men swarmed the deck below in groups of twos and threes. Most were Greek, like himself, and like him their once olive skin had roasted to a deep bronze from long hours under the blazing sun on open water. He watched them now through dark, narrowed eyes as they lined tall cages on either side of the middle deck. One man was stumping up the creaking stairs from the ship’s hold, carrying long wooden poles under his brawny arms. These he piled together in an out of the way corner by the last of the cages before lashing them together in a bundle and covering it with a seal skin tarp.

“Arktos,” the captain barked.

From beside the poles Arktos glanced up. The sun cast a brilliant sheen on his mottled, egg smooth head. What hair refused to grow on the man’s head had sprouted on his chest and back so that even though he was stripped to the waist, he retained a covering of bear-like fur. His name of Arktos was not his given name but it was the one he’d boarded the ship with two summers ago. It was as though he had no real name and was content to simply be called ‘bear’.

Artkos finished adjusting the seal skin tarp before swinging his massive body toward the stairs on the other side of the deck. “Yes Captain,” he puffed once both his feet were firmly planted on the top deck. Lukos looked him over and noted the man’s mammoth chest heaving with effort. Strong his bear was, able to endure constant work he was not. The whole of the afternoon he’d had his men working, readying for tonight’s haul. Because Arktos was strongest, he’d been worked most.

“All the cages on deck?” Lukos did not bother with anything resembling a cordial tone.

“Yes, Captain,” Arktos took the rag hanging from his rope belt and mopped at the sweat streaming down his face.

“I want to see Bianor. I trust he’s done with the inventory?”

When Arktos’ answer did not come immediately, Lukos turned his black glare from the deck below fully into Arktos’ ruddy face. The bigger man shook his bald head in an admission that he’d failed to gather information he had known Lukos would ask for. Lukos nodded and turned his back so that he was facing the deck below again. He leaned on the wooden railing and without looking at Arktos said, “Bring me that weasel. By the scruff if you have to.”

He followed Arktos with his eyes as the man stumped back down the stairs, across the middeck, and down into the hold. Of all the things and people Lukos had stolen over the years, Bianor had proved the most useful. Bianor had been scribe to one of the men of the Drakos house. Which one escaped him now that he was attempting to remember. In his mind’s eye he could still see the Drakos bastard’s shocked face, vein corded out on his forehead as the sword was shoved into his gut. This Drakos had not been one of the people who’d owned Lukos, but it didn’t matter. The memory was still a favorite he liked to think on from time to time.

Bianor he’d found huddled inside a wardrobe. The thing that had saved the old man were the papers he’d been clutching to his chest. That and the urine puddled at his feet. It was enough to prove to Lukos that the man was too cowardly to pull anything truly devious aboard his ship. One always could use a scribe.

His attention was caught as the very man he’d been thinking of was hefted up the stairs, the back of his deep blue chiton gathered in Arktos’ meaty fist. Bianor’s sandaled feet only brushed the top step as Arktos hauled him up into the fresh air. In the failing light the skinny man’s flesh was sallow and looked to be hanging from his bones with no muscle or sinew to speak of. He clutched a vellum book to his thin chest and looked around until his gray gaze met Lukos’ dark one.

“I’d have come even if you’d simply asked!” he shouted in a huff. His reedy voice was nearly carried away on the wind. Lukos grinned down at the old man.

“I know,” he shouted back. Bianor shook his white head and pulled out of Arktos’ grip. He stumbled forward and caught himself on the ship’s side, nearly losing his book to the surging ocean waves. Just managing to hang onto it, he shot Lukos a withering glare which only earned him a barking laugh in return.

“Move your old bones up here and tell me what I want to know or I’ll have them ripped from your worthless body!” Lukos laughed. Bianor rolled his slim shoulders and adopted an air of injured dignity as he ascended the stairs. Arktos did not follow but rather disappeared back down into the ship’s hold.

“I’m not quite finished taking stock of supplies,” Bianor held the vellum book to his chest like a breastplate. The ship’s inventory was not vast. They’d just unloaded quite a bit at the last port and brought in enough gold that he was safe from having a riot on his hands if this new scheme went badly. That the scribe was claiming the whole of the morning and this afternoon was not enough might have made him angry. Lucky for the older man, Lukos’ mind was occupied with more important matters than whether or not he was being lied to.

“By the time we drop anchor I want that book in my hand. Finished.” Lukos was not laughing now. Bianor nodded once, bowed low from the waist, and turned to go but was stopped by Lukos next question. “How is the water?”

“Enough for us but we’ll need some for them,” Bianor kept his back to Lukos but he had the book open, his gnarled finger running down the columns of numbers and check marks. “You may want to see to more food as well. We’re fine for now but it won’t do for us if they’re all half starved when we arrive in Colchis.” When Lukos said nothing further, Bianor left him and went back down to the hold.

The sun was a brilliant sliver on the horizon by the time the Aceton dropped anchor. A full moon awaited them. No clouds marred the sky which meant they’d have the advantage of hundreds of thousands of stars to bear light and witness to his escapade.

He was alone in his cabin, fastening his sword belt around his hips and securing a dagger in his boot. The ship rocked gently under his boots; a comforting motion he now preferred to the solid stillness of land. One could not stay at sea forever. Riches were acquired and disposed of on land.

He stepped over to a table in the corner. Spread out on the surface was a map, its four corners weighted down with a dirk, scattered coins, an empty ink pot, and a bronze compass. It was the dirk he reached for. The far right corner of the map curled in on itself as he carefully slid the blade unsheathed beneath the belt at his hip. His hair he haphazardly secured at the nape of his neck but a few dark tendrils escaped confinement.

Activity on the deck hadn’t slackened in the intervening hours between his conversation with Bianor to now. Men were readying the dinghies so that they could be lowered into the water. No alarm had been raised by the occupants on land. No beacons were lit. He had taken special care to come at this coast when it was least likely anyone would be looking in this direction with the sun behind him. Now he had the safety of oncoming night to cloak his ship and crew.

All of this would be made easier if he could have sailed straight into the port but then an alarm would certainly have been raised. No, here he was shielded by cliffs. Fishing boats did not venture here because the catch was always poor. This beach was merely one meant for leisure and thus it was deserted.

“Is all in readiness, Arktos?” Lukos asked. The bigger man, now fully clothed in a loose shirt not dissimilar to his own, nodded gravely. Bianor watched them all from his place on the top deck but in the dying light, his face was swathed in shadow. Lukos glanced up at him and smiled, making a rude gesture. Bianor’s shadowed form took visible offense and pushed away from the railing and out of sight.

With a casual wave of his arm, Lukos commanded the dinghies to be lowered into the blessedly calm water. With pulleys groaning and squealing in protest, the little boats were dropped, landing with several splashes as they all hit the lulling waves. Rope ladders were pushed over the boat’s side and about half the crew descended them into the four boats.

Lukos waited until Arktos had half way descended the rope ladder before swinging his own legs over the ship’s side. His last image as he worked his way down was of Bianor walking back down the top deck stairs, hanging his head like a broken man. Perhaps at some point in his past Lukos might have had a momentary pin prick of guilt for keeping a learned, aged man like Bianor against his will but that was then. Now he had need of him. Unfortunately for Bianor, he’d proved a little too valuable to be allowed to leave even when he’d earned his freedom from his own cage.

Men peered over the railing at him in the gathering gloom as he descended the rope ladder and into the swaying dinghy. He took his place in the front of the little boat and released the metal hook securing it to the ship. It swung and hit the wooden planks of the ship with a dull thud. A man at the back unhooked the other side and they were pushed away from the Aceton by oars, free at last on the water.

Arktos was at his right and the boat dipped lower on that side. Lukos had to keep a white knuckled grip on the rough timbered side to keep him from slowly sliding against the other man. Water lapped at the boat’s surface as oars splashed in a steady rhythm, bringing them closer and closer to shore.

He shifted around so that he could face the island. His stomach dropped uncomfortably as the boat moved into the bowl of a wave and rode it back up again, cutting through the top of the ridge and dropping back down again in a never ending cycle. This was always the least pleasant task. Without being able to stop himself, he glanced down into the glassy water at the deep, dark depths fathoms below. If he sank in this little boat no one would ever find his body.

Well that wasn’t strictly true. No doubt he’d wash up on shore, gray and bloated like a beached whale. His skin would tear open in the baking afternoon sun and the crabs would swarm him, picking at him under his clothes, taking bits…

He shook his head to clear that image and blinked up at the net of stars above. That was something better to focus on. Instead of a vast emptiness of dark blue with pricks of light, the sky trailed a great silver ribbon fluttering across it from horizon to horizon, blanketed with a luminous, shimmering veil of glistening diamonds. It was enough to make him pause and almost forget the long night ahead.

At last he tore his eyes from the heavens. Even from this distance he could hear the waves break on the beach. He steeled himself, as he always did before nights like this. His mental preparation wasn’t against the screams and cries but against the inevitable fatigue that followed. The next day was always brutal.

Like a crouching beast, the cliffs rose up looming black against the sky. One by one the boats slipped into shallow water. Only once he was sure there was less than three feet of water did he swing himself out of the boat, landing with a splash. Another splash told him that Arktos was also in the water. Together they drew the boat up onto land. The rest of the men spilled out of the boat, dragging it well clear of the waves.

Once all four boats were beached out of tide’s reach, they gathered around him in a circle for orders. He spoke quietly and quickly but he had not been the one to survey this stretch of coast a few weeks ago. That had been another man in the ring named Phlios and it was to him that he deferred once it was decided who would stay on the beach with the supplies and who would be the ones pillaging.

The group split into four. One group remained on the beach while the other three groups trudged across the sand and climbed the staircase of rock that had been carved into the natural slope of the cliff. It was steep but not unmanageable. No one spoke, each man readying themselves for what was to come next.

Once at the top of the stairs, the land flattened out so that the little fishing village was visible even from here. Most of the house windows were still lit. This was the easy part. By the time that he and his crew arrived, their men would be gone on the water, casting nets, fishing and not knowing their wives and children would soon be gone.

As the group walked, they could see the oil lamps being winked out, one by one so that when they finally reached the village’s edge, nearly every house was dark. “Do not kill unless you must,” Lukos whispered. No one answered and instead they spread out, ghostly shadows creeping along the stone walls of the huts.

For his part, he stood aloof, watching one of the men, only a black form, skulking toward the door of the first house. He held his breath, looking around at the others as they too took up their places. This village was not overly large and the bright, round moon above cast enough light that he could see them all clearly. They waited until the last house was poised to be taken.

In the window he could see an elderly woman moving about, blithely unaware of the danger lurking outside. He raised his arm, holding it high for a moment before dropping it. As one the men burst into one house after another. Screams erupted, rending the silence. He clenched his jaw and stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

The huts were almost all one room dwellings. There was nowhere to hide. Women and children were thrown out into the dirt. Bodies writhed on the ground, trussed and bound. Little children cried, staying with their mothers even though it would have been better to run. He never bothered with the little ones. They would follow whatever happened. It was the older children and adults that he had to contend with.

One house had trouble. A male voice spit curses. Lukos started forward but he needn’t have bothered. Arktos was there ahead of him, dragging out what turned out to be a frail young man. His mother clung to him, screaming that he had the fever.

“Drop him,” Lukos commanded. “Get back into your house!” he barked. The frightened mother gathered the sickly young man up and helped him hobble back into the house. With a darkening expression he glanced around at the other women and children who were being bundled up in the middle of the village.

Were they sick too? He wanted healthy slaves. Not to bring a plague aboard his ship.

Once the village was subdued, and his newly acquired slaves sat sobbing or cursing him, he sent men to bring the barrels. The night’s work was far from complete. It took hours but he and the remaining men went through each hut, painstakingly sifting through belongings, turning over odd stones for coins, emptying out earthen jars. They took casks of precious oil, spare clothes, the odd silver ring, or bronze bangle.

When they’d chosen this village, he had been under no illusions. These people were poor. What he’d wanted he already had. Slaves brought more money than any paltry coin he’d find hidden away. Still, he had the time and it served no purpose to stand around while waiting for his men to return.

They did at last, rolling empty barrels that were then painstakingly filled, bucket by bucket, from the village well. Fresh water was just as much a necessity as these people were. After the barrels were brought back to the beach to be rowed back and stored aboard ship, they marched off their new acquisitions, single file, tied together with rope so that no one could run.

A young woman tried to appeal to him, telling him it would kill her father to find her missing. She was his only daughter. Please. He had to- she was backhanded into silence. He didn’t hit her hard enough to make her stumble but she didn’t try to speak to him again.

Weak.

Night’s grip on the horizon was weakening. Gray tinged the sky where it met the water. By now the fishermen would be hauling in their nets and coming ashore. Their work was far from over and they would not be returning to the village before he was fully away, but the thought still made him march his new slaves faster. His men were armed and had the element of surprise. Subduing the husbands and fathers would be easy but he’d rather not make his reputation here any worse than it had to be. He had plans for the city up a little farther inland.

By the time they got back to the beach, the boat that had hauled the water barrels was returning. One of the children, a little girl who only looked to be two, had fallen some time ago on the path and refused to get up to follow her mother any further. She was too tired from crying and walking all night. He’d picked her up and slung her over his shoulder where she’d fallen asleep. In the ever growing light of dawn, he could see the girl’s mother, eyeing him with the same kind of mistrust and deep hatred he’d seen many, many times.

The women and children picked their way down the stairs with the practiced steps gained from a lifetime of coming here voluntarily. Today most would leave without seeing it again. He hefted the little girl from one shoulder to the other, ignoring her as though she was nothing more than a sack of heavy grain, and frowned at the women as they descended. Counting under his breath, his frown deepened.

Even with all of these women and the few teenage boys, he’d still have two free cages aboard ship. Arktos was passing him just then, about to head down the stairs. Lukos stopped him with a back handed tap on the shoulder. The big man swung around without a word.

“Two more,” Lukos said. “Go further inland if you have to. We have enough women. Get two strong men if you can. The market should be opening soon.”

Arktos nodded and took several men with him. Lukos watched them for a moment as they trudged back up the path before he followed the last of the women down the stairs. The little girl stirred and he had to pause on the steep steps. Her mother craned her neck back to look, to make sure. Lukos glared at her but she didn’t turn around until it was that or stumble and take the rest of her village with her.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, Lukos gave her the child which she cradled to her chest, crying into the sleeping girl’s hair. His stomach grumbled and he turned away from the scene, trying to remember the last time he’d eaten. It was right before they’d left the boat...which meant he’d be fine for a few more hours yet.

The sun was a rising line of gold, casting warm rays over the tear streaked faces of the women. He made them all sit down and threatened each one into silence. It was only then that he bent down to look each one in the face. Only the one that he’d backhanded before was uncommonly pretty. The rest were middle aged or old, or homely. The teenage boys glared at him, one with his chin trembling. He had the merest hint of hair on his upper lip.

“Two of you may go,” he said. The slaves looked up, attention caught. His eye fell on the boys and he shook his head with a growing smile. “Two women may go.” In no scenario could he see himself allowing the young men to go free. Their price was worth twice what any of the women were. They were more useful for one thing and young for another. The pretty girl’s face held a little hope and he let a small laugh escape. She was going nowhere.

“You,” he pointed to a woman who might have been fourty. She eyed the mother clutching her daughter but he passed over her to the next woman who looked to be in her sixties. “And you.” The women protested but they were untied from the rope chain though their hands remained bound. “Take the children with you. I have no use for little ones. They die.”

Despite how many times he’d done this, separated children from parents, young mothers from their own mothers, it was something he didn’t actually watch. He motioned for the man nearest him to see that the arrangements were made as he walked away, howls of agony and rage hounding his steps. The faces they made reminded him of things he’d worked for years to bury but they always resurfaced, refusing to stay dead.

Waves rushed in and out. He watched the foam on the water’s surface. Sand swirled underneath, being drug out into the open ocean, away from the beach, perhaps to be drug out into the depths and find its way into the mouth of a clam. Perhaps the grains of sand forced out of obscurity would one day become pearls.

Probably not.

It wasn’t until the two women were chased away with any children under twelve that he returned to the scene. From experiences in his own past, he had learned that it was the rare child that survived early, harsh enslavement. His men were bundling the teenage boys into the boat first. They would be the hardest to get aboard.

It took until the sun was completely up for all of the slaves to be rowed to the ship and for two boats to come back. Movement on the ridge caught his eye. Arktos’ head and shoulders came into view. In his arms was the limp body of what looked to be a woman. The other men that had gone with him were not forcing a new slave down the stairs but instead had their arms laden with baskets of food, bolts of cloth, a small basket of jewelry that glistened in the light.

His chest tightened in anger. Two men. That was all he’d asked for. Two men and they brought another woman and trinkets. “Arktos!” He thundered, storming across the sand. It slid under his boots, slowing him down so that he wasn’t at the base of the stairs when they reached them. “You worthless beast! I don’t want-”

Before he could get out the rest of his words, Arktos gave him a dark scowl and hefted the woman from his shoulders, plopping her unceremoniously onto the sand. He glared at the bigger man. “What happened between here and the market?”

“No one worth taking,” Arktos growled then pointed at the woman, squirming. Her hands were bound and she was covered with a sackcloth bag. His glare deepened when he actually looked down at the woman at his feet. Her chiton was long and lilac in color. A very expensive color.

Lukos looked back up at Arktos whose scowl was melting into a self satisfied grin. “Not such a beast am I?” he asked.

“That remains to be seen,” Lukos murmured distractedly. He squatted down, grabbing the fabric of her gown and testing it between his fingers. Yes. It was very expensive and would be stripped from her shortly. His gaze swept her form, taking in not only her curves and the swell of her breasts heaving beneath the gown, but of the blood that soaked parts of the fabric.

“I can’t sell a wounded slave,” he snarled, ripping the bag off her head to see if there was anything salvageable. Huge hazel eyes bored into his and he sucked in his breath, not quite having been prepared for exactly how beautiful she was. Her black hair was wild and stuck to her face but oh what a face.

“Blood isn’t hers,” Arktos’ voice was coming from somewhere else. The sound of gold clinking into his hand as he looked the woman over was all Lukos was thinking. Or he was until Arktos’ words penetrated his brain. He blinked.

“What?”

“She killed Hyrtius.”

“You?” he asked incredulously, addressing his new path to fortune for the first time. His gaze raked her form again and he stood, staring down at her. “You?” he repeated and laughed, looking up at Arktos for the joke. “Her?”

Arktos nodded but didn’t laugh. “Her.” He said and handed over the short sword she’d used to do it. Lukos took it and flipped in carelessly over in his hands, letting the blood glint in the morning sun. His dark eyes traveled over her again, different than before. Appraising.

Her bare arms were different. More muscle, less soft looking than a lady of her obvious status should have. He reached down and gripped one of her wrists tightly, wrenching her up sideways, turning her hand this way and that before pushing her back.

“Well, well,” he murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip, narrowing his eyes at her. “Should I kill you? For depriving me of a very fine crew member who I’d just trained to cook a decent leg of lamb?” He gripped the hilt of her sword and held the tip under her chin. A droplet of red clung to her chin.

Lukos grinned and turned the flat of the blade against her cheek, smearing blood over her face. “Like that? Now you can carry Hyrtius with us back to the ship.” He plunged the blade of her sword into the sand then brought it back out. Some of the blood stayed behind but the main result was that the metal was now coated in a white crust.

“Unless you think I might get some kind of reward for returning you safely home?” his tone was lighter, taunting, almost daring her to plead for her life. She looked gruesome with the blood on her face but he wasn’t going to wipe it away. Let it remind her that taking lives was serious business. Thus far, only her hands were dirty from violence.

Around them the men took their plunder to the boats. The bolts of cloth would have to be held all the way back to the ship as the bottom of the boat was not dry. Tiny puddles of water always pooled there, rendering it impossible to lay the cloth down and expect it not to be ruined. The men did place down the jewels and situated themselves and the food so that all was in its proper place.

They then pushed out the first of the two boats, wading out into the shallows before hauling themselves in and rowing toward the Aceton. This left only the woman, Lukos, Arktos, and the few other men needed to row. Other than that the beach was empty, the rest of his cargo safely on board.

“She’s worth more on the markets,” Arktos rumbled, looking down at her. Lukos found he hadn’t yet grown tired of looking at her. The other pretty girl they’d captured was nothing to this one. He could sail for six months together and not see another young woman like this. Her skin was fair and supple as though she didn’t see too much of the outdoors but just enough to give her the vibrancy of health.

Her eyes were the clearest hazel he’d ever seen with a slanting, almond shape that lent a cat like look to them. The curve of her lips might be considered delicate if her mouth was in a relaxed state. Nothing about her was relaxed though. She was as tight as a taught bow string.

“You’re right,” Lukos smirked down. “She’ll do very well.” He could see the bidding war now. Likely she was a virgin, considering her age and he hadn’t seen any sign that she was married when he’d looked at her hands. That upped her value considerably but it added a new problem. Glancing at the Aceton and then at the men on the beach, he pressed his lips together. She would have to be guarded. Night and day.

He’d realized too late what she was about to do. She spit like a cobra. There was a split second where he saw the spittle leave her mouth before it hit him. The rage was immediate. His arm slung out and the back of his hand slammed into the side of her face.

His jaw clenched and he swiped the back of an arm across his forehead. All his anger he channeled through the breath seething slowly out of his nose. Arktos gripped the woman by the arms, half propping her up, half keeping her secure should he want to hit her again. Lukos worked his tongue against the backs of his teeth, attempting at something resembling calm.

Being spit on was nothing new. He just hadn’t been prepared for it. Lashing out again, he twisted his fingers into her luscious black hair, ripping her away from Arktos and half dragging her with him toward the boats.

“You’re coming with me,” he snarled, his gaze on the only boat left in the cove. Since he’d laid eyes on her, there was no possibility of her being sold back to her family. There was too much money to be made off her. However, if she’d behaved a little more decorously, as he’d expected a high born lady might, she’d have been treated with an ounce more respect.

Certainly he wouldn’t be dragging her by her hair, both of them fighting the sand attempting to keep them on land. He reached the boat and simultaneously released his hold on her, shoving her down to the sand at his boots before stepping over her to grab the dinghy’s prow. This he gave a hard shove backward toward the waves, reaching for it, beckoning him back to the safety of the Aceton.

Arktos and the remaining six men on the beach rushed to help him and soon he found himself waist deep in the ocean, glaring back over his shoulder at the woman his ‘bear’ was now lifting up onto his massive shoulders again. “You can put the bag back over her head!” Lukos growled when Arktos’ boots hit the first of the foaming waves.

“And miss her spitting at you again?” Arktos barked out a laugh. “Let her see where she’s going,” he added with something between a gloating smile and a sneer.

Lukos glared at her backside as he hauled himself into the boat. If she wasn’t half so beautiful he’d be tempted to let her try to swim back to shore once they got to the boat. She wouldn’t make it, of course and then he could watch her drown. Happy thought.

“Let’s go,” he, slapping the boat’s side. Arktos hefted the girl up, placing her in the puddle at the bottom of the boat before he himself clambered in. It was the same as before, with Lukos having to grip the side to avoid sliding down the bench. His stomach flipped when he thought for a dizzying moment that the boat might capsize.

When it righted itself, he let out a shaky breath. This was always the very worst part; when they had to battle the tide to get out into open water. The prow cut through the clear crystalline waves while the men in the center of the boat heaved the oars back and forth, propelling them away from the coast. By the time they reached the Aceton, the intervening water and the land would be too far for anyone to pursue them. Aside from that, no one was on the beach yet to watch them leave.

It took better than an hour to reach the Aceton and it was closer to midday than not by the time he at last took hold of the rope ladder. Arktos had casually flipped the woman back over his shoulder and was climbing the ladder single handed, his other arm gripping the backs of her thighs.

Lukos topped the ladder in time to see Arktos set her down at the bottom of the second to end cage a tad more gently than he’d done on the beach. Even now he could see a bruise forming on the side of her face. He scowled. That better heal by the time they reached Colchis.

He rubbed his eyes with his fists and blinked rapidly in the sunlight. The effects of not sleeping for the last two days was catching up with him. Still, there was more to be done before he could pass out into oblivion. His gaze swept the cages. Only three males. The rest women and only two of them pretty.

Most of them were quiet now, having been in the cages already for hours. They slumped down, holding hands through the bars, tears running silently down their haggard faces. He turned away from them all, fatigued from their tears and their baleful looks cast in his direction. Without a word to any of them, he disappeared below deck to find Bianor.

After conferring with the scribe, Lukos had gone into his private cabin. He’d stripped himself of his wet clothes and laid them out to dry before climbing naked into his bed. The soft rocking of the ship, the familiar creak of her timbers, the wet smell of dank wood all served to help him relax into the straw mattress. His mind attempted to mull over matters that still needed attending.

The noble woman they’d captured; he’d forgotten to order her to be left completely alone. As his eyes closed, burning a little from the strain of being awake for so long, he found he didn’t have as much concern for her safety as he might have done if he was more awake. He wasn’t completely sure she was a virgin. That had to be checked. If she wasn’t, her fate would be different than if she was intact. Her bruised face was the last image he had before he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Lukos jerked awake, blinking around in the near dark of his room as someone knocked on his door. He groaned and pulled the thin blanket over his head, laying face down in the mattress when he realized who was knocking. It was the way the man’s knuckles wrapped timidly at first but grew more insistent, and always in the middle of the door.

“Captain,” Bianor’s muffled, hoarse voice grated against his ears. “We need to inventory before sundown.”

Lukos rolled back over and covered his face with his hands. The last thing he wanted to do was go back up and talk to his new slaves. Especially the noble woman. Bianor was correct, though. It had to be done whether or not he’d had enough sleep.

Dragging himself out of the bed, he brushed his fingers over the worn material of his shirt and trousers. They were still damp. The thought of digging through his trunk to find his chiton was less appealing than just putting back on his clothes that would get wet anyway when he checked over the slaves below deck. The noble woman drifted into his mind again as he slid on his pants and he froze, remembering his former lack of concern with irritation.

Wrenching open the door to reveal a dower looking Bianor, he demanded to know what had been done to his slaves while he’d slept. “N-nothing!” the scribe held not a book this time but a soft clay tablet, ready for marking.

“You’re sure?” Lukos eyed him but Bianor nodded, echoing his last statement. It was only after that assurance that Lukos’ shoulders sagged and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. A small headache was beginning to form. “We’ll do the ones below first,” he said.

Bianor led the way and the two of them spoke to each slave, asking questions and occasionally threatening to get the answer. Most everyone gave him a name. The few that did not were assigned numbers. It didn’t truly matter if they told him their name or not in the grand scheme but sometimes he was asked to go buy back a particular slave he’d sold. Names and dates made that particular task a lot more helpful.

When he finally came topside, the sky was aflame with hues of brilliant oranges, pinks, and golds. At the edge of the world a soft purple deepened until it resembled the skin of the noble woman’s face. He saved her cage for last, going from one woman to the next, asking questions and receiving monosyllabic answers.

Almost none of the women were virgins, not even the pretty one who sported the twin bruise of the noble woman, though to a lesser degree. All the while Bianor made his little marks and eyed the women critically. As much as he was here against his will, he did make a tidy profit from this business too. Lukos had ensured that. Complicit hands made men more trustworthy.

When he stopped at the noble woman’s cage, he looked at her like he’d done all the others; appraising, though he was a lot more tired than he had been with the rest. The last four he’d allowed Bianor to ask the questions while he stood silently and looked on over the man’s shoulder at the tablet.

“Name?” Bianor asked, his wooden pick poised to take down her answer. “How old are you?” There were more questions: her rank, whether or not she’d ever known a man, any skills she had. Although, for the last question of what her skills were, Bianor looked at her critically. She didn’t appear to be good for hard labor.

Lukos kept his eyes on the clay tablet though he could feel the weight of her glare. At her first retort he flicked his gaze at her. The set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes were the last things he wanted to see. He sighed and brought his attention back to the tablet as Bianor asked her age. Again, she answered the question with one of her own.

More questions and Bianor huffed, glancing back at Lukos whose full attention was now directed on the noble woman. She seemed to take a wicked kind of pleasure, leveling accusations at him; things a young woman shouldn’t have known to even use to insult him. When she chose to threaten him after the last question, he found his patience with her mouth had lapsed.

“So vomit,” he said, coming between Bianor and her cage. His arms were folded across his chest. The gown he’d meant to take from her was near ruined with blood, sweat, dirty water, and sand. She was filthy; a mere ghost of what she had been when presented to him earlier that very day.

“If you do not answer my questions, I’ll simply make up the details.” He squatted down so that they were eye level. “If you spit at me again,” he warned. “I’ll strip you naked and tie you to the mast. You’ll ride there the rest of the way.” His threat was not a hollow one. Bianor eyed him and then her. He seemed to be trying to decide if he should start making up numbers and a name for her but his pick paused over the clay tablet when Lukos next spoke.

“You’re on your way to the Colchian slave market. I haven’t decided how much to ask for you. And I’ll find out if you’re a virgin whether you tell me or not.” He stood back up and looked around the deck at the men who had stopped their tasks and were blatantly watching the exchange. His thoughts were evident on his face as he looked around at them. There was no way he could trust that she would be safe out here all night. He could trust Bianor, perhaps, not to do anything to her but not to be able to ward off half a dozen men who would surely at least paw at her through the bars.

“Get Arktos,” he spun Bianor around and gave him a light shove. It was enough for the old man to stumble but he kept ahold of his tablet, though the wooden pick went skittering across the deck. Lukos watched him for a moment and then turned back to the girl.

“Do you know where you are? Or who I am?” She might not but he hoped she did. It would likely give her a very real sense of what was about to happen to her and, he liked to assume, would aid him with a little cooperation on her part.

As he looked down at her, he pitied the man foolish enough to buy this woman. She was not easily intimidated; an unfortunate trait nobles tended to share. Her life experiences, up to now, had not prepared her for exactly how gruesome and cruel life could be. He preferred dealing with the poor and already enslaved. They had experienced enough trauma to be sensible to when it was in one’s best interests to shut up.

“What else should you know?” he echoed with a derisive sneer.

Night was almost upon them. The air took on a dusky quality. The oar men pulled in the oars and the ship was left to coast on the water while a man remained awake to navigate. Arktos stumped across the deck. Bianor must have anticipated what Lukos wanted because bronze shackles dangled from Arktos’ fist, clinking loudly with each step.

This he placed into Lukos’ waiting hand. Nodding toward the girl’s cage, Lukos stepped aside and without a word, Arktos took hold of the cage, dumping it sideways. For a man of his size, he was quick. He gave the woman no time to orient herself before he opened the cage’s top and hauled her out.

“I’ll be right back,” Lukos said, handing the shackles back to Arktos. He didn’t bother glancing over at the girl. His mind had already turned to a new task. Leaving the girl and his bear, he strode down the deck, looking in each of the cages until he found the woman he was looking for. She was his oldest capture by far. Her black hair had a wide grey streak and she peered at him with the same, narrowed loathing he’d come to expect in every face.

He asked her profession, to which she frowned and confirmed what he should have been paying closer attention to earlier. That done, he tipped her cage down far more carefully than Arktos had done for the noble woman and took hold of her upper arm, half helping, half dragging her out onto the deck. The woman, Cilla, stared up at him and around the deck, confused. Her brown eyes fell on the noble woman across the deck and there was sudden understanding in her gaze.

Lukos kept his hold on the woman’s upper arm and motioned for Arktos to follow. He moved forward but he did not have to drag Cilla. She moved willingly enough, nor did she try to run or in anyway twist out of his grip. Instead she simply allowed him to lead her down the stairs into the gloom. He pushed open a door and they were then in his cabin.

Heavy thumping told him Arktos was following and so he left the door open. Cilla held out her bound wrists to him. The ropes had been tied too tight. Her soft skin underneath was raw and angry. There could be no untying it. Reaching down to his belt, he withdrew his dirk and slid the blade between her wrists, jerking it up hard enough that her was forced up onto tiptoe.

The rope gave way as the dirk sliced through. Arktos came through just then, bringing with him the woman. The confined air stank. It held the women’s experiences over the last day; their fear, their tears, their sweat from being left to bake in the sun. He tried to ignore it but it gave him a new idea too.

“Hold her,” he said, still without looking at the noble woman. His eyes were on Cilla who seemed to be asking him to change her mind with her gaze. When he did not, she turned slowly toward the woman, rubbing her newly freed hands against the cleaner parts of her dress. Her expression was the mask of someone pretending they were anywhere else.

Arktos’ arms clamped around the noble woman in a tight hug and he hooked first one foot and then the other around her legs, spreading them apart. Lukos stood with his arms folded, working his jaw. Cilla approached the woman and knelt at her feet, looking up at her.

“I’m a midwife,” she said slowly as if that would help the girl understand what was about to happen. “Please hold still.”

Cilla’s head snapped back. She fell to the floor and curled into a ball, holding her nose. Blood gushed from between her fingers. Lukos glared at Arktos who wasn’t paying him the least bit of attention. His full concentration was on the wild cat screaming and yowling in his arms. Cilla, meanwhile, found the will to sit up but her front was now drenched.

“On the wall!” Lukos roared to Arktos over the screaming and crying. The big man hauled himself over to the side of the cabin where a short chain hung from a metal ring bolted in the wood. It took some doing but he managed to pin the girl to the wall with his body so that he could hook her shackles onto the chain. She had enough leash that she could lie down flat on the floor if she wished but she would not be able to reach any of them in the center of the room.

Kneeling down beside the older woman, Lukos batted Cilla’s hands away from her nose and curled his finger under her chin. He turned her face this way and that, assessing the damage. She flinched at his touch and he sighed, letting her have her way as she tipped her head back in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. Arktos’ chest heaved and he eyed Lukos without envy.

“You’re keeping her in here?” he puffed.

“What else am I to do with her?” Lukos asked without hiding his fatigue. Though he’d slept a good portion of the day, he was still tired. “Take her,” he gestured to Cilla. “And give me your rag.” This was the first of his orders in a long while that Arktos hesitated to obey. His hand was slow to move to the rag in his belt but he at last found the will to hand it to Lukos before he tugged Cilla out of the room. He threw one last glare in the girl’s direction before firmly shutting the door.

Lukos also cast the girl a look before he turned his back on her and used Arktos’ rag to wipe the blood off the floor. That had not gone according to plan. “It would have been better for you if you’d allowed her to examine you,” he said quietly, his eyes focused on the task at hand. “Because now all you have is me.”

He rose slowly, balling the rag up in his fist. It smeared blood between his fingers. The feeling was cold and slimy. Unpleasant. After a moment he turned back around to face her. No portion of his features, from his eyes to his expression held any trace of amusement.

“You will answer my questions,” he said. “Or you’ll feel my hand shoved up you instead of the midwife’s.”

Only a bark of laughter greeted her threat. Flinging the bloody rag into a gloomy corner of the room, he turned his back on her and went to sit on his bed. He shook his head, still chuckling to himself before letting both boots plop under the low bed frame. If she only knew what he probably saved her from tonight.

There were standing orders not to accost the slaves. But he had to sleep and he did not trust that those orders were always followed. Her face and body might be enough to tempt some into trying to woo her but her mouth was a near guarantee that she would be harmed. He himself had been close enough to it a couple of times.

Instead of telling her any of this, he simply withheld the information. She wouldn’t see it as a kindness anyway and in truth, it wasn’t, really. To him, they were all investments. If he ever allowed himself to remember that they were people, with emotions and families, with dreams that were now gone forever...Those were the kinds of thoughts that tended to haunt him on only the darkest nights. This night? Not a bit.

His clothes were still damp from being down in the hold and he was not about to sleep in them, virgin or no virgin. Without ceremony, he pulled off his shirt, tossing it on his bed first before walking over to his table, the only other piece of furniture in the room besides his bed and trunk. On the table’s surface was the half curled map. He removed the coins and compass weighing it down and let it roll up on its own.

With the space now free, he carefully laid out his shirt before removing his trousers as well and doing the same thing. He did not turn his front to her but rather acted like she was not present at all. His back was to her as he climbed into his bed. On his shoulder blade was the scarred brand of the Drakos House, used on slaves sent to work the mines.

He pulled the blanket over himself but kept his back to her. There was no point in looking at her. She would spit curses at him. Glare at him. This girl was hardly the first woman he’d locked in here with him for safe keeping but she was certainly the least pleasant in recent memory.