"Move it, boy!"
The crop lashed at the backs of his legs and Peter grit his teeth, not allowing the trader to see one shred of pain flicker in his eyes as his skin stung and welted from the blow. He did, however, grunt a small laugh at the command. Boy. Hardly. At his age he'd fought more wars and seen more of the world than any sniffling boy would ever dream of. The scars on his chest were faint but jagged, while his back remained untouched. Warriors like him never allowed the opportunity for an enemy to see his back long enough to mark it with steel.
So how did he end up bound at the wrists, naked and being yanked along in a line of slaves? It seemed surreal, like a horrible nightmare that refused to end. As he scanned the slaves around him and grimaced to the drivers who were too fat for any other occupation, images of his recent past flashed in his mind. Of his brothers, his men who fought by his side until only a handful were left. Of the intoxicating enchantress who promised his people victory if he only pleasured her in her bed. Of waking up in chains, stripped and gagged and gawked at with giggles and hushed whispers as he was sized up and humiliated in front of his enemy.
That's how it happened. He let his lust blind him into the chains of the very position he once ruled. Peter the Slaver, who trained and sold only the best slaves in the land, who was a force to be reckoned with, whose legendary prowess made virgins swoon and older wives blush behind their veils. Peter the Warrior, who cut down men like vines in a jungle only to claim their women and children as plunder, taking a few sweet girls as temporary bed warmers until they were broken enough to sell to a household.
Nameless the slave, stripped of clothing, title, home and everything he once held dear. The only relief he could find out of this horrible turn of events was that he had no family to worry over him, no woman to cry herself to sleep or children to beg in the streets after his vanishing. Was it a relief, or a stroke of sorrow? He quickly shook his head and narrowed his eyes at the gathered crowd.
"Ten gold pieces for this lovely young lass!" The driver nudged a girl barely in her womanly years to the front of the platform for the buyers to see. "See how ripe and beautiful this one is! No scars, no blemishes, and a good soft figure sure to warm your furs!"
The crowd chuckled and a few men called out meager prices for the shivering girl, who seemed both grateful and hurt by the lack of enthusiasm for her purchase. Peter sighed and restrained himself from shaking his head. He would have given her at least a few weeks to accept if not embrace her status as a slave before marketing her off to the wolves. At least she kept her eyes down, for to look a free person in the eyes meant immediate death.
"Did I mention she is a virgin?"
Suddenly the men swarmed and threw coins at her in fervor, and this perked her plush lips up in a small smile. The driver grinned greedily and accepted the highest bid of two hundred gold coins from a middle-aged warrior and nudged her into the man's arms. Next was an older woman in her prime, full figured and slightly scarred from carrying children. The piercings in her ears signified a slave bred to be a slave who apparently also bred slaves.
The sale of one was perhaps the saddest of the trade, even to a hard slaver as Peter, for despite her status she was still a mother. Even though she never carried parental rights over the young, she would always love them. He did not deal with breeding slaves for that very reason, telling those who tried that he does not train or sell used goods. It would have ruined him if people learned of his soft spot.
A crash of pottery clattered in the air and yanked Peter's attention to the stalls of the market, where a man in a black cloak and silver bracers grinned lecherously at a young woman backed against the table. Normally this would seem nothing, for it was common for men young and old to make advances both genteel and brash on beautiful women, but something was different here. The man grabbed the woman's arm and mumbled something with a sneer, but instead of gasping and huffing, the woman gritted her teeth and lashed her nails at him. With a howl the caped man stumbled back and grasped his face, a few drops of blood seeping from the welts.
"You little bitch!" He cried in a roar as he lunged at her, and when she stepped aside making him trip over himself, he growled and snatched her basket.
Something wild and fierce flashed across her face and in an instant her dagger was pressed against the man's throat. Peter couldn't hear what it was she was snarling through gritted teeth, but it was enough to make the man's face pale and his arms slowly and gently set the basket back down at her feet.
"Twenty pieces!"
His attention snapped back to the crowd before him, and Peter realized he was being auctioned off. Fingers reached at his legs to poke and prod, women gaped at the size of him, men nodded and muttered and sized him up as an asset and threat to their households and beds. He could not help the corner of his mouth from curving in a slightly amused smile. Of course no free man would want him as their slave, he would quickly replace them in the wife's affections and bed. As charming as all this was, he felt pulled to see what was of the woman and her basket.
She sheathed her blade and took a few deep breaths, then bent down to the basket. Her hood fell back and Peter took in a sharp breath at the sight of her bright auburn hair, sun-kissed waves of copper and gold that spilled over her shoulders but were pulled back from her face. Oh, and what a face. Round in the cheeks but slender at the chin, with an expressive brow and bright green eyes, but the most intoxicating feature were the plump pink lips that curved in a gentle smile as she gazed at the contents of her basket.
