One would think that upon waking up on one's birthday, they would feel joy, elation, or any other number of positive emotions. There would be presents, celebrations, friends, and family. After all, it was finally here, his twentieth birthday. It would be the greatest excess of a young man's life as he came of age.
And yet Aleksander felt none of these things. Though there would be countless presents, hundreds of friends and family, and the celebrations would be the very definition of excess, it was none these things that left Aleksander feeling so low.
His mind drifted back to the night before.
* * * * *
"Master Aleksander?"
He snapped his eyes up from his writing. "What do you want, Marcus?"
The younger slave cringed, his expression tinged with fear. "You said, once before, Master, that you wished to be informed if someone was being cruel to one of the slaves, sir."
"And someone is?"
The slave nodded, his head bobbing faster and faster. "I saw it down at the Market, sir, in the Belgar. A female slave, very comely, but obviously... abused, sir."
"How so?"
"To be entirely honest sir, it's rather hard to describe. Her body had been... defiled, sir, by her previous owner."
Anger rose within Aleksander, flushing his desert darkened skin with a crimson hue. "Time and time again, I warn them. And yet, they never listen, Marcus. How many of the Twenty will I have to kill in order to make my point that this will not be tolerated!"
Marcus watched as Aleksander set his writing tools down with a barely contained rage, sanded the lines that he had just been working on, and proceeded to grab his sword from a stand by the door and stride out, not even bothering to grab a tunic on the way.
The sight of the young King, marching through the hall shirtless, and with sword in hand, was sight enough to send everyone running for their rooms. Possessed of a knowledge that Aleksander would never harm them, they nevertheless wished to be far away if he decided to harm someone else.
And so the young King left the palace and commanded that his horse be made ready at the gate. His form and movements were nearly leonine in grace. Muscles rippled through his back as he gripped the sword in a ferocious anger, the great cat standing on the hilt quivered as though he felt it too.
Aleksander leapt onto his horse; barely pausing to settle himself, he rode helter skelter through the city. The Merchant Quarter slipped past him, and soon the low walled structures of the Belgar, the slave quarter, began to pass him by as well.
For many long year, Aleksander had argued with the Twenty Great Families of the Heged in order to improve the lives of the slaves. They were his people as well, they served a necessary function within the society, but that didn't mean that they were no human beings. He'd passed law after law, forbidding the abuse of a slave for any reason. The slaves had their own courts where they could bring their own or their betters up on charges, a court which Aleksander himself presided over. There were even those among the Twenty who had gone so far as to call him the Slave King, though the were always careful never to do so within his hearing.
The slave market itself was located at the far end of the Belgar, butting up against the city walls. Even at this hour, the bidding had not opened on the slaves yet. Daylight hours were for viewing and deciding, then as the sun touched the mountains beyond the Great Desert, the bidding would begin.
Or at least, that's how it would have happened on any other night.
People heard the arrival of Aleksander long before they actually saw him. Hooves clatter on cobbled streets, and the shouts of the slaves and common people cheering for their King could be heard even at this great distance. When, at last he came around the corner of the lot which housed the Market, several of the slave owners began reconsidering their choices.
A being of pure rage, the ride through the city had only enhanced Aleksander's anger. He cut a wide swath through the crowd as he walked toward the Surveyor's booth.
"Why wasn't I informed that there was a slave here who had been abused?" He punctuated the statement by slamming his sword down onto the rickety wooden table, causing it to shake and clatter with uncertainty.
"Your Maje-, Highness, we were unaware that any such slave exi—"
The sound of a sword clearing its scabbard is a very unique sound, and possessed the power to silence an entire mob of shopping people. Panic swept through the crowd, and the stench of urine swelled up from beneath the Surveyor within his booth.
"I am not a lenient man, Surveyor, nor am I a patient one. One of the servants in my household told me of a woman whose body had been defiled. I can't imagine there being more than one here at the moment, so I would hasten to suggest that if I do not locate her within the next 30 seconds, they will not locate your head for nigh on 30 years. Do I make myself understood?"
The Surveyor, a balding, portly man in his middle years swallowed hard and brushed the sweat away from his eyes. "Of course, yo-yo-your m-m-aj Majest, right thi-this way?"
Once shown the direction that he needed to go in, Aleksander shoved the fat Surveyor aside and strode through the crowd with murderous intent. In truth, he was surprised that he hadn't noticed the woman before.
She lay naked upon the sand, with naught but a frail piece of age old cloth to cover her. Marcus had been right, the woman was beautiful, almost beyond compare, but her body had indeed been defiled, in the strangest of ways.
Tattoos, of what Aleksander could only suspect were designs of some sort of monstrous beast encircled her breast and shoulder on the right side. Another, smaller design curled around the left side of her navel and drew a small if rather visible and direct arrow towards the woman's obviously abused sex. But that wasn't the worst of it.
The woman's body had been pierced, in half a hundred different places, the holes from these wounds plugged with metal pieces in order to prevent them from healing properly. Her face contained the fewest of these metal plugs, her breasts, pierced straight through the nipple in not one, but several locations, each contained six or seven. Her navel, as well, contained several of the pieces, surrounded by the tattooed designs that led Aleksander's eyes ever lower. Her neck however, was the truest atrocity. Dozens of holes had been placed in the woman's neck and throat, and plugged with the same metal pieces as everywhere else.
Aleksander whirled and grabbed the fat Surveyor, casting him to the ground beneath the point of his sword. "Make your peace with the gods once and for all, Surveyor, you will meet them shortly."
In the hushed silence, a small voice, quieter than a whisper arose. "Master Aleksander, this man was only doing his job. Loathsome though he may be, his inattention should perhaps not warrant an immediate execution."
Spinning around to face the voice, Aleksander found himself looking at the naked woman face to face. Sometime in the moments that passed she had stood up, though her arms appears to be uncomfortably strained by the position she was standing in.
"Forgiveness is an admirable quality in a woman, not a King. Please, Lady, do not worry your conscience over this maggot." He turned immediately back to the man on the ground before him.
"Aleksander, don't kill him!" The words were a plea, still harsh and whispered.
Sword high in the air, prepared for the killing stroke, Aleksander paused. "You care so much for the life of a man who would simply have sold you back into slavery without a word of your condition?"
"My condition is none of his concern, Master Aleksander, nor yours, unless you wish to purchase me."
Aleksander was flabbergasted. Some of the greatest men in the land wouldn't dare speak to him in that tone of voice, much less a woman who could barely talk for all the holes in her throat.
"Fair enough then, let us make it my concern then, shall we? Surveyor. I give you back your life, in fair trade for this woman's service." He lowered his voice and spoke again in a tone much more frightening. "Never, in all your remaining years, forget the service that this woman just did you. And never, under any circumstance, give me cause to regret this bargain."
The crowd began to disperse as the King moved towards the woman. None of them wanted to become the object of his irritation, and the only way to insure it was to remove themselves from him path.
"Do you have a name, Lady?"
"Saavedra, Master Aleksander."
"And how have you come to know my name?"
"You are the Slave King, Master Aleksander, a man who has done more for us in a handful of years than his predecessors have done in an equal handful of centuries. It would be a poor show of gratitude if I knew not who you were, Master?"
"Stop calling me that, my name is Aleksander, and I give you free reign to use it whenever you wish. Now, wrap this about yourself... "He handed her a spare saddle blanket. "... and hang on to me while we proceed back to the palace."
She did as she was told, quickly and without argument, and they rode back to the palace in virtual silence.
Upon arrival, he spoke briefly with Marcus and the palace chamberlain, then ordered Saavedra to accompany them and have herself bathed and checked out by his personal physician, then both she and the physician were to attend him in his study.
A brief nod and a whispered "of course, Master," were all the response he got.
For nearly two hours, Aleksander paced the length of his drawing room. His muscled shoulders tensed when he finally heard the knock on the door and relaxed immediately when the physician, followed by Saavedra, entered the room.
"Master Aleksander." Her tone was demure, her head bowed in acquiescence. Someone had dressed her in a light, gauzy garment that was virtually see through in the correct lighting. She knelt quickly on the floor, revealing the physician, Farris, behind her.
"Alek... it is good to see you." The old physician greeted the young King informally, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're looking well."
"Of course, old friend, with the likes of you to look after my health, how could I not be?"
The two men chuckled amongst themselves for a moment before Aleksander took on a serious tone again. "So, tell me, Farris, how bad is the damage?"
"To be honest, Alek, there isn't any."
"WHAT?!" Aleksander roared at the old physician. "What do you mean there is no damage, look at her!?"
"What I meant to say, Alek, is that she is in perfect health. I don't know who her previous master was, but the man was either very skilled, or very lucky. None of the punctures shows any signs of infection, current or previous, and the tattoos are just as healthy as those that the Royal Guard members receive, though hers are perhaps more extensive and intricate."
"So what're you telling me, Farris?"
"What I'm telling you, Aleksander, is that the young lady was never harmed any more than the initial wounds, which aside from the piercings in her nipples, I would probably say was minimal."
Aleksander knew he must have looked ridiculous with his mouth hanging open like that, but he really couldn't help but be shocked at the news the old doctor had given him. He'd expected the woman to be riddled with infections and diseases, to be in dire straights, but this...
"Do you remember the foreign soldier that you met when you were younger, Alek? The horseman who taught you to ride so well?"
"Of course, I could never forget Durgan and what he taught me."
"Well, if you will recall, Durgan, had a number of markings like these as well. These here..." he indicated several metal hoops which passed through the girl's earlobe,"... are probably virtually painless. Some cultures use them as a sign of heritage, honors, or rank. Though I can not speak for the rest of them."
