A Cry of Honor. Morgan Rice
before any damage was done.
As the moon fell in the sky, as the road grew wider and more well-traveled, Erec caught his first glimpse of the city: the endless number of torches lighting its walls made the city appear like a bonfire in the night. Erec was not surprised: its inhabitants were rumored to stay up all hours of the night.
Erec rode harder and the city neared, and finally he rode over a small wooden bridge, torches on either side, a sleepy sentry nodding off at its base, who jumped up as Erec stormed past. The guard called out after him: “HEY!”
But Erec didn’t even slow. If the man mustered up the confidence to chase after Erec – which Erec doubted very much – then Erec would make sure it was the last thing he did.
Erec charged through the large, open entrance to this city which was laid out in a square, surrounded by low, ancient stone walls. As he entered, he charged down the narrow streets, so bright, all lined with torches. The buildings were built close together, giving the city a narrow, claustrophobic feeling. The streets were absolutely mobbed with people, and nearly all of them seemed drunk, stumbling to and fro, screaming loudly, jostling each other. It was like a huge party. And every other establishment was a tavern or gambling den.
Erec knew this was the right place. He could sense Alistair here, somewhere. He swallowed hard, hoping it was not too late.
He rode up to what appeared to be a particularly large tavern in the center of the city, throngs of people milling outside, and figured it would be a good place to start.
Erec dismounted and hurried inside, elbowing his way past the people rowdy with drink and making his way up to the innkeeper, who stood in the back, in the center of the room, writing down people’s names as he took their coins and directed them to rooms. He was a slimy-looking fellow, wearing a fake smile, sweating, and rubbing his hands together as he counted their coins. He looked up at Erec, a plastic smile on his face.
“A room, sir?” he asked. “Or is it women you want?”
Erec shook his head and came in close to the man, wanting to be heard above the din.
“I’m looking for a trader,” Erec said. “A slave trader. He rode this way from Savaria but a day or so ago. He brought precious cargo. Human cargo.”
The man licked his lips.
“What you seek is valuable information,” the man said. “I can provide that, just as easily as I can provide a room.”
The man reached forward and rubbed his fingers together, and held out a palm. He looked up at Erec and smiled, sweat forming on his upper lip.
Erec was disgusted by this man, but he wanted information, and didn’t want to waste time, so he reached into his pouch and put a large gold coin in the man’s hand.
The man’s eyes opened wide as he examined it.
“King’s gold,” he observed, impressed.
He looked Erec up and down with a look of respect and wonder.
“Have you ridden all the way from King’s Court, then?” he asked.
“Enough,” Erec said. “I’m the one asking questions. I have paid you. Now tell me: where is the trader?”
The man licked his lips several times, then leaned in close.
“The man you seek is Erbot. He comes through once a week with a new batch of whores. He auctions them off to the highest bidder. You’ll likely find him in his den. Follow this street to the end, and his establishment lies there. But if the girl you seek is of any worth, she’s probably gone already. His whores don’t last long.”
Erec turned to go, when he felt a warm, clammy hand grab his wrist. He turned, surprised to see the innkeeper grabbing him.
“If it is whores you seek, why not try one of mine? They are just as good as his, and half the price.”
Erec sneered at the man, revolted. If he had more time, he would probably kill him, just to rid the world of such a man. But he summed him up, and decided he wasn’t worth the effort.
Erec shook his hand off, then leaned in close.
“Lay your hands on me again,” Erec warned, “and you will wish that you hadn’t. Now take two steps back from me before I find a nice spot for this rapier in my hand.”
The innkeeper looked down, eyes opened wide in fear, and took several steps back.
Erec turned and stormed from the room, elbowing and shoving patrons out of his way as he burst back outside and through the double doors. He had never been so disgusted by humanity.
Erec mounted his horse, which was prancing and snorting at some drunk passersby who were eyeing it – no doubt, Erec figured, to try to steal it. He wondered if they would have actually attempted it had he not returned, and he made a note to himself to tie his horse more securely at the next place. He marveled at the vice of this town. Still, his horse, Warkfin, was a hardened warhorse, and if anyone tried to steal him, he would trample them to death.
Erec kicked Warkfin, and they went charging down the narrow street, Erec doing the best he could to avoid the throngs of people. It was late in the night, yet the streets seemed to become more and more dense with humanity, people of all races mingling with each other. Several drunk patrons screamed out at him as he charged past them too quickly, but he didn’t care. He could feel Alistair within reach and would stop at nothing until he had her back.
The street ended in a stone wall, and the last building on the right was a leaning tavern, with white clay walls and a thatched roof, which looked as if it had seen better days. From the looks of the people going in and out, Erec sensed this was the right place.
Erec dismounted, tied his horse securely to a post, and burst through the doors. As he did, he stopped in his tracks, surprised.
The place was dimly lit, one big room with a few flickering torches on the walls and a dying fire in the fireplace in the far corner. Rugs were strewn everywhere, on which lied scores of women, scantily dressed, bound by thick ropes to each other and to the walls. They all appeared to be on drugs – Erec could smell the opium in the air, and saw a pipe being passed around. A few well-dressed men walked through the room, kicking and nudging the feet of the women here and there, as if testing out the merchandise and deciding what to buy.
In the far corner of the room sat a single man on a small, red velvet chair, wearing a silk robe, women chained to either side of him. Standing behind him were huge, muscular men, their faces covered in scars, taller and broader even than Erec, looking as if they would be thrilled to kill somebody.
Erec took in the scene and realized exactly what was going on: this was a sex den, these women were for hire, and that man in the corner was the kingpin, the man who had snatched Alistair – and probably had snatched all of these women, too. Even now Alistair might be in this room, Erec realized.
He burst into action, frantically hurrying through the aisles of women and scanning all the faces for hers. There were several dozen women in this room, some passed out, and the room was so dim it was hard to tell right away. He looked from face to face, walking through the rows, when suddenly a large palm smacked him in the chest.
“You pay yet?” came a gruff voice.
Erec looked up and saw a huge man standing over him, scowling down.
“You want to look at the women, you gotta pay,” the man boomed in his low voice. “Those are the rules.”
Erec sneered back at the man, feeling a hatred rising up within him, and then faster than the man could blink, he reached up and struck him with the heel of his palm, right in his esophagus.
The man gasped, eyes opened wide, then dropped to his knees, clutching his throat. Erec reached up and elbowed him in the temple, and the man fell flat on his face.
Erec walked quickly through the rows, scanning the faces desperately for Alistair, but she was nowhere in sight. She was not here.
Erec’s heart was pounding as he hurried to the far corner of the room, to the older man sitting in the corner, watching over everything.
“Have