Hammerhold Tales: Thrallborn Read Online Free Page B

snorted, “Hilmr? So that beast has a name? He is not my master. I will never bend knee to a monster. I’m just biding my time. I’m going to kill him.”
    “Keep your voice down,” Simir whispered in a suddenly nervous voice. “You’ll get us all killed if you start a fight.”
    “No one will die because of me. I’m just waiting for the right moment.”
    Simir chuckled, “You sound like your father.”
    The pit of Sawain’s stomach grew sour. He could feel that same familiar fire building in his chest. He made a bitter face and spat on the ground, which was not the best idea, since he had not had any water since the night before.
    “I’m nothing like my father. I’m not a scumbag Thrallmaster.”
    All that could be heard for several minutes as they trudged along was the jangling of chains and the rattling of carts. Finally Simir spoke again.
    “Your father was not as bad as you make him out to be. He took good care of all of us. We –“
    “Are war criminals, I know. But I am not. Why did he put me into thralldom? You dare try to defend my father? If he loved my mother, why did he keep her as a slave? Why did he let her die? He was scum. The gnolls did us a favor.”
    Simir’s response was tinged with anger, “You think the gnolls did us a favor? Do you know nothing of our customs? These monsters slew the kindest master you could ever ask for. Torval was a hero, Sawain.”
    “Heroes don’t enslave people. Heroes don’t force those they love to work in the fields with no pay. Heroes don’t let their true love die.”
    “There’s more to it than that. I've told you before. Yes, your father loved your mother, but he was bound by law, as we all are. He did the best he could for both of you.”
    “The law is wrong. If he was a hero, he would have fought for us. He would have opposed the Segrammir and his customs. We should not even be bound to Jordborg. Where was Jordborg’s army when the gnolls ravaged the farm for hours? Where were their heroes when we were being driven like cattle from their territories?”
    The stinging lash of Hilmr’s whip silenced Sawain’s tongue as it raked his back.
    “Enough banter. I tire of hearing yer ugly language, thrall-born!”
    Sawain’s fury was rising. All he could think of the rest of the day was how he would exact his revenge upon the gnoll called Hilmr. He put the beast’s face to memory. Black leather skin was covered with patchy green-gold fur. Most of the fur on his muzzle was gone, leaving it the same color as his black nose. His lips were heavily scarred, revealing his fangs at some points. A large, jagged scar ran from his left ear, down across his eye and down to his chin. His yellow eyes glowed with arrogance and hate. It was a face Sawain would not forget. It was a head he vowed to mount upon a wall so that he would never forget what hatred truly looked like.
    Another hour passed. Now Sawain was growing weary. So were the others. He could see his elders limping listlessly along ahead of him. His bonds tightened as the weaker ones began to fall behind. Hunger gnawed constantly at his core. Thirst bit into him like a viper, burning his throat and tongue as they sought replenishment in vain. No one spoke, everyone conserved what strength they had left. The gnolls, who were silent before, began chattering nervously in their own tongue. Sawain could feel the sense of unsettled tension that was rising in the caravan. The beasts slipped on their oversized robes and hoods and grew quiet again.
    “Simir,” Sawain whispered, “What’s going on?”
    “We’ve passed into the hold of Anvilheim.”
    Sawain felt something unfamiliar fill him. It brought new life into him. It made his steps lighter and his heart beat faster. It was hope. No civilized being in Hammerhold could hear the name of Anvilheim without feeling hope. It was the city of Heroes. It was a place where the weak were defended, where the slaves were made free, and where legends were born.