Landfall

They made it. I heard the call to port from above. Feet rustled across the deck preparing to dock.

Sugo Pratt had even stopped down in the hold to direct a few sailors to place us in the long chain of manacles. His hulking form struggled down stairs made for beings much smaller than him and he nearly touched the ceiling with his head. He grunted, criticized, and complained under his breath as he descended. He was a broad, imposing figure with flowing, baggy cloths that were embroidered with elaborate designs in gold. There was a manner of civility to him. To all Rota Sukans that Peter was not expecting. His hair was meticulously kept in an elaborate top knot and Peter was sure there was a hint of make up. He would have expected war paint or other marking he considered savage, but these people seemed ever bit as preening as the elves.

He carried one of the pistols at his side. It was a complicated weapon, but nobody could question its efficacy. It could only shoot once before needing attention, but that was enough to cow anyone who had seen it. Ramon had commented that the Pyx had employed them with deadly efficiency during the war. It made all the difference when faced with the rigid efficiency of the much bigger Sessainian army. Rota Suka had benefited from being the battleground during the conflict. The Pyxians traded their advancements for a place to settle their grievances that wasn’t Pyxia. They fought to a stalemate, declared a cease to hostilities, and hated each other ever since.

Sugo Pratt waved an arm and them men who followed him down animated. The shuffled into the crowd with manacles. Few protested, none resisted. Those who proved recklessly defiant were already dealt with. Their bodies had been given over to the sea. If there was a time to resist, now was not it. Peter had not resigned to his fate, but there was no use in dying today.

Peter helped up Ramon. He was sick, feeble, but he stood behind Peter in the chain on his own. He was doubled over. He didn’t speak. They all looked terrible, but Ramon looked like he was walking dead. His skin was taut and pale, his cloths hung of him like cloth draped on a line, and his eyes were sunken. There was still a sparkle in them. Still a defiance. The old man had survived the voyage with his will alone.

The air buffeted Peter like a refreshing breath. It was stale and salty, but anything was better than the musty, stagnant hold. He took a moment to adjust to the sudden change. His body ached, his stomach growled, and the sun threatened to blind him. The feeling of panic that he had suppressed the whole trip began to subside. They were still heading to Rota Suka. Still destined for horrible fates, but at least they were free of the ship.

The city was more like a bustling rural town. It reminded more of Eldorn than Worm. There were remnants of what might have once been a metropolis. A ruin here, a remnant of wall there. A cluster of tall, stone buildings hinted at what the city used to look like. Most of the newer buildings were small and made of timber. There were a few stone structures that dotted the city-town like the tallest mountains in the Botos range. They loomed over everything and cast long shadows.

Ramon had given a short history lesson before illness had overwhelmed him. Jallaspar used to be a proud, predominantly human kingdom. They refused to bow to the encroaching Sessainians and fought fiercely. So much so that their entire infrastructure was in shambles by the end of the conflict. That, and the mass suicide of the royal family, left Jallaspar in a state in never recovered from.

Now it was just a backwater of bitter, angry people who wrestled life from the soil and sea. Ramon had mentioned that Jallaspar was dirty, but Peter had not imagined the levels of filth. There were midden piles along the water and along with gulls and rodents, people rummaged through them. Water seemed to be unknown to these people even though they were by the sea. All of them were covered with dirt and grime. The smell of the city was a sweet rot. A stench that wafted toward the water and reached them in offensive waves. Peter was thankful that this wasn’t the end of his journey.

The Rota Sukans tugged the line into motion. They skirted the city. Small miracles were still possible. Even his captors had disdain for whatever passed for a city in Jallaspar. In Worm they had been largely ignored. They were allowed to pass, but were given no assistance. Here was similar, but these people seemed distrusting and hostile. Even the small army of Rota Sukans would have had a struggle surviving an attack by a whole city. The citizens of Jallaspar spat or made symbols in the air as they passed. Whoever allowed the Rota Sukans to pass through did not get the consent of the people.

There were no wagons. Peter guessed the next leg of the journey was on foot. That meant more deaths probably. It seemed like a questionable practice to go through all the trouble to gather these prisoners to have them die, but from what Peter gathered it was a contest to the brutes. Which group had captured the most viable stock. The next arduous leg to the journey only thinned the herd.

To the front of him and behind him Peter recognized the other captives. They were all from Eldorn and they were being treated like livestock. Several were missing. Peter felt his stomach become more hollow when he thought about what that suggested, but it seemed they were keeping track. They were Sugo Pratt’s stock and their survival would win whatever competition they were in.

His mind turned to Ramon. The old man was sick, frail. It was a wonder he still had strength enough to walk. In the light he looked like a skeleton.

“It looks like we’re going to walk the rest of the way.” Peter intoned forlornly. There was worry in his voice. Concern that his only ally on this journey would not survive. Part of him felt guilt. He didn’t want Ramon to just survive for him, but a large part of him was afraid to be alone. Sure, there were others from Eldorn, but they were either broken, afraid, or too young. He had listened to Ramon tell his stories since he was little. He knew him and he was the closest thing to a father he was going to get on this journey.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse.” Ramon hobbled along.

“You have?” Peter was skeptical. Being a sick, starving, Rota Sukan prisoner seened pretty bad.

“No, but it sounded good.” Ramon forced a smile across his aged face. He seemed older now. Everthing had leeched more life from him. Still, there was a fire in him that kept him standing. Peter admired it. Ramon still had his humor at least. The march was going to be long, arduous, and it would end at being a kept slave, but at least he had Ramon to keep him company.