The Last Dragon: Book Three

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After the battle on the mountain pass between Trager and Vin, we were bound and taken to the desert where the fat Slave-Master growled in my direction, sounding tired and twice his apparent age, “You. The pretty one standing alone. Your name?”

“Damon.” I used my polite voice and offered a weak smile as if that would help my situation as his newest slave ready to be sold on the blocks of Kaon. I ignored his comment on my pretty looks because objecting was like saying I’m ugly.

“Family association or former occupation?” he snapped as he gnawed on a skewer of braised meat and fruit.

I hesitated, then answered as truthfully as far as I knew how, in an imperial tone to let him know I was not his regular slave, “I labor for the royal family of Dire as one of the two personal servants for Princess Elizabeth. You would do well to release me or face her wrath.”

A huge man stood at the Slave-Master’s side, a Kaon warrior by his dress. He snorted angrily and began slowly drawing his blade from where it was tucked inside his wide blue sash. The action was more than an idle threat. The long, curved blade was too massive to swing quickly or with agility, but one two-handed swipe would split an opponent into equal parts to bury. As a defenseless slave who had both of his feet tied together and held no weapons in his bound hands, I had little question as to the outcome if I didn’t soothe him.

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