Chapter 8:

  Stryg woke to the smell of burning meat. For a horrifying brief moment he thought the poacher was going to cook him. But, his nose picked up on the scent of venison. He opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. He was lying on the floor. The poacher was sitting next to a small fire, grilling meat over the open flame. The massive creature he had called a centaur was a few feet away, bent over, grazing on tall grass. There was something very wrong. Stryg could see the blue sky. Not partly covered by rust-red leaves, but the entire sky. He looked all around, there wasn’t a tree in sight. 

  “W-where am I?” Stryg asked. He tried to move, but the ropes still held him tight.

“Ah, so you can speak. Good. No point in moving so much, those ropes are made from ivlid weed, not even an orc can break free, much less a goblin.” The poacher had removed his mask. He had a long narrow jaw, with a thin hook nose. He was bald except for the few grey hairs that stuck out above his ears.

  Stryg stopped struggling as he studied the man. He had his suspicions before based on his height, but he was now certain. This was a human. He had seen one before, though it had been dead. A few hunters had found it traveling through the forest, before they decided to bring it to the village for dinner.

  “You hit your head pretty bad. You’ve been asleep for two days. The good news is that we’re out of those vile woods and only a day out from Hollow Shade. We’ll be rid of each other soon enough.”

  Stryg was silent as he tried to absorb the information. This wasn’t Vulture Woods. He had never been out of the forest, no goblin he knew had. If what the man had said was true, then coupled with the time he had traveled on the quest, he was about nine days of travel from the village. How would he get back? He wasn’t sure if he could make it one day by himself in the woods, let alone nine. He wasn’t even a hunter. To make matters worse he wasn’t sure which direction Vulture Woods was. All he could see was tall grass and hills in the distance. The severity of the situation was beginning to settle in. He was irrevocably screwed. 

  The poacher got up and rummaged through one of his packs. He pulled out a small piece of stale bread and threw it at Stryg. The goblin made no move towards it.

  “Eat up. I need you to look relatively healthy when we get to the city. Can’t have my merchandise looking half-dead,” the poacher said.

“Merchandise?”

  “Accent’s not bad. Clear pronunciation. I bet I could sell you to a family in one of the wealthier districts. Probably an eccentric woman, given that cyan color of yours.”

“Sell me?” Stryg was confused. Was he going to sell him to be eaten by another human?

  The poacher settled back down, “Obviously. Slaves make money. And a man needs to eat.”

“Wait, what, slave? You plan on making me a slave?” Stryg thrashed all over as he struggled to break the ropes.

  He needed to get out of here. A pet was one willing to submit to another out of respect to the master, a kink if one will. But, to be a slave was the greatest shame, it was being forced to submit oneself to another forever. You’d never have a chance to fight back for your honor. He had seen other tribes with goblin slaves. They were the bitches of the tribe, to be used in whatever way their masters wished. He wasn’t about to let himself fall to such lows, he’d rather get eaten live by a vulture.

  The poacher laughed, “You still got some energy in you. That’s great.” 

  Stryg rolled on the ground as he tried to break free. The ropes didn’t loosen a bit. He tried tearing them with his claws, but his hands were tied tightly. That didn’t stop him from trying. He toiled for the next hour, yet the ropes proved too durable. He was worn out and hungry. So hungry. He glanced at the stale bread.

  “You done trying to escape? Now eat your food and get some rest, we’ll depart in the morning.”

  Stryg looked at the sky, judging on the position of the sun it was only mid afternoon. There was still several hours of daylight left. The poacher noticed his questioning look. 

  “It’s too late to travel today. We’re too close to the city. I don’t want to be caught that close outside the walls at night. If we start moving in the morning we’ll reach the city a little before sunset. Relax, if I manage to sell you to one of those rich families you’ll have an easy life.” He shrugged, “Relatively speaking. Now eat, before I make you.” 

  Stryg recognized the threat, he had been the subject of many like it. The poacher was right, he needed his strength, and a fresh beating wouldn’t help. He nibbled on the bread. He hadn’t ever had anything like it. It was hard, without much flavor, but most food he ate was like that. After he finished he closed his eyes and tried to rest. He needed all the energy he could muster if he was going to escape.

  As night came Stryg opened his eyes to make sure the poacher was asleep. Stryg began crawling as quietly as possible. His aim was one of the packs the poacher had around him. There had to be a knife in one of them. 

  “Where are you going?” A deep voice spoke from behind.

Stryg turned to see the 7 foot creature. 

  The centaur stared down at him, “Master said you are to stay right there.”

Stryg finally understood why the centaur wore the collar. “You’re a slave? Then why aren’t you trying to help me? We can escape together.”

  The centaur raised one of his front hoofs and planted it on top of Stryg, not enough to break a bone, but more than enough to keep him from moving. Stryg gasped for breath. The weight was crushing him. Stryg chastised himself. The centaur had been with the man for the past twenty years, of course he had already been broken in. Asking for his help had been foolish.

  The centaur’s upper body leaned down, “I am not a slave. I am a beast of burden. I will not be sold off. You will. I matter, you do not.” 

Stryg couldn’t respond if he wanted to, he couldn’t breathe. 

  After a few agonizing moments the centaur lifted his hoof. “Sleep. Now.”

  Stryg sucked in deep breaths of air. His chest felt like it was about to collapse. His lungs burned as they greedily sucked in air. Stryg gazed at the strange creature with hate. He’d kill these two the first chance he got, but first he had to escape. He thought of what he’d do afterwards. How was he going to get home? What would First Mother and the chief think when they saw him alone without his tribemates and without the cave’s treasure. Was there any treasure to begin with? Or had that been another lie from the shaman as well. What could he say to convince the tribe that he was innocent, that it was the shaman’s fault that the others had died. Well, to be fair, Stryg had left them all to die. He’d be called a coward, exiled at best, eaten at worst. He had to think of a way to convince them otherwise. 

  “Sleep.” The centaur warned him again.

Stryg closed his eyes before another hoof decided to deprive him of air.

  He spent the night trying to move unnoticed, but the centaur and the poacher took shifts watching him. Stryg had failed to do anything by the time the sun rose. 

  As usual, he couldn’t do anything right. Hell, he hadn’t even been able to run from the cave right. He had been captured so easily and now he was going to be sold as a slave. He botched everything. He shook his head, that wasn’t true. He had killed that snake creature. It was something no other goblin had been capable of. If he could do that he could do this, he had to stay focused. He wouldn’t pity himself. He couldn’t afford it. 

  The poacher cleaned up camp, threw the tied up goblin on the back of his centaur, then rode towards the city. Stryg stayed quiet the entire trip, choosing to focus on clawing through the ropes. His fingers were raw and bloody when he finally saw tall jet black walls in the distance. Stryg was dumbstruck, he had never seen such a large structure, the walls stretched past all the way to the horizon. He had heard stories of the great cities growing up, but he had never truly grasped their size.

  As they drew closer Stryg noted large symbols drawn into the stone. Stryg was confused as he read them, they signified “the protection of death”, not “the protection from death.” A large gate formed at the base of the wall, as if it wasn’t carved but melded into its surface. A statue appeared on either side. The left statue was of a large grey skull, while the right depicted the sun with flaming tendrils, but it was matte black. 

  A crowd of people stood waiting at the front of the gate. The poacher rode up and joined the line. Stryg looked at the strange assortment of creatures nervously. Several centaurs, male and female, waited around with their masters. Some pulled wagons, others carried a single passenger on their back, a pair were even pulling a carriage. Many people were on foot, most of them looked human. As for the centaurs’ masters, Stryg had a difficult time recognizing most. Some had slate grey skin, with snow white hair, and blue eyes. They were tall and on the skinnier for the most part. Others were as short as goblins, with warm beige skin, and dark grey eyes. The men had stocky limbs with long thick beards twisted in elaborate styles and decorated with small shiny stones. The women braided their long hair in a similar style, with silver beads interwoven within. None paid him any mind as they waited to get into the city. 

  One centaur caught Stryg’s eyes as she passed him. She had clearly been treated better than the rest. Her long orange hair shined in the setting sun. Her sharp features were covered in expensive makeup. Her neck was adorned with the iconic metal collar, though a gem studded gold necklace hung beneath it. A red embroidered jacket hung on her upper half, exposing her gigantic bust. Stryg thought he had seen large breasts before, but centaurs were larger than goblins in all ways, and her breasts were clear evidence of that, each one was practically the size of his head. Her skin was unblemished except for pairs of pinprick scars that covered her chest. Her rider was draped in a midnight velvet cloak. Stryg caught the sight of twin crimson eyes from beneath the hood. The rider looked down at him and smiled menacingly, revealing two pearl white fangs. She reached out with two pale pudgy hands and squeezed her centaur’s breasts. The centaur took her que and picked up the pace. The poacher bowed deeply as the duo trotted by. Stryg found himself imagining being in the rider’s place, riding on top of the beautiful creature. Stryg had thought he’d hate all centaurs, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Show us your name plate and state your purpose for coming to Hollow Shade.” The guard’s stoic voice brought Stryg back to reality. The guard’s skin was a shade of deep crimson, coupled with the fangs protruding from his lower lip, and orange eyes, made it easy for Stryg to recognize. He was an orc, an ancient enemy of the goblins.

“Of course,” The poacher dismounted and pulled out a small rectangular piece of iron, an inch thick. He inserted his nameplate into a small metal cube the guard held.

  “I’m here to get my captive a docility collar and hopefully sell him in this wondrous great city, sir.” The poacher bowed.

The guard’s face didn’t move a muscle as he stared at the small cube. “Hmm. Your name plate is in order. The entrance fee is three copper.”

  “Yes, of course, sir.” The poacher pulled out a few coins from his pocket and handed it to him.

“Welcome to Hollow Shade, greatest city in the Ebon Realm.” The guard repeated the phrase in a monotone voice, passed the name plate back and waved him past. 

  “Thank you, sir,” the poacher bowed to him and the other guards. He mounted the old centaur and went through the gates. 

  Stryg had thought the walls were amazing, that the crowd outside had seemed as large as his entire tribe. But, as he entered Hollow Shade he understood how wrong he had been. Granite buildings lined the streets as far as the eye could see. People of all different shapes and sizes milled through the street, eager to get to their homes after a long day of work. 

  “Just a little longer, old boy, we first need to get to the trade district.” The poacher patted the aged centaur on the back. 

  Stryg wasn’t paying attention to the man's voice. There were so many people. Most were far taller than him, it’d be easy to get lost among the crowd. He was intimidated at the sheer quantity of city folk, yet he couldn’t let that stop him. This was his chance, his last chance to escape. He pulled on the ropes as hard as he could, but they remained firm. His heartbeat quickened, he couldn’t let this be the end. He had so much he wanted to do. He wished to be powerful enough that all respected him. He wanted to eat delicious food with salt on it and a tent to call his own. He desired his own group of beautiful women, and maybe a centaur. Perhaps the last bit wasn’t as important. But it didn’t matter, more than anything he wanted to live.

  Stryg struggled against the bindings. They didn’t budge. He was tired of failing, always coming up short no matter what. Stryg pushed his arms apart with all his strength. A surge of heat streamed across his arms. The bright yellow rope darkened and frayed. The poacher turned at the sound of the bindings bursting into small threads. It was too late, Stryg had already disappeared within the crowd.