"Send out the whisper," Ramil told Melletin, "starting with all Brigardians in the pens. Tell them the Dark Prince who escaped Fergox has come to lead them--"

"But you're in the cage with them," Melletin pointed out.

Ramil shrugged. "They don't need to know that. Keep it vague and majestic.

See if the ones who have

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been here longest know who we can trust. There's bound to be a few slave rats among us. We'll

make our move during the sale once we're out of these pens."

Melletin nodded. "And what's the sign?"

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Ramil looked at Gordoc. "Our new masters are so proud of their big man that they haven't

stopped to ask just how strong he is. Gordoc, I've seen you bend bars in Felixholt. Do you think

you could break our chains?"

The giant looked down at the hefty links shackling his hands to the collar around his neck. "I'm

not sure. But I could certainly break that pretty necklace of yours. The bolt's the weak point."

"That will do. With the ring attached to the chain, I'll have a useful weapon to swing at someone.

So the sign is when I take my collar off and attack." Ramil smiled wryly at the ease with which he made that suicidal statement. "We'll only win if we have overwhelming numbers. Everyone has

to join in or this'll be the shortest slave revolt in history."

Under the cover of darkness, Gordoc slipped his stout fingers inside Ramil's collar. It felt like

being throttled, but then the strong man pulled and the collar snapped open. "Thanks," croaked Ramil, rubbing his neck. He then replaced the neck ring, securing the broken hinge with some

cloth ripped from his shirt. "I hope they just think I'm trying to stop it from chafing."

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Gordoc moved silently on to the other men in the pen, starting with Melletin.

All the slaves, bar one, had agreed to join the revolt. The exception, a thin mad-looking man who

was a defrocked priest of Holin, had been too crazy to trust with the secret.

As dawn approached, Ramil gazed at the men crouched around him: his first army. He knew that

he was probably leading most of them to their deaths.

The whole plan had only the barest chance of success. But he made no apology for the attempt.

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"I'd rather die than be a slave," he murmured, thinking of Tashi's desperate plunge into the river.

"What's that, Ram?" rumbled Gordoc.

"We'd rather die than be slaves, wouldn't we, my friend?" Ramil said with more confidence,

knowing that his men were listening.

"That's right." Gordoc laughed. He seemed untroubled by the enormous risk they were about to take. "What about you, my brothers, is that what you think too?"

The men grinned at each other recklessly, eager eyes shining in the darkness of the cage.

"Aye, big man, we're with you and the Dark Prince," said a man from Kandar.

"We'll give Fergox a bloody nose before we're done."

The market began mid morning. In the shade of a pink silk canopy with gold tassels, rich

merchants, farmers, and mine owners lounged on chairs, conveniently close to the block on

which the slaves stood for display. The slaves were hustled from their pens lot by lot. The

majority of those who had already been

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sold waited to one side with their new masters--good news for Ramil because it meant potential

allies were in the open. Finally, it was the turn of Ramil's slave masters to bring out their wares.

They started with the women.

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"Now here's a sweetener to open bidding," the southerner called, prodding a mother carrying a baby onto the block. Ramil made a mental note that he would have to do something to protect

the women and children in the battle that would follow. He murmured to Melletin, who nodded

and passed on the message.

The mother went for a good price to a family needing a wet nurse and was led away. Next onto

the block was Yelena. Rather than treat the block as humiliation, she stared around her with a

scornful look like a queen on her throne. The slaver prodded her with the end of his whip.

"A house girl, fresh caught and spirited, a pretty addition to any household."

Bidding for Yelena was intense. Two merchants had their eyes on her and drove the price up.

The southerner was clearly delighted when he finally closed the bidding at a hundred heralds.

Ramil watched anxiously as she was led from the block to her new master under the canopy. The

merchant pinched her cheek and said something to his neighbor as she glowered at him. Ramil

was relieved to see Yelena being told to wait behind her new master; they would have had little

chance to find her later if she'd been led away now.

The women all sold. It was now the turn of the male

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slaves. Ramil had been hoping to be one of the last so that most of his men would be out of the

pen; instead, he found himself hauled out first. He made a rapid change in plans: he would have

to allow himself to be sold before he gave the signal.

The southerner propelled Ramil up to the block.

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"Another top quality slave, ladies and gentlemen. Strong fighter. Healthy.

Biddable. Suited to be a bodyguard or bath-house attendant."

A lackluster bidding began, not enough to satisfy the man's greed. He ripped open Ramil's shirt

and slapped his well-muscled torso as if he were no more than a side of meat.

"Come, ladies, we can't waste this young man in the mines. Think what a pleasure it will be to

have this lad carry your fan for you when you go visiting.

You'll be the envy of all your friends."

The bidding picked up and Ramil was finally sold to a rich elderly woman in a dress of lurid green

silk. She giggled with her companion when Ramil was pushed before her. After ogling him

closely, she ordered him to wait behind with the other new house slaves.

Ramil made sure he was standing next to Yelena.

"I feel a fool," Yelena muttered, glaring at the velvet back of her new master.

"But what he doesn't know is that he's just bought himself a trained assassin.

He's in for a shock."

"The shock will come sooner than you think, Yelena," Ramil replied, watching the block as more of his men were sold to the mine owners and herded to

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one side. "We're going to kick up a little dust in a minute. Be ready."

Yelena's eyes narrowed. "I'm with you, brother."

The final slave to be brought out of the pen was Gordoc. An excited murmur ran through the

bidders.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, last but not least, I present to you our greatest prize!" declared the slaver. "As strong as an ox, he'll do the work of ten men."

Gordoc stood up proudly and thumped his chest. The slaver stepped back, delighted that his

catch was playing to the audience.

"Would you like to see how strong I am?" Gordoc roared.

"Yes!" shouted back the merchants, all grinning at this unexpected display.

Slaves rarely gave such good value.

"Then I'll show you." Gordoc glanced at Ramil, who gave him a nod. Gordoc tugged the chain

that looped between his manacled wrists and collar until he had enough slack in his right hand.

He then folded it over his fist. Taking a couple of breaths he began to pull, the muscles bulging in

his arms, veins standing out in his neck as he strained. The crowd shouted encouragement and

cheered until finally the links broke and Gordoc stood there with his hands free, chain dangling