The Marenon Chronicles Collection - By Jason D. Morrow Page 0,164

was jerked from his thoughts when he heard a rattling of keys at the door. He jumped to his feet as the door swung open, causing his head to swim in pain. At the door stood two Nestorian guards with their sticks ready to subdue the giant man should he decide to fight again.

“You’re going to come with us,” one of the masked guards said. “Don’t make any kind of sudden movement.”

Coffman didn’t doubt his ability to take on two measly little guards with sticks. Back in the city, earlier today, he had been subdued because Nalani had caught him by surprise, and then four guards were on top of him. But fighting now would not help him get information about the medallion, nor would it help him get out of the city when it was time to leave. He put his hands in the air and walked toward the door. One guard stepped behind him while the other led the way past a long line of cells and through another corridor. In a few moments they stood in a room with several more guards and one Nestorian man sitting at a table. The room was filled with books and what looked to be important papers. The man at the table looked up at Coffman. Maybe he grinned, maybe he scowled, Coffman couldn’t tell with the mask.

“Name please,” the man said.

“Coffman,” he answered willingly.

“And where were you captured, Coffman?”

“Why don’t you ask my captors?” This answer landed him with a swift punch in the gut, causing all his breath to be knocked out of him. He suspected the guard’s hand hurt worse than his stomach, however.

“Where were you captured?” the man repeated.

Coffman stood himself upright and straightened his shirt. “In the desert somewhere. I don’t know.”

“What were you doing so close to Voelif?”

“Tracking scowlers,” Coffman lied.

The man sat for a moment as if to weigh Coffman’s answers. “You can find more scowlers to the south, you know. Foolish of you to look near here for those foul creatures. They don’t taste very good either.”

“I’m in it for the pelts.”

“I see,” the man said. The man had written Coffman’s name in his little book and probably a short description of him as well. He sat looking at no spot in particular, probably deciding what to do with him. Coffman saw the list of names in the book on the table. It was a list arranged in chronological order by when each prisoner arrived. There was a date and a description for each person and the book was obviously filled. In fact, as Coffman glanced at the shelves in the room, he saw a hundred more just like it. Thousands of slaves had been brought here. He remembered what the others had said about the slave fields in Mudavé, and how wretched and abused the captured people seemed. The Nestorians must have bought their slaves from the Stühocs. Either way, they were never released. Once a man or a woman was caught and used, there was no hope of freedom. That is, unless they managed to escape, which was Coffman’s plan, of course.

“I think you’ll do well in helping us finish the production of the Pyramid around the Sphere. There’s a lot of heavy lifting to be done.” The man wrote some things next to Coffman’s name and then turned the book around so Coffman could see it.

“Sign your name,” the man instructed.

Coffman bent down and grabbed the pen held out for him. He quickly glanced at the other names on the list, people that had been processed before him as recently as the day before. One name in particular caught his attention. In bold letters was written a name than Coffman had heard many times. Daewyn Florelle. It was an Erellen name and the surname Florelle was one of power and recognition in Marenon. Jiaros Florelle was the king over the Erellens. Daewyn was his son. Next to Daewyn’s name was not the man’s Erellen signature as would have been expected of him. Coffman wasn’t surprised to know that the Nestorian didn’t catch what the Erellen had written beside his own name. They were two Erellen words that Coffman was able to translate roughly. The words were pronounced, Motemiam Seloriam. Find me. Help me.

Chapter Ten

With the sarians soaring high and fast, Silas had no fear that he would not reach Hanzad before the assassin or anyone else for that matter. It would take the masked menace the rest of the day