The Sorcerer King is dead! King Kalak is Dead! Tyr is Free!
The cry rang out in every ward of the city, but Kalak’s fall wasn’t greeted with cheering by all. Master Handalu, head of the Relkajin Merchant House in Tyr gathered all of his prized possessions and fled the city under cover of night. A hefty bribe was needed to get out of the gate, but he felt it was worth the price.
Now, two days out of the city, he wondered if he had made the right choice. The slaves competent enough to help get them to Urik were given some minor freedoms, the rest were held in the mekillot wagon with the remaining treasures of Handalu’s estate. Another seven or eight days and he’d be moving into his second home in Urik.
It wasn’t that Handalu was weak, he started what has become a powerful merchant house driving mekillot wagons through the hellish landscape. He just preferred the finer things now, and could afford to pay his lessers to drive the beasts from city to city.
But so much had changed, he would have to assess Tyr as he would any new city. Were the risks of operating in this unknown arena worth the possible profits from the “Free City”.
As the blood red sun began to dominate the horizon, and the shadows began to lengthen. The sweat of the day began to cool. Perhaps a rub-down. That new slave, the gladiator-to-be might be just what he needed to get his mind off of his predicament. He waved to his eunuch guards to fetch the lad. They knew his tastes. Yes, that will get his mind off of business.