The shaven-headed Nyissan sailors pulled open a hatch on their ship and barked a few rough orders down into the hold. Slowly, a line of dispirited-looking men came up. Each man wore an iron collar, and a long chain fastened them together.

Mandorallen stiffened and began to swear.

"What's wrong?" Barak asked.

"Arendishmen!" the knight exclaimed. "I had heard of this, but I did not believe it."

"Heard of what?"

"An ugly rumor hath persisted in Arendia for some years," Mandorallen answered, his face white with rage. "We are told that some of our nobles have upon occasion enriched themselves by selling their serfs to the Nyissans."

"Looks like it's more than a rumor," Barak said.

"There," Mandorallen growled. "See that crest upon the tunic of that one there? It's the crest of Vo Toral. I know the Baron of Vo Toral for a notorious spendthrift, but had not thought him dishonorable. Upon my return to Arendia, I will denounce him publicly."

"What good's that going to do?" Barak asked.

"He will be forced to challenge me," Mandorallen said grimly. "I will prove his villainy upon his body."

Barak shrugged. "Serf or slave - what's the difi'erence?"

"Those men have rights, my Lord," Mandorallen stated. "Their Lord is required to protect them and care for them. The oath of knighthood demands it of us. This vile transaction hath stained the honor of every true Arendish knight. I shall not rest until I have bereft that foul baron of his miserable life."

"Interesting idea," Barak said. "Maybe I'll go with you."

Hettar came up on deck, and Barak moved immediately to his side and began talking quietly to him, holding one of his arms firmly.

"Make them jump around a bit," one of the Murgos ordered harshly. "I want to see how many are lame."

A heavy-shouldered Nyissan uncoiled a long whip and began to flick it deftly at the legs of the chained men. The slaves began to dance feverishly on the wharf beside the slave ship.

"Dog's blood!" Mandorallen swore, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the railing.

"Easy," Garion warned. "Aunt Pol says we're supposed to stay pretty much out of sight."

"It cannot be borne!" Mandorallen cried.

The chain that bound the slaves together was old and pitted with rust. When one slave tripped and fell, a link snapped, and the man found himself suddenly free. With an agility born of desperation, he rolled quickly to his feet, took two quick steps and plunged off the wharf into the murky waters of the river.

"This way, man!" Mandorallen called to the swimming slave.

The burly Nyissan with the whip laughed harshly and pointed at the escaping slave. "Watch," he told the Murgos.

"Stop him, you idiot," one of the Murgos snapped. "I paid good gold for him."