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Colan was jolted awake by the boom of a drum. Pushing his dreams of an hour of daytime rest away, he sat up, squinting in the early morning light. Dawn. He thought. Even after yesterday, we still need to get up at dawn. Rising slowly, he smoothed the wrinkles out of his slept-in tunic. Exiting the hut, he made his way to the clearing near the gate.

When Colan arrived, he was surprised to find a large number of slaves milling around near the gate. Usually the overseers hurried the slaves out as fast as possible, but the gates were tightly shut and more slaves were arriving at every moment. The only normal thing was the bins of food that sat at the sides of the clearing. Colan hopped into a line and grabbed his morning and lunch ration, a fish for the morning and a hunk of dry bread and some half-rotted fruit for lunch. Colan sat down in a clear spot and wolfed down his fish, barely breathing. He hadn't had dinner, as hungry as he usually was at suppertime he couldn't eat after the execution. He considered eating his lunch too, but he knew he would want it later so he held off.

Standing up and moving over to a well, he leaned over the low stone wall that encircled the dark hole in the ground. Grabbing the rough rope that descended into the depths, he began pulling. Soon a wooden bucket rose out of the darkness, water sloshing about inside. Water. He thought as he heaved the bucket over the side. It's the only thing we have enough of. Food's barely enough, our hom--huts are drafty and doorless, even during the fierce storms of winter, and the only off days we have are when the King is feeling especially happy, and that's mostly on his seasonday. They know they can give us less food if we have plenty of water. Colan took a long drink. Well, he thought as he finished, I guess it's better to have enough of one thing than not enough of anything.

The drum boomed again, and the fur on the back of Colan's neck rose as he remembered what that drum had signaled yesterday. Immediately thoughts of possible death approaching invaded his mind._ Is that why the gates are closed? So they can thin us out at the leisure with their bows?_

The thick gates creaked open to admit Markul and a score of guards. All activity in the slave compound ceased. Mothers checked that their young ones were near, and drew them closer. Fathers unconsciously moved between their families and the menacing guards.

"This week will be a lucky week for one family." Captain Markul began. "With the execution of the traitors yesterday, the royal family needs new personal slaves. Traditionally, the king selects a family that will serve his purposes; however, King Alcon has decided to allow the princes to select the family of their choice."

"Throughout the week, the princes will be touring the fields, mines, orchards, waterways, and other places so if you want to be picked, be on your best behavior. If your family is picked, you'll be eating from the King's table, even if it is only the scraps." With that, the fox turned and swept out the gate.

The clearing erupted into confusion at the announcement. Of course the idea of actually having enough to eat as well as proper clothing and housing appealed to everybeast, but for most it was overruled by the hate of the tyrant king. There were very few among the slaves that wanted to be in close contact with the murderous ruler day in and day out.

"Alright yew lazy slaves, git to work!" Shouted Captain Nargath, the gigantic ferret overseer of the mines.

Colan walked through the now-open gates and approached the checkpoint for the slaves that worked under Ripfur. The bored weasel guard took one look at him and marked him off on the list tacked to the board in front of him.

"Git down t' the oyster beds." The guard muttered, stroking and ink-black paw, "Cap'n Ripfur wants t' make up fer th' time we lost yesterday."

Colan rolled his eyes as soon as the weasel was at his back_. Huh, really? I didn't think relentless Ripfur would want to work us double-time today._

"Where do ya think the Princes will go today?"

Colan turned and looked at his elder brother, "I dunno, and I don't care either." He paused, then looked at his brother face, stepping back in disgust. "You want t' be at their beck an' call day an' night?"

"Well, it'd be better than starvin' an' workin' me paws off trawlin' all day." Runtha replied heatedly.

"I'm not gonna be at th' beck an call of th' beast that orders my friends killed, no matter how much I need to work." Colan retorted.

"Still sore over the death of Derick?" Runtha asked scathingly. "I'll tell you, the fool deserved it, shooting his mouth off like that."

Colan stopped, his face a mask of shock. Runtha continued on, a swagger in his step as he realized he had touched a sore spot. Rage quickly overcame Colan's shock, a white-hot inferno that nearly blinded him. Colan wanted nothing more than to punch Runtha, to beat him until he took back what he had said. Nobeast deserved to be tied to a rock and dumped off the side of a boat into the ocean. Colan still had nightmares of it, Derick screaming for mercy as Ripfur pushed him off the boat, Colan frantically struggling in the grasp of two ferret guards, trying to come to his friend's aid.

Colan took a step toward his brother, paw clenched, then caught the eye of a fox standing on the side of the road, looking on in amusement. Colan's fury evaporated like dew in the summer sun. Whatever anybeast did to him, he would not amuse vermin.

Colan retreated into his mind and set his paws on the path to the shoreline. Raising the mental walls he had conditioned over the seasons for times like this, he locked his emotions behind them, hiding them from the outside world. Some beasts said he had gone cold after Derick's death, incapable or making another friend. They were partially correct. He had one friend, an ottermaid named Cetyl, but she was an exception. Colan didn't make or maintain any friendships, not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to fail a friend again. What was the point of making a friend that might die just because the overseer wasn't feeling well today and wanted to cheer up?

Colan turned off the main path onto the short one that led to the landing beach for the oyster beds. He could see the crystalline blue sea across the fields, with barely a ripple on the surface. The blue of the sea stretched out to blend seamlessly with the blue of the sky, making it impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began.

As he neared the end of the path, Colan broke into a jog, consciously making himself pant. It always went better for him if he arrived breathing hard rather than looking like he took it easy on the way over. When he stepped onto the shoreline, a few otterslaves were already there, pushing their coracles off into the surf.

Ripfur's whip cracked over his head as the burly rat shouted out threats. "Sleepin' in, eh? Jump to it an' git out there or yer gonna feel my whip across yer back!"

"'M goin', 'm goin." Muttered Colan as he ran over to his coracle. Pulling off his tunic hastily, he quickly stowed it in the small craft. Pushing it into the surf, he began to propel it toward his region of the oyster bed. Ripfur's edgy today. Colan thought_. We can't be behind, in fact, we're probably ahead, so why..._ Colan's thought trailed off as he noticed a larger boat approaching from the southwest. Oh.

It was a small sailing vessel, large enough for only four or five bests. Its sleek sides cut through the water smoothly, making barely a whisper as it slid through the waves. The royal emblem was stamped on the prow, a pair of crossed swords over a spear, emblazoned inside a circle.

Only three beasts occupied the boat, and only one seemed to be doing anything in particular. Two, a fox and a weasel, crouched in the bow of the vessel, looking thoroughly bored, while the third beast sat in the stern, tending to the sail and rudder. So this is why Ripfur's so edgy. Colan thought as the ferret steered the vessel to shore. One of the princes decided to come here today.

"Captain Ripfur!" Shouted the ferret, catching the rat's attention.

"Prince Torrin!" Ripfur called as he left off berating another slave and hurried over to where the prince was beaching his boat.

Colan eyed the prince apprehensively. He hadn't been the executioner, but he had stayed by and watched. Admittedly, Colan had done the same for awhile, before he turned away, but he was only a slave, nothing he could do would help. The only thing he could've accomplished would be getting himself killed. But Prince Torrin was, well, a prince. He should have the power to at least make the deaths quicker.

"Climb aboard Captain. I want you to tell me about each of the slaves here."

"Pardon my asking, my prince, but where is your royal brother?"

Torrin waved his paw vaguely. "Oh, he took the larger boat and sailed to the fishing grounds, well, he more of got rowed than sailed."

Colan grabbed the ground oyster shell knife out of the coracle and took a deep breath to dive, but paused and looked at the prince one more time. Despite himself, Colan couldn't help but feel that the prince was different. He pulled a face, disgusted, but could not make himself hate the prince. Perhaps it was something in his bearing, or in the fact that his clothing was very plain, for a prince. In fact, for today the prince had abstained from all types of adornments, wearing only a thin circled of gold as a prince's crown atop his head. His clothing was even less decorative than yesterday, being only a plain combat suit, black as night. His emerald eyes shone startlingly against the dark suit.

Torrin's guards pushed the boat out into the sea, and the prince turned it skillfully, scanning the water ahead for obstacles. Colan's blue eyes met those emeralds ones, and for a moment there they stayed, Colan glaring resentfully, Torrin studying casually. Then Ripfur began to turn to see what the prince was staring at and Colan dived, disappearing underneath the surface with barely a ripple.

"What are you looking at, my lord?"

"Nothing, which one will you show me first?"

_ ~~***~~ _

Colan broke the surface of the water and swam over to his coracle. Removing the pouch from his belt, he emptied its contents into the vessel, hearing them rustle against the others in the coracle. Colan peered over the side of the coracle taking stock of his progress. Halfway full, not bad for the time I've been out 'ere.

Voices drifted over to Colan, and the young otter looked around, raising his eyebrows in surprise at how close the prince's boat was. Only a score or so paces away, there it sat, riding the waves with ease. An old grey-furred otter stood on the boat along with its four other occupants, keeping his eyes fixed on the planks beneath his feet. Ripfur was telling Prince Torrin about the old otter's personality, grossly exaggerating a rebellious streak in the otter, who was the most docile slave of the whole group.

"I don't think he wants any of us to leave." Muttered Colan as Ripfur wrapped up his discussion on the slave's rebelliousness.

"See? 'E's keepin' 'is eyes down so yew can't see the rebellion in those glims of 'is. Away with yew, slave, the prince doesn't want yer type!"

As the otter splashed into the water, Torrin remarked drily, "Aye, he wouldn't have worked, he has no family. I need four beasts for the slaves. There is one left I assume?"

"Yes, yer lordship."

Colan dove, thinking desperately on how to present himself so he wouldn't get picked as a personal slave of the royal house. Ripfur said that a slave looking at the ground was hiding rebellion in his eyes, but Colan knew that the slave was more likely afraid to meet the eyes of his master, and vermin liked it when slaves looked at the ground instead of them, it made them feel superior. I'll do the opposite then. Colan decided, feeling confident_. I'll look him straight in the eyes._

Colan reached for the nearest oyster and sliced it off with his shell-knife. Replacing it in his belt, he pushed off the seafloor and shot towards the surface. As his head pushed into clear air, Colan began to swim towards his coracle when Ripfur's shout stopped him.

"Over here, slave!"

Colan turned and swam over to the boat, stopping to float beside it. Ripfur gritted his teeth with impatience. "Git. Up. Here."

Colan dove, partially to hide the grin on his face, and partially so he had enough momentum to leap onto the boat. Turning, he shot up out of the water and landed on the vessel, drenching the nearby Ripfur with a spray of seawater. The rat, his face tight with rage, gestured to the fox and the weasel, who stepped up and grabbed Colan by the wrists. Bracing themselves, they drew apart, stretching Colan between them. The young otter found himself facing the prince, who had replaced the blank mask that he had worn during the execution. Colan stared into those eyes, searching for any emotion, but finding none. He heard Ripfur's whip unravel and slither to the deck.

The Captain's voice hissed in his ear, "Yes did that on purpose." Colan didn't answer. He heard a swish, then a lancing pain shot across his back. Another swish and another lash landed on his back. Tears sprang into Colan's eyes, but he didn't make a sound, and who could tell that the tears were running down his cheeks on the fifth and sixth blows when they were already wet from the sea? Finally, on the tenth blow, Ripfur halted. The fox and weasel released Colan and he fell to his knees, striving to hold off the darkness that infringed on his vision. He heard a swishing noise and arched his back in pain as a pail of seawater splashed into the cuts across his back.

Ripfur kicked him in the side savagely, "Git up, yer prince wants to know some stuff about yew."

Colan rose unsteadily to his feet, but soon re regained his balance. Ripfur stood next to the Prince, grinning maliciously at the pain he had caused.

"What is your name and family status, slave? Speak truthfully, I'll find out if you aren't, and it won't go well for you."

True to his plan, Colan looked the prince in the eyes, his chin uplifted, the very image of a rebellious slave. "My name is Colan and I'm the youngest of my family. I have and older brother, as well as my mother and father."

"Eyes on the ground, slave!" Ripfur barked. Colan's gaze flicked over to Ripfur and rested on the rat for a moment, then returned to Torrin. Ripfur growled and began to reach for his whip again, but Torrin's voice stopped him.

"Captain, I don't want to have to wait while you punish this slave every few minutes. Now tell me about him."

Ripfur let go of his whip bad-temperedly and began to pace between Colan and the prince. "As you must 'ave noticed by now, my prince, this slave is th' most insolent wretch of 'em all. He disrespects yew by lookin' at yer face instead of at the ground where he belongs. I admit, the only reason I have kept him this long is the fact that he is my best diver, and returns with the most, and best, produce. If it wasn't for that, the fish would've eaten him long ago."

Ripfur threw his paws in the air. "I don't know how he does it, but nine times out of ten his oysters have a pearl in them." Snatching up the oyster that lay on the deck where Clan had dropped it, Ripfur drew his dagger and sliced it open. Plucking the pearl from the inside, he tossed it to Torrin. "That's what's keepin' him alive. Her Majesty wouldn't be happy wid me if she was getting a greatly reduced amount of pearls all of a sudden."

Prince Torrin tucked the cloud-white pearl into his belt. "I'm finished here. Slave get back in the water and get to work. The sting of saltwater in those cuts should teach you to keep your eyes where they belong."

Colan ducked as Ripfur's whip hissed out at him and dove into the water, wincing as the seawater covered his cuts.

Torrin raised the sail and pushed on the tiller, pointing the prow of the boat landward. As the boat cut through the water, Torrin though back over the day. Besides for the last slave, Colan, they had all been the same, answering questions directly and never making eye contact, leaving as soon as possible. But that last otter...he was the only one with enough courage to look him in the eye. He knew he'd probably get whipped for it, but he went ahead anyway. He wanted to look rebellious; he wanted to be my last pick as my own slave. Torrin chuckled, making his two guards look at him in confusion. He'd probably be distressed to find out that he's become my top pick. Personal slaves get their opinions asked a lot, and I want somebeast that will answer what they think, not what I think.

A fresh breeze had sprung up and after Ripfur had disembarked Torrin rode it swiftly down the coast. Soon arriving at the river, he turned and sailed up it, grateful for the southerly breeze. Coasting up to the palace docks, Torrin was surprised. Alspur must have docked recently; he was still hanging about the docks, honing his heavy greatsword with a pleased look on his face. Leaving the fox and the weasel that had accompanied him to finish tying up the boat, Torrin walked over to Alspur.

"I assume you found somebeast?"

Alspur looked up. "Aye, I only had to go through a few wimps before I found one that suited me. I ran him through a test, which he passed with flying colors."

"What was the test?" Torrin asked, intrigued.

Alspur smiled wolfishly, "None o' yore business."

Torrin eyed him for a moment, then shrugged, "What did you find out about him?"

Alspur leaned back, looking bored. "He has a father that works as a fisherbeast as well, I saw him too. He isn't very big, but strong enough to suit father's purposes. He also has a mother and a younger brother. The brother's name is Colan; he works as a diver, so you've met him. I haven't seen the mother, but she's likely to fit all of mother's needs. That family is going t' be my choice." He grinned teasingly, "Which means it'll be the one we get."

Torrin nodded, "Colan would've been my choice anyways. Let's go tell Father that we've made our decisions. He can act on them tonight."

Alspur sheathed his sword and dropped the stone he had been honing it with into his pocket. "Aye, let's go."

_ ~~***~~ _

An hour after Prince Torrin left, Ripfur called all the slaves in from diving. The sun was low on the horizon, and the guards looked it light when all the slaves were traveling back to quarters.

Colan pulled his packed coracle towards shore, confidant for the first time in many a day that he had dived enough to get out of even a verbal berating. As he pulled it beyond the tideline, he looked around. Usually there would be some guard Ripfur had sent to search him approaching, but all the guards seemed to by busy checking other slaves. Confused, Colan looked for Ripfur, and his heart sank as he saw the sadistic overseer approaching, anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

"Disrespectful spawn of a viper!" Ripfur hissed, "Did you really think yew'd git off easy today after ignoring me in front of the Prince like that? Oh, no, waterdog, yer gonna git a thorough inspection today, I know yew 'ave somethin' hidden on yew."

Ripfur gave Colan a wicked smile as he emphasized the word "know". Colan had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be getting off the beach without a beating.

Colan didn't have to wait long for Ripfur to make his move. Digging his claws underneath Colan's belt, Ripfur withdrew them and held up a soft pink pearl under Colan's nose. "Thief!" he hissed in the young otter's ear. "Did you think yew could get away with this? Garr! Vaylor! Come hold this sticky-pawed slave while I teach him a lesson."

Colan sputtered as two stocky rats grabbed his arms and immobilized him. He stared at the gleaming pearl in Ripfur's paw, not willing to believe that Ripfur had just planted it on him as an excuse for a beating. Ripfur moved out of his vision, and Colan clenched his teeth, glad that he hadn't had time to dry off, Ripfur wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing his tears. There was a swishing sound, and for the second time today, the beating began.

Ripfur drew the whip back, feeling his muscles flex as he snapped his arm forward, sending the thin lash slashing against the lithe back in front of him. The blood rushed through his head, hot from the rage against this slave that had accumulated over the seasons. He bared his teeth in cruel joy as the slave in front of him slumped down, lost in a pain-filled daze. And still he swung. What was he on now? Twenty? Thirty? He had long ago lost count. The two rats looked strained with the effort of holding the slave up, wining as some of the wilder lashes landed on them. They were far too afraid of him to let the slave drop though.

Finally Ripfur stayed his paw, breathing heavily. "Clean this off." He growled, tossing the whip to Garr. The rat nodded fearfully and rushed off towards the water's edge. Ripfur grabbed a nearby pail and tossed it to Vaylor, who filled it with seawater wordlessly. Ripfur surveyed the results of the whipping with an air of detached satisfaction. The young otter's back was covered in red welts, and many of the slashes had actually broken through the skin, opening angry red slices in Colan's back. At a nod from Ripfur, Vaylor threw the pail of seawater on Colan's bleeding back, bringing him back to consciousness with a cry of pain.

"up on yer paws an' git goin!" Ripfur barked at him. "Yew better git back t' the compound b'fore sundown or yer gonn git a whippin'."

Colan rose to his paws, swaying and uttering a small moan of pain, then staggered over to his coracle and grabbed his tunic. Noticing grimly that all the other slaves had left, he began staggering up the path to the road. Halfway there, he stopped and began to put his tunic on, letting out a yell of pain as it came in contact with his back. Deciding not to wear it, he continued on to the road. As he stepped onto the wider path, he saw Runtha sitting on the opposite edge of it waiting for him. Colan paused in surprise as he noticed the bloodstains on his brother's tunic.

"What happened to you?" he asked, barely mustering the strength to say those few words.

"Nothing." Replied Runtha quickly. "You look like you've had a rough time though. Yore not even dressed. What happened?"

Colan didn't need to say anything, because his knees chose that moment to give out on him. Runtha leapt to his side, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth as he saw his brother's back. "Did Ripfur get demoted or somethin'?" He asked quietly. "You look like a flayed fish." Colan replied with the smallest of shrugs, wincing as it flexed his back muscles. Runtha helped him up, then kneeled down and gestured for Colan to climb onto his back. Colan did so, draping his arms over his brother's shoulders, Runtha grabbing his legs to support him. Runtha began walking down the road, knowing he had to go as fast as he could if he wanted to reach the slave compound before sunset. Colan bit his lip to silence the cries of pain from the fire eating away at his back_. How much worse could this day get?_ He thought wearily.

_ ~~***~~ _

Colan gritted his teeth and tried to keep from screaming as his mother, Azure, wrapped his back with the bandage made from excess cloth she and the rest of the females in the compound had scrounged up for occasions such as this. Azure tucked the last fold in, then stepped back to survey her nursing skill.

"Aye, that should do it Colan, but try to take the next few days as easily as you can, yore back need as much rest as it can get."

Colan nodded and gingerly lay on his bed, careful to remain on his stomach. Pawsteps at the door made him look up as Athuran entered, his face grave.

"I have bad news." He began. "Cetyl's body was found behind the tavern. Sanem found her, and he says that the corpse had been moved there from a different location. He also said that she was killed by somebeast wielding a large, heavy sword. She's to be buried early tomorrow morning."

Colan froze in shock. It had happened again. Just as he was beginning to open up to her...she died. He looked around at the other two faces in the room. Azure looked stricken, the roll of cloth in her paws forgotten, while Runtha had his head down, fiddling with a stone. Darkness began to creep in on him, and Colan couldn't help thinking that Runtha looked as if he had known Cetyl was dead, that his only friend was dead...

The darkness swallowed everything.