Helga’s eyes involuntarily winced at the sudden blaze of brilliant light, but she soon adjusted and was astonished at the odd-looking boat coming in to tie up. Two immense, rough-looking Wolves, each leaning on a ferry-pole, were guiding what appeared to be a filthy freight wagon made into a boat. Huge, oversized wagon wheels—perhaps 10-feet in diameter—made the boat seem smaller than it was.
Each of the Wolves appeared to be about as thick through the chest as they were broad at the shoulders. Their exceptionally long noses pushed out amidst scraggly, matted, dirty beards that hid virtually every other facial feature. One of the Wolves, with a beard showing the deep reddish-tan of youth, stood near the right front of the skimmer. The other Wolf, poling the barge from the rear, had a greasy beard, iron-gray with age. Dressed in similar dingy blue shirts and butternut overalls, the Wolves’ rough, untanned lizardskin belts held every kind of knife. Glistening-sharp hatchets hung from shoulder slings.
“’Ow much butter ya got there, good Bro-Butt?” the iron-gray Wolf hailed as the barge landed.
“Five, Stench—and every o’ of them muscle n’ not a lick o’ trouble,” Bro-Butt replied. “Well, that is, except for one,” he continued, pointing to Helga, “now that Wood Cow there, why, she’s born a likely Tilk Duraow runner! Why, the dragons’ll run like they’ve never run before with her as bait. She’s got blazes in her and when she lets loose—she’ll run like a mad beast!”
“Yee-Gad! A Tilk Duraow runner!” Stench gloated. “What a fine lot o’ butter you’ve brought us this time, Bro-Butt! Yee-Gad! If the Dragon Boss really takes her for a runner, she’s worth a fortune!” Smacking his lips, the older Wolf looked Helga up and down with his wild, cunning eyes. “Yee-Gad! A Tilk Duraow runner in our very own skimmer, Reek! Why, think of it!” he laughed, snapping his fingers at the younger Wolf. “We never transported a runner before—it’s the cargo of a lifetime!”
“Tam-Yap!” Reek snickered. “We may not have a lot of slaves to sell—like the crew of seabeasts the Wrackshees just brought into the Butter Dock, but they don’t have a runner! I saw the whole crew of ’em and not a one of them that could run with the dragons.”
“What seabeasts?” Helga exploded. “What crew of seabeasts are you talking about?” Helga, in a fury, struggled against her chains again, and again brought the lash down on her.
“Quiet, Wood Cow!” Bro-Butt warned. “Too many more words out of you and you won’t get the chance to be a runner. You’ll be sent straight to the Death Cliffs at Tilk Duraow. They go through a dozen stone-cutters a day—minimum.”
Helga was not deterred, however. “What seabeasts?” she demanded again. “What ship’s crew has been taken by the Wrackshees?”
“Why that would be the Daring Dream,” Reek snarled. “A fine crew of strong, hardy beasts from the Far Aways. They’ll do fine as stone-cutters on the Death Cliffs—why the crew’s big enough to give probably a couple week’s supply—Har-Yat-Har!” he chuckled with a cruel smile.
Several Rummer Boars set about pushing the captives to board the skimmer. The Rummers loaded the captives and tied them securely to poles that circled the skimmer’s deck. Once the captives were securely tied, the Rummer guards slumped down on the deck to rest and take a few spits of grog, while the Wolves poled the barge out onto the Ocean of Dreams. In a few hours, the skimmer would unload the slaves at the Butter Dock beneath Port Newolf. From there, the captives would join the other slaves awaiting sale. Soon after the slaves reached the Butter Dock, a Rummer Boar fleet was expected to arrive at Port Newolf, laden with trallés looted from the rich cargo ships plying the Great Sea.