The tent was twice the size of any Aleem had seen on his way here. He noted a group of people standing beside its entrance.

An androgynous man in immaculate virescent robes stood with his arms folded across his chest as he spoke with a bear of a woman in cumbersome armour. The robed man was Tanton. A much younger version than Aleem remembered, to be sure. His pink skin all but glistened in the hot afternoon sun. There was a scowl on his face.

That did not bode well.

The armoured woman was nodding her head as she listened to him. Behind them were a few armoured young men, one of which was evidently Vriorian.

The cart slowed down as they neared the tent. Tanton’s head was so perfectly shorn that it glimmered slightly in the hot evening sun. There was an air of ‘precision’ about him. An unassuming man in plain brown clothes stood off to the side, with his head lowered.

The cart stopped.

“Sir!” barked the soldiers, jumping up to their feet and startling Aleem. They jutted their chests, thumping it once with their right fist.

“Bring,” Tanton said simply, a hint of an accent in the way he rolled his ‘r’.

The soldiers went about getting Aleem off the cart. As before, they were gentle, but with a touch of haste to their movements this time.

When they presented him to Tanton, Aleem noticed how disturbingly tall and lithe the man was. He towered over even the large armoured woman beside him by nearly half a head. Aleem himself came to about the man’s chest. He really didn’t have a frame of reference anymore. He would rectify that as soon as he could.

There was a brief whispered exchange between the soldiers behind him.

Tanton stepped into Aleem’s personal space. His long fingers grabbed Aleem by the chin, tilting it this way and that, as though to inspect his injuries. Aleem’s jaw tightened. He held his breath and reminded himself to behave.

Aleem lowered his gaze to avoid making eye contact, staring instead at the man’s forearm. The sleeves of Tanton’s robes had fallen away to reveal an arm mostly covered with a sable tattoo of interconnected rings. Aleem recognised the seal. In ‘Tales of Woe’, Geasa were often enforced through ritual markings and chainlike tattoos. Curious.

“Um, Muldrem?” The female soldier began, sounding oddly tense.

“What is it?” The giantess answered in a rich, pleasantly deep voice.

“The boy mentioned something about losing his memories.”

Tanton released Aleem’s chin. “Is this true?” He snapped his finger once in Aleem’s face, “Look at me. Is it true?”

Aleem nodded, looking the stern man in the eye. “Yes, sir.”

“How much do you remember?” the giantess asked uncertainly. Her pauldrons were at a level with the bottom of her ears, red braids tied up above her head in a tousled mass.

“Very little before I was put in the tent.”

Tanton stood there in silence, the scowl on his face neither deepening nor fading.

Aleem looked at the armoured men behind Tanton. Two boys in the regular-looking leather armour he’d seen around the camp. The other boy was an Olomti soldier, donning their signature glistening armour, though his looked even more ridiculous than Thebas’s. The last one there was the Vriorian.

Finally Tanton reached out a supine palm over Aleem’s shoulder. “Rope.”

Round-face’s hand trembled slightly as he placed the rope on Tanton’s palm with about as much care as a mother might handle their newborn.

“Dismissed,” Muldrem said.

“Sir!” they barked once more. Then they whirled on their toes and headed back to the cart.

Tanton’s eyes tracked them till Aleem could hear the horse neighing and trotting away. His eyes returned to Aleem, a distasteful look on his face. “You’re oddly quiet.” He said with an air of worrying dispassion.

“You’ve already heard about my memories, sir,” Aleem said with a shrug. “I’m… not sure how to behave.”

“Is he telling the truth?” Muldrem asked in that sonorous voice of hers. Aleem could literally feel his chest vibrate as she spoke. He felt a bit of envy. “This isn’t an act to avoid punishment, is it?”

“He would know better than to lie to me,” Tanton said darkly. “If he says he has lost his memory, then he might truly believe that to be true. And his punishment will stand, whether or not he remembers what he did.”

Aleem bowed his head, as though chastised, but only to hide his face lest it betray his irritation. He clamped his jaw and held back an exasperated sigh. He was exhausted, in pain, and really didn’t trust his judgement right now.

“Dwillo,” Tanton called.

“Sir!” The young Vriorian man walked briskly towards them. His leather armour was clean but scuffed. He had long, thick black braids tied behind his head. Aleem did not recognise him at all. Dwillo had not been a character in ‘Tales of Woe’.

“Keep the children apart while we speak with the Brevet. We’ll call the boy in when we’re ready.”

“Understood,” Dwillo said.

Tanton looked at Aleem and snapped his fingers twice. The ropes, of their own accord, uncurled from Aleem’s wrists and ankles with impossible speed. Aleem flinched.

Right before his eyes, they bundled and wove themselves into a long hitch, then slithered into a neat pile behind Tanton.

Holy shit! That was freaking magic! Aleem looked up at Tanton, not remotely skilled enough to have hidden how impressed he was.

“If you’re asked any… difficult questions,” Tanton said, ignoring Aleem’s show of surprise, “Stick to memory loss. But if you happen to remember anything else, keep it to yourself. Now, repeat that back to me.”

Aleem did so.

“Get a carriage ready,” Tanton said to the unamoured man standing nearby. Once the man ran off, Tanton pirouetted and headed for the tent’s entrance, Muldrem following behind him. She moved as though she didn’t have any armour on.

Aleem rubbed at his wrists, inspecting his fingers for the first time, and doing his best to keep down the queasiness that came with seeing six fingers on each hand. And goodness was he lanky! His forearms didn’t quite scream ‘malnourishment’ as he’d first assumed. Still, he might have been able to wear a teenager’s wristwatch around his flexed elbow joint.

“You,” Dwillo said coldly, eyes fixed on Aleem. He pointed at the entrance of the Brevet’s tent. “Go and stand there.”

“You want me to go inside?”

“Just at the threshold, don’t go further in.”

Aleem complied quietly. He glanced at the three boys behind Dwillo. One of them had a nasty black eye, and the Olomti’s swollen nose was clearly misaligned. Yikes. Their hateful glares followed him all the way to the tent’s entrance.

A gauze curtain lay parted to either side of it. He peered in. The interior of the tent was furnished, lavish even. The patchy and deadened grass of the camp had been overlaid with a plush black rug. The air within was moister, cooler, suffused with the faint scent of lavender and crushed leaves. Aleem rubbernecked like a child visiting a park for the first time. The ceiling was conoid, tapering off towards a point. And stones, bordering the top of the walls, emitted a soft white hue, giving the place a much gentler brightness.

There was a large translucent arras, serving as some sort of partition, blocking out about a third of the tent. Animal motifs ran across its broad surface. And lining the walls of the tent were shelves filled with scrolls, transparent fabrics and tomes. He spotted three flowerpots and one lump of fine cotton that looked to be a beanbag of some kind.

Aleem was feeling a little self-conscious. He was filthy and smelled so badly he could tell. It felt wrong somehow to be in here as he presently was.

Aleem took the time to inspect his new body some more. There were cuts and bruises all over it. His ribs stuck out prominently, like dense contoured drawings. His stomach was ever so slightly distended. Aleem crossed his arms over his diaphragm and let out a low sigh.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

He could make out hushed whispers from behind the tapestry screen. It went on for a while.

“Come on in, Two-seventy-four,” Tanton called.

Aleem paused. Was that his name? Probably. He opened his mouth and closed it. After a moment he asked, “Is that… me?”

Someone made an exasperated sound.

“Yes, boy. That’s you.”

Aleem glanced back at Dwillo and then walked over the threshold. He headed for the arras, reaching for it, but found his hand passing right through. His step took him past it entirely, and he whirled back in shock. It was an illusion!

Someone cleared their throat, breaking Aleem out of his wide-eyed diversion. He bottled his excitement and turned to face them.

This part of the tent was mostly bare. A woman reclined on her elbow behind a very low circular table. The Brevet, presumably. To her right, Tanton sat on the floor, arms folded and a somewhat sour expression on his face. Muldrem sat behind them, her own face a mask.

The Brevet’s red hair was done up and decorated with oddly-shaped cowries. She wore a trim leather armour with black elaborate strappings, not the strange silvery thing he’d seen on some of the other soldiers. It covered the entirety of her body. And yet she looked unnaturally comfortable in it.

There was nothing particularly distinguishing about her that alluded to her identity. Red-haired woman with Unolrian features in black armour. That was half the continent’s elite.

Probably.

Vapour twirled out of a teacup on her table, which was otherwise empty. She watched Aleem with a lazy expression. Several seconds stretched out, and he almost started plucking at his pants. He scanned the room for anything that might constitute formal documentation. There wasn’t even so much as an actual table for working, to say nothing of writing materials.

“I received,” she finally said in a chronically monotonous voice, “a report about you earlier today. I was told that you were beaten to a bloody coma at the behest of one of the Vrior-Proven.” She leaned forward, cheek in her palm. “Can you confirm that?”

Aleem glanced at Tanton in confusion. “I lost my memories.” He wasn’t sure how to address the brevet. “…uh great Brevet.”

Muldrem snorted softly.

“Just Kulaan is fine, boy. So you cannot confirm the truth of this report?”

“No?”

“Is that how you answer questions?” Tanton spoke up. It didn’t sound like a reprimand, but it kinda was.

“I mean, yes. I cannot confirm.”

“I’m mandated to put that down as an outright denial of this report then.” Kulaan spoke in something akin to that dry-as-dust tone Aleem had always associated with jaded customer representatives. “Do you protest?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Wonderful, wonderful.” She made it sound like it really wasn’t wonderful. She craned her head towards Tanton. “Keep your pups in line. Don’t give me any more headaches.” She reached for her cup. “Now scram. Tea’s getting cold.”

He rose to his feet and bowed a shallow, perfunctory-looking thing in her general direction. Then he gestured at Muldrem and Aleem to follow.

The short time spent in Kulaan’s tent had spoilt Aleem. There was nothing redeeming about the dry air and searing heat outside. A horse-drawn carriage was waiting for them at the entrance. Not something for moving hay around this time. It might have been better to call it a wagon, but it was also hitched to one horse, and merely had awnings around its wooden frame. Aleem did a double take at the horse. That was one rather doped-up equine. It was huge. Muscles thick and bulging. What the hell?

Muldram walked over to the boys, who lowered their heads, chagrined as she spoke. She must have been giving them a firm talking to.

Tanton beckoned Dwillo over with a two-fingered curl. “I and Two-seventy-four will head back to the base,” he said. “Continue as planned. You have done well.”

“Sir,” Dwillo saluted, tapping his chest.

Tanton, turned to Aleem and gestured at the carriage. “Get in, boy. Sit there.”

Aleem obliged the man. The wagon had two opposite-facing wooden benches. There was an unobtrusive scent within, it was unfamiliar to him, however. Tanton entered in after Aleem and pounded against the backboard. The wagon jerked into motion, both passengers swaying as the vehicle jounced along.

The wagon’s awnings were folded away from what he supposed served as a window frame. There was only one of such, and it was on Tanton’s side of the wagon. Fortunately, however, it was wide enough to let in some more of that terribly warm afternoon breeze.

Aleem was tired. His body hurt all over, his migraine was getting worse, and he could really use some sleep. He rubbed his face. Aleem caught a whiff of himself and gagged. He wondered how Tanton, in his neat, deep-green robes, wasn’t already dry-heaving with his head out the window. Well, if the man was polite enough to say nothing, Aleem wouldn’t bring it up either.

Presently, the man sat across Aleem, watching him with those hawk-like eyes. It was a little unnerving and uncomfortable. There was still a slight scowl on his face. His clasped fingers were elegantly placed on his lap, and Aleem noticed now that there was a trio of rings on the fingers of Tanton’s left hand. Thumb, index and middle fingers, to be precise. The rings were thin and brown, polished to such an extent that they glimmered under the daylight. Aleem squinted. Those were spell-foci. And very expensive-looking ones at that. Most Mage-types wore them as a mark of status. Casting spells on Orig was no mean feat, and—

“Five hours,” Tanton finally said, pulling Aleem out of his head.

“Pardon?”

“You made me spend five hours of my day on an altercation between children. Five hours I won’t get back.”

Aleem lowered his gaze and held very still.

“Do you know how long this trip would be?”

“No, si—”

“Look at me, you useless jrjis guttersnipe!”

Aleem flinched, held his breath, looked the man in the eye.

“Two hours,” Tanton said, through gritted teeth. “And that’s just us getting into the Outpost. It’ll take me another two to return here. How many does that make in total?”

The hot breeze was not helping.

“If you make me repeat myself,” Tanton all but growled, “I’ll smack you so hard you remember your place.”

This fucking asshole. Aleem needed to be smart. But he really was running on fumes, and as much as he didn’t want to wear himself out playing ’docile little boy’, he knew it’d be very irresponsible to further annoy an already angry little man, who could very easily harm him. Unclenching his jaws, Aleem said, “Nine hours, sir.”

“Nine hours!” Tanton glared at him. “Do you have the slightest idea how busy I am?”

He could feel the exhaustion mutely coaxing him to make a reckless decision, but he knew better. “No.”

Aleem’s vision exploded into a lurid interplay of fulvous colours.

“No, ‘sir’!” the man bellowed.

Aleem had been slammed against the side of the carriage. His cheek stung from Tanton’s slap. Fortunately, the blow hadn’t been inflicted on his already bruised cheek.

“Say it!”

Aleem watched the man’s seething expression with a blank one on his face. This man didn’t need an excuse to hit him. From the little Aleem knew, Ontacreese had not been a bastion of human refinement or progressive mores. And in ‘Tales of Woe’, the man had never come across as a morally upright character. Did he enjoy this perhaps?

No, that felt too simplistic. It almost seemed as though Tanton were baiting Aleem. That didn’t feel right either. There was too much subtext Aleem was missing, and it annoyed him. Even more so than the slap had.

Aleem sat up. “It feels like you’ll hit me, no matter what I say.”

The man’s eye twitched. “Did you just talk back at me?”

Aleem pursed his lips. Rage sputtered within him. Sparks that knew how to pick their fights. How to bid their time. “No, sir.” It simply wasn’t wise to confront this man. “I misspoke.”

Undeniable relief passed over Tanton’s face, disappearing in an instant. The man schooled his features, settling back into a snooty scowl. “Then it would seem that a reeducation is in order.”

The carriage rattled and they swayed in their seats.

“You lost your memories—through acts of your own carelessness, mind you. Yet the fact remains that there is a role for me here. Yes.” He nodded to himself. “This is my duty.”

Aleem watched the man warily. The fuck was he going on about?

Tanton seemed to delight in Aleem’s uncertainty. With exaggerated care, he reached into the side of his robes and fished out a glossy package.

Aleem tamped down his curiosity. A stubborn part of him didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction. Tanton had already shown himself to be the sort to monologue even when not engaged. True to Aleem’s assessment, the man delved right into it.

“It won’t be enough to just tell you.” Tanton shook his head as he began unwrapping the package. Some sort of translucent film, it seemed, and small enough to be hidden behind a large enough fist. “Oh no, no. I will have to show it to you. Make you understand just what exactly it is you are.” He chuckled, a minatory and mirthless thing. “You think you have control over my day? You think you can just misbehave and have me drop everything I was doing to come and attend to you? You will understand.”

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Aleem glanced at the carriage door. He was worried. Tanton wouldn’t kill him, would he?

“My destiny is not to manage a dirty, thrice-cursed abomination like you. I am not your attendant. And you’re clearly in need of a reminder.” He unravelled the film to reveal a white stick and a tiny glass vial. The golden liquid on the inside sloshed merrily. Aleem recognised it. Wun-oil.

The carriage juddered. No, it wasn’t the carriage. Aleem looked down and saw his own hands, his body trembling.

Fear?

“You will follow instructions. You will not prove a nuisance. You will not embarrass me.”

There was a sudden, stifling air of urgency in Aleem’s lungs. He didn’t understand the sensation. But he knew that he had to leave here. Had to escape. Had to—

Two snaps of Tanton’s fingers, and ropes jumped out of the man’s sleeves, firmly binding Aleem in an instant.

Only after the impulse had passed, did he realise that he’d failed to dive out the door. The ropes tightened around his joints, preventing his limbs from so much as twitching.

Aleem’s mind had become a haze of turbulent foreboding. The air of urgency adapted quickly, urging Aleem to beg. To ask for forgiveness. His thoughts felt fractured and incoherent and alien. A whimper escaped his throat unbidden. A deep-seated dread had taken over. If he could thrash, he would have done so.

Tanton chuckled. He shook the vial, disturbing the sediments at the bottom of the clear oil. Then he picked up the stick, there was a rounded white swab at one end. “The natural order of things cannot be undone. To so brazenly meet my eye while you speak to me. To even dare retort. You must have grown scales and a halo while I was not looking.” The man shook his head. “I will teach you a lesson so thorough that even if you lost your mind, you would know to give respect to your betters.”

Beg him, something said in Aleem’s mind. Apologise, another thing screamed. Run, urged yet another. His heart was hammering in his chest, his head was spinning.

Tanton tilted the vial, letting some Wun-oil exude onto the swab, which was absorbent. Aleem watched amid shallow pants as the swab’s whiteness morphed into a bright shade of brown. The substance had a cloying smell reminiscent of eucalyptus and melted sugar.

“I increased the potency,” Tanton said. “You’ve long since outgrown your former dosage. That much is clear.” He dabbed at Aleem’s face, smearing the oil across his nose, cheeks and philtrum. His eyes rolled back into his head.

EXCRUCIATION.

A thousand needles, each one coated in raw anguish beforehand, stabbed arrhythmically into Aleem’s nostrils, into his lungs. He curled into a ball as he was inundated with a tidal wave of pain like he had never known.

He was screaming, making the motions of screaming, but no air, no sound came out of his lungs. His body juddered. His consciousness folded in on itself.