Martin didn’t get to see much of what was the real final test for Adam, he had his own issues. Namely, the man that was keeping him from rushing to help the boys. He scowled at the black hearted shit stain that the duke employed for the darker side of his needs, Thomas Ubuyama. The man’s returning smile was as bright as it was cold.
Martin recollected the past few minutes. He’d had enough time to warn Adam of the approaching slavers, but Thomas had appeared as soon as he reached for a weapon. With the appearance of the duke’s dark enforcer, Martin already knew that the current situation was by design. DeVille must have suspected that he wouldn’t push the boys hard enough for a real test, and sent the boogey man to follow through on what he wanted. Unfortunately, Thomas had no sense of too far. Or morals.
“Cheer up, Martin. Your boys will probably live. And if the big, bad slavers capture them, then I’ve got a reason to help.”
That was just like the man. Set things up in such a way that Martin and the boys would be forced to beg him for help, thus allowing him to do the thing he loved most. Killing. “How long have you been planning this one?” Martin was taking a bit of a chance, but he couldn’t stop himself. Anger and fear did strange things to a man.
“Growing bold in your advancing years, eh?”
“Just answer the question,” he growled. Pushing Thomas was a stupid decision, but he needed to know if any secrets had been exposed.
“Something I should be worried about?” Briefly the man seemed to exude shadows, growing larger, darker. Then it was past, and his smile returned. “I smell secrets, but I don’t care. I spotted you letting the boy fight his way through the forest this morning, and set up this little test. The timing was a little off though, the slavers were about two minutes late. Just can’t get good help these days.”
Martin chanced a glance at the brewing mess in the clearing, just in time to see Adam down the orc, and then lose his knives. Thomas, of course, noticed and voiced his own opinion of the event. “Shoddy knife work. Only amateurs lose blades like that and don’t have enough backups to keep going.”
“He is an amateur. Only been fighting for a couple of weeks,” Martin snapped back defensively.
“Hmm, almost passable then. Probably just lax training.”
Martin almost responded again, but caught the sly grin. Thomas was baiting him. He clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt. Eventually he managed to swallow his pride, and focus on what was important. “He’s killed one of them, they’ll never let him go without vengeance for that.”
Thomas smirked. “You’d think that, but these particular slavers are a bit more forward thinking than you might expect. They’ll threaten to kill him, but in reality they’ll just test his fortitude and skills a bit. A little fighting, a little torture. Really, it’s quite the effective method for making monsters to sell to the fighting pits.”
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He sounded like he admired them to Martin, so he pointed that out.
“In a way I do. It’s an efficient way of refining their merchandise into a more valuable product. But that is a discussion for another time. I won’t let you interfere in this fight, but if you want your boys to live beyond this one, maybe you should take care of that.” Thomas pointed through the trees at a group of figures approaching through the trees. They were still quite a ways off, but they were heading right for them.
Martin sighed. A set up indeed. “Let me guess. That’s the rest of the slaver’s band?”
“Well, of course. How else are you going to entertain yourself while the boy fights for their lives?”
He wanted to be angrier, he really did, but he just couldn’t summon the energy. Thomas was a monster, but he was a monster on a leash. The duke gave him his orders, and he executed them as he wanted to. Martin had heard the rumors, but until that moment he hadn’t believed them. The duke liked that Thomas went overboard on every mission. The man scared people; instilled a sense of trepidation in those that went against the DeVilles. He was a tool of ruthlessness, and the duke wielded him with skill and precision.
It wasn’t Thomas that was making him tired. It was the duke. For years he had respected the man. Martin had saved his life not just because he was his master at the time, but also because he thought the man was worth saving. He’d earned his freedom, but he stayed employed by DeVille. He wanted to see how far the man could go. He realized now that he had had a false impression of the man. He thought he was a good man forced to employ people like Thomas through necessity. However, since Adam had shown up, he’d seen a different side to the man. A ruthless need to be more. He might not know the details, but he still knew where the man was trying to go. He wanted to be king, not because he wanted to better people’s lives, but because he thought he was better than everyone else.
Frustration and disgust welled up within him. He wanted to say that he was done serving a man like Duke Quentin Roberts Westbrook DeVille, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the necessary requirements to break away. He was a follower, not a leader. He didn’t have the drive, the skill, or the power to strike out on his own, and without the duke’s good word he couldn’t find work anywhere else in the same line. Hells, even with the duke’s recommendation a number of nobles wouldn’t hire him as he could be an agent, and attempting to hide his relationship to the duke would only make him more suspicious.
He thought over the last few weeks, and his spine firmed up. He stood tall, remembering his new goal. He would get Adam out the other side whole. He might have to drag the boy kicking and screaming, but he would get it done. No matter the cost. He refused to see another child forced into the life he led.
Tapping the hilt of his short sword, Martin glared at Thomas. “Fine, I’ll take out the trash, but if those boys die it’s on your head.”
Thomas just laughed. “Don’t worry, old man. One way or another, the boy will make it through today.” Shadows rolled up and swallowed the man before Martin could respond.
Martin knew the man was still nearby, but he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of arguing with an invisible asshole. Instead, he drew his blade and stalked through the forest. In a way, he wanted to thank the man. Before his parting shot, Martin had been feeling sorry for himself. Now, he was too angry to feel bad about anything at all.
All he needed now was something to hit. For the first time, he regretted his choice of weapon. A great sword, or better yet a hammer or axe, would have been so much more satisfying to use against a group of slavers. If there was ever a group of people that no one ever felt bad about murdering in as brutal a fashion as could be devised, it was slavers. And Martin was itching to test that theory out.