Rat’s head felt like that time he fought the largest boy in the orphanage for picking on one of the girls he was sweet on at the time.
While it seemed to be a good idea at the beginning, the first punch that connected with his jaw left him seeing double, and the consecutive kicks to his stomach made him puke twice and sore for days.
Of course, when the matrons asked, he said he “fell down the stairs” – even though the orphanage only had one floor.
Everyone knew what happened to tattletales.
Rat also noticed that he was hungry – which was normal these days. However, his stomach was being egged on by his nose, scenting out what his mind immediately identified as fresh bread.
His eyes shot open, sighting a wooden plate with a small loaf of bread and a bowl of water.
Both of his hands shot forward, one grabbing the bread and launching the poor loaf towards his mouth at desperate speed, the other propelling the precious water to his parched lips as fast as possible, without spilling the vital fluid.
He was immediately sitting from his lying down position, eyes closed, jaws churning.
It took him less than 20 seconds to inhale the fresh loaf of bread, small as it was, then choke it down with water to preserve his airways.
Then he took stock of where he was, and the food threatened to make its return, and not via the expected route.
Often the matrons at the orphanage would tell the children tales of slave traders fishing orphans from the streets, and how lucky they were to not end up at a dingy cellar with a collar around the neck and a life of hard labor in front of them.
Rat now remembered those lectures with horrifying vividness, since he was definitely within a dingy cellar, and unless he was at a barber shop, the thing around his neck was definitely a leather collar.
His chest started pumping and he began panicking.
“Calm down kid, you’re only making it worse for yourself” said an older male voice, off to his right.
Rat’s head snapped to the voice’s direction while his body scrambled in the opposite direction, much like a panicking spider.
“W-Who are you?! Where am I?! What’s going on?!” he cried out.
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Rat’s eyes landed on the owner of the voice.
In front of him sat an old man, his neck similarly in a leather collar which probably had the same design as his, tied to an iron loop set into the stone walls.
The man had to be at least fifty winters old, his grey hair messy and filthy, body clad in rags.
He looked much like the average beggar from the street, to Rat.
The old beggar sighed, leveling a tired stare at him.
“Stop shouting – men in our position are supposed to shut up and do as their told, and do it as quietly as possible. I’ve been awake a day longer than you and our new owners are not as kind as they might seem.”
Rat’s mind went into overdrive, raw panic replaced by actual dread reinforced by actual information now.
“Is that it? Am I a gods-damned slave now? Am I going to die like a dog while breaking my back in some light-forsaken mine? All I did was stealing a piece of damn fruit!”
The old man let out a sigh – “Consider yourself lucky – in other places they simply chop off the hand that did the stealing and don’t bother with helping you stop the bleeding. At least a slave gets to eat regularly for the most part.”
Anger took the place of Rat’s dread at the man’s words.
“That’s easy for you to say, old man! I’m still young, I just turned 17! I don’t want to be a slave!”
The man simply sighed, then stared the youth right in the eyes, before answering in a mocking tone;
“Is that so? And what will you do, my lord? Perhaps lead an army to break the undead front? Maybe marry the Holy Emperor’s princess daughter and live happily ever after in the lap of luxury? What shiny bright future is waiting for you, mister ‘I steal to eat’, lecturing me from your high horse? At the very least, I did honest begging – relying on people’s mercy and kindness is better than taking from them in my book.”
Rat simply shut up.
He hadn’t a trade.
He had no education, or any special skill.
He didn’t have any family to take him, or land to farm.
He barely owned the clothes he wore.
Perhaps this was all he’d amount to in the end, just another slave building a lording’s summer estate in some gods-forsaken valley, only to trip and break his neck after years of hard labor.
The two’s discourse was interrupted by a clanging noise from the metal door on the opposite side of the room they were in.
The room itself was empty, save for a straw floor and a single illumination globe set directly above the door itself.
The man who entered through the opening door though, filled the whole space with his presence.
A large man, towering at least 1.95 meters in height, muscle-bound and with a club at his hip, he simply looked at the pair and barked out a few words.
“Up, Eyes forward, Quiet, Now.”
It took the old man no time to comply and stand at an approximation of attention
The still shaken Rat however, delayed a few precious seconds before scrabbling to his feet and imitating the old man with much less practice.
The large man strode towards them with purpose and without warning, planted a fist right into Rat’s stomach, through the diaphragm.
Rat instantly folded, and met his earlier meal again.
“UP!” barked the assailant – “UP!”
Rat’s neck burned around the collar, and he shot up with teary eyes.
The tall man looked up the pair, and addressed them:
“This time, you receive instruction. Next time, no food for three days. Disobey again and you will die like the dogs you are.”