- I have to speak with you sire – politely came off Ervel’s lips as Atef approached Muslin kiss. Ervel looked nonchalant, though just moments before he was asking around if anyone saw a shabby looking annoyance of a boy prowling the street and causing all sorts of trouble.

- Shouldda I care after last night? I need Erleia fast, where she?

- Inside, tending to duties.

- Whadda you mean with this word, duties?

- That is what I would love to talk over with you sire. May I take a tad of your time?

- Fast, fast, fast, stop yapping many big words and tell wha’ you want!?

The brimstone in Ervel’s eyes flashed, but he overcame the insolence knowing that it is best to indulge the boy’s nasty character. When he first laid eyes on the two of them, he thought the boy would be much more dimwitted. With simple pandering Ervel reckoned to keep him tame meanwhile earnestly exploring Aebor’s curiosities. It worked so well in the past with other sycophantic, dumb husbands and their cackling playthings but this time the whole play tasted like sour milk.

- You see the colors around us sire? So many beautiful colors and the wonderful patrons they attract. Well those powerful Jarat’s guests come to procure and their gold pouches usually weigh heavily and clink far. And as someone like you must have heard countless times, where there is a lot of gold, the dastardly tailor, smith, farmer, innkeeper; gods save us, even holy man seeks ways to relieve the powerful of their riches. So we come to our problem given that you and lady Erleia decided to travel light and I’m of humble and modest means.

- Ya without a coin between your butt cheeks? That’s wha you say?

- Vulgarly said but precisely correct. And our overnight stay in the fine establishment that is Muslin Kiss already put me in sizable debt. All for ingratiating myself with you and experiencing your benevolence in some distant future, of course. I have your best intentions in mind, you must know so by now?

Atef was struggling to comprehend most of the words as usual but the sniveling meaning he knew far too well. With every day the world above and below cascadingly grew to be the same in Atef’s mind.

- I nadda pulled your ear to put us in that smelly sleep-hole.

- The smell is the finest incense on this side of Kaon if it pleases sire. And although this might be solely my failing, I propose that we help each other out so that poor lady Erliea, who has already accepted to work our debt off at Muslin Kiss mind you sire, is not spent because of her good will and passion for helping.

- How now?

- I will set up nearby to ply my craft but you could help out by taking the offer of one acquaintance of mine. He stocks labor to his friends and he will definitely find something for you. We need to eat sire, and without joining our hands, little will we eat in such an expensive commerce hub as Jarat.

Atef wanted to say no and storm past him to find Erleia, pull her by the sleeve and take her to the light. He wanted it so badly; he even made the first step and then a chill surge up his spine reminded him of the pit. He still felt compelled to answer the call of duty. Like a mantra, a fallback instinct of a deranged blank slate, he felt compelled to follow the rule of: “work and you will be spared of pain.” It was the natural order of things for him, do as you are told, especially now when it makes sense, when it is hard to question Ervel’s logic.

- Do as ye’re told! Do as ye’re told! Again and again and you wouldda be fine! Do as ye’re told!

The echo sinisterly boomed in his head. The light dissipated behind his eyes and a vision of debt enslavement roared upward like a hellish landscape. The creed he was brought in by that inconsiderate monk a short while ago could not conceive a hell that sprawled in Atef’s mind. And it could consume her as well.

- Who is this boss?

- Follow me and I will introduce you to him. A gentleman without a peer in the realm!

*

He was lithe with unusually fat cheeks. Blood curdling, cold gaze emanated from his hazel eyes like a sick aura which calculates in an instant the worth of something. Eyebrows seemed to stand furrowed perpetually as if he is endlessly counting coins. Adorned with jewels of petty quality in such number that he looked richer than he actually was, he instilled an impression of a particularly successful scarecrow. His name was Ricimer. And he had a wide smile for Ervel. Now that Atef had a moment to think of it, it seemed to him that everyone had a wide smile for Ervel. Atef might have been the first one who could see past his slick suck up persona. Just last night he managed to reveal the real Ervel, and all it took was a proper beating and some bratty sulking after a long day of travelling.

- Is that the strong-willed, reputable youngster you spoke of? – rolled off Ricimer’s tongue in a serious manner after the smile suddenly evaporated. He spoke with a lisp, which should be a death sentence for a trader. Atef of course wasn’t aware of how devastating such a speech flaw can be for someone who makes a living from persuading people to sell low and buy high from him.

- He most definitely is! A fine gentleman, a proper lordling from… Where again sire?

- Uhm… Ertmund – said Atef nervously loud, referencing the only place bosses mentioned consistently enough for him to remember.

- That is right, Ertmund – proceeded Ervel – a fine, distant duchy known well for its wine. However, sir Atef has decided to travel light with his companion, experience the adventurous side of life and, I dare to posit, learn hands on how the simple, small folk live.

- And for that I have right the medicine as we’ve discussed. The little sir will be very satisfied, the job is relatively easy and the foreman owes me, so he will have no blisters on his lordly hands – said Ricimer without making eye contact with Atef. As if he wasn’t there, was inconsequential, a sack of turnips lying by Ervel’s side while he negotiates how to dispose of it.

- And wha kind of slog we spitballing here? – asked Atef drawing courage from his disdain for Ervel. If he wasn’t there, so disrespectfully deciding for him, he would never find the vigor to stand up to the likes of Ricimer.

- Very, very simple! Hay stacking! Recently a lot of grass has been mowed in the fields for fodder. You can admire all the gold strewn across from the walls at your leisure. You will help turn all that gold into bales. Does it suit your esteemed expectations…. lord – concluded the merchant with such bigoted and raspy emphasis on “lord” that Atef knew he considers him a despicable bug.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

- Pay? – Atef said not believing such a word could come out of his mouth. It was inconceivable for him to be paid, compensated, rewarded in any meaningful way for work. However, he saw enough coin sacks jiggle and treasure pass hands today that the impression of how the world works hardwired itself in him. This sudden realization made him eager. A shadow of a memory lurched forward and made his palm itch. His first coin, bestowed by Togrin. And he could have more, many more, shiny and worthy. He could see and feel the weight of his worth, right there on the plane of an open palm! And he could get something in return for his worth. A night at the smelly Muslin kiss. A good meal. A sweet for Erleia… He started dreaming of all the things that money could procure.

- Seven pilae a day and a silver grif once a week if the foreman likes your work! It will take at least three weeks to get the work done.

The first sentence Ricimer needed to repeat two times progressively louder before Atef snapped out of his trance adulating riches.

- That so! The boss man pays me at end of every day and I’ll work!

- That can be arranged – concluded Ervel dryly which made Atef almost laugh in triumph.

- Take him to Staslav then, he could get half a day’s work in if you hurry – concluded Ricimer and stepped away to tend to issues that actually mattered. Atef looked at the back of his neck, imagining a boulder dropping and snapping it. He felt a tingling of a brewing within him, a subtle promise that something similar will sooner or later definitely befall Ricimer. It felt like an infancy of a bloodlust, a budding disfigurement of what was good and pure in his soul. Ervel’s coarse, deliberate cough snapped him back to reality. He really wondered too much for his own good. He might miss something important in the future. The barber soothed him with the most generous smile he could muster and showed with his hand that it is time to take off.

*

The grayhead was pointing at him. This is all he will ever remember about the foreman, Staslav.

- Take the hook-nosed – he said nonchalantly and it reverberated in Atef’s ear like a rage of a thousand storms. The knights looked at him over the field and spurred the horses to a gentle trot. Atef took a step back, instinctively putting the pitchfork up, his only semblance of protection from the four riders who were quickly closing the distance.

- Lower the pitchfork lad! You are pointing it at the wrong people – said the one at the back of the group, the most lenient to foolishness of the peasants.

- Listen to your lord cur!

Atef was sure it was all over. The bosses from the mines changed their mind, the villagers from the Ice and Puke wedding cried to the world about his crime, Erleia’s owners lavished these people with the splendid bounty for his capture. He wanted to turn and run, but his legs grew roots. He knew everything was futile and he just stood there, frozen. Primordial fear reigned supreme and in its shattering grip, Atef’s gift overrode and took control.

- Drop it or I’ll run you over, you low piece of shite!

- Do what he says boy!

- We are not the enemy! It is out there. And unless you obey, I will slash open your gut and make an example out of you!

As the rough men in steel and mail surrounded him on their mighty horses, Atef’s mind blanked and finally gave in to the scraping sensation in his skull. His head throbbed with the pain of a countless gnawing bites, his body felt flabby and loose. He was an oblivious puppet in a dream state, acting under the control of this otherworldly being residing in him which called upon any trick that he already mastered in his adventures.

Magic roll: 72 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +2 to Illusion magic ; current level 4/50

Madness roll: 62 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +2 to madness ; current level 9/100

Secret roll: 61 out of 100 [5d20s] ; +1 to a mystery ; current level 8/100

As the riders rounded Atef on their steeds in a devilish, cruel game, suddenly the head of the most lenient one drooped down and he entered a momentary dream like state. He remembered the apple a stern castellan gave him when he cried after being bruised by his elder peers during practice. He remembered the time when he punched the teeth out of a peasant who was known to be a notorious wife beater. He remembered when he poured wine down the gullet of his severely wounded, dying friend. Those and many other visions blurred in a split-second inception in his slumber and he woke realizing that his horse made no more than a few steps in the circle of death.

- Maybe we should let this yellow-belly boy and just take someone else! – he said to his brothers in arms.

- The foreman clearly said he doesn’t need this one! – replied the leader scoffing the remark.

- He seems weak though – interjected the third.

- He can hold a pitchfork, he is strong enough – concluded the fourth. We need him to fill the ranks, nothing more.

- He’s just a kid, he will be a crack in the line – continued the lenient one.

- No one asked or cares what you think! If you are so concerned about the line, I’ll take two more to stand beside him and that is the end of it! Now grab him, pick the two you like and let’s go!

The desperate gambit that Atef’s gift concocted only bore further aggravation to Staslav as his finger unsurely picked out two more poor souls to be pressed into service. The chosen knew far better than Atef that disputing was not an option and obediently stepped forth, their eyes seething with hate for the cowardly wreck that sealed their fate. Atef, still groggy and unsure what is happening, stepped among them to start what he would later in life recall as the March of Hate.

The knights rode behind them, occasionally whipping the slowest, Atef. It was a small consolation for Vorod and Karuk who kept a steady pace, always at least a dozen steps ahead of the horses. The first lash landed on Atef’s back as the bell tolled.

- The muster!

- Faster you dogs, I will not be getting an earful from Daemas for your slowpoke gait!

The lash seared with pain across Atef’s back reminding him of the pit. And so, he was a slave again. A pitiful being, worthy of scorn. An automaton in the hands of cruel oppressors. They were brought back into the city as the bell clanged, seemingly not even close to stopping its racquet. As they waded through the streets, all the fantastic richness of color melded in Atef’s eyes into a sorrowful tunnel. The noise of the bell, the commenting and shouting of the citizenry suffused with the corridor of future punishment and the only thing Atef could notice and regret he didn’t uncover was the glimmer atop the temple of the Twin Suns. He would never uncover his secret, his destiny, he just had this final march towards retribution for his deeds. And while he was on it, Ervel’s eyes shadowed him from afar, perched on a terrace where he comfortably sat nursing the still prevalent pain in his ribs. His justice was met and he was thankful to the gods that all the co-conspirators in his plan played their roll perfectly.

*

The muster laid siege to a patch of land bared by the anxious, urgent organizing of a military force. An improvised forge was made to meet any repair needs of the cheaply made weapons which were to be used in the coming days. Since the recent clashes with the Moreian county, which bordered Jarat in the southwest, good quality steel was hard to come by. As the party approached, Atef could smell fire, red-hot metal, sweat with the tang of stress and fear; he could hear the clamor of hammers, clashing arms, shouting of orders; he could see the hurried scurrying of those brought against their will, the wary steps of those who were warriors but not sure of their odds in what was to come and the boastful pace of six other knights who were to lead this unknown expedition; and he could feel his own relief, panic and terrorizing uncertainty.

- You three to the left, fall in line – announced with a shout a man at arms at the gate.

Vorod was welcomed with a slap for failing to instantaneously realize what was asked of him. For that and opening his mouth to say something. Karuk grabbed him under the armpit and helped him press on while Atef followed closely not daring even look at the man at arms. The next guard they saw directed them to a gathering place where the earlier arrived have already been issued long spears and placed into line formation. Without a moment of respite, one of the Master of the muster’s many minions approached them and threw at their feet three hatchets and long, narrow trunks of ash.

- Sharpen them!