An inconspicuous wooden carriage creaked and groaned as it rolled along the packed dirt road. Inside sat a young man of 23 years. His eyes betrayed a sense of tiredness that only comes from too long spent on the road. His clothes, clearly expensive garments, made him stick out among the other occupants. They held signs of constant wear; dirt marred the cuffs and sweat stains clung on to the collar,

Four more men surrounded him. All of them had been packed into the carriage like tinned fish, left to sweat and choke in the stagnant air together. Of the five, four were common born. Three had chosen to pursue life in the border guard in the hopes of a better existence.

There, they had thought, a better life could be found. Free from the constant struggle for food and shelter, they would finally be able to survive through the gracious funding of the Imperial war chest.

Would they have to risk their lives? Perhaps, but they believed in their hearts that doing so would be a rare occasion. Among those garrisons they would be fed, armed and trained, protected by one another and living a life of comparable ease.

The fourth man, Bronn, was not of the same mind. He had an uneasy air about him, refusing to make conversation among the first three men. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed solely on the fifth and final man in the carriage; the one clad in expensive clothes, Art.

All five had 'volunteered' for duty in the Border Guard, at least officially they had. In truth, only those first three men had chosen to go.

"Those are some fine robes, boy." Bronn said, breaking the silence, "they might fetch a nice penny yet."

Art stared back at him and remained silent.

"What's the matter, boy? Did ya daddy tell you not ta speak with strangers? I can be nice..."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"..."

Bronn, sat opposite from Art, leant forward. His nose was now only a few inches away from Art's face in the cramped carriage.

"Four whole days travelling together in this shite wagon, dragged behind that Milton cunt and not a peep outta you. You oughta be more nice to me, lad. We're gonna be spending an awful lot more time together, ya know."

A toothy grin spread across his face as he spoke, it seemed unnatural, as if his mouth was too big for his face and all his features had been jumbled together in some lazy fashion.

The other three men stared at the interaction between Art and Bronn, their eyes flicking nervously back and forth between the two. Every time the latter broke the silence it felt like he was sucking the already limited air out of the carriage. His smile was... sickening.

Finally, the silence was interrupted by the sound of the carriage wheels squealing to a halt on the rough terrain, followed by Milton banging on the cabin wall.

The sound of heavy footsteps crunching on frosted ground wrapped around from the drivers seat to the rear doors. As they were yanked open, blades of the days final sunlight shone into the carriage and caused the occupants to shield their unadjusted eyes.

"Out! Come on you dogs, get out!" Milton shouted as he reached in and began dragging them into the light.

As he slowly got used to the evening sun Art looked out at his surroundings. There was not much in sight other than a low, sprawling inn. It spread out in the forest clearing, sheltered from the harsh winds by an encirclement of enormous redwood trees.

*Shit, I have no idea where I am.*

A growing sense of anxiety filled his chest as he realised that he was the furthest he had ever been from home, and if he were to run now, he would likely not survive through the night.

"We hold here tonight. My men need rest. As for you, find yourself a room with whatever coin you have. From tomorrow onward we'll be sleeping under the stars." Milton bolted the carriage doors shut as he spoke, then walked away. Art and the men hurried after him as he started towards the inviting warmth of the inn.

"You will settle yourselves and meet me in the bar, we have much to discuss of your futures in the guard. Oh, I should remind you now. All of you have so *graciously* pledged your lives to the protection of the Empire, so, should you choose to run now and abandon that duty... Well, my men and I will have no choice but to hang you for your treason."

He stared into Art's eyes as he said those final words.