“...that’s not your name.”

“It is.” He whispered, his voice craggy with disuse. He was not used to speaking.

There was a moment’s panic as he briefly forgot what his name was. It took a moment to come back to him. “Jens Haeferson.” he repeated, awkwardly shifting the pack on his back.

Memory was tricky, especially memories the Masters had worked so hard to destroy. Unlike the others in his pride, Three had kept some of the memories alive in his mind over the years. It may have been due to his having been taken from his family when he was older than the others. Jens had been twelve years old when the Talent had manifested. And had he been at home with his family in Valnassfjord on the Northern Kjolte coast, he would have lived a quiet life and learned the Arts from local wizards in the town. He would have been a healer. A protector. Not the murderer the Masters had made him.

But, his family had been traders. They had come down from Brikkahr with a caravan selling goods to vendors in Hamuria’s capital city of Aurel. His father, and older brothers, had been wool merchants. Twelve years ago, he had been learning the trade alongside his father; now he knew next to nothing about anything beyond how to twist the forces of Nature, Herself, into a tool to kill for a spoiled man-child sitting on a golden throne in a city of yellow marble and polished brass.

The years he had spent learning to be a mage had been ones he would forever regret. The lessons in magic were, at first, a necessity, and the Masters had ensured that Jens would not kill himself by either over reaching his Talent, nor by using his abilities like a fool.

A year before the war had begun, Three had witnessed a fellow Pride member pull down half of the dueling arena upon herself, her opponent, and several dozen observers. Had the Maestrium not been in attendance in suitable numbers, more than just the unwary duelist would have been crushed by the collapsing western wall of the arena. Some who had the Talent could cast illusions. Some could move objects with their minds. A very few could heal most wounds, and diseases. Some could call forth the elements of the land to do their bidding.

Six, Five, and Four of the Pride in which he served were three of the deadliest Apprentices he had seen in his time at the Golden Tower. Six had been devastating all on his own. Five was an intelligent, tactical thinker, and he would out think his opponents. He would have studied harder, and beaten others by knowing more than they knew of the Art. Four would cast multiple spells in such rapid succession that Three had begun to wonder if she could actually cast several spells simultaneously, which he had been taught by the Masters was absurd, and impossible; but, if she didn’t, her speed was enough that it may as well have counted as such.

Six, however, was a disaster who walked like a man. Six was an earthquake, an avalanche of snow and ice, a lightning storm in high Summer, a forest fire in the dry season all in one unassuming teenaged package. Three had witnessed Six complete an assignment for a Master who asked him to “Clear the Field.”

Six had shattered the ground that had lay before them with an earthquake, and as the enemy cavalry was in disarray, Six had swept all life from the field of battle with a barrage of lightning and fire that left the field baked like ceramic; the remains of men and horses scoured of flesh, cloth, and hair, leaving slagged metal from buckles, armor and weapons to adorn blackened bones protruding from the terracotta surface.

Three, Jens, had later, after Six’s exhausted form had been carried from the field on a litter, heard several Masters discussing “the Nightmare,” as they stood over the sleeping form of Six. Whichever Royal Agent had procured Six for the Kuljat Amulajat, Jens knew, had to have been very well rewarded by the Crown. Possibly even been given their own title. Maybe they now had some small lands to lord over. Who could say?

Hamurian law stated that any talented child must become a ward of the King, and placed into the care of the Masters once they were discovered. Three remembered… Jens remembered, being seized. And then darkness took him as he and his family had been surrounded by guards.

Standing in front of the small inn in the town of Ostar, Jens had been interested in joining a caravan headed from the capital city back to his own lands. He had arrived almost a week prior, and had been on the verge of just striking North on his own. He didn’t think he could wait much longer after having traveled this far. The inn was as comfortable a place as any he had slept these last twelve years, but he now felt he was close enough to “home” that staying here, in Hamuria, was chafing at his soul.

Also, he spent so much effort in bargaining, and haggling for his stay, on the premise that he was a poor traveler, that if he stayed too much longer, the innkeeper and her staff would know he had lied. And not just small lies, either. He had funds in abundance, when they had fled, they each had stolen a large share of the money stored in the quartermasters’ safe. But to keep the trackers who may be looking for him, he had done everything he could to appear a lone, penniless man. A former soldier of Hamuria, his service term ended, and with Awards of High Service Tendered, by the Grace ofHis Royal Majesty, allowed to retire, with Honors(with papers to match his story). If ever pressed for what those honors may be, he had a medal to show them.

The Sun of Hamuria. A small gilt bronze pendant of a stylized sun, with seven glass gems representing the Gods of the Hamurian Plains, and a central gold bead, the heart of the Kingdom. He had found the medal on the battlefield after a particularly horrible press by the Velspian Army. He had no idea to whom the medal had belonged, but he had pocketed the thing, at the time thinking it was pretty. Now, however, he treasured it for how it might work to sell the idea of his new identity.

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The caravan had arrived this morning, and would be leaving tomorrow morning, and Jens wanted to get out of Hamuria as fast as he could. The Royal Roads had taken him swiftly from the army’s encampment near the Velspe border, and would take him out of Hamuria.

But, the well kept Royal Roads Hamuria was so famous for ended two days north of Ostar, at the pass that led into Kjolte. Jens needed a way to travel in Kjolte without getting lost. This caravan would take him half the distance he needed, safely. Now this man was being difficult. The wide, tattooed, burly man in front of him looked like he wanted to be a wall, blocking his progress.

“Cannot be. Try me again, boy!” His Kjolte accent was heavy.

Jens had only spoken his native Kjol sporadically, usually in language classes, over the last twelve years; he was not confident in his ability to speak it fluently to another native speaker. He would pretend he couldn’t, until he had to do otherwise. There were plenty of Blueskins, the Gorma, living in the south, and while he knew he would have suffered all sorts of degrading insults had he not been a part of the Sun Legions, he thought passing as a blue Hamurian traveling north for a job with distant family would be more believable than trying to convince anyone he was a Kjolte native returning home.

Jens squinted at the man, noting his very practical, very well made, and warm looking clothes. Mostly tan, and white leathers with beautiful red and green stitching in eye watering patterns Jens remembered from his childhood. Nothing like the very plain brown and gray woolens and layers of linens he now wore. The man’s boots were green dyed leather, with toes that curled up in the traditional northern style.

The Hamurian army, even their wizards, were dull birds, indeed, beside the people of Kjolte. Even the people of Akaba, to the west, wore more colors in a day than the average Hamurian saw in a lifetime.

The man laughed, contorting the blue serpents that were densely inked into his cheeks, nose, and forehead. “No. We already have three Jens on this route, you cannot be Jens too! Find another name, or another caravan.” he said dismissively, with laughter dissolving into snorts and wheezes as he leaned over in his mirth and grabbed the hitching post. Dancer, the horse Jens had taken with him from the army, turned from his slow chewing to watch the jackass chortle.

“KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF, JENS!!” The woman’s shout came from behind him, and he was startled into standing up straighter, and he began pulling heat in from the surrounding area to power a defensive burst of flame, the first syllables dancing on his tongue.

As he turned toward the shout, and now the sound of heavy footsteps as a woman came crunching across the frost brittle grass toward him. The older man had slumped to the ground with a grunt, and was heaving silent, almost wheezing, laughter.

He really amuses himself, Jens thought.

“I am Marna, and I am probably the one you want to speak with today. Hello, and you are?” She held out her right hand for him to take, blue stylized feathers inked into the skin on the back of that hand. He thought he should shake it… or, possibly… kiss the back of her hand? Should he bow? Etiquette was taught by the Masters, but he wasn't here as an Apprentice, and she wasn’t, from what he could tell, a noble woman, nor did she look like a wizard. Jens took her hand into both of his and lightly shook it, while bowing slightly over it. In his unfortunately low whisper, he said, “Pleased to meet you, Madam Marna, I am Jens Haeferson.”

“Oh!?” Marna looked both impressed and confused. “So formal! Well, at least someone in this world has manners.” She gave a dark look over his shoulder at the other Jens, who snorted again in laughter. “To clarify, I am the caravan Mistress, and if you would like space in this caravan, it will cost three clips a day. We will be stopping at every town between here and Brikkahr, it will take seventy days if nothing goes wrong. Your cost will cover food, water, tea in the morning and evening, and protection along the way. If you want to ride in a wagon, we can see if one of the merchants has room and is willing…”

Jens interrupted her, as politely as he could; “Madam Marna, I was hoping to work.” His whisper of a voice made her strain to hear him, and Jens had to repeat himself, “I am looking to earn my way North with the caravan, Madam.”

She looked at him, and simply raised an eyebrow. He found it insulting, and his face reddened. “I don’t know the lands we will travel in, but I have worked as a scout, and a soldier with the Royal Army.” He hated that he had to both lie about how dangerous an opponent he was, as well as exaggerate his having been a soldier; but this was his life now, and would be until he could get back home.

Marna tilted her head back and looked at Jens through slitted eyes, over the broad, blue tattooed cheeks, “How old are you, boy? I think I can still see you’re wet from your mother!”

Jens burst out laughing, as loud as he could, knowing this was a test. Such insults might make a teen boasting of being a man stomp and scream in wounded pride; but Jens had seen too many soldiers fail this basic temperament test to fall for it. “It’s not wet from MY mother you see on my cheeks!” It was crude. A calculated risk.

This made Marna bark out like a seal in brays of laughter. She leaned toward him, and said conversationally, “Okay, maybe you're not a baby, but I don’t need another guard for this trip.” She had lowered her voice, and had unconsciously started to match his whisper. “I can drop the fee to two copper clips a day, if you will do some jobs for me, or my people, when asked.”

It was his turn to slit his eyes and lean back to look at her askance. “What kind of jobs?”

She smiled then, knowing they were close to making a deal. “Start the cooking fires, fetch and carry for the cook. Maybe gather wood for the fires, deliver food to wagons and outriding guards.”

It was his turn to smile now, “One clip a day, to Brikkahr.”

“HA!” She shouted. “Jens Haeferson, welcome to my caravan! We leave in the morning.”

Jens held out four full copper coins. She looked at his hand, holding the coins, and back up to him. “Do you need change now?” Marna whispered.

Jens crooked a wide smile, “No. I can wait until we get to Brikkahr, if needed. What would I spend the four clips on while we ride?”

Marna gave him an appraising look, “Truth. You are staying here tonight at the inn?” He nodded. “Good. We leave after breakfast, once I can get all the merchants’ lazy asses to move.”

Jens just nodded; he knew he would be ready.