“Tell me their names…” said Llethryn calmly, his hand clutched as magic tore into the she-wolf’s body. “Reveal to me the conspirators, and your suffering will end.”

Teeth gritted, blood poured between the gaps as Giana valiantly resisted. She felt the Great Druid’s fingers pinch the air, attempting to pluck out the information he sought that she held hidden. She would not give them up! Even as Llethryn asked again and again, pinched harder and harder, she fought him at every attempt.

“N-nay!” she barked, yelping in agony. “Th-thou shalt not know!” The silver shackles that bound her to the stone table had made her weak to magic, made her vulnerable; her willpower was not so easily shaken.

Llethryn cackled as he continued to increase the pain, Giana’s screams almost drowning him out. “I do despise your kind,” he said. “Your arrogance, your disobedience, your delusions—the cause of all your troubles. Your esoteric speech, that prattled nonsense.” He hovered around the captured wolf, chained down somewhere deep beneath Llethryn’s temple. Her cries went unheard by anyone above, the torture room sealed by a large door. Darkness surrounded them both, a thin haze from torch fires sullied the air and bloomed ominously in each corner. “My patience wears thin,” he mentioned. “This will be the last time I ask. So indulge me, for your sake.”

More pain, and more screams! After many hours, Giana could not take much more. In each calm interval, where the agony ended, and her mind released, she prayed to her moon god, Luna, for whatever salvation it could offer. She begged for the resolve to endure and withhold her secrets—many lives depended on her tongue remaining silent.

Singed fur, charred flesh, cracked bones and ripped muscles. She was dying. No amount of reassurance from her torturer would convince her she would live, if only she spoke the names he wanted to know. She was committed to take that secrets to the grave, become a martyr, and one day, when her people are finally free, be canonised and remembered for all time. As a hero, a saint. An inspiration.

“Saint Giana,” she whispered, a smile on her bloodied lips. The idea of being a saint made the suffering fade away, and her soul was at ease. She had achieved salvation of the spirit. The smiling she-wolf appeared at peace in spite of her injuries, as if she no longer felt the anguish.

For a moment, it threw Llethryn for a loop. “What did you say?” he reacted, eyebrow raised. Confused, Llethryn quickly realised it was another example of the she-wolf’s religiosity, her psychological remedy to the torturous treatment. He began to laugh. “Ah-ha-ha-ha. That will not save you. Know that it, too, will die, in time, like the rest of your pitiful civilisation. The Emerald Moon is no god. It will bend to our—my—will again!”

The Supreme Leader’s laughter was interrupted by the spluttered chortles of Giana. His face clenched tight as her sound overtook his, the room swirling instead with her cackles. Rage boiled up through him, and he had heard quite enough.

Llethryn pulled up both hands and clawed his fingers into the air. As they curled towards the palm, magic pulled at the she-wolf’s head. The fur, and flesh tore away, blood trailed after, the skull broken into tiny pieces. Facial muscles, tongue and other useless parts fluttered away with them, cast against the back wall and into a discarded pile of gore. The brain, however, with eyes and spine still attached, remained helpless on the stone table.

He slid the fingers of one hand beneath the wet organ, holding it carefully. The precious brain sat like a ripe fruit waiting to be opened and its seeds extracted. With covetous green eyes, Llethryn beheld it in all its splendour, stroking the rippled surface. Before the soul of Giana could leave her body and return to The Void, Llethryn concentrated. In her final moment, no longer able to resist his power, Giana’s memories were defenceless against thieves; death would quickly abscond with them in the blink of an eye.

As a faint blip, like a distant whisper on the wind, a single name had been revealed to Llethryn…

* * * * *

The marketplace was fortunately not too far from the north gate, so I wouldn’t have to suffer Haryn’s whimpering for long; and had a good view of Llethryn’s temple, that auspicious . He rubbed his sore face all the way down the main road.

“Bloody cow!” he grumbled quietly, nursing his face.

“Oh, come on now, it wasn’t that hard of a slap,” I told him, holding back a chuckle. “Besides, you know the rules: no weapons inside the city.”

“They get to have them,” he grumbled some more. “Hardly seems fair to me.” He was only a few years younger than me, but he sounded more like a child—one just entering his rebellious, easily influenced age. I could only shake my head.

The stags are our masters for a reason. Much like how the Emerald Moon created the Beastfolk, so too did the Great Druids create us, humans. It is a hierarchy, with everything below owing reverence to what is above. The Emerald Moon is at the very top, the Stags just below; and so on and so forth. The Beastfolk worship the Emerald Moon; humans, therefore, must worship the Great Druids—both have the power to create. Both are like gods.

However, Haryn would never see it that way.

I looked at the clay tablet again, to refresh my mind of the list. Flour, twine, salt, and butter—a simple enough list to fulfil. If only Grom hadn’t been bundled away to the lumber mill, he could have done this for me while I spent some quality time with my beloved Eloris.

But, no. Here I am, instead, navigating the bustle of the market, ears wrought but the whining of my dear friend Haryn.

The salt was the easiest commodity to find, since stags enjoyed licking blocks of the stuff, for reasons my little human brain could not fathom. With the size differences between the stags and the other races, it was fortunate that these blocks came in appropriate sizes; I approached the stall and purchased one of the smaller blocks, about double the size of my fist. It would easily last for a couple of months cooking.

Haryn, who had finally stopped moping, joined in with the browsing of the stalls. As I completed my purchase of the salt, I saw him wander away to the middle of the market square. “I’m going to see if there’s a stoat who will fix the straps of my sandals—they’re starting to fray,” he told me, shooting off before I could respond.

I handed the stall-keeper one of the stone coins from my purse in lieu of payment, and claimed the first item of the list. It was then I realised I had neglected a sack of some kind to carry all the items I would purchase. Oh, well. I should add that to the list, for my own convenience. In the meantime, the salt block would just have to be hand-held. Next up, the twine—another common, easily acquired item. Thankfully, stoats provided such a thing, too, so I stalked Haryn through the market.

There were many people that day, of each race who busied themselves between the various stalls, purchasing their daily needs and commodities. Most, if not all, were slaves, like me; only the stags were privileged enough to be free citizens; the crows were somewhere in the middle, neither free nor dominated. Honestly, those black-feathers people were stranger than the wolves, with their strange speech and interests.

A tiered stall of haberdashery sold by a small family of stoats caught my eye. On the top tier, just below head height, was the spool of twine I needed. The stall’s dwarfish keeper climbed a ladder to meet me face to face. “What’s yer lookin’ fer?” she asked in a harsh yet chipper voice.

“Just a roll of flax, please,” I asked, picking one up. The stoat twiddled her nose as she confirmed my purchase, her whiskers glinting in the late-afternoon sun. The coin was nearly as big as one of her hands, so I saved her the effort to heft it and placed it flat on her tier of the sturdily-built stall.

With both hands now laden with products, I really needed something to help carry it all—and the rest. I turned around to locate a seller of baskets. But what I saw first was Haryn speaking with an unknown wolf dressed in concealing robes. They often wore such garb, I simply thought it odd for such a warm day. I maintained an eye on them while I bought a small weaved basket to haul by goods., then went to join them.

“…I wish I knew more, Brother,” Haryn was heard saying as I approached. “I’m sure she’ll… Oh, Armand? You done yet?”

“Almost,” I replied. “Who’s your friend here?” The wolf male shifted uncomfortably under his dusty grey robe, my presence having unnerved him somewhat.

“Oh, him?” said Haryn with a slight pause. “He’s Dectus—one of them Moon Priests.”

I greeted the priest, but received no greeting back, just a mumbled nod.

“I must away,” Dectus spoke hastily. “Thou speaketh with me in the morrow…” And with that, he took off. Wolves were a bizarre bunch, and this Moon Priest class of theirs even more so. His swift retreat made me feel like I perturbed him, for whatever reason; his look back at us seemed more keen on Haryn than myself.

“What was that about?” I implored my friend.

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He simply replied, “Nothing. Just … Beastfolk stuff, you know.”

“That’s the thing: I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”

“Just religion,” enlightened Haryn, rather dismissive. “You know how they’re like.” I never knew him to be the faithful sort—his lack of respect for the Great Druids was evidence of that. Was he worshipping the Emerald Moon, like they do? What next, trying to learn magic? Sometimes I think he’s just trying to fit in with them. To what end, though, I could not tell. “It’s starting to get crowded, you should finish your shopping.”

I never liked being pushed into haste, but the sooner I completed this task, the soon I could settle down with an ale in my hand.

The flour was located at a bakery at the edge of the market, a single-storey stucco building which teemed with customers. They bundled themselves at the open doorway, their arms hoisted high with stone coins at the ready. A pair of stag guards were fortunately there to manage the rabble, their presence alone enough to prevent pushing and shoving.

When I finally made it close to be served, my coin was taken, and in return, I was given a smaller parcel of flour than I expected. I did not want to complain—that would have only attract trouble for me—so I simply accepted it, and moved on. There must have been a shortage, which was an uncommon occurrence; but it still happens from time to time. I was glad there was any at all.

Into the basket the flour went, and onward next door to the dairy shop. The smell of fresh cheese and milk combined with the wheat scent to make a wonderful aroma that made visiting the market so enjoyable. If you couldn’t afford food, at least you could come here to enjoy the smell instead.

I checked in on my funds. There were still enough coins for the butter, and anything else I would like. As tempting as it was to blow all of our monthly allowance—on ale, for example—it would not be fair on Eloris. She liked to spend a little on herself each month, like a new colourful ribbon to tame her fiery hair; I liked how happy it made her, regardless of what she wore, new or old. She was beautiful either way.

Then again, it had been almost a month since I last tasted ale. Best to remind myself of its flavour before I forget it entirely.

We normally bought only a small portion of butter, but since I promised Grom some of Eloris’ meal rolls, she would be needing much more. I purchased two small blocks, each individually wrapped in a huge leaf. The leaves were a nice addition at no extra cost, and would be a useful wrap for the rolls once they are made.

With the list completed, it was time to relocate Haryn and get this all home before the butter melted all over my new basket. I found him sat alone on a rock near a stone obelisk topped by a small unlit brazier, close to the market’s drinking fountain. Surprisingly, he did not appear to be moping; he had a great sadness about him.

“All done,” I told him. Haryn did not respond. “What’s wrong with you now? Did she come back to red your other cheek?”

The young man thrust himself up and walked away. “Nothing you’d care about,” he huffed.

Clearly, something had made him upset; and it was most likely not that one gate guard. I never liked seeing my friend sad, and my joke had only made things worse. “Okay, okay. I apologise—I do care. About you. Why don’t you talk to me?”

“Ugh, fine,” Haryn relented. “Dectus… A friend of his has gone missing, a very important friend.”

“O-oh… I’m sorry to hear that.” Now I felt a fool. People went missing all the time, but that did not mean it was never sad to hear. It was almost exclusively slaves who disappeared, which is not too surprising, in all honesty. “I take it you are going to search for them?” Haryn’s shake of the head shocked me.

“No. Dectus and the others believe her dead—murdered.”

“Murdered?!” Now things got curious. Disappearances were one thing, but murder? We may have been slaves, but killing us was still considered a crime—given insufficient evidence for any capital offence. “A-are you so certain?”

“Of course we’re certain! She was murdered, and they killed her!”

“Who killed her?”

“Oh, you know damn-well who.”

I couldn’t fathom the Supreme Leader—or any other Great Druid—to outright kill a slave for seemingly no reason at all. The lesser stags, maybe. But our great masters surely had better things to be doing than murdering slaves for fun; Llethryn not only had Eox to manage, but the Druid Council, too. It would have been both apropos but inappropriate for me to suggest that Dectus’ friend may have done something…treacherous, to earn themselves an execution charge. But that would only have upset Haryn more, maybe even angered him. I did not want to do that.

While it was definitely a long-shot, I proposed he and Dectus go see the city’s proctor and inform him of the murder, to make a record of it, at the very least. The suggestion was rejected the moment it left my lips. “Nothing will get done if you don’t.”

“Nothing will get done at all,” said Haryn, “What makes you think the Proctor will even care about a murdered slave?” He took of, leaving me behind. Following him would not have improved the situation, he needed time to process what had happened. I though it best I went home and let Haryn deal with it his own way.

As I began to walk away from the market, I felt the sharp downward jab of a finger on the crown of my head. “You. Armand, is it?” a grating voice asked. It was one of Kertzikos’ men, a stag from the fifth foot-group. The orichalcum band around the base of the right antler was marked with his military rank—three horizontal lines.

I hoped he was not there to pull me away for some unannounced drill or whatever. Thankfully it was not. “Yes, I am, master.” I responded, with a salute. “How may I serve?”

“The Commander sent me to find you. You are needed first thing next dawn, in the barracks for training fresh warriors. Don’t be late!”

I saluted the stag again, and he proceeded on with his day. The sun was starting to fall down to the horizon, the night creeping in from the west. I took my shopping back home before I was caught out past curfew.

* * * * *

Eloris was busy sweeping the interior of our home when I returned with the shopping. She had not noticed me arrive, and so I ceased the opportunity to sneak up behind her and surprise her.

“Eeek!” Her squeal was adorable as I wrapped an arm around her waist. “Oh, Armand!” she chided, giving me a playful slap to the chest. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“Heh-heh. Not at all. I love hearing that sound you just made—you are my little mouse.” I received another limp slap, then a long kiss on the lips. My sly attack had worked!

“Mouse, eh? And what would that make you, my cat or owl?”

“Ah, most defiantly the owl; I like their sounds, too.” My lips puckered and I mimicked an owl’s hoot. It was another ruse. As Eloris giggled at my silliness, I came in swift, just like an owl, and snatched another kiss from my mousy prey. We embraced tightly, our arms coiled around each other’s sides. She had just eaten some wild shawberries, I could taste it still on her tongue. Must have enjoyed them while foraging for sage.

I wanted that kiss to last forever—I loved the taste of shawberries. But, alas, it was cut short by the theft of my basket of market goods. “I see you got everything,” Eloris noted. “And something else… Is this basket the only thing you got yourself? I couldn’t find any ale on your breath.”

She did not believe me when I told her I forewent a drink, or that Haryn was not in the mood for one either. I dropped the still mostly full coin purse into the basket. “There…” I said, “not a single one wasted.”

Eloris rolled her eyes and made her way back inside our home, her long hair kicked up by a gust of wind. I went in after her, to help unload the basket as any man should do for his beloved wife.

The interior of our hovel was cramped, but big enough for our needs. We had a straw-laid bed to sleep on, with thick blanket of just to cover us; a small fire pit in the centre for heat and cooking, with a couple of wooden bowls to eat from. Strung overhead was a single line for drying clothes, as well as herbs. A box next to the bed was where most of our clothes were stored. All in all, it was not much, but plenty enough for a pair of slaves.

I slunk around Eloris and helped her store the salt block upon a shelf slightly beyond her reach. She was adamant about doing it all by herself, but I insisted on lending a hand. While she placed the butter into a small hole dug into the floor, for cold food storage, I took the flour and set it upon one of the ceiling rafters so no actual mice could get at it. The last thing we needed was those little vermin to make us go hungry while they fatten themselves on our food.

“How was the market?” asked Eloris.

“Normal, I guess. Why?”

She went quiet for a moment, long enough to notice something bad had happened. “Th-there was another execution yesterday,” Eloris said with a shudder. “Another wolf. And a dragon, too.”

I knew then why she sounded so frightened. “Oh dear. They didn’t… You know…” Eloris did not want to answer me, and neither did I. Whenever dragons were involved in an execution, it was never a pretty sight. Llethryn preferred to make a spectacle of the whole thing, to serve as an effective deterrent—he would force the dragon to eat the other criminal. I hear other Great Druids use dragons differently, but I think Llethryn’s method is the worst.

I would never want that to happen to me.

There was no comforting response for me to give. So, instead, I held Eloris close and hugged her; she knew everything would be alright, I was there to protect her.

“I-I think I’m going to bed now,” Eloris stated, her voice quivering slightly.

Though Grom would be expecting meat rolls the next day, I was not willing to push Eloris into making preparing the pastry, not while she is not feeling up to it. I finished putting away the twine, setting the basket by the door, and joined her in the bed. We both stripped down to our undergarments and rested close to one another. The blanket was thrown over us, and the heat from our skin warmed us up nicely.

She fell asleep first, as usual. Her day was usually busy with foraging, cleaning, washing, and other housekeeping tasks, so she was understandably tired. My journey back home to Eox was also tiring, but it was hardly comparable. She worked hard to keep a home for us, and I worked hard ensuring I came back to it and her alive. We had little choice in the work we had to do, we simply got on with it. At least, at the end of the day, we would have time left for each other’s leisure.

I felt my eyes get heavier as the orange glow of the setting sun dimmed under the crack of the door. The scant light set Eloris’ hair ablaze with radiance, her red hair like an inferno frozen in time. It made her look even more beautiful. Her soft pale skin blessed with a halo from the last sunlight. It proved to me just how lucky I was to have her, to have someone worthy fighting tooth and nail to come back to; I worshipped her almost as much as Llethryn. Dare I say, even more?

Darkness enveloped the home, and my eyes finally closed shut. The last thing I saw—the only thing I want to see—was that little smile on Eloris’ face as she slept. I put an arm over her and faded off to sleep with her.