by CP Bialois
Finished, Janessa grabbed her cloak, which had more hidden pockets sewn into it than most, and left the room and her friend in silence. Viola hated her for a brief moment for being a reminder of her greatest mistake. She just started out in magic and hadn’t yet understood that she needed to study each day. She believed she was above that. Her arrogance almost got both of them killed. If not for Janessa’s fast thinking… Viola took a deep breath and tried to relax.
She took a few minutes before she felt composed enough to open her spell book and begin studying. Viola then realized she wasn’t upset over being reminded of her previous mistake. Viola was upset and jealous of Janessa going to help her newest friend and future teacher. Shaking her head to help clear it, Viola focused on the difficult spell before her. She was overreacting, that was all there was to it.
*****
Lunch was the same tasteless soup Renard fed his fighters along with a hunk of cheese and bread. Many times Berek joked with the other fighters about how an army could survive on cheese and bread as their main ration. The friendly jesting between him and the other fighters wasn’t present that day. Everything was as normal as any other day as far as the rest were concerned, but Berek seemed to have his head in a fog. By then, everyone heard about his late night adventures and waited for him to be pulled aside by Renard. As a slave, he was given some leeway as were the others, but that ended with unexcused leaves and getting into fights with bandits.
In his own way, Renard thought he treated them very well. Most slaves in the world would be locked into chains by their masters with heavy iron collars around their necks. He did none of that. In fact, a branding mark burned into the back of their hands proved what they were, nothing else. Most responded well to his loose restrictions and those that didn’t learned just how good Renard was with his battle axe, if Fech didn’t teach them the lesson first.
Most of the fighters understood and didn’t feel any disdain for what Berek did the previous night and many thought Renard may let him off with a warning. Berek didn’t have a match and the need to work off some anxiety was obvious. He’d been the first human to ever best an ogre and lizard man in a three way match. The anxiety stemmed from the fact the few ogres and lizard men in the company were upset after losing members of their respective peoples. Simply put, the safest place for him had been outside the company boundaries.
Berek was well aware of their thoughts, both friendly and not so, but his thoughts were of a more personal nature. After he and his uncle left the two women by the city wall, they hadn’t exchanged more than a few words to each other. He hoped after a good night’s sleep Gilliam would forgive him enough to let him explain. When the morning sun rose overhead it appeared Berek gave his uncle too much credit as he hadn’t even seen the cleric since they returned to the company.
Thus far, Berek ate a few spoonfuls of the watered down chicken broth stew and bread. Part of him wished for any breakdown of the daily routine, for a match to help burn off some of his uneasiness. He wasn’t any closer to explaining how he came to have his abilities than he was when his father first asked him after he turned five years old. When one of the large men Renard paid to maintain order tapped him on the shoulder and motioned him to follow, Berek stood and obeyed without a sound. At least that broke up the monotony of the day.
Off in the distance, far enough away not to be seen but close enough to watch his nephew, Gilliam watched the young man stir his soup. He fought back the pangs of guilt gnawing at him without mercy. He spent most of the night questioning his own intentions as well as praying to Fallor for guidance. The lack of an answer to his prayers only caused him to question himself even more. He knew Berek, he‘d always been his favorite nephew. Something about the boy he felt made his special, to him, they shared an unspoken bond. That belief was strengthened when they met again a few years earlier.
Gilliam stood watching his nephew as he was led away to Renard’s quarters for what was expected to be the usual tongue lashing. The cleric let out a breath and retreated back into his tent. He sat on the makeshift cot he constructed himself from a small tree after they arrived. As much as he tried, Gilliam could only bring himself to look at the piece of parchment he’d been trying to write on for the last few hours. It began as a letter to his brother, Berek’s father, informing him about Berek’s situation as a slave. But for one reason or another he couldn’t bring himself to finish it.
Instead, Gilliam looked into himself for the reason behind his hesitation. The only answer presenting itself was his greatest fear. He struggled to believe someone in his family could be cold-blooded enough to send one of their own into this sort of fate. He clearly remembered how he was treated when knowledge of his becoming a cleric spread. If any of them had learned of Berek’s power…Gilliam shook his head in disbelief at the possibilities, but he was sure of the answer.
Reaching out, he crumpled the parchment and tossed it on the ground. Gilliam hated magic users. He’d been taught from an early age that they only took from the world, like a thief in the night. But his faith was one of neutrality; by its own definition he had no right to be judgmental. But what concerned him the most was he felt his nephew’s soul was at stake. From everything he ever heard about magic users, they had to constantly study their spells to memorize them. For whatever the reason, they were unable to retain the magic but Berek had no spell books or magic scrolls to study. The magic seemed to flow from him like a stream from a lake. Gilliam never heard of such a thing, he feared his nephew either traded his soul or was ensnared by some unseen evil. While he was sure either way was unwittingly done by the young man, Gilliam couldn’t leave him alone in such a time of need as that. He needed to follow his heart; if his suspicions were true then Berek had been abandoned enough. But did he have the strength to see it through to the end?
Renard sat at a large table inside his tent counting the profits from the previous day. Fech sat in the corner with the most shadows, though due to the bright day outside no shadow inside the pavilion was dark enough to conceal him. The gargoyle reported everything he saw, as was his normal routine when someone left the camp. He omitted the part about following Mern. His master wouldn’t care unless it led to something he could use. Instead, he explained he wanted to spread his wings and spotted the fighter and cleric by chance, which wasn’t a complete lie. Considering Berek left of his own accord Fech reasoned it to be a plausible excuse, a belief rewarded by his master’s warm gratitude and a squirrel as a treat. Never one to turn down a free meal, the gargoyle ate the squirrel in two bites then waited to hear the human’s story for himself. At least he was able to finish his breakfast before the events began.
One of the guards entered to inform Renard of Berek’s arrival then left to bring in the human. Fech often wondered about the dozen or so guards his master kept to maintain order. Taller than most humans, each stood nearly seven feet tall. He assumed they were a mixed breed from ogres or hill giants. Neither were known for their intelligence, but being part human gave Renard something to reason or bargain with. While not one to rate another’s appearance, Fech found them ugly, filthy beasts needing a haircut as much as a bath. But Fech was biased; he thought all non-gargoyles were ugly beasts and chuckled deep in his throat at the realization. His thoughts were interrupted by the human‘s entrance, but appearing bored with it all Fech went back to gnawing on a large bone while listening and watching for any trouble. Let them think he was just a mindless beast; it made things easier for him in the long run.
Renard finished putting the money away and turned to face the opening of his tent seconds before Berek entered with a guard behind him. Renard watched him for a moment before motioning for the guard to leave them. The guard obeyed, but not before giving Berek’s back a venomous glare.
Once the tent flap closed, Renard smiled at his best fighter. “You’ve had quite the adventure. Tell me, did you hope to escape or were you out for a simple walk?”
Though his tone was jovial, Renard’s eyes we
re intense. Why he was in such a good mood, Berek could only guess. “I wished to work off some tension, besides it wasn’t too safe for me in camp last night was it?”
Renard couldn’t help but smile at the implied jab; he was the one that made the final match to the death. “I’m glad to hear that’s all it was.” He poured himself a cup of mead; he couldn’t stand wine, and took a sip. “I give you and the others certain liberties; it’d be a shame if they had to be revoked due to a single rebellious action. As for your safety,” he took a deep swig, “I highly doubt fighting roving bandits is better than staying in camp.”
Berek paused, “If you say so. That was how I felt.” He wondered if happening upon the bandits was an accident. He was certain Renard didn’t want him dead that badly.
Renard smiled at the momentary pause, it was long enough to tell him the fighter wasn’t so sure of himself. He’ll expect for me to do something else. What a fool! Renard’s laugh echoed in his own mind, he so loved those games, a tactical mind was a wasteful thing without someone to match it against. “I’m glad we understand each other, Berek. It’d be a shame if you did something to get yourself killed so close to winning your freedom.” The shocked expression on Berek’s face was what Renard expected. All slaves wanted their freedom; it was just a matter of how to get it. “Another month, maybe two and the earnings you’ve brought me would match the price I paid for you. When that time comes, your brand will be removed.”
Two months? Could it really be that close? No, Berek forced himself to think clearly. He heard stories from those that were in the company before him. They told him about Renard’s brand of freedom. Each time a slave had been released, Renard’s pet gargoyle was spotted leaving the camp afterwards. Most believed the only way out was by killing Renard or the gargoyle when it began hunting them. “I doubt I cost you that much in gold, Master.” Renard’s smiled faltered at the tone in Berek’s voice and Fech dropped the bone he’d been chewing on, his interest piqued. Berek couldn’t help smiling as he continued. “But I look forward to that moment.”
Renard finished his mead and set his large cup on the table. He was no fool, but he realized, neither was Berek. “If you challenge me it will be on the field of honor. Where I fear you won’t be able to use your magic without reciprocations.” He chuckled. While he wasn’t wise in the ways of magic, Fech was. Berek’s confused expression smoothed when he realized how Renard knew. “Yes, my pet has informed me you used some powerful magic last night.” Renard’s smile faded as he stepped over to stand eye to eye with Berek, his eyes burning into the fighter’s. “You are mine until I decide otherwise, not before. Enjoy your lunch… slave.”
Berek hadn’t expected that, he forgot Fech must’ve spotted him the previous night. The gargoyle had a reputation for such things and it was inexcusable for Berek to forget about him. That was the only way the camp could’ve learned about the bandits. He’d been a fool; Renard would never allow him to buy his freedom now. Even the anger he felt at being called a slave outright didn’t spur him into action as it would’ve minutes earlier. When the tent flap closed behind him and he was led back to the mess line he felt as though Renard succeeded in breaking him.
The last thing he expected to see upon his return was his uncle waiting for him. “We need to talk.” Berek nodded as he sat down in his place, surprised his food was still there. Curious, he looked at Gilliam. In answer the cleric smiled, “I thought you might be back.” Though Gilliam’s smile was warm his eyes were filled with sorrow. Berek began to eat, unsure of what to expect.
Chapter 7
The sun burned bright and warm for it not being midday, bringing a smile to the young Halfling’s face. Janessa enjoyed being outside on days like those. So many interesting and exciting people and events were more likely during those days. Poor Viola had no idea what she was missing, studying her spell book. The thought that Janessa had all but ordered her friend to stay behind to study didn’t occur to her. Instead, Janessa enjoyed the air and the multitude of stands she passed. Janessa failed to notice a few of the despairing looks being sent her way, a Halfling wasn’t something peddlers anywhere wanted to see.
The grounds were even more crowded than the day before; it looked like every living person in Hope decided to shop for trinkets. At least, that's how Galin chose to interpret things while he finalized a sale for a silver necklace he crafted during the last winter. He was rather proud of it, he took the design from an Elven structure he saw when he was younger, before Elves and dwarves closed their borders to most outsiders. The Vergon Wars hadn’t been pleasant, except for the few that made money forging weapons during that time. After the Dark Elf cleric Vergon was slain, the Elves became the scapegoat for the sins of a single cleric. Only the dwarves remained reliable trading partners with them, creating an odd partnership considering neither race truly liked the other.
The design was a large circle representing Pyrain with five smaller circles inside representing each of the five dominant races: Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, and Minotaur. The Minotaur and Halflings were his own addition since the Halflings were like rabbits and always underfoot and the Minotaur controlled the large island chain off the eastern coast as well as a great deal of the mainland. Galin had put countless hours into finishing it, as each piece was about half the size of the smallest ring he’d ever seen.
Galin was putting his gold into a lockbox when a familiar voice caught his attention. “Anything new today, Galin?”
It took Galin a moment to recognize the voice and spot the small head mixed with his trinkets. He smiled while making sure her hands didn’t grab anything they shouldn’t. “Hello there lass, have any luck with the fights?”
Janessa’s face brightened, “Okay I guess. We won four hundred gold pieces. But I don’t have it with me; we put it in a safe place.”
Galin chuckled, leave it to a Halfling to behave like an innocent child with such things, but he knew better. “That’s good; it’s not wise to carry that much gold around here.”
Janessa smiled, “I’m here to help a friend move, and I just wanted to say hi.”
Galin watched her turn and walk away with a skip in her step before chuckling to himself and double checking everything was where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t everyday a Halfling lost interest in various objects made of silver. He guessed something or someone must’ve made an impression on her. Most likely it was Berek, if he remembered what her friend said the previous evening.
*****
The old mage wasn’t standing, but he wasn’t supported by anything he could detect. As was the case since he first entered the lair of the large red dragon to steal his treasure and power, Mern floated mere inches from the dragon’s snout. Its fetid breath engulfed him each time the dragon exhaled. He focused his thoughts and everything began coming back to him, each time was different from their first meeting. For the first time, he felt the weight of the smallish crystal orb in his right hand. The dragon orb confused him whenever he communicated with his master, like walking into a thick cloud with no sense of direction or landmarks to guide him.
For a moment, Mern hung there in front of the dragon, but it wasn’t real, not in the physical sense. That’s why the first time was so different, then he’d been held by the dragon’s magic where now it was his spectral form held by the dragon orb. The dragon’s breath enveloped him but he couldn’t feel or smell it, in many ways he thought it resembled death.
“Do not allow it to happen! You are mine and you will follow instructions. Understood, worm?” The voice boomed in Mern’s head without mercy.
The old mage couldn’t help but nod, he never understood how or why he did it, since that fateful day so long ago he could only obey as if he had no will of his own. How he’d obey was still up to him, in that he found contentment over the last hundred years.
“Then leave me. Remember the punishment for failure, worm.” The sound of the voice in Mern’s head was punishing, but nothing compared to what would hap
pen to him if he failed.
The feeling of floating left him as Mern was dragged back by hands caring little for his safety. He felt as though he’d been pulled through the fabric of time itself before a sudden, jarring shake caused his eyes to open violently.
For a moment he couldn’t move, each breath felt as though it was being taken for the first time. An unnamed fear held him in its embrace, not willing to let go. Finally, he dared to move his arm, against everything his mind and body told him, and was relieved the feeling of fear subsided. He took a deep breath to settle his shaken nerves before sitting straight in his seat. “Had it been a dream?” Mern muttered to himself, although he already knew the answer. The same question always came from his lips, and always there was the same answer. He glanced at his right hand to see it holding a grapefruit-sized black orb. “As dark as your heart, Master.” He smiled to himself, things were in motion that the great and powerful Fyrelynx didn’t like, or was it fear? Yes, he was certain the dragon was afraid, though he never planned to utter that opinion as it meant a most painful death at his master’s summoning. No, he’d bide his time. Perhaps his freedom and his master’s destruction were nearly at hand. Though enslaved as the dragon’s familiar, Mern’s mind was still his own and his own power increased overnight. His plan was progressing along as he foresaw.
A knock on the tent post interrupted his thoughts. “Mern? Are you ready? I’m here to help you move.” Janessa stuck her head in the tent to check on the mage.
Though shame wasn’t an emotion the old mage often felt, Mern felt relief wash over him as he wore his robes. His humility was forgotten at the sight of the Halfling. “Where’s Viola?” He failed to keep the surprise out of his voice despite a good try. Thankfully, the Halfling didn’t seem to notice. So much the better.
