ã€ŠThe Colour of Steelã€‹


 Icy

    Coins clinked against the countertop. ¡°A week for six iron.¡± On the customer side of the counter stood a thin man. His skin was tanned by days riding on the front bench of the wagon that could be seen through the front glass windows of the trading post. The rope-raw hands pushed the coins towards the young boy who stood on the other side of the counter, who held a firm smile upon his face.

    ¡°For three wagons of filled wine barrels? Vey be damned. That wouldn¡¯t even cover the cost of the guards we¡¯d need to hire.¡± The boy snarked. ¡°You¡¯re not exactly discreet about what you¡¯re carrying. Look,¡± The boy pointed out the windows to the wagon, ¡°Any merchant worth their salt ¨C or wine ¨C would know to pull their wagon through the alleyway marked Customers and not leave their wares on the street for every urchin to poke through.¡±

    The man stood silent, whatever thought he had next died in his throat as his mind slowly processed the boys words. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry?¡± He was obviously confused. Poor man. He wouldn¡¯t last long in the business.

    ¡°You should be. Now every petty thief in this town and the next knows that barrels of wine will be stored in our warehouse now. Twelve iron for a week.¡± The boy stated.

    ¡°Twelve!¡± The man shouted outraged, ¡°Robbing me blind, you are.¡±

    ¡°Robbed blind you will be if you don¡¯t pay up soon.¡± The boy pointed outside again. A small gathering of children were surreptitiously checking the tension of the ropes on the wagon. ¡°Look. We have the closest access to the marketplace and the Highside for you to go and flog your wares all week. Anywhere else you¡¯d be driving your wagons for another half an hour before being able to set up on the outer edge. Here, and you¡¯ll be there bright and early, centre stage, draining the wealth of the mighty.¡± The boy watched as the man¡¯s face went from outrage to distrust to thoughtfulness as he spoke. He had him. Just another little push. ¡°You know what, since I haven¡¯t seen your face around before, I¡¯ll make you a deal. Ten iron for the week, and a sample of your wine. As you can see,¡± The boy gestured behind him to a shelf filled with bright, gleaming bottles, ¡°My stock is running low.¡±

    The man opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the chiming of the front door. ¡°Icy! Which mongrel has left his wagons in front of the alley? I can¡¯t move my cargo out.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯d be this man, Two-bit.¡± The boy waved a careless hand towards the wine merchant. ¡°He goes by Aurelie.¡±

    ¡°Laurelie. Move your wagons before I slAsh the ropes and move them myself! I have a business to run, and I¡¯m not going to make the Marquis wait simply because you couldn¡¯t move your lazy inbred ass!¡±

    ¡°Now, now Two-bit. Be kind, I believe he is new here. Aurelie, nine for the week, and excuse Two-bit. He¡¯s Spiran.¡± The boy said, watching Aurelie throw a furtive glance over his shoulder at the simmering Two-bit, who was picking between his teeth with a dagger. ¡°Nine, and a small bottle. I see the crates out there.¡±

    Aurelie nodded, placing three more iron coins onto the table a blink before they disappeared beneath the counter, and were replaced by a heavy ledger. The boy opened the ledger and dipped a quill into a small inkwell, also hidden beneath the polished wood of the countertop. ¡°Aurelie. Three wagons of wine. Nine iron.¡± The boy read aloud, although he only wrote six, ¡°Sign here please.¡± The boy indicated an empty lined square beside the contents of the wagon and handed Aurelie the quill. Aurelie wrote a small curled signature and passed the quill back. The boy left the ledger open, allowing the ink to dry on the thick pages. Jumping down from the tall seat at the counter, the boy skirted the edge and made haste to the door, calling for Aurelie to follow him.

    Aurelie had blocked the Customer alleyway with his wagons as he parked them. His other drivers sat off to the side in the shade, apparently unaccustomed to the mugginess of a city-lake summer. Their road-stained white cotton shirts were dappled with patches of grey sweat in the mid-day heat. Rushing forward, Aurelie started shouting at them about watching the carts, and keeping away the would-be thieves.

    That behaviour doesn¡¯t work, the boy knew. If his men wouldn¡¯t do it on their own, they were more than likely only a step or two away from becoming the thieves themselves. Aurelie¡¯s hoarse voice continued its rant as the men looked up at him lazily, unmoving. Two-bit nudged the boy, watching the passers-by in the street slowing, crowding to watch Aurelie¡¯s screams. ¡°Aurelie.¡± The boy called to save him from further embarrassment. ¡°We need to move your wagons. Tell your men there¡¯s cold water by the warehouse to rinse down in.¡±

    At the mention of cold water the men sprang to their feet, rushing to the wagons. The boy commanded them to circle the streets until they returned to the store front, and this time stop before they reached the alleyway. Two-bit shook the boy¡¯s hand and left to climb into his own wagon.

    ¡°Ingrates.¡± Aurelie said, amongst other mumbled slurs, as he walked to stand in the shade of the store front.

    ¡°You¡¯ve paid and signed. I can handle the rest. I suggest taking a room at the Tiber. Failing that, the Marcon. Both are good, and they spice the rooms to rid that pervasive smell of the lake. Both are towards the market end of the spoke.¡± The boy pointed to his right.

    ¡°How do I know my goods are safe?¡± Aurelie asked pointedly as Two-bit pulled his own wagonload around the front, facing towards the central hub of the city.

    The boy stood quiet for a moment, his movements still, and cold. Two-bit cracked an awful smirk from his seat on the wagon. ¡°How do we know your wine isn¡¯t water?¡± Two-bit called over his shoulder as he nudged the horses lAshed to his wagon to move.

    ¡°I suggest that you trust that I can do my job.¡± The boy said icily. He turned his back on Aurelie and hailed the rapidly approaching wagons of wine. Ordering the men astride them, they made the turn into the alley by moving wide on the road and sharply turning in. The boy thanked them individually as they passed for their patience and promised them cold water was only moments away. The venom he held for their leader was not shared for his men. They were just trying to make a living after all. He turned back to Aurelie. ¡°Go sort your lodgings. We have suitable accommodation for the drivers.¡± The boy walked back to the door of the trading post. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. ¡°Again. Tiber or Marcon are the better ones. Enjoy your stay in Verdante.¡±

    The boy stepped through and slumped against the inside of the door. ¡°Vix, water, please. These summers only seem to be getting hotter.¡±

    A woman appeared at the top of the staircase that ran along the far wall of the trading post to it¡¯s second floor. The wood was dried, and the lacquer had lost a lot of its shine over the many hard years since the war began. Trade was profitable, his mother always maintained, but the boy could not see that. All he could see was the haggard, dying, decay that held within the eyes of people who came seeking solace. The coloured glass on the shelf behind the counter was simply that ¨C coloured glass filled with the murky water of the lake. The appearance of wealth needed to be maintained to continue operating. Even if it was for a few lowly Proms a week. The gold candelabras had been exchanged for pig iron. Anything of value had been scrounged from the post over time to maintain the flat tax employed by the Marquis. Wars were expensive. Especially wars that show no signs of ending.

    The boy was interrupted from his thoughts as the woman placed two glasses and a wooden pitcher on the countertop. His mother had purchased her when he was nine, and she twelve. A slave from Gargak. She had all the hallmarks of any village girl, long brownish-red hair that shimmered in the afternoon light. Deep green eyes, the colour of the sky before a hailstorm. She stood head and shoulders taller than him and flaunted the fact at any opportunity, despite her lowly status.

    Why had his mother not yet sold her on? The boy did not know. There were simple reasons of course; Gargak slaves were fierce, especially the fresh ones, and who would want a slave from the enemy? They could slit your throat in your sleep. Perhaps his mother could not recoup the value. Then there was the most base reason. Most of them were considered unsightly, it was not uncommon for them to bare likings to animals ¨C lizards, birds, cats ¨C and be treated as such. Asides the long vulpine ears and bushy tail Vix sported, she was a figure of human beauty.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°You¡¯re staring, Isidrian.¡± Vix cut through the boy¡¯s thoughts again like a warm knife through butter. He did not acknowledge the jibe. Any response would have lit a spark in her eyes. Isidrian moved to his seat at the counter. Vix stood away from the customer¡¯s stool, her tail wagging slowly as her ears pricked tall. ¡°Two-bit will be back shortly. He¡¯s just pulled down the side alley. You¡¯d think he¡¯d have learned a new song by now.¡± Vix said as she poured them both a glass.

    Isidrian drained it in a single gulp, slammed his glass down, and reached for the pitcher. Vix was faster and his fingers gripped hers as she held the pitcher. His blood ran hot and she quirked an eyebrow as his hand darted back. ¡°Another, thanks.¡±

    ¡°Always the gentleman.¡± Vix remarked, pouring them both another glass as the front door opened behind her, ¡°Unlike a certain other man I know.¡±

    ¡°Lucky Icy is here or I¡¯d crack you up the side of the head for that wench.¡± Two-bit snarled, ¡°No way to talk to your betters. It¡¯s going to get Icy in trouble some day if the Mistress doesn¡¯t sell you first.¡±

    ¡°Lucky you aren¡¯t my better then.¡± Vix retorted, ¡°And speaking of, Icy, the Mistress wanted you to know that she will be back in two days¡¯ time and that I am to tuck you into bed.¡±

    ¡°Bastard.¡± Two-bit grumbled.

    ¡°I will only believe the first half, Vix. There¡¯s work to be done besides. Two-bit, I take it the wine has been stored safely?¡± Isidrian asked.

    Holding out his hand, Two-bit remained silent. Reaching beneath the counter, Isidrian threw a copper dot to him, loosening the man¡¯s tongue. ¡°Of course. The drivers are fine, I checked ¡®em out. They were grateful for the water.¡± He unlooped a pouch that hung from his belt and lobbed it onto the counter. Isidrian poked it surreptitiously. ¡°Your and your mother¡¯s cut.¡± Then, at Isidrian¡¯s confused expression he added, ¡°Not many allow me to store my cargo in relative safety without question. This is just a continued expression of gratitude.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take your money,¡± Isidrian said, ¡°But I don¡¯t need your charity. Vix, take this upstairs. Two-bit, next time you lie about your cargo there will be consequences. We¡¯re merchants, not liars, no matter how we may stand in Verdante.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Laurelie spat at me on the way past, made some comment about a rock-brained vagrant. What did you tell him to make him hate me so much?¡± Two-bit asked.

    ¡°I said you were Spiran.¡± Isidrian replied.

    ¡°And what if he was from the Spire?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d tell him where the best food and ale are and he wouldn¡¯t give two shits about some brat shouting at him to move his wagons. Speaking of, set those drivers up with somewhere to stay. Noran, he should have some room at this time of year. He¡¯d be glad for the work.¡± Isidrian threw another half-prom at Two-bit. ¡°That¡¯s for Noran. Make sure he knows I sent them. And make sure to have one of them open a crate for me. One bottle. I don¡¯t need any more problems.¡±

    Two-bit bowed deep at the waist, his arm making a flowery, curling motion, as he proclaimed ¡°Yes, my Lord Isidrian. Whatever shall us poor common folk do without you shoving your foot up our ass.¡± He spun on his heel and finished his remark outside, the chiming of the door marking his exit.

    Isidrian drained the last of his pitcher into the glass. There would be no guards, feeding the urchins prevents the problem of them trying to steal from him. It is better to have them grateful than fearful. Any deviants would be dealt with by their own hands saving him both time and money.

    The real problem would be attracting new customers. Expansion, or perhaps reclamation would be a better term. But what was there to reclaim? The barren shop fronts of the surrounding buildings spoke volumes. The Verdante that flourished, a jewel of the nation, now was reduced to a wilted flower in poisoned water. There was no money to be made here anymore. He counted the stacks within the trays beneath the counter. Enough iron to last a month, at most, before taxes sank the float. Copper dots were almost worthless now, going from ten to an iron, to twenty in the last six months.

    It was bad enough he needed to have Vix out of sight whenever a customer came by. Only those lined with gold could be seen fraternising with Gargans without recompense. A lowly shopkeeper ¨C or worse, a travelling merchant ¨C would lose friends as fast as their pockets emptied.

    He needed a plan. Something to lift his station. Perhaps his father had been right to return to the relative unsafety of the road. It most certainly was the more profitable route than sitting here, watching his home fall to pieces around him. Although, he was less than a year from being a man, who would take him seriously?

    Standing from his seat, he turned to face the shelf of coloured glass bottles and reached into the long cabinet below it. Within was a nearly empty jar of pine tar and beeswax and a stained scrap of cloth. With care, Isidrian dipped the white cloth into the tar and began the long patient movements of rubbing the polish along the grain of the counter top.

    The sun set outside while Isidrian polished. Vix wandered about, lighting rush candles, and watched Isidrian as he worked and left him be. His clouded eyes that reflected in the gleaming counter only conveyed dark thoughts. He stood as his father did, the same movements, the same expression. Ochre was a strong man. A smart man. A callous man. Vix never understood how the kind Mistress came to love him.

    It was an hour after night fell that a lamplight gave a soft radiance to the windows of the post. Isidrian sat at a table in the front left corner of the shop with Vix. Between them was a loaf of bread, mushrooms, nuts, and a small cutting of cheese. Meat was hard to come by, and even the fish had become small and sickly. Vix was certain however that mushrooms held special properties that meat had.

    Three thuds came from the front door. The door handle rattled as the outsider tried to force it open. Vix darted for behind the counter as Isidrian flung his chair backwards as he made haste to the door. Standing aside from the sliding plate to see outside, he called back ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±

    ¡°I seek Dawn of the Brighthills.¡± The stranger¡¯s voice boomed.

    ¡°She¡¯s not here.¡± Isidrian replied. ¡°Come back in the daylight.¡±

    ¡°I cannot. It is urgent. Who am I speaking to?¡±

    ¡°You speak to Icy of Verdante.¡± Isidrian replied. There was a creaking behind him. He crooked his head to look at Vix, who was now poised behind the counter, an arrow ready to be drawn in a shortbow. Isidrian held up a hand to caution.

    ¡°Isidrian?¡± The voice boomed with laughter. ¡°Avelli¡¯s bad foot. I haven¡¯t seen you since you were a pup. I am an old friend of your father¡¯s.¡± Then the stranger dropped his voice. ¡°I¡¯d say my name aloud but some around here may not take it too kindly.¡±

    ¡°If I opened the door to any scum who claimed to know my father then this would hardly be a reputable business.¡± Isidrian said calmly.

    The man outside laughed again. ¡°Your father would say the same thing, except colder. And there is truth to that, many things your father was, but honourable he was not. If you need proof, go no further than the smell of your hands. Pine tar and beeswax. The hours your father would spend polishing that fucking countertop, it was enough to make my own hands bleed.¡±

    Isidrian closed the sliding plate. ¡°Be ready, but do not shoot. Not yet.¡± He murmured to Vix. He slid the bar from the door and twisted the lock. He flung the door wide and darted left. The door slammed to the right. A large shadow held the lamp in the doorway. He had a long beard and a wide, square face. His hood was held high, but Isidrian could make out small, beetle-black eyes glittering within, and a large bulbous nose.

    The stranger did not come inside, instead setting the lantern onto the doostep and showing his empty palms. Vix did not lower her bow. ¡°Come into the light. Lower the hood.¡± Isidrian commanded.

    The hood lowered to reveal the man¡¯s bald head. ¡°My name is Ash. I would appreciate if you closed the door before the whole world knows I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°You may close the door yourself.¡± Isidrian said stepping backwards from the man¡¯s hands. They were closer to bear paws. The man turned slowly, hands high, and closed the door. He stopped, shocked, when an arrow thudded into the wood beside his head.

    ¡°Vix!¡± Isidrian shouted.

    ¡°It¡¯s quite alright.¡± Ash said. ¡°My size sets people on edge. You would laugh at the number of times I¡¯ve been loosed at or nicked by a dagger. I mean you and your fianc¨¦ no harm little fox.¡±

    Ignoring the comment Vix knocked another arrow.

    ¡°Ash, friend of my father, why are you here?¡± Isidrian asked.

    ¡°I see you have food set out. What I bring is not news to be shared with strangers, but in my family, those who we break bread with are friends.¡± Ash said, his hands high, he moved slowly towards the table.

    ¡°Icy. Knife.¡± Vix warned.

    Skirting wide around the bear of a man, Isidrian reached the table first, reaving the table of its cutlery. ¡°We do not need knives to break bread.¡± Isidrian said, scattering the cutlery across the floor towards the stairwell, except for a single knife he slid into his shirt sleeve.

    ¡°Rightly so.¡± Ash concurred. Isidrian took the seat Vix had been sitting at and placed it with the back hard against the wall. Skirting away again, he offered the seat to Ash, who accepted graciously. It creaked beneath his weight. Isidrian then took the other seat, leaving a measured gap between him and the large man¡¯s hands. ¡°Your caution comes from your father. On the other hand, your mother would be appalled at the treatment you are showing a guest.¡± Ash chided from his seat. The odd calmness he displayed made Isidrian feel ill at ease. ¡°It does not matter. My time here will be short. Hurry, we must break bread and wine together.¡±

    Eyes never leaving Ash, Isidrian leaned forwards for the loaf. Ash held his hands close to his chest, a friendly smile upon his face. With a flex of his wrists the hard loaf of seeded brown bread tore in two. Isidrian tossed one half to Ash, who caught it with ease. The creak of Vix¡¯s bow strained in the background as she tracked the big man¡¯s movements. Next, Isidrian poured them each a cup of Aurelie¡¯s wine. His right hand gripping the hidden knife tightly, he offered the cup to Ash with his left. Vix¡¯s bow creaked again. Ash slowly took the cup and forced himself back against the wall. He took a bite of bread and drained the wine glass and waited for Isidrian to do the same.

    Isidrian mirrored the large man¡¯s actions. When he was done, the large man¡¯s face quivered. He bit his lip as his small black eyes crinkled. Startled, Isidrian moved backwards, unsure of what was happening.

    ¡°Boy.¡± Ash said, his powerful voice cracking and broken. ¡°Your father is dead.¡±

 Family Secrets

    The words echoed in Isidrian¡¯s head. Dead? The last letter he had received from his father had been over six months ago detailing the exploits of a trade deal and a gift of a small sum of money. He often wondered if his father was still alive, or a carcass in the sand, and it was not uncommon for incorrect tales of travellers deaths to reach their loved ones. But there was something in this hulking man¡¯s eyes that pleaded the truth.

    ¡°You saw it happen?¡± Isidrian asked.

    ¡°I did.¡± Ash said, then held up a hand to pause the boy, ¡°I will not give you the details. You are too young to be hearing things like this already. I would know. Your father left you this.¡± Slowly, he reached his hand into his cloak and withdrew a metal cylinder. It was short, no longer than Isidrian¡¯s outstretched thumb tip to index tip in length, and about his thumb length in width. The cylinder was heavy and covered in a vine-like, flowery, pattern that centred around two distinct thumb prints that opposed one another on each side of the cylinder.

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Your father kept pages in there. I don¡¯t know what. I can¡¯t read. And I can¡¯t get the canister open either. There¡¯s a small twist incision at the top end from the way you are holding it.¡± Ash pointed. Vix¡¯s bow creaked. ¡°Oh come now fox, is it not clear enough that I am not here to hurt you? What could I possibly gain from that? Ochre was my friend, damn his fucking heart!¡±

    Vix¡¯s drew the bow as Ash stood. ¡°Stop. Both of you.¡± Isidrian commanded. He twisted the top of the canister, pointing the open end towards Ash in case it was trapped. Travel-stained yellow pages emptied onto the table as Isidrian shook the canister. Curled black writing traced across the pages, long strokes of black ink made by a brush, not a quill. Alvish, and more specifically, the kind written and spoken by the people of the Broken.

    ¡°Vix. Drop the bow and come over here. I need your eyes.¡± Isidrian commanded. The Gargan slung the bow over her shoulder and clutched an arrow as she would a shank. She came to stand between Isidrian and Ash, and looked over the papers as best she could without turning her eyes from the man.

    ¡°This reads like the permits from the Prom himself.¡± She stated.

    ¡°I thought so too. The large runes,¡± Isidrian said, pointing to two distinct complicated patterns, ¡°This one looks like a cross between singular, ownership, and right of passage. I can¡¯t begin to understand the other one. It¡¯s odd. Jagged. It barely looks Alvish. Ash, what was my father doing?¡±

    ¡°All I know is that he was a trader. He¡¯d come by some times and have a drink with me. The last time I saw him, he said to expect a letter within six months. That he¡¯d send many, but only one needed to arrive. If not, he was dead, and that I need to take this to you. He got mixed up in some nasty business. And then, three weeks ago, he arrives in my caverns.¡± Ash paused, ¡°He died hours later. That¡¯s all I¡¯ll say. Give Dawn the message. Tell her I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Ash stood and Vix turned, ready to strike. With gentle hands the large man took the arrow from her hands and snapped it between his fingers, throwing the wood to where the cutlery lay scattered. ¡°I must go. I¡¯ve spent too long here already. My boys will be waiting. Isidrian, if you ever end up west of the Fel Reaches, the clay caverns where the Chitters won¡¯t go, come to me. I will welcome you with open arms.¡±

    Ash opened the door, leaving the lantern on the doorstep, and fled into the night. He moved far too silently for a giant, lumbering man. Isidrian walked to the door after him, picked up the lantern, and brought it inside. Vix closed, locked, and barred the door behind him.

    Isidrian sat back down at the table and looked over the documents. He was cold inside, oddly so. His skin tingled. Vix brought the other chair back to the table and sat down beside Isidrian. She watched him cautiously. He was calming himself.

    ¡°Icy¡­¡± Vix began, but couldn¡¯t find the words to finish. He didn¡¯t look at her. ¡°Look at me.¡± She said simply. Then, when he didn¡¯t, she commanded him. ¡°Look at me.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    His head snapped upwards, a confused haze of emotions crossing his usually composed face. His eyes were wild. His breathing stopped being calm and bounced between heavy laboured breaths and quick airless drags. She wrapped her arms around him and he wept silently into her shoulder. She stroked his bound, shoulder length hair softly with her long fingers. Hesitantly at first, then tighter, Isidrian¡¯s arms wrapped around her. ¡°I¡¯m here for you,¡± She said. There was nothing else she could say. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± She repeated long into the night, long after the rush candles burnt out, long after Isidrian lay quiet and still and asleep in her lap.

    Careful not to wake him, she stood, and using the moonlight that streamed through the windows of the shop front climbed the stairs. She returned shortly afterward with a blanket and two pillows. Laying them out on the floor, she carefully lowered Isidrian onto them, curling about him and covering them with the blanket. He had grown too large for her to carry him up the stairs anymore. And if not for the pain in her own heart, she would have smiled down at his face sleeping beside her.

    Isidrian awoke on the floor. Trying to orientate himself, he pushed himself up with his hands. A soft ¡®Ooft¡¯ followed by a hard shove to his side sent him rolling. ¡°Remind me not to sleep next to you again.¡± Vix said, clutching her stomach. Isidrian shoved himself even further back.

    ¡°Did I? No, you¡¯re wearing clothes. What¡­¡± He began, startled, his brain clunking along like a square wheel. Then, with a sudden shudder the rapidly rising red drained from his face. He looked fearfully to the table. ¡°Last night happened, didn¡¯t it.¡± He said.

    ¡°It did.¡±

    ¡°And Father is gone.¡± Isidrian said, more to himself than to her. Vix nodded once, quietly, watching his expression. The emotional child from last night was gone. Sitting across from her was the passive, calculating, Icy. Now noticing that her blouse hung scandalously low across her chest, she fixed it with a swift tug at her shoulders. ¡°Mother is gone for another day.¡± Isidrian looked about the room. ¡°Help me clean this mess. Then take the day off. I won¡¯t be needing your services for the day. Do with it what you wish. Go have fun.¡±

    Vix stared at him quizzically then laughed. Whatever reaction he had expected it wasn¡¯t this. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± Isidrian asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m a Gargan slave. I¡¯m your Gargan slave. I¡¯m not some village girl who can wander about town. This steel shackle about my neck has your name engraved on it. I don¡¯t get days off. I don¡¯t get to wander about town. Do you know how hard it is for me to move about this city even bearing this quite obvious blight?¡± She shouted down at him. Isidrian stared at her. He had definitely not expected this. Vix hadn¡¯t either. It was pouring out of her and she couldn¡¯t stop. ¡°My services? I don¡¯t do what you ask me because I am your slave. I do what you ask because you have done nothing but treat me with kindness and respect. So if I am to choose what I do this day as if I were not a slave? I choose to stay here. By your side. You will not be rid of me whether you need to piss or shit or sleep with another right in front of my eyes.¡± Her ears lied flat against the sides of her head, her tail poised as if she were ready to leap in for the kill. ¡°I stay with you, you incorrigible, callously kind, arsehole!¡±

    Crushing silence descended. Vix panted. She meant every word and it terrified her. Slaves had been beaten to death for less. ¡°My parents died at Tread¡¯s Grave. I know how it feels. The loss. The gaping hole. It never gets filled, Icy. It stays with you. You try every day to fill the gap but nothing works.¡± She dropped to her knees, tears rolling from her eyes, her jaw quivered and her tail laid low and lifeless on the floor. ¡°I found people who matter as much to me as my parents do. I hope you find your people too.¡±

    Isidrian watched her, silent throughout, his insides impossibly cold in the warm summer sunlight that streamed into the shop. He had to say something to punctuate the silence. There was something inside him that had been wounded last night. This was the closest to a deathblow he had ever felt. ¡°You never told me you were from Tread¡¯s Grave.¡± Isidrian said tentatively.

    ¡°At first it was easier to pretend.¡± She winced painfully. ¡°By the time I accepted there was no going back, I already had a family here to serve. Where I was from doesn¡¯t matter. Where I am now does. There was never a need to go back.¡±

    ¡°Would you go back? If you could, I mean.¡±

    ¡°You know the song. The one the slaves sing when they think no one hears them. They set fire to Gatt and laid waste to Tread¡¯s Grave. The Verillian crushed my birth-people. That place is nothing but ash and blood. There is nothing to go back to.¡± She paused. ¡°Here matters. Now matters.¡±

    Isidrian slowly got to his feet and walked over to Vix. He knelt beside her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Vix.¡± Then, before she could scathingly retort, he added, ¡°For making you dredge up what you had hoped to leave behind. Now, before I say something terrible to you again in my, what did you call it? Callous kindness? I¡¯m going to order you to allow me to help you fix breakfast, because neither of us really got to eat last night, did we?¡±

    ¡°I thought you said I had the day off?¡±

    ¡°I rescind my previous order as something more important has come up.¡± Isidrian stated.

    ¡°That being?¡± Vix pressed.

    ¡°I¡¯m hungry.¡±

 A Business Opportunity

    After the mess from the previous night had been cleaned up, and a breakfast that looked sinisterly similar to the dinner they had tried to share the previous night had been cooked, Vix and Isidrian sat down to eat. A knock immediately sounded at the door. Isidrian, sighing, walked to the door and lifted the bar before looking through the shifting plate. Two-bit stood outside, waving a letter in front of the peep hole.

    ¡°It¡¯s from your father.¡± Two-bit said, showing Ochre¡¯s name written on the other side. ¡°I swiped it when I was going past the market. Cost me half a prom it did.¡±

    ¡°Cost me a nice breakfast. Come in. We need to talk.¡± Isidrian said.

    ¡°This sounds like it¡¯s going to be good.¡± Two-bit said as Isidrian opened the door. He looked to the right and saw Vix sitting in her chair, dishevelled, then eyed the pillows and blanket sitting on the countertop. His eyes flashed as something deviant slid into in his mind. ¡°You fucked her.¡±

    Vix spat her bread across the table, great heaving coughs resounding as she choked on water. ¡°No,¡± Isidrian said, deftly slipping the letter from Two-bit¡¯s hand, ¡°Last night we had a visit from a supposed friend of my father¡¯s. Apparently he¡¯s dead.¡± Isidrian finished icily.

    ¡°Oh thank the gods. That¡¯s so much better. You really had me going there Icy.¡± Two-bit said clapping him on the shoulder. ¡°But I doubt it. That letter was addressed less than a month ago. It takes about that long to reach here from the desert edge.¡±

    ¡°I told you to stop reading my letters.¡± Isidrian scolded.

    ¡°Well, technically it¡¯s not your letter, it¡¯s your mothers. And second, she¡¯s the slave, while I¡¯m a completely organic Verillian, you can¡¯t force me to do horseshit.¡± Two-bit replied.

    ¡°We can tell.¡± Vix called from across the room.

    ¡°Shut your object of frustrations up, Icy.¡± Two-bit snapped back.

    ¡°Can we not have one day, an hour even, of you two getting along? For Vey¡¯s sake if not my own. I¡¯m sure they hate hearing all of your thoughts leave your mouths as much as I do.¡± Isidrian lamented. ¡°Now,¡± He began, cutting them both off as they prepared another tirade, this time aimed at him, ¡°We have work to do. Two-bit, go check the warehouse. There might have been more strangers lurking about last night. I don¡¯t need to lose the little I have left. Come back when you are sure nothing was stolen. Vix, when you¡¯re finished eating, go and freshen yourself up. Two-bit won¡¯t be the only one making crude assumptions if you¡¯re looking like that.¡±

    Two-bit began whistling shrilly before he left the door leaving Vix¡¯s ears twitching in annoyance. Isidrian sat down beside her at the table and opened the letter. It could easily have been mistaken for a page torn from the ledger beneath the counter. Only the barest of essentials were included. His father would be in a village ten days north in fifteen days¡¯ time to conduct a business negotiation. He wished for Dawn and Isidrian to be present, and from there he would be taking Isidrian along with him for the duration of the journey, and return him to Verdante in approximately three months¡¯ time. It also included that he would be taking up residence at the Cricket¡¯s Hop and undertaking the deal at the Marcelone company.

    ¡°Three months?¡± Vix checked as Isidrian read the letter aloud.

    ¡°That¡¯s what it says. If this deal is important enough for father to write home about, then it must be of great value. It might even have something to do with those permits.¡± Isidrian said. The papers were hidden securely within Isidrian¡¯s room beneath a false floorboard beneath another false floorboard. If they were were important enough for his father to entrust them to him after his death, they were important enough to hide twice.

    ¡°That¡¯s the longest he¡¯s wanted to take you for.¡± Vix continued. ¡°Three months, and on the borderlands too. Did he plan to cross the desert? Three months would get you to the Broken and back comfortably.¡±

    ¡°True, and perhaps even to the Spire and back. Noran says that some travellers made it to the Broken in eleven days either side since the under road was built. That leaves sixteen days spare for trade and recuperation between the Spire and the Broken. I wonder what he was trading to require permits from the Prom himself?¡±

    Vix¡¯s tail swung low and slow. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Icy, but I want you to be careful. Your father had his skill to protect him. You don¡¯t even know what yours is yet. If you get mixed up in something you can¡¯t bargain your way out of¡­ then I don¡¯t know what we¡¯ll do.¡±

    ¡°We?¡± Isidrian quirked an eyebrow.

    ¡°We. If you and the Mistress are away then there is no work here for Two-bit or I to do besides cleaning.¡± Vix explained.

    ¡°Someone needs to guard the place. We can¡¯t just close business, up roots, and leave for nearly a month.¡± Isidrian countered.

    ¡°Then leave Two-bit here. If something gets stolen he can steal it right back. Besides, he knows the urchins well enough to convince them to leave this place lie.¡± Vix pressed.

    ¡°We¡¯ll see what mother has to say on this when she returns.¡± Isidrian¡¯s mouth drew a thin line as he set aside the letter and took a bite of warm brown bread. The warmth of the sun fell upon him through the windows made opaque by early morning mist on the glass. The soft rhythmic brushing of Vix¡¯s tail on the floor as she sat beside him lulled him gently. Vix herself, sitting close by him, her mere presence bolstering him. Maybe she was right. The now mattered the most. And for the current now? That was something he could live with.

    Footsteps thundered up the side alley and across the front porch. Two-bit threw open the front door in haste. ¡°One of Aurelie¡¯s wagons is missing. Some bastard busted the lock.¡±

    Isidrian calmly chewed the last of his brown bread. He took a small sip of water, and turned to Two-bit. ¡°Go to Noran. See if the drivers know anything. I¡¯ll go to the marketplace and speak with Aurelie myself. We¡¯ll soon know if it was an idiot or a thief. Vix,¡± Isidrian turned back to her, ¡°Lock the door behind us. Go, get changed, then watch the warehouse from the back window. If anything happens, I, as your master, give you permission to leave this household and seek me at the marketplace.¡±

    Isidrian stood and walked to the base of the stairs. He paused at the base when he realised Vix had followed him, still eating her bread. ¡°You were being serious?¡±

    ¡°And this is why you¡¯re a gentleman. You actually listen to what women say. And yes, do we need to have that discussion again?¡± Vix asked.

    ¡°No, but in this case, as you put it, I am not pissing, shitting, or sleeping. I am bathing, then changing, then leaving.¡± Isidrian stated.

    ¡°Then you are just like every other male.¡± Vix stabbed.

    ¡°As if you¡¯d know.¡± Isidrian riposted, turned, and climbed the stairs, leaving the dumbstruck Vix below. The upper landing of the trading post was a series of eight rooms, arranged four across and two down. Thin hallways, barely large enough for two small men to walk side by side, separated the rooms. Each room had a singular door with a number upon it. The numbers had been gold-plated iron but now they were simply the brighter shade left in their absence. Isidrian opened the door to number four and closed it behind him. On his left was a small window that overlooked the alleyway beside the post.

    His bed laid in the far corner, as far away from the window as possible. Some of his father¡¯s more ghastly lessons had left their marks on him. A simple dresser contained a small amount of clothes. One set of fine clothes with accompanying soft leather shoes and stockings. Three wool dress shirts and a spare set of trousers for labouring in. In the lowest draw was a long purple robe hemmed with white thread, the symbol of his profession.

    The day was already shaping up to be hotter than the day before it. He took the purple robe and the leather shoes from the drawer and left the room. Throwing a cursory glance out the back windows of the trading post that overlooked the warehouse, he could see Two-bit changing the water of the trough. Isidrian descended the stairs to the receiving area. Vix had cleaned away any remnants of breakfast and seemingly taken the blankets and pillows back to the spare bedroom. Her light-footed nature often left him guessing at her location.

    The morning mist had evaporated from the outside of the windows and lingered in the air as its less pleasant twin. Sunlight beat down upon the weathered wooden slats that made up the surface layer of Verdante. The wealthier districts had changed their roads to stone but the mostly abandoned western side of the ring would not be following any time soon.

    Isidrian strode with purpose along the road and down the side alley. If Aurelie or his men were not the ones to bust the lock, the other alternative would already be long gone. However, if Aurelie was the one to break in then it was just simple panic-driven stupidity. The man had not come that morning, or at the least, come at a reasonable time. Breaking into another¡¯s property, especially that of a fellow merchant¡¯s, was very dangerous territory to navigate. The Guild at the very least would need to hear of it, and any recompense demanded. A hand? A finger? No. Aurelie was greener than lake moss. He would recover the cost of the lock, but not the morning, or the gentle feeling he had found at breakfast. Now was a time for action. Pleasant times are for when the work is done.

    Hanging his fresh clothes on the nearby clothesline, Isidrian ran his cupped hand through the water to test the temperature. Lukewarm and Two-bit had not even attempted to boil it. The summers were getting hotter. Stripping bare, he slid into the trough. A coarse brush hung from a hook on one side. By the time Isidrian had finished using it, his skin was pink. Savouring the last few moments of almost-cool he slid lower into the tub. A glint from the back window of the post caught his eye. Shielding the sun glare from his sight he locked eyes with Vix, who stood watching the warehouse from the back window.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    She waved.

    Deciding that his bath was over, Isidrian pointed at her, then flicked his wrist to point again. The message was clear between them: turn around. The glint disappeared and Isidrian seized the opportunity before she turned a complete circle. Not bothering to dry, he tugged on the purple robe, the fabric itself already scalding from hanging in the sun. The leather shoes slipped on with ease.

    Two-bit had not yet returned from visiting Noran. Wasting no time, Isidrian began the short walk to the marketplace. The wind was still, which meant the lake was still, and in turn meant the road did not undulate. He stalked away from the hot sunlight using the diminishing shadows of the nearby buildings. All one had to do to reach the marketplace was to follow the noise. The smell of stagnant water overpowered the smells of cooking at this distance. Stalking past empty shop front after empty shop front set an unwelcome change in Isidrian¡¯s mood.

    Cracks were appearing in his calm fa?ade. He would not end up as these others had. He would survive. He would thrive. No matter the cost. His pace quickened. A sharp turn onto the inner wheel brought him into direct contact with a wall.

    It spoke to him.

    ¡°Apologise.¡± The wall boomed. It wore a sleeveless leather vest, fangs, feathers, and scales stitched across it. Two large hatchets hung at its sides. Twice as tall as Isidrian, it moved uncharacteristically and bent at the waist. One of the wall¡¯s sun tanned hands reached forward and clasped Isidrian¡¯s, bounced it once, and then retreated to its side. It stared down at him strangely, and asked ¡°Apologise?¡±. Its massive head turned, black locks of hair falling across its shoulder like the mane of a great beast. ¡°Danafor, help!¡± It called.

    ¡°What is it?¡± A shorter man appeared at the walls side, though he still stood a head and a half taller than Isidrian. At this man¡¯s side was an arming sword and duelling dagger. He was lean and fit, and his accent distinctly Spiran.

    The wall pointed down at Isidrian. ¡°We hit.¡± The wall mimed, slamming two meaty fists together with a resounding thwack.

    ¡°You what?¡± Danafor asked, his gaze flicking between the wall¡¯s meaty fists and the boy in front of him.

    ¡°I walk. He walk around corner. We hit.¡± The wall thwacked its fists together again, and pointed down at Isidrian. ¡°Apologise.¡± It nodded.

    ¡°I beg your pardon.¡± Isidrian said, confused as to why he was apologising to a wall. Dawning realisation spread across Danafor¡¯s face and he promptly cracked Isidrian across the cheek with the back of his hand.

    ¡°Likewise.¡± Danafor replied. ¡°My friend here has a rather useful skill. You could say that his surroundings blend into him. He¡¯s still getting used to it away from the plains.¡± Isidrian looked up at the towering giant that now stood before him. The plainsmen stared back down with a giant-toothed smile. ¡°He is still working on his Verillian,¡± Danafor continued, ¡°He means to say that he apologises, not for you to.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Isidrian said to the plainsman, ¡°The fault is mine.¡±

    ¡°I mean no offence my friend, but if we exchange pleasantries any longer I doubt any of us will get done what needs to be done.¡± Danafor stated. ¡°Although¡­ are you a local?¡±

    ¡°I am.¡± Isidrian replied.

    Danafor¡¯s face alit. ¡°Good. Then perhaps you would know, we seek a man named Goulash. He would be of similar stature to my friend here,¡± He clapped the plainsman on the upper arm, ¡°But of a more dire demeanour. Has a thing for spoons. Apparently he was sighted in the west side in the late afternoon.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t run into any walls yesterday I¡¯m afraid.¡± Isidrian said with a mercantile smile.

    Danafor¡¯s face drooped somewhat, but he laughed good-naturedly. ¡°I suppose not. Keep an eye out though and come to us first if you see him!¡± Thumping his companion on the arm, Danafor turned on his heel and strolled back towards the marketplace. The plainsman waved goodbye and followed.

    Isidrian collected his thoughts and pushed them aside. He had to focus on Aurelie right now. There would be plenty of time to deal with walls and Spirans later. If Aurelie had broken into the warehouse he would likely have also arrived early to the marketplace. Isidrian weaved his way through the stalls. The crowd was as stagnant as the water beneath their few feet. Reaching the centre-point of the floating wheel-shaped city, a tall anchor of stone, Isidrian began to spiral his way outwards.

    He greeted those he knew, made passing conversation and jibes with fellow merchants, and ignored the glares of those who considered themselves the mighty. A common excuse given for them not to like merchants was that of class. The real reason, Isidrian felt, was that they were old money with old names and old words from old houses that had no reason to bind them or still exist. Merchants were new money, new names, new words, bound together by the Verillian Merchants Guild. It was a simple as that.

    ¡°Wine! Pure! Fresh! Straight from the vine!¡± Aurelie¡¯s shrill voice cried, ¡°Six Hills finest!¡±

    He stood atop his wagon, several small barrels situated around him, with his fellow drivers nowhere in sight. A single small cask had been opened to let breath, and judging by the clean wooden cups still stacked together, it had been a slow sale day.

    ¡°Aurelie!¡± Isidrian called as he approached the wagon.

    Aurelie¡¯s gaze snapped to him, first filled with the excitement of having a customer, then dread. So, doing the only thing he could seemingly think of, Aurelie shouted ¡°Wine! Pure! Fresh! Straight from the vine!¡±

    Bastard. Isidrian¡¯s icy demeanour hailed. Don¡¯t do anything stupid. He thought to himself. Isidrian kicked over the open barrel of wine, watching its bloody contents spill across the petrified wooden floor, forever staining them the colour of money. Like that.

    Aurelie wasted no time. ¡°Guards! Soldiers! Man-at-arms! Make haste and apprehend this vagabond!¡±

    ¡°You cur! I am a merchant, see my colours displayed proudly! Where are yours vintner? Or merchant? Brute? Thief?¡± Isidrian shouted back.

    Footsteps shuddered the slats behind Isidrian. Turning, he saw a gambeson emblazoned with the insignia of the Marquis, a long-stemmed white flower on a field of blue. The man wielded a pike in one hand, then pointed at Isidrian. ¡°Quiet down. You, boy, why did you spill the wine?¡± The man commanded.

    ¡°His wares are under the protection of my trading post. He broke into the warehouse early this morning without my knowledge of permission so that he could get here before other merchants.¡± Isidrian stated.

    ¡°And you,¡± The man said as he looked up at Aurelie, ¡°Get down here so that you may speak to my face.¡±

    Aurelie staggered down the crates he had built up as a platform. Landing ineptly beside Isidrian, the crested man put a hand on Aurelie¡¯s chest to catch him.

    ¡°Why did you break into the warehouse?¡± The man asked.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t break into the warehouse.¡± Aurelie said.

    ¡°The how the fuck did you get your wagon out?¡± Isidrian snapped. The crested man looked down at him reproachfully, then looked back at Aurelie.

    ¡°How did you get the wagon out?¡±

    Aurelie did not reply.

    ¡°Wine-seller.¡± The man said, ¡°If you cannot answer that question then answer this: how much did that barrel of spilt wine cost?¡±

    Aurelie looked to the stained splash across the wooden planks. He remained quiet a moment, then said, ¡°Thirty iron Proms.¡±

    Isidrian burst out an incredulous laugh. ¡°Thirty iron Proms? That swill would be lucky to go for one.¡±

    ¡°Quiet!¡± The man snapped. Two more men dressed the same as him were approaching from behind. ¡°Now, boy, what kind of lock was on the warehouse door?¡±

    ¡°One straight from the Broken smiths themselves.¡± Isidrian said. In truth, he didn¡¯t know the inner workings of the lock. All he knew was which symbols to spin the rotating wheels to for it to open.

    ¡°Is the lock broken beyond repair?¡± The man asked. Two-bit hadn¡¯t been precise, but if he deemed the lock broken, then it was likely shattered to pieces.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Isidrian stated.

    The man paused and thought the situation through. He conferred with his fellows before turning back to them. ¡°If those colours on your wagon be true, you are of the farmer¡¯s guild. I don¡¯t want inter-guild disputes in this city. So before I deliver my judgement let you both agree that it be fair.¡±

    ¡°I agree.¡± Aurelie snapped without a second of thought.

    Isidrian waited. ¡°If I am unhappy with this judgement and do take it to my guild, what will be the consequences?¡±

    ¡°Telling me your plan in advance isn¡¯t the brightest, boy.¡± The man said. ¡°These two,¡± He gestured over his shoulder, ¡°Will tell the representatives what I have deemed just and what you have agreed to. Understood? And, before you get any other ideas, not agreeing here and now would have you both sent to a fine little cell until the Marquis returns. That will be a while.¡±

    If the verdict decided against him, then not only would he lose the value of the lock, but he would also have to repay Aurelie thirty proms ¨C more than the float would be able to cope with. And even if the verdict was in his favour, he would only be recouping the cost of what was taken from him in the first place. However, he also could not afford to lose any days locked in a cell.

    ¡°Fine.¡± Isidrian said, ¡°I agree on my name Isidrian son of Dawn.¡±

    The man quirked his head at Dawn¡¯s name. ¡°Very well then. I judge the value of a Broken lock to be thirty-one iron, no matter how broken it may be. You, wine-maker, pay the boy and be about your business.¡±

    Aurelie staggered, hand to his chest. ¡°But, but, but sir!¡±

    ¡°Pay the man.¡± The crested man thumped his pike against the ground. Reaching into a stark tray of coins on the front bench of his wagon, Aurelie gave Isidrian a single, dirty, iron Prom. ¡°Now go about your business.¡± The man commanded. Isidrian turned to leave, then felt the crested man¡¯s heavy grip on the neck of his robe. ¡°Not you. Who knows how much trouble you¡¯ll cause if we let you walk about.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch him. He sleeps with Gargans.¡± Aurelie said. Isidrian felt the grip on his robe loosen before it reaffirmed itself.

    ¡°Slight another one of my citizens in front of me again and I will kick you out of this city myself!¡± The man threatened.

    Aurelie¡¯s face drained of colour before he shouted, ¡°Wine! Pure! Fresh! Straight from the vine!¡±

    The man nodded, satisfied, and dragged Isidrian by the scruff of the neck back to the western spoke. ¡°I saw you speaking with those travellers. The big one, and the other. Why are they here?¡±

    ¡°Looking for a man named Goulash.¡± Isidrian spat out, extricating himself from the man¡¯s grip.

    The man leaned inward. ¡°Are you sure of this?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what they said.¡± Isidrian replied.

    The man remained silent, then said, ¡°Go home. Your mother returns tonight I believe. And if what the idiot vintner said is true, then you have some fur to clean from your mattress.¡±

    Ignoring the slight, Isidrian walked away. He could feel the eyes of the crested man follow him down the spoke, daring him to turn back. He did not, and when Isidrian looked back over his shoulder, the man was gone.

    Isidrian opened the front door to the trading post. Two-bit sat at the table inside, helping himself to the last of the pitcher of wine. He bolted upright when Isidrian entered.

    ¡°The drivers know nothing.¡± Two-bit said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it. I have a feeling it was all Aurelie, he only had the one wagon. All I want to know is how he busted the lock.¡± Isidrian said.

    Two-bit rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out two pieces of metal and put them onto the counter with a heavy thud. ¡°The shackle part is broken clean in two places. Almost like it was cut through with a sword. I took it to the smith. He told me a clean break like that was either a skill or a fault in the metal. I¡¯m willing to bet on the former considering they¡¯re all supposed to be checked by the Prom himself.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter now.¡± Isidrian said. He fished out the single iron Prom and placed it onto the counter. ¡°Did you ask the smith if he could fix it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not Vix, of course I did.¡± Two-bit said loudly as light footsteps came down the staircase. ¡°He said he could try, but because it¡¯s both Broken and broken, it might be difficult.¡±

    ¡°Take it back to him, and this,¡± Isidrian said, handing Two-bit the iron prom, ¡°Tell him to fix it if he is able, if not he can keep the parts for scrap. A Broken lock is useful, but a broken lock is not.¡±

    ¡°Trying to make my head hurt?¡± Two-bit replied sarcastically as he shoved the lock and the coin into his pockets.

    ¡°Icy wouldn¡¯t need to say something clever to do that.¡± Vix said as she slid in between them.

    ¡°Anything happen at the warehouse?¡± Isidrian asked her.

    ¡°Dinner and a show.¡± Vix smirked.

 Dawn

    Dawn arrived at sunset. She bade farewell to the farmer whose wagon had borne her from Frera as she stepped onto the eroded stone that formed the bridge to Verdante. She would never forget the smell of the place. The smell of decay. Of the foundations that sank into the mud. Ochre could never stand the smell, crushing it mercilessly inside the post with pine and beeswax. Eighteen years and eight months had passed since he had kicked in the front door of the post and demanded her father¡¯s head, and instead left with her hand. Even after all those years, the deep black tattoos on her right hand had not faded. It was comforting to know that Ochre had the same tattoos on his left hand.

    The long, thin, bundle she carried across her back swayed as she walked across the bridge. Strips of linen cloth peaked out from beneath the leather wrappings. A convoy of wagons was trundling along the bridge towards her. From the morose expression of the lead driver¡¯s face, it had been a less than pleasant stay in Verdante. She stepped to the side of the bridge and smiled up at him, her dark hair trailing a shadow behind her in the darkening light. The blonde man looked down at her, then turned his nose up.

    Her smile remained as she nodded to the wagons that followed. They were polite enough to smile back at her grime-stained face. It had rained three days ago, and the farmer¡¯s wagon had been bogged in the road. She had not had a chance to wash since.

    She continued moving once the convoy had passed. The roadside stalls had already been packed away, and a few lamplighters stalked the streets placing and lighting rushlights on the main spokes. Their stilted feet and long staffs made them appear as ghastly specters in the dying light. She walked wide around them - it was bad luck to trip a lamplighter - and she soon came to the front of the trading post. Through the glass she caught a glimpse of Ochre polishing the countertop as Vix walked around lighting rushes. Her heart paused. It was Isidrian, not Ochre. She rubbed her eyes with her right hand and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

    She knocked on the door. There was a pause, then a scuffling of feet. The sliding plate opened. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± Isidrian called evenly. Mother¡¯s instincts immediately told Dawn something was wrong.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take that tone with me, Isidrian.¡± Dawn snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll have Vix hang you from the second floor again.¡± The door ripped open before she had finished her threat. Isidrian stood just inside, and Vix had her hands hidden beneath the counter. ¡°Hands away from the coins Vix.¡± The Gargan¡¯s hands raised sharply above the counter, open palmed and empty.

    ¡°Come here, both of you.¡± Dawn commanded. Isidrian stood frozen. Vix half-ran to his side. Dawn looked down at both of them, guiding the door closed behind her with her left hand, her right hand stretched for the collar around Vix¡¯s neck. The Gargan stood as still as her son now. Vix¡¯s hand twitched towards Isidrian¡¯s then stilled themselves at her sides. Dawn crooked an eyebrow as her other hand made its way to Isidrian¡¯s shoulder. She gripped Vix¡¯s shoulder and drew her in close alongside her son.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to be home.¡± She said, embracing both of them warmly. They relaxed within her arms. Isidrian gripped her tightly back. Vix held her hands at her sides. Dawn released both of them and grew unsettled when she saw Isidrian¡¯s pained expression. ¡°There¡¯s something you want to tell me, but bad news comes in threes. I already know one piece, so let me get cleaned up before you share the other two.¡± She pushed between them and laid her bundle on the counter. ¡°Vix, draw a bucket and bring it to my room. Cold will be fine. It¡¯s too muggy for warm water.¡±

    Vix bowed to her master and turned to the door. Dawn cast a glance at her son who still stood by the door. She had seen this face before. It was the same face Vix wore when she spoke of Tread¡¯s Grave. Dawn climbed the staircase. She would give him time to get his thoughts straight. The mud on her feet smeared the steps as she climbed. She walked to the far window and looked out into the night. Vix¡¯s collar glinted in the moonlight below. The ability to see in the dark was one she always envied. Dawn wished she had been blessed to see in the proverbial dark as well. As she opened the door to her room, she realised just how many things she wished for.

    The bed that had once held her and Ochre was gone, replaced by a small bed for one rested against the far wall. Ten iron. The dresser in the corner. Sixteen copper. The clothes it still contained. Five iron. Besides the earrings Ochre had gifted her on their disastrous third meeting, everything able to be sold had been. She discarded her muddy clothes in a pile by the door.

    Vix arrived shortly after, a soft knock, followed by ¡°Master¡±. Dawn bade her to enter. Vix carefully laid two clean buckets of water at her Master¡¯s feet. She offered Dawn a small cloth with one hand, and keeping a towel over the other arm, turned around. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Dawn soaked the cloth in the cool clear water. Pressing it to her dirt-stained face rejuvenated her. ¡°How badly am I going to hate this news?¡± She asked. She watched Vix¡¯s tail. The slave was good at masking her human emotions but lacked the finesse to hide her animalistic ones. Vix¡¯s tail stopped its slow sway and hung low and still. ¡°Not good then.¡± Dawn said.

    ¡°No, Master.¡± Vix replied softly.

    ¡°Care to explain then?¡± Dawn continued.

    Vix paused, then said, ¡°I believe that Isidrian would prefer to deliver the news. It is not my right.¡±

    ¡°And yet, he is not here.¡± Dawn continued. ¡°If I had wanted to hear it from him I would have made him speak downstairs. I would rather know what I am about to hear and prepare myself than have to hear it first-hand from my distraught son.¡± She reached into the bucket again, bringing cold water to her neck. With prickly disdain she realised she had been sunburnt.

    ¡°Master, I know it is not my place to say so, but this is news to be shared only by dear ones.¡±

    ¡°You wound me Vix, all this time and you do not call me dear?¡± Dawn chided. Ochre was involved. Somehow he always was. Was he dead again? The first time she had been told she had cried until her eyes were raw, only for him to arrive three days later, caked in mud and blood, but alive. He had taken his sword and left for another three days, leaving only the barest kiss on her cheek in parting. When he returned, it was not his blood that coated him.

    ¡°What has Ochre done this time?¡±

    Vix choked.

    ¡°It can¡¯t be that bad!¡± Dawn laughed hollowly as the slave righted herself. ¡°Did he kill some ponce? A deal gone wrong? Or is he dead?¡±

    Vix turned to her master. ¡°You knew?¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve been told my husband has died. It is far more common than you might think. This might be the first time Isidrian has faced it though. Speaking of, you two have grown awfully close in my absence, haven¡¯t you?¡± Dawn pressed. Her opponent was off-balance. Emotion clouded Vix¡¯s judgement. She was unprepared.

    ¡°Master Isidrian has been kind to me while you were gone.¡± Vix replied courteously, turning away from her master, hoping her master would mistake hiding for respect. Dawn did not buy it.

    ¡°He is too kind, I fear.¡± Dawn said, ¡°Kindness causes people to make mistakes. He has his father¡¯s metal, deep inside, but it is still warm and soft. He needs someone to shape it into a blade worthy of carrying Ochre¡¯s name. That brings me to the bad news I bring.¡± Dawn paused, wrung the cloth, and began to work on her hair.

    ¡°The partner I had chosen for you rebelled against his master. Convinced quite a few of his fellows to join him in the destructive revelry. Burnt down the mansion too, I hear, and butchered most of the family at a feast. If only we could have gotten that fire in your pups. But again, this year, it seems you won¡¯t be whelped. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find someone for you by next year though.¡± Dawn finished straining the water from her hair. ¡°Any you find fanciable in Verdante? Not that there¡¯s many left here.¡± She finished casually. It was too much to hope for her to choose a mate so close by. She entertained the slave¡¯s fancies because it kept her loyal. Dawn was all too aware the reason for her choosing difficult pairings.

    ¡°None, I am afraid Master. Raki was the last male, and he died weak and sick. His children have already been sold to other cities, of which I don¡¯t know where.¡± Vix replied courteously, a shadow of unpleasant joy quavering in her voice.

    ¡°It¡¯s hard, Vix. I will not pretend to know what it is like to be a slave. But I know what it is like to be a woman. Even here in Verillia, to be bought and sold like cattle. My father sold me to Ochre to keep his own head, though we called it marriage. I want what is best for you. I want what is best for my son. You need to understand that these are two very different things. You may be a part of his future, there is no helping that, but you will not act the part you wish to play. I have seen it. Just as I saw Ochre standing at that counter tonight.¡±

    Dawn watched as Vix¡¯s ears drooped. Sadness. If they were not at war, born twenty years to later, or perhaps too early, there might have been a chance. The Gargans were losing the war. Vix standing before her was proof of that. If there was any fire left in their bestial spirits it was not in Vix. The fire, the iron, the shaping hands Isidrian required. A true pity. Dawn almost wished that Vix had raged, turned upon her then and unleashed her teeth and fangs. Instead Vix stood there tamed.

    ¡°Towel.¡± Dawn commanded, and Vix thrust the towel behind her. Covering herself with the towel, Dawn continued, ¡°Take the buckets and empty the water outside. Clean the steps and floor of the mud. Once I have finished in here, clean the floor as well. I will speak with Isidrian alone.¡±

    Vix curtsied and left the room. Dawn regarded her own reflection in the second-story window. Her eyes were red. She had not felt her own tears when she bathed, but she felt the warm salt flowing now. Perhaps that had been cruel. Cruelty and truth are so often the same thing. She towelled off and donned a night gown. Isidrian would undoubtedly have had a brisk encounter with Vix by now. It was time to sit down and talk.

 Leaving Verdante

    Dawn smelt the pine and beeswax as she descended the stairs. Isidrian moved methodically back and forth down the grain until it gleamed in the candle light. She wondered how he would try and break the news. Would he do it softly as he could, or just get it over and done with? Over a cup of tea? Whatever stale bread they had left?

    ¡°Father is dead.¡± Isidrian stated. His voice snapped her to attention. Cold. Emotionless. He continued polishing the countertop. ¡°The message arrived last night from a man named Ash. He said you knew him.¡±

    ¡°Not the first time I¡¯ve heard that news. You¡¯ve heard it before when you were small but I don¡¯t think you would remember.¡± Dawn replied nonchalantly as she took a seat at the table in the corner. ¡°Come, sit with me.¡± She motioned to the other chair. She watched him crumple inwards, but saw his eyes stayed clear and sharp.

    He took the seat across from her and asked, ¡°Why aren¡¯t you upset?¡±

    ¡°Your father¡¯s skill has gotten him into and out of many bad situations. I¡¯ve seen it. It makes him hard enough to wound let alone kill.¡± Dawn reminisced, ¡°I have no doubt he¡¯ll be on the road again soon enough.¡±

    ¡°Ash watched him die.¡± Isidrian stated. His hands were shaking as he balled them into fists at his sides.

    ¡°Knowing Ochre it was a ploy to avoid more trouble.¡± Dawn said thoughtfully, ¡°Ash tends to be emotional at the best of times. If a friend gave their last request to him, he would see it done immediately. Was that the entire message? Nothing else?¡±

    Isidrian paused. ¡°Wait here.¡± He said then climbed the stairs. He returned momentarily after holding a letter and a metal cylinder. ¡°The letter is from Father. It says he will be in Rogain in fourteen days time.¡±

    Dawn glanced over the letters then picked up the cylinder. Admiring the metalwork, she tried to twist the cylinder open. It did not budge. ¡°What¡¯s in here?¡±

    ¡°Papers. Something to do with being able to cross with cargo into the desert.¡±

    ¡°Open it.¡± Dawn requested as she handed the cylinder to him. Isidrian took it in both hands and strained against the lid. It did not open. He stopped, rolled it in his hands, and tried again. ¡°Enough,¡± Dawn said, ¡°There is likely a condition to opening it. Did Ash say anything?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Isidrian said, handing the cylinder back.

    Dawn bit her lip. ¡°Then the only way we get to know what¡¯s in there is to head to Rogain. Pack your things. If we leave tomorrow we¡¯ll make it just in time. Vix will attend us, and have Terrance move his cargo out of the warehouse. We don¡¯t need the inquisition here while we are away. Pay him to watch over this place while we are away.¡±

    ¡°He moved it out yesterday.¡± Isidrian replied, ¡°I still don¡¯t know where he sleeps at night.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll be here in the morning, tell him then.¡± Dawn said. ¡°In the meantime, have Vix begin preparing the wagon and bags. We¡¯ll purchase supplies from the convoy and the farmers themselves as we pass, Rogain is known for its agricultural trade.¡±

    ¡°Will she be coming with us?¡± Isidrian asked, then added, ¡°So I know how much to take from the float.¡±

    ¡°She will be. We will try to find her a suitable companion on this journey. There are many Gargans working the fields around Rogain.¡± Dawn replied coolly. Unnoticed by Isidrian, Vix had crept silently down the stairs as she cleaned. ¡°Vix. Leave the mud and begin the preparations. You undoubtedly already heard the plan.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master.¡± Vix bowed.

    ¡°You¡¯d best begin preparing too,¡± Dawn said as she looked back to her son, ¡°Take all you consider worthwhile for the journey with your father afterwards.¡± Isidrian nodded, turned on his heel, and left for his room.

    When she was certain he was gone, Dawn reached for the half-empty bottle that sat on top of the table. She uncorked it, sniffed the contents, then took a deep drink. ¡°You¡¯d better still be worth this trouble, Ochre.¡± She said aloud.

    <hr>

    The sun rose early. Dawn was sure the days were growing longer, ever since she was a child. More often than not the moons rose and set in the day. A bead of sweat rolled down the bridge of her nose as she looked down from the seat of the wagon at Two-bit. He never outgrew the name and still looked as ragged as the day he arrived.

    ¡°If a single splinter of wood is out of place when I return, you¡¯d better not be here. Faith in the gods will not save you.¡± Dawn warned.

    ¡°Yes, Master Dawn,¡± Two-bit bowed courteously, ¡°I will see to it that a fine carpet of dust is left to protect all the splinters in the store.¡±

    Dawn reached into a pouch at her side and withdrew three iron proms. Waved them in front of Two-bit¡¯s hawk-like gaze. ¡°These two are for you.¡± She said as she placed two into his waiting hands. ¡°This one,¡± She raised the last one before his eyes, ¡°Is for the guild. Tell them I will pay the rest of the tax when I return, and that pressing matters had to be attended to.¡± This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Yes, Master Dawn.¡± Two-bit nodded. He knew better than to joke about money in front of her.

    ¡°Good. Don¡¯t spend it too fast. And don¡¯t get drafted while I¡¯m away. Lay as low as you can.¡± She ruffled his hair motherlerly. ¡°Isidrian, are we ready?¡±

    ¡°Vix is filling the last of the water casks, then we can leave.¡± Isidrian called from the back of the wagon. ¡°How¡¯s Noran¡¯s horse?¡±

    ¡°Unsettled. She doesn¡¯t like Vix. She¡¯ll have to ride in the back. You¡¯ll sit up here on the front bench with me.¡± Dawn commanded.

    Vix approached from the customer¡¯s alley, a string of water bladders hung across her shoulders. She moved with ease, but Isidrian knew she carried at least ten stone of water. The wagon sagged as Vix laid the bloated leather evenly across the other cargo. Isidrian climbed atop the back of the wagon and flamboyantly offered a hand to Vix. She smirked at him, took his hand, and pulled herself up.

    If Dawn hadn¡¯t been there, Vix would have chided her master, or perhaps pulled him into the mounds of cargo with her. Unfortunately, Dawn was there, and was laying her infamous deadpan glare upon them. Vix let go of her master¡¯s hand and nestled herself in the far corner of the wagon between a stack of water bladders and an empty barrel for vegetables gathered on the way.

    Isidrian clambered over the cargo and sat beside his mother. Dawn urged the horse onwards as soon as Isidran sat. Isidrian half-rose and looked back to Two-bit who was giving them a solemn half-wave. ¡°Two-bit!¡±, Isidrian called, ¡°Fifth blue bottle on the fourth shelf. Don¡¯t drink it all before I get back.¡±

    Two-bit perked up and began to whistle his shrill song as he crossed back into the post. As the wagon slowly edged into the distance he stuck his finger up at Vix, and even though he couldn¡¯t see her, he knew she saw him. He hoped she would keep her hands off Icy long enough for Dawn not to get rid of her on the trip. Though, he reasoned, things would be a lot easier with her gone.

    <hr>

    The sun was close to setting by the time Dawn stopped the wagon on the crossroad. She pulled into a small copse of trees slightly off the road, hidden enough that they would not be seen if they did not light a fire. There was nothing to cook anyway, as Dawn reasoned, and the day had been too hot to need one in the night. They slept nestled in the cargo, a blanket draped over Dawn and Isidrian, and Vix had buried herself amongst the warmed water bladders. They had spoken of Dawn¡¯s trip to Frera, uneventful as it had been, and Isidrian told her the barest minimum of what had happened while she was away. He avoided talking about the lock, and hoped Two-bit would make something in the meantime to replace it.

    Cascades of bright moonlight speckled the copse. Isidrian saw Vix shift from beneath the bladders, ears pricked high as she stared out into the dark. She sniffed the air quietly, then snapped to look at Isidrian, her eyes reflecting odd colours in the dark. She raised a finger to her lips silently, and motioned from him to wake Dawn. The night was quiet, crickets chirped and the occasional frog croaked.

    Isidrian woke his mother, prodding her awake, she groaned a low ¡°What?¡±.

    ¡°Vix sensed something.¡± Isidrian whispered.

    Dawn slowly rose, then crawled to Vix¡¯s side. ¡°What do you hear?¡±

    ¡°I smell sweat. Horses and humans. Alcohol. They are loud, you will hear them soon.¡± Vix pointed down the crossroad from the way they had come and Dawn could make out the small pinpricks of lamps.

    ¡°Traders?¡± Dawn asked.

    ¡°They¡¯re too far away in the night. They have wagons, but I don¡¯t know yet. Master, I think we should move further into the trees.¡± Vix urged.

    ¡°Foolishness.¡± Dawn replied sternly. ¡°If they are Gargans they will hear us move.¡±

    ¡°Master, if there are Gargans, they will already have smelled us.¡± Vix replied. She faced away and continued to sniff at the air. ¡°If they pass us they will most definitely smell the horse.¡±

    ¡°Then it makes no difference how far into the trees we are.¡± Dawn stated. ¡°Prepare yourselves.¡±

    Isidrian reached into the small sack of utensils they brought, and handed Dawn a meat cleaver and Vix a short knife. He nicked his hand on a skewer in the dark and felt blood well on his finger. Vix sniffed the air and turned back to him worryingly. Isidrian withdrew the other short knife and put his bleeding finger into his mouth. He joined them at the end of the wagon.

    The lights were closer now, and he heard them singing;

    ¡°Mircis Nas

    Took to the lass,

    With hunger and ingrace,

    She gouged his eye,

    And stabbed his thigh,

    And scarred his pretty face.¡±

    There were many of them, and if they were that loud they had no fear of being attacked. They were either well-guarded or pillagers themselves. Boots and hooves thundered as they drew closer. They were human, at least, which meant they weren¡¯t a Gargan raiding party. Not just humans, Isidrian realised as they passed, Gargans were there too. Some shackled by neck and wrist and foot, some walked free, and a single Leopard sat atop a wagon seat with humans bound in chains to the undercarriage. The sight sent chills down Isidrian¡¯s spine.

    The Leopard¡¯s eyes, reflective in the dark, looked into the copse where they hid. His muzzle twitched as he smelt the air. He continued to watch the copse as he carried past, and continued to even when he had to crane his neck. The procession continued after him. The silence that the slaves carried was deafening in counter to that of the merchant¡¯s song. But even that silence was broken by the merchants who trailed behind, drunk, and slurred another verse of the song.

    ¡°Nascis Mir,

    The prettiest I hear,

    With hair of flowing silver,

    Found Mircis Nas,

    And kicked his ass,

    And still gives him shivers.¡±

    They sang and they marched and continued to sing.

    In the darkness of the trees Isidrian waited, mouth tasting of his own blood, ready to strike. Slavers were as dangerous - if not more so - than raiders. At least you were dead if the raiders got you. The crooked bile that even their fellow merchants look down upon. Tales of slavers passing through towns and daughters going missing were never uncommon. They waited until the chirps of crickets were louder than the drunken songs. They waited until the pinpricks of lamplight died on the horizon. They waited until dawn broke, silent, and unmoving.

 The First Crack

    The morning sun turned the black sky a soft red. The stars disappeared, and the greater moon Mida had already chased the lesser moon beyond the edge of the world. Vix stood at the edge of the trees, staring down the road, sniffing at the air. The slavers would have travelled far by now, Isidrian thought. The true problem lied in that they would effectively be following them for the remainder of their journey. Vix¡¯s ears were pricked as though she expected the slavers to crest the horizon at any moment.

    ¡°I smell them, Master.¡± Vix said, ¡°But it is carried on the wind, and dried into the dirt.¡±

    ¡°We will continue onwards then.¡± Dawn stated. ¡°Vix, stay wary. If they come back it could be all our heads.¡±

    Vix nodded subserviently. She moved to take the reins of the horse but it skittered away from her. Isidrian ran a hand down its long face to calm it and gripped a hold of the swaying reins. He led the horse and wagon through a gap in the treeline. Dawn climbed onto the front seat once he reached the road and took the reins back from him. Vix half-leapt into the back of the wagon, landing with enough grace for her added weight to barely be felt.

    Dawn flicked the reins and the horse dragged forwards, the wheels of the wagon sliding into the ruts left by the slave convoy. ¡°Isidrian, a quart cup of cider.¡± Dawn demanded.

    ¡°Bit early in the morning don¡¯t you think?¡± Isidrian replied half-jokingly.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t brought to get drunk on. Cider, in small amounts on the road, stops you from getting ill. Burns the illness right out of you.¡± Dawn explained. ¡°Now pour me a quart.¡±

    Isidrian clambered over the bench and into the back of the wagon. Vix retrieved a metal mug from a sack by her feet and poured a quart from the barrel beside her. Isidrian took a hold of the mug and gave an appreciative nod. Her tail stroked the back of his leg as he stepped away. Isidrian leaned across the back of the bench and handed the mug to Dawn. She took it and drank deep.

    ¡°Put it in the sack for dirty cutlery. Vix will wash it if we stop by a river.¡±

    Vix dug through the cargo and opened a sack. Inside was a skewer, the end slightly tinged red. Isidrian chucked the metal cup inside and inspected his hand in the sunlight. A thin cut ran from the fingertip to the second knuckle of his index finger on his right hand. The scab had formed overnight. No need for a bandage. He sat down amongst the cargo opposite Vix. She gave a thin smile, tiredness from the previous night evident on her face. Her eyes traced a path between him and the horizon before them, as if expecting the slavers to crest it at any moment. She was unnerved, Isidrian realised. It was not something that he saw often in her.

    ¡°They¡¯re long gone. If they marched through the night they¡¯d be in a hurry to get somewhere. I doubt they¡¯ll be turning back for anything.¡± Isidrian stated.

    ¡°I¡­ appreciate the kind thought, Master, but there is no need to worry for me.¡± Vix replied courteously as her gaze flicked to Dawn. Her true thoughts were belied as she gripped his outstretched leg with her ankles. She mouthed a silent thank you to him.

    ¡°Isidrian, I need you up here.¡± Dawn ordered.

    Sighing, Isidrian lifted himself from amongst the cargo and clambered back onto the front bench. The morning dew was evaporating around them and his shirt had begun to stick to him. There wasn¡¯t enough moisture to make mist. The rains had abandoned them this season, the surrounding fields that were once lush now lay barren, grand swathes of dirt and dying grass.

    ¡°What do you need?¡± Isidrian asked as he settled. The hard edge of the bench dug uncomfortably into his lower back.

    ¡°For you to stop bothering the slave. It¡¯s unbecoming. If she grows too attached it will cause problems if we find her a husband.¡± Dawn stated. ¡°That is the reason I brought her along, after all.¡±

    ¡°What if we don¡¯t find her a husband?¡± Isidrian asked, then in response to Dawn¡¯s side glare added, ¡°On this trip?¡±

    ¡°Isidrian. When I want something I get it. If I say that the slave will be married to the first person that we next lay eyes upon then it is so. This is not a matter for you to decide.¡±

    ¡°If Father is dead then his property - and therefore Vix - belong to me. That makes it my decision.¡± Isidrian countered.

    Dawn¡¯s open palm clipped him hard across the back of his head.

    ¡°And as we decided before we left, your father is not dead. Therefore I speak on his behalf in all matters while he is away.¡±

    ¡°And while you were gone, I ran the post by myself. Morning till dusk, every day until you returned. You owe me.¡±

    Dawn pulled back on the reins, the horse jerking to a halt. ¡°Slave. You will walk behind the wagon.¡±

    ¡°Vix, stay in the wagon.¡± Isidrian commanded. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Slave.¡± Dawn spat as she glared at Isidrian.

    ¡°Vix.¡± Isidrian returned the glare.

    The wagon rocked as Vix climbed down. Dawn turned her eyes forward and spurred on the wagon. ¡°She will walk until you learn your place.¡±

    Isidrian climbed down from the front bench.

    ¡°Isidrian! Get your arse back on this seat right now!¡± Dawn shouted at him.

    He ignored her and stomped around to the back of the wagon. The warmth of the sun scorched the back of his neck and hands. ¡°Lovely day for a walk isn¡¯t it?¡± He asked Vix. She watched him with wide eyes. ¡°Although,¡± Isidrian continued, ¡°It would be a shame to walk everywhere for the rest of your life. Here, let me help you back into the wagon.¡± He lowered the tailgate of the wagon and offered his left hand to Vix. The wagon jolted forwards.

    ¡°Fine, walk with the slave. Let all honourable Verdetians who see you know you stand in the dirt with her kind.¡± Dawn shouted. She drove the wagon forwards.

    Isidrian half expected her to stop. When she showed no sign of doing so, he offered his arm to Vix.

    She scoffed and began walking. ¡°You didn¡¯t need to do that.¡±

    Isidrian hastened to catch up. ¡°I did. When we arrive in Rogain and Father isn¡¯t there, I will free you.¡±

    ¡°How many days has it been? Two? Not even three since you heard of your father¡¯s death and you already use it as leverage against me.¡± Vix sneered sarcastically.

    ¡°Oh? And what happened to being my slave?¡± Isidrian stabbed.

    ¡°Master, in the sincerest meaning of the phrase, go fuck yourself. I can take care of myself. All that happened due to your need to protect me is that we now both need to walk to Rogain.¡± She walked faster, eyes never leaving the horizon the wagon was slowly diminishing into.

    Isidrian threw his hands up in exasperation before flicking his chin with the back of his hand and hissing at her. He shook his head and followed a few steps behind her. Her long vulpine ears laid low against her head, tail rigid. She was pissed.

    Their crunching footfalls added a cadence to the silence between them. Long minutes dragged on as they continued to fume. The sun¡¯s heat hindered cooler heads from prevailing. Sweat stains marked Vix¡¯s back through the drab dress she wore. Isidrian enjoyed the fact that she would be feeling the heat more than him. The fur kept her warm in winter but the hot summer days left her prone to heat sickness.

    ¡°Can you see any shade ahead?¡± Isidrian asked, ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous walking in this heat.¡±

    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t be - ¡° Vix began, then stopped, sighing. ¡°Trees ahead, I believe the Master is waiting in their shade. At least another half an hour walking.¡± She used the back of her hand to wipe sweat away from her face and ears. Isidrian slid his shirt over his head and offered it to her. ¡°Put your shirt back on.¡± She stated.

    ¡°Wrap it about your head like the Broken do, it will stop some of the sunburn.¡± He said, and when she made no move to take the shirt, he added, ¡°That¡¯s an order.¡±

    She begrudgingly took the shirt from him and draped it across her neck and face. Her fair skin above the line of her steel collar was rubbed raw. Grimacing, she looked back at him. ¡°It stinks.¡±

    ¡°Better than getting burned.¡±

    ¡°No, no. It stinks, really bad. When did you wash last?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d know. You stand at the window and watch me.¡± Isidrian bristled.

    ¡°Only for your safety Icy, if anyone could drown in two inches of water, it would be you.¡± She quipped.

    Isidrian hastened to walk beside her. ¡°At least you¡¯d be there to save me then. If I died where would that leave you?¡±

    ¡°With one less Master to worry about that. Your mother would believe it if Two-bit told her, and Two-bit would find it hysterical if he found you drowned in that tub, even if I did it. She likes him better anyway.¡± Vix mused aloud. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she cast him a sidelong stare.

    ¡°Plotting to murder your Master now? For shame Vix. What ever will I do with you?¡±

    ¡°Free me.¡± She said quietly.

    ¡°I will. I promised that as soon as we get to Rogain I¡¯d free you remember?¡±

    ¡°You promised that if Master Ochre isn¡¯t there you¡¯d free me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because I don¡¯t own you unless¡­ Father¡¯s dead.¡± He paused. ¡°I lay claim to his assets as his eldest of-age son.¡±

    ¡°And if your mother stops you?¡±

    ¡°Would I really be walking all this way beside you if she could stop me?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you would. Because you¡¯re an idiot. Look,¡± She said, poking reddened his chest, ¡°You¡¯re already burning. Take this back.¡± She pulled the shirt from her head and draped it over his face. Her ears twitched and she looked back up the road.

    Dawn was returning to them atop the wagon. ¡°You look ridiculous Isidrian, put your shirt back on.¡± She berated him. ¡°And you¡¯re burnt. I won¡¯t be helping you make salve for them, and neither will the slave. Slave, get in the back. My idiot son will walk a while longer. I made the mistake of thinking that making him walk was punishment without taking into account spending time with Gargans¡± She spat the word as she would a slur, ¡°without my presence is what he considers a blessing.¡±

    Vix nodded at her Master¡¯s command and circled the wagon without looking back at Isidrian. Dawn sneered darkly down at him. ¡°Ahead there are some trees. From the number of smouldering fires it looks like the merchants made camp there last night. If we hurry, we might be able to join their convoy.¡±

    ¡°You want to join the Slavers?¡± Isidrian asked, taken aback.

    ¡°There were only a few amongst the convoy. The rest were non-human cargo. If you didn¡¯t notice that then my hopes for you are growing even dimmer, if that is at all possible.¡±

    ¡°I did, but consorting with them and those they travel with is something I¡¯d rather not do.¡± Isidrian replied.

    Dawn looked as though she¡¯d been slapped. ¡°You¡¯re a hypocrite. You own a slave, you¡¯ve just spent the last half hour walking with her rather than riding with me. You¡¯re as bad as they are, like it or not.¡±

    ¡°I am not like them. I do not own Vix, Father does.¡± Isidrian countered.

    Dawn spurred the horse to action. ¡°You¡¯ll continue walking then.¡±

    ¡°If it means spending more time out of your miserable presence Mother, than there is nothing I would like more.¡±

 Clearing

    Isidrian staggered into the trees. The heat dragged any energy from him. It had baked his skin a raw pink. His shirt felt as though it was covered in thousands of knives as it dragged around his neck. He briefly wondered if that¡¯s how Vix¡¯s collar felt as he looked over to the wagon. It was devoid of occupants. He scanned the copse, it was larger than the one they had hidden in last night. The trees twisted as he watched them. He swayed sideways. He could smell something. It smelt like a rat had died beneath the floorboards of the Post in winter and begun to bake in the summer.

    He lurched towards the wagon, fearing what he would find if he looked into the bed. No one. No bodies amongst the cargo. He ducked into the wagon as quiet as he could manage. He could hear birds in the trees. A slight breeze knocked branches together as leaves rustled. He found the bag of cutlery and withdrew the cleaver. Steeling himself, he crept down from the wagon and began to follow the scent.

    He stuck to the shadows of the gum trees - not that they gave any real cover. The trees spun when he looked at them. Turning his head skywards only made him feel even weaker. He leant against a gum for support. They were only slightly larger than a man wide. The repulsive scent grew stronger. Vomit licked at the back of his throat. He continued darting from the shade of one tree to the next until a gust of wind bathed his senses in the carrion stench. He scanned his surroundings.

    A solitary hand lay on the grass before him. Its skin pale. The fingers were broken, twisted in strange directions. A trail of blood led into the trees beyond.

    His vision spun and he dropped to one knee. The vomit left his throat and deposited itself on the grass beside him. He gripped the cleaver tight. A stick cracked behind him and he swung blindly. The cleaver whipped through the air, missing its target. One hand caught him by the lower arm and another shoved him hard to the ground. They pinned him by the lower back and wrenched his outstretched arm. The cleaver dropped from his weakened grip. Sharp teeth gripped him by the neck, hot breath leaving patches of damp.

    ¡°Fuck! Run!¡± Isidrian shouted in delirium. He waited for those sharp teeth to bite deep, tear his throat out, to feel his blood pour onto the grass. Or maybe it would be a quick snap, the way you would break the neck of a rabbit.

    Neither happened. Instead, the teeth loosened. He could feel his assailant shift their weight against his body, continuing to pin him in place, but he could feel their cheek draw slowly past his ear and jawline.

    ¡°If you wanted to mess my guts up that badly, you should have just asked.¡± Vix whispered seductively into his ear. ¡°Though I would prefer being the one pushed down. I¡¯m going to let you up now. Leave the knife where it is, don¡¯t want anyone being cut by accident now, do we?¡±

    Isidrian said nothing, feeling Vix slowly shift her weight from him. He stayed there, laying in the sparse grass and the dirt.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look around. The rest of the corpses are nailed to trees a few more steps that way.¡± She said, pointing straight ahead. ¡°You could consider yourself lucky only seeing this much.¡±

    ¡°Who is it?¡±

    ¡°My kind.¡± Vix said with finality. ¡°Likely came through with those traders. Now come, your mother is waiting in the wagon. We need to get a move on.¡± She knelt and took him tenderly by the arm. Her light touch stirred him to action and he rose to his feet. She took the cleaver and held it by the spine of the blade.

    Isidrian steadied himself. ¡°I want to see.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡± Vix replied. ¡°If that hand brought you to your knees, I don¡¯t want to see what seeing those poor bastards would do to you.¡±

    ¡°How are you so calm?¡± Isidrian asked, ¡°They¡¯re Gargans.¡±

    Vix didn¡¯t reply. She tugged him slowly after her back towards the wagon, her soft grip becoming a vice he had no hope of freeing himself from. Strength slowly returned to his legs as he walked. ¡°There¡¯s a small pond on the other side of the copse. That¡¯s where your mother and I were.¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Isidrian nodded dumbly.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t even call out when you arrived. If it wasn¡¯t for the fact that you stink I wouldn¡¯t have known you were here.¡±

    Isidrian stumbled against her.

    ¡°Hey!¡± She called in surprise. She staggered forward to catch him, aiding him slowly to the ground.

    ¡°Do I smell¡­ smell that badly?¡± He asked weakly as he flopped backwards onto the ground.

    Vix stuck the cleaver in the ground. She pressed the smooth skin of the back of her hand to his burned forehead. ¡°You¡¯re sun sick.¡± She said, ¡°I¡¯m going to pick you up. We need to cool you off.¡± She picked him up beneath the knees and armpits. His additional weight barely put a dent in her stride as she hurried back to the wagon.

    ¡°Father¡­ your ears are so furry.¡± Isidrian said, reaching to pick at Vix¡¯s long ears that hung low against her head.

    ¡°Master!¡± Vix called. ¡°Young Master is sun sick!¡±

    Dawn looked up from the wagon bed as they approached. ¡°Serves him right. Dump him in the pond. See if that shocks him back awake.¡±

    ¡°Yes Master.¡± Vix replied, hurrying past the wagon. She dashed the rest of the distance between the trees, cradling Isidrian against her chest. ¡°Stay awake Icy.¡± She said to him. ¡°Stay awake.¡±

    He mumbled something against her chest, hands now hanging loosely at his sides. The back of his neck was hot against her arm. So awfully hot. His skin was already turning a darker red. She could deal with that later.

    Cold water seeped into her thin-soled shoes as she waded straight into the cold water. It came up to waist-deep at the centre. She let his lower body sink as she cradled his head, using her now free hand to wipe lines of water across his brow. He spluttered as drops made their way into his mouth, instinct taking hold as he tried to right himself, arms splashing uselessly in the water.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got you Icy. I¡¯ve got you.¡± She soothed. ¡°You¡¯re sun sick. Just calm down.¡±

    He continued flailing.

    ¡°Hold him under until he stops thrashing, Slave.¡± Dawn called from the side of the pond.

    ¡°Master, I - ¡° Vix was cut short by Isidrian catching a glancing blow at Vix¡¯s face. She dunked him under without remorse, then dragged him by the collar out of the pond. Isidrian coughed as he was dropped to the ground. He laid there, tired from struggling.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let him drink anything. He¡¯ll just throw it back up.¡± Dawn said looking down at her son. ¡°Ochre was like this too. Not the stupid decisions of course, but he was prone to heat sickness.¡± She pursed her lips. ¡°Bring him back to the wagon once he dries more. He¡¯ll need to sleep this off. Apply some of the burn salve to him. I need him to be able to operate by the time we¡¯re in Rogain. If he¡¯s still like this you¡¯re going to be given away to the foulest bastard I can find.¡±

    The threat passed by Vix entirely. She stripped his shirt off forcefully and began to fan him with it. ¡°Come on Icy, get up. We need to get going.¡±

    ¡°Mine.¡± He mumbled.

    ¡°Yes, your shirt. I¡¯m going to move you now. Don¡¯t struggle.¡± Vix said exasperated. Her shoes squelched as she knelt by his side again. Isidrian kept mumbling vague words to himself. She heard her name in there but his delirium prevented any sense being made. The pads of her inhuman feet felt disgusting inside the wet leather. He sagged in her arms. He should have just kept the shirt on. She would have been fine. Callous kindness.

    Dawn stood atop the wagon and directed Vix to lay Isidrian in a now cleared space. ¡°We need to keep moving. His idiocy has wasted us precious time. Throw some of the linen tarp over the top of him. It will keep the sun off at least.¡±

    Vix complied, pulling the tarp that would stop rain from damaging the cargo out from within a chest in the front left corner of the wagon. She leapt down from the wagon bed and began tying it to the raised sides with frayed rope. She remembered watching Ochre hammer the rope in on a rainy day in Verdante not long after he had bought her. He spoke to her methodically, if you could not call it kindly, and had shown her how to properly do menial tasks. She wove the rope through stitched ringlets in the cloth and tied it back upon itself, repeating until the taut cloth covered the vast majority of the wagon bed. She left a space a person-width wide to allow herself to climb back in.

    Dawn tugged at the cover disdainfully. Finding no obvious flaw to comment on she glowered down at Vix. ¡°You¡¯ll ride in the back again. You packed the salve, you know how to apply it. Remember. If he doesn¡¯t recover, you¡¯d wish it were only your head I¡¯d take.¡±

    ¡°Yes Master.¡± Vix curtsied, lifting the damp, mud stained, cloth that she wore. Vix took the snort of derision from Dawn as her command to climb aboard. The wagon swayed beneath her as she clambered aboard. Dawn had spurred the horses to action before Vix could get proper footing, and it was only through her heightened physical capabilities that she managed to remain upright. The Gargan race had no access to the Arts - it was simply not a gift that they could use. Instead, their strength, their speed, their instincts and reactions were heightened beyond what a normal human could bear. Despite what Verditian scholars taught the populace under the command of the Queen, the Gargans recognised themselves as humans. It was a curse. They were not monsters.

    Vix slid beneath the linen tarp and set to work. She searched amongst the medical supplies - powdered roots for stomach ailments, a roll of linen bandage, a sewing needle and a small knife with a sharp blade. There was sno skin salve. No burn ointment. Had she forgotten it? No, she was sure she had packed it amongst the supplies. The wagon jolted on the road and she heard the chime of glass on wood from behind her. She searched the chests behind Dawn, scouring their contents. Dawn was silent.

    Isidrian wouldn¡¯t die from a lack of treatment to his burns. They weren¡¯t bad enough to crack and become infected. She knew that any minor flaws on Isidrian would be punished. Ochre never approved of Vix being damaged - it made her inefficient. Dawn had always found ways to take her pound of flesh, but had never yet been physical. With the growing realisation of what Ochre¡¯s death meant for her looming, Vix shivered in the hot day. ¡°Come on Icy, wake up.¡± She nudged him. There was no response. She leant down close to him. He was breathing at least.

    She needed him to wake up.