《Stepping Stones Saga》


 Chapter 1: Prologue

    427 Winters After The Fall


    The sun had long ago set over the small farmhouse on the outskirts of the village of Shaya, and the normally clear sky was full of heavy clouds. The scent of rain permeated through the air. The small house was closed off and even the wooden shutters had been mounted, in expectation of the beginning of the yearly rainy season. Two men had hunkered down in the small living room, as close as can be to the crackling fireplace.


    "Shouldn''t be much longer now, eh?" said the older man, who was standing next to the fireplace. His hands were crossed, his left foot kicking against the stonework.


    Thump. Thump. Thump.


    "Well, if the child takes its sweet time like I did, it might be a bit more," replied the younger man, as he stole a glance at the stairs that lead up to the second floor. "And will you stop it with that infernal knack of yours, brother. You''ll bring the whole house down the way you''re kicking the hearthstones!"


    His black-haired sibling immediately ceased and turned around, leaning his back on the nearby wall. His focus was now wholly directed at his younger brother.


    "Aye, you did take your sweet little time, didn''t you Mavry? Being on time never has been one of your strong suits, but at least it hasn''t worsened with age," he said, as a single snicker escaped from his mouth. "I reckon it should all be fine, the midwife is experienced. Hell, if she wasn''t, I wouldn''t have gone through the trouble of bringing her all the way from the fiefdom''s capital."


    The two men stood still for a few moments, looking at each other, until Mavry finally let out a pent-up sigh. He shook his head, long strands of his blond hair flicking out of the way of his now-calmer face.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "I trust that you''re right about that one Beram," said Mavry with a chuckle. "Do not be mistaken, I shall be eternally grateful that you took it upon yourself to bring this fine old lady. I didn''t mean to say it in front of Lilia, but I don''t think old gran Tora was up to the standards of the capital''s healers. As good of a herbalist as she may be, a midwife that does not make her."


    Beram curtly nodded and the two brothers went back to their silent contemplation, their gazes once again enthralled by the fire. A drizzle had started at the beginning of their conversation and it had now turned into a storm. The rain battered against the shutters and the ominous sound of thunder could be heard now and again.


    Steps descended down the old creaky stairs and soon the midwife appeared.


    "You may go up now. It was a long labor, but you have a strong woman," she said, and went towards the kitchen.


    The brothers made haste and quickly climbed up to the room in question where Lilia was laying in bed with a small rose-cheeked child in her hands. Beram stopped at the room''s entrance and gave way to his younger brother.


    Mavry gazed upon his firstborn and only one thought permeated his mind. ''A son! Oh, what a joy, blessed be Pietra, a thousand times I thank you for this gift!''


    The tired Lilia revelled in her husband''s happy smile for a moment before she turned to face Beram.


    "Will you do us the honor, godfather, to give your blessing before we name this little one?" she asked, as her eyes darted towards the purple robe he wore, its silvery threads glistening in the dim candlelight.


    It only took Beram two full strides to come right next to the young wife and her newborn child. His right hand lifted up and his fingers traced the symbol of Saint Pietra above the child''s head, an ethereal glow remaining in the air for a few moments afterwards.


    "Nephew of mine, may you live in times of change and may the challenges you face bring glory to your name," he said as he placed his hand on the baby''s forehead.


    The baby looked at him with an almost feline-like curiosity.


    And then it started to cry.

 Chapter 2: A Rude Awakening

    A young man could be seen laying unconscious inside an old tent. This lad was called Dartelo Vilruhn. His hair was a light chestnut color and underneath his closed eyelids a pair of green eyes were darting to and fro. His clothes were frayed and even torn in spots, covered in all sorts of dirt and grass stains. His head was bandaged and the linens, that had not been changed in some time, were stained crimson. He was one among many. The tent was littered with cots upon cots filled with injured men. Unlike most of them, Mavry and Lilia''s son was neither short nor frail.


    Dartelo was born in the Holy Pietra Empire. Alas, it was an empire only in name. The former behemoth of a country had slowly dwindled in both strength and lands. In the last couple of centuries it had been besieged from every direction by its rivals. Pietra''s Empire had once spanned across most of the north-eastern reaches of Estoch. All that remained of its former glory was a small piece on the north tip of the continent. Dartelo''s family lived at its southernmost border.


    His eyelids felt as if they were weighed down with iron, but gradually he managed to open them. He slowly looked around, clearly suffering. Moving was pain. Breathing was pain. He had a throbbing headache like none before.


    ''Holy Saint,'' he though as he weakly tried to sit up. ''What has happened to me? Where am I?''


    A young woman noticed his vain attempt and made her way towards him. She was dressed in clothes that might have once been a resplendent hue of white, but at the moment they were gray and frayed at the ends. She wore a white veil that hid most of her features, but Dartelo still noticed that she had braided auburn hair. The sleeves of her robe were bloodstained and one could faintly discern the brand of an apprentice on her left wrist. She was diminutive in stature and looked frail.


    ''Was she the one that saved me?'' Dartelo thought.


    The healer''s apprentice did not hurry at all and neither her gaze nor her expression held the faintest touch of warmth. She came up to the cot on which the boy was laid, standing a bit to the side as if she was afraid of catching a disease. She kept her hands behind her back and inspected him from top to bottom.


    "What is your name and where are you from?" she asked slowly, the words hanging in the air.


    "I am Tarum," he lied, as his uncle had taught him. The voice that sounded out was so hoarse it startled him. All he could think about was water. "I do not have a home, I travel from place to place with caravans. Thank you for saving me, blessed healer."


    The young woman''s brow furrowed and a look of contempt appeared on her face.


    "Your thanks are neither wanted nor accepted, heathen," she said with evident disgust, despite her heavy accent.


    The young man was completely shocked as he watched the woman leisurely walk away and then talk to a couple of guards that were stationed at the tent''s entrance. He looked around and at this moment he finally realized that it was not his own weakness that prevented him from standing up. A couple of lengths of rope had been tied around his feet and arms. He squirmed for a few moments, but try as he might, the knots were not tied lightly. He finally accepted that the ropes were too great of an obstacle and relaxed.


    ''What did Uncle always say? Ah, forsaken minions of hell, I should have listened more! Okay, calm down Dart, take it one step at a time,'' the boy consoled himself. His eyes roamed across the tent and he tried to take in as much information about his surroundings as possible.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ''It''s just a normal tent, I could probably crawl underneath one of the sides as easy as pie, but didn''t Uncle always say never to do anything without getting as much information as possible? I''ll just keep lying through my teeth until I can come up with a good plan.''


    The healer''s apprentice returned with two men in tow. One was a guard that had close-cut hair and a grizzled beard. His armor was dented in places and while his sword shined, its blade was chipped. One could tell that while his gear was old and worn out, it was obvious that the old man had kept it in as good shape as possible. Next to him stood a tall man who curiously looked at Dartelo, but once his gaze landed on the ropes that tied the boy down, there was a flicker of anger in his eyes.


    ''Maybe he''s the main healer? His clothes do look like those of the apprentice,'' Dartelo pondered.


    The three talked among each other in a foreign tongue that sounded rough and curt, unlike Dartelo''s native language - Pietranese. It almost looked as if a troupe was acting out an exaggerated argument, but of course, there was no chance for this to just be an elaborate joke. The argument lasted for close to a dozen minutes, with the apprentice and the guard on one side and the healer on the other. The healer, that had looked like a kindhearted man only a few moments ago, had bellowed and yelled for a good half of the time, not even letting the other side speak until he ran out of breath. In the end, the woman and the soldier stepped away unwillingly, while the tall man edged closer and crouched next to Dartelo''s cot.


    "My apprentice tells me that you said your name is Tarum and that you are a wandering barbarian. She doesn''t really believe you and neither does the guard. They both think you''re from the Kingdom of Heathens, as they call it," the tall man said. "Honestly it doesn''t really matter that much, they''d treat you the same way even if you were the Crown Prince of the Bessel Empire himself. My name is Dzherbon and I am the Battle Healer of this regiment."


    Dartelo looked at him in a daze, going over what he had just said. ''Regiment? Battle Healer? Crown prince? What in the nine heavens is he going on about!?''


    "We found you after the fighting had ended, boy. You were almost dead, lying unconscious at the river''s bank, about half a day away from here. You must have taken a very heavy knock to the head. Do you remember anything?" Dzherbon asked him.


    It took Dartelo a few moments to finally crawl out of the mental stupor he had entered. He looked at the tall man and realized that unlike his so-called apprentice, his skin did not have a bronze sheen to it and his hair was fair. ''Wait a second, he doesn''t have an accent!''


    "Are you from Pietra?" he asked sheepishly.


    "No, but I know their tongue. I am a mercenary from the Western Tribes. The Iorissian Kingdom was in need of healers and their coin is no worse than any other, so here I am," the tall man said dryly. "I shall ask you once again, do you remember anything?"


    The young man grimaced for a bit before answering, "A little, blessed healer Dzherbon. May I ask for some water? It is quite a long story."


    The sturdy healer immediately croaked out something that could have been a sentence, but to Dartelo it sounded like a wolf crunching bones. A female voice answered in the same manner and soon the apprentice came back with a clay jug in hand. She looked with unhidden anger at Dzherbon, before placing the jug next to his feet and storming away. Dzherbon snickered at his apprentice before picking up the jug with his left hand. It looked as if it weighed at least a good twenty kilograms.


    "Lean to the side, boy, and drink some before they change their minds. I may be a Battle Healer, but I''m as much of an outsider to them as you are." Dzherbon complained as Dartelo turned his head to the side and raised it as much as possible. His lips barely reached the massive jug''s rim.


    The water was hot and its taste was not pleasant at all. But the small trickle that Dartelo gulped incessantly was lifesaving. After a whole minute of drinking, Dzherbon pulled away the jug.


    "Too much isn''t good for you after you''ve went without for so long. Now tell me, boy, what happened?"


    Dartelo leaned his head back onto the cot and closed his eyes as he began recalling the last things he could remember before he woke up to this wretched situation.

 Chapter 3: Perilous Times

    It had been a day not unlike any other. The Vilruhns had woken up, eaten a hearty morning meal at the break of dawn and headed out. It was almost summer and there was a lot to do at the farm they lived on, outside of the small Shaya village. The animals were fed one after another and Lilia brought fresh eggs to the house. The father and son duo had even gone to the nearby river for fresh water, while Lilia had gone to check on the small garden the family maintained. Normally the Vilruhns would use their water well, but it had been going dry over the past few weeks.


    "Dad, the well is truly on its last legs. Should I go to the village and talk to my friends about helping us dig a new one?" the young lad asked Mavry, while they were busying themselves in the pigpen. The pigs were ready for slaughter, yet they were atypically small and covered with a coarse, black fur all over.


    "I know, I know. I will head out to the village with your mother and talk to the village elder. His family helped us build the first one, so they will be of great help. That old man has a sixth sense when it comes to finding water." Mavry replied, as he scooped up manure with a shovel and piled it up, all the while trying to dodge the numerous pigs that were scurrying around his feet.


    "You mean Grandfather? Didn''t he say he''d never speak to us again a few winters back?" Dartelo asked with a disbelieving look on his face.


    "Aye, that he did. But it seems that even somebody as stubborn as him can change his mind. Your mother and I shall go dine at his house and we shall be back by tomorrow afternoon. You''ll be in charge of guarding the house while we are away."


    Dartelo happily nodded as he confirmed, "Of course, father! I am almost of age, so guarding this old house will be as easy as riding a horse!"


    Mavry looked at his son with a smirk on his face. "Dart, you''ve never ridden a horse..."


    The young man harrumphed as he continued to clean out the pigpen alongside his father. "I''ve ridden Grandpa''s hogs and even gran Tora''s cow! Surely a horse is no different."


    His father shook his head and laughed. He had stopped shoveling and had even leaned against the enclosure''s wooden fence. "Such an impertinent boy. You take after your uncle too much, maybe I should consider letting you stay here next summer, instead of sending you to learn from him?"


    Dartelo looked up anxiously, "I''ll be good, Father, I promise! Please let me visit Uncle, you know I need to go learn how to read and write, or else I won''t be a candidate for any academy..."


    "Ah, academies is it now? And here I thought the point was to find you a good trade and if we''re lucky - a good wife to boot. May the gods help us find a lady willing to put up with you." Mavry said as he faked a sigh.


    Dartelo looked at his father in confusion. ''Maybe you''re the one that I actually take after, Dad? Poor Uncle, always getting blamed for this and that.''


    The two continued with their daily tasks until late in the afternoon when Mavry and Lilia set off towards the nearby Shaya village on foot. Dartelo stood by and watched their backs fade into the distance, before he continued with the daily chores.


    ''Fix this, fix that, make sure the cat doesn''t eat the cabbage patch, blah blah blah. I can''t wait for summer to come and rid myself of these farmhand annoyances at least for a bit,'' the young man dreamed as he was finally nearing the end of his tasks.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Having nothing else left to do, the young man ate an early dinner in the company of the family cat and then went to bed at dusk. He was dead tired and tomorrow would be another long day filled with toil. Toil and nobody but him to work the family farm for half of the day.


    As Dartelo was sleeping soundly in his bed, trouble was brewing a few kilometers to the south. The sun had already set and in the midst of a forest, a group of over a thousand soldiers had gathered in silence. The soft moonlight was barely able to penetrate through the trees'' foliage, but wherever it fell a cold metal shine would appear. The soldiers were dispersed in small groups around the forest, their tensed bodies ready for battle. A horn sounded out and the army set off, their lithe movements reminiscent of packs upon packs of wolves. Their thirst for blood was palpable.


    Dartelo woke up to the sound of a door being broken down. His heart racing, he quickly got out of bed and put on his clothes. He could hear the tabby cat hissing downstairs. There was an old dagger hidden underneath his bed - it had been a gift, from his father, for his fourteenth winter. He quickly took it out and quietly opened the door to his room, tiptoeing towards the staircase. He could hear a great number of people entering the house. His mind was still a bit hazy despite the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins.


    "In the name of Viceroy Jemma, this land is now part of the Province of Antella. All who resist shall be put down!"


    There were five men on the first floor and the Captain that had yelled out was cautiously gazing around, a torch in his hand. "Stay together lads, we''ll check the cellar and this floor and then we''ll move up . If you find anyone, try to bring them back in one piece. The Viceroy''s offering a silver coin for each able-bodied barbarian we manage to bring back to the slave pens. Don''t let me catch any of you fooling around or trying to hide supplies!"


    "Yes, Sir, we know that the mines have been going through a lot of manpower lately," one of his men joked.


    The four lackeys grinned and without a word they split up into two teams and started checking the first floor. Dartelo couldn''t understand a word of what the soldiers had said beyond the initial warning. The rest had been in a language he had never heard before. Sweat began to drizzle down his brow as his heart began to beat faster and faster.


    ''There are what, at least a dozen men downstairs? And that clanking should be armor! I need to get out of here in one piece and go warn the village'', he told himself. ''There''s no way I can get to the roof, and even if I did they would find me eventually. Can''t go up, that only leaves going down.''


    Dartelo slowly went back into his room, closed the door and proceeded to jam it with the old dagger like his uncle had taught him a few years back. "You can''t kill a pig with this old thing, instead of getting your head chopped off, you might as well use it to gain yourself a few more seconds to run away!" Beram had half-jokingly said at the time.


    The shutters flung open silently with a slight push from the youngster. It had taken him precious time to do so, as the latch had grown rusty and he was afraid it would make a noise if he opened it too quickly.


    He could hear the sound of more men at the front of the house, but nobody had bothered to circle around. There was a cold and biting wind that could chill one to the bones. Suddenly creak after creak could be heard, as two pairs of boots were now making their way up the old staircase.


    ''Well, here goes nothing.'' he thought to himself, his hands gripping the woodwork. Dartelo slowly lowered himself as much as possible, before he jumped down into the little garden. He barely missed the cabbage patch.


    Thump. Thump. Thump.


    His heart rate rose even further as he clumsily made his way through the garden and jumped over the low wooden fence. He looked back and could see some light through his room''s window.


    ''Gotta go west, river''s my safest bet!'' he kept reminding himself as he half-ran in a crouched manner. The grass was tall and the lower he stayed, the safer he''d be. A hundred meters away from his house, he could still hear men shouting unintelligibly in the distance. Their cries were growing fainter, replaced by the roaring of river.


    Dartelo turned north upon reaching the river and in a few minutes he could faintly make out the outlines of Shaya village, atop a nearby hill. An unusual smoke billowed across the sky, wisps of fire starting up in the distance.


    ''Damn it, am I too late?'' he though as he started running faster. His footing went askew and the last thing he saw was a large, glistening rock.

 Chapter 4: The Wandering Orphan

    The apprentice and guard had left and it was now just Dzherbon and Dartelo looking at each other, amidst the tent full of injured and frail men. Dartelo''s eyes slowly took in his surroundings as he forced himself awake and began to weave the tale he would tell the healer.


    While this may seem a bit odd, since his family had lived on the border, his parents and uncle had encouraged him to lie since he was little. It was not considered a bad skill to have, when you were constantly living on the edge of a sword. If the Vilruhns had a choice, they would have moved long ago to a safer place, but like all things in life, that would require a lot of money. Hence, until they managed to save up enough, they taught their son as much about life as they could. If lying could save their boy from harm, then who were they to deny their son of safety?


    After all, even the scriptures of the Battle Saint Pietra had affirmed this type of thinking. ''He who can hide his fangs and deal with enemies with the might of his words is no less a warrior than one who can not.'' No Pietran would doubt these teachings, as the Battle Saint had risen from nothing, and from an impoverished peasant had become the first ruler of their country.


    Dartelo looked at the healer and his mind raced to think of a believable story to hide that he was born in the Holy Pietra Empire.


    Finally, after a moment that spanned dozens of breaths, he said, "I was born on a merchant''s caravan very far away, Blessed Healer Dzherbon. We came from deep in the south. The first memory I have is of my mother''s smile as she toppled on top of me. The caravan was attacked and with her last dying breaths she fell on top of me, so that I may survive. She wasn''t the only one to die, most of the caravan guards and a lot of the merchants and passengers died before those damn bandits were repelled. I must have been less than five years old at the time, so I do not remember much, except that it took the rest of us a week to get to the nearest village. If I did have a father, I never met him, but the caravan leader took pity on me and gave me work so that I would not die."


    "Where do you hail from then, boy? And why do you speak Pietran so fluently?" Dzherbon questioned him.


    Dartelo looked up anxiously at the healer, that had now stood up next to his cot, and continued, "I do not know, Blessed Healer. The caravan leader, Sim, was born in this kingdom and so I learned it from him. I asked everyone that had known my mother and was still with the caravan, but none of them knew. They just said that she had paid to ride the caravan and seldom talked to anyone..."


    "Interesting, continue. Your story won''t tell itself..." said Dzherbon, somewhat puzzled.


    Dartelo tried to stand up, because his neck had started to hurt from looking up all the time. Dzherbon noticed and, after glancing around, untied his hands and feet. With a sigh of relief the young man propped himself up and thanked the healer.


    ''Didn''t expect that to work.'' Dartelo thought, as he sneaked a glance at the surrounding cots.


    He cleared his throat and continued, "We traveled a lot, for over 8 years across the kingdoms of the north. Mostly we bought wares from here and there and sold them along the way. One time we even stumbled upon an old Duke that hired us to bring him goods regularly. We spent over two years there and it really began to feel like home, but then the Duke died. His wretched son drove us away, because we were somehow ''cheating'' him. He had even brought the castle guards to threaten us, the wretch!This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "We continued traveling after that. It was a wonderful way to live, but after a few years Leader Sim decided it was time to retire. He had earned a lot of gold and longed to settle down. The caravan broke up when he left and since I had nowhere to go he took me all the way to Pietra. I worked in his hometown up on the north coast until I saved enough money to buy some land. Sadly, it wasn''t that much, so I could only buy a farm out here in the rural part of the kingdom. But I don''t really miss that town, it was very cold up in the north." Dartelo said as he planted a stupid grin on his face.


    Raindrops started splashing against the tent, one by one. Soon enough the downpour that was typical for this part of the year came.


    Dzherbon watched Dartelo with an unreadable expression for some time, before saying, "You''ve lived quite a life, Tarum. I must say I''m a bit jealous that a fifteen-year-old boy has traveled so far and wide. I will see if I can talk one of the chiefs into handing you over to me as an apprentice, but I can''t guarantee anything. Whether you were born right here on in the depths of their Iorissian Kingdom matters not. You''re just like these old men around us, a captive." The tall green-eyed man ran his hand through his grey hair as he walked away and left the tent.


    ''I really hope he bought it,'' thought Dartelo as he massaged his wrists. The ropes had been so tight they had imprinted themselves onto his skin. The youngster looked around, hoping to find somebody to help him escape, but all of the other cots were full of men deep in the clutches of sleep. A few were breathing so shallow that one could tell they were at death''s door. ''Just my luck...''


    Outside, Dzherbon had walked over to a solitary and crude little hut that was in the middle of the temporary camp. While the camp didn''t look like anything special, the soldiers had still managed to create it in a few hours, even going as far as erecting a small wooden fence with two makeshift towers for their archers. This, of course, wasn''t done on a whim. It was all part of the plan that the regiment''s leader, Alfors, had meticulously created. It was he who lived in the crude little hut. Dzherbon slowly walked into the hut''s only room that was littered with parchment. It was thoroughly spartan - a standard weathered table, a standard rickety chair and an even more standard half-asleep Alfors greeted him as he made his way through the mess that was strewn across the floor.


    ''I pray he gets married one of these days before he drowns himself and all of us in this garbage,'' Dzherbon pleaded his gods, as he slowly made his way to the table.


    "Battle Healer Dzherbon of the Western Tribes, at your service my lord!" said the healer as he clicked his boots and stood at attention.


    Lord Alfors, leader of the Fifth Regiment of the Iorissian Kingdom stifled a yawn as he looked up at the tall man in front of him. ''I''ll never get used to these western giants,'' he told himself for the umpteenth time as he gestured Dzherbon to be at ease. The tall westerner barely loosened his back and continued standing as still as possible. ''Oh, nine heavens save me, why do they always stand as if you caught them stealing your wine? If they were half as good at fighting as they are at towering over me, I''d have won this war in time for afternoon tea.''


    One couldn''t blame neither Dzherbon nor Alfors for their thoughts and peculiar ways.


    On one hand, the former had lived most of his life among foreigners and felt he had to be twice as good just so that he wouldn''t be stigmatized. It was typical for most westerners to be looked at as if they were slightly more intelligent than your average pig, and only if they were having a particularly good day. Or so they said.


    The latter grew up with court intrigue and would have gladly spent his life as his older brother''s spymaster if not for the war. The King of Ior, after having lost numerous wars and most of his generals, had resorted to conscripting the noble families and their personal soldiers. Obviously, times were hard even for relatively big kingdoms. Of course, Alfors could have been spared the tediousness that is war, had he not discovered an assassination plot against himself and promptly decided to make somebody''s life a bit harder.


    "Have you got anything of substance to report?" Alfors asked.


    "Quite a bit, milord."

 Chapter 5: A Chink in His Armor

    Lord Alfors Kaler was a short bespectacled man in his late thirties. He wore a scruffy-looking uniform that, according to himself, was a family heirloom he inherited from his grand-uncle. His clean-shaven head contrasted against the perpetual stubble that, according to some, even the sharpest of straight razors couldn''t deal with. He was the third son of the late Baron Kaler. His oldest brother Zert had been a renowned tactician that had died in battle a few years back, leaving his other brother Silus as the heir apparent to the small barony within the south-east part of the Antella province. The Kalers only had a small town with a castle to their name. Their farmlands were poor, the mine never had enough workers and the nearby forest would occasionally become infested with beasts.


    "Then please, report your progress Dzherbon." Alfors said, his gaze slowly floating back to the random piece of parchment he had been browsing before the healer entered his hut.


    "The regiment has completed the sweep and secured the area, as requested by Viceroy Jemma and per your plans, Lord Alfors. The Antellan general and his second will be here by tomorrow evening to relieve us of our duties. I have already taken liberty and had the men prepare rations and horses for our trip back. I doubt they will allow us a convoy larger than a dozen, milord," Dzherbon said, his gaze not landing on Lord Alfors even for a second. He had grown used to neither of them looking at one another during these frequent reports. "As far as the matter pertaining to weeding out the opposition, I can gladly report that we have so far uncovered seven spies hidden among the captives, as well as one oddity that I will need further time to properly investigate."


    The diminutive lord actually stared up for a second. Dzherbon almost flinched at the sudden coldness. A flash of uneasiness went through the tall man, before he steeled his nerves and continued as quickly as possible.


    "The oddity I mention, milord, is a youth of fifteen years of age. His manners, body and knowledge all point at him being nothing more than a farmer from this kingdom. His skillfulness at lying and his eagerness to fool me are the things that puzzled me," said the tall man, beginning to feel listless. Lord Alfors rarely showed any sort of facial expression, so it was hard for Dzherbon to always know how to act around him.


    "Tell me more about this child." Lord Alfors said, his gaze no longer rummaging through the bleak piece of parchment.


    "He told me a long tale of how he had lived far away and had nothing to do with this place, just to curry a bit of favor. He does not seem like the brightest apple under the sun, and I am almost entirely convinced that he is in no way a spy, either from our ranks or from our enemies'', but he is interesting all the same. He has a fairly good build, strong yet slender for his age," Dzherbon said coolly, yet unbeknownst to Alfors, the hands that he had clasped behind his back were now fidgeting. "If I may be bold, milord, I feel that we might benefit from acquiring this young lad that calls himself Tarum."


    Beads of perspiration were starting to condense on Dzherbon''s forehead. Suddenly, Lord Alfors chuckled, his hand lightly tapping the table with each snicker.


    "Benefit indeed, if nothing else maybe your knowledge of the world will grow a bit!" Alfors mockingly said, his lips curled up.


    "Milord?"


    "In Pietra, a tarum is a type of wooden bucket that people use to store water in. It is only used to wash their animals before they either sell them off or slaughter them." Alfors explained.


    Dzherbon was dumbstruck. At first he looked confused, then his cheeks turned rosy and he quickly looked down, ashamed of himself.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Lord Alfors took a good half minute to calm himself down, before continuing, "I agree with your observation. The boy might not be much, but we have lost a few capable hands and once we take him to the Barony, he won''t have much of a choice anyway but to adapt. Arrange for it to happen, Dzherbon. Have them strike him off the captives'' list, if you must."


    "Right away, Lord Alfors!" the healer said as he made his way out of the hut, with as much haste as the tons of parchment allowed him.


    ''Let''s see if I''ll get a moldable little pup this time. Hopefully he won''t die like his predecessors,'' thought Alfors, a grin coalescing on his face for a brief moment ¨C fleeting like rays of sunshine in the den of winter.


    Within the dilapidated hut in the middle of the camp, Dartelo was having what he could most graciously refer to as animal feed, although the guards had called it ''dinner''. It was a sort of mush with various ingredients, none of which he could identify. He haphazardly took another sip from the wooden spoon, pondering whether starvation would be less painful than having to stomach the Iorissian cuisine.


    The rain had subsided and as the day had long past, the clear sky was filled with the light of two small moons ¨C Pietrans called them the ''Twin Gods of Mischief''. The twin gods of mischief would only sit grace the sky at the same time once every 75 days, and as every child knew, nothing good would happen when they did. Livestock would sometimes vanish, people would anger easily and the seas would foam, gigantic waves crashing into the coast.


    Dartelo could see the light green moonlight seeping through a hole in the tent overhead and his mind wandered astray. ''Are my parents okay? Did they manage to run away in time? Grandpa''s always been stronger than both Dad and Uncle, so they might be at the capital by now!'' His worries came and left, not unlike the northern waves.


    Suddenly, Dzherbon entered the hut and made his way to the young Vilruhn. His gaze was filled with warmth, as he said, "Good news, boy! I have managed to plead with my lord and he has agreed to take you on as a servant!"


    "A servant?! But, Blessed Healer, is there no way for me to be freed?" Dartelo asked with feigned terror. He had expected much worse. "I have land and livestock to take care of. Whether it is the Pietrans or the Iorissians, they will need meat and they will need vegetables. If all of the farmers are led away, who will take care of their needs?"


    "Boy, have you lost your mind? It is a fact of life that once somebody takes over a new region, he will give out the land as a reward to those most worthy." Dzherbon explained mockingly, as he reached into his pocket and took out a pipe. He slowly filled it with various herbs, lit them and started puffing. "You have no more land. It is now Viceroy Jemma''s land and whether it prospers or not is none of our business. The villagers will, of course, have the luck of being forced to work for the newly-promoted nobles. If they manage to survive for five years, they will be granted their freedom and maybe a plot of land. You, on the other hand, have yet to thank me for saving your caravan-nurtured behind from backbreaking toil." he added, a deep frown now evident on his face.


    Dartelo looked up at the scowling westerner in faked shock. On the inside he was as happy as could be. ''If they need farmhands, then they probably didn''t slaughter anyone if he didn''t put up a fight. That means my family is still alive, even if they did get caught!''


    "W-What shall I do for your lord? Am I really going to be just a servant..." Dartelo asked, his hands in one another, fingers interlaced. He looked as pitiful as a newborn pup. ''Might as well make the best of this. Mom, Dad, Uncle Beram, Grandpa Kol... I promise I''ll come back stronger and save you!''


    "Worry not, boy. Lord Alfors is a fair ruler, as long as you do things exactly as he tells you to." Dzherbon said, reaching out with an open palm towards Dartelo. The brand new nobleman''s servant took the tall man''s hand and hoisted himself up, confusion still slightly plastered across his face.


    "Don''t worry about it for now. Let''s get you settled into the tent where Lord Alfors'' entourage is." Dzherbon said amicably, patting Dartelo''s back with enough force to send him a few steps forward.


    "Are they good people?" he asked as they made their way out of the tent.


    "Good enough, as long as you actually tell them your real name, junior servant Bucket." Dzherbon said, a bit of anger evident in his words.


    Dartelo silently gulped and dared not say another word as he followed the tall healer''s back.

 Chapter 6: Another Dawn

    It had been two days since Lord Alfors'' entourage had set out from the camp near Shaya village. The rain had kept getting worse and worse with no end in sight. Dartelo was thoroughly miserable, but he consoled himself with the thought that so was everybody else. These last two days had truly been a living hell for the young Vilruhn. It had turned out that, just as his father Mavry had said, riding a horse was definitely not something one could learn easily. Dartelo''s body ached all over and he had discovered numerous places and muscles that he had never even known he''d had, let alone that they could hurt so much.


    His small horse trailed calmly towards the end. Everybody had warned him to be careful with the old horse called Flame, but it gave him no trouble. It seemed as if the falling rain had doused the embers of Flame and it looked as if it would fall asleep at a moment''s notice. This would have been a real possibility, were it not for the strange creature that had the penchant for falling off every once in a while. Dartelo was almost convinced that Flame was somehow making him fall for its own amusement. Or at the very least, for the rest of the entourage''s entertainment.


    The rag-tag group had entered a forest on their very first day of travel. Dzherbon had said that it was called Ritimba forest by the Iorissians, which would approximately translate as "forest without an end". Dartelo wholeheartedly agreed with its name, as the deep and dark forest seemed as if it covered more land than his eyes had ever seen.


    Dartelo was in a foul mood. He had barely slept, the food was horrid and he had been struggling with the very first task he had been given - to learn Iorissian. He realized that he had to prove his worth if he wanted there to be any improvement in his current situation. Or, at the very least, in the quality of food.


    "How do you expect to continue in my service if you can not even speak to the other servants?" Lord Alfors had stated when he had seen Dartelo''s flustered expression upon handing him his assignment.


    After moving his possessions to the new tent, his possessions being himself and the clothes on his back, Dzherbon had immediately taken him to the small hut. What surprised Dartelo the most wasn''t the state of the small "dwelling", but Lord Alfors'' uncanny ability to catch him in any lie he tried to use. After a few minutes of awkward verbal dodging, Dartelo had finally given up and shared his real name and a bit about himself.


    "I know how to raise cattle and grow vegetables!" he had said with pride, to which Lord Alfors had coldly harrumphed.


    "I am neither an animal for slaughter nor a brainless plant. You shall need to learn the finer things in life. Kalir sorayah."


    "What?" Dartelo had asked, his eyebrows raised.


    "It is Iorissian for ''Another Dawn''. If you wake up to another dawn, then it is a good day. It means you have another chance to better yourself." Lord Alfors then said, after which he snapped with his fingers and stopped paying attention to Dartelo. The two had hastily left the small hut afterwards, Dzherbon going into detail about who Lord Alfors was and what an amazing opportunity Dartelo had been given by the gods.


    That had been two days ago.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ''In retrospect, I''d probably agree with him if he wasn''t so smug about it...'' Dartelo thought.


    The rain continued pouring down and soaking through his new clothes. He had been given rough clothes that looked more suitable for a ranger than a servant. Especially the leather boots that went as high as his knee. It had taken him a good half an hour to figure out how he was supposed to tighten them properly, having grown used to the leather moccasins that were typical for the Holy Pietra Empire.


    Underneath the leather boots he had donned a pair of "tights", or so Dzherbon had called them. They looked as if they were leather, but they were a snug fit and kept his lower body warm and dry. He was secretly amazed at their quality. A leather such as this would have been a hot commodity in Pietra, where a good part of the year was nothing but rain.


    "Just these tights are probably worth more than your family''s whole farm, boy! They''re made from the skin of a fire lizard, which doesn''t live this far up north. Remember to thank the Lord earnestly," Dzherbon had explained, as he had shamelessly taken off his trousers to show his own pair. Everybody had laughed and roared at the sight.


    The rest of his clothes were made from coarse materials - trousers, a shirt, a vest and a cape. All of them were in a dark color that was neither black nor green, yet somewhat in-between. Dartelo had wondered why, until the very first night when one of the guards that was wearing the same set of clothes had showed him how the color let one meld into the shadows. It was truly amazing.


    The sun had already set, yet the group continued on through the dense forest. Lightning flickered through the barely visible sky above their heads. Dartelo suddenly felt an inexplicable fear and even the hairs on his neck stood up. It was as if a pack of wolves was gazing at him.


    "Won''t we be stopping for the night, Dzherbon?" Dartelo asked, while trying to remain on top of his horse.


    "We can sleep on our horses if need be. We need to hurry to the nearest town, our lord has urgent business to attend to, so we shall get a change of horses there and continue." the westerner explained as he slowed down his horse''s pace. He was now right next to Dartelo, and continued with a bit of annoyance visible on his face, "You''ve been slacking off. Go back to Siem''s side and continue your studies!"


    Siem had been a part of Lord Alfors'' entourage for over a decade. He was an average-looking man of around forty years with brown hair and brown eyes. If you put him in any crowd he''d be as indistinguishable as a fly in the desert. While Dartelo was not sure what he actually did for the lord, after spending a couple of days with the rest of the guards and servants, he knew that Siem was the most knowledgeable of the group. He knew proper etiquette, how to read and write in at least three languages and how to cook.


    ''Ah, I''d kill for a bit of that rabbit soup right about now.'' Dartelo thought, as he moved his horse to the side and went towards Siem.


    In the meantime, Dzherbon had returned to his position in the middle of the group, next to Lord Alfors. It was clear at a glance, that the westerner was more than just a battle healer.


    Lord Alfors looked at his personal healer and, with a wry smile, asked, "How is your junior doing?"


    "Worse than I did back in the day, milord. The boy may not be fit for studies at the Royal College, but Siem should be able to beat the language into him by the time we''re back."


    "Don''t let Siem neglect his other duties, Dzherbon. The boy is interesting, but our safety is paramount. Better a mute lad than all of us dead and buried in a trench."


    Dzherbon looked as if every word that Lord Alfors uttered was that of the gods. Absolute reverence could be seen in his eyes. The westerner saluted, the back of his open fist touching his forehead, and left to complete his master''s command.


    Lord Alfors looked out into the dark forest all around himself and smiled, his thoughts turning back to the plan he had come up with.


    ''Well now, come, make your first move, dear cousin.'' he thought as the wind whistled through the trees'' leaves, his expressionless face drenched.

 Chapter 7: A Shift in the Wind

    As Dzherbon had slowed down his horse, to join Dartelo and Siem, a solitary arrow whistled through the air and embedded itself into one of the guards'' horses. The animal cried out in pain and had the guard been any less of a rider, the horse would have thrown him into the air then and there.


    "Ambush!" yelled out the guard, his hand reaching for his sword as soon as he had managed to calm down his mount, blood oozing down its leg.


    It was as if a great tidal wave was upon them. Arrows started raining down from the sky, as if conjured by magic. The guards immediately took out their shields and aimed them at the sky. Thud after thud could be heard as the arrows collided with the iron shields and slid off towards the ground.


    Dartelo looked around in panic as the entourage quickly tightened around Lord Alfors, the momentum of the pack dragging even old Flame nearer.


    "Orders, milord?" Dzherbon asked underneath his breath.


    On the surface, Lord Alfors seemed to be unable to lose his cool even under the threat of death. But as he looked at Dzherbon, one could tell that thoughts were madly racing through his head.


    "How much further until the road?" he asked. The arrows continued to rain down, sparks flying off the shields, but most of them embedded themselves into the ground. The archers'' accuracy was pathetically low.


    "A few more kilometers, at most, and then a bit further to the nearest town." Dzherbon answered.


    Lord Alfors looked around and noticed that the horses that had been hit by stray arrows looked sluggish. ''Damn it, poison! That settles it.''


    The Iorissian noble gripped the handle of his sword, pulled it out with one clean motion, and roared at the top of his lungs, "For the glory of Ior, break out!"


    As soon as the men around him all heard this, they unsheathed their weapons and cried out unintelligibly. The horses that had been scared witless were kicked and slapped into a frenzy and the ground shook underneath their hooves.


    The rag-tag group stampeded across the narrow path, arrows still whistling past their ears. A few of the guards were not favored by the gods and, soon, the group had gone down to a mere nine. Dartelo had clearly seen how an arrow had hit one of the men clean in the throat, the light in his eyes immediately dimming. ''Nine heavens above, save me!''


    "Faster, men!" Dzherbon bellowed, angered at the deaths of his comrades. "Siem, a hand!"


    Siem was at his side in a breath and the old guard took the reins of Dzherbon''s steed in hand, the other men covering both with their shields. Dartelo was scared witless as he held onto Flame for his dear life. He was sweating profusely and his new fire lizard tights were soiled.


    The air around Dzherbon seemed to transform, as a thick red aura sprung out of his tall silhouette. It became thicker and thicker until finally, he yelled out. His voice was rough and his words sounded like metal shoes stomping on glass.


    ''Oh my gods, magic?'' Dartelo gasped as the aura exploded outwards and clung to every member, like a second layer of skin. The fifteen-year-old tried to grasp the aura, but his hand passed right through it. Within the blink of an eye it stabilized and each rider looked as if he had been bathed in blood.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    "How long?" Lord Alfors asked.


    "Ten breaths at most, milord!" Dzherbon answered, looking as if years had been sapped away from his body. He had hunched over, almost hugging his horse. The edges of his lips drew up as he muttered something in that dreadful language.


    Suddenly, the entourage''s speed seemed to double and in a flash, they left the arrows behind them. The horses looked as if they were mustangs that were running for the first time in their lives. Their strides grew bigger and bigger and it took all of Dartelo''s strength just to hold on.


    As if losing their minds to bloodlust, the troop of horses moved like an infernal beast, bent on destruction. Dust and leaves were furiously kicked up. The riders held their heads down as much as possible.


    Just as the color of the spell seemed to dull and disappear, the group hit the road. Siem, who had moved to the forefront, turned his horse left and lead the way. It was a dirt road, riddled with patches of mud, but the horses'' speed seemed to pick up.


    "How much further?" Dartelo shakily asked Dzherbon, who still seemed muddle-headed. He shook his head and laughed, choosing not to answer. He turned his head around to face Dartelo and smiled, showing his teeth that were bloodied. The young boy looked on in shock for a moment and turned away, now looking forward.


    The road was dimly lit by the moonlight, but he could still make out more than he could within the forest. It was a winding road that kept going lower and in the distance he could faintly make out lights in the distance.


    Siem made his way to Dartelo and without a warning jumped off his horse and landed behind Dartelo, grabbing the reins.


    "What in the!?!" Dartelo yelled out.


    The horse, having been ridden of its heavy load, neighed once before it fell to the ground. A few riders barely managed to evade its corpse.


    "Poison arrows." Siem noted, while kicking Flame harshly with his boots. The old mount responded and made its way forward until they were next to Lord Alfors.


    "Anything else?" Lord Alfors dryly asked, as the lights ahead of them seemed to draw closer.


    "Lone mage, should be clear ahead." Siem said simply. The man seemed to exude confidence.


    The group soon made its way to a small town, barely larger than a village. Although it was not grand, there was a relatively high stone wall around the entirety of the town. They had stopped in front of a small gate, barely wide enough for two carts to move side by side.


    "Perry Township." Siem explained as he saw Dartelo''s questioning gaze.


    Two scruffy men in leather armor appeared on top of the wall. "Who goes there?"


    "Lord Alfors, son of Kaler." said a member of the entourage and threw up a small emblem. "We have wounded, open the gates!"


    The two men looked at one another for a moment, clearly a bit flustered. They had caught the small emblem and while they had never seen the Kaler crest, only noble families were allowed to cast emblems. The Kalers were barons, hence accordingly, their emblem was coated in truesilver.


    "Go open the gate, Fier. I''ll run down and tell boss about ''em." said one man to the other.


    It was rare for noblemen to pass through Perry. Most would choose to continue down the muddy road rather than stay in an impoverished township in the middle of nowhere.


    "I trust there is a suitable accommodation for us." Lord Alfors questioned, as the group made its way through the gate. The watchman Fier silently nodded and whistled. Soon, another group of watchmen appeared and, after some explaining, lead the way to the "best inn in town". There wasn''t much competition for the title, as there was only one tavern.


    The group dismounted as they followed the guides, their horses'' hooves clicking against the cobbles. There were lamps filled with azure flames that hung here and there, illuminating the narrow road.


    Dartelo was thoroughly miserable. He could barely keep himself up, the strength having gone from his legs. ''Oh gods, I think I''m about to be sick!'' he thought, as he felt his stomach roil. He leaned against a nearby wall and retched a few times. Without warning, somebody slapped his back heavily and the contents of his belly cascaded against the cobbles and his new boots.


    Dartelo looked up weakly and saw Dzherbon''s pale face above him.


    "That''s the spirit, have a good one, boy. This is just the beginning!"

 Chapter 8: Tired and Famished

    The weary nine travelers slowly made their way to a run-down tavern. A tall three-story building emerged from within the winding and crisscrossing maze that were the roads of Perry. It looked as if the building had gone through numerous reincarnations - parts of its walls seemed brand-new, while others were dated and looked as if they had been touched by flames. A small plank was hanging from chains above its front door, gently swaying with the wind. Dartelo could barely see the branded writing on the piece of wood.


    "The Wounded Warrior. Remember the second symbol before the name, boy. It''s used for people that can''t read." Dzherbon said, as he walked next to him unsteadily. "Means it''s a place to rest."


    The two watchmen knocked on the door. After half a minute or so, a man that seemed as ancient as the gods slowly opened the door. His eyes were glazed over and never wandered, even as he tilted his head to one side or the other, listening to the township guards'' whispers.


    "Enter, fellow warriors." the old man answered with a hoarse voice, before turning around and going back into the tavern. The two guards nervously smiled and walked back to Lord Alfors'' and his escort.


    "Begging your forgiveness, Baron, but ol'' Noar has been like this ever since he came back from the war blind," one of them said, worry evident in his demeanor, as he bowed. "The rooms are clean and there is warm food aplenty."


    Lord Alfors looked at the building, and in his typical taciturn manner, replied, "Take our horses to the stable. We shall need an apothecary."


    The two men went their separate ways as the group entered the dimly-lit tavern. The air was still and heavy, the glass windows so dirty one could barely see through them. The first floor was surprisingly large, with worn-down tables and chairs of all sorts littering the room. A few drunks looked at them with curiosity, before turning back to face the fireplace.


    Dzherbon made his way to the bar, where old man Noar was patiently waiting. He was rummaging beneath the counter for a short while, before he promptly gave him four heavy keys. One of them was notched in a peculiar way.


    "The marked key is for the last room on the second floor. That one''s me best. My cook, Mams, is gone for the night, so I can only warm up a pot of soup for yer men." the old man said.


    "They are not my men, tavern master Noar, but I shall tell my lord. Excuse us for the disturbance." Dzherbon answered, a clink sounding out as his hand left a silver coin on the counter.


    The healer handed Lord Alfors the key to his room, and the men all followed him up the stairs onto the second floor, where they each decided on their sleeping arrangements.


    "Come to my room in a bit if you have anything you can''t bandage on your own." Dzherbon said, a few of the men snickering as they grabbed their trousers in feigned pain. The westerner scoffed as he and Dartelo entered their room.


    It was small and a bit stuffy and, curiously, Siem had somehow managed to claim the biggest bed right under their noses, his eyes closed. It was faint, but you could hear the man snoring. Dzherbon blankly looked at the old soldier, wondering whether he should wake him up to inspect his wounds. ''Ah, doesn''t matter. Best not wake a slumbering werebear, as the saying goes.''Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    All the while, Dartelo had been meekly following the group, not uttering a single word. His pupils were dilated and his breathing was shallow. The healer noticed this and, with a hand on his shoulder, dragged him onto the closest chair. The youngster''s body felt frail to the touch and Dzherbon was afraid he''d injure him if he wasn''t careful.


    He worriedly looked at the young man. ''Ah, damnation, don''t tell me we broke the boy so soon. That''ll be a new personal record...'' he thought, and with a grin, he cupped the side of Dartelo''s head and pinched his small ear between his colossal fingers.


    "Wake up, boy!" Dzherbon said firmly, as the shock from the pain startled Dartelo. As the teenager looked at him, he could could see the fear that had gripped his soul.


    "Now listen, young one. There''s nothing to be ashamed of, we''ve all gone through this. By the devil''s coat, if you think none of us weren''t shaking in our boots when we saw those damn wind arrows raining down upon us, then you''ve sorely overestimated us. Everyone fears death, fears losing there loved ones. Just remember, if you live, then you have to become stronger for the ones that didn''t. Kalir soyarah!" Dzherbon said, a kind look on his face as he inwardly stroked his ego for coming up with such a good speech on the spot. ''Lord Alfors would be proud.'' he told himself.


    "I''m sorry..., what did you say Dzherbon?" Dartelo asked, as he finally regained his composure.


    The tall healer almost lost his footing upon hearing this. ''By the heavens that watch over me, if I don''t smack your bottom bloody by the end of the day, then I''ll change my name to Perry!'' he thought angrily.


    Dzherbon stood up, his hands itching to teach the rascal in front of him a good lesson, and said, "I was merely pointing out that it''s normal to be afraid, whelp. But it seems that our dear little servant Bucket has the heart of a flying lion."


    "Thank you for your concern," Dartelo said, as he brought his legs up to his check and hugged them. "Can you please tell me of something so that my mind can wander a bit. Was that magic that you used to save us?"


    Dzherbon sighed as his hand made its way through his hair. ''And the brains of a chicken.''


    "That was a blessing, you dimwit. Didn''t I tell you before that I''m a Battle Healer? For heavens, boy, do you not know anything about the world!?" Dzherbon exclaimed, feeling as if he was at the end of his rope when he saw the empty look on Dartelo''s face. "Now listen here, and listen carefully. Battle Healers are men that have been blessed by the gods, not like those scrawny little mages that stick their noses into books all day long, holed up in their wizard towers. No, a Battle Healer has to be the bravest and strongest fighter of his clan. He has to be smart, agile and ruthless. Only then will the tribal shaman bestow upon him the blessing of the gods and teach him the ancestral ways."


    "So..., is it just the one blessing or are there more? And how often can you use it?" Dartelo asked, almost jumping out of his chair. There was no sign of his previous tiredness. "Ooh, and what do you use to make it work?"


    "Of course there isn''t just one blessing. What are we, the damned southerners that only think there''s one god? You can be blessed by as many gods as your tribe follows, as long as the tribal shaman knows the ways of using those blessings. Mind you, not every blessing is easy. Just to learn the Winged Tiger''s Skin that I used today, I had to practice it for years, yet it still makes my legs wobble every time I do. At best, I can probably use it for a minute before I pass out. And as far as what I use..." Dzherbon smiled and nodded towards where he had left his gear. "You have two options. It is either the thanks you receive from those you have saved, or the curses of those you''ve killed. That is why we are called Battle Healers."


    "Amazing! Can I become a Battle Healer?" Dartelo asked, bewildered by the prospect of being able to learn something fun, for once.


    Dzherbon scowled, his eyebrows seemingly merging above his eyes. "The only thing you can become, you little fiend, is a good servant! Now go wake up Siem and head down for dinner, I have patients in need of my services and an apothecary to meet."


    Dejectedly, Dartelo sat up and readied himself for the grueling task that was waking up Siem. He had heard stories about it from the other soldiers.

 Chapter 9: Night of the Fallen

    The Wounder Warrior was truly the best tavern in the town of Perry. It had creaky stairs, cobwebs that glistened in the moonlight, drunks that could hold their bladders better than their drinks and the best soup Dartelo had tasted in days.


    ''To be fair, this is the only tavern and I haven''t eaten all day,'' he reminded himself.


    After he had gone down with Siem, the two had gotten themselves some soup, sat down on a table that looked as if it hadn''t been cleaned in days and eaten like mad dogs. The soup was called Weary Warrior''s Delight. According to the tavern master, it was a delight, because as a warrior, having any food at all was a delight.


    "But then why is it called weary? Is it because the warriors were tired of battle?" Dartelo had asked.


    The blind old man had turned his face in the general direction of the teenager, and with a wicked smile, said, "Because when you have it often enough, you''d wish the battle never ends if all you''d get is this sorta soup."


    Dartelo looked at the grinning old man and wanted to ask what was in the soup, but then had thought better of it and had joined the waiting Siem to find themselves a table. The hour being as late as it was meant that even the usual drunks had gone home by now. The two wooden bowls sat, as empty as their stomachs had been a short while ago.


    Dartelo looked towards a big table, placed in one of the corners near the fireplace. Lord Alfors sat in a chair, slices of herb bread sitting in a plate in front of him. A surviving member of the escort was on each of his sides, but directly in front of him, an enormous man was seated.


    The stranger looked as if he weighed at least half as much as Dartelo''s horse. His body was so huge that it was a wonder the chair hadn''t given up and crumbled underneath its force. The man was gesturing erratically, beads of sweat streaking down his neck. His fat fingers were each adorned with at least one ring, and even under the fireplace''s bleak light, they would shine and catch one''s eye. His robes were a light shade of blue, with odd figures sown into them here and there.


    ''Some poor tailor probably had to cut a great big hole in the sky to get enough material for robes as big as those.'' Dartelo thought, the absurdity of the idea eliciting a laugh which he barely smothered.


    Siem, who had been busy picking at his fingernails with a short dagger, looked up at him disapprovingly, and scolded, "Watch it. Do not cross those you know nothing about, just because of their looks."


    Dartelo silently nodded, hoping it would appease his teacher, before he once again looked towards Lord Alfors'' table, hoping to catch a glimpse or maybe even hear a bit of the conversation.


    Lord Alfors himself would at this moment give away all of his worldly possessions just to be rid of the stranger that was somehow managing to talk, eat and drink without taking a single breath in-between. ''I wonder if all of those rumors about how decadent rich people are came about after a lot of people met dear Sir Loras...''


    Sir Loras was the stranger sitting in a chair opposite him. While he was technically an aristocrat, his title was that of a Reserve Iorissian Knight and, seeing as the day when the Kingdom of Ior would stoop as low as to call upon his services had not and probably would not come, Sir Loras was in a jam. If a Iorissian Knight was never called to fight in defense of the kingdom, his title would die with him. This was the reason behind his sudden appearance at the tavern, a mere half an hour after the group had wandered in.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Suffice it to say, Loras was not a man of noble upbringing, nor did he have any good characteristics that one could readily note. What the man did have was the most insatiable greed Lord Alfors had ever seen. Whether it be money, jewelry, lavish clothes, food or drink, it was obvious that Loras had amassed or indulged in all of them. And very heavily at that. But the one thing that the man had obviously not yet gathered in his palm was the good favor of a true nobleman. And that good favor might mean his son could keep their title, and with it ¨C control over Perry Township.


    While Lord Alfors would normally have nothing to do with the talking blob that was hastily devouring the only suitable food in the tavern, he was short of luck and, more importantly, short of men. ''Oh well, beggars can''t be choosers I guess,'' the noble sighed mentally.


    "Sir Loras, you were saying something about mercenaries?" Lord Alfors casually remarked.


    "Why yes I was, my lord. I was just about to remark how there are a few mercenary groups, which I keep in contact with for dire needs, that would be honored to serve at your side. Their rates are, of course, not abysmally high and while they may not be the type of folk we may view as..., cultured, all of them are good at what they do. Just say the word and I shall immediately send a messenger. The closest group lives in a town half a day away from here." Loras explained, his sausage-like fingers resting on his gigantic belly.


    "I''d hoped we could make the journey on our own, but circumstances being what they are, I''ll have to trouble you." Alfors said, his face contorted with feigned rage. Only those that had been by his side for years would know that he seldom let his actual emotions leak out.


    The chair underneath Sir Loras moaned as the gigantic "knight" sat up. "As you wish, my lord, I shall get to it right away. If you need anything at all, just ask a watchman to notify me and it shall be arranged."


    "Indeed. Have a pleasant evening, Sir Loras. I shall hope for pleasant news in the coming days."


    The round man bowed and then hastily made his way out of the tavern. Dartelo had been watching all along, but since he had only had a few lessons with Siem, he could only understand a couple words that the two had exchanged.


    Lord Alfors, having finished his dinner, sent off one of the guards and soon he had returned with glasses of ale, one placed in front of everyone present, except for Dartelo.


    "Tonight, my men, let us drink for those who are no longer among us." Lord Alfors said, as for once a genuine expression appeared on his face. He seemed truly saddened by the losses they had sustained. "May they rest eternally in the glory of Ior. To the fallen!"


    The soldiers lifted their glasses and one after another repeated his words.


    To the fallen. To the fallen...


    "Siem, do you know who that man was?" Dartelo asked, after things had finally quieted down.


    His teacher downed the last of his ale before answering. "Probably the person in charge of Perry. Lord Alfors wouldn''t meet with anyone less."


    "But then, why did he meet with him at all?" the lad wondered.


    "He didn''t meet with him, it''s the other way around." Siem said, as he contemplated another glass of ale. "If you run a small township like this, somebody like our Lord passing through is no different than the gods ascending from heaven."


    Dartelo pondered upon this for a while, before thanking Siem and going back up to the second floor. He was dead tired. Dzherbon was just leaving their room, finally free to go have some dinner. He looked at the half-asleep young lad, snickered, and wished him a good night''s rest. As Dartelo was tucked underneath a warm blanket, one last thought passed through his head before he finally fell asleep.


    ''To the fallen.''

 Chapter 10: A Strength Within

    A new dawn had arrived and eight of the nine had already woken up and were busy eating their fair share of breakfast. Only Dartelo was still sound asleep in his bed. The town of Perry was covered in a hazy mist, which made it difficult to see more than a few meters ahead of oneself.


    This was quite normal, since Perry was positioned at the very edge of the Iorissian Kingdom''s domain. The weather in the north-east of the kingdom was monotonous - rain, rain and every once in a while, even more rain! If the forests and plains were not filled with numerous precious beasts, most people would not bother to eke out a living. Or rather, they would not be able to tolerate living in such a hostile region.


    The northeast border was in contact with three other countries.


    In the center was the Holy Pietra Empire which had once spanned over most of the north. While it would take somebody weeks to cross the Holy Pietra Empire even nowadays, at its peak, a person would have to travel for years to cross the empire from one end to the other. Were it not for the numerous ancient fighting techniques and powerful magicians the Empire had as its foundation, it would have been swept up by the sands of time centuries ago.


    To the west of the Empire was the Southern Reaches ¨C a vast and empty wasteland. Legends speak of a mighty country once existing within the Southern Reaches. Although its name was no longer known, numerous adventurers would willingly brave the treacherous deserts that spanned the region, hoping to find a lost artifact. Yet although most of this part of Estoch was barren, it was not entirely devoid of human life. Bards would often sing about the illusive city-state of Dorman, which was supposedly shrouded by powerful magics. Only those that were worthy would find this fabled wonderland, or so the bards sang.


    To the east of Pietra was the Dominion of Voranda. Out of all of the countries that bordered the Kingdom of Ior in the northeast, this was the one kingdom that even the Kingdom of Ior would not covet. The reason as to why was actually very simple. The Dominion of Voranda was not a mighty or especially big kingdom, on the contrary, one could travel around all of it within a single month. The problem was that this was known as the Cursed Kingdom. Voranda had been annexed half a dozen times in its modern history, yet every time the same fate would await its conquerors - a slow and painful death, following which Voranda would be reborn. The odd thing was that there was never a pattern to it - one kingdom took it over and its crops were plagued for decades, another''s monarchy had toppled because of a peasants'' revolt, a third had held onto it for over a century. But even that sprawling behemoth of a kingdom was not spared of the so-called curse ¨C its monarchs would be unable to produce heirs, and despite the crown changing lineages several times, none of them had been able to father a child. In the end, most countries had decided against invading Voranda. Some, like the Kingdom of Ior, outright refused to even trade with it.


    All of this was important due to three reasons.


    First of all, the Iorissian Kingdom did not have powerful techniques. Second of all, Iorissian nobles would often give citizenship to foreigners that would share their knowledge. And, last but not least, Siem was a war orphan that had escaped from Voranda. All of this, unbeknownst to Dartelo, would lead to a stroke of luck that would be considered fortuitous by some and disastrous by many.


    Lord Alfors was sitting in the same chair he had sat in the night before, but this time opposite him was none other than Siem. The two had finished their breakfast, comprised of a mix of eggs and something that resembled bacon, without uttering a single word.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "Siem, give me your honest assessment of the boy." the Lord asked, as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.


    The average-looking man leaned against his chair, hands on his knees, and looked curiously at the noble. A faint smile could be seen on Siem''s face, illuminated through the dusty windows.


    "A pup, but not necessarily a bad one. Good body, agile with a bit of strength and he managed himself well enough during the chase. Not the brightest I''ve ever seen, but not dimwitted either."


    Lord Alfors stilled after hearing what one of his best guards had said. It had been more than he had heard him say within the past week. ''I''d almost forgotten he could actually talk so much!''


    "Would you consider teaching him something besides the language then?" he asked, his hands cupped on the table in front of him.


    Siem seemed to think it through for a bit, his left foot tapping for a short while, before he answered, "If Lord Alfors thinks he is worthy, I can teach him a few of the basics. Whether he can actually master them at all is up to him. I gather the pup won''t be just a servant then?"


    "No, I am afraid we are well past the peaceful times when I could consider allowing my servants to be defenseless little calves. Wake the boy up and train him for the rest of the day. Let us see if he has a talent for your arts." Lord Alfors said, as he came to his feet.


    Siem had also stood up and saluted, in a manner quite different to that of the other guards, as the bespectacled man left the table. With his right hand''s ring and pinky fingers extended, he had touched his left arm''s biceps. This was the typical Vorandan salute, although most people never recognized it as such and thought of it as a personal eccentricity of his. After all, he looked like the most average man they had ever seen and spoke Iorissian better than most of the kingdom''s citizens did.


    Siem slowly made his way up and soon he was in front of Dartelo''s bed, quietly looking at the sleeping teenager. Dartelo was snoring away like most fifteen-year-old boys, happily grinning at the imaginary scenes he was probably encountering in his dreams.


    The Vorandan warrior crouched next to the bed, his mouth a few centimeters away from Dartelo''s face, before loudly yelling, "Wake up you damn pup. Time for training!"


    Dartelo shrieked as he jumped up from his bed, and in a dazed confusion even managed to slam his face in the adjacent wall. Holding onto his nose, that felt as if it was broken, the lad looked up at his language "master" with a mixture of pain and fear. He had never heard Siem raise his voice before, not even when they had been riding for their lives.


    "Training, master? Do you not mean studying?" he asked.


    "New orders by our lord. Get dressed, unless you want everyone else to see." Siem said monotonously, waving his hand in the teenager''s direction.


    At this point, Dartelo suddenly remembered that he was stark naked. The bed linens had felt like hot lava to him the previous night, so he had decided to sleep without clothes on, as he often would back at the farm. A blush quickly blooming on his face, Dartelo turned and hastily put on the dark-green clothes he had received. They were still a bit dirty, but he had not had the time to clean them properly.


    Siem made his way to the small courtyard behind The Wounder Warrior, Dartelo in tow. The stone walls around the two were not particularly high, but they looked very sturdy, as if they had predated the tavern itself.


    The Vorandan warrior turned around, his hands resting behind his back.


    "What I am about to teach you, you are forbidden from ever sharing with anybody else. Is that understood?"


    "Y-Y-Yes, master Siem!"


    "Good. We shall start with the most basic of basics. Within all of us there a certain power that can push us to be. This is what I shall be teaching you of." Siem said, standing so still it looked as if he was petrified. His brown eyes started shifting their colors until they became a light shade of amber.


    "What is it?"


    "Godspeed."

 Chapter 11: Godspeed

    Siem''s eyes darkened back to their usual brown and he sat down on an old tree stump that was on one side of the courtyard. The location could be considered perfect for training - the walls were sufficiently high to hide the old man and the young boy from prying eyes, and there was only one way to enter it ¨C through the Wounder Warrior''s kitchen, which was strictly off-limits for most customers. Besides the stump, there wasn''t much in the courtyard. Actually, there was nothing else, except for a lot of trampled dirt. The sides had an uneven sort of grass all over and the occasional weed. The first word that came to mind when Dartelo saw it was barren.


    Dartelo had decided to keep quiet, as he waited for Siem to further explain. It somehow felt wrong of him to be curious at a moment like this. He felt that what the old soldier was about to share was something very personal. Siem looked up at him after sitting still for a few minutes.


    "Godspeed is something that has been passed down in my family for generations." he said, as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "When I said you were forbidden from ever sharing it, I meant it literally. Once you learn this technique, if you are not of my bloodline and try to share it - the technique itself will cause a backlash on your body. I have only heard stories of it, but trust me pup, it is far worse than dying."


    The look in Siem''s eyes frightened Dartelo. He had never felt such a primal fear in his entire life. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he felt as if he had fallen into a deep and icy river, swept away by its currents. Only when he averted his eyes from the old soldier did this feeling lessen.


    After taking a few moments to strengthen his resolve, Dartelo once again met Siem''s gaze.


    "What does Godspeed do?"


    "I have no idea," the old soldier said, with a cackle. "That is, I have no idea what it will do for you. The technique is very old and nobody knows how it works. Each person that has learned it has gained a certain type of ability, but no two are alike."


    "Then what can you do with Godspeed?" Dartelo asked.


    "Not much. I can see better in the night."


    Dartelo, with a bewildered look plastered across his face, said, "Just that?"


    Siem started laughing once again, so hard that it seemed as if he would grow short of breath. Finally, he stood up and, with a few steps, looked down on Dartelo, towering from above.


    "Just that? Yes, just that. I can see in the dark, but I can see in the dark better than anyone can see when it is the brightest part of the day. Do you think that is a power not worth having?"


    Dartelo gulped, barely containing the urge to step back and run away, and said, "N-No. It is definitely a wonderful power to have, master! Please teach me!"


    Siem snorted, as he took a few steps back and changed his stance. His feet were one against another, toes pointing forward towards. He patiently waited for Dartelo, until he mimicked the stance. The old soldier''s hands shot forward, muscles bulging, and he aimed his thumbs downward, before he brought the back and placed them on his own neck, lightly squeezing until the veins on his forehead bulged. The scene opposite him quickly became the same as the young lad imitated Siem''s actions.


    "Vu resh, van-dan. Virelo Voranda! VITUS!" the soldier''s voice erupted, each word clearly said, seemingly hanging in the air.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Dartelo tried his best to say the words in the same way. He pronounced each syllable distinctly and with force, yet once he was done...


    Nothing.


    Nothing had happened whatsoever.


    Dartelo was heartbroken as he looked at Siem, who was now coming toward him, and said, "I am sorry, master. I must have..."


    And at that moment, something did happen.


    Dartelo''s whole body spasmed and just as his figure swayed and started falling, Siem''s strong arms caught him midair. A pain like none other hit the young lad and it took all of his willpower just to keep his eyes open. Every fiber of his being was thrashing about, convulsions racking his body. He wanted to yell out, but his voice was gone and the only thing that escaped his mouth was a gasp.


    ''No! No! What did he do to me?!'' Dartelo thought, tears flowing down his face as he looked at Siem.


    The old soldier had a slight smile on his face.


    "Don''t fight it, pup, let it pass through you. This is what is supposed to happen, fear not!"


    Dartelo somewhat foolishly obeyed his master''s command and stopped trying to take control of his body. Suddenly, he could feel something pass through him and the pain was a bit less than before. With every beating of his heart, the same feeling would emerge and the agony started to slowly subside. He was covered in sweat and he seemed unable to even cry anymore. ''Just make it stop, please Holy Pietra, make it stop!''


    The two stayed like this for quite some time. To Dartelo Vilruhn it felt like an eternity.


    Finally, he felt some of his power come back and he lightly squeezed Siem''s forehand. The soldier lifted him up and brought him to the stump he had sat on a while ago. Dartelo unsteadily sat down, gasping for air.


    "Was that it, d-d-do I have Godspeed now?" he asked with a voice so hoarse he barely recognized it as his own.


    Siem smiled as he lightly patted the teenager''s shoulder. "You''ve done it, pup. Consider yourself lucky, the chances of you actually living through that were on the slim side."


    Dartelo looked up, shocked by Siem''s word. His hands were clutching at his trousers, as he asked, "Then why did you let me do it?!"


    "It was either that or you having your head chopped off. Do you think Lord Alfors is kind to those that disobey him?" Siem answered matter-of-factly.


    As young as the Vilruhn successor was, this one sentence almost broke his resolve. ''Am I that expendable? Do people mean nothing to Lord Alfors?''


    He felt the shivers coming on and tightly hugged himself. It took him nearly a quarter of an hour to get himself together and stood up. It was pointless to think about what ifs and maybes. He had lived through this ordeal, so the only thing that made sense was to grow stronger.


    ''Strong enough to never be put in such a situation again!'' he thought, a firm resolve forming within his soul.


    "Okay, pup, play time''s over. You can officially consider yourself my apprentice." Siem nodded as he looked over Dartelo. "We have to figure out what Godspeed power you''ve awakened."


    Dartelo puffed out his chest, slowly feeling the muscles within his back that felt as if they had been massaged by a giant. "And how do I do that?" he asked.


    "Close your eyes and try to feel if there is something different within your body."


    The teenager did as he was told and tightly shut his eyelids. He concentrated fiercely, trying to look for any changed. When he came up with nothing, he started slowly flexing his muscles one by one. His ears, eyes, tongue, shoulders, arms, any muscle he had any control over would tighten and loosen, as he tested them one by one. There was a tinge of despair every time he tried and failed to notice anything.


    But when he got to his legs, there was something. Something so ethereal he couldn''t even explain it properly. It felt..., as if his muscles were a bit more springy? He restarted his testing, from the top of his head down to his toes, just to be sure.


    "Master Siem, I feel something has changed with my legs."


    His new teacher nodded absentmindedly, before casually saying, "Well then, try doing a few kicks."


    Dartelo moved to the center of the courtyard and changed his posture, trying to kick out a few times. All the while Siem was giving him pointers. His posture was wrong, his shoulders were tight, the old soldier was continuously helping him fix his form. After a few minutes of rigorous attempts, even with the added help, the young lad had made no progress.


    "Well, it seems your power is one that to be triggered."


    "Triggered?" Dartelo asked.


    "Indeed, triggered." Siem said as he walked next to him and unceremoniously lifted him up and threw him high up into the air across the courtyard.


    "Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn!" Dartelo cried out as the ground raced towards him.

 Chapter 12: Seemingly Useless

    Dartelo''s body was flying through the air and the ground was getting closer and closer. He couldn''t see a way out of this one without a broken bone or two and on pure instinct barely managed to shift his body and aim his feet as best he could.


    Bang!


    Specks of dried dirt flew up into the air, like a mist. Siem patiently waited for the dirt to fall back down to earth, a smile upon his face.


    ''The pup didn''t start yelling, so he should be fine.'' he thought.


    As the air cleared up, amidst the dirt was Dartelo, curiously standing straight as he looked towards the ground. The earth around his feet seemed as if it had been blown away. He was standing in the middle of a circle that was about half a meter wide and a few fingers deep. There was a look of astonishment on his face.


    "Did I use it?" he mumbled to himself, trying to remember what had happened.


    He could faintly remember some sort of specks surrounding his legs as they made contact with the ground and then..., nothing. It was as if all of the speed and force of his fall had disappeared. There was no pain, no broken bones, not even a speck of blood. Only a slight dizziness, as if he had been twirling around in the same spot for a few seconds.


    Dartelo looked up at his master, and asked, "What is this?"


    In the meantime, Siem had casually sat down on the stump and had started chewing on a piece of grass, with a troubled look as if he was contemplating the vicissitudes of life. He shrugged, conveying the sense that even he had no idea.


    This was not unexpected. Siem''s memories of his time on Voranda were not plentiful. In all honesty, he himself barely understood Godspeed, not having learned the complete basics before he was torn away from his loved ones in one of the kingdom''s numerous wars. He could faintly remember the variations of Godspeed his parents and cousins had had, but it was a fleeting sort of memory. Nothing more than a disorganized slew of colors and voices and thumps. It was a miracle at all that he retained as much as he had at such a young age.


    Siem gazed at his apprentice for a moment, before he said, "We shall have to do a bit more testing before I''m sure."


    Dartelo shrieked as he turned away, rushing to the kitchen door. Just as his hand landed on a handle, another hand landed on his shoulder. He froze in terror.


    "Quit your squirming, pup, we can''t test it out now anyway. Took me a day or so to be able to use my power the second time around." Siem quickly explained, as he turned the teenager around. "Now, sit down and tell me exactly what you felt."


    ''I saw my life flash before my eyes, you coot!'' Dartelo angrily thought, but decided against voicing his complaints. His master did not seem like the type that would condone such behavior.


    He tried his best to explain the sensation he had experienced as best as he could. This, of course, quickly turned into a rambling of vague and minute sensations he had experienced. Siem frowned, scratching the skin behind his left ear, as he tried to find a similar Godspeed power in his memories.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    After Dartelo had rambled on and on for close to five minutes, Siem finally lifted his hand and silenced him.


    With a look of understanding, he said, "I think I have seen something akin to this, when I once saw a family member of mine defend herself. She had angered her father, because she did not want to accept an arranged marriage, so he lashed out and aimed a slap at her face."


    ''Arranged marriages? Where did Siem grow up!?'' Dartelo thought with utter shock. Such backward ways had been unheard of after The Fall. The Vilruhns were ordinary people, not weak, but definitely ordinary. Reading and writing were things they considered important, so they had taught Dartelo from a young age, but not much was written about the times surrounding The Fall. All that he knew was that up until that moment, everyone had done things one way and lived peacefully, yet afterwards the people in Pietra had changed their ways and the countries around them had begun waging war on one another.


    ''I wonder if Lord Alfors knows more about The Fall.'' he wondered.


    Suddenly, a pair of fingers as strong as a vice locked onto his cheek and clenched. Dartelo immediately cried out.


    "Are you listening to me, pup?! I dare you to daydream again, while I''m teaching!" Siem''s voice loudly banged against his eardrums.


    "I''m listening, master, I''m listening. I swear!" he meekly said, as he held onto his swollen cheek. The fingers had left their marks and would probably take a day or so to fade, if he was lucky enough not to bruise.


    "Then you must have clearly heard me saying that the girl in question managed to turn her father''s slap back onto him." Siem said with a smile, his mood having greatly improved after the small bout of torture. "Her Godspeed was the ability to repel anything harmful back and that was the first time she managed to awaken it. It wasn''t a mighty power, because it only used her skin, so as long as something managed to pierce her skin, she could do nothing. But blunt force was useless in front of her. While your power is not the same, it is related to it nonetheless. We shall be able to verify it tomorrow morning, but I believe your legs managed to spread out the force of your fall onto the ground."


    Dartelo, still rubbing his cheek with one hand, asked, "What good is such a Godspeed then, master?"


    "It is neither good nor bad. It''s what you make of it." Siem said, and then ushered the boy towards the courtyard''s only entrance and exit. "Now let''s get some food into your belly. You''ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow."


    The teenager could clearly see the malicious glint in his master''s eyes. ''Holy Pietra, why must you test me so...''


    Siem, after managing to scour some food with the tavern master Noar''s help. A few of the soldiers had sat down on the same table, hoping to have fun at Dartelo''s expense. The old soldier excused himself, leaving the boy to fend for himself with a chuckle.


    He quickly made his way up the stairs and down the corridor, lightly rapping on the wooden door.


    "Enter." Lord Alfors'' voice sounded from behind the door.


    The Vorandan let himself in, closing the door as he entered the room. It was far larger than his own, with a giant desk and chair at the far end and a bed near the door. The desk was at the room''s end and there were several windows which surrounded it, giving ample light. The sun''s rays came in from the side windows and landed on Lord Alfors, who was busily going through stacks of letters and parchments that always seemed to follow him wherever he went.


    "My lord, the boy has awakened the power." Siem said, his body rigidly upright.


    Lord Alfors looked up with a bland face. His face resembled that of a father that had been just told a particularly bad joke by his children for the hundredth time.


    "Details, then."


    "A few of my kin managed to awaken the power on their first try like him. This holds no significance for its strength, but it means he might progress faster at taming it than others would. He said he felt something in his legs, so after I ruled out a change in their strength, I tossed him a little. He landed with no harm whatsoever coming to him, even though he was at least a good 4 meters up in the air."


    "Does it have potential, then?" Lord Alfors asked.


    "Oh, indeed my lord. I can think of a few very suitable uses." Siem said, as his lips curled up.

 Status of Stepping Stones Saga

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    Update: As of now, the Stepping Stones Saga has been officially dropped. I enjoyed writing the story but didn''t see any traction as far as popularity goes and couldn''t continue it at the time due to some health issues. I hope all of you will be understanding.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


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    In the meantime, ifyou''re wondering what to read - I highly recommend C.J. Cherryh''s Foreigner book series.


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