Farmers & Mercenaries (3 page)

And Estular, of course. I can never escape his smug face.

The memories of his life ended here. He had heard that with every ending comes a new beginning. Spending the first part of his life as a caged beast—an exhibit—like some inanimate thing living life as a spectacle with no purpose. Worthless. Worthless, that was, until his current master had purchased him.

I am now trained to fight, and I find myself here in my homeland. Good the Gods must be. They have a purpose, and all I must do is—

The blue-gray creature stepped away from the small window of the cell door. As it did, its hold on Klain shattered. The sensation of dropping back into the reality of his existence washed over him. Losing himself within his own insignificant mind, Klain did not notice his visitors departing until he heard a scurry of footsteps following the strange being that had held him hostage within its gaze. He realized only then that several others had accompanied Estular and his honored guest.

The desire to step to the door for a better look at the gray creature as it walked away pulled at him.

Alas, I do not think I would survive another encounter with those eyes.

“Looks like a lion which walks upright, I do think.” The Keeper’s pock-marked, jet-black face filled the small window once more. Glancing over his shoulder toward the group, the man hurried to catch them up.

“And I guarantee you, Honored One,”—Estular’s words dripped from his silky voice, drifting up the hall to Klain—“this day’s Games will be the most exciting ever witnessed here in Mocley. Mayhaps the most exciting thing since your great-great grandfather landed on the shores of Ro’Arith. My Kith will be the first of its kind to compete in the Games. The Coliseum will be filled to the breaking.”

Klain’s ears perked as he heard the small group come to an abrupt stop.

“And the Julitans of the Games have no doubt paid you well for your… participation, yes?” The voice that spoke was as airy and soft as a spring breeze, yet so commanding it demanded attention. Klain knew the voice must belong to this Honored One. “How much to purchase the Kithian, hmm?”

A sudden chill shook Klain.

A great cacophony arose as people spoke over one another.

“What are you saying, Honored One?”

“Honored One, you cannot be serious!”

“It is a wild beast!”

“Silence.” The command floated down the stone hallway, barely touching Klain’s ears. Yet the group of men, and even the prisoners in the other cells, fell quiet. As the stillness stretched, Klain pictured the Honored One peering at Estular with those large, black penetrating eyes.

When Estular answered at last, Klain heard the faint pitch of fear in his voice. “What would you do with it?” After a short pause, he added, “If—if I may ask, Honored One.”

“My business is my own, yes? No doubt you have made hundreds of ta’narians from this one day alone, yes? I assume you expect the Kithian to live through the day, allowing you to enter him into the Games again, hmm? How many times will he endure, hmm? Five, ten?”

Klain clenched and unclenched his paws while his mind raced to understand the conversation unfolding down the hall.

“If the Kithian does survive, you stand to become a very rich man, Estular, yes?” The Honored One’s voice took on a mocking tone. “I think not. The Julitans will not allow this to last too long. Its novelty is its draw, yes? Besides, if the Kith does survive what the Julitans have planned for him this day, who will want to fight him on the morrow, hmm? No, I am afraid you will not be able to use this as a long-term venture, Estular. Now, I will ask again, how much to purchase the Kithian, hmm?”

“Um, Honored One, yes, although—when your aide approached me… I, I thought you simply wished to see—um…”

Klain heard Estular clear his throat.

“The original purchase price was a large expense, not to mention the costs I have incurred since then. Pulling the beast from the Games now would destroy my reputation. Not to mention the wrath of the Julitans would be…” Despair trickled through Estular’s voice as the last word faded from his lips.

“Your reputation.” A tinkling sound, close to a laugh, echoed out. “Master Jerts, I ask a price out of curiosity, yes? Not necessarily as a buyer.”

Klain sensed Estular relax. After a few moments pause, his Master continued in a stronger tone. “Honored One, I—I would not sell it.” A false resolve covered Estular’s words like a shroud. “I have invested too much!” The man almost sounded confident. “A life’s goal you might say.”

The silence returned. Klain smiled as he imagined the sight of the Honored One’s big eyes boring down on Estular.

“I—I do not think I could put a price on it. I mean, for several thousand ta’narians—well—I guess I would… Yet to come up with—”

“My thanks for the information.”

Klain recognized the dismissal in the Honored One’s voice. The footsteps receded, and the large door at the end of the hall banged shut. All noise in the cell area dissipated into silence.

A low growl rumbled deep in Klain’s chest. Noticing he still held a bare leg bone in his paw, he flung it across the room. It ricocheted off the far wall with a loud clack before skidding into a corner. Rage overwhelmed Klain, and he fell to his knees, pounding the floor with a clenched paw. The anger slipped from him with the same speed it had come. Staring aimlessly at the tangle of dirty straw on the ground before him, his head sagged and he closed his eyes.

Somewhere I have kin that still live! Still walk free!

Grabbing a second hunk of lamb from the tray, he stood. Returning to the edge of the bed, he took another bite of the succulent meat.

Most days, Klain kept his dreams and memories locked deep inside, not daring to look at them until long after a blanket of darkness covered the Plane. Having them drawn from his mind and forced to face them, to take stock of his own miserable life, had him now turning them over in his mind.

The mind of the condemned…

Sitting on the edge of the stone slab, he gnawed absentmindedly on the meat. He was once again alone with his breakfast. A breakfast he stared at without seeing—hearing nothing save the whispering voice of the Honored One rolling over and over in his mind…

If
the Kith does survive what the Julitans have planned for him this day…

A
stream of sunlight poured through the glazed window striking Arderi Cor in the face. Opening his eyes, he blinked against the light of the early morn. Yawning and stretching, he made a half-hearted attempt to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Sitting up on his bed, he peered out at the blurry view the window offered through its wavy, semi-transparent glass. The Hild’alan stead was just starting to awaken for a new day’s work.

His eyes wandered up the fortification that protected the farming stead he called home. It towered over the public houses by a half-dozen paces. Like his parents and theirs before them, Arderi had lived his entire life in one of the four-story public houses that were lined up in neat rows, rolling off into the distance. Their whitewashed exteriors stood out in sharp contrast to the grayish hues of the massive stone wall rising up behind them. He watched a guarder walking the battlements for a moment. Letting his gaze fall back to the public houses, his eyes slid to the market area, with its wooden shops and tent-like pavilions. The area sat empty this early in the morn, so Arderi leaned over to peer toward the center of town. Only the corner of the Palintium, the temple dedicated to the Twelve Gods of Man, was visible from his bedroom window. The massive building’s smooth marble walls, and tall, intricately carved pillars were distorted by his window, yet recognizable. Other stone and marble buildings surrounded the Palintium, although none held his eye so well.

The cobblestone streets that sliced between the buildings appeared as nothing more than thin muddy rivers from where he sat. He traced the route he would walk to reach home from the Palintium, until the road disappeared from his view some ten paces below.

This is the view he had woken to every day for the past sixteen winters.

However, this day I am a man.

Sixteen winters past, he blessed the Plane with his birth.

At least, that is what my Ma is always saying.

Arderi reckoned he had grown into a fine young man. Working the fields every day since age twelve, as was customary, had helped develop and strengthen his body. He held an inner drive, which pushed him to outperform the other fielders, most of which were men full grown. This drive became a private game known only to him, and it gave him a sense of satisfaction at the end of each day. Even on Holiday, the one day of rest at the end of a tenday, he always exerted himself, striving for his best—to be the fastest runner, the cleverest hide-and-seeker, the most aggressive rillball player.

For the past four summers, during the Salintine Festival, he had taken first place in the tri-feat event against the other boys of the stead. This summer he would compete against the men, and looked forward to the added challenges it brought.

I know I will rank well.

Glancing around the tiny room, he stretched and yawned once more. Rotating around, he kicked the wooden frame of the bed resting next to his. “Rise and shine, brother. We have lots to do this fine day.”

His older brother, Siln Cor, received the kick with a groan before rolling over and burying himself deeper under the covers.

Arderi stood and extended his arms toward the ceiling to loosen his sore muscles.

I must find a moment to re-stuff my mattress if
I intend to ever get any restful sleep again.

“Come on, Siln, get up!” He kicked the bed frame once more. “Papa will break us if we miss the wagons for the ride out to the fields. I do not wish to walk,
again
.”

“All right, all right. I am awake!” Eyes still closed, Siln sat up in bed. The dense tangles of black hair upon his head gave him the look of a creature more than a brother.

Though Siln was a winter older, Arderi had felt responsible for him for as long as he could remember.

If
not for me, Siln would stay in bed all day, every day.

Slapping him hard on the back of the head, Arderi jumped away.

“Oiy!” Covering the back of his head with a hand, Siln’s eyes shot open. “Why, you!” Attempting to scramble out of bed, he only managed to tangle himself in his blankets.

Dashing out the door of their room, Arderi heard his brother’s bed complain as Siln fought to release himself from the blankets. Bounding down the stairs laughing, Arderi knew his brother would get even somehow. However, the slap had served its purpose and forced Siln to rise and give chase.

As with most morns, Arderi took the long way to the dining hall by cutting through the kitchen. Wives, daughters, and grandmothers greeted him as he entered. They bustled to and fro, preparing firstmeal.

Chuckling to himself, Arderi marveled at the ordered chaos filling the room.

Ma always says it is the womenfolk who are last to bed and first to rise.

Eight extended families shared this public house, same as in each of the few score houses protected within the walls of the Hild’alan stead. Generations upon generations spent their entire lives here—work and play, love and marriage, from birth to death. Arderi did not know the exact age of the stead, yet he knew it was hundreds of winters old.

Mayhaps over a thousand winters!

The sight of all the women as they prepared firstmeal—the smells of fresh baked bread, the frying meat and boiling vegetables—made Arderi’s stomach rumble. “Well wishes, Ma, Mis’ams.” Crossing to the center worktable, he reached for a slab of smoked pork resting on a clay tray. Snatching his hand back, a wooden spoon thwacked the tabletop, barely missing his fingertips.

“Arderi Cor! You know better!” A tall redheaded girl, around his own age, stood in front of him brandishing the large spoon as if she held a club.

“Mag’Oella!” Arderi rubbed the top of his hand as if the weapon had struck. “Lucky for you that spoon missed. I would hate for all these womenfolk to see you spanked.”

The young redhead’s feigned outrage was apparent to Arderi after their many seasons of flirting. She was thin for her height, yet, in his eyes, she had grown into one of the prettiest women in the stead. Fiery red hair, a rarity in these parts, added to her allure. She had stolen his heart many winters ago, along with most of the boys’ in the stead, although he knew she favored him.

Soon, now that he was officially a man, he would be expected to ask her father for her hand. They could then petition the Regent for an apartment of their own and start a family.

At least Ma is pushing hard for that, now that my two older brothers have let her down with no grandbabies. Alas, I do not think it will play out that way.

It was possible that Siln, the brother who shared his room, would not ever leave their parent’s apartment, much less marry and have children.

My two little sisters are her best hope for grandbabies, I think. If
not them, there is still little Rik, though it will be many a winter before he is even interested in girls.

His eldest brother, Alant Cor—even though he brought a great deal of pride to the family—traveled a path that did not often lead to children. The Shaper’s Order tested every child upon reaching adulthood to see if any possessed the natural talent to manipulate the Essence. The gift was rare. At best, one in several thousand may have it. Alant had scored higher than anyone in the recorded history of the Hild’alan stead. The local Grand Master Shaper, Grand Master Grintan, took it upon himself to lead the caravan that escorted his brother to the grand city of Mocley. Alant resided there now, being schooled at the famed Academy of Shapers.

It makes Ma and Papa proud, even though he may never give them grandchildren.

Arderi dreamed of traveling to Mocley one day to see his brother—his favorite fantasy during the two winters since Alant’s departure.

“All right, you two.” His Ma carried over a pan of fried eggs; steam rose from its still sizzling contents. “Stop all this nonsense and get a move on, Arderi. The wagons will leave for the fields soon.”

“Mag, will you be a dear and take this out to the dining hall for me?” Without waiting for an answer, she held out the hot pan for Mag’Oella to take.

“Yes, Mis’am Cor.” The young girl placed her hands under the oven towels so as not to be burned. Taking the skillet, she turned and headed for the door.

Arderi admired how her blue frilled dress flurried out as she spun. She glanced over her shoulder and graced him with a coy smile before disappearing.

“Arderi, where is Siln? Still in bed?” Mis’am Cor wiped her hands off on her apron and squared her shoulders on her son, holding him within her stern gaze.

As if on cue, Siln strolled into the kitchen. “Here I am, Ma, and hungry as a prairie worm.”

Mel’Ona Cor accepted a kiss from her second eldest son. “Well, off you two go then. Most of the men have finished firstmeal already. I would not want to be in your shoes when you have to deal with your Papa’s wrath for missing the wagons again.” With that said, she turned back to her work without a backward glance.

Siln glared at Arderi. “Watch yourself this day,
little
brother. I
will
have my revenge.” He kept his voice low enough that their Ma would not overhear.

Rolling his eyes, Arderi followed Siln toward the same door Mag’Oella had gone through. “Do not be so dramatic, Siln, I was only helping. You know—” Siln halted in his track, causing Arderi to crash into him.

Spinning around, Siln pushed Arderi back a step. “Helping me? How is the knot on the back of my head supposed to help me?”

“Better than what you would have gotten from Papa, had you missed the wagons.”

“Well… there is that.” Siln wore that puzzled look that said he was thinking. “Nix, I still owe you one. And I
will
have my revenge!” He finished in a big booming voice, raising his hands over his head for effect.

Arderi shoved him in the chest and both young men laughed as they stumbled through the door.

The dining hall, a plain room used for all meals and gatherings, held several rows of tables and benches. Large enough for the hundred or so people residing in the building, it felt homey and well lived-in. A large fireplace rested at either end, while sconces and painted hangings hung scattered along the walls.

When they entered the hall, most of the benches sat empty. A few girls, his two little sisters included, scurried about cleaning off dirty dishes and wiping down tables. Tary’Ona, the younger of his female siblings, beamed at him without pausing in her work.

Two tables, however, still held food plates and clean place settings. Siln pointed to the one Mag’Oella leaned over as she set down the skillet of eggs their Ma had given her. The boys headed for it.

A large man sat on the bench opposite the spot they chose. “Morn, Siln, Arderi.”

“Morn, Mir’am Toln.” Both young men eyed each other for having said the same thing simultaneously, and then settled themselves onto the bench. “Where is Riln?” Arderi added this once they were seated.

“He ate at first-serving this morn, same as the last few days. I think he is taking being a man more to heart.” Sorn Toln shoveled a spoonful of turnip mash into his mouth.

“Good for him.” Arderi looked down at the food spread out on the table.

Of course, when you find out what your son has really been up to… well, I would not want to be Riln at that moment. Which reminds me, I need to figure out what he has been up to, in case his harebrained scheme includes me somehow.

Mir’am Toln pointed his spoon at Arderi. “You are less than a tenday behind him, are you not? When is your big day?”

Siln sat next to Arderi, stuffing himself as if he had not a care in his heart.

“Aye, Mir’am Toln, tis this day.”

“Well, good for you! Everyone is excited about your Test! Just think, you might be even more gifted with the Essence than your older brother, Alant. You parents are so proud!” Mir’am Toln leaned forward with a serious look. “Now you watch out for whatever your Ma has planned for later this eve, hear?”

Arderi knew only too well that his Ma would not pass the day without some fanfare. He remembered what his two older brothers were forced to endure on their sixteenth naming days, and he was not relishing what this eve may bring. Pushing the unpleasant image from his mind, he turned his thoughts to filling his stomach.

In addition to the fresh pan of fried eggs Mag’Oella had just delivered, plates of smoked pork strips, turnip mash, rice pudding, and that wonderful smelling, fresh-baked bread lined the table. He loaded his plate with some of all of it, scooped out a glob of butter from the center dish, and forgot all about Riln Toln, and whatever mischief he might or might not be up to. He pushed away thoughts of any impending ceremonies his Ma may have planned for him as well.

I hate being the center of attention.

After the last man had left the table, Arderi buttered one more piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. Most of it still stuck out between his lips as he raced out of the dining hall and down the passage to the main entrance. Hurrying out the wooden doors, he stopped long enough to mumble morn to the elders who sat on the porch for their daily gathering, before sprinting down the cobblestone street toward the fielder’s gate.