“Wake up.”

Tethis’s cold voice brought Rowan to wakefulness, tearing him out of a dream about sweet hot apple pies. He had stolen one once, from a merchant hailing from the western provinces, and the memory of the taste had tempted him ever since. Raising his head, he gave his waker a bleary look, his hand reaching for his waistband where he normally carried his knife, wondering for a moment just what was going on.

“Get up,” Tethis told him. “Throw on some clothes then meet me outside.”

Right. Rowan remembered. I almost died yesterday but got saved by a halfling and an elf. That explained why he was here, but not what Tethis wanted with him. From his current knowledge about the haughty elf, it could be anything. Although Darm had told her to train him, there was no guarantee that she would listen. From what he had seen, Tethis seemed to exist in a perpetual state of dissatisfaction, ready to lash out with a harsh word at anyone that drew her ire. Given the current situation, she was as likely to be calling him for breakfast as she was to be leading him to a shallow grave. Hoping that it wasn’t the second one, Rowan threw off the light cotton blanket that had been draped over him, wincing as his side twinged where the knife had entered. Although Darm had healed him, the wound still throbbed, reminding him that it had only been a day since someone had attempted to turn him into a street rat shishkebab.

Donning a shirt and pants that had been left at the foot of the bench he had been using as a bed, Rowan left the carriage, not keen to be late for whatever Tethis wanted him for. If she was going to kill him, he’d prefer she at least be in a good enough mood to make it quick. The thought of the many things she could do to him with that warhammer of hers was enough to make Rowan shudder, even in the warmth of the early morning sun.

The carriage had stopped at a small lake not far from the road, small, twisted trees eagerly sucking the nutrients from the soil as they crept horizontally over the waters of the lake. Next to the lake sat Darm, a trio of fish roasting over a small fire in front of him. Seeing Rowan emerge, he waved cheerfully, a greeting that Rowan awkwardly returned. Smiling at this, Darm suddenly jolted as a kettle above the fire started to emit steam. Pointing at it, one of his rings flashed briefly, the kettle levitating off the small scaffold it had been placed on and moving to Darm’s side.

So he is a mage, Rowan realized. He had already known this from Darm’s comments about healing him the day before, but seeing it in person was a different matter entirely. Levitation was not a skill just any magic user could employ, it required training, something that was out of reach to street rats such as himself, fortunately for the local merchant stalls.

A dozen metres away from the fire stood Tethis, her forearms bare as she swung her warhammer. Medanas was hot this time of year, the sun baking the earth in the day, and the moon bringing only slight relief at night. Despite the early hour, a light sheen of sweat already covered Tethis, her graceful movements at odds with the savagery of her strikes. Seeing Rowan, she did not pause, but instead finished her current set. Putting her warhammer down, she wiped the sweat from her brow, before tossing a large branch from beside her to Rowan. Catching it, Rowan stared at the stick for a moment in confusion, his gaze flitting between it and Tethis who was staring at him with a calculating look.

“Ummm…” Rowan began, but Tethis cut him off.

“Fifty pushups,” she ordered.

“But—”

“No talking back.”

Deciding it was best to just obey, Rowan dropped to the ground, putting the stick beside him as he began his pushups. Two minutes and twenty pushups later, Rowan’s arms were in agony. As a street rat, he had a thin, wiry build. His lack of nutrition meant that he had never really built up any major muscles beyond those needed to run away from angry merchants and townsfolk, and this had never been more obvious to him than now. Tethis was not exactly helping matters either, barking orders at him whenever his butt dropped too low or his stance faltered too much.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was actually closer to ten minutes, Rowan collapsed, not for the first time as his arms gave out. “Fifty,” he said weakly.

“Sit-ups next,” Tethis ordered, cradling a cup of the hot liquid that had been brewing inside Darm’s kettle.

With a groan, Rowan rolled over, doing his best to catch his breath as he stared at the blue sky above. For a moment, he briefly wondered if perhaps it would have been better had Darm listened to Tethis and just left him to die in the alley, but quickly, he dismissed those thoughts. As a street rat, opportunity was something he had never been afforded. Now, opportunity was being dangled right in front of him—all he had to do was seize it.

“One,” Rowan began, slowly performing his first sit-up.

After sit-ups came squats, followed by running, lunges, and burpies. Collapsing on the ground, Rowan winced as muscles he hadn’t known existed made their existence known through a series of spasms and burning pain. Is this hell? Rowan wondered. Did I die after all, and this is the afterlife I was given? As Rowan considered this possibility, a whistling sound filled his ears. Rolling frantically to the side, he barely avoided the stick that had just slammed into the area where his head had been only a moment before.

“Never leave your weapon behind,” Tethis’s voice rang out from above him.

Weapon? Rowan thought frantically, doing his best to puzzle out the meaning behind Tethis’s words. Casting around, his eyes fell upon the stick that she had tossed him earlier, still lying in the dirt where he had left it. Dodging another of Tethis’s swings, Rowan threw himself toward the stick, wincing as his injured side skidded along the ground. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed the stick, rising and facing Tethis with it as she approached.

Seeing his stance, Tethis snorted, swinging the long branch she held horizontally in an almost careless manner. Raising his stick to block the blow, Rowan parried the blow, catching it just in front of his chest. Before he could celebrate this minor success, he was thrown backwards, a fresh pain in his throat telling him just where Tethis had caught him. Rolling over, Rowan coughed, hacking up a glob of phlegm as he attempted to relearn how to breathe. How is this training? This is torture! Rowan thought indignantly.

“Don’t just watch after you block,” Tethis told him, standing over him with a bored expression. “Move out of the way or counterattack. Again.”

Standing up with an unwilling expression, Rowan grabbed his stick, facing Tethis once more. An hour later, every part of him was covered in bruises, the stick having been broken on three separate occasions by Tethis’s powerful strikes. The woman clearly had no concept of holding back or taking it easy. Every action she took was serious, as if the one she was facing was a veteran of many battles and not a recently deceased street urchin.

“Come get breakfast!”

Darm’s voice saved Rowan, pulling Tethis away from her victim just as she was preparing for another strike.

“We’ll resume in the afternoon,” Tethis informed him matter-of-factly. “Make sure to keep your weapon with you.”

Staring at the branch in his hand with disgust, Rowan sighed, following Tethis toward the fire where Darm had prepared a delightful array of seared fish and fresh bitterleaf tea. Taking an appreciative sip from the mug he had been offered, Rowan felt some of the pains from his session with Tethis slipping away. He had never had the opportunity to try tea before, it had always been out of reach for him as a street rat. But he could see why the noble shops always stocked so much of the stuff—it was delicious. Nursing the mug, he took a bite of the fish Darm had cooked, reveling in the taste. Despite being just an ordinary river trout, the fish had clearly been cooked with some sort of spices, creating an indescribable blend of flavour that Rowan eagerly devoured.

As his fork clanged against the plate, heralding the end of the food, Rowan looked at it sadly. The meal had been delicious, but it was also a reminder that this was something alien to him. Soon enough, Darm and Tethis would grow tired of him, and then he would be abandoned, forced to fend for himself once more. Unless I can prove my worth to them. If I can do that, then maybe they’ll keep me around, and I can continue to eat delicious food such as this. Rowan nodded to himself; it was a good plan. The only problem was that there was very little he had to offer, especially to two accomplished adventurers such as these. Briefly reconsidering the merits of being used for sexual favours, Rowan shook his head. He had vowed long ago never to do that, even when such delicious food was being put in front of him. As his stomach waged war with his morals, Darm stood up.

“Right, let’s get this show back on the road. Karsolnia’s a good continent away, and if I get in the habit of wasting time I might never shake it, so let’s go!”

Following Darm’s lead, Rowan helped pack up the campsite, packing everything away into the carriage as they set off once more.

Thus began what would become Rowan’s routine for the next few weeks. In the morning, they would make camp, Darm cooking as Tethis tortured Rowan with tree branches and exercise. In the afternoon, they would stop for lunch, where Tethis would force Rowan to practice various martial forms, moving his body into various positions which resembled a slightly violent dance. On the first day, she had attempted to get him to resume the morning exercises, but Darm had put a stop to that after Rowan had thrown up the contents of his breakfast all over the ground, telling Tethis that she was being too harsh with him. Afterwards, he had given Rowan a double serving of lunch. That had been an excellent day.

In the evening, they would set up camp, Rowan helping Darm to stable the packbeasts that pulled the carriage before Tethis inevitably pulled him away for more training. Fortunately, night was also when Darm would heal him, using various magics to soothe the many aches and pains that Rowan picked up throughout the day. During this time, he would also have Rowan practice strange breathing exercises, telling him that it made healing easier. Not wanting to question the one person that could keep his demonic training instructor in check, Rowan simply followed Darm’s orders, breathing in the manner instructed as the warm feeling of Darm’s mana filled his body.

Earlier in life, Rowan had dreamed about travelling with adventurers such as these, learning to fight and camping out under the stars. Never had these dreams contained Tethis, however, who quickly put an end to any romantic ideas he might have once had about adventuring. Training soon became the most feared part of his day, followed immediately after by the most anticipated part: the meals. Everything Darm cooked was delicious, the slight bump formed by the halfling’s belly clearly well-earned, and Rowan eagerly devoured anything and everything the man saw fit to put on his plate.

In this manner, two weeks passed, the carriage having left Taureen far behind it as it rolled north, the scrublands giving way to forests and meadowlands.

On the fifteenth day after Rowan was saved, the carriage turned east, heading into the woods rather than sticking to the treeline as they had been doing until now.

“We’ll be skirting around the flatlands and the Sarmatian Mountains,” Darm explained when Rowan asked why. “It takes a little more time, but it’s far safer. The tribes and groups that live within are far more aggressive and hostile to outsiders than those that would accost us in the border region. Miriarda Forest is a little dangerous, but it’s nothing that we can’t handle.”

“Take this,” was all that Tethis had to add, handing Rowan a shortsword, roughly the same length as the sticks he had been using to train with up until now.

Fighting back the urge to ask why as he could tell Tethis was not about to be forthcoming with her answer, Rowan merely accepted the weapon, handling it gingerly as he examined it. The shortsword was plain with a blade just under two feet in length and a short, narrow handle that allowed him to hold it comfortably in one hand. The blade was razor sharp with a slight wavy pattern to the metal that seemed to distort under the light.

Seeing Rowan’s discomforted expression, Darm chuckled. “That’s her way of saying that we’ll be relying on you to help us if we’re attacked. Rejoice, it means she trusts you enough with a sword that she doesn’t think you’ll die instantly to any passing Girscaw or bandit.”

“Thanks, I think?” Rowan replied.

“Just take it as a compliment,” Darm advised sagely. “It’s the best you can hope for from Tethis.”

“The scabbard,” Tethis said bluntly, tossing him a belt with a leather scabbard attached which he caught gratefully, sheathing the blade inside before tying the belt to his waist.