Chapter 5

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Long roads and longer rivers,

Dirty towns and deep forests,

Where does one journey end,

And another begin?

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As he slowly made his way into town, Oldar chewed over the orders given to him by Lord Vilden. It wasn't that he disagreed with them, or even that he had a better choice in mind. It just simply rubbed him the wrong way. He spat to the side of the road, frustrated.

The wagon and its caged occupant jolted haphazardly along the roughly made trail, though the latter made far fewer complaints. Truth be told, Oldar couldn’t remember anything being spoken by the boy once they passed Birvern Creek. And that was a good 8 miles ago.

He had certainly voiced his opinion before that, however. Emphatically, and with not a few curses, if Oldar had to guess. Probably due to the girl. It made sense, and though he doubted Lord Vilden would ever tell him the truth of it, he had a few ideas. He could even guess the reasoning behind selling the boy and keeping the girl. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

But orders were orders, and Oldar wouldn’t shirk his duty. So, he kept his head down and focused on driving. The pack kamora were plodding slow. What he wouldn’t give for a few doros. Fast and agile, those were only used in the highlands or between wealthy sky-cities. He’d truthfully only seen them once in passing, but dang if he didn’t want one. He’d even be happy with some native zebu. At least they smelt better.

His mind continued its wanderings for the next few miles, the sun passing over ahead and the shadows growing longer as the day began to wane. Still, he arrived at Serodan with time to spare and so decided the sooner this task was completed, the better. He would rest the night and head back to camp in the morning. It was fortunate the guards let him through the gates without question once they spotted the Vice-Commander’s banner. Fewer questions that way.

The town of Serodan could barely be considered more than a village, but it had a decent wall and functioning guard. Enough to prevent the occasional beast or spirit vestige. And it was centrally located on several trade routes through the forest. This caused its status to be somewhat elevated, though it was still a far cry from a proper city.

As the wagon and its cargo made its way through the dirty streets, Oldar kept an eye out for anyone wearing the colors of the town’s lord. Slavery wasn’t strictly illegal, but it was frowned upon in this region. Something about slavers bringing in bad blood. Quite frankly, he agreed with that assessment. Yet here he was, about to become just such an individual. Sod this assignment. Why did Lord Vilden never see fit to send Wu Daoji on these trips? Probably because the man refused to associate with what he considered “refuse”. Stuck up highlander.

By the time he found the specific stables Lord Vilden had directed him to look for, the sun’s last rays were shining through the cracked boards of most buildings. He clicked his tongue to stop the kamora and jumped off into the dust of the stableyard. Looking around, he spotted a man dressed in leather armor and tied back hair leaning against the side of a stall.

Oldar gave a quick nod and motioned in the man's direction. A bow would have been more appropriate, but you could never be too careful when alone and in a town like this.

“I’m looking for a Vincent Haarst. You him?”

The man shook his head and straightened. “Master Haarst doesn’t meet in person. He trusts me with judging the quality of a purchase.”

Oldar squinted at the man for a minute, sending a pulse of thranam from his core to his eyes. Most essence observation techniques were easily noticeable, but Oldar’s heavy brows did a good job of covering the visual component for a simple scan. The man in leather armor was at least Formation Stage. Pretty average for a city dweller, but less so in the forest region.

Somewhat satisfied this wasn’t a hoax, Oldar shrugged. “Fine. Here’s the cargo. Lord Vilden found him in the forest. Young, doesn’t speak any language we know. Quartz core.”

The man walked up to the cage and rapped one of the bars with his knuckles, drawing the attention of the boy who had been dozing on the wagon floor. His sharp gaze leaped from Oldar to the man, and back again. His lips seemed dry, and he licked them absently. He spoke nothing but still watched his surroundings intently.

Oldar guiltily realized he had never offered the boy a drink, not really needing one himself. Quickly, he decided to mention the rest of the orders given to him. “Lord Vilden desires he be treated fairly, and be given a job best suited to him.”

The man chuckled, his voice rasping. “He’ll be given work to do, a place to sleep, and food to eat. And protection from beasts. That’s provided for all Master Haarst’s servants, no matter where they come from. More than that is up the Master.”

Once again Oldar shrugged. The boy was to be a slave. Nothing he could do about it at this point. “You have the kisht?”

The man pulled a cloth bag from his belt and threw it into Oldar’s hands. It rattled slightly at the movement and as Oldar ran a quick pulse of thranam through its contents. He could feel the metallic essence of the materials and judged it quickly to be about the amount Lord Vilden had mentioned expecting.

Tying the bag to his belt, he threw over the key-disc to the cage’s formation. The man caught it, swiped a bit of blood on its surface, and shoved it against the formations lock. Slowly, five of the bars forming the wall of the cage withdrew upwards as five more descended. The boy stood up, clearly expecting his release. The leather armored man took a second to pull another item from his bag, this time a bronze collar and wrist piece.

He infused a bit of thranam into both pieces and then motioned for the boy to jump down. The boy did so, looking a bit wary. As soon as his feet hit the ground, the armored man’s hand shot out and clasped the bronze collar around the boy's neck.

Twisting furiously, the boy struggled out of his grasp and pelted towards the stable gate. The man didn’t seem to care as he nonchalantly put the bronze wrist piece on, and nodded to Oldar. Tossing the key-disc back after thoroughly wiping the blood off, he chuckled to see the boy take his twentieth step and jerk to a halt. Struggle and flail though he might, it was impossible for the boy to budge the now stationary collar.

Oldar frowned but didn’t say anything. He made sure the cage’s formation was still in good shape, then walked back and swung up onto the handler’s bench. Reins in hand, he watched as the man walked up to the boy and lifted his wrist. The collar reacted accordingly, dragging the boy along if he refused to walk. For several long seconds, Oldar's hands tensed and his grip tightened on the reins. Eventually, he relaxed and simply stared at the azure eyed boy as he was dragged away.

The boy spoke not a word but in depths of his face there swam intense emotion. First, pleading. But that quickly changed, and Oldar, a man left grizzled by life, felt chills move down his spine at the promise of retribution reflected in that deep blue gaze.

When the pair finally moved out of sight, Oldar lifted the reins, clucked to the kamora, and slowly made his way out of the stable yards. Maybe he’d just brave the darkness and head back to the caravan straight away tonight. This town made him ill.