The Kahl would speak to Bardom in dreams early on in his time in Stet-Lek. “Let not the blood on your hands make you forget the love in your heart. You do this for those you’ve lost—and to make their murderers pay! This is my way, the way of justice, Bardom.”

  “Kagarani’s part of Stet-Lek is just fine enough to make you forget he’s a slaver,” Bardom said to Yashin.

  It was impressive, despite his loathing for the place. Kagarani’s quarter was richer than Erdoegi’s. The people were dressed in finer clothes, walking the streets without commotion. The returning troops received praise and salutes, but most of the people just went about their business. Yashin explained that a majority of the people worked for Kagarani in some capacity, whether he invested in their business or they served under his employ. Kagarani was a hero to these people, and a successful warlord as well. Bardom found the man’s mystique alluring.

  Lord Loran Kagarani lived in an excellent mansion in the east of town. They were north of Erdoegi’s quarter, a stark difference in refined class between the two. Erdoegi’s Shavuim had to hide from the people. In Kagarani’s quarter, the Shavuim were fully dressed in modest clothes and they walked the streets unhindered. They still kept their space between themselves and the Lekkians, but the Shavuim here were certainly freer. Bardom was stunned by how respected the Shavuim troops were by the locals. Around Kagarani’s mansion especially, that reverence turned into handshakes and gifts of food.

  Soon, the pleasantries turned into festivities for the returning troops. Kagarani had often hosted magnificent parties attended by knights and lords, even occasionally the Great Leader, but that was before Vakin was killed. Then, the unity between Vakin and Kagarani was what kept the other warlords in their place.

  The crowd enjoyed their return feast, but Bardom could see the look in the officers’ eyes. They were worried to be home. When Bardom finally saw Kagarani emerge, he knew his hunch to be right. Despite his victory Loran Kagarani was worried.

  Bardom could feel the uncertainty in this part of town now. The doubt surrounding Kagarani’s position boiled over onto the people he protected. As the Shavuim ate and drank none the wiser, the Lekkian leadership under Kagarani felt all of the pressure on them now that Vakin was gone.

  As the feast formally began, the soldiers drifted to their seats at the long tables in Kagarani’s hall. The Shavuim had a designated area to sit on wooden benches with watery ale, while the Lekkian soldiers were given finer seats and wine. No one complained among the Shavuim—after all they were being fed meat and beer. While Bardom chewed on a piece of chicken, he watched a servant approach the high lord at the dais. The servant pointed out the newcomer sitting beside Yashin in the middle of the hall.

  Kagarani had a thin and receding hairline, and what remained of it was black and tied back, in the long-haired fashion of the Lekkian nobility. He was tan-skinned, with a well-kept, graying beard. He had a hard look that only a man whose wisdom came from experience could have. Bardom wondered what bloody experiences led this man to this position, since fighting his father was hardly his first.

  As the feast progressed, Yashin pulled Bardom along to the dais, where Kagarani was sitting beside some of his lieutenants. Notably, they all left their seats to give their lord the privacy he expected with the two he summoned.

  “Yashin,” Kagarani said, holding a cup of wine. “Is this the fool claiming to have killed the L’Ani Blood Son? A foolish thing to do, lad. You look as if the sword is as new to you as a woman’s bare chest.”

  The insult made Bardom laugh, suddenly.

  Kagarani smirked.

  “He’s one of Vakin’s survivors,” Yashin said. “The only one, I should say.”

  “A foreigner by the look of him,” Kagarani said. “That’s alright, I take it you didn’t care much for your old unit?’

  “You mean masters,” Bardom said. “I was hardly more than a slave under Vakin. I hear from Yashin that under you, Lord Kagarani, I may have a chance at becoming something worth a damn.”

  “Hm,” Kagarani nodded curtly. “I’ve never seen a Shavu speak with such candor. This is true, but it won’t make you popular among my men. You should know why Vakin’s men—aside from you of course—loved him, hm?”

  Bardom was careful not to expose the lie, and simply gave a patient look.

  “It was because he thought himself one of them,” Kagarani said. “He fought with them, ate with them, and ultimately died with them. Here, in my company, we play the games of power to raise the downtrodden of this kingdom. Every person who wears my sigil was an outcast before. Now, their life has meaning. I’ve given that to them.”

  Bardom scoffed in his thoughts. Yeah, right.

  Kagarani paused and surveyed the room with pride, then returned to Bardom.

  “If you think that trying to climb those ladders of power will make you beloved, then you are mistaken. The only way you gain that support from your new comrades is by earning it. As I understand it, you have nothing but words to support you. Perhaps some actions would do you some good, hm?”

  “Perhaps we’ve had enough actions for one day,” Yashin said.

  Kagarani raised his hands in deference. “Indeed. He is to be your Shavu-Ker, Yashin, you give his orders. Take care he does not overshadow you, though. Already the soldiers in my hall see something admirable in Na’Vanad, the same thing that I have seen. They say he is brave, yet more merciful still than the savages who killed those children.” The lord glanced at Bardom with respect.

  Bardom bowed his head.

  Kagarani carried on. “When we ride for the West Midlands in two weeks time, you will ride at my side. I wish to have my men understand the value of mercy—it is something we have forgotten in this place, but evidently you have not.”

  Yashin bowed. “You honor me and my pupil, my lord.”

  “This will get the attention of the Great Leader,” Kagarani said. “In the meantime, I suggest you accustom our new comrade to life in my service. Vakin wished for his men to be brutish. We are more sophisticated here than any other army in Stet-lek, even if it makes us unpopular among our peers.”

  Yashin bowed again, as did Bardom, but only halfway. Kagarani seemed an agreeable man, but he was still an enabler of this hostile regime. The suffering he allowed to occur was still unconscionable, but then again, it did not matter. Bardom L’Ani is dead! Do not forget that, Na’Vanad! Do not forget that.

  Deckel, who’d been watching them, now joined Bardom in a corner of the room as the feast started to break. The Shavuim and the Lekkians flowed outside of the hall and onto the streets, leaving the hall quieter. Bardom took another plate and ate another piece of chicken. By the Kahl was he starving! He had not realized how long the ride was, and how taxing his grief had been on his stomach. With his mouth full, he looked up from his plate and waited for Deckel to speak. When he did not, he frowned.

  Bardom swallowed, “What do you want?”

  “Did you really kill him?” Deckel prodded, sitting across from him, his hands wrapped around his ale cup, gripping for the answer.

  Bardom studied him, as he was always careful in his speech being so imbedded among the enemy. “Yes.”

  Yashin fought the urge to roll his eyes a seat away.

  Deckel grinned. “That’s impressive. I’ve heard he was a great fighter.”

  “Hm,” Bardom sniffed and wiped his face with a napkin. “What else did you hear about him?”

  Deckel thought, then answered, “They say he was otherwise a rather useless man, simply a knight for the sake of it while his father and brother ran their territory.”

  “Of course they’d say it that way,” Bardom laughed to himself. “Do they ever say how handily he defeated Vakin’s army two years ago when he was barely a man?’

  Yashin gave him a cautious look.

  “No,” Deckel frowned. “Prince Bardom, the Lightfoot, defeated Vakin?” The mammoth of a man shook his head. “No, I’m sure you’re mistaken. It was General Wahda. Only that wise old man could have beaten him in the field—and now we’ve paid him back many times the punishment they inflicted.”

  Bardom had to try not to roll his eyes. They really call me ‘The Lightfoot’ don’t they?

  “You’d better hope that the prince doesn’t rise from the dead and fulfill his duties, then,” Bardom muttered, lifting his cup and gulping some ale. “I remember how he fought on the battlefield. He was a dangerous man.”

  Yashin gave him a discreet look that said, Shut up!

  Deckel raised an eyebrow. “What duties?”

  Bardom spread his hands and prepared to elaborate. “Here we have no concept of it, but there—in Katan-Bat, the wretched place—they have a custom we do not.”

  “What is it?” Deckel asked.

  “They call it a Blood Son,” Bardom explained. “A man is obligated to have two sons, in Katan-Bat, and some have to find concubines solely to bear the children for it is so sacred a task. The first son is the heir, the man who inherits everything a man owns. The other protects him as a member of the older brother’s house—his sworn sword to protect the family politically, financially, and physically. He is the Blood Son, for he protects his own blood.”

  Deckel nodded slowly, seeming confused.

  Bardom sighed. “So Bardom the Lightfoot was not a knight simply for the sake of it. He was the Blood Son of Abban L’Ani, so they made him into a knight to honor the role. If ever there was going to be a difficult fight, it would have been him.”

  “Ah,” Deckel seemed to understand. “How’d you get out of it without a scratch, then? Perhaps he wasn’t trained enough. Or perhaps you’re just too good with your sword.”

  “I suppose I am something of a Blood Son myself,” he shrugged, then patted his ribs, “although truth be told he got in some good hits that I must recover from.”

  “Alright then, I’ll leave it alone,” Deckel nodded with a smirk. “It seems that Lord Kagarani likes you.”

  “He certainly wishes for me to think so,” Bardom muttered.

  Yashin looked unamused by the comment.

  “That’s his way,” Deckel said. “He forgets names within an hour. The old man only likes his lieutenants, like old Yashin over here.”

  “He respects them,” Yashin clarified. “The General is quite good with important details, I assure you.”

  Deckel ignored him, his voice turning mournful. “You know, it’s unfortunate. Somehow, soon we will have to leave this kind place and go northward. When we do, I would like to see this fighting you say you can do. A man’s tongue is one thing, but his abilities when put to the test reveal the truth.”

  “Then, for our collective sake,” Bardom picked up his cup, “you should hope we find a good battle. We should strive to make a name for ourselves, don’t you agree?”

  “You suggest we make this about glory?” Deckel asked with a gentle laugh. “For us Shavuim?

  “I suggest we earn a more appropriate rank in the Great Leader’s order of things,” he replied. “You’re a smart man, I can tell, Deckel. If Yashin can be the right hand of a great general, then why can’t we be something of great men ourselves?”

  Deckel thought about it for a moment, then said, “I’d quite like that.”

  * * *

  “These are the sleeping quarters,” Deckel showed Bardom around. “We’ll lodge here between tours—it’s been a good long while since we took the southeastern islands, so this has been home for some years. I quite like the fun of the road, but it’s much more peaceful to have a place to call home, even if it is loud and busy.”

  Bardom looked around the simple wooden room—four in each dormitory, each with their own bed and locked trunk. They treat their slaves quite well.

  “I bet you’re wondering why we don’t live in barracks, sleeping altogether in one long room,” Deckel said. “You see, when Kagarani took his territory in the city, this was a prison. These were the cells for the nobles who betrayed the old royal family. There was an old king many years ago who imprisoned many nobles, so they made lots of cells like this. Plenty of space for us to sleep! Better than building a new series of barracks, I think.”

  A cell, Bardom thought. Home, sweet home.

  “Are you a Shavu, Deckel?” Bardom asked.

  He nodded with a laugh. “Why are you asking a question you know the answer to?”

  Bardom shrugged. “You seem proud of all this.”

  “It is the best life I’ve known,” Deckel said. “I’m from an island northwest of the coast, several days travel from here. Food was scarce, entertainment even scarcer. My parents traded me when I was merely six years old for enough food to last them through the winter. Hard to say I miss home when I was cast away like that.”

  “Who told you that they sold you?” Bardom asked, pressing his finger against the firm bed. It was hard and rustic, as he expected.

  Deckel frowned. “What do you mean? General Kagarani told me. My fellows told me.”

  “Hm,” Bardom glanced at him, “but what do you remember? Perhaps they only tell you this so that you remain loyal.”

  Deckel frowned, wide eyes staring downward before him. “You think so?”

  “That’s what I’d do if I need to keep a man loyal,” Bardom muttered. “Just convince him of a reality that suits his fancies, rather than the harshness of the truth.”

  “Well,” Deckel said, “I don't remember much from those days. Only my family saying good-bye, and I never went back.”

  “Would you like to go back?” Bardom asked, opening his trunk, finding the armor and sword he’d stolen.

  Deckel tapped his fingers together. “I’m not sure. Maybe one day.”

  “One day,” Bardom repeated quietly. He did not think he would ever lay eyes on Katan-Bat again, but shared the same sentiment.

  “And where are you from, Na’Vanad?”

  Bardom paused.

  “I’m sorry,” Deckel said quickly. “It seems a sensitive subject.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “And who are we to shy away from sensitive subjects?” Bardom asked in stiff tone, standing up from the trunk and facing him. “I lived in a freshwater fishing village in the southern part of the East Midlands. I belonged to no country, only the lakes and the rivers, and my family.”

  “Sounds like a peaceful life,” Deckel said. “If not a bit dull, I suppose.”

  “It was,” Bardom sighed, remembering how he would play with his niece and nephew, mourning the simplicity of those happy days.

  “How does a fisherman’s son end up a natural warrior Shavu in General Vakin’s army?” Deckel asked. “Must be some story.”

  Bardom flashed his eyes at him. “Who said I was the son of a fisherman?”

  Deckel dawned with realization. “Were you taken peacefully?”

  “What do you think?” Bardom said casually, turning back to his new supplies.

  “I see,” Deckel said. “Your father is dead, then? Vakin was not known for his diplomacy.”

  “No,” Bardom said. “My father, my mother, and my brother probably think I’m dead. Two years ago Vakin’s poachers kidnapped me. You can understand why I do not mourn my old master.”

  “I can,” Deckel responded. “Yashin is a good man for taking you under his wing.” The plump islander sat down on his own bed, removing his armor from his arms.

  “He seems that way,” Bardom said, laying cautiously on his bed. It was not as comfortable as his old mattress at home. Deckel talked for a while longer about the glory of his previous battles. Bardom did not care. Before long, he fell asleep deeply, his belly full enough to leave him only thinking of the horror he had witnessed these last few days.

  * * *

  “UP!” Yashin and the other Lieutenants banged on the doors, shaking the Shavuim awake. Bardom frowned as he blinked his eyes open, noticing how quickly his fellows rose to their feet, as if ready to launch into battle without a moment to come to.

  Bardom was surprised he slept so soundly, as did Deckel, who nearly fell off his bed as he startled awake. The other two in their room, Sul and Res, were on their feet within seconds. Deckel cracked his back as he rolled on the ground and grinned at Bardom.

  “Damn,” he said. “Not even one day to sleep in.”

  “What do they want?” Bardom stretched as he set his feet on the cold stone.

  “Morning disciplines,” Deckel jumped to his feet, revealing a heavy frame of both fat and muscle. “We’ll finally get to see you with a sword.”

  Bardom was cranky, only happy to freshen his breath and rinse his mouth before they were ordered out onto the training grounds. Their garments wrapped over front like tight fitting robes on the torso, tied around the abdomen with a string. He disliked the color black, leaving him cross as he looked down at his tunic. His trousers were mahogany, at the least, not too tight, not too loose. As the Shavuim donned their armor, he thought they looked sharp and disciplined for mere slave soldiers.

  That’s how it is, Bardom thought to himself. It’s all a front. Cover the whole thing in fancy armor, but underneath we’re all in rags. No freedom. No dignity.

  Scanning the grounds, he rested his arm on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Even though it was an imposter’s uniform, he took some comfort in the items he owned. It was all he had, except his mind. He had to work hard to not lose it these last few days, and holding the sword helped.

  Deckel and some other heavy men jumped into each other’s shoulders as they laughed triumphantly. Why do they act like winners? They have no real dignity!

  But his beliefs were not validated. The Shavuim grabbed some grub, ate, then set to training their individual combat skills. Another group practiced group spear formations with shields. Their movements were… excellently coordinated. These were not the Lekkian troops of old—these knew how to work together.

  Is this how they spend every day? he thought. Training to conquer more innocent people?

  “Look less miserable, tolo,” Yashin said with crossed arms, surveying the sparring. “You are honored here.”

  “In what fashion?” Bardom grumbled.

  “You are blessed with routine now,” he replied. “You’ll get used to it. It will keep you sane.”

  “When might we find Aya Ralu?” he asked discreetly.

  Yashin raised one eyebrow. “Does your old self linger in there, Na’Vanad?”

  Bardom rolled his eyes, standing stiffly.

  “I should not have told you about it,” Yashin answered. “It will only distract you. I need you focused.”

  “I warn you, old man, I will not be so easy to manipulate,” Bardom’s voice always seemed to have a bite to it now. “I asked a question expecting an answer.”

  “Put that fire out on your tongue,” Yashin demanded with a commanding eye. “We are servants of Lord Kagarani. We’ll never get an audience with Aya Ralu on our own. We’ll need Kagarani’s help. Fortunately, I have a plan.”

  A thought baked in Bardom’s mind. “You act like my father. Why do you aim to help me, Yashin? Is it your own guilt that eats at you? Or do you think I can gain you something?”

  “No, tolo, not guilt, not ambition,” he said. “I was once like you. Perhaps, part of me still wishes to be. It is good to feel like you can change the world.” He glanced around the yard. “And if you really want to, you’ll have to play the game like I have. Look how well these slaves are treated. Don’t you know I have influenced Kagarani to treat them this way?”

  Bardom huffed. “Yes, I have noticed.”

  “So be patient,” Yashin said.

  Bardom eyed him. “How do you expect me to let my own kin suffer while we wait for the general to decide if he likes me?”

  “I expect you to be the Blood Son you told Deckel about. That means discretion and a steel heart. Yours is still flesh and blood, which can be damaged. Steel, however—it is forged in fire, molded into something dangerous, then hardened in cold water. These days…they’ve been your forge. Now let us harden your heart, to make you the man who will become great.”

  Now that does sound ambitious, Bardom thought.

  Bardom watched him carefully. He felt uncomfortably inspired by Yashin’s words. Yet, still he could not discern if he was truly a friend. Were there any friends in Stet-lek? It was hard to see them that way when he felt they were all enemies for so long.

  Bardom’s platoon formed up with their swords. The lead instructor gave his directions. All men partnered-up, which left Bardom alone. Since it was meant to be by weight-class, Deckel had to find someone larger to spar with.

  Eris, the rude, single free Lekkian in the company, sized up Bardom, then swung his sword around in a practiced motion. “Come spar, Ker.”

  Yashin presided. “Taunting is Eris’s best skill, tolo. He does not know your blade.”

  “I like trouncing your Shavuim, Yashin,” Eris said. “The other Lekkians don’t spar with the same intensity, and Lord Kagarani doesn’t let me beat them.”

  Bardom unleashed his sword and cast aside the scabbard. “I accept the challenge.”

  For barely a moment, Bardom wondered why this lordling was on the same training grounds as the Shavuim. He noticed a split on the grounds, with most Lekkians staying on their side. Eris, however, was an outcast from the other Lekkians, which all of the Shavuim knew. Of course he played it off as a pompous braggart, saying how he enjoyed stepping on the Shavuim for amusement. Yashin told him that Eris was from a noble family who’d fallen out of favor with the Great Leader, and became a vassal under Kagarani for protection. Eris could not find a role in any place of esteem in Stet-Lek, that was why his place was with the Shavuim.

  Deckel added that Eris’s father had tried to scam Rontisil several years back, but was still trying to make a name for himself in the Great Leader’s army despite being shunned from the court. That meant trying to insert his sons into positions of prominence in other lords’ armies. Unfortunately, Eris did not learn anything from his father’s mistakes. He was entitled, rude, and, above all else, not as great as he thought he was. He would be an excellent target to humiliate, where Na’Vanad would begin to earn his reputation.

  Eris grinned as he took off his chest plate. “Come now, Ker! I will show you whose boots to kiss.”

  General Kagarani watched from a balcony, paying careful attention to Bardom and Eris.

  “Do we not don armor for this?” Bardom frowned, noticing the others taking off their armor as well.

  “We wear our mistakes,” Yashin said, displaying the other sparrers going at it without protection.

  “But these are edged blades!” Bardom hissed.

  “Vakin was so soft he let you spar without an edge on your sword?” Eris mocked and laughed. “Indeed, you are weak.”

  “Very well,” Bardom disregarded his concerns and cast aside his armor. “On with it, then!”

  Eris obliged. They began to circle each other, then Eris leapt with a heavy swing, which Bardom dodged with a side step.

  “Lekkians stand! We do not flee!”

  “I don’t flee, I dance,” Bardom quipped. Yashin gave a chuckle and a dry smile.

  “Give him a good fight, tolo,” Yashin instructed. “Now he knows you’re quicker than him, what will he do?”

  “Hmph!” Eris swung high, and Bardom dodged again. “Damn you!”

  “One more!” Bardom taunted back.

  “YAH!” Eris chopped down.

  Ding. “Rah!” Bardom countered quickly, forcefully.

  “Ungh!” Eris crumpled like discarded paper, moaning on the groaned.

  The crowd came around the two quickly. All Bardom did was parry the attack and shove his knee into Eris’s groin. A simple, trained maneuver.

  “Alright, alright!” Yashin ordered everyone back. “Na’Vanad is reminding us why wearing armor can be so valuable in a battle. Go on!”

  The crowd dispersed, laughing at Eris while the support staff helped him to his feet slowly.

  “Cheap shot!” Eris hissed.

  Yashin yanked Bardom by the collar. “Are you trying to get yourself disciplined?”

  “He was bothering me. You told me to give him a good fight.”

  “Aye, he bothers everyone, that’s why he has no friends here!” Yashin growled. “If you want to end up just like him, then keep doing that. Otherwise, you’d best—“

  “Na’Vanad!” General Kagarani came down from his viewing perch and marched onto the training ground. The soldiers halted and saluted him, with their arms to their sides, then their right fists brought to their left shoulders, heads bowed. He ignored them as he scowled at Bardom.

  Bardom mimicked the salute. “Yes, General Kagarani!”

  “Do you think it’s funny to make a mockery of my men?” he spat. The balding warlord’s cross expression set deep on his face.

  “No, General.”

  “Did General Vakin permit you to target your sparring partner’s manhood?”

  Bardom swallowed—that, he did not know. “I apologize, General.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he pointed his finger in Bardom’s face. “Act.”

  Bardom nodded, bowing his head.

  Kagarani marched off back to his perch, swinging his hand impatiently. “Back to work!”

  Bardom watched him disappear. This man is on edge…

  “He has very high expectations of you,” Yashin said. “Heed my advice, and do not make yourself more of a target.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eris finally caught his breath. “You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that, Na’Vanad?”

  “Come, Lekkian,” Bardom took his sword back up. “I will not harm you further for the duration of our sparring.”

  Eris frowned as he took his sword to the ready, unsure if he should be offended or comforted.

  To Bardom’s credit, he did not harm Eris, but he certainly embarrassed him. As the Blood Son to Abban L’Ani, he took standard training in combat as a boy, but later received an advanced education on human anatomy, motion, and high level martial arts—all from Lord Wahda’s training. The moves he knew, and the various styles he could use, were part of what made him one of the most feared knights in Katan-Bat.

  Yet, one knight is not enough to stop an army, and that crushed Bardom’s heart. He did not have much room for levity, nor a moment to break from his despair to laugh with his new comrades. Despite now knowing them as men, he kept reminding himself that they were all murderers. Some of them might have been rapists too.

  Despite his reservations, he felt at peace with the plan he chose. The anxiety, that horrible fear that he would be exposed, was starting to ease, but only because of the old soldier. Yashin was the only person in the world Bardom trusted now. Each night of his first week in Stet-lek, the two drank ale and played cards, sometimes discussing matters of the day, other times speaking not at all.

  There was more to it, since Kagarani had the Shavuim do the work for the Lekkians, too. No two days in a row had the same tasks. Some days were for maintaining armor and weapons, others for hauling supplies, like wood, steel, or oil. Bardom was surprised to see that the Shavuim were required to separate grain, while others ground it for flour. Kagarani kept the men satisfied with food and drink, keeping the Shavuim from complaining too much over the work.

  These days went on in routine fashion. They would train, they would work, then they would eat and drink. Some nights, the men of the Shavuim Battalions would order pleasure slaves, or journey to a brothel where the women were paid, all for the pleasure of Shavuim and not free men. The free had much finer and establishments built solely for them. It was all so odd, and gross.

  Bardom could not understand why it was so, but he knew it was all about control. If Shavuim are happy, they won’t rebel, even if they have no true freedom. The fact that this place embraced slavery so easily was a transgression he could not accept.

  It quickly became known to the other Shavuim how Na’Vanad felt on the matter of woman-slaves in particular. He did admit that a woman sentenced to a life of being the plaything of immoral men was not the same as a house servant, as many were. Many other girls were also employed in farm work and other labors. Knowing the nature of Adella’s unfair punishment, and how helpless he was to save her, brought him low.

  After some time passed, he grew frustrated by the many telling him that slaves enjoyed their roles in society. One look at their faces, and it was clear how miserable they were. They masked it with full stomachs and empty balls.

  “Why does he permit it?” Bardom asked Yashin one evening.

  The graying soldier set down his ale and swallowed. “Allow what?”

  Bardom pointed with his chin at a slave maidservant cleaning the floor.

  Yashin sighed. “For the same reason we drink, tolo. He wants to.”

  “Tell me you don’t endorse this,” Bardom said.

  “For men that have, like Kagarani, you choose what matters,” he shrugged from his lips, “His slaves live better than most peasants in other parts of the country. This is how he wants it.”

  “Then at least he should pay them a wage,” Bardom said. “Grant them some measure of dignity if he won’t grant them their freedom.”

  “Freedom is a temporary condition, one which is truly just an illusion, tolo,” Yashin responded. “No one is ever free. Not me, not you. Not Kagarani, not even the Demon King.”

  Bardom scowled. “You’ve spent too long as a slave to remember that what you say is false.”

  “Stop holding on to what isn’t,” Yashin said. “You’ll be free when you realize you never will be. When you realize you never were.”

  Bardom inhaled deeply. How does he so read my thoughts then provide such pessimistic wisdom each time?

  “Don’t look so sad, tolo,” Yashin said.

  “My family is dead,” he said, acknowledging that for the first time out loud. “How else should I look?”

  “That’s what the ale is for,” Yashin quipped, swigging his drink.

  “My legs, my hands ache to act, Yashin,” he said. “How can you tolerate this injustice?”

  “Tolerate?” Yashin’s voice grew gravelly, as he leaned forward, resting his right arm forward as he squinted in disgust. “No one with a stomach could tolerate this—it’s just that your intolerance grows numb. It doesn't disappear. You’re just used to it.”

  “Yet here you are,” Bardom said, tapping the table. “Tolerating.”

  “And here you are,” Yashin replied bitterly. “You don’t tolerate it, tolo. You survive it. To tolerate means to keep that within you from beginning to end. I tell you, again, that holding on to what was will only tear you down. The strong are the ones who’ve let it go.”

  “Like you?” Bardom rolled his eyes.

  “Aye.”

  Bardom clasped his hand around his cup. “A man as wise as you, as successful as you, should have been able to create some change for the Shavuim.”

  “I did,” Yashin shook his head. “We’re treated very well.”

  “So you say,” Bardom replied. “Yet they are still slaves. Not enough change. This country is content to exploit the lives of foreign captives. It is monstrous.”

  Yashin looked down, dwelling. “The moment you try to change things—truly try to fight back against these warlords—you’re dead. I’ve only lived this long because I understand that.”

  “But you’ve ascended high,” Bardom noted, “with your help, we can make immense changes here together.”

  “You’ve got a death wish.”

  “No,” Bardom laughed as his words came to him. “No, I have a life wish. I dream of changing these people. I dream of a world where they love instead of hate.”

  “And how will you change that?”

  Bardom thought. “If my only ascension is through war, then I shall do it. You will never see a soldier as effective as me. My wisdom, however, is imperfect. Perhaps you are the man that destiny has provided to teach it to me.”

  Yashin scoffed.

  “Think about it, old man,” he said. “I have my morals, but lack the avenue to use them. With your help, we can take what is ours. We can become far more than any Shavuim in this country has.”

  “Your eyes seek a prize,” Yashin noticed.

  “It is a fortunate coincidence,” Bardom smirked. “General Vakin is dead, and all of his lieutenants gone with him. The Demon King will need to replace him.” Bardom kept his voice low, thinking the maidservant might be eavesdropping. “What better scenario for Kagarani than for the two of us to secure his position.”

  “I don’t want Vakin’s command,” Yashin shook his head.

  “Good,” he said. “Because I speak of myself, and you as my first lieutenant.”

  “I belong to Kagarani,” he said swiftly. “Even if I wanted to help you, at such a position, I would be bound to my liege lord. I’m his vassal knight, and have been for many long years. I may be a mere slave by law, but there is honor in loyalty.”

  Bardom studied him. “Alright.”

  Yashin swallowed, after a moment of silence. “But you as a general… that could be quite the opportunity.”

  Bardom’s lips curled slowly into a grin as Yashin’s heart slowly turned. “Yet you told me not to change things.”

  “You’d have to amend your story,” Yashin said. “How long have you been a knight?”

  Bardom saw that he was serious, and matched his demeanor. “Eight years.”

  “And so young!” he whispered, simply stunned. “Your prowess will earn you a status greater than everyone else in Kagarani’s army. The only trouble is…” He looked around for listening ears and watching eyes. “If he makes you a lieutenant, you’d be the lowest of the group, and that is no place to become a general. Aye, the only way this works is for you to attain an independent knighthood, from Rontisil himself.”

  Bardom’s grin faded into a scowl. “Has a Shavu ever received one before?”

  Yashin shook his head. “You’d need a formal recommendation from a general and familiarity with enough nobility to make it popular. The Demon King will not anoint you if it does not benefit him politically.”

  “Then I will force his hand,” Bardom decided. He raised his cup. “To being slaves no longer.”

  Yashin slowly raised his reluctantly, a devious smile taking his face at being egged on. “Here, here.”