in Sirtai. Back home, poor people did not try to attack their superiors. They would either get killed or enslaved for life, a price too steep to pay, especially when one always had food, shelter, and clean streets beneath one’s soles.
Armin did not know what to do. He was not skilled in combat. He knew his valiant stand would end in him getting killed very quickly. If something like this had happened back home, the casual onlookers would attack the assailants and beat them senseless. Crimes in Sirtai had classes, just like the people.
Here, the few people present did their best to pretend nothing was happening. They turned the other way and hastened their pace. There was no City Watch in this part of Eybalen.
As he stood facing his death, he realized his approach had been wrong all along. He had always suspected the deaths of the city’s rich had been carefully planned deeds of their comrades. Now, the options seemed limitless. Anyone could have done it. Anyone with enough money and a solid opportunity. There was nothing stopping people like his nemeses from taking a knife to a throat of some noble for a sufficient sum of gold.
Armin felt naked. And ashamed of this alien society. Where were the good citizens to protect him, to protect one another from harm?
Having nothing to say, he stood and waited, his stomach muscles bunched, anticipating a spike of cold steel. Instead of attacking him, the three villains seemed reluctant to attack. Afraid? They stepped back.
Armin dared breathe again. A sixth sense made him aware of a presence behind him. Slowly, very slowly, he turned and saw a man, dressed like a gentleman, standing several paces behind him, staring at his three antagonists.
“We is very sorry, sir,” the leader mumbled, taking another step back.
Shocked, Armin just nodded. Was he being rescued by a gallant citizen? No, he realized, he was being rescued by one of his stalkers.
The gangsters ran off, never looking back.
“I would like to thank you,” Armin told the man.
“Next time, ride in a chariot,” the man said and was gone. Armin stood there, with more unanswered questions than before.
CHAPTER 11
A dam made his way back into the camp, walking slowly and slightly limping. No one dared approach him. Although the patrols had spotted him quite some time ago, he was all alone on the dusty trail leading to the Eracian camp.
He hobbled past multiple rows of stakes, past small towers crammed full with archers. Everywhere, soldiers stood and stared stupidly. A cloud of stunned silence preceded him to be replaced by a turbulent wind of hushed talk.
A knot of officers waited for him in one of the camp centers. As he neared, he rehearsed the same lines for the thousandth time. He had been a soldier in Captain William’s battalion. After Bruce and his three sergeants died in combat, the captain had promoted him to an acting lieutenant.
It should work.
Finally, a man approached him, offering him a skin. He nodded his thanks and drank.
“Are you wounded?” the soldier asked.
Adam shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The man pointed at his soiled tunic. “You have a huge stain of blood there.”
Adam smiled softly. “I don’t think it’s mine.”
The spell broken, people flocked toward him. He cringed under the sudden onslaught. But all that came were gentle, almost cautious touches to his arms and legs, as if they wanted to make sure he was not an apparition.
“Enough, stand back,” one of the officers barked. The sea of armed men retreated.
Adam stood frozen for a moment. Then, he noted the two copper leaves on the man’s shoulders. He remembered from his days in Paroth that two coppers meant captains. He recovered and saluted wearily.
“No need for that, man,” the captain said in a much softer voice.
“Who are you?” another captain inquired.
This was it. Adam took a deep breath and gave birth to his new self. “I’m Acting Lieutenant Adam, sir. Served under Sergeant
Armin did not know what to do. He was not skilled in combat. He knew his valiant stand would end in him getting killed very quickly. If something like this had happened back home, the casual onlookers would attack the assailants and beat them senseless. Crimes in Sirtai had classes, just like the people.
Here, the few people present did their best to pretend nothing was happening. They turned the other way and hastened their pace. There was no City Watch in this part of Eybalen.
As he stood facing his death, he realized his approach had been wrong all along. He had always suspected the deaths of the city’s rich had been carefully planned deeds of their comrades. Now, the options seemed limitless. Anyone could have done it. Anyone with enough money and a solid opportunity. There was nothing stopping people like his nemeses from taking a knife to a throat of some noble for a sufficient sum of gold.
Armin felt naked. And ashamed of this alien society. Where were the good citizens to protect him, to protect one another from harm?
Having nothing to say, he stood and waited, his stomach muscles bunched, anticipating a spike of cold steel. Instead of attacking him, the three villains seemed reluctant to attack. Afraid? They stepped back.
Armin dared breathe again. A sixth sense made him aware of a presence behind him. Slowly, very slowly, he turned and saw a man, dressed like a gentleman, standing several paces behind him, staring at his three antagonists.
“We is very sorry, sir,” the leader mumbled, taking another step back.
Shocked, Armin just nodded. Was he being rescued by a gallant citizen? No, he realized, he was being rescued by one of his stalkers.
The gangsters ran off, never looking back.
“I would like to thank you,” Armin told the man.
“Next time, ride in a chariot,” the man said and was gone. Armin stood there, with more unanswered questions than before.
CHAPTER 11
A dam made his way back into the camp, walking slowly and slightly limping. No one dared approach him. Although the patrols had spotted him quite some time ago, he was all alone on the dusty trail leading to the Eracian camp.
He hobbled past multiple rows of stakes, past small towers crammed full with archers. Everywhere, soldiers stood and stared stupidly. A cloud of stunned silence preceded him to be replaced by a turbulent wind of hushed talk.
A knot of officers waited for him in one of the camp centers. As he neared, he rehearsed the same lines for the thousandth time. He had been a soldier in Captain William’s battalion. After Bruce and his three sergeants died in combat, the captain had promoted him to an acting lieutenant.
It should work.
Finally, a man approached him, offering him a skin. He nodded his thanks and drank.
“Are you wounded?” the soldier asked.
Adam shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The man pointed at his soiled tunic. “You have a huge stain of blood there.”
Adam smiled softly. “I don’t think it’s mine.”
The spell broken, people flocked toward him. He cringed under the sudden onslaught. But all that came were gentle, almost cautious touches to his arms and legs, as if they wanted to make sure he was not an apparition.
“Enough, stand back,” one of the officers barked. The sea of armed men retreated.
Adam stood frozen for a moment. Then, he noted the two copper leaves on the man’s shoulders. He remembered from his days in Paroth that two coppers meant captains. He recovered and saluted wearily.
“No need for that, man,” the captain said in a much softer voice.
“Who are you?” another captain inquired.
This was it. Adam took a deep breath and gave birth to his new self. “I’m Acting Lieutenant Adam, sir. Served under Sergeant
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