Book I - The Magician's Boy (Chapter 5)

Life should have been easier without Krutt, but the truth was that it wasn’t. In many instances, Erich was sure it might even have been harder. He’d taken to the streets like a rat to a sewer, carrying with him as much of the gold he could take from Krutt’s cart as he could carry on his body without being weighed down with it. The first few days went by fairly quickly, and he ate well and slept in Krutt’s tent. But a slave does not live in the lap of luxury for long before it is either lost or taken from him by those with watchful, greedy eyes.

It was the fifth night of the Market Fair, only two days before its end, when Erich lost everything, nearly including his life.

Because he didn’t sleep at night, and only lay in the warmth of his master’s bedroll in the tent, Erich heard the four bandits well before they reached him. To their credit, they were extremely quiet, only calling to one another once every thirty seconds to judge position. Erich had time to realize his mistake, he’d set the tent up in an alley a few streets from the Road, in a place where there was no protection in numbers. The thing was, he had not been able to set his tent up with those from the Market Fair as they’d driven him out, tagging him as a renegade slave. He’d cursed the coin brand then just as he cursed his stupidity now. He did not have to move this far away from the Market Fair, in a place where he was easy game for the jackals of the night.

They were on all sides of him now, one guarding the exit hole, another behind and two on either side. Converging closer, he heard their footsteps and fear blocked his throat. He was a boy, smaller than all those his age, and they were most likely all stronger, larger and older than him. He felt the bag of money at his hip, measured it. There was enough here to kill for. Enough money to justify the snuffing of a life. He would die here, if something wasn’t done. No secret man with a politician’s agenda would stifle him; it would be four hoodlums, ready to dive on the tent and stick the body inside full of sharp steel. Erich stood up.

“Stop! I know you’re out there. I have the money you’ll be wanting, and you can have anything else I’ve got. Just let me out of this tent.”

Silence from outside, and Erich knew they were all eyeing each other, surprised. Was it really going to be this easy? If Erich had it his way, then yes, it was. He waited a moment, and then another, until finally one of the four spoke up. It had to be the leader.

“All right, kid. Come on out, we won’t touch you long as you give us the coins you got stashed away.”

It was all the encouragement Erich needed. He dropped to his belly and shimmied his way out of the exit hole. The air outside was crispy cold, and when he breathed it in the wet spots at the back of his nostrils nearly froze. His breath came out in cool little clumps of steam, and he slowly got to his feet, staring about him at the ones who’d captured him.

They were not so large as he’d imagined; the oldest of them was maybe sixteen, with the rest within a year of age from him. They were, however, all weilding knives. Little blades for stabbing, piercing holes through tent fabric and man skin.

“Well, aren’t you a little bugger. Got his own tent, his own money too? Must be some mistake.” It was the largest boy, the boy who had spoken before. The clan leader. The others chuckled, and Erich saw one of them running his finger over the face of his knife. However easy he had hoped this would be, he had been wrong. The only thing he felt like doing at this moment was running, and yet he knew that he could not. They’d be on him like spit, their long legs and knowledge of the Hathan streets. And there would be no Breyda to stop them. If he ran, he’d be gleefully butchered by these wild boys. So he fought down the urge to run. I have to act calm. No fear, they’ll know it if I’m afraid.

“I got your money right here, and take the tent if you want it, I don’t much need it anyways.” Erich’s voice wavered slightly, and he hoped he was the only one who’d heard. To no avail.

“Ha! Little boy’s all riled up, frightened we’re gonna take a little more from him than the money he stole. We gonna kill him, boys? We that mean?”

A trio of “Nah,” sounded from Erich’s sides and behind his back. They’d moved around him again as he’d crawled out of the tent. Now running really was out of the question. Despite the goading from the leader of this little night gang, Erich pulled the little sack of gold coins from his waist and held it up. The leader boy stepped up and snatched it from Erich’s grip.

“You’re right though, this money’s mine. Bag like this got stolen from me and my crew about a week ago. Maybe you the one stole it, yah? Bought yourself a tent to sleep in, too afraid of Jerika and his boys to lay out at night? Ah well, bygones is bygones. And maybe I’d let you off, too, if it weren’t for that scar on your cheek. You a slave, boy. And a runaway slave who thieves from starving boys such as ourselves (at this, the rest of the boys chimed in: “Yeah, Jerika. We starved,” “All your fault I ain’t et in three days,” “Let’s show him something for our trouble.”) and thinks he’s good enough to sleep warm in the streets, well, he’s got to be set to rights, hasn’t he?”

The other boys murmered assent. Erich prayed to the gods as his knees began to shake.

“Drop the blades, boys, we’s got to play this one fair and fisty. Don’t want it to be over too quick, yah?” The leader dropped his knife on the ground, where it clanked. Erich heard three other clanks, and he closed his eyes.

“Yenki, you first.”

Erich’s back exploded with pain as the jackal named Yenki drilled his knee into his spine. The slave boy flew forward, eyes flying open in shock just in time to see Jerika’s raised fist flying toward his nose.

Revolving rainbows of red and white danced in his head as flowers of pain erupted behind his eyes. He was vaguely aware that he was on his back on the stone of the street, and that heavy boots were kicking at him from all sides. One boot stomped Erich’s face, sending fresh waves of nauseating pain from his broken nose. Another boot launched into the slave boy’s groin, and his stomach clenched as he vomited all the food he’d eaten that day. The kicks did not stop, or slacken. In fact, they became more vigorous, coming faster and harder than before. He was going to die here, on the ground, kicked into jelly.

No. It had to stop. The kicks had to stop. The gleeful shouts of the boys had to stop. All of it. Erich, who had never slept, was not going to be forced into unconsciousness. He would feel it all, feel all the pain until it sucked him into the cold nothing that was death.

He clenched his teeth shut as the kicks came, and rage filled him like water from an oasis would fill a canteen. They’d taken his money, his dignity, and now they wanted his life. A slave he may be, but he would not lay down. It was time to fight back. He opened his mouth and screamed his battlecry.

“I WON’T LET YOU!”

The kicks stopped. Erich staggered to his feet, supporting himself with the adrenaline that was running through his veins. And perhaps there was something else?

No fists came at him. He turned, search for his opponents, whirling about. They were gone. Blood gushed down his face, his ribcage creaking as he turned. No, that wasn’t right. They weren’t all gone. He spotted a dark blob on the ground in the alley to his left. It lay twenty yards away. He spotted another one, in the road to his right. And the other two, scattered in other random directions.

There was no need to check them. He’d killed the boys, thrown them so high and far they’d been killed by the bricks he’d been laying on. Only he knew that wasn’t right. Before they were even in the air, they’d already been dead.

Breyda’s words came back to him then, about the power within him, a power that had been drained and suppressed by Krutt. With no magician to drain him, the power remained within.

And tonight it had been awakened.