“Two meads, please,” shouted Reos over the almost deafening noise of the packed inn. He exchanged a couple of coins for the badly poured half empty tankards of mead and made his way back to Otylik seated at the far side of the room. Reos couldn’t remember how much they’d had between them, but since the whole point of the evening, from when they had first set out until then, had been to get drunk he didn’t particularly care.
It had been a long time since he had last had good cause to drink in great quantity. In fact the last time that it had been necessary for someone to carry him home had been the night when he and Kalisha had finally split up. That was fully three months since. He still felt a wrenching of his heart when he thought of her. It was, in some way that he couldn’t quite understand, annoying to him that it did still hurt.
Her name often came to mind. He had been happy with her, happy with life in general at that time, too. Not like then. Was it only three months ago? It seemed like a decade had past since.
He eventually reached Otylik with what were, by then, slightly less than half full tankards of mead. Not that the tankards were ever filled to the rim; that was quite normal, but Reos had noticed a distinct decrease in volume as the hours had passed. If he ever learnt that it was a deliberate plan, he thought quietly to himself, he would never frequent the place again. Which was, of course, complete nonsense since it was the only drinking hole of any note in the small backwater village.
Passing Otylik his he squeezed into his place. He put the tankard to his lips although he had gone past the point of appreciating anything as far as taste was concerned. It was simply a ritual. Have beer: will drink.
Otylik nudged him and leant forward to be heard, “Only about an hour left. He just told me,” he said pointing with his tankard at an old man in a wide brimmed hat. In doing so he slopped a good amount of his already sparse mead over the table. No-one batted an eyelid. A fair number of the people still in the inn at that time had to concentrate fully on their own actions to avoid a greater mishap than such an insignificantly small spill.
Reos nodded. Well it was about time, he thought to himself. The evening, or rather the morning, was beginning to drag.
The hour passed slowly, especially since it took most of it to drink that last tankard he had bought. He had little desire left for drinking and didn’t order a last one to take out with him. Otylik, it would appear, felt the same way as he had hardly taken a sip from his own. They didn’t even speak to each other: every line of conversation had already been exhausted long before. But they were close enough to not be uncomfortable with the silence. Especially not in that state.
After what seemed an eternity people started filing outside. Otylik and Reos were amongst the first, more for the fresh air than anything else. A good proportion of the inn’s customers were collapsed over tables and chairs, some on the floor, and most of them snoring loudly. A few were woken as people, bleary eyed, stumbled over them. The rest were left behind.
Outside Reos stood still and calm, waiting for his head to adjust to the cool fresh air, hoping to goodness that he wouldn’t deposit the contents of his stomach on the dusty road. Not that anyone would really notice, just that he would feel embarrassed. Unable to hold his ale, as it were.
“Don’t think about it,” muttered Otylik, seeing the look on his face, “And you won’t.”
As the small group of people began to grow Reos began to shiver. He looked up at the lightening sky and the dimming stars and hoped that the sun wouldn’t be too long.
He looked to his friend stood to his left but he seemed to have gone into a world of his own and didn’t seem to notice that Reos was there at all. Otylik had been his friend since boyhood. Although it was generally considered that he had a youthfulness about his face that made him still look sixteen; Reos didn’t see it. It was funny, but when you’d known someone for so long and from such an early age then that person didn’t appear to have an age at all: it was simply Otylik.
He was a good few inches taller than Reos. In his youth the boys had nick-named him Lanky-Lik. But he had shaken off the lankiness in his appearance. Though he was still very much the same build and height he had an air about him of calm and confidence. An inward stance that demanded a certain measure of respect.
He shivered again and turned slightly to his right. The person he was standing next to was also a good measure taller than he: taller even than Otylik, and Reos had always thought him tall. Between the two Reos felt decidedly dwarf-like: an uncommon experience which made his head swim unnecessarily. He shut his eyes and tried to calm himself. It didn’t help and he quickly opened them again in case he suddenly fell over.
There was something odd about this giant of a man stood next to him, thought Reos to himself, but he couldn’t quite place it. Definitely not someone to pick an argument with, he decided, and quickly glanced away in case the stranger noticed the impolite study Reos had just given him.
By then the crowd had become quite a size. All eyes were turned towards the east. He was glad it wasn’t another cloudy Summer Eve: that was always so disappointing. And quite normal. The usual course of events if it was found to be cloudy would be to return to the inn for another couple of rounds, which inevitably pushed him over his limit. A limit that was quite definitely already reached.
Reos was so lost in his thoughts that the appearance of the rim of the sun caught him by surprise. Immediately the crowd erupted into jubilant shouts and cheers. Reos let out a high pitched whoop and jumped in the air a few times. His fragility forgotten for the moment he leapt around like a small child. It was the only part of Summer Eve that he really enjoyed.
Normally such behaviour would brand him a lout and a drunkard, or at the very least the village idiot. In his personal view there was far too little jumping, shouting and general merry making in that run down little hole of a village. It was the one time of the year when it was totally acceptable and he could leap around to his hearts content and no-one would notice. It was a pity he had drunk so much, otherwise he could perhaps enjoy it a little more. After a short time though, the cheers subsided and people started to file back into the inn.
Reos gave one last jump to last him through until the next year, whooping in a half hearted attempt at a happy welcome to the coming summer. As he did so he misjudged his balance and struggling to regain his composure knocked into the tall stranger on his right, spilling most of the mead in the sober looking figure’s tankard.
“I’m sorry,” Reos stuttered. “I didn’t mean...is there...”
“It’s all right, really,” said the tall stranger in a calm and unconcerned voice as he wiped with his hand the excess liquid from the front of his shirt.
“Here, let me buy you another.” Reos offered, gesturing towards the inn.
“No, no. Let it pass,” came the reply in a flat and final tone.
Reos didn’t, however. An excess of alcohol mixed with an intense desire to appease the tall, well built stranger whom he had already decided was someone to avoid antagonising, managed to affect his judgement: badly.
“If there’s anything I can do. Make up for that. You know, anything, sort of, do. You know.” Reos frowned; he was finding it difficult to make his words come out in the correct order. His head was still swimming from all the jumping around.
“Well, yes, all right,” conceded the stranger, “You could direct me to some place I could get a bed for a few hours. I have to find a place to sleep tonight, the inn here is completely full,” he said by way of explanation.
“Stay at our place,” said a drunken Otylik from behind Reos.
“Yes, yes. Stay t’our place.” The words somehow came tumbling out of his mouth before he had time to stop them. Reos turned to Otylik and tried to give a silent admonishing stare. But he was too drunk to manage the proper look, and it was too dark for Otylik to notice had he been sober enough to care anyhow. He hadn’t realised that Otylik had noticed what had happened, and right at that moment he wished he hadn’t. Reos had said and done too much already, he didn’t need Otylik adding to the problem.
To suggest inviting someone back, especially that stranger, was a fairly ludicrous idea. If the house attendant found out they would probably be thrown out, or fined, or worse! It was an offer only Otylik could have made. Despite his own state, Reos had the audacity to think to himself that Otylik really shouldn’t have drunk so much.
“We’ll just have to be careful the attendant doesn’t find out,” stated Reos, more for Otylik’s sake than anyone else’s.
“Pah, so what if he does? We’ll be turfed out soon anyway.”
“Yes, I know, but...” started Reos, rapidly beginning to sober up.
“Yes – we will – no buts,” he said forcibly, “C’mon, it’ll be a laugh. I’d like to see the old dodderer’s face when I tell him what he can do with his house rules.”
Reos sighed. He was too tired to argue with a drunken Otylik, who could be quietly stubborn at times. He didn’t fully agree, despite having already backed up the original offer made by Otylik. That, he felt, was probably something said out of an embarrassing moment and without thinking. To say nothing of the influence of the mead.
The tall stranger hesitated, looking from Reos to Otylik – not sure whether it was a genuine and reasonable offer of hospitality or whether it would turn out to be a drunken brawling match between these two intoxicated young men and some old house attendant, whatever that was. However, he didn’t want to turn down the offer of shelter for the night. What was left of it.
Reos shrugged. Why not? Otylik was right after all – their days in the house were probably few anyway. Yes: it was a bad idea. Yes: it would probably be something they later regretted. But yes: it probably would be a laugh, or at least a last gesture of defiance.
Regardless, they had offered the unknown gentleman a bed for the rest of the night, morning, whatever, for good or for bad. Reos had been raised better than to go back on his word. He did his best to turn and smile at the stranger but stopped when he realised that he was probably pulling some kind of a grotesque face.
They trudged off together down the street having put their empty tankards in the middle of the dusty walk way. They were sure to be collected in the morning. Silently, after what Reos had considered a rather swift acceptance of a bed for the night from the stranger, the three of them made their way slowly home.
They wound their way through the back streets to the outskirts of the village. The house itself was home to a dozen workers and the attendant. Despite the amount of potential manpower residing in the house which was available to maintain, upkeep and even improve the property, it was in a state of decay that was probably irreversible.
Reos had often toyed with the idea of doing some work on it in his spare time. A little paint to the window frames, a touch of gardening, though that was not his forte. Even a good scrub and clean out would have helped.
But who would have appreciated it? Certainly no-one would have continued to maintain whatever work he did. The attendant would probably even have been annoyed at the interference. That man really was a cantankerous old father of toads.
So, in the end, Reos had done nothing. Like everyone else who had ever lived there. Right at that moment, especially then – in the state that he was, he didn’t give a damn. He hoped to find that the house had collapsed and they would just come upon a huge pile of rubble. Preferably with the attendant at the bottom of it.
Reos didn’t have time to let his thoughts develop any further along those lines: which was good really. His moods had been dark recently, and the alcohol and the atmosphere that night had generally kept him in good spirits. Perhaps it was getting late and he was tired. He found himself fighting off the sullen moods every few minutes.
Finally they turned the last corner and the house was looming before them: quite intact, and looking as run into the ground and as derelict as ever. When they reached the battered door to the old house Otylik put his finger to his mouth and indicated to them that they should creep in, despite his earlier boldness.
Creeping in the dark and when drunk was not, however, as quiet as Reos would have liked, though perhaps as loud as he should have expected. They crept pretty well silently enough through the dusty hallway. Its floor was just plain floorboards with nothing covering it except the age old layers of dirt and dust. Their feet scraped and scuffed noisily across it, though to them that was quiet.
There was little in the way of decorations or furniture in the hallway: just the odd faded picture hanging here and there mainly to cover holes and cracks than to give a pleasant surround. In fact Reos never looked at them and would not have been able to say what they depicted had he been asked. He had probably looked at them once, when he was new there perhaps, and that was longer ago than he cared to consider.
There was just one small table in the hallway with a large old vase standing empty upon it. Precisely what it was there for Reos could never understand – he had certainly never seen flowers in it. Flowers: now there was a funny thought. Reos had assumed, wrongly of course, that Otylik would be able to avoid the one and only minor obstruction in that: their own home, the hallway which they passed along twice, if not four or more, times every single day of their lives.
Otylik walked straight into it. The vase tottered and spun, daring itself to leap to the ground in one vague but heroic attempt at escape from its dreary surroundings. Otylik’s grabbing at the table only made the swaying worse. It was like a comical circus act gone horribly wrong. There was no laughter, and as yet no applause.
The vase spun a little more, like a coin dropped on a marble floor, and then settled back to its comfortable, age old place, making a horrendous noise in doing so. Reos had watched in horror as the vase rocked, his mouth agape and his hands held out towards it in a token effort to steady the threatening movement, as if he could catch it by mind power alone.
When it had settled Reos breathed a sigh of relief and for a few seconds there was silence. Otylik, having got away with his clumsiness, could only giggle childishly under his breath.
Otylik was starting to really annoy Reos.
Eventually, after what seemed like an age, they reached the second floor room that he and Otylik shared. They stumbled inside and collapsed onto their beds. Reos, who was under the impression that he should either have had more to drink or should have stopped Otylik drinking so much, got up, lit a candle and proceeded to make a bed up for the stranger.
Reos did all that was courteous, and as much as he was physically able in order to make the stranger comfortable for the remainder of the night – morning. He felt a sudden wash of overwhelming tiredness. The drunkenness had passed, the sick feeling had gone: perhaps the fresh air and the encounter with the stranger had had a sobering effect on him, or perhaps he was just the same but didn’t notice it anymore. It didn’t really matter.
When Reos eventually retired to his own bed his eyes clamped shut, and even if he had wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to prise them open again.

Reos was awoken to the unpleasant sound of Otylik throwing up in a bucket. He started to stir and then stopped still, groaned, and shut his eyes again. His head still felt like it was moving. It was as if his brain was running from one side to the other inside his skull, smashing itself painfully each time on the inner wall of his head. Holding it tenderly with one hand, he sat up, slowly.
Why did the pleasure of drinking always have to end like that? Leaning out of his bed he looked out of the window, squinting to shield his eyes against the bright sunlight. The street below was deserted with the exception of a small group of children playing ball-and-run in the dust. Nothing and no-one else stirred. It was the sight that Reos had expected to see. It was a sight which could only ever be witnessed on the first day of summer.
The sun was high in the sky and Reos guessed that it was just past midday. He pulled back from the painful light of day. Slowly he got up. He had to stand for a while to let his mind stop screaming at him. He seemed to remember getting up in the early hours of the morning and drinking a copious amount of water. It was probably the only thing that was saving him. He was quite pleased with himself, despite the pounding of his head, that he had semiconsciously re-hydrated himself.
When his mind had calmed down he walked to the small wooden chest of draws and rooted out some fresh clothes. He did it with his eyes half shut, but then he wasn’t really bothered what particular clothes he would be wearing, provided they were clean and fresh. He put the clothes on the bed and then ambled over to the table with the water jug. He poured out a bowlful and plunged his hands into it.
It felt wonderfully cold and refreshing and made his spine shiver. He stooped and splashed handfuls onto his face and neck. It was like a miracle medicine for his head, although as soon as he stopped he could still feel the pounding inside his skull. That would take some time to go, he thought to himself.
When he felt refreshed enough to face the rest of the day he dried himself and dressed, hanging his clothes on his body as if the garments themselves were painful to touch. He still felt groggy, and his head hurt every time he moved it. All things considered, though, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
He had certainly had worse, and if he could just calm the hammering inside his delicate head then he would consider he had been let off lightly. It was without doubt not as bad as the hangover Otylik was sure to have.
Reos crossed to the door and noticed the empty bed in the middle of the room. He stood frowning for a second, as if the mere process of thought was hurting, before he remembered. Of course, the tall stranger they had met last night had stayed. Reos had completely forgotten about him.
Understandably though, he thought to himself as he moved his head too fast and was reminded that the topmost part of his body wasn’t through with punishing him yet. Where had he gone to? Had he packed and left already without so much as a thank you and goodbye? No, he had probably made his way to the house kitchen.
All this thinking was really starting to hurt his head. It would be better if he had left, he thought, taking deep breaths. Much simpler and less potential for trouble, even though Reos would feel upset in the extreme and complain about the ingratitude of others for days to come. However, the stranger had seemed to be the sort who hung around to say goodbye before disappearing, from what Reos could remember of the impression he had of him anyway.
He slipped his boots on and bent slowly to tie them. What if someone else went into the kitchen and that stranger was there? No, no-one ever went into the kitchen until late afternoon after Summer Eve, and that was only if they’d had a light night of drinking. In fact if it hadn’t been for Otylik rudely awakening him Reos would gladly have slept on and not risen until late evening. No – the next morning.
That tall stranger – what did he say his name was? – can’t have touched a drop the previous night, not if he’d got up early and gone to find something to eat. The prospect turned his stomach. Perhaps he had left after all.
Reos opened the door and slowly made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He had judged the stranger’s character rightly. He was sat supping a cup of warmed meat-juice and when Reos entered he looked up and gave a cheery smile.
“Good morning.”
“Is it?” Reos mumbled as he sat down at the table.
“Want some meat-juice? It’s warm.”
“No thanks,” replied Reos with a grimace. He sat for a few seconds with his eyes closed.
“I know you told me, well I think you told me,” he said hoping to change the subject away from food, “but I’m sorry to say that I’ve forgotten your name.”
The tall stranger laughed then, a deep throated bellowing laugh, “No, I never did. But I dare say you wouldn’t have remembered if I had. My name is Serval Réthebb.”
“Oh, right. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Serval.”
“And you Reos. You didn’t formally introduce yourself but from hearing the two of you speaking together I picked up your names.”
Reos nodded slowly, not particularly caring.
“Many thanks for the bed. It was a God send,” said Serval putting the cup to his lips and taking a large gulp of meat-juice. Reos raised his hand to wave away the favour without saying anything.
Whilst Serval was otherwise occupied Reos gave him a quick study. He had noticed how tall he was the previous night, but he could see that unlike Otylik he was broad shouldered with it; Reos could see no hint of fat or flabbiness. His face was square and his eyes blue and deep set, creased at the corners adding a wise, weathered look, or even a sense of happiness, to the sharp and formal lines of his angular and commanding features.
The most outstanding thing to Reos though, was Serval’s hair. It was a very light sandy colour. Reos had never seen anyone with hair so light, it was lighter than anyone in Rill – of that he was certain – and he was pretty sure that it was fairer than anyone’s hair from any of the Five towns.
Reos remembered that he had found something strange about him the night before but had been unable to put his finger on it. Of course, during the poor light of first dawn, and with the difficulty he must have had with concentrating, the colour of Serval’s hair would have been merely a nag at the subconscious.
Reos must have forgotten himself and had been studying Serval for longer than he had intended to, or was polite to. Embarrassingly Serval had noticed. Either that or he was used to being scrutinised.
“You’re wondering where I’m from,” he said without actually looking up.
Reos felt self-conscious and a little ashamed, “Well, yes. It did occur to me that you weren’t from these parts,” he replied looking away.
“You’re right, I’m not from these parts at all. I’m not from this country even. I’m from a country in the east, far in the east: beyond the Teyser Mountains. I would be surprised if you’ve heard of it. It’s called Sar-Karune.”
“The Teyser Mountains? I didn’t think anyone lived beyond the plains, I’ve heard stories, of course – who hasn’t? – but I never took them seriously. Do you mean it or are who just kidding me on?” he asked, a sudden sense of foolishness compounding the embarrassment.
“No, I’m being quite serious. To be honest I live a good deal further away than just the other side of the Teyser Mountains. A lot further, I think, than you can imagine.”
“Oh,” said Reos, not really knowing what to say to that, or even knowing if he was expected to say something. He hadn’t actually thought about it before. It had never mattered to his life whether there were other far away countries or not, so he had never bothered to waste the time to ponder the issue. It was also, he suddenly thought in a wave of queasiness, one of the worst times to begin pondering such issues.
However, now that he did consider it, he came to the quick conclusion that it was really nothing to get excited about. If people lived on his side of the mountains then why shouldn’t people live on the other side? And if they didn’t often see each other then that was probably something to do with the mountains.
“Tell me,” said Serval interrupting his thoughts, “Last night Otylik said something about being thrown out of here. I’m not one to pry, of course, and if I am then please say so. But I hope I haven’t done anything which will cause you any trouble. Otylik certainly did seem rather upset about it – even though he was drunk.”
“Its no secret,” answered Reos, “You see; our Land Owner has died with no inheritor.”
Serval’s expression told Reos that his last sentence hadn’t meant what it should have meant to this foreigner.
“Do you have Land Owners where you come from?”
“We have people who farm the land, but it is not owned as such.”
“That’s very strange. How do you earn a living then? No, don’t tell me, let me answer your question first before I start changing the subject.” Reos shifted in his chair, resting his weight onto the left-hand side of his body, trying to position his head in such a way that it might stop complaining about being ill-treated.
“When you are at an age to work you are employed by a Land Owner. He is someone who owns a piece of land, no matter how big or small, and he employs people to do whatever is necessary. After so many years you are supplied with accommodation – hence the house.” Reos gestured around and above him, although it probably looked a strange gesture as Reos moved only his arms and kept his body and head perfectly still.
“Until such a time as you can afford your own and then you go off and get married or something. That is the very short version, naturally. It is quite a simple life I suppose, though I must say it feels strange explaining something I thought everyone understood.”
“It’s not how it works where I come from,” said Serval sounding apologetic.
Reos shrugged and continued, “Well it’s all very well, but you have to work long hours and save hard to get anywhere. When you are first taken on by a Land Owner you are paid a very basic wage. The longer you work for him the more you get and the higher the position that you hold. Do you follow me?”
“Yes, carry on,” encouraged Serval nodding.
“It’s pretty rare that anyone ever goes to work for another Land Owner. If you are unskilled then you tend to get set back a few years in earnings, and if the worker has valuable skills then a move tends to spark off arguments between the two Land Owners involved. So it’s not done without prior arrangement between Land Owners.
“Now, both Otylik and myself are classed as minor grade skilled, even though we both have been working for at least eight years and we are both very good at what we do. And that is only two steps up from unskilled!”
“Why’s that then? Surely if you are good at what you do you must be skilled to some degree. It speaks for itself.”
“Well, we’ve both taken up a skill but neither of us have been passed by our tutors. In fact, it’s more to do with how old you are and how much experience you have than how good you are. I started when I was a boy, and that is hard labour for little reward, I can tell you. It is that pass which counts with the Land Owners, and that’s all that matters.
“You see that means that for us to leave our present Land Owner to work for another would probably result in a set back of four, or even five years. Maybe we could reduce that to three if we found a sympathetic Land Owner who would accept our experience as a part skill. Most though would use the opportunity to get a few extra years out of someone experienced on the cheap.
“As you can probably understand, for someone of only twenty-two years that is a very major problem. All our plans and dreams have disappeared into the distant future.” Reos rolled his head around his shoulders slowly. It actually seemed to be doing him some good to talk and take his mind off his hangover.
“And you say that your Land Owner has died,” prompted Serval when Reos stopped.
“Yes, that’s right. He is now dead and all his land is left to his widow. He has no children and no close kindred in this area. Normally that would be no problem but his widow is from Shadett, and she has returned to her own family and left all the property in the hands of the Chief Venser to be sold off.
“Unless the land is sold as a whole, which is very, very unlikely, there will be little chance of us continuing where we left off. The accommodation will be lost as well. Hopefully we’ll get in some place else quickly. Then again, who knows?”
“You seem to have been extremely unfortunate, Reos,” said Serval after a brief pause.
“It’s not really just accident. We are unfortunate, yes, because we worked for a Land Owner in such a situation. Or maybe stupid. But we, that is Otylik and myself, believe that our Land Owner was murdered. It is a perfect situation for some land to become available. Land in this valley is extremely rich, and as a result it is almost all owned and farmed. Competition is fierce in the Five Towns for land supremacy.”
“Murdered?”
Reos shrugged, “That’s what we reckon.”
“Then would that make a difference to your situation?”
“Possibly, possibly not. There are some complicated laws that I don’t fully know. We can’t prove anything. It was made to look like an accident, and we would need pretty strong evidence for us, mere labourers, to stand a chance against a group of Land Owners.”
“It seems to be a very poor system your country lives by, Reos. Nothing so unjust would ever be allowed to happen in my own land. Is there no court or higher authority that you can go to? No-one who could help you in this?”
“As for higher authority, I don’t really know what you mean. We have the Chief Venser but he is more likely to say that it’s just tough luck, everyone else has to live under the same conditions so why shouldn’t we? And he would more than likely side with the Land Owners. No; we’re stuck with it I’m afraid.”
“Is there no work anywhere then?” asked Serval, changing tack slightly.
“I’m sure we will find something, but we were just starting to earn a decent amount and now we’ll have to start all over again, or at least take a few steps backwards. I wish I could get my hands on the pigs who murdered our Land Owner, I really do.”
“Like I said, you live in an unfair system. Not that I mean to be over critical of your homeland.”
“Please, feel free. You can’t be any more critical than I am.”
Serval drained his mug of its contents. “Why not pack up and move on?”
“Move on, Serval? Where to? Where would be any better than here?”
Serval shrugged, “North, to Korros. You’re bound to find work in a city that size. South, into Erlarnia. Or across the Teyser Mountains with me.
“It’s a bigger world than you know out there and I expect that there are plenty of places better than here, if only you’ve got the guts to go and search them out. You’ve got the chance now; you may never have this opportunity again. What do you have to lose?”
Serval was right in so much as they had nothing to lose. Those words certainly rang true. Even so, it seemed a very drastic move: just packing up and going. That sort of thing wasn’t done. Or when it occasionally was it was very frowned upon. When all was said and done that was his home. Not the house, but the village. Rill had been his home since he’d been born. Since his parents had died Otylik had been his family, and the people he worked with were friends.
It was just as Reos felt that he should say something in answer that Otylik walked in.
“What’s everyone got up early for? It’s an offence after Summer Eve, you know,” he complained with a grimace etched onto his face. Reos smiled slightly to himself. When you felt bad after a night out it was always better to see someone worse.
“It was you who woke me up in the first place,” retorted Reos.
Otylik pulled up a chair and half sat, half fell onto it. “I’m sorry,” he half muttered to Serval, “I don’t remember your name.”
Serval smiled, “Serval Réthebb, from Sar-Karune.”
Otylik nodded. Reos didn’t know what precise state Otylik’s mind was in but it certainly missed the unfamiliar place name Serval had mentioned, and he hadn’t noticed the difference in Serval’s appearance as Reos had.
“We were just discussing,” said Reos, patiently, starting to rather enjoy the state Otylik was in, “Our problem.”
“Huh. Have you solved it then?” grunted Otylik through half open eyes. “That would be a bonus.”
“Serval here has suggested that we pack our things and move on,” he said casually, half by way of conversation, and half testing out Otylik’s reaction, which he was surprised to find himself doing. Though it probably wasn’t the correct time to get a sensible answer from him.
Otylik looked up at Serval, “What, you mean with you?”
Serval shrugged, “Not necessarily.”
“Well, that seems fair enough,” mumbled Otylik, lowering his head to stare blankly at the table again, “It’s the best solution I’ve heard. Better than most of the hair brained schemes you’ve come up with. I favour any idea which involves us leaving this miserable hole, and I don’t particularly mind where we go.”
Reos was right. It was not the best time to have asked him at all. They had nothing there – that was true, but to leave was somehow admitting to it. As if in some way they could hide away from their disappointment by staying put. It all sounded all right, this moving out business, but Reos was unsure. He didn’t know any other life than farming the land there in Rill. And Otylik had given no consideration to it before answering. It was so much more complicated than that.
“Where are you headed?” asked Otylik.
“Me? I’m heading south into Erlarnia, and then east and home.”
“And where do you suggest we go?” asked Otylik, still staring blankly. Still looking like he was about to begin retching again.
“That’s up to you. I came down past Korros on my way here. It’s a big enough city; you should be able to find work there. Or move south into Erlarnia. I’ve never been but it’s a different country and it might have a different way of life.” Serval shrugged, and with a glance to Reos added, “A fairer one, maybe.”
“Well I’m for leaving,” Otylik said with a half hearted effort at a sideways glance at Reos, “And with Serval too. At least at first. I don’t fancy city life. I’ve never been but I hear strange stories.”
Reos would have to make sure Otylik didn’t drink so much in future, he thought to himself: it had very bad side affects. One of which was a complete lack of judgement.
“But what about Arthena?” asked Reos, “I thought things were starting to look serious between you two.”
“They were”, said Otylik groggily. “I haven’t told you this yet Reos, but our betrothal depended quite strongly on me making a good name for myself in a secure job.”
“Oh no, you’re joking,” said Reos quietly. “Has she turned you down because you’ve lost your job? No wonder you’ve been acting so miserably lately. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Otylik said nothing for a brief moment, but it seemed like ages.
“She hasn’t turned me down exactly. Just, well....”
Again there was what seemed a long pause; Reos didn’t know what to say to his old friend. It was Serval who broke the silence, however.
“I can’t promise that you’ll come back with riches and fame. You’ll probably return with nothing more than you set out with. I don’t mean to give you false hopes.”
“Yes I know, but I’ve at least got to try. I’ll lose her if I stay here and do nothing. If I’ve got a chance to do something different, maybe to prove myself, then I can’t turn that down really, can I?” he said looking up at Reos. “She’ll wait for me for a reasonable length of time. I’ll see her before we go. I can see the look in your eye, Reos. You don’t think I’ve given it serious thought.”
“Well, you haven’t.”
“I know but it all seems to fit together. It makes sense to me. I even considered it once before. Briefly. Going down to Erlarnia and having a look.”
Reos paused. There was a sense to it. He could see that, feel that even, deep down inside. It still seemed very radical, however. It was true: they had nothing there. But that didn’t mean they would be better off anywhere else. At least they knew there, and were likewise known.
“Reos, I can’t do nothing. Give me a better option. A real one.”
“I don’t know,” Reos replied shaking his head and raising his shoulders in a more expansive gesture than he had dared try all morning, “But running away from it doesn’t seem to me like the right thing to do. We have worked hard all our lives – and I think that’s the right way.”
“Was the right way. It counts for nothing now. Absolutely nothing. Anyway it’s not running away. We’re looking for a chance to better ourselves, progress in life: something denied to us here. Look if it doesn’t work out we can always come back.”
Reos sighed and looked away. He didn’t know what to say. Otylik was right of course. But was leaving right? His life was so torn apart right then he found it hard to think straight. He looked up at Serval.
“If you seriously want to come with me then you will need to pack now. I must leave today. I am in a dreadful hurry: I’ve wasted enough time already.”
Reos turned back to Otylik, “Today, Otylik, come on – be serious.”
“I am serious Reos. If we don’t go with... with Serval here, today, then we will just um and ar about it for ever and never do it. You think about things too much. Let’s just get off our arses and do it.”
Reos and Otylik sat for a few moments just looking into each other’s eyes. It was a way of communicating that only comes from two close friends who have grown up together. There was a pleading in Otylik’s eyes; pleading born out of desperation. He would lose Arthena if he didn’t do anything at all, and right then Reos could offer him no alternative.
If for no other reason than that: Reos would go. He needed no other reason, yet at the same time he knew there were other reasons. It was not to be a pure sacrifice: he would be going for his own purposes, too, but just then it helped him to push his doubts and objections aside to think of Otylik.
“Yes all right. We’ll go. Serval, we’ll come with you. We have no reason to stay, nor any reason not to go. But for the sake of Otylik, if nothing else, we’ll come with you. Where are you headed exactly?”
“First I’ve to go to the capital of Erlarnia: Eshada, and then to the other side of this land and my home. And before you ask any more questions lets go upstairs and pack. I’ll tell you more whilst you collect your things together. I’ll certainly be glad of the company but you must understand I’m in quite a hurry. I have wasted long enough in this village of yours and I’m eager to get going.”
With that he stood and followed a rather hasty Otylik out of the kitchen and upstairs, leaving his empty mug on the table. Reos picked it up and was about to wash it when he suddenly realised that within a few hours they would be leaving the house for the last time. In a strangely symbolic act of defiance he broke house rules and left the mug on the side for someone else to wash.

Reos glanced left down the small passageway between two buildings and onto the main street. He was huddled next to a small bush under a five foot high wall, keeping a lookout for anyone who might pass by whilst Otylik was breaking in. No-one had bothered to tell him what he should do if anyone was to come strolling past. There was certainly nowhere to hide himself. The small bush was just that: small. Grown out of a small crack in the wall with a determination that demanded respect, it was too stunted in its growth to do any more than obscure his features. All the same he shrank back against it.
As he crouched in the afternoon sunlight he reflected on what Serval had been telling them as they had packed their few belongings. His story had confused Reos more the longer Serval had spoken. It was full of wars and battles and enemies that were unseen, hiding in distant fortresses.
Serval’s home country, Reos couldn’t remember what he’d said its name was, had been attacked by an old enemy which had regained its strength after being defeated in the Great War. Serval hadn’t said much about the Great War except to say it was a long time ago. Longer than Reos had expected a grudge to have been held.
Anyway Serval, who had been raised in a very much isolated part of the country, had offered his services as a skilled swordsman but had been turned away. He had not been trained in the manner of the rest of the soldiers and so could not expect to be a part of the army. Not without starting from scratch. Serval could not quite manage to hide his obvious disappointment from them as he recounted that part of the story.
He had been assigned, instead, as messenger to the two nations of Erlarn. Namely Serdia and Erlarnia, to carry a message of warning to them of the re-emerging danger and the inevitable conflict which would involve them. He was chosen as messenger primarily because he was one of the few people left who were able to speak the Erlarn tongue fluently.
Naturally with the extremely limited contact between the two peoples living on virtually opposite sides of the known world there was never any need for anyone to learn their language. That Reos understood. He doubted there was anyone at all in Serdia who could speak Serval’s language. Whatever that was.
From that Reos had quickly deduced that Serval was probably a man of great learning. Having perhaps studied in some university in a big city somewhere when he was younger. Reos had heard of such things.
Serval had travelled to the west by ship, but he didn’t say too much about that part. Reos guessed that Serval was the sort of person not well suited to travel by sea. Though he had never seen the sea he knew of it and of how it could make some people ill, and perhaps Serval was too ashamed to admit it. Learning and pride often went hand in hand.
His ship had been hit by a storm off a place called West Tip. Damaged and taking on water they limped to shore and beached the ship into the sandy coastline. He and some of the higher ranking crew took a small boat and sought out help.
After a while they reached a small fishing village where they were told that they would have to hire a boat to tow their ship to Kallanton, a main port in the north of Serdia which Reos had heard of before, to be repaired. There was also something about getting boat repairers from a place miles away. Reos had missed that bit.
What it boiled down to was that Serval couldn’t wait all that time so he had bought himself a horse and left them to sort themselves out and return home. Even bidding farewell to his two escorts, believing it unfair to drag them on a land crossing through wilderness and mountains, countries and peoples, in his impatience to head for home.
The decision to leave them and go by land was something he was now questioning the wisdom of. It had been, maybe, a hasty decision based upon frustration at the delay. Still it could yet take weeks to mend the boat, by which time he could have completed his task and be home. Or almost.
Serval then seemed to skip quickly through the bit about a meeting with the King of Serdia – Reos didn’t even know there still was one. Serval had seemed quite shocked at the way Serdia governed itself. He called it anarchy, whatever that was. The way he had said it, however, clearly showed he didn’t approve.
Reos raised his eyebrows in a frown as he crouched there thinking to himself. He didn’t find living there so bad. It wasn’t so terrible a country. Except the problem they had then of course. Admittedly, yes, there were one or two bad customs. Still, he was sure it wasn’t perfect where Serval came from.
As far as Reos understood it each town and village in Serdia was ruled in exactly the same way as Rill. Those with the land administered the rules and the justice. Not unreasonable. If he owned some land, which he hoped to do one day, he expected the same rights and privileges.
Anyway, the point was clearly made. It all resulted in the meeting with the King being fruitless. That much he had gathered. Serval had said he held no more power than a rich merchant, and the prospect of organising the defence of the country was hopeless. Reos really didn’t understand half of what Serval had been talking about, although he felt he ought to since most of it involved his own country.
Serval had then headed south for Erlarnia. He had intended to reach the town of Araville before the previous nightfall but had taken a wrong turning on the road out of Suckour. Consequently he had ended up in Rill. With them. Still, thought Reos, he had done well out of his detour. He was only a couple of miles off course and he had gained two companions.
Reos glanced left and right. Still clear. Otylik was certainly taking his time, although he knew how heavily bolted and locked the door was. As he waited his mind drifted away from Serval’s story and onto Otylik. Reos had known him since boyhood and they had become very close. He knew how much Otylik thought of Arthena, and how much it must have hurt him for her to hold his position over their betrothal.
In truth Reos suspected it was her strict father who had made the ruling. Reos wished he could do something about it, but he knew there was nothing. Maybe the journey would help. Otylik was right in one thing; at least he was trying.
Otylik had been to see her. He had not said much about it to Reos, but apparently she had agreed to wait for him for four months before she would consider another suitor. Reos wasn’t really sure how he felt about that. Either she loved him and would wait or she didn’t. However, that was her decision, and it was for Otylik to accept it or not. Not him.
Reos knew Arthena well enough to know that she would wait. If someone else or some other opportunity was to present himself or itself she would make him wait as she had promised. Reos hoped Otylik would manage to win her. She was not like most of the other girls in the village. She was proper and upright and stuck to her word, and more importantly her past was discreet and no-one talked of her in a disrespectful way. Her previous affairs, if indeed she had had any, were not commonly known.
There were few girls who had such principles in the village. There were few girls with such principles in the country, not that Reos had travelled very far, but he believed that was the truth. It was actually attributable in most part to the way she had been raised. Her father was widowed when she was only young, and he was known for his strictness. Fearsome, Reos thought. He didn’t know how Otylik managed it.
Reos knew he would settle for no-one less despite the difficulties, being of like mind himself. Whilst Otylik externally displayed nothing different to anyone else, he had a code of ethics that ran deep inside him. It was one of the reasons Reos trusted him, even though he didn’t always follow Otylik’s logic. Like then, for example. That Otylik was in favour of stealing seemed to Reos to contradict many of Otylik’s views. It was only what was owed to them, he had said.
Reos looked to his left along the passageway. Still clear. It was a good job too. Reos hadn’t done the best of jobs of keeping watch. Otylik seemed to be taking a heck of a long time getting in. He glanced over his shoulder, anxiously peering up at the wall. He turned back round just as he caught the sound of a soft whistling.
At last! Reos jumped to his feet and with a last quick look to each side he clambered over the five foot high wall. Steadying himself with one hand as he landed in the long grass on the other side he saw Otylik stood in the doorway to the large old building.
One of the barred windows on the right had been smashed and was still slightly open. It was no wonder he had taken so long. Reos was sure the windows were nailed shut. He sprinted towards the door and then leapt passed Otylik into the relative darkness of the house.
“You took your time didn’t you?”
“It’s not that easy you know. People take measures to prevent this sort of thing.”
“Yes, all right,” said Reos regaining his breath. “Come on, let’s get this over with. This whole thing is making me extremely nervous.”
The house was bare and dirty. Nobody lived there and so nobody looked after it. They made their way quickly upstairs. They reached the first floor and entered the second room on the right.
The room was dark and dusty but they knew exactly where to go. It was the storehouse for all the equipment belonging to their Land Owner, their ex-Land Owner. They had entered the room three or four times a week since it had become the storehouse nearly six years ago.
From a rack on the far wall they each chose a long knife and a sword, both with scabbards. They helped themselves to sword belts, carry-sacks, a sleeping rug each and they grabbed the best two padded leather jackets. They chose the newest and the best made of everything. They had handled the equipment enough to know which pieces were of a slightly better quality. It was quite a load by the time they had finished and as quickly as they could they made their way downstairs with their arms full, and returned to the back door.
They stopped at the door to put on the jackets and fasten the scabbards to the belts. Stuffing the sleeping rugs and other gear into their carry-sacks they slung them over one shoulder. Otylik paused momentarily, opened the door a fraction and peered out.
A second later he flung the door wide open and darted outside. Reos was fast on his heels as they sprinted through the weed overgrown ground they had come across only minutes before.
Had they spent more time checking that no-one was there they may well have heard the footsteps of the old man as he trudged slowly down the passageway towards the main street. As it happened they hadn’t, and as he came into view of the back yard of the storehouse he saw the two thieves sprinting toward the wall with the stolen goods laden in their arms and on their backs.
“Hey, you there,” he wheezed as loud as he was able, which was far louder than Reos would have guessed an old man to be capable of.
Reos wheeled about him in blind terror. The crushing reality of the punishment handed out to thieves threatened to overwhelm him and drive him into a state of panic.
He didn’t. Somehow he managed to contain it: hold it inside and keep his mind clear. Instinctively he followed Otylik in a half dive over the wall. He stumbled as he landed on the other side and with one of his hands holding onto the carry-sack he fell, sprawling onto the dusty pathway.
He felt the strong grip of Otylik hauling him to his feet. His legs righted his body automatically and without thinking he ran on down the passageway. He could hear the old man calling after them as they ran straight across the main street and down another dark passageway.
Once out of sight they skidded to a halt in the dust and the dark and leant against a wall.
“That was too close,” panted Reos
“Its a good job,” said Otylik between breaths, “That he was an old man.”
They stopped for only a few seconds to calm themselves and to settle their breathing. There was no alcohol left in his system, he was sure of it. The blood was pumping fast and his body was working overtime to filter it out, bringing his body back to optimum. Still, he would have given anything for a lie down just then.
They ran as fast as they could manage around the backs of the houses which fronted the main street. They no longer cared who happened to be looking out of their back windows; the damage had been done already. Only time mattered.
Eventually they reached the back of the stables which several of the Land Owners jointly owned. Including the two that they believed had murdered their own. Quickly they made their way to the back entrance. Holding their lungs full to stop the noise of their own breathlessness from giving them away they crept in and peered into the blackness, trying to make out the shadowy shapes. They stood still for a few seconds waiting for their eyes to adjust after the brightness of full sunlight.
A beam of golden rays from a high window caught Otylik’s face as he crept slowly forward. As it did a figure emerged from the dark of the far side of the room. Serval’s whisper brought sighs of relief from the anxious pair.
“Where’ve you been? I thought something must have happened to you.”
“Something did,” whispered Reos back.
“By the One!” cursed Serval, “Were you spotted?”
“An old man saw us, but we’ve got everything,” answered Otylik.
“Hurry then. I’ve got the horses ready. Pack those things into your saddle bags and lets be away. Reos, the grey there is yours. Otylik: this one.”
Serval had put hay down to deaden the sound of the horses’ hooves on the stone floor. Quickly they each led their horses out, Serval leading out an extra horse on which most of their things were securely packed. They mounted swiftly and cantered onto the main street.
They headed north out of town on the Suckour road. When they reached the edge of the village they stopped and looked back. Nothing stirred. There was no movement what-so-ever. It was as if the village was asleep. Reos knew better than to think that, though. That old man would be rousing people already. Theft was not taken lightly in Rill. Even when the owner of the property was already dead.
Once out of sight of the village they left the road and cut through the fields, heading for a quiet pathway that would join them to the south road. Reos smiled to himself. Someone would have heard the horses cantering northward and he wondered how long it would take them to realise that they had fooled them all and gone south.
Serval turned to them both, “Lets put as much distance between us and the village as we can before nightfall.”
Reos put his heels to his horse and they galloped away leaving Rill behind them. Perhaps for ever.