Chương 16: Gate Seventeen (1)

"Up, boy. We've arrived." Teren opened his eyes. This time, there was no fire waiting in his memory. Only a moonlit lane, a sword in Gannik's hand, blood spilling between his fingers, and the scarred yard-master watching him die as if he had always known how a slave's escape attempt would end. Teren sat still on the floor of the cage. The wagon rocked beneath him. Chains held his wrists and ankles.

The old slave Salen, sitting across from him, watched for a few seconds before looking away, as if he had already decided Teren was just another captive trying not to fall apart before the gates. He didn't remember Teren. Of course he didn't. Teren breathed in slowly. The slave mark had been used to find him. He had climbed the wall without a problem. He had run through dark streets, found a good hiding place, and waited until the riders passed.

Then he had stepped outside believing he was safe, only to find Gannik waiting in the shadows with that small, ugly smile.

"Run if you want. Doesn't mean you escape." Blind escape would not be enough, and neither would anger. He had learned that in the pit. Speed and agility had failed him against Brakka. A stronger body would have made little difference against Gannik's training and sword, nor would it have come back with Teren to this wagon. Only his instincts would return, along with whatever he learned in a loop. Even magic was useless while he had no idea how to control the strange pressure beneath his skin.

He had reached for the purple flame in the pit, then tried again in the dark lane. Nothing had come. Teren stared through the bars at the road ahead. He needed training. Surviving a few fights in the pit would not make him a fighter. He needed someone to teach him where to stand, how to hold a spear, and how to keep a shield between himself and an attacker. He needed proper weapons, regular food, and a position better than that of a slave.

Most of all, he needed time to learn before someone threw him into another fight he could not win, inevitably bringing him back to this wagon. During the labor route, he had seen the conscript quota fill shortly before his turn. If he acted sooner this time, he might still earn a place. His escape attempt had failed badly. The pit offered no real instruction, only another way to die.

Edras could teach him magic, but at Teren's current strength, he would not even survive long enough beside the mage to learn anything from him. For now, earning a place among the conscripts was his best chance. Near the rear of the cage, the broad lizardfolk captive sat with his shoulders hunched and his eyes on the guards outside. Dagan. Teren knew the name now. He had heard it shouted when the guards dragged the big man away in another loop.

Criminal, probably; violent, definitely; but Teren no longer thought the man was stupid. Dagan always attacked when the cage opened. That had made him a liability before, at best. This time, Teren needed him to do something else. Teren glanced through the bars at the mounted guards outside. The nearest riders were far enough ahead that the wagon's wheels and the clatter of hooves should cover a quiet conversation. He shifted carefully, chains scraping beneath him, and looked at the gray-scaled man.

Dagan's eyes cut toward him after a few moments.

"What?"

"Don't attack when they open the cage." The big man stared. Across from Teren, Salen gave a soft snort, as if he had heard the world's stupidest advice. Dagan's mouth twisted.

"Another one with wisdom."

"They'll break your knee first," Teren said. Dagan's expression changed by a fraction. Teren kept his voice low.

"You'll likely lead with your shoulders. They'll hit the knee, then the ribs, then the back of your head. You'll put one guard down, maybe two if you're lucky. Then they'll beat you until you can't stand up again." Dagan leaned forward as far as the chains allowed.

"Ya know me or somethin'?"

"No."

"Then how do ya know what I'll do?"

"Because you're angry enough to do something stupid, and I've seen enough angry men to know exactly how the guards handle it." That was close enough to be true. Dagan studied him. The wagon rolled over a rut. Iron clanged. Outside, one of the mounted guards shouted something to another. Teren lowered his voice further.

"They take the strongest men for military training. Don't give the guards a reason to injure you, and you might have a spear in your hands before the day is done." Dagan's eyes narrowed.

"And why would you care?"

"I don't," Teren said.

"But if you start a fight right outside the cage, they'll treat everyone behind you like the next threat, once they put you down." He shrugged lazily.

"I need my limbs intact to be chosen for recruit training." Dagan stared at him for another moment, then he barked a laugh. It was not friendly.

"Honest little rat, aren't ya?" Teren snorted.

"I'm hardly little." Dagan looked him up and down, taking in the wide shoulders, the muscular arms beneath the filthy tunic, and the way Teren was built better than his expression suggested. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"No," Dagan said.

"Suppose not."

"If you're going to try something, wait until there's a weapon in your hands," Teren said. Dagan's grin widened.

"That advice I understand." It was not an agreement. But it was close enough. Karthane rose ahead beneath the morning light. He let the familiar journey blur past: the drawbridge and gatehouse, the bronze token, the orange crystal lights, and then the crowded streets filled with carts, horses, skarnaks, shouting merchants, as well as the distant airships of a city that still looked too large to be real. Teren still watched his surroundings, but he kept his attention on what he needed to do at the intake compound.

The wagon turned through the smaller gate. The walls closed around them. Cheering rose from the pit enclosure on the left. The wagon finally stopped, and the door was opened.

"Out!" Dagan climbed down ahead of him. For one second, Teren expected him to lunge anyway. But the lizardfolk man stood still. His jaw was tight. His hands flexed in their chains. His eyes followed the nearest guard with barely concealed hatred. But he did not attack. One guard noticed the tension and lifted his spear slightly. Dagan bared his teeth at him with a grin. The guard spat at the ground and shoved the captive forward.

For the very first time, no one was beaten half to death within moments of their arrival. That alone could change the course of this loop. Teren stepped down from the cage as well. As the captives from all three wagons were herded into a single line, he managed to swap places with another man and moved several positions closer to the front. Hopefully the recruitment quota wouldn't end before his turn came.

Teren kept his head lowered enough to appear obedient while making sure he carried himself like someone physically useful. He could not look like a broken laborer if he wanted to be selected for recruit training, nor could he look like a challenger. The clerk's table came, and the usual questions and answers followed. Teren also expressed his interest in joining the military. The clerk made a small mark, then glanced at Teren as he deliberately rolled his shoulders, as though working out a kink.

"Healthy enough for it." Teren said nothing. The clerk looked toward Gannik, who stood ahead next to the assay with a bored scowl on his scarred face.

"Possible military candidate," the clerk called out. Gannik looked Teren over. Teren stood still under the inspection. The yard-master's gaze moved from his arms to his legs, then to his face.

"Ever held a spear?" Teren hesitated only long enough to decide lying would be stupid here.

"No." Gannik gave him a thin smile.

"Honest, at least. Or too dull to lie." Teren swallowed the answer that rose in his mouth. The pit had taught him enough. Gannik jerked his chin toward the assay.

"Get through the mana test first, then we'll see." The line moved. A few spots ahead of Teren, a thin man produced no light and was sent to labor. Another man, stronger, also produced no light and was told to stand near the fence by the restricted section. Teren followed that carefully. So the military quota was still open. Good. A weak yellow glow appeared from a young woman ahead of him. She was sent toward Edras's examination hall. Then it was Teren's turn. The cloudy crystal waited inside its brass cage.

The curved grip rose above it. Teren wrapped his hand around the brass before Gannik could bark the order, hoping to hold his mana back once again. Cold sank into his palm. The assay pulled. The pull brought back every death tied to the assay: the white fire in the yard, Gannik forcing his hand onto the grip, and the red trap in Edras's workshop. Fear clenched through him, but Teren had already discovered that fear could help him hold the mana back. This time, he used it properly.

He locked down hard, not pushing outward, not letting the current slip away from him. The pressure inside his arm pressed toward the handle, then stopped just beneath the surface before it could transfer to the grip. The crystal stayed dark. One heartbeat. Two. Still nothing. Gannik grunted.

"No magic." Teren released the handle. His palm felt cold for several breaths afterward. Gannik pointed toward the men near the restricted fence.

"Candidate line." Teren stepped away before anyone could change their mind. Dagan, the lizardfolk man, came to the mana assay a short while later. The big man took the assay grip as if daring it to bite him. Nothing happened. Gannik studied him even longer than he had studied Teren.

"Candidate line," the yard-master said at last. Dagan walked over with an expression that almost counted as satisfaction. He stopped beside Teren.

"You were right." Teren shrugged.

"Glad you listened." The candidate group grew to around a dozen men before Gannik called the quota closed for the week. Most of the candidates were strong and healthy. Some were young enough that Teren could see the fear beneath their forced stillness, while a few had the hard eyes of men who had already survived worse places. He saw no women, older men, or anyone visibly sick among them.

The goblin woman who had been sent to labor just before Teren in the previous loop passed through the assay later and went to the labor group as expected. Soon, the candidates were taken through the low wooden fence into the restricted third of the compound. For the first time, Teren crossed the boundary he had only watched from the outside. The guards let him through with the other candidates without a second glance. Because here, for the moment, he was not simply a slave meant for labor.

He was still military property and one bad decision away from the pit, or worse, but being selected as a recruit had at least given him permission to be on this side of the fence. Inside the restricted section, the compound looked less chaotic. The ground was swept cleaner. The buildings were better maintained. There were barracks, weapon racks beneath a roofed shelter, a training yard with packed sand, a private stable, and a long hall with two pale crystal lamps mounted beside the door.

The crystals did not glow in daylight, but their cut faces looked clearer than common glass. The candidates chosen today were only the newest group. More men in the same plain clothing were already gathered near the barracks and training yard, likely selected from earlier arrivals during the week. Including them, the group of candidates was several times larger than those that had come to the restricted section with Teren. A low building near the back had barred windows and two guards outside it.

Another had a slate board fixed beside the door, covered in letters Teren could not read from a distance. He tried to look without staring. Gannik noticed anyway.

"Eyes front." Teren obeyed. They were taken to a smaller yard where an older guard waited beside a table holding a narrow metallic rod marked with faintly glowing lines. A small box of mana crystals was kept nearby, probably to recharge the marking rod. When each candidate stepped forward, the man caught their left wrist, turned the arm palm-up, and pressed the tip of the rod against the inside of the forearm. When it was Teren's turn, he forced himself not to pull away.

The metal touched his skin, and a piercing pain bit into him. There was no heat, no smell of burning flesh, and no smoke. It felt as though a needle of fire were drawing the mark beneath his skin rather than upon it. When the man released him, a black mark about two inches wide sat beneath the skin of his forearm. A small crest filled its center, surrounded by a ring of tiny runes. The same slave-mark as in the last loop. Even as a recruit, he was not free.

The crest in the center looked familiar though, perhaps something he had seen around the compound or elsewhere in the city during the carriage journey with Edras. It was certainly not the Corvadryn crest he had seen before in the mage's research lab. This one probably belonged to the duke who ruled Karthane. The marking man examined the result for a moment.

"Clean. Move on." Teren lowered his sleeve. Dagan, the lizardfolk man, went next and showed no reaction when the rod's tip touched his forearm. Only when the mark darkened beneath his skin did one corner of his mouth twitch. The marking man snorted.

"Hurts, big man?" Dagan leaned closer.

"A mosquito bite hurts more." The yard-master took a step forward.

"Want me to change that?" The lizardfolk man wisely did not answer.