Lord Alfors Kaler was a short bespectacled man in his late thirties. He wore a scruffy-looking uniform that, according to himself, was a family heirloom he inherited from his grand-uncle. His clean-shaven head contrasted against the perpetual stubble that, according to some, even the sharpest of straight razors couldn't deal with. He was the third son of the late Baron Kaler. His oldest brother Zert had been a renowned tactician that had died in battle a few years back, leaving his other brother Silus as the heir apparent to the small barony within the south-east part of the Antella province. The Kalers only had a small town with a castle to their name. Their farmlands were poor, the mine never had enough workers and the nearby forest would occasionally become infested with beasts.

"Then please, report your progress Dzherbon." Alfors said, his gaze slowly floating back to the random piece of parchment he had been browsing before the healer entered his hut.

"The regiment has completed the sweep and secured the area, as requested by Viceroy Jemma and per your plans, Lord Alfors. The Antellan general and his second will be here by tomorrow evening to relieve us of our duties. I have already taken liberty and had the men prepare rations and horses for our trip back. I doubt they will allow us a convoy larger than a dozen, milord," Dzherbon said, his gaze not landing on Lord Alfors even for a second. He had grown used to neither of them looking at one another during these frequent reports. "As far as the matter pertaining to weeding out the opposition, I can gladly report that we have so far uncovered seven spies hidden among the captives, as well as one oddity that I will need further time to properly investigate."

The diminutive lord actually stared up for a second. Dzherbon almost flinched at the sudden coldness. A flash of uneasiness went through the tall man, before he steeled his nerves and continued as quickly as possible.

"The oddity I mention, milord, is a youth of fifteen years of age. His manners, body and knowledge all point at him being nothing more than a farmer from this kingdom. His skillfulness at lying and his eagerness to fool me are the things that puzzled me," said the tall man, beginning to feel listless. Lord Alfors rarely showed any sort of facial expression, so it was hard for Dzherbon to always know how to act around him.

"Tell me more about this child." Lord Alfors said, his gaze no longer rummaging through the bleak piece of parchment.

"He told me a long tale of how he had lived far away and had nothing to do with this place, just to curry a bit of favor. He does not seem like the brightest apple under the sun, and I am almost entirely convinced that he is in no way a spy, either from our ranks or from our enemies', but he is interesting all the same. He has a fairly good build, strong yet slender for his age," Dzherbon said coolly, yet unbeknownst to Alfors, the hands that he had clasped behind his back were now fidgeting. "If I may be bold, milord, I feel that we might benefit from acquiring this young lad that calls himself Tarum."

Beads of perspiration were starting to condense on Dzherbon's forehead. Suddenly, Lord Alfors chuckled, his hand lightly tapping the table with each snicker.

"Benefit indeed, if nothing else maybe your knowledge of the world will grow a bit!" Alfors mockingly said, his lips curled up.

"Milord?"

"In Pietra, a tarum is a type of wooden bucket that people use to store water in. It is only used to wash their animals before they either sell them off or slaughter them." Alfors explained.

Dzherbon was dumbstruck. At first he looked confused, then his cheeks turned rosy and he quickly looked down, ashamed of himself.

Lord Alfors took a good half minute to calm himself down, before continuing, "I agree with your observation. The boy might not be much, but we have lost a few capable hands and once we take him to the Barony, he won't have much of a choice anyway but to adapt. Arrange for it to happen, Dzherbon. Have them strike him off the captives' list, if you must."

"Right away, Lord Alfors!" the healer said as he made his way out of the hut, with as much haste as the tons of parchment allowed him.

'Let's see if I'll get a moldable little pup this time. Hopefully he won't die like his predecessors,' thought Alfors, a grin coalescing on his face for a brief moment – fleeting like rays of sunshine in the den of winter.

Within the dilapidated hut in the middle of the camp, Dartelo was having what he could most graciously refer to as animal feed, although the guards had called it 'dinner'. It was a sort of mush with various ingredients, none of which he could identify. He haphazardly took another sip from the wooden spoon, pondering whether starvation would be less painful than having to stomach the Iorissian cuisine.

The rain had subsided and as the day had long past, the clear sky was filled with the light of two small moons – Pietrans called them the 'Twin Gods of Mischief'. The twin gods of mischief would only sit grace the sky at the same time once every 75 days, and as every child knew, nothing good would happen when they did. Livestock would sometimes vanish, people would anger easily and the seas would foam, gigantic waves crashing into the coast.

Dartelo could see the light green moonlight seeping through a hole in the tent overhead and his mind wandered astray. 'Are my parents okay? Did they manage to run away in time? Grandpa's always been stronger than both Dad and Uncle, so they might be at the capital by now!' His worries came and left, not unlike the northern waves.

Suddenly, Dzherbon entered the hut and made his way to the young Vilruhn. His gaze was filled with warmth, as he said, "Good news, boy! I have managed to plead with my lord and he has agreed to take you on as a servant!"

"A servant?! But, Blessed Healer, is there no way for me to be freed?" Dartelo asked with feigned terror. He had expected much worse. "I have land and livestock to take care of. Whether it is the Pietrans or the Iorissians, they will need meat and they will need vegetables. If all of the farmers are led away, who will take care of their needs?"

"Boy, have you lost your mind? It is a fact of life that once somebody takes over a new region, he will give out the land as a reward to those most worthy." Dzherbon explained mockingly, as he reached into his pocket and took out a pipe. He slowly filled it with various herbs, lit them and started puffing. "You have no more land. It is now Viceroy Jemma's land and whether it prospers or not is none of our business. The villagers will, of course, have the luck of being forced to work for the newly-promoted nobles. If they manage to survive for five years, they will be granted their freedom and maybe a plot of land. You, on the other hand, have yet to thank me for saving your caravan-nurtured behind from backbreaking toil." he added, a deep frown now evident on his face.

Dartelo looked up at the scowling westerner in faked shock. On the inside he was as happy as could be. 'If they need farmhands, then they probably didn't slaughter anyone if he didn't put up a fight. That means my family is still alive, even if they did get caught!'

"W-What shall I do for your lord? Am I really going to be just a servant..." Dartelo asked, his hands in one another, fingers interlaced. He looked as pitiful as a newborn pup. 'Might as well make the best of this. Mom, Dad, Uncle Beram, Grandpa Kol... I promise I'll come back stronger and save you!'

"Worry not, boy. Lord Alfors is a fair ruler, as long as you do things exactly as he tells you to." Dzherbon said, reaching out with an open palm towards Dartelo. The brand new nobleman's servant took the tall man's hand and hoisted himself up, confusion still slightly plastered across his face.

"Don't worry about it for now. Let's get you settled into the tent where Lord Alfors' entourage is." Dzherbon said amicably, patting Dartelo's back with enough force to send him a few steps forward.

"Are they good people?" he asked as they made their way out of the tent.

"Good enough, as long as you actually tell them your real name, junior servant Bucket." Dzherbon said, a bit of anger evident in his words.

Dartelo silently gulped and dared not say another word as he followed the tall healer's back.