Emmiral's Couldon chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

His eyes snapped open to a wave of pain washed over him and all the air in his lungs escaped him. His stomach heaved as he saw a foot being withdrawn from his gut.
"Wake up you filthy halfborn." A man growled, standing over him. Alaron roll onto his back, fighting to take a breath as the sharp pain subsided, replaced by throbbing ache. He glared at the man above him, wishing he could return the favour. He already knew who it was even before rolling over.
Revent Anwen the house Overseer, The man wore a permanent scowl, He wore it like armour. Alaron hated the man, so did all the other slaves. The monster was a truly sadistic basterd... taking every opportunity to lash out at slaves in service of House Torvic.
Why... Alaron asked himself as he tried to climb to his feet, one hand nursing his aching gut, fighting to take a steadying breath. Why was a question Alaron asked himself alot. If he'd been born in a different kingdom, ruled by anything but elves, he'd have rights... he'd be free. Slavery wasn't a common practice across the world of Shar'rar. Yet in Elvish Kingdoms, halfborns like him were considered abominations, and had no rights.
He notices then, he'd not been the first to be woken in Anwen's preferred manner. Sylvie and Mirima were both wheezing trying to breath, as they climbed to there feet.
Mother Hen... that's what Mirima was to the other Halfborns, Alaron included. She was the closest thing he had to a mother. Poor Mirima... she had to be well into her second sentury. Gray wiry hair wild and free and an arched back broken by the passege of time but as wise as an elderoak tree. She should be resting in her later years not treated like this.
She's been here since before Revent Anwen started his reign of terror and she still received the same treatment... it's not right. Alaron rememberd she once told him what made the basterd into the monster he is today. Apparently the woman he loved snubs him to run away with a human knight almost fifty years ago. I cant imagine anyone finding it in themselves to love a man like him. He took his revenge on us halfborns daily. I'll tell you one thing though... the man can hold a grudge.
"Master Torvic has summoned the three of you" Revent Anwen grumbles. "But I will not permit you in his presence stinking like minotaur s**t. Be in the entrance hall in five minutes or I'll beat all of you senseless." They knew well and good that wasn't an empty threat... he'd enjoy it.
Sylvie was the first to reply through gritted teeth. "Yes Revent Anwen." Sylvie's is one of Alaron's only real friends. It's not like there's much chance to make friends as a slave though. Slightly taller but just as malnourished. His face pockmarked with scars from countless beatings and the tip of his right ear missing. Alaron remembered that beating well. Sylvie spoke back to the Revent and received a brutal assault from the man's walking cane. As harsh as his life was though he's always up to no good... a true prankster at heart.
With one last kick to one of the onlookers Revent Anwen was gone.
"Come on boys let's not give him any reason to lash us." Mirima said as she starts towards the corner of the small windowless room where the water trough and rag bin was capt.
"That basterd never needs a reason to beat us" Alaron replies rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"What do you think the Master wants?" Sylvie asks. "Do you think he knows about the bread."
"Don't be foolish" Mirima answers. "If it was that, he'd not be asking for Alaron."
"Bread... what bread?" Alaron asks. His ears perked up at the mere mention of food. "Did you take bread from the kitchens again?"
"Yeah sorry sprout" Sylvie replied. "Was all gone by time you got home." Sprout... Alaron always hated that nickname. Sylvie's only four years older than himself yet for as long as he could remember that's all Sylvie's ever called him.
The next few minutes passed in relative silence as they scrubbed themselves clean but it did little for their body odour. Two moons had pasted since they last had soap.

Revent Anwen stood in the centre of the entrance hall like a peacock on display now wearing his pink shirt and bright red overcoat. His loathsome gaze fell upon the three of them the moment they stepped out of the servants entrance. "You still look like troll vile," He seathed through gritted teeth. "But it's the best one can expect from halfborn's"
Revent Anwen strode towards the main hall as if he was Lord Torvic himself. Self importance seething out of him yet stopped as he approached the doors. "Do not move until I give you permission" he called over his shoulder.
With that the doors closed behind him. Time seemed to slow to a snail's pace. Alaron always hated standing still, he always thought of it as imprisonment without the
bars. Yet knew the punishment for moving was far worse.
Finally the doors opened and a single venomous word rang out from the hall ahead of them. "Move..."
Revent Anwen stood before a long wooden table the dark wood had all sorts of strange and mysterious creatures carved into it. With the wave of a hand he ordered them to stand against the wall nearest him. This was one of Alaron's favourite rooms. Large tapestries and portraits hung on the wall. Ivory Vines climbed up the white stone pillars that supported the roof of the large room.
The first thing Alaron saw as his eyes swept the room was the Scalehound standing on all fours. As tall as a Wood Elf. No fur just green and gray scales covering it's body in a wavelike patton and set of powerful jaws, full of razer sharp teeth gleaming in the light of dawn.
A voice broke his trance. "A fine beast isn't she" Lord Elron Torvic now standing next to the creature, the voice was his. As Alaron moves his gaze to his Lord and Master, he was surprised to notice Lord Torvic looking back at him with amusement in his eyes. The Lord was a head taller than him. A sign of good breeding or just being well fed. Alaron didn't know which but he preferred to believe it was the latter. A slender man yet with a presence that leaves no doubt he is in command. With a thin well defined face and green piercing eyes. A scar ran down his right cheek gained during his service to the Elder Council. "Well I'm sure you are wondering why I've summoned you" Lord Torvic continued. "As it happens that I've been requested to sent three new servants to Emmiral's Cauldron. Anwen suggested you three as good choices."
From what Alaron knew the act of sending servants to the school was an attempt by the High Lord of Altonhide to gain favour with the schools Magemaster. The school's are overseen by the Elder Council and not the kingdoms they resided in.
"As you wish my Lord" all three said in unison. Alaron's mind now racing to unearth every thing he knew about the school. Emmiral's Cauldron School of the Arcane Arts. He'd heard storys of the place... storys that invaded his dreams and filled them with wonder. Dreams of being a mage or elementalist or even an enchanter. Even with access to one of the Arcane Arts, he'd be free and the world would lay before him with endless possibility.
"You two" Lord Torvic said as he pointed at both Alaron and Sylvie. "Will see things there that will make my Scalehound look ordinary. Enjoy the experience and take this opportunity in both hands." With that he turns to face Mirima. "As for you Mirima.... as mush as I begrudge sending you, the school always needs skilled cooks and there will be plenty of young minds that will surely benefits from your schooled guidance."
Tears welling up in her eyes, Mirima had been here for longer than most of the other halfborns combined. "You've been a savant of this house since I was a young boy, my house will be be diminished without you.
Revent Anwen let out a sound similar to that of a drouding cat. Obviously displeased by the complement.
"Be silent" Lord Torvic spat spinning on his heel to face him. "I will not tolorat your antics in my presence." After a moment's silence he continued. "A wagon will arrive this evening. That will take you to Emmiral's Couldeon" Lord Torvic's gaze slowly passed over the three of them. "Do not disappoint me and do not bring shame to this house."
"It has been a pleasure to watch you grow into the grand Lord you have become my Lord" Mirima said with a low bow.
A smile played a cross the Lords face with her comment. "I believe the wagon should arrive for six Bells. Anwen see to it that they have all they will need for there journey and they leave nothing behind."
"Yes my lord" he said. "I will put them to task until the appointed hour."
With that said Lord Torvic left the room and Alaron's new adventure was about to begin. "Mirima you will go to the kitchen and begin preparing breakfast." Anwen said as he swung on his heels to face them. "You two can go and muck out the stables. I will not allow your last day in service of this house to be squandered."
The boy spent the next few hours mucking out the stables and talking about their great adventurer ahead of them. The school was a place of magic and wonder. Just maybe their lives will improve from here on out.
"I tell ya" Slyvie said as they toiled. "Before we leave I'm telling that pigheaded orc snout just what I think of him. It's not like he can do anything to us once we're on the road."
"yeah I know" Alaron replied. "But you know he'll only take it out on the others. Anyway stop insulting orc snouts, he's more of a troll's camel-toe." Alaron tried to keep his face Stern and controlled yet failed as they both burst out laughing.
"Yeah you're right definitely a troll's camel-toe that one." Sylvie said through watering eyes.
In that moment Mouse ran into the stables. "Is it true... is it true." The young girl said. Mouse was the youngest currently in service of house Torvic. Since the first day she'd seen them both as older brothers and protectors. Mouse was may be ten years old at most yet still tiny for her age. Long brown hair always blowing in the wind as she ran everywhere, a ball of energy always singing little melodies everywhere she went. All her features scream human yet she was still a halfborn like the rest of them.
"Yeah it's true Mouse" Alaron said. "We leave this evening."
"Do you have to go" She replied through floods of tears. "Can't you ask Lord Torvic to send someone else."
Out of all the goodbyes he'd have today. He was looking forward to this one the least. He'd enjoyed the idea of having a sister, a slither of normality in a life of slavery. He knew she would take their departure the hardest but knew the others would look out for her. If there was away he could have taken her with him he'd have done it in a heart beat. Better that than staying here with Revent Anwen.
"This is Anwen's doing" Sylvie said wrapping his arms around her.
"Why... Why do you have to go." Mouse said a Alaron rested his hand on her head and met her tear soaked gaze.
"He's trying to cull the herd. Getting rid of those of us that will stand up to him even after countless beatings."
Mouse released Sylvie and wrapped her tiny arm around him. He returned the act in kind sweeping her up into a warm embrace trying to still her bleeding heart. He could feel Mouse's sodden cheeks against his neck as she wept. If there ever came a time where he's free and money in his purse he'd come back and buy her freedom.
The remainder of the days tasks passed swiftly with mouse shadowing every move. Seemingly trying to saver every moment she had with her adopted brothers before they were sent far away from her. Someone must have pulled some strings to allow her absence to go unnoticed.
Five Bells had come and gone, Alaron was now back in the dank dark room he called home. Kneeling over the pile of hay that was his bed with Mouse still at his side, he began rummaging through the hay looking for the tightly bound cloth which protected his worldly possessions. In the fifteen years he'd served House Torvic he came to process four tatty leather bound books saved from the furnace. They were his treasures. Mirima once served in Lord Torvic's library where she learnt the power of the written word. She taught any of the halfborns willing to learn and as Alaron came across his treasures, he was only too eager to learn. Once he removed the cloth bindings he ran his hand over each book in turn. druidism and the sacret Tree, Foundation and Histories of the Arcane, Complete Works of Daydron Torvic and finally his most treasured book. Legacy of the Forgotten Child. Unlike the others... this was a book of fantasy not fact, and the first book he found. It told the story of a child found in the wilderness. Raised as a servant in a human house. He eventually fought the forces of Darkness and became the hero of the story. The trials and tribulations of the character in the story resonated with his own. It gave him hope when he had non. Mouse new of his books but hadn't learnt to read. Every time he looked at her since she heard the new all he saw was sorrow. He knew then that he shouldn't take this book with him. Someone else needed the hope this book had given him.
"Mouse" He said quietly. "I want you to have this book. I hope it gives you the strength it gave me and reminds you of me."
She took the offered book and cradled it in her arms as if it was the most fragile thing in all the world. "Thank you" she said refresh tears welling in her eyes. "I'll give you it back when you come home. A lump rose in his throat at her words, knowing there was a chance he'd never see her again.
"I want you to ask one of the others to help you read it." He replied instead wiping her tears away with his thumbs.
Sylvie never came to the room since he had nothing to collect or at least nothing he wanted to take with him.

A rickety wagon made its way into the courtyard led by two horses that looked well past their prime. No awning and open to the elements. The halfborn driver looked as battered and as beaten as wagon itself. They'd already been told it would take them two days to reach Emmiral's cauldron. With winter setting in and no concessions made by Revent Anwen it would be an extremely cold and unpleasant journey. Alaron hoped Lord Torvic would make an appearance to see them off, And in doing so ensure they had at least a blanket to stave off winter's chill.
Final goodbye said the three climbed onto the rear of the wagon. Creaking under their footstep the pungent smell of thistle dew oil assaulting their senses. A snap of a whip and the groan of rotting wood and they were off. Audible grunts from the horses as they struggled against their load. Soon Lord Torvic's Manor House faded into the distance and this bone chilling started their journey had begun.