Murmer

It was a thirdday and Julan had Artam running messages from dawn to dusk.

Some of them even took him beyond the castle walls, out into the bustling madness of the streets.

I could flee, he thought as a wagon rumbled past him. But that was impossible.

There was nowhere in the world that a Naldean could walk freely.

Suddenly he felt an itch on his left ankle as he strode through the gate.

Six weeks of constant work and toil, and the soldiers were already familiar with his presence.

They never spoke to him though.

They'd never speak to a Naldean, he thought.

It has been a month since he woke up.

He had learnt he'd spent 3 weeks unconscious tossing in his sleep and murmuring delusions.

The physician, a queer man with an ageless face and pointed chin, was impressed by Artam's recovery.

He said under normal circumstances he should be dead, or crippled.

Even with the milk of the weeping vines and mold grass, it shouldn't have been possible.

For the next three weeks, Artam was rehabilitated, and soon enough, he was able to walk and move freely again.

Once he was fit.

He began his servitude in the the barracks.

As a token of the prince's gratitude, Artam was raised to a unique position.

Slave cupbearer.

He didn't sleep in slave quarters like the rest. He slept in a small cellar, neighboring the servant quarters.

Put simply, he was Julan's cupbearer.

He'd been assigned to serve and work under Julan, and on special occasions the head slave ordered him.

But that was that. He had thanked the prince for his generosity.

Artam entered the yard with steady steps, a few soldiers were performing basic training maneuvers.

One quick word from a passing serving woman told him Julan was in the dining hall.

Half a dozen minutes later, he stood in front of Julan awaiting his next assignment.

Julan was as pretty as a girl with dark eyes, soft skin, and dark red hair. The color of dried blood.

Always dressed in the finest clothes a bastard could afford.

"Murmer" Julan called.

Artam hated that name. During the three weeks, Artam was in a coma after the fall, the others heard he'd been murmuring in his sleep in an unknown tongue.

After he'd woken up, he'd kept at it.

He couldn't stop the queer act, so occasionally he stuffed his mouth with his chiton before dozing off.

"Take these to Jenie, the head wash woman," Julan said, dropping a bundle of dirty silken curtains at Artam's feet.

"Be quick about it now, I need you for an assignment. There will be a feast to celebrate the coming holiday by the next fortnight" he said while directing some maids, "and I will not suffer because of your incompetence"

Bastard

"milord, May I speak milord?"

"hmm?" Julan stared at Artam with incredulity, "What is it? And it better not be some useless drab!"

Here goes nothing, Artam gulped.

"For the procurement of Meat, I suggest if your lordship sanctions, Javara would provide enough meat for the meeting at a cheaper rate. Seven bronze talents per pound milord."

Julan frowned at him as if he smelled a secret.

Quickly, Artam dropped his gaze to the floor and dared not raise his eyes again.

"Hmmmm," Julan said pulling back a stray strand of his dark hair.

"It is a good suggestion, I'll consider it. Now be on your way"

Artam picked up the bundle and turned to leave.

He made his way to the laundry.

He ran past the soldiers training in the bailey, servants carrying water from the well to the kitchens, the dogs barking, and the horses neighing.

Then he reached the laundry.

When he spied Cara, beneath her brows were slick with sweat, but the brown eyes under the wooly brown hair had the stubborn look he remembered.

The girl looked no older than eleven, with dark skin that seemed to glow in the afternoon sun as she worked tirelessly in the laundry.

A framed rounded face, soft and innocent, marked by the weariness of her chores.

Artam didn't know if he even wanted to talk to her

"Where's Jenie?" Artam dropped the clothes on the mortared floor.

"So the brave idiot finally pays me a visit," Cara smirked playfully.

"You're the idiot who lied about being a boy."

"No, you're even more of an idiot for falling for it."

Yes, as you might have guessed. Cara is actually Jeren.

Or is it Jeren that's Cara?, Artam mused.

She'd lied about being a boy because she was afraid of what depraved men might do to a female child.

I've heard of the stories too, but I'm pretty sure some like young boys too, Artam thought.

"…demon."

Artam turned his head to see the washwomen gossiping in hushed tones.

Cara lowered her head and spoke;

"Eryk's been asking of you."

"I told Eryk I'd see him later, tell him I'd meet him by nightfall at the usual place." He whispered a reply.

"I will," she said,

 "Get Jenie, and you tell her Julan must have these curtains washed and dries before the day after tomorrow," Artam said.

"Alright, best be going. Else Julan might have your tongue for wasting his time speaking to wash girl."

Artam departed under the watchful eyes of the washwomen.

He'd learned to ignore their gossip and whispers.

They called him Murmer in his face, and Demon child abomination, omen, and many heinous names behind his back. 

He arrived at the dining hall, expecting to find Julan. But he had gone to a meeting with lord Ceryn- The head steward.

'That's strange. He rarely visits.' Artam thought.

He easily made his way to the corridors outside Lord Ceryn's quarters. 

A quarter of an hour passed quickly, and the sounds of wings beating against the air pulled Artam out of a trance.

A frail little crow had perched on the Arched window closest to Artam.

"Vyde" Artam called softly. 

Cara had taken the crow off his battered body after the reinforcement found him on the mountainside. 

She renamed him after some Ichocian hero who saved a whole kingdom by yelling for help.

She nursed him till he could fly.

Artam reached out his arm to pet the bird.

It cocked its head and cawed with a tone of demanding curiosity.

"No treats today buddy," Artam whispered softly.

The bird seemed a bit peeved but it eventually allowed Artam to pet him.

Then it flew off.

A chorus of thuds and grunts echoed from the yard below.

Pale light filled the yard when Prince Raedas Flau Rath sparred with some soldiers.

The prince had also decided to visit the barracks.

Artam watched from the arched window.

He spotted Eryk the former sellsword.

He hadn't, not at first glance, but when he looked again, he found him at the back, under the shade of the high stone wall.

He was surrounded by men, young soldiers in the livery of the Flau Raths, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; knight centurions and foot soldiers, he surmised.

The door to the study swung open and two men and a woman walked out of Lord Ceryn's office.

Artam and the few other servants standing by bowed to greet.

"Murmer." Julan's voice cracked like a whip.

"I've considered your proposition" he raised his chin, "and you're a smart little cunt aren't you?"

"After prayers, get down to the slaughterhouse and tell Javara that I have need for one ton of meat by the morning before the next fortnight, but he better send his lads to bring them. And I'm not paying more than 110 silver talents, or I'll find someone who'd do it for cheaper."

Then he handed him a square piece of paper.

"Yes, milord."

"Now be off"

He probably pitched the idea to lord Ceryn as his and took all the credit for it. Bastard! But It worked out in the end, Artam thought as he turned to leave

"Wait you bloody murmer" Julan voiced cracked like lightning.

Artam turned, and suddenly, he was in front of him. "Next time be quicker about it."

Then came the stinging slap with the back of his hand. "And you'll address me with respect. Got that!?"

Artam bowed, "Yes milord." The taste of his blood in his mouth.

He'd bitten his tongue when he hit him.

He hated him for that but hid his thoughts thoroughly.

He hated himself even more for slipping up.

Julan could look at you and smell what you were thinking, he always said so.

"You want another?" Julan demanded, "You'll get it too. I'll have none of your insolent looks."

"Yes, milord."

"You run if you want to eat tonight," he shouted, with promises of a greasy old jerky. "And don't be getting lost again, or I swear I'll beat you boneless."

And Artam started off.

He passed the gates to the outer rim of the barracks under the watchful eyes of soldiers who didn't bother to hide their disdain.

Out into the bustling streets of the military district. He took a turn and arrived at the commercial district. A dozen houses down the street, and he arrived at the slaughterhouse.

Javara's slaughterhouse adjoined a temple, a long high-roofed tunnel of a sun-baked brick building. The thick, iron-bound gates opened into a large chamber where animals were herded into pens, their eyes wide with the knowledge of what was to come.

The floors, paved in dark stone, bore the glossy sheen of wear and the occasional splash of crimson. Chains and hooks hung from heavy beams overhead, swaying gently in the warm, stifling air.

A dozen slaves and servants moved with practiced efficiency, their faces impassive as they went about the grim task at hand. The sounds of bleating and lowing were punctuated by the sharp, metallic clang of tools.

Javara's slaughterhouse shared a building in halves. With a smithy occupying the other half.

Separated by a thick stone wall, the smithy was a world of its own.

Scores of quality forged metal parts were on display, with three servants behind the stone counter.

Hidden behind was the forge, Ramon, and dozens of his servants and apprentices. Their skin glistened with sweat, hammered and shaped glowing ingots with the skill of artisans, their movements rhythmic and precise. The sight hidden behind the forge doors

Only the relentless cadence of the ring of hammer on anvil echoed off the walls.

The scent of burning coal and molten metal mingling with the earthy undertones of the slaughterhouse could be smelt faintly.

Artam Ramon, his hairy chest was slick with sweat, but his one amber coloured eye shone like a sun under the heavy black hair, and he still had fierce look he remembered.

"Ha!" Ramon broke into a hearty laugh when he spotted Artam.

"Javara! Come out now." He bellowed, "The crow is back!"