A SLAVE, AN OLD MAN AND A MOUNTAIN GOAT 2.1

He held the mead horn as unintelligible and completely unimportant voices buzzed around him. The tavern keeper, a sweaty, smelly man, looked at him with a grim expression. He fumbled in his pockets and handed him the three copper coins the drink cost. He took a sip and frowned as if he had just licked a rotten lemon.

"You're not from around here, are you?". A young man with a squeaky voice sat down next to him. "Beer is acceptable here, but mead," he raised his eyebrows, "you know. Tell me, what brings you to the Kingdom of the Wall?"

It was no longer a kingdom, the Empire had absorbed it long ago, and even when it was, it was not called that. The old knight understood the reason for the nickname. The houses were ugly, as were the food and the people. The great wall that separated the civilization from the savannah was the most striking thing about the place.

"That is a personal matter, my young friend," he replied without looking at him. He turned the horn a few times before finishing the bloody ordeal that the tavern keeper had mistaken for mead.

"I understand," continued the man, "we all have our business. However, I would be happy to offer myself as a guide. These roads can be a bit confusing for someone unfamiliar with their curves..."

"I wasted three coins on that drink, and I can't afford to waste another. I appreciate the offer," he said with the rudeness and tactlessness that characterized someone of his age and experience.

He rose and left the tavern. Outside waited his mount, a large mountain goat with huge horns, silver fur and hazel eyes. And bad-tempered, like him. The animal was as big as a horse and twice as agile, making it an ideal mount for steep and mountainous terrain.

"Come on, Surly, let's go," he said as he untied the reins and struggled into the saddle. When he was a young man, he could do it in one bound. But now his knees hurt and his legs were not so strong.

The young man came out of the tavern and gave chase. He took Surly by the bridle and stroked him as he explained:

"I must insist that my services are... necessary. You see, this is no place for a wrinkled and forgetful old man. Perhaps it would be wise for you to hear my price and pay it."

The mountain goat shook off his grip and gave him a head butt. The man fell back on his hindquarters and put his hands to his head. He saw blood gushing from it.

"His name is Surly," explained the old man, "can you guess why?"

The angry man tried to get up, but the blow had made him dizzy. The old man sighed, removed a blanket from the chair with which he had covered a claymore, draw it and continued:

"You don't know who I am. Perhaps my younger days are gone, but not my ability to cut off heads. I could prove it, or you could hear my offer: Leave now. If you ever cross my path again, a Surly's headbutt will be the least of your worries.

The man was not intimidated, but he made no effort to get up.The old man spurred Surly on and he began to march.

The streets of the city were dusty and uneven.Thirst was a constant, even among the cacti that grew here and there. And water could be worth more than gold.The city was still on alert for a visit from the hyaenids.He did not have the pleasure of meeting them, for he had just arrived. Nor was he interested in them, for his business was different, alien to the savannah and its inhabitants. In the streets, everything was sold, from goods from the Sun Kingdom to the west to slaves. Of the latter, the most common were trolls, ideal for the mines; orcs, useful for archery and little else; gnomes, useful as servants; and, of course, men who had fallen from grace, unable to pay their debts, or captured in some campaign.

He heard a snap, then an insult.He pulled on the reins and stopped.

"My vase, my beautiful vase," a bald and very thin man held up fragments of the object and showed it to him. "How dare you walk carelessly in the street of commerce? Now my vase is broken and no one will want it..."

The merchant had a blanket of various pottery objects sitting in the middle of a busy street, all of which, it should be noted, were junk. No one would pay for any of them, or even accept them as gifts. The old man was tired of being ripped off all the time. He made Surly turn around and step over the blanket. The goat did not touch a single object with its hooves. He did it again, not the slightest wrinkle in the moth-eaten, dusty blanket. Then she stopped and looked at the merchant with a raised eyebrow. He looked away.

"I'm...I'm sorry. It's just that, I need to eat. There is no trade here, and it is impossible for someone my age to go on a campaign.

He sounded genuinely sorry. The old man got off Surly and analyzed what he was selling. He wanted to help him, but nothing really interested him. He didn't agree with giving alms either, he felt it was an insult to the other’s honor.

"Don't you have anything... useful?"

"Useful?" He thought for a moment. "You are a knight, aren't you? I see your bearing and the chain mail under your coat."

"I was."

"And you have no squire. How about buying me a slave? He was passed from hand to hand, used to pay a debt, and the last thing I need now is another mouth to feed. Slaves are useful, but expensive to maintain."

"I just don't want to..."

"I'll give them to you practically for free. Come with me."

He took his hand and led him to his house. Inside, a swarm of children hovered like flies around the rotting flesh. His home was small, and it was a shouting match. Did the merchant intend to give him one of his children? The answer was obvious when he saw four of the children kicking another lying in the fetal position.

"Stop it, you spoiled brats, or you might break it!" said the merchant. At the scold, the children flew away. Then the old man noticed that the lying child was not human. Was he...?

The merchant took the creature by the hand and showed it. The little dog-faced, brown-spotted boy's eyes were dull The red eyes seemed to indicate that he had cried a lot.

"Here you have it! He is nothing less than a hyaenid. And he is yours for ten pieces of silver."

The old man turned and headed for the exit.

"Stop, stop. You don't see this every day. This is the first slave hyaenid in our history. That's right, they don't let themselves be captured, they prefer death. And only for eight coins..."

"He is skinny and wounded. If he can't carry my shield, he can't be a squire."

"True, but look at it this way, with some food and practice he will surely be more than..."

The old man walked on.

"Fine, fine," the merchant took him by the shoulder, "six silver coins."

The old man looked at the poor creature again. His loincloth was stained and smelled like shit, flies swarmed around him, and mange had taken much of his fur.

"Four."

"Four," the merchant nodded without thinking and shook his hand.

The old man handed him the coins. The merchant counted them and bit them to make sure they were silver. When the little hyaenid came out, the old man punched the merchant in the face, causing him to stagger and fall to the ground.

"This is for trying to cheat me."

They approached the mountain goat. All the way, the little one did nothing but stagger, with his eyes lost, without saying a word. Could he speak? When he saw him, Surly took a few steps back and snorted. It must have been afraid because he was a predator and Surly was prey. That was a problem. He rummaged in the saddlebag and took out a few pieces of dried meat then handed them to the spotted creature. His eyes filled with light for a moment, he ate them without delay and licked his hands. The old man sat down on a rock. He motioned for him to join him.

"I can't imagine what you've been through, little one. I won't be your doting grandfather, but I won't be the heavy hand that beats you either. I have a mission to accomplish and you will help me because you're mine now. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He nodded and scratched his neck.

"Good. Tell me what you can do."

He cocked his head to one side, thought for a moment and looked down.

"Nothing but cry and get bitten by fleas."

He pronounced the "g" and "b" strangely. Was it because of the shape of his mouth, or had he been injured? His stench was terrible. He reeked of death. If he had not appeared, he would have died of hunger or some disease in a short time. He saw in him a difficult task of reconstruction, but one that could be rewarding if done properly. As a hyaenid, he had certain instincts, traits, or information that only he could access. Assuming he could survive.

-"I understand. You'll find a purpose, we all do. Do you have a name?"

"They call me Fleas because that's the one thing I have."

"Now you have a master too, his name is Dannke. Get up, Surly doesn't want you, so we'll walk until you're strong enough. I imagine you're fast on a full stomach, and if you're not, you'd better learn to be. Let's go."