An Aimless War (Greatest Thief 2)

Bonus - The Reasons to Enlist - Money

Fourteen years before An Aimless War

"Get up, you stupid boy."

His legs were roughly kicked, and Mandell groaned sleepily. It took him a moment to really understand what had been said, but when he did he sprung to his feet. In front of him, with crossed arms and tapping one foot impatiently, was the boy who had kicked him.

If Mandell had stood up straight, he would have been a good deal bigger than the other boy, but he didn't. He stopped his shoulders and tried to make himself look smaller. Mandell was pretty sure that his size was one of the reasons the young lord hated him. Arsad was fifteen, about three years older than Mandell, so he must have found Mandell's size annoying.

"You were asleep," Arsad said. "Again."

"Sorry, my lord," Mandell mumbled, staring at the straw-covered floor.

"Excuse me?"

Mandell stifled a sigh and spoke more clearly. "I'm sorry, my lord."

Arsad smirked and wiped some imaginary dust off of his expensive tunic. "Well, are you going to tell me why you were asleep?"

Toying with the servants seemed to be Arsad's favourite, and only, pastime. Mandell never fought back. Had Arsad been another farm boy, their interactions would have been very different, but Mandell needed the job. He needed the money Arsad's family paid him.

Mandell's situation was pretty common. He was the oldest son of a poor farming family. Before getting a job at the estate, Mandell had helped out on the farm. Once his younger siblings were old enough to help, he'd been sent off to find a way to make money. The Arssen Estate had been the obvious answer. In fact, many of the servants who worked outside came from the same place Mandell did—a small Zeltan collection of family farms.

It was one of many Zeltan communities on New Teltar, places where, four hundred years before, Native Zians and poor Teltans had mingled, married and settled together. The very word Zeltan had once been a derogatory name, created by pure blooded Teltans to show just how much they disapproved of the cultures mixing. Mandell's people had somewhat claimed the word for themselves, but it still wasn't widely used.

"Well? Have you gone mute?" Arsad asked.

Mandell shook his head. "Sorry, my lord." He knew better than to actually explain the reason he had fallen asleep. It was because Arsad had given him extra work the day before, for no reason other than to be cruel. Mandell was a stable hand, but Arsad always managed to come up with other jobs for him to do. "I was asleep because... I was tired."

"You were tired?" Arsad repeated. "Well, what about the time last week you feel asleep? Or the week before that? We don't pay you to sleep."

"No, sir," Mandell agreed.

"Shall I tell my father?"

Mandell shrugged.

Arsad leaned against the stall behind him and crossed his arms. "Aren't you going to ask me not to?"

Mandell had seen this exchange before. He wasn't the only servant Arsad picked on, although he did seem to be a favourite target. He knew Arsad wanted a show. Arsad wanted him to beg and humiliate himself.

"Well?" Arsad prompted sharply.

"No," Mandell said.

"No?" Arsad's voice became squeakier as he got more frustrated. "What do you mean, no?"

Mandell suddenly decided that he had had enough. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his gaze to stare straight at Arsad. "No."

"I'll have my father fire you," Arsad said. "I'll make sure you never get another job. Your family will starve because of you. Is that what you want?"

Both boys were aware of the audience they had attracted. Other servants and stable hands were starting to gather. They all disliked Arsad, and the thought gave Mandell a little more confidence.

"I can find a better job," he said.

"I highly doubt that, you stupid half-breed mutt."

Mandell didn't realize he had punched Arsad until the boy was on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose. Mandell loomed over him, his fists clenched. Arsad clumsily shuffled backwards without getting up. He seemed both afraid and angry, his eyes wide and his gaze locked on Mandell like he expected another attack. None of the other servants moved to help him.

Mandell stepped forward and was pleased to see that Arsad flinched. "I'd rather be a half-breed mutt than a spoiled Teltish brat who can't defend himself."

Furiously, Arsad got to his feet. He dragged his sleeve under his noise, staining the expensive fabric red with blood. He paused as he took in Mandell's size, and looked at the servants around them. "Are none of you going to stop him? He can't attack me like that. He can't insult Teltans like that!"

Arsad didn't seem to notice that most of the servants were exactly like Mandell, Zeltans. Those who weren't, the few poor Teltans who worked in the stables, were further from Arsad than they were from their coworkers. Nobody moved.

Then an older man stepped forward. Vel, the head stable hand.

Arsad's self-assured smirk returned. "Finally. I'll have you rewarded handsomely for—what are you doing?"

Vel walked up to Mandell. "You need to leave before the lord finds out what you did. He'll have you arrested for that. Maybe even killed."

Realizing suddenly that he had no support, Arsad began to yell for guards. Mandell finally thought about what he had done. Vel was right. He would be arrested and probably killed for attacking the young lord. Then his family would lose his salary, and surely neither of his younger brothers would be offered jobs at the estate.

"Mandell, listen. Go to West Draulin."

Mandell stared at Vel, hardly understanding what the man said. The horror of the situation was sinking in. "What?"

Vel grabbed his arm and dragged him between the stalls, towards the back door to the stables. "Go home. Tell your family you were kicked out for falling asleep. Tell that story to anyone who asks, and go to West Draulin. It'll be easy to find a job there. But if people hear you attacked a lord, even an idiot boy like Arsad, they'll turn on you. So lie." Vel swung open the back door and pushed Mandell through it. "Go. May the Great Sisters' blessings follow you."

They rarely spoke about their beliefs at the estate. The noble Teltans didn't approve. Mandell nodded. "Praise the Great Sisters," he said. "Vel, thank—"

Shouting broke out behind them as the guards finally found Arsad. Without a word Vel pulled the door closed, and Mandell turned to run. He dove into the corn field, hoping the tall plants would make it easy to hide. Once he had put some distance between himself and the stables, he slowed down, moving carefully so he wouldn't shake the stalks. He just had to make it to the outskirts of the estate's land. The guards wouldn't care enough to chase him then. They probably didn't like Arsad any more than the servants did.

West Draulin wasn't too far, only a day on foot. There would be plenty of jobs there, Vel was right. It would be easy enough to find one, and send money back to his family. He could probably find a higher paying job, too. Mandell's fear drifted away as he considered the wide range of possibilities, he suddenly had in front of him. Maybe he could find work with a blacksmith or a ship builder. Or maybe he could work as a stable hand, for the army. Surely the army needed more stable hands, and he was already used to that kind of work.

Then something occurred to him. Why not go for the highest paying job there was? Mandell pushed aside some stalks of corn and grinned as he made up his mind.

He was going to enlist in the army.