[TheNickelKnight]

Kal overslept. He’d rolled out of bed in a near panic, dressed himself faster than one might have thought possible and took only the briefest of moments to splash a bit of stale water on his face scrubbing as he crossed the dorm room floor, he pitched a communal towel into a heap at the foot of a trunk closest to the door. They’d need to wash that tomorrow, it smelt more than a little rank. He squinted into the morning sun as he stumbled from the bunkhouse. Victor was in his usual spot by the door. He bid Kal good morning with a nod but said nothing. Kal, bleary eyed, greeted Victor in kind. His eyes settling on the much older boy leaning against the far bunkhouse. Gunther, Mash’s old brother. He’d lived at the plantation before, so they probably let him come early. He waved to Kal, offering what might have been a genuine smile, but he said nothing. He was probably waiting for Briol. Kal sighed and headed for the dining hall. He managed to pocket a few cold biscuits for breakfast as he passed through the kitchen. They’d long since quit serving meals in the hall. No, today it was where those with family would wait to meet with visitors if they had them. Sometimes those looking for apprentices, or adventuring companies who were looking for help would also make their appearances. Those bought off the plantation made one less mouth to feed, and they were cheap labor. The law only permitted them to buy orphans though.

Briol and Ashlynn had taken extra time getting ready this morning, and although they’d risen earlier than Kal they arrived in the dining hall sometime later since they’d gone to breakfast first. They were wearing their best clothes, though since they were a few months old now Briol’s didn’t quite fit right. His wild mane of coarse red hair had been combed and washed. He still bore some slight bruising from his fight yesterday, but the swelling wasn’t too bad. The long sleeve cotton shirt he wore was a bit too short in the arms, he was broad shouldered, it may not have fit right when he bought it, but Briol and Ashlynn couldn’t be sent money by parents they didn’t have. He wore a jacket with it and matched it with a pair of mended leggings. They were a little worn in spots, but still far outstripped his working clothes. Ashlynn, who moved always in Briol’s shadow, had a purple ribbon tying up her wispy blonde hair. She wore a simple dress; it too was purple and a pair of immaculate black shoes with brass buckles. Kal couldn’t help but watch her as she moved across the room towards where he sat. He thought she looked very much like a doll. She was pretty. She took her usual spot between the two of them once Briol pulled her up on to the bench seat. She offered Kal a small smile. Kal returned it, greeting her in kind, then looked past her to Briol who was cheerfully waving to Mash, and his partner in crime Wyatt. They were both wearing their best, but neither of them was in particularly high spirts. Mash clearly got the worst of Briol’s wrath yesterday, one of his eyes was swollen shut and that side of his face was badly bruised. His coarse brown hair was parted down the middle, and he wore a plain cotton shirt and trousers matched with shoes. Wyatt was nursing his side, probably from bruised ribs. He was better in a fight than Mash, bigger too, he’d probably done most of the fighting once Briol intervened. He had bruises on his arms probably from blocking punches, so Briol had gone for his ribs. Wyatt looked much like someone’s manservant, a proper butler even. The smartest thing about Wyatt was his coat though. If Mash was the brains Wyatt was the brawn. He had blonde hair, not too in different in color, from Ashlynn’s with fair skin and stood a good deal taller than most of the other kids except Briol. He wasn’t quite as stocky either. He and Mash both glared at Briol as he cheerfully waved in their direction. If Mash and Wyatt hadn’t slept in the bunkhouse next door Kal had no doubt their melee would have resumed after dinner. The guards saw to their good behavior, at least for the kids. When they got older those with a scrappier nature normally went off to work for adventuring companies, sometimes as household guards, those with no prospects ended up as guards on the plantation. Kal shuddered at that. He’d hate for a mean-spirited lout like Wyatt to take Victor’s place at his bunkhouse door.

Kal looked up as he heard the large main door that joined the dining hall to the plantation house open. It wasn’t time for families, tradesman, or guilds to be let in. Briol and Ashlynn went a ridged, and she tried to make herself as small as possible, shifting over on the bench so she could hide behind Briol. Kal winced. That meant these were slave traders, or worse. Two plantation sentries on either side of the door pulled it closed. They weren’t usually assembled in the hall until the rest of the guests arrived, they were probably still getting ready. A weasley looking fellow dressed in fine clothes hurried into the room, behind him another man. Older. He was clean shaven and wearing a robe. He was flanked by two guards. They weren’t from the plantation. They wore fine metal armor, emblazoned with a coat of arms. Some noble house Kal didn’t recognize. The weasley looking man in the front was Percival Gant. He was the owner of the plantation. It had been passed to him by his father, Roland Gant, who had been a retired knight sworn to the Church of the Twin Pillars. Age and sickness had taken him a year before Kal arrived on the plantation. Briol and Ashlynn used to talk about how much better life there had been. The school was nicer too. Percival was a corpulent man and didn’t scrimp on luxuries, or meals. He was quick to push the children who were old enough, like Gavyn, into work off the plantation. One less mouth to feed. More coin in his pockets. Most of the older guards had been raised here and stayed on out of loyalty to his father. In the time since Kal had arrived not a single child of age had stayed on even if they had the option. Sister Monwere held a dislike for Percival, and he knew it, but she was protected by the church and they paid him to allow her to teach the children living on the plantation.

The clean-shaven man sneered, clearly disgusted, at the sight of the dining hall. Percival was uttering excuses at a rate that might make a proper auctioneer proud, but Kal was too far away to make out what he was saying. The man cast another glance around the room before settling on Kal. His face twisted in a perverse grin. It made Kal queasy. He practically danced across the dusty stonework towards the table kneeling before Kal. “How much for this one?” the balding man spoke up to Percival, who’d become winded just rushing over to the table. Percival stammered a response. “Not for sale. He’s not an orphan.” The man’s face twisted in something akin to rage at Percival’s answer. He glanced to the right then, sneering at Briol, who didn’t bother to hide his scowl in return. Then his eyes went wide. Far too wide. He saw the black shoes and lace socks pulled up on to the bench and had finally noticed Ashlynn cowering behind Briol. That twisted grin returned to his features, Kal could see he was visibly shaken with pleasure. Thrill. “How much for this one?” There wasn’t even a hint of his earlier disgust. He couldn’t have sounded more enthused. “a hundred and twenty gold pieces” Percival blurted out, still catching his breath. The man shook his head. “A hundred and ten.” Percival didn’t even blink. “She’s yours.” The man grabbed Ashlynn by the wrist and tried to jerk her from the bench.

She clung to Briol knowing full well her life depended on it. Kal moved, but Briol was faster. He’d hit the man square in the jaw, not that did anything, Briol may have been big, but he was still a child. The man fell back on his ass and let out a piteous shriek as though he’d been run through. One of his guards slammed Kal back into the table, and Percival took a riding crop to Briol as the man’s other guard went to help him to his feet. He shoved the guard away, rage etched on his features as he looked toward Briol. He drew a dagger from his robes still fighting with his guard as the man tried to hold him back. Kal was battering the guard trying to hold him firmly to the table while Ashlynn scampered beneath it to escape. Percival was shouting for his guards even as he savagely took the riding crop to Briol. There was a deafening crash from the direction of the plantation house and as they all turned to look over their shoulders Kal heard the telltale click of a crossbow as a bolt flew between the commotion at the table. The way the guard was holding him Kal could only just make out Mash, Wyatt, and Ashlynn all behind Gunther, Victor and Sister Monwere. Several of the other children had joined them. Elsewhere the hall had pretty much cleared out. Percival, who was slick with sweat, gasping for breath and his mouth marked by spittle managed to straighten himself leaving a badly beaten Briol to lay limp against the table. Kal could tell Briol was barely alive. “Guards! Where are the guards!” Roared Percival. His left hand shook as he raised it, pointing a finger at Sister Monwere “You Bitch. This is all your doing!” He sneered at Victor. “You ungrateful peasant filth! After I kept you on following my father’s death! You’ll hang for this!” The doors leading from the plantation house to the dining room finally began to creak open. Percival’s face twisted in a cruel smile. “Guards seize them! Seize all of them!” A mocking, but all the same lilting, and musical voice responded. “I’m afraid they won’t be joining us, those that didn’t flee are dead or dying.” The color ran from the shaven nobleman’s face, his guards drew their weapons. The stench of ammonia reached Kal’s nostrils as Percival pissed himself. A woman, clad in scaled mail with an opening in the back for her single feathered wing, casually strode through the doors. Just beyond her, back from where she’d come, was a scene of absolute carnage. Kal only knew who she was because of the single wing. Elaine Glass. The head of Halfroad’s most whimsical, and most dangerous, mercenary company. The Broken Glass.