Ch 16

Two weeks passed again before Silvan once more came flying into the basement too fast for me to form a proper bow before he got through the door. This time he beat me with the whip that he had used on Minge before, striking me again and again, each lash leaving a painful welt on my body. He kept going until his arm got tired and then went and got the bucket of gruel. It seemed that this was another planned beating. After we had fed and were once again washing laundry Beetle looked over at me and began to speak in low and conspiratorial tones.

            “Two weeks passed since the last time that you were beat my master Silvan. This means that we may be able to expect him to go this long again before beating you another time.” While Beetle’s words should have filled me with dread at the prospect of another beating coming, I instead found myself thinking that this would give my body more than enough time to heal from the injuries I received from the whipping today. On top of this I was noticing that the damage I was receiving was less than I would have expected to get from these treatments. I could only expect that this was because all of the strength training that Beetle was putting me through was hardening the muscles in my body and making them more durable.

            “What comes next in this plan of yours?” I asked beetle cautiously, “I’m all for getting strong enough to survive but what should I do after that? Simply keep getting beat up but being too tough to kill?!” I may have begun cautiously but by the end it was coming out as a tirade and I had started yelling. Noticing this I quickly shut my mouth. After a moment Beetle responded, “I’d be lying to you if I said I had a plan beyond that Dung, but it is the best option you have for right now.” Unable to argue with his logic even if my situation still did not sit well, I returned to the task in front of me. By now everything had become routine. I knew exactly how much time to take to wash the laundry, exactly how fast to work plucking new growth until Silvan and Teka left for the arena, I even rushed to finish afterwards every day so that I could maximize how much time I had hunting with Beetle. It didn’t really make a difference as to how much was caught because I was kept so loaded down that I could hardly move except when before my master left and while traveling to and from the grasslands that it was mostly left to Beetle to provide our source of protein.

            I was toiling day in and day out now, no longer just to keep my master from hurting me but now also because I wanted to get strong because if I remained weak, I would not survive. As I lumbered around the grasslands, now up to four additional weights, my bare feet, now hard as leather after all this time of walking around barefoot, left deep impressions in the grass as I moved, each step bearing my own weight plus that of roughly three hundred or so additional pounds. After returning I would throw myself into practicing with the daggers with Beetle, and on nights when we were assigned to cut down the magickal trees that grew on his property I would now use my increased strength to cut it down by dual wielding the magickally weighted daggers, one in either hand, and using them to hack through the tough wood. It was certainly harder than using the axe but it also provided extra muscle training for my arms while also helping to cement in the muscle memory of each strike (to be fair these aren’t any proper strikes, just what he and Beetle have managed to improvise while practicing together).

            Days trickled by in this manner. When almost another two weeks had passed, and I was beginning to mentally prepare myself for another beating to arrive any morning. Silvan seemed to be watching me during the mornings now before he left every day and so I made sure to look worried despite no longer quite fearing the beatings that would come. This seemed to be what he wanted because he did not stop watching me but nothing else changed. Then on the evening before my anticipated time of abuse, Silvan arrived home riding in a carriage while a rickety mule drawn wagon followed behind. As I looked at the wagon following him up the pathway, I noticed that laying unconscious in the back of it was none other than Teka, bloody bandages wrapped around his head and left thigh. A feeling of unease settling into my gut like a lead weight I went back to my task of scrubbing the side patio in preparation of the now dry laundry to be deposited there.

            It only could have taken a few moments or a minute at most for the two conveyances to reach the front of the house but to me it felt as if it was hours, waiting to see what was going to happen next. Teka must have been hurt in the arena, he usually escaped unharmed but this time it appeared, he had not been so lucky. When they reached the front of the house Silvan climbed out of the carriage which immediately turned around and headed back up the pathway away from the house, the driver of the cart which had followed behind was looking at Silvan in a forlorn kind of way. This human man was not a slave and thus there was little that Silvan could do to him besides verbal abuse and underpayment, but it appeared that he had received enough of the first to make his worry about the second. As soon as Silvan’s feet hit the ground, he raised his voice “DUNG! BEETLE! GET OVER HERE!” he yelled out.

            We ran over, not as fast as we could because of not wanting to give up the goose so to speak on my training to get faster and stronger, but we did make good time and had quickly reached our master and the cart behind him bearing our fellow slave. “HURRY UP AND TAKE HIM TO THE BASEMENT! THE BASEMENT! SCUM LOST ME SO DAMN MUCH MONEY!” Silvan seemed to be almost incoherent in his rage as he barked out orders. Beetle and I hurried to pull teka from the back of the cart and half carried half dragged him around to the back of the house where we carried him down the stairs. Noticing something as we did so I spoke quietly to Beetle as we went down the stairs. “His muscles are big, but they aren’t hard like yours or even like mine are starting to be. Did our master not make him train as you are training me?” Beetle gave me a wink before replying in almost a whisper, “He trained with me in daggers same as you, that is true enough and had to carry the heavy tools, but he never strapped hammers to his feet or wore a harness. I suspect that Silvan had forgotten its existence by the time Teka had come into his ownership. Now be quiet.”

            That last bit came out with just a touch of urgency and I soon found out why. Shortly after we had gotten Teka through the bottom door and laid him out on the floor there, Silva was already behind us carrying his lamp bearing its shining crystal in the center. “Hurry up and strip him, take off his armor and weapons.” Silvan was no longer shouting but speaking in short quick words. Beetle and I worked to unfasten the clasps holding his twin daggers to his belt, which as I pulled them away, I noticed were decidedly not enchanted for weight. After that a few more buckles and his leather body armor and cap also came away. Silvan had Beetle carry them and follow him up to the house. I was left alone with the unconscious Teka, his scarred body bare save for a loincloth covering his groin was hard to see in the dim light, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing I could do for him anyways.

            Later that night after Beetle had returned and we had finished our evening training and were resting in the basement before going to sleep, Beetle on his pile of rags, me on the pile I had accommodated when Minge had died, and Teka still laying unmoving on the floor, his breath strong and even but otherwise showing no signs of life. Silva took one look at Teka laying there and then raised his gaze to me where I had scrambled to my feet and bowed when he entered. He usually only beat me for not doing so in time in the morning, but I wasn’t taking any chances. After glaring at me a moment he said “Without Teka to fight for me in the arena I won’t be able to make money so you will have to take his place.” The words that came from his mouth sounded unreal to my ears, knowing that most who went to the arena died there. “It’s unfortunate though,” he continued without caring about my reaction, “Teka was well known and so he earned good money even without making bets, you on the other hand have to start at the bottom and will earn a pittance. You better Teka recovers or you are going to fight until you die in the arena.”

            With those words he turned around and left Beetle and I alone once more with the unconscious Teka.

Read the original at penswordstories.wordpress.com/reborn-as-a-slave/