Mannat and his father sat opposite Moore and his steel-eyed guard. The silence between them was louder than the noise created by the rushing carriage. It wasn’t their place to start a conversation. Mannat understood that perfectly.

He also didn’t have anything to ask the man. For him, the town passing by outside the tinted window was more interesting than the carriage and its comfortable seats. Moore’s pampering smile and the guard’s lightning-struck cold face were not inspiring either.

The rush, noise, and closeness of the town outskirts slowly faded away to give room to quiet tempered peace. There was another, smaller, but strategically wide wall dividing the town into two. The wall formed a steep slope on the outer side, sending an open invitation to enemy attackers. Mannat found it interesting. The attackers could climb the slope, but the wall also provided higher ground to the defenders.

“I have always wondered why someone would create such a wall. It is an offensive type wall, but it’s not very effective against armies.” Moore raised a chin to Mannat. “Why do you think the former owners of the fort created it? People aren’t stupid enough to fall for the ruse.”

Mannat turned his head and looked at him. “Perhaps it wasn’t built to fight people.” He said.
Moore nodded and Mannat turned his eyes back to the world melting away into loud disappearing streaks outside the window. He didn’t see Moor’s eyes light up.

Of course, the man knew. Rather, he had read the theory suggested by the female scholar whom the people called a heretic, and the Empire imprisoned for spreading falsehood and lies. She had given reason to the existence of both walls. The outer wall she called the shield, and the inner wall she called the spear edge. The former was for defense and the latter was for the offense. She believed: the slope was the perfect instrument to sieve the stronger demons from the weaker ones. The stronger demons would climb the slope faster and dealt accordingly, while the defending men at the top were strong and fresh.   

More found it fascinating that a small boy could reach the conclusion. Even if the boy had read the hundred-year-old record, that would not take anything away from him. He really wanted to keep the boy. No wonder the count had asked for both the master blacksmith and his son. Their addition would definitely give the count's house a push in the right direction. He wondered how the count had found out about the two. He would know if they had met somewhere before. No one had referred them to the count – to his knowledge. The Count wasn’t a man to believe in other's words either.  

There were definitely more guards stationed at the inner wall than the behemoth standing outside. They passed gardens, shops, and temples. Trees shaded the cobbled roads. Birds sang to the passersby. There were not as many people abound. Those that Mannat saw wore light-colored clothes. Mannat didn’t see anyone wearing a robe. The few women he saw had their hair done in various styles and wore clothes that trembled under the slightest wind and dared to fly off their sculpted bodies when they walked. There were no naked children running unfettered on the road. No cows and dogs blocked the way. There weren’t merchants shouting at his workers or a group of old people playing music.
The downtown was beautiful, calm, and serene, but it was also lifeless to his ears and eyes.
 
However, one thing remained unchanged no matter how privileged those people were. They all turned their heads when the carriage passed by them.  

At the center of the town, there was a small hill jutting out of the ground. The count's manor was on top of it. It wasn’t visible from the outskirts, courtesy of the shanties and the high walls. A single narrow road snaked up the hill to the manor atop.

Mannat saw soldiers marching down who came to attention upon seeing the carriages approaching and raised their hand in military salute under the leadership of a spear-wielding soldier. There were many military outposts on the way, but they weren’t stopped anywhere.
 
It took them thirty minutes to reach the top. The world looked different from up there. The sky looked wider and the difference between uptown and downtown was as clear as night and day. The shanties on the outskirts made the uptown look like a dry flaky patch of land. The alleys and streets appeared as cracks to his eyes. The people mingling about looked no bigger than ants living in the cracks.

“We are here,” Moore’s voice called and Mannat looked back inside the stale, dull carriage, before looking out from the other side.

They were coming up to the open red-painted gate of the Count's manor. Soldiers stood over the bordering high wall, their eyes staring at the approaching carriage. The soldiers at the gate checked them before letting them in. The closed gate opened up to a green hilltop where soldiers fought each other over ankle-high green grass. Some were running around the field and a few were patrolling; no one was standing still. Everyone was constantly on the move, keeping an eye on everything that moved beside them.  

Their carriage rolled past them over the bricked path. They circled around a mock mountain cut into shape out of a green bush and came in front of the manor building. The manor itself was not impressive. It was simple in construction with no arches and high bridges, or spires and residential towers. The house looked like a podium. The central building was higher than the other sides with a bell tower standing firmly at the top. The patio extending out of the manor stood upon the shoulders of four great white marble pillars, and their carriage stopped right underneath it.

A couple of soldiers stood guard at the great front door with spears in their hands. They stared at the father-son duo with piercing eyes as they approached the door. The soldiers didn’t know them but didn’t stop them because they knew the man they followed. They raised their right hand to the chest in military salute and the three guests entered the main house without any trouble.

Moor kept a brisk pace through the antechamber at the front, up the stairs, and through a sun-kissed corridor that seemed to go on forever. The glass window frames laid straight shadowy projections on the white and black checkered floor, while the sound of them walking echoed like bricks claps around them. Finally, just when Mannat started to grow tired of the quiet walk the corridor's end came into sight. The corridor opened into a balcony. The count sat with his son upon two brown chairs with high backs and inwardly curved shoulders. Their eyes were glued to the board game lying quietly upon a small table in between them.

Anyone else would have waited for the count to finish the game before disturbing him, but Moor strode forward without hesitation.  Mannat looked at his father and whispered if they should follow. Raesh shook his head.

The soldiers stood their place and seemed to stiffen up. Even the maid standing beside the count and slicing an apple did not dare lift her head at the sound of the metallic clicking of Moor’s footsteps. She left the apple on the tray and stepped back. Their actions didn’t escape Mannat’s eyes. His heart grew vigilant. The man was definitely not a simple character. Moor whispered something into the count’s ears. The count nodded and put his attention back onto the game. Moore took an apple from the tray and took a seat upon the pristine white couch positioned to the side of the balcony. The needlework done on the couch stood out upon its velvety white material canvas, as did its black frame.    

Mannat watched the game that the count was playing with his son. He didn’t know what it was called, but the checkered board and the opposite colored pieces got his attention. They were taking turns movies the pieces, which seemed to have a different set of rules governing them. The game progressed slowly. The count kept taking his son's pieces until eventually the board contained only his colors and he won. His son looked depressed, and the count finally took time to look for Raesh and Mannat.

The Count sent a message and the soldiers let them in. It was windy up there on the balcony. Yes, the town was visible from up there; the view was even more magnificent than was visible from the road. There were flowerpots lined around the stone railing arc, and the air smelled sweet because of the incense burner hanging from the ceiling via ropes.

“There you are,” The count said in smiles. He was a handsome man with a sharp nose and apple chin. He had uninteresting black eyes, but his smile and straight white teeth made his eyes glow with brilliance. He wore casual clothes of faded beige and dull brown, but their quality was unquestionable. The colors hadn’t faded from overuse, and never once did Mannat thought the clothes made the man look like a commoner. The count's poise and confidence set him worlds apart from people like Mannat and Raesh.

Raesh stopped ten feet from the count. Much of it was the result of his own deliberation, and the rest was because of the soldier’s attention on him. “My lord—“

The count interrupted him. “Yes, yes. I know I’m the count.” He approached. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I believe that one should complete their current tasks before moving on to the next ones.” He stopped in front of Raesh.

“It’s an honor to be here, sir,” Raesh said stiffly. The count didn’t mind. He slapped Raesh’s shoulder in order to calm him down.
The count was more amiable than Mannat first believed. However, he couldn’t say the same for the count’s son. The older boy was staring at them. He hadn’t followed his father and sat on the chair looking unimpressed. Their eyes met, and it would have turned into a staring contest had the Count not interrupted them.

“Come here and introduce yourself to our guests, son.” The count said.

The boy’s demeanor changed at the count's call. He hid his thoughts behind a veil of indifference, but the sharpness of his stance didn’t escape anyone's attention. The head soldier on duty saw him standing in attention and nodded in appreciation. Moor smirked, his thoughts were likely not different from his expressions. He peered at Mannat and saw the boy as indifferent as he had been in their first meeting. He was holding himself pretty well under the combined pressure of everyone present. That was impressive. However, it was having a counter impression on the boy opposite him and he found it very, very interesting.   

“Irasha Rathod,”
“Mannat,” He replied with a nod. Their conversation died down again as did the mood between them.

Moor knew the problem. Irasha didn’t like commoners. He simply considered them beneath him. Much of it was the fault of the oppositions pampering, while the rest was his father’s negligence. He stood opposite of everything that his father was. In a way, Mannat’s behavior, whether natural or animated, was defiance of him and his honor. He knew the boy would have definitely ordered the soldiers to teach the brat a lesson if his father wasn’t around. He was highly anticipating the boy's reaction upon finding out why the count had called the commoners to the manor.

“Ahem,” The Count cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, and said, “Tell me, have you eaten?”
“They haven’t,” Moore said from the sitting area and the count smiled.
“Perfect.” He clapped his hands. “We were just about to have supper. Join us,”

“Father!” Irasha, the count’s son glared at his father.
The count looked back at him. The smile had faded from his face and it made the boy uncomfortable. “Yes?”
Irasha saw his father’s reaction and changed his words. “Can I be excused? I have a prior engagement with someone,”
“No, you can’t be. This concerns you.” The count said and that was the end of the discussion.

His father had told him to be there in the evening to meet their guests. He didn’t know who they were and why they were coming, but he was less than impressed to see the commoners. He was barely controlling his irritation at the sight of that red-haired baboon! Even he didn’t think his father would let the commoners sit at his table. This was unexpected and absurd!

Anyways, one thing led to another, and Mannat and Raesh found themselves sharing a table with the count. The table itself was large enough to sit more than a dozen people at once. For now, there were only five of them. The count sat on the head. Moore and Irasha, sat on either side of him, while Mannat and Pandit stiffly sat a few seats down from Moore.

The table was already set with all kinds of foods when they sat down. They ate in complete silence. The count’s son was looking to make fun of the two but was surprised to see them showing proper table manners. He didn’t have much appetite and their two guests also ate with measure. They finished eating soon, washed their hand in the pot, and dried them with their neck clothes before setting the plates aside. Maids and butlers cleared the food from the table.

The count waited for things to settle down before picking up the conversation where they had left it off. “Now we can talk business.”
Raesh listened.

The count didn’t mince words. “I need you to become the resident blacksmith of the manor.” He said and nodded in satisfaction at Raesh’s calmness.

Raesh had an inkling it could be this. His good friend had already given him a hint back at the guild, and there was no other possibility why the count would call them over. “I’m honored, milord.” He said calmly. “However, I have to ask you why you are choosing me? I know my ability best, and I also know there are many better blacksmiths to choose from.”

Sensible and farsighted, the count nodded again in satisfaction. A passionate smile bloomed on his old face. “I’m choosing you because you are young. I want someone who can guide my son when he holds the reigns, not an old man on the bed who can’t even move an arm much less smith something for him. Do you agree?”

The count had given them great honor. He had sent a personal carriage to fetch them, sat them on his table, and shared his food with them. This was not a small amount of favor. Disagreeing would not only mean losing the greatest chance of his life but also dishonoring the count.

Finally, Mannat understood why his father had seemed lost in thought on the way to the manor. He knew his father would refuse the offer. It was a crash that couldn’t be avoided. Mannat closed his eyes and exhaled softly. As he predicted, his father apologized.

“I’m sorry Lord, but I can’t do it,” Raesh said.

The count's smile froze, but Moore let out a smirk. What an interesting family. He thought. How many people in the world were yearning for such an opportunity and ready to give everything for it, and here was one who had declined without mercy.

The count was also a direct man. What had he not seen? He had also noticed Raesh’s reservation. They both had seen through each other.  Since the man had directly refused the offer without any hesitation, he could only respect his decision. “Can I ask you why you are refusing?”
“My wife is ill milord,” Raesh answered solemnly.
The count smacked his lips together and said, “What if I get the best physician in the region to treat her at no cost?”

Raesh wondered whether to tell the count or hide the truth behind Noor’s illness. Eventually, he decided to tell the truth, lest the count investigated and found out about the Witch business. That would not be the ideal situation to be in.

Raesh said, “I thank you for the offer, milord, but I don’t believe a doctor can help her.” He saw the Count gearing to speak and directly spilled out the beans to control the scatter. “She is suffering from miasma poisoning.”

Moore was surprised. He glanced at the Count and found him crossing the fingers of his hands and closing his eyes. He sighed.

Irasha broke the silence.
“I don’t understand.” The boy said gathering everyone’s attention. “Why would you deny such a great offer for something inevitable?”
The Count shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you Irasha.” He faced Raesh and dropped his head. “I apologize for my son’s rudeness. He clearly has much to learn.”

Moore licked his lips and sat back in the chair to get out of the way. Mannat on the other hand straightened his back and stared daggers at him.

“No my lord, there is no need for that.” Raesh interrupted the count. His voice sounded tired. “He holds no malice. It’s a child’s nature to question. As an adult--”

“I’ll save her,” Mannat spoke aloud, interrupting his father. He was glaring, clenching his fists, and angry. His opposite might be the count’s son, but he had no right to speak on this matter.

Irasha snorted. “And how do you plan to save your mother? Are you a magician’s apprentice?”
Mannat’s eyes opened wide. “No,” He said through gritted teeth. “But I will be.”

“You will be?” The boy chuckled.

“That’s enough!” The count raised his hand but saw Moore subtly shaking his hand. He would have definitely lost temper, but the external stimulation allowed him to gain his thought back. He understood what his trusted man wanted and couldn’t help growing interested. Really, how did the boy want to save his mother? People afflicted with Miasma poisoning were dangerous to both themselves and those around them. It had rabies-like symptoms. It was an affliction with no chance of survival.

“No, father, let me educate this backwater baboon before he goes out and lays baseless claims that can tarnish our reputation. Seventeen years old,” Irasha said staring straight at Mannat. “That’s the age of the youngest magician apprentice the empire has ever produced. He had the best teachers, the best materials, yet it took him that long to reach the beginning. What are you ten or twelve years old?

Mannat remained silent, staring and listening. “It has been two years since I joined the royal academy, but I am not even close to reaching the apprenticeship. One needs to have complete control over their mana to save someone afflicted with miasma poisoning. That means being a fully-fledged magician! There have only been five magicians in the over thousand years old history of the empire. Do you think you can do it? Can you reach out and grab the sky? Ridiculous!”

Everyone stared at Mannat. They all had varying thoughts and emotions. Raesh held his son's shoulder to stop him from rising out in anger. He was surprised to find that Mannat was completely still and calm.

Mannat kept quiet. He knew how tough the road was. To say he could do it would be nothing more than blowing hot air. Words were too shallow without actions to back them up. What Irasha called the sky was just another ceiling for him, and he would one day stand atop of it.

Soon everyone left the dining area, but the Count remained seated on his chair. He looked at the windowsill where a raven sat looking at him. He sighed as the bird took flight. He didn’t know where it going. Perhaps, it would follow others and make a nest nearby. It could also spread its wings and reach out for the sky. Whatever the case, he had acted on the promise. The rest had nothing to do with him.