Chapter 1: Wrong Place, Wrong Time

I sat in the cold stone prison cell.  The walls were worn, and the door was made of aged wood with heavy, rusting iron bands. I was literally wearing a potato sack.  Steam rose from a dark wooden bowl of potato soup near the stone slab that was my bed.  I was not hungry, though.  It was my second day of residence.  How did I get here?

My nephew decided to have a shotgun wedding in South Dakota…in January.  His high school girlfriend was pregnant, and her father was insisting on it.  I decided to drive out from North Carolina for the wedding.  While I was driving across the state of South Dakota, it started snowing—“white-out conditions” snowing. My phone wasn’t getting any signal, and my GPS was not working.  It had gotten so bad that visibility was nil, and the snow was accumulating fast on the highway with no plows in sight.  I decided I had to get off the road. 

If you have ever driven through South Dakota, you know there is nothing in South Dakota.  I took what I thought was an exit off the highway and drove down a road looking for a hotel, restaurant, or at least a gas station to wait out the storm.  There were none of these things as I drove a short way down the narrow road off the highway.  I tried to turn around but, of course, got my little Toyota RAV4 stuck.  I sat in the car for about an hour, watching my gas gauge go down.  I started turning the car on and off, heating the car when it got too cold.  I got out every time I restarted the car to ensure the exhaust was clear and then eagerly warmed my cold body and hands for a few minutes. 

Soon, it was sunset, and my gas was getting close to empty.  It was around 1:00 a.m. when I finally ran out of gas.  Fortunately, it was barely snowing now.  I noticed a light in the distance.  I was fairly certain it was not a streetlamp, so I bundled up and approached it.  I had to break through the 3-foot-deep snow to reach the light.  It was tough, but when I finally arrived, I found a large barn.  I walked around the building, looking for the associated farmhouse, but didn’t see anything in the minimal light.  I then decided to break into the barn, and I was able to pry the old door open just enough to squeeze in. 

I used the light on my phone to examine the interior.  Eventually, I found what appeared to be some old horse blankets.  At least, they smelled like horses. Being cold and exhausted, I bundled the horse blankets into a makeshift nest and curled up to get some sleep.  I could see my breath, and my fingers and toes were numb from the cold.

I woke up to light bleeding through the barn door.  I looked for my phone and couldn’t find it, and to my shock, I was also naked.  I didn’t remember stripping, but I had been cold, exhausted, and disoriented.  I began crawling on the floor, looking for my clothes.  I noticed it wasn’t that cold.  The barn door swung open as I was searching on my hands and knees.  A middle-aged woman stood there, and we stared momentarily at each other. 

Weirdly, the first thing I noticed was that there was no snow outside.  Had I just pulled a Rip Van Winkle?

Well, she screamed and ran off to my right.  I tried to get her to calm down, running after her and yelling that I was not going to hurt her, but I forgot I was naked.  I ran out of the barn to find myself standing butt-naked in the middle of a farm.  There was an open stable to the left with some horses, a handful of chickens running around, and a large central farmhouse that had three young men running from it.  I tried to talk to the angry boys, but they didn’t seem to speak English and were yelling at me.  Eventually, an older man came out with a small, ancient-looking crossbow.  I knelt and immediately put my hands behind my head to appear as non-threatening as possible.  It worked, as I wasn’t shot, and eventually, the younger boys tied me up, talking rapidly with their parents.  Some words sounded somewhat familiar, but the speech was too fast for me to understand. 

After talking amongst themselves, they seemed to decide I needed to be brought to the police.  They put me in a wooden wagon, still naked, and hooked up some horses.  I then spent the next six hours bouncing around, watching fields of wheat and rye pass by.  My captors didn’t respond to any of my efforts to communicate.  Eventually, we entered a walled city that would fit any medieval setting.  I was quickly escorted into a stone building and into my current cell, and given a large, coarse burlap sack with holes for my head and arms. 

No one bothered trying to communicate with me.  But after two days, a man finally entered my cell.  He wore rich yellow robes with a pristine white shirt and black pants.  He had an impassive face as he stood over me and looked at the half-eaten bowl of potato soup.

He introduced himself by handing me a medallion.  I took the fist-sized disc cautiously.  “This device will allow us to talk openly with each other, foreigner.”  I understood him.  So, this world had some type of technology—or magic?  “I am Magistrate Advocate Persius.  Your crimes have been logged.  Do you wish your name to be associated with the writ, or should we leave it blank?”  I was still staring in awe at the amulet when what he said caught up to me.

“Crimes?” I questioned, standing with a cold foreboding running through me.  As I spoke, my words were twisted into an unfamiliar language.  He stepped back but did not seem afraid of me.  I did not look all that threatening in a sack.

He straightened. “You have been convicted of four separate charges.  Trespassing, assault, attempted rape, and theft,” he said, reading from the parchment.  “Each crime has a penalty of ten silver.”

My mouth hung, unable to work.  I was in shock at everything happening and the magic device in my hand.  I stuttered, “What?  I had no trial.”

The Magistrate sighed. “A visiting Truthseeker already confirmed the crimes by questioning Hydran and his family.  The verdict has been stamped and logged, and the court has paid the fines to Hydran.  You must now return the funds to the court.” 

“Can I talk to the truthseeker to clear my crimes?”  I asked hopefully, studying the disc.

“No, he has already returned to the city.  We only received this translation amulet on loan to explain things to you, since you seem to be a foreigner in the Empire,” he said with something that was almost pity. 

Besides trespassing, everything seemed to be concocted by the farmers for as much wealth as possible.   I wanted to be angry, but didn’t think that would benefit me at the moment.  The Magistrate sighed at my silence. “If you cannot pay, you can be ‘labored out’ by the court.  It should take two years to pay the funds back to the Empire.” 

My disbelief was evident, and I think he smirked.  He let it sink in before continuing, “Or you can join the standing army.  Foreigners are welcome, and you will pick up our tongue quickly.  You will be trained, fed, and sheltered.  The pay for a soldier is one silver and eight copper per week after you finish the seven-week training—three times the remuneration of a laborer.”

He expounded further on the benefits of the army. “You look a little flabby, but have excellent size.  Whatever your profession prior to your crimes—” he scrutinized my tall, overweight frame “—the army will teach you discipline and help you acclimate to the Empire.  After your debt is paid, you will draw a bi-monthly wage.  Enough to return to your homeland.” He smiled reassuringly.

I hesitated. It seemed he was more a recruitment director than a Magistrate, and I could guess why my trial had not included my presence.  I assumed I was not on Earth or Earth’s past or future.  My anxiety was holding silence as my mind raced.  I was alone and uncertain how they would treat someone from another world. 

“I will join the army,” I said hesitantly.  My decision was for a few reasons—first, the protection of being in an organization.  Second, I had nothing, so being fed and clothed was an incentive.  The third reason was that I had no idea how to defend myself in this new world, and I felt my best chance of living was learning how to fight. 

The Magistrate smiled like it had been a foregone conclusion.  He was nice enough to answer my questions patiently, as he thought I was from a distant kingdom—little did he know.  I was interested in the currency system to find out how deep in debt I actually was.  The monetary system followed: one hundred copper coins equal one silver coin.  One hundred silver coins equal one gold coin.  He showed me a silver coin, and it was about the size of a nickel.  A large coin was the size of a half dollar and was worth ten coins.

The Magistrate produced a large stone tablet with silvery writing on it. “You are fortunate that I was here testing some youth.  This is an assessment tablet.  Do you have them where you come from?”

“No.  What does it do?”  I asked, looking at the well-worn stone.

His appraisal of me seemed to fall at my ignorance.  He smiled tightly. “It will check your potential and ability.  The army has minimum standards, but with your size, I think this is a formality.”  I was just shy of 6’1” and somewhere between 240 and 250 pounds.  He instructed me to hold the tablet.  I held the tablet for a moment, and the Magistrate activated it with his magic—definitely magic, not technology.  It glowed, and the silvery script appeared. 

The letters looked vaguely familiar, but I could not read the words. However, the numbers were recognizable.  The Magistrate told me what each line revealed, knowing that I could not read it if I did not speak the language.

The Magistrate pointed to each line and read it to me, explaining each as he read it.

His voice was scholarly as he spoke. “This is a very old tablet and may not be precisely calibrated, but it should be close.  The first number is your current score, and the second is your potential as a human.  You are a human?”

“What?  Yes, I am a human,” I blurted out.  Were there non-humans?

He nodded in confirmation. “Now, a normal person typically has a current score between 10 and 25 with a potential between 30 and 60.  The upper limit for a human is 100.  The seven physical stats are very important for your new career as a soldier.  Strength basically details how much weight you can move with your muscles.”  He looked at my overweight frame dubiously.  Not that the Magistrate looked fit himself.

“Your power is how fast you can move the weight.  Quickness is how fast you can move and react.  Dexterity reflects the manual control of your hands.  Endurance reflects how long you can perform physical-related tasks.  Constitution is your ability to ignore the pain and recover from injury.  Lastly, coordination is your control over your entire body.”

He shifted in his stance and continued, “Now, the requirements to join the general army are to have a potential of at least 40 in strength and endurance.  So you qualify, congratulations.”  He sounded slightly mocking.  “There is also a more advanced unit, the Legion of the Lion; you have probably heard of our famed legionnaires.  They require you to have a minimum potential of 40 in all physical attributes and also 60 potential in Strength and Power.  I will warn you, only about one out of every three complete the training, as it is quite rigorous.”

“What does the rest of the tablet say?”  I asked, fascinated by the device and disregarding my plight.

He looked down at it. “Not important for your new career, but I will explain anyway—like I would to a child.  The next column is your mental traits.  Your intellect shows your intelligence, how well you can recall knowledge.  Your reasoning is your ability to understand…” he stopped before translating the numbers further.  Running his finger down the second and then the third column.  “Ah, it’s surprising that you have excellent mental attributes and potential.  Unfortunately, your magic traits are weak; otherwise, you might have been able to enroll in one of the Mage Colleges with a sponsor.  Your affinities are both extremely rare as well.”  There was a Mage College?  And I was not good enough for one.

The Magistrate thought to himself for a long moment. “Ah, sorry to get sidetracked.  Let’s see…your reasoning is your ability to utilize information.  Your perception is your awareness of the physical world.  Your insight is your ability to decipher knowledge and make leaps of understanding.”  He looked at me doubtfully. “Resilience is your ability to resist mental attacks.  Empathy is your ability to interpret other people’s disposition.  Finally, fortitude is your ability to function under mental fatigue and duress.”

He paused to stretch his back from holding the stone. “Now, the final column just represents your magic ability.”  He started talking faster to get this over with. “Your Aether Pool reflects how much magic aether your body can hold.  Channeling reflects how fast you can use aether and replenish aether.  Shaping is the ability to mold aether into a usable construct or spell form.  Your Aether Tolerance is how much aether you can channel over the course of a day, before sustaining damage to your body.  Your aether resistance is your ability to resist magic and aether backlash.  All things you need not worry about, as you will never be a mage.”

He smiled congenially. “Now, the final two lines are your affinities.  There are 21 affinities in magic.  Seven common, seven uncommon, and seven rare.  Your two affinities are rare, but the rest of your magical stats are not impressive.  If you were to attend a Mage College, you would be evaluated for all 21 magic affinities, as each ranks between 0 and 100 as well.  This simple, old tablet only lists your two highest affinities.”           

He paused and let me ask questions. “What would be my term of service in the army and Legion of Lion?”

He couldn’t hide his grin, like he had hooked a fish. “Just five years.  All your expenses will be paid by the Empire.  The Lion is an elite unit and will also take outlanders.  But do not get your hopes up; even though your potentials qualify you, remember that only one in three finish the training.  If you fail, though, the only punishment is to be relegated to the regular army.”  He added, “The Legion are the elites.  They get higher pay, better food, and are trained more thoroughly.  As a legionnaire, your pay is five silver and forty copper per week.  Five times a soldier.”

“What does the legion do that is different from the army?”  I questioned.

He gestured grandly, trying to sell me on it. “They serve as the elite troops of the kingdom, guarding mages, serving as royal guards, and acting as elite troops in battle.  The training is seven months, much longer than the seven weeks for a soldier,” he elaborated.

I considered it and decided to apply to the Legion of the Lion.  I thought seven months of training would be much better for my survivability than the seven weeks I would get as a soldier.  I said, somewhat confidently, “The Legion of the Lion.”

The Magistrate smiled and said, “Great!  I will take care of the paperwork.”  I later found out the Magistrate got bonuses of one silver for each soldier he recruited and a quarter gold for each legionnaire he recruited.  Maybe the crafty Magistrate had thought he had led me to make my decision for me, but I had my own reasons.  

For the next meal, my potato soup had meat added to it and a half loaf of buttered bread.  I felt like I was a pig being fattened for slaughter now that I knew my fate.  After two days, I was off in a wagon.  I had a sealed letter with a copy of my tablet reading.  Some city soldiers would be escorting me and others to the training camp.  Without the amulet to translate, I felt isolated, but tried to stave off the depression by focusing on survival.

It was a six-day trip, and the caravan stopped in small towns every night, adding more potential soldiers or legionnaires each time.  I couldn’t communicate, so I just observed and listened.  Some words sounded familiar if I slowed down the speech and filtered the heavy accent.  I needed to learn the language as quickly as possible, but no one wanted to take the time to help me. 

We had seven guards and four open wagons.  My guards and fellow recruits did not want to take the time to help me with my language barrier.  So, I did my best to pick up words.  When I learned water was called aqua, I realized the language was based on Latin—or maybe it was Latin.  I took three years of Spanish in high school and only remembered how to say was “my name is Eryk.” 

By the time we arrived at the camp, there were 24 recruits, including me.  The main camp was for training soldiers.  It looked like there were roughly 1000 soldiers in training here, in groups of 25 as they marched in five-by-five blocks.  I didn’t have much time to watch, as 21 recruits from my caravan got out here.  Two other larger recruits and I were brought to a smaller camp, the training camp for the Legion of the Lion, which was located at a large manor nearby. 

My two companions from the trip and I were brought inside a wooden barracks.  About three-fourths of the beds were occupied.  We took three of the open bunks.  I immediately went to sleep, mentally and physically exhausted from my ordeal so far.