Osmond was now in a wooden bed. Its drapes, pillow and mattress were dull white as if they were washed a hundred times over.
To his right, the window was open. Cold air flowed fluttering the curtains to an eery sound. Across the room, a table stood. An oil lamp was burning atop the table. Its smoky smell covered the whole room. A plate of porridge was there near the lamp. The lack of steam and smell indicated that it had been there for quite some time.
Near the table, sat a man in a wooden chair. Osmond recognised the man but not his attire. When he last saw him he was on armour shoulder to toe. Now he was in a white shirt and wore brown pants, both shabby. A cheap woollen overcoat hung on the chair's rail.
"Awake boy?" Connor boomed.
Osmond looked at Connor. He didn't.... Couldn't say anything.
"Swallowed your tongue in the sleep boy?" Anger emanated from Connor's every enunciation.
Osmond knew he had to say something. Words caught up to his throat and didn't come out.
Connor was angry now. He rose up from the seat with a thump.
"I lost all my troops. I failed in the mission ordered to me and above all, I lost my brother. And worst of it is he forced me to take you safety. I carried your sleeping butt for a whole day. I have no more time to play with you boy, SPEAK," Connor roared.
Osmond felt his eyes flinch. "Was that a nightmare?" Osmond couldn't control himself anymore. Tears rolled out of his eyes. Snot dangled from his nose.
"No," Osmond felt a pinch of kindness in Connor's word.
"I should have died. You should have left me there. Why am I the only one Alive?" he banged on the bottom.
Connor walked to the rails of the bed. "Because your father asked me to. He told me to keep you safe before he went for his last stand."
Osmond didn't know what last stand meant. He hated his mother for dying. He hated his father for leaving. More than that he hated himself for surviving.
But Osmond knew. It was not his mother nor father nor himself that he should hate.
It was them.
'Them' who came to their lands. ' Them' who did all those vile things. 'Them' who burned their houses. 'Them' who gleed without any care.
The destitute. The monsters. The orcs. The goblins. The ogres.
And the one who leads them.
Rage rose inside him. His blood boiled. His sweat and piss turned to steam.
"BOY," Connor roared.
Osmond snapped back. His heart was still racing.
"Do not let anger consume you," Connor's voice was stern.
"But the things that they did..." Osmond countered.
"I didn't say do not get angry. I said do not let anger consume you. Anger clouds your judgement. It tightens your heart and moves your eyes from what is in front. But anger is a great weapon if you can control it. Boil it down. Bottle it inside. Use it only when it is needed. That is how us Centurians fight,"
Osmond didn't know what or whom the Centurians were.
"Besides, what can a seven year old boy do? As you are now you will just be flesh between their teeth."
"But if you choose to continue this journey, if you choose to follow the path of the Centurians, I can give you power. Not the power to save the world. But to heap corpses of monsters to a mountain."
Osmond didn't know what path of the Centurian meant. But he knew the meaning of another word.
POWER.
The power to slaughter them. He needed that. He wanted that.
"Will I be able to avenge my parents?" Osmond asked.
"That I cannot promise," Connor replied coolly.
"What can you promise?" he frowned.
" I can promise what I said. Nothing more. Nothing less," Connor's voice didn't have any emotion.
Osmond looked down. His body was static. He was thinking. He wiped his tears and snot on the drapes and moved them away. His eyes resolved. He got off the bed, went toward Connor and met with his eyes.
"How long will it take?" he asked.
"Five years at the least," Connor looked down.
" Five years! That is too long... By that time the whole world will be gone. Give me the power now," Osmond shouted.
Connor glared back at him. His eyes narrow.
" Follow me," he said.
They exited the door and Osmond now saw that they were staying in a first floor room in an inn. Down the rails, Osmond saw the dining hall filled with people. But they were not jolly. He saw a baby suckling on the teet of a weeping mother. He saw food untouched in front of the children. He saw men; some missing an eye, some an ear and some a limb. Their anger, rage, regret, and despair mixed and formed a cloud that covered the whole hall.
"Did you think you were special boy?" Connor's voice was of contempt.
Osmond didn't say anything.
"That day Everville was not the only village that burned and your parents were not the only ones that died. You are nothing special boy."
He knew he was not special yet he felt the need to do something.
Connor looked at him. His eyes were condescending.
"As you are now you are not even worth as food for them," he scoffed.
"I have trained with father since I was five," Osmond rebutted.
"Swinging a wooden sword for two years doesn't count as fighting." His voice dripped with venom.
"You are nothing. Men will come and they will die and they will way wars against them. The world will move on with or without you. The only thing that you can do is train yourself and one day hope to have what I promised."
"But first, clean yourself boy," Connor's voice brimmed with disgust.
The toilet was just a hole in the ground, a wooden bucket full of water that was cloudy and a wooden mug on its side.
Back in the manor, his mother and Maria helped with all these. But from now on he had to do everything by himself. He was now truly alone.
He wrung out his clothes and put them back on as he didn't have any thing else. In the room, Osmond found Connor near a hearth.
"Come here, boy," Connor called him out.
Osmond was freezing and he took the offer gladly.
"Here," Connor handed him a child sized coat.
Osmond was confused. Was this man kind after all ?
"I am only giving it to you so that you will not freeze to death. We leave when the first light hits," Connor held out his hand to the fire.
The sun came earlier than Osmond wanted and with it, they took what little they had and left.