He was called different names: Scoundrel, Scavenger, Scum, Sucker, Shit, and many other words beginning with 'S'—offensive and not very bad. Most often, he was called Slae—the Sly.
It's good for someone like him. Few people knew his name, and why did they need it? The ancients used to say that knowing your true name gives you control. So, here's to you! To let them know whose son you are, what is your name, your mother used to whisper as she cradled you? They did not deserve it. At the very least, this liberty should be respected. Yes, and they know less and sleep better!
Anyway, Slae is someone who sticks his nose in other people's businesses, gets in where he should not have, steals something valuable, makes a profit, cheats, cheats, and cheats the dupes, and always gets away with it. That's what he did.
Slae crouched behind the trees in the thicket of the forest, peering down a small road that wound through green fields. His gray eyes were fixed on the gloom, like a cloudy sky. Evening came, and with it, the leaden sky began to rain down on the lands of Elfinate. He pulled a hood over his short, dark hair, which stuck out in all directions.
Maybe it's the work of the weather towers, or maybe it's just a coincidence. The owners can not control everything in the world. He did not know for sure, because no one paid him for the calidites and shidites cloud-making schedules. It would be a different matter if someone wanted to have such information. Then you can get confused.
But the rain was welcome, hiding him, the sound of his footsteps, and the rustle of his clothes. Slae was already thinking of creating a fog. It could increase stealth, but it was not necessary.
He was not very good in Shidia, and he probably would not have been able to sink ships, but he was good at some things, including fog. This has helped him many times. He was almost invisible. His clothes were soaking wet. Slae just looked like the wet bark of a tree.
He waited. He managed to find out—along this path, the elves will carry valuable cargo. And now we need to find out a little more about it. This information was worth a pittance, so it could well be unreliable and inaccurate. Maybe he's just wasting his time.
But he does not think the informant would have made a fool of him. And if this is so, and nothing happens in the next hour, then soon he will move to a town near Highhome, find a place to sleep, warm, and finally eat and drink. Then, of course, you'll have to deal with that liar in your way. But these are small things.
And if everything is correct, then you need to find out how valuable this cargo is, where it is delivered, who accompanies it, and why. All this can already be sold at a higher price, and not even to one buyer, but to several at once. Who managed that and ate it?
The money was running out… And he needs to get out of here. In the end, you need to earn more. And lately, offers have not been pouring in like a cornucopia.
His task is simple—to do the job that the other owner did not want to take on, risking his reputation, family and friends, position, and who knows what else. Slae does not have all that.
If they paid well for something, then he did not ask too many questions. If they paid so-so, then you can cheat, fill in your price, and play out the drama.
In any case, blackmail, espionage, theft, and theft again, even the abduction of various persons—the work of his dirty hands and the same, asleep, and not completely dead, as he told himself, conscience. He did not disdain anything. It just so happened.
Although the owner is a Slae, he never studied at Highhome. His family was poor and had many children, like all the families of ordinary people. He was born in Gladia, in the islands. It often appeared to him as if it was not native at all. Their father was very cruel and strict, kept the whole family in a tight grip, frequently even flogged his children on business and without. Their mother died long ago, maybe from illness, or maybe from a beating. He vaguely remembered her face: pale, with delicate features like his own.
When Slae, the middle son, or rather one of their middle sons, became owned, his father would not let him go to school and beat him up. He also forbade them to show 'his damned wonders' and put them to work in the shipyards where their entire family worked, from young to old, so much so that all the members of their bodies fell off.
That should knock the boy out of his wits about elves and travel and their witchcraft. But the little shidite never gave up the dream of leaving this damned shipyard, his fiendish father, and cold Gladia. At first, he waited for the elves from the school to come and pick him up. But that did not happen. No one will help you. The impact of my father's boot left a permanent impression on my memory and body. No one cares about him. No one will even notice if he's gone.
He endured beatings and all the hardships, saving up money and dreaming about a journey to get to the top of Highhome. Become what you should be the owner of. Get out in the world, do good, never drink or beat your loved ones. Instead of being just 'another hungry mouth.'
Then one morning, the boy was gone. Did he drown in the sea, freeze from cold and hunger in one of the alleys, or was he stolen by the zunars? What's the difference? They'll get over it…
"I've been through it," he thought.
The nasty wet weather brought back the same memories of home. Slae never showed up there again, even if there were cases in his line of work. He refused. He knew about his family—little had changed in their lives.
"My father has not died yet."
He would like to be just as strong in his old age if only he could live to see it. For all of this, he did not want to go back there, nor did he want to see his relatives.
He never made it to Highhome, being stuck in Yscila, the capital of Meriel. Furthermore, he had wandered a long way from Gladia, but it was still as close to the school as it was to the Other Side.
The world works like this. Dreams are washed away by a wave hitting the shore with force, and when it recedes, there's still something left. From the ruins of the past, something new has emerged. You do not have to go to school to be the owner. So fate itself became Slae's teacher.
The narrow alleys of Yscila had taught him many things, both good and bad. In addition to playing thimbles, pickpocketing, and survival, he learned to count, read, and write. The certificate was one of the things that helped him get the necessary information.
Much later, while fulfilling regular orders, he met the old shidite woman, who taught him a lot. It's not exactly an academic education, but it's better than nothing at all. Most of all, he wanted to learn how to control the fluids in their bodies. Blood, lymph, juice in the intestines, urine. All nations are the same. They were all drinking, sweating, and urinating. If only they could be forced to choke on their own juices. He would have given a lot for that. But it did not work that easily.
Shidites could not control the fluids of another's body, except perhaps their own. If you need to throw up after drinking to get up in the morning to take up a suddenly turned-up hack, then you can resort to such a dubious use of Shidia. And to control the fluid in someone else's body, someone needed to be drinking the water you created. Slae managed to learn these tricks, even using his skills a couple of times.
And there were others like that in his circles, who worked so expertly without any owner. But Shidia is part of his nature, of his birth and childhood, of his dreams of the Owners' School and his voyages, of his aspirations—cold and hazy. And she had saved Slae's life more than once. Therefore, all this work is not in vain! Although he is not a full-fledged owner, who cares? He was not good at anything at all.
Shadow from the shadow, drunken foam in a mug, puddle on the road, drizzle in the absence of thunderclouds. But any pebble can dig barefoot, any splinter can sink deep into the flesh, and any insignificant person can ruin the king's life. You just need to know how and when. And he would not be himself if he did not know.
Sometimes, when he was in the country near Highhome, he stared at the rock where the towers of the school grew like mushrooms on a stump. Had he been there in his early years, perhaps his fate would have been different. Maybe then it would be raining in the weather tower right now, and would his boots have been soaked almost through? Or would he calm the storm by letting the ships pass the reefs? Or would you save a drought-stricken southern village?
"I would have been a hero!"
Slae stayed a little longer in Miritil than he had expected, but he still needed to move east, where the heat was higher. The elves were too regular and boring, and there were far more owners among them, so his services were in more demand where there were more humms like him. They quickly made enemies, having long been mired in debauchery and fornication, and wove intrigues and conspiracies. Boost your earning potential! Go ahead and take it!
Here, nothing much happens, although the elves are much richer. But he was not going to sit back and hope that the gold would fall on him by itself. If there is no catch, you need to drape.
Finally, Slae's expectations were met. He even cheered up. At the point where he kept glancing, horsemen appeared. It is still difficult to make out who is who. All of them are wrapped in black cloaks.
Soon, foot figures also appeared, surrounding the cart on which the same cargo was piled. They walked quite slowly, though rhythmically.
"What is it? A cargo is big enough!" Slae thought, wondering what might have been there. They were not moving along the main road. Clearly! The owners wanted to keep a low profile and not draw attention to themselves.
They were not even stopped by the approaching night or the rain. It would be worth waiting out such bad weather and moving in the morning when it is lighter and safer. Most likely, they foresaw the threat of an attack. And they have something to answer. There were many escorts, more than a dozen of them, all armed. How many owners are there? A lone Slae would not want to find out. It's true!
They were in a hurry to get rid of their cargo as soon as possible. Or they have specific deadlines. So it's important. And this is worth something. For example, a couple of dozen elye on top.
He continued to watch. The procession came close enough that he could see them even though there was a gray drizzle.
Two humm men led the way. One was a young zunar, and the other was older, from the middle or northern part of the mainland, just like Slae. The others were all the elvins, so identical and almost uniform. This black uniform is… Is that Conxurat?
Slae took another look at the man who had loudly and rudely ordered the elvins to move faster. Without a single doubt, the same goes for Gregor Grott himself. What, in the name of redrin grandma, Grott doing here?
Slae was glad he had not used Shidia. He could have felt it. Suspect! Grott is dangerous to owners like Slae, who have broken the laws and irritated the venerable elven nobles with their good works. If he gets caught, a lot of interesting things will pop up from his rich biography! He was going to get a lot of money hanging on him, and for all his actions, he deserved to be stripped of his property right out of court on this forest road. And this is the very least.
Even if Slae was proud, pier, he had nothing to lose. He had some treasure. He did not want to lose ownership. Of course, this is his most valuable treasure, in addition to his own life.
He ducked and followed quietly, hidden by the rain and the tree trunks.
The steel of Slae's gaze returned to the crate, which was now level with him. It was wrapped in chains, and they fastened it to the base of a cart drawn by six heavy trucks, which slowly pulled it, swaying their wet manes.
It must be heavy enough. Likewise, it's also solid, like it was cut out of a single piece of something.
There were no hinges, no locks, no bolts or bolts. He'd never seen anything like it before. Then how do I open it? A special key, the owner's blood, ownership? Ferrax could handle something like that. But is it made of metal?
As a result, it is also more expensive. It is more costly. More! He'd already figured out who might be interested.
Slae also spotted holes all over its surface. They are designed for air penetration. It's because someone inside can breathe. Did this mean that this was an unusual dungeon? A prison. A cage. Call it whatever you want.
Is there anyone inside? And if not, who will be there? Is it the owner here? Perilous enough to necessitate such safeguards? If you consider having an old man, Grott. This escuride was carried by all of Elfinate's rambunctious owners. The rest of the owners could have been dealt with without ceremony, rather than riding in his pony trailer. But why would you take the escuride anywhere?
Where are they going anyway? Close to Highhome! It is unlikely that they will carry this box to Yscila, the borders of the north or east. There are other shortcuts for this purpose. Unless Grott wanted to exchange prisoners… But this is unlikely. What's the point? Moreover, the news about the capture of someone was so important, the sources of Slae did not report.
Then we can assume that there's someone at school who wants to lock up in this box. One of the students turned out to be an escuride. Or maybe there's a whole outbreak of this filth?
He did not have to make any more guesses. One of the wheels hit a rock, and the cage swayed with the rattle of chains. Slae's eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth opened involuntarily. An animal growl came from the crate.
There's a monster trapped inside.