Leon stood in the center of his new quarters, a small but significant upgrade from the squalor of the barracks. The room was sparsely furnished—a cot in one corner, a wooden table strewn with medical supplies, and shelves lined with herbs and rudimentary tools. The walls were stone, cold and unadorned, but Leon had spent his downtime scrubbing them clean, removing the grime that seemed to permeate every surface in this place.
He hadn't seen any of the other slaves since his abrupt removal from the barracks. The guards and overseers kept him busy, summoning him to tend to their ailments at all hours. Cuts, bruises, fevers—they came to him with everything, their eyes a mix of suspicion and begrudging respect. Leon treated them efficiently, his hands steady and his demeanor professional. Each interaction was an opportunity to observe, to learn more about the inner workings of the camp.
Despite his compliance, Leon knew he was under constant scrutiny. Havran, the overseer assigned to monitor him, seemed to take particular pleasure in reminding Leon of his place. Havran would linger during treatments, his gaze heavy and distrustful, as if waiting for Leon to make a misstep.
But Leon had plans of his own. The first step was to gain more autonomy, and for that, he needed assistance. He approached Havran one afternoon after finishing a particularly grueling treatment on a guard who had taken a nasty fall.
"Havran," Leon began, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "I need a servant to assist me. Someone to help maintain the cleanliness of my quarters and prepare supplies."
Havran scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think you're entitled to an assistant now? You're still a slave, don't forget that."
Leon met his gaze evenly. "If I'm to keep your men healthy, I need to ensure that this place doesn't become a breeding ground for disease. An extra set of hands would be beneficial for everyone."
The overseer sneered. "You seem to be managing well enough on your own."
"Perhaps," Leon conceded, "but imagine how much more efficient I could be with help. Or do you prefer your guards waiting longer when they're injured?"
Havran's eyes narrowed. He didn't like being challenged, but he couldn't ignore the logic. After a tense moment, he relented. "Fine. I'll assign someone to you. But don't get any ideas. They're there to work, not to keep you company."
"Understood," Leon replied calmly.
Later that day, a young woman was brought to his quarters. She was slight of build, with dark hair pulled back from her face and eyes that flickered with a mix of fear and curiosity. She wore the plain clothes of a servant, her hands folded nervously in front of her.
"This is Mara," Havran said gruffly. "She'll be your assistant. Keep her in line."
With that, Havran left, closing the door behind him. The room fell into a momentary silence.
Leon offered a reassuring smile. "I'm Leon," he said, extending a hand. "Don't worry, you're safe here."
Mara hesitated before shaking his hand lightly. "Thank you, sir," she whispered.
"Just Leon," he corrected gently. "We have work to do, and I could use your help."
He began by showing her around the small space, explaining where everything was kept. "Cleanliness is crucial," he emphasized. "We need to sanitize the area after each treatment to prevent infections."
Mara nodded attentively. "I've done some cleaning before. I'll make sure everything is kept in order."
"Good," Leon replied. He handed her a cloth and a small bucket of water mixed with the limited disinfectants he had managed to procure. "We start by wiping down all the surfaces. Pay special attention to the table and any tools I've used."
As they worked, Leon observed Mara carefully. She moved with quiet efficiency, her eyes downcast but taking in everything. He sensed a keen intelligence behind her subdued demeanor.
"How long have you been here?" he asked casually.
"A few months," she replied softly. "I was taken from my village during the last raid."
Leon nodded. "I'm sorry."
She glanced up at him briefly. "It's not your fault."
They continued in silence for a while before Mara spoke again. "Is it true what they say about you?"
Leon raised an eyebrow. "And what do they say?"
"That you're a healer," she said, a hint of hope in her voice. "That you can cure illnesses others can't."
"I have some knowledge," he admitted. "Enough to help where I can."
She hesitated before asking, "Could you help the others? The slaves?"
Leon paused, meeting her gaze. He saw the desperation there, the longing for something—someone—to believe in. "I haven't been allowed to see them," he said carefully. "But perhaps, in time."
Mara seemed to accept this, returning to her work with renewed focus. Leon made a mental note of her reaction. If he could gain her trust, perhaps she could become an ally.
Over the next few days, they settled into a routine. Leon treated the guards and overseers who came to him, always under the watchful eye of Havran or one of his lackeys. In between, he and Mara cleaned the quarters thoroughly, and he began teaching her basic principles of hygiene and care.
"This herb," he explained, holding up a small bundle, "is good for reducing fever. You boil it in water and have the patient drink it."
Mara listened intently, absorbing every word. "Where do you find these herbs?"
"Some are provided," he said, "others I recognize from the surrounding area. It's important to know what's available to us."
She nodded. "I used to help my grandmother with remedies back home. She taught me a little."
"Then you're already ahead," Leon remarked. "We'll make a healer of you yet."
A faint smile touched her lips. It was the first time he'd seen her smile, and it stirred something unexpected within him—a reminder of the humanity that still existed, even in a place like this.
As days turned into a week, Leon began to test the boundaries of his new position. He subtly inquired about the slaves' conditions, expressing concern over potential outbreaks that could affect the entire camp.
"If illness spreads among them," he told Havran during one of their encounters, "it could easily reach your men. It would be wise to allow me to assess their health."
Havran was dismissive. "They're slaves. If they die, we get more."
"True," Leon acknowledged, "but sick slaves work slower. Productivity decreases, and that reflects poorly on the camp's management."
The overseer bristled at the implied criticism. "Are you saying I'm not doing my job?"
"Not at all," Leon said smoothly. "I'm simply offering my services to ensure everything runs as efficiently as possible. The lord expects results, doesn't he?"
Havran glared at him but seemed to consider the point. "I'll think about it," he grumbled before stalking off.
Progress was slow, but Leon was patient. Each day, he gathered more information, observed more closely, and built a rapport with those around him. Mara became a trusted confidante, and through her, he learned more about the camp's inner workings.
One evening, as they were organizing supplies, Mara spoke in a hushed tone. "There are rumors among the servants," she said. "They say the slaves believe in a ghost—a protector named Vek."
Leon glanced at her. "I've heard the whispers."
"Some say you're connected to him," she continued cautiously. "That you're the one causing the accidents."
He met her gaze steadily. "And what do you think?"
She hesitated. "I think you're someone who can make a difference."
Leon considered her words. "If I were," he said carefully, "would you help me?"
Mara looked at him, a mixture of fear and determination in her eyes. "Yes."
A silent understanding passed between them. Leon knew he had to be cautious, but having an ally within the servants could prove invaluable.
"Then we must be careful," he warned. "The walls have ears, and trust is a rare commodity here."
She nodded. "I understand."
As they continued their work, Leon felt a renewed sense of purpose. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but he was not alone. With Mara's help, he could begin to extend his influence, reach out to the slaves, and perhaps reignite the spark of rebellion that had dimmed in his absence.
That night, as he lay on his cot staring at the ceiling, Leon allowed himself a moment of reflection. The lord believed he had gained a valuable asset, but in truth, Leon was positioning himself to dismantle the very foundation of the camp's oppressive regime.
The game was advancing, and every move counted. He would continue to play his part, all the while setting the stage for what was to come.
"Patience," he whispered into the darkness. "Soon."