The guard grappled the slave, twisting the man's arm behind his back. Delivering a nudge to the knees, the man was sent sprawling like a common thief at their feet. Four more men were sent crashing to the same spot, coughing and wheezing in the dust. They looked a sorry sight: cuts and grazes all over their bodies, fresh bruises blossoming over old ones, dried blood on the skin, and fresh blood oozing from new lacerations.

"You are hereby arrested for failure to present to army registration without adequate medical excusal," said a cold voice. He turned to his right. "What is the punishment for this?"

"Punishment for this crime is the withdrawal of food and monetary payment for the accused and his family for two months, Master, with twenty lashes apiece." Her voice was quiet.

"Precisely."

"No!" yelled one of them, getting onto all fours only to be forced back onto the ground by a knee to the back. He struggled; the guard only increased the downward force until the slave was forced to submit in the undignified position. "No! My wife is with child... please..."

"You should have considered that before daring to believe you are above the law," the Windcaster said, his steely-blue eyes looking at the pathetic men before him without mercy.

"I am begging you, sir! We are all close to starving – had I known–"

"You honestly believe I have not heard these pitiful tales a hundredfold?"

Another one of the slaves cursed and lunged at him; the Caster sidestepped the attack almost without effort and kicked him in the stomach, resulting in a sickening thud. With a gasp of pain, the man bent on the ground, coughing.

"Attempting an attack on the Windcaster?" His eyes flicked down at the figure. "That is twenty more lashes on top of your jail sentence."

"You wish us all dead anyway!" the downed slave spat in a hoarse voice. "The last Great War killed most of the slaves – we are nothing but pawns to you!"

"In that you are correct." The voice held only callous indifference. "The law is the law. Those who disobey do not deserve to live. Chaos is the result of weakness."

"Please... I am begging you..." The first slave touched his forehead to the ground, his hands trembling in front of him. "I have children at home... they are already malnourished... you are condemning them to death with this punishment."

When the Windcaster said nothing, the guards moved in to clap irons around the men. The sobbing man threw himself forward, gripping the hem of the Caster's cloak.

"Please, please, I beg you!  They are no higher than my waist and love to laugh... please do not kill them! Please!"

The last word ended in a wail as he was dragged back to the line and secured to the chains.

"And how long is the imprisonment for?"

"As long as necessary; on release they are sentenced to hard labour for life, Master."

"Exactly. Take them away." With a deep bow, the guards dragged the wheezing, snivelling, shouting slaves away. "Come!" he barked at his trainee, who started and made to follow at once.

Almost a year had passed since the first news of the pending Gwentian invasion. All that remained at Ptarmigan Fortress – a citadel nigh impenetrable – were slaves and soldiers, with some governmental bodies tucked away safely in the centre. Conscription was still on-going. The army was stationed at every possible outskirt stretching from Elder Down to Ptarmigan Fortress, the two cities sitting on the border between Dernexes and Gwent in the south and southwest respectively. Dernexes was poised for invasion, but the threatening presence of an army of hundreds of thousands appeared to have kept the barbarians at bay for the past few months.

Nevertheless, Master Marduk did not relent on his protocol of twice-daily Hearing in an attempt to gauge the enemy's plans.

He was a very strategic individual, despite his tender age – he was no more than a decade older than Tia – a very astute military man and an extraordinarily talented Windcaster. He was an expert in delegating tasks based on the abilities of those working under him – mainly the other Casters, but also the military generals who report to him – and kept everybody working hard. His efficiency was second to none; however, his hostile traits were also second to none.

Tia learned, very early on, this was a man who cared little for the welfare of the kingdom and its people. He was a stickler of rules and valued obedience and respect more than life itself. She had seen him publically execute one of the lieutenant generals, with his own hands, for fleeing during a particularly large slave rebellion. He had then proceeded to execute every one of the rebelling slaves. His underlings lived in fear and awe of him.

But she resolved to never let his intimidating ways make her cry.

Whilst the civilians of Ptarmigan Fortress were evacuated, all the slaves remained. If anything, more slaves were drafted from the other cities to stand ground and add number to the troops. With more mouths to feed and crops from Balcarry coming more often than ever, the kitchens and stables were packed and busy. It was all Tia could do to stop herself from diving for the broth and hard bread along with all the others stationed there at the end of a long exhausting day of trailing after the Windcaster and solving many of the smaller, but more frequent, duties required of her.

Tia knew it was part of her training and even more would be expected of her once she qualified as a Windcaster, but she couldn't help but be resentful of the many mundane and repetitive tasks she had to do.

"Miss Tiamat!" One of the lieutenant generals hurried over to her. She reacted slowly, still unused to the title. Pausing, she turned to Master Marduk, who gave her a tiny nod to show she was excused.

"Yes, lieutenant?"

"The head of the domesticities requires another Hearing so that he may organise household duties, weather permitting."

"Of course." She sighed, but then straightened up again in case her Master heard her. "I shall send a report shortly. Anything else?"

"The head of the kitchen also requests that you send a message to Balcarry regarding our depleting stores of barley and oats."

"Very well."

"Miss Tiamat." He bowed and strode away.

****

For a man who cared for nothing except the glories of war, discipline, and status, Master Marduk was very dedicated to giving his apprentice duties he deemed 'expected of a Caster trainee', despite the fact that most of them were banal but time-consuming. For one whose talents were so highly applauded, he spent very little time doing actual teaching; instead he preferred Tia to shadow him for many hours a day, citing that she would "learn more by observation". The rest of the time she had was distributed between duties at the fortress, excess tasks, and her own studying.

Despite the harsh, demanding environment of long days and little sleep, she was surprised to find she had adapted with relative ease; if anything, she thrived under such difficult circumstances.

After passing on the two messages requested, she returned to her Master's quarters to tidy up his resting area and to polish his boots. She sat cross-legged on the hearth in front of the fire she had made herself and hummed as she scrubbed the leather. The indignity of being given such a degrading task had long worn off, replaced by a calm mind that went over new theories and tactics she had learned.

Unbeknownst to the Windcaster, she had been poring over his tomes at night time. Master Marduk was one who was strict on keeping his standards high and his skills up-to-date; as a result, he had procured many Windcasting-related tomes, more than expected for a Censor. To Tia, discovering his bookshelf was heaven. Although she was expected to pander to the menial requirements such as polishing boots, straightening cloaks, and cleaning the domestic areas, she also had full, private access to his tomes during that time. The earlier she finished her jobs, the more time she had to study the books until the Master returned to his chambers.

It was with this motivation she was able to endure the disparaging comments and duties given to her, which had in the past resulted in the resignation of many a trainee.

It almost seems like he is discouraging me from becoming a Windcaster altogether, she mused, shifting positions as one of her legs began to numb. I would not hesitate to say I am doing the same tasks as the slaves... having said that, I would not receive the same privileges: a warm bed and three meals a day.

She wound the cloth in her hand.

But I will not let that discourage me; Master Anu did not raise me to be a quitter.

Please... my wife is with child, the slave's voice cried out in her head. The sudden memory made her flinch and she dropped the boot. His stricken face came into her mind's view, eyes staring straight at her. She felt a pang of guilt in her guts and tried to ignore it. That man was not the first to have claimed a paltry tale, although she could feel her heart breaking every time she heard one. That man was likely beaten unconscious in his cell by now and likely dead in a week.

Deep beneath Ptarmigan Fortress were several levels of dungeons, holding prisoners of war and lawbreakers. Tia accompanied him down the narrow, mossy stone steps on a daily basis, breathing in the stale, humid, cold air, feeling the chill to her bones and watching the mist in her breath dance before her. Master Marduk liked control; he liked to patrol the cells on a daily basis not only to show the prisoners his face and to induce fear, but also to ensure he knew what was going on and could account for every soul he had arrested. Those who managed to survive those desolate conditions would be turned into slaves, supplying the neverending demands of Dernexes.

Seeing the hate-filled glares on the bruised faces and the shivering, bloodied bodies slumped on the piles of dirty hay, Tia couldn't help but doubt the righteousness of the kingdom's laws and the Master's actions... and her own role as a future Windcaster of Dernexes.

When the time came for her to choose her side, she did not know which side she would ally with: the Wind or her home country.

If she sided with her country and betrayed the Wind, the enemy's blood would be on her hands.

If she sided with the Wind, her home country would be annihilated; it would be her own people's blood in her hands instead.

Whatever her choice, she would be condemned.

The heavy wooden door slammed open, startling her; the movement snuffed the two candles next to the doorway. Even in the semi-darkness of the corridor beyond, she could make out the tall, thin figure, with his squared shoulders and stiff posture.

She leapt to her feet and bowed at once.

"Master."

"Tiamat, come!" Master Marduk's usually collected, uncaring voice was urgent. Tia's heart skipped a beat.