Recruitment

Eyes full of fear and hate stared at the group. At both sides of the street men and women lined up, watching the strangers. Their ragged, dirty appearance stood in stark contrast to the discipline of the Roman soldiers.

Vincent was at the front, next to the centurio. His now fresh clothes and washed appearance made him feel like they lived in different worlds.

The lord came and greeted them, his attire resembled that of Vincent's father, a man of the military. He was a minor landowner appointed by his liege.

The dark eyes of the lord regarded them with weariness and a slither of hate. 'He and my father, they served in the same war.'

"Lets not talk out here, come inside."Despite his displeasure, his voice was neutral and his face stoic.

"Traitor" Someone muttered in the crowd, quiet enough not to get noticed and loud enough everyone heard it. Svend followed him without saying a thing.

Inside the lord offered drinks and food. No one ate anything, distrust ran deep.

"Have you brought the tributes?" The lord nodded solemn. On his gesture three young men walked in the room. Their faces stern and emotionless, they knew what their future looked like.

On second view Vincent noticed the chains they were in. Prisoners, maybe even slaves.

He leaned in to Plinus his eyebrows raised. "Are we reciting them for our wars?" His voice was low, he did not wish to be the reason for a fight.

"No." Plinus shook his head slightly and replied equally quiet in Latin. "They are there prisoners that will fight in the arena. The nordsmen get a way to make money with their convicted and we get entertainment. It is a good contract for both sides."

Vincent remained quiet.

"I will take a piss." He excused himself and walked away from the banquet outside the large wooden house, it reminded him of his own home. A young servant barley twelve years old showed him the way.

His arms and legs were thin as twigs, and his cheeks were sunken in.

When they arrived in a quiet unseen spot his expression warped.

"You are a traitor. People like you killed my father." His bony hands wrapped around Vincent's throat, grasping it tight.

He knew he was going to survive, yet it took not away the pain and fear of getting chocked.

"You should all die Roman scum. Vanish from our lands."

Tears streamed down his face.

Vincent grasped for air, his young body barley had the strength to fish out one of the silver coins. Sadly he left his knife in the camp.

Everything worked against him, jet on the doorstep between consciousness and sleep he reached out his magic.

It was almost empty, jet he drew more and more fuled by his fear and desperation.

He had learned from his mistakes and changed his method a week ago, instead of ramming against a wall he let it permeate the metal. Establishing his control over it.

Only a few moments passed.

"Do you know how it is to live without parents?" The boy sobbed, justifying his actions.

Then the coin shot forth boring in his eye. He screamed and let go, clutching his bleeding empty socket.

Vincent heaved for air, his lung taking deep hurried breaths.

His heels dug in the soil and he ran, sprinted towards the door and the chatter. The world spun befor him, his thoughts in dissaray. The boy caught up.

"Damn you, I know full well how it is to watch your family die before you." Vincent showed him the middle finger and screamed.

A solider came running out. His metal plate gleaming in the sun, his foot inside the stomach of the mad child.

"I knew we should not have let you alone with these wild ones." The familliar voice spoke in Latin.

He had heard the commotion and chose to look outside.

"I understand, I too would hate the man that killed my father. Only that I am not that man to him, he has no right to hate me." Vincent lost his consciousness, falling asleep.

"Next time you should stick to the group." Plinus leaned in on him. "Who knew, you really have it in you. The boy is crippled for life."