ODE TO THE END: A BALLAD OF BROTHERS

CHAPTER 1

"I-I understand, Sire. But it's Eric. Not Derrick," he mumbled.

"What," said The Sire.

"Nothing, Sire," said the assistant. "I...I was just going to begin counting the attendees that passed our vetting process. We will begin preparations to leave afterwards."

"Ah! Very good, Derrick," said the Sire.

Achim watched from afar as the assistant scanned the yard for the people on his list. Once found, he nodded, flipped the page, and began again. The assistant was meek but meticulous, and Achim watched as he made a notes while The Sire simply loomed over the crowd like a child at a zoo. The large man then saw Achim and spat out his drink.

"What the –Derrick! What did I say about employing children," said The Sire.

"What?! What child, Sire," said the assistant.

"Over there, Derrick! That sheep-headed kid in the corner," said The Sire.

"Sheep-headed? Oh, I see him now," said the assistant.

"Tsk tsk. The merchants in The Wilds may not care whether or not I employ children, but those in the city-states constantly heckle me about their pesky regulations. Why do you think I chose to live outside the city walls, Derrick?"

"I'm sorry, Sire," said the assistant.

"Well, I suppose it is not an absolute failure. He does not look to be from York, at least not the interior. I can probably slip a ruin wandering urchin boy between the cracks if I work my magic. Easier still if he truly hails from The Wilds since those in the interior do their best to ignore the goings on outside of the wall. Now if he had been a fair maiden from the city interior then we would have a problem. As things stand, No real harm done, but best be careful next time, Derrick."

"Yes, Sire. Sorry, Sire," said the assistant. "I am curious though."

"Oh? What about?"

"His presence," said the assistant. "We're going to be traveling across The Wilds for your business meetings, and that can be a dangerous journey for anyone, to say nothing of a prominent and affluent figure such as yourself."

"Tell me something I don't know," said the grinning lord. "But about the boy. Even if he fancies himself a menacing mercenary, he should not have passed my tests. They were meant to filter only the finest specimens."

"F-forgive me, Sire, but that is what I was thinking. I'm still looking for his file. It should be in here or the servants would not have let him in." The assistant quickly flipped through the pages. "...There it is."

"Let me see that," said The Sire. He snatched the document and viewed Achim's file. The Sire's eyes went wide, but then he smiled. "If these results are to be believed, Derrick, that boy is a rare beast that I will make mine before we leave."

After perusing the page of the mysterious youth, The Sire employed a rather rudimentary scheme. He would single out Achim and reel him in with the promise of riches. It was not a complicated plan, and perhaps it did not have to be when one was drowning in their own wealth. The Sire had enough money to stake most claims with a word. The assistant urged a more patient approach to winning Achim's service,  but who he was - a servant - next to a sire. Unbeknownst to both of them, Achim heard their plans from afar as if  he was standing in front of them. What was stated was what Achim wanted.

A servant girl was sent to summon Achim to the royal rise. A summons that he answered. The request had been as reasonably discrete as it could've been, but, as Achim walked across the garden, he witnessed the envious eyes of his cohorts. To avoid a confrontation, he hurried up the stairs where he found The Sire sitting on a garden throne with his assistant at his side and a line of girlish servants at their back. Once Achim took his place before the large lord, the servant girl that fetched him rushed toward the line-up. The Sire nodded with pleasure before beckoning Achim closer.