Spencer sat in a tree with his two friends, Zeth and Brand, eating a tart red apple and basking in the cool autumn breeze. The three youths had finished their work in the fields and the head farmer, Rindor, had given them the rest of the day off. The three had immediately run to the farm kitchen and coaxed the cooks into giving them some food. With a flick of his wrist, Spencer threw his small apple core into the stream which gurgled beneath his dangling feet.
“Have you heard about what’s been happening in town?” Zeth asked once he had also finished his apple.
Brand shrugged his big shoulders. “Nothing usually happens in Rivion, so I don’t bother asking.”
Zeth rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’re too thickskulled to care. Anyway, they’ve spotted some Aja’bin merchants coming through.”
Both Brand’s and Spencer’s eyes widened. “The slavers?” they asked in unison.
Zeth nodded. “At least twenty of them, they have clerics with them too; demon raisers.”
Brand and Spencer ran their first two fingers down their cheeks from their eyes to their chin, a sign that was believed to ward off magic and sorcery. Zeth made the sign also before continuing.
“They haven’t caused any trouble…at least, not yet,” Zeth said ominously. The young man had always had a taste for the theatrical and was a notorious little thief, but Spencer liked him all the same.
“I don’t see how they can sell people like…like dogs,” Spencer said with a shiver.
“It makes them money,” Zeth replied dryly. “A most inhuman way to make it if you ask me,” he added as he fingered his pointy rat-like nose.
“Anyone up to getting some more food?” Brand asked after his stomach growled loudly.
Zeth and Spencer looked at their large friend and laughed heartily. Brand seemed confused and looked at them questioningly.
“I’m hungry is all,” Brand aid with a helpless shrug.
“You are always hungry,” Zeth said as he began to climb lithely down the tree. “Well, look alive, if you want food you’re coming to get it.”
They made their way across the field to the houses that Rindor provided for his workers, then cut across the paved courtyard to the large kitchen. The head cook, Rindor’s wife Gertrude, turned when she heard the boys enter. Her grey hair was messily pulled back, but her soft brown eyes twinkled and her round, rosy face bore a smile as always. “I suppose you’re looking for some more food?” she asked in her lilting accent.
“That is what we intended to ask for,” Zeth admitted with a smile.
“Couldn’t you have stolen it more easily?” Gertrude asked, one of her silver eyebrows rising.
Zeth put on a mock hurt expression and placed a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt that you should think of me so!”
The kindly old woman laughed and pinched Zeth’s cheek affectionately. “You are lucky I love you too much to scold you.”
“I knew you’d see it that way,” Zeth said.
Gertrude bustled around the kitchen and came back with a basket full of fruits, cheese and bread. “This should get you through ‘till supper,’ she said as she handed the basket to Zeth, who then passed it to Brand. The three boys thanked her and left the kitchen. They stopped in the middle of the courtyard and contemplated if they should go to their quarters and eat, or go elsewhere.
“Maybe we could share some of the food with Wren,” Spencer suggested. “He’s been looking rather thin lately.”
“That fool wouldn’t be so thin if he’d simply eat,” Zeth said pointedly. “He’s just picky.”
“Even if he is, we still have more food than we need,” Spencer countered.
Zeth gave in with a shrug and headed off toward the smithy. From inside they could hear the sound of metal ringing on metal and the hiss of hot steel being dipped in water. They entered the smithy to find Wren working on a horseshoe. The man’s muscles rippled with every blow of his hammer and sweat poured down his forehead and neck. He saw the boys enter, but did not slow in his hammering. Zeth walked over and tapped the smith on his shoulder.
Wren stopped in midblow and his dark eyes flashed. “What is it, boy?”
Zeth pointed to the food basket and Wren’s serious face brightened a bit. “We thought we’d share it with you.”
“Thank you,” Wren said in an oddly grateful voice. He plucked a few grapes from the basket and ate them. Spencer watched the smith closely as he began to eat a piece of bread. The mysterious man had worked there ever since Spencer could remember, which was a long time, seeing as Spencer had lived in Rivion his whole life. Wren tended to be dark and only spoke when he had to, and on rare occasions he would crack a joke, but Spencer had rarely seen the smith truly happy. When Wren had eaten his fill, he sat down on a wooden stool opposite the boys and took a drink from his ale flask.
“You’ve traveled a lot, haven’t you, Wren?” Spencer asked, eyeing the three holes in Wren’s ear and the faded remnant of a removed tattoo.
“I have,” Wren replied in his deep, scratchy voice.
“What are Aja’bin like?” Spencer asked, his curiosity roused.
Wren’s face darkened. “You’ve heard about the ones in town,” he said as more of a comment than a question.
Spencer nodded. “That’s why I want to know more about them.”
Wren’s dark eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell you then. Aja’bin originate from Drethnia, a swampy, miserable place. They are very good assassins; they usually use poison or knives to carry out their dirty work. As you know, most of them are slavers, and if they’re not a slaver, they buy slaves from the slavers. Their religion is a twisted version of our own; or, inverted might be a better word. They worship the king of hell, who they call god. To please their god, they feed half of their slaves to summoned demons.”
Spencer and Brand gasped, but Zeth only nodded his head slowly. “So it’s true then,” the little thief murmured.
“You knew about that?” Wren asked Zeth.
The thief nodded again and he ran his fingers through his black hair. “I get around a bit and I have ways of gathering information.”
Wren looked curiously at Zeth for a moment, then continued his story. “I met an Aja’bin when I was a sailor with a ship owned by the Cthran Yon Trading Company. We had to stop and resupply our boat in Drethnia and we almost got captured by some slavers.” As he spoke, Spencer noticed that Wren had begun to finger the part of his ear where the small holes were. Wren saw that Spencer had noticed and he abruptly took his hand away from his ear. “I have work to do now,” Wren said stiffly and the boys knew that it was his way of saying ‘leave.’ Zeth led them out of the smithy and he waited until he heard Wren start to hammer again before he spoke.
“I think there’s more to the smith than we thought,” Zeth said with a glint in his eyes. “I think I’ll do a bit of information gathering.”
“You mean snooping,” Spencer said blandly.
“Snooping is such an ugly word,” Zeth objected. “You and Brand run along, I’ll be back for supper.” With that, the black haired youth scurried away.
Spencer turned to their six foot tall friend and crossed his arms over his chest. “So, what do you want to do while Zeth is gathering information?”
The giant bit his lip in thought and looked down at his big feet. While he was thinking, Cyla, Rindor’s daughter, walked out of her family’s house and Spencer swore that Brand’s eyes popped open like the full moon on a dark night. A stupid smile spread across Brand’s face and Spencer rolled his eyes. Cyla walked over and stopped beside Spencer.
“I thought you boys were supposed to be working,” she said critically.
“Your father let us go early,” Spencer explained to the auburn haired girl.
“Oh.” With that, she strutted away. Brand watched her go with the same stupid smile on his face and Spencer walked away with a shake of his head. He went to his quarters which he shared with Zeth, both of them being parentless. As far as Spencer knew, he had never even seen his parents, while Zeth had known his. Zeth’s father had been a merchant sailor and one fatal day, he took his wife along with him on a trip and their ship sunk in a storm, leaving Zeth to be raised by Rindor and Gertrude. Spencer, however, had been told by Gertrude that he had never had a father…at least, not one worth mentioning. His mother had come to the gates of Rindor’s farm carrying a baby – Spencer – and had begged the farmer and his wife to take the child under their wing. Gertrude, of course, accepted. So, Rindor and Gertrude had been parents to both Zeth and Spencer.
Spencer sat down on his bed and looked into the mirror in front of him. In one week, it would be his sixteenth birthday and he could see the changes already. His shaggy brown hair covered the side of his face, but he could see the beginning of sideburns and his shoulders had also grown broader. Because of that, Gertrude had been forced to sow new shirts for him. Spencer was also getting quite tall, although Brand still beat him in that department. Spencer looked up when the door burst open and Zeth ran in. The little thief nearly tumbled over Spencer as he dove over the bed and slid under his own bed.
“What are you doing?” Spencer asked quizzically.
“Shh!”
Through the open door walked Cyla, her green eyes flashing with anger and her fists clenched tightly. “Where is he?” she demanded.
“Uh…who?” Spencer stuttered.
“That little weasel, Zeth!” Cyla growled.
“He’s not here,” Spencer replied, obviously lying.
Cyla snarled and walked past Spencer’s bed and stopped by Zeth’s. The young woman crouched down on her hands and knees and a devilish grin crossed her face. “Hello, Zeth.”
Zeth sighed and crawled out from under the bed, wiping dust off his gray vest and pants as he stood. “I don’t see why you’re so worked up, Cyla.”
“Well, you just happened to walk down the hall and just happened to walk by my open door while I was in my corset and bloomers!” Cyla said tartly.
“I was on my way somewhere, Cyla. If anything, it’s your fault because you didn’t close your door,” Zeth said with a shrug.
“You were in my house! I shouldn’t have to close my door!” Cyla yelled.
“Maybe you should tell me what your plans are next time,” Zeth said carelessly as he examined his nails.
“You…you…rat!” Cyla cried as she ran out of the room.
Zeth and Spencer doubled over with laughter when they were sure she was out of earshot, and only stopped when they saw Brand stalking towards their quarters from across the courtyard. Zeth leapt up, slammed the door shut and bolted it. Both of them knew that Brand would come to Cyla’s defense, and they did not want to have to deal with the angry giant. Brand pounded on the door and kicked at it, but Spencer and Zeth made no move to open it.
“I know what you did, Zeth! Cyla told me,” Brand said in a voice thick with emotion.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Zeth asked with a grin, enjoying the chance to tease the much larger boy.
“I’m going to break this door down and then we’ll see what happens,” Brand said stonily.
“Don’t be stupid, Brand,” Zeth said, rolling his eyes.
“Hey! Don’t call me stupid!” Brand cried in an offended tone.
“Oh, I think I struck a nerve.”
Silence.
“Brand? You still there?” Zeth asked.
Silence, then a sniff.
Zeth looked over his shoulder at Spencer and both of them couldn’t help but grin. Zeth opened the door just in time to see Brand shuffling off towards his quarters with his head hung low. Zeth ran quickly on his small feet and caught up with Brand. Spencer looked on curiously as Zeth stopped the giant and began talking to him. At first, Brand didn’t respond, then suddenly he smiled and nodded. Zeth patted him on the back and walked back to where Spencer stood in the doorway.
“I said I’d go into town with him tomorrow and buy him some fishing gear,” Zeth explained. “Why he loves fishing, I don’t know. But I know it makes him happy.”
Spencer smiled and shook his head. How boring would his life be without Zeth and Brand to entertain him?

The next day brought them rain and hard work. Spencer and Zeth were assigned to the barn and Brand was sent to help Wren in the smithy. While Spencer and Zeth cleaned tack, their conversation turned to the Aja’bin. Both were curious – Zeth especially – to find out what the slavers were doing in Rivion. Cleaning the horses’ tack was also the most boring job, so they had nothing else to do but come up with ideas as to why the Aja’bin were there. Once they had polished the tack and hung the separate pieces on their respective pegs, the two boys got out their shovels and began to clean the numerous stalls. The first couple times Spencer had been on barn duty, he could barely stand the smell, but now, he didn’t even notice it, even though it was strong. In a few hours, they had filled large buckets with manure and with some difficulty, they hoisted them off the ground and carried them into a shed where they were kept for future use in the fields. Zeth and Spencer returned to the barn and sat down for a break.
“Do you ever get tired of working on the farm?” Zeth asked as he washed the manure from his hands.
“Not really. Why?” Spencer replied, sitting down at a table in the corner of the tack room.
“I mean, don’t you ever wonder what the rest of the world is like? Don’t you want to go to all the other cities and provinces instead of cleaning up manure for the rest of your life?”
“Or picking pockets for the rest of your life,” Spencer added dryly with a grin.
“That’s not the point, Spencer,” Zeth said with an amount of emotion in his voice that surprised his younger friend. “There’s a point in life where you feel like you’re meant for bigger things than just bringing in the summer harvest and taking care of lame horses.”
“But doing these jobs helps other people. And why would you want to leave the farm anyway? Outside those gates,” Spencer motioned to the east, “is a world crawling with slavers and murderers. We’re safe here.”
“I can take care of myself perfectly well,” Zeth countered. “And danger makes life exciting!”
“We have enough danger here. Remember last year? When you fell off the top of the barn and broke your ribs because you had told the girls you could flip off the roof? And then the other time when you nearly drowned because you got caught under the log?”
“I know, I remember all that. But that still doesn’t change my opinion. Someday I will leave the farm,” Zeth said with a tone of finality. “It’s high time we got back to work. Rindor wants the leak fixed in the roof to the henhouse.” The two young men exited the barn and walked across Gertrude’s small flower garden to the henhouse. They were greeted by the familiar clucking and cooing of the birds in the wood shed. After determining how large a board they would need to cover the hole, Spencer went to fetch the necessary tools for the job. He walked over to the tool shed with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, mulling over his earlier conversation with Zeth. He could understand how his friend felt, but he did not thing his wish was wise. But then again, Zeth had always been one for adventure. With a sigh, Spencer picked out the right tools and went back to the henhouse. He and Zeth finished the patching job in a matter of minutes, and were soon in the dining hall, eating meat cutlets, rye bread and washing it all down with spicy ale. During the entire duration of the midday meal, Brand was staring at Cyla with eyes the size of dinner plates. Spencer glanced at Zeth and could see that the little thief had also noticed the expression on their large friend’s face. Once they were done eating, they returned their dishes to the kitchen and went to ask Rindor if he had any more work for them. Apparently the farmer was in a good mood; he let them go early, just as he had the day before.
Faithful to his promise, Zeth took Brand into town to buy him new fishing gear. While his companions were gone, Spencer decided to go for a ride. As a reward for their work, Rindor had given Zeth, Spencer and Brand ponies when the boys were no more than ten years old. Now, after around six years, the ponies were well built horses. Spencer saddled and bridled his red roan stallion, Redhawk, and led the graceful creature out into the fields behind the farm. The rain had tapered down to a misty drizzle and a fresh spring breeze carried on it the scent of new grass and of the lilac bushes that surrounded the fields in a wall of purple blossoms. It was a clean scent, and it made Spencer smile dreamily.
With expert handling, Spencer guided Redhawk onto a dirt road which ran alongside Rindor’s fields, and then farther on into the countryside of Rivion. Spencer tugged on the reins, bringing his mount to a halt even as Redhawk headed down the path. The road ran up over a hill, then dipped down and disappeared on the horizon. Spencer found himself wondering what was beyond that hill. He found himself imagining the mountains, the meadows, the rivers that must lie just beyond that rise in the landscape. His breathing quickened. His eyes lit up. Spencer now knew what Zeth had meant when he had spoken to him earlier concerning his thoughts. Wanderlust. Spencer now shared that trait in common with his thieving little friend.
The light still in his eyes, Spencer tapped his heals on Redhawk’s sides and the horse plodded forward slowly down the dusty road. The grey clouds above them were not severed by a single ray of the sinking sun. A spring breeze still swept across the fields of grain to his right, but it was considerably stronger than it had been just a few moments ago.