“Cinderborn society is divided into five strata,” Sathis lectured, his eyes dark as he rested. “Royals control each of the three worlds in the confederation. Nobles administer territories on the royals’ behalf. Swordsmen or sword houses represent the martial artists that are not part of a noble or royal house. They are entitled to their own manor, lineage and coat of arms, but beyond the immediate territory around their homes, they do not traditionally manage large territories.”

  “My family, the Takkmors, are fairly typical,” he continued, the barest hint of a ragged edge seeping into his smooth voice. “In exchange for the land we own on the slopes of Mount Attarak, we pay taxes to Baron Hool and keep the territory safe. Most sword houses are placed in areas where bandits or monsters are common. That allows the swordsmen to hone their skills against frequent enemies, and allows the local noble to assure a bit more stability to the yeomen and slaves of the region.”

  “What about levies?” Erich asked. “Can your Baron mobilize you and force you to go to war?”

  “No,” Sathis replied, shaking his head with still dimmed eyes. “Skill with the sword is too respected in the confederation for that. Most royals and nobles are also swordsmen, but being a martial artist confers a separate status outside of social class. A swordsman can swear loyalty to a lord, and if he or she does so, they must follow that lord’s orders. Beyond that and their taxes, they are apart from the law. If a martial artist goes too far, another martial artist will be dispatched to kill them, but ordinary rules such as curfews and tolls do not apply to them. If a swordsman sees injustice, he can simply strike down the perpetrator. The only true limits are his honor and the knowledge that another swordsman may do the same to him.”

  “That sounds chaotic,” Erich said, the skin between his eyes furrowing slightly. “How do you keep your entire society from breaking down into random retaliation killings? If that were to happen in Hollendil, things would get out of hand within a matter of months.”

  “Honor and custom prevent it,” Sathis responded. “Warriors tend to act apart from the normal world. Technically, I could have refused to pay for services at any number of inns, threatening the landlord if he tried to refuse me lodging. Through the law, there is nothing he could have done. After all, theft is a crime that applies to ordinary individuals. However, if I were to do that, I would destroy my honor. Any number of other martial artists would challenge me to a duel to the death for my boorish behavior.”

  “Similarly,” the cinderborn continued, “an ordinary yeoman or slave that insulted a noble or royal would be severely punished for the affront. If the swordsman did the same, they would not be punished according to the law. Rather, the noble’s champion, almost certainly a martial artist of great repute, would challenge you to a duel. Where a yeoman might be caned, a swordsman would likely be slain for the dishonor.”

  “I still don’t see how that doesn’t lead to a terrifying world,” Erich replied, shifting himself slightly against the rocks. The rubble was beginning to dig into his backside, but he didn’t voice any complaint. “It seems like every day would be nothing but fear and bloodshed.”

  Sathis’ eyes began to glow once again as the cinderborn looked back at him. They weren’t anywhere near as bright as before. The martial artist was clearly fatigued from his aether loss and starvation, but that didn’t stop his mentor from smiling warmly at Erich.

  “Quite to the contrary. Swordsmen are unfailingly polite. We hold ourselves to a higher standard than civilians. Most duels use weapons with blunted edges. Struggles for pride and reputation rather than honor killings. It will take you some time to understand how seriously the people of the Confederation take warrior status. Once you begin walking the path of a swordsman, it consumes you. Disputes over money and territory are beneath you. The only true goals are martial perfection and honor.”

  “I don’t think I can understand that,” Erich said, shaking his head slowly. “I wasn’t poor growing up. It wasn’t like I struggled every day to survive. I wasn’t even involved in my family’s day to say business. Still, the idea of ignoring wealth and property to focus on martial arts. It isn’t a bad thing, I just don’t think I can wrap my mind around it.”

  “You will eventually,” Sathis said softly. “Most young warriors step out into the world boasting about their honor only to spend their first year or two drinking and fighting pointless duels over nothing. Those that survive into their twenties usually begin to understand what honor is. After all, the system is fairly efficient at eliminating those that overstep their bounds.”

  Erich stood up, stretching his legs and back to regain feeling in them. After hopping up and down a couple of times to restart the bloodflow in his legs, he turned his attention back to Sathis.

  “I don’t know why you’re so focused on telling me the history and details of cinderborn society. It’s not like I’ve made up my mind on defecting yet. There’s a strong possibility of it, but I haven’t made any promises.”

  “You will eventually,” Sathis replied confidently. “After all, it isn’t just cinderborn society. It’s Confederate society. There are entire sword houses made up of nothing but humans. They are not as prominent as the most notable cinderborn houses, but they have their own honor and you could easily be the one to change that fact.”

  Erich chewed on his lower lip for a second, hesitating as he struggled to find a way to ask his next question delicately. Finally, after a couple of seconds, he gave up.

  “I thought that humans were enslaved on your worlds? As dangerous as returning to Hollendil is, a life of slavery as a farm worker or porter doesn’t sound terribly enticing to me either.”

  “Prisoners of war are taken as slaves,” Sathis corrected, “but slavery isn’t as bad as many think. Every man and woman in the confederacy is born free, but it is hard to live the life of a yeoman. Without substantial property and support, they would not know where their next meal is coming from. Many voluntarily sell themselves into slavery, indenturing themselves for a period of time to their owner so that they can have a plot of land to farm or a steady salary. It is like any other employment, just that you cannot leave your position until your contract runs up.”

  “That just sounds like serfdom actually,” Erich replied, frowning slightly. “Serfs can own property, but ultimately they are bound to their land, unable to leave their farms without their lord’s permission. It’s an incredibly common arrangement for the feudal lords on Hollendil, but the way they talk about slavery is much worse. Stories are spread throughout the Imperial Army about cruel masters working their slaves to death.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “If I cannot trust my dishonorable enemy to speak the truth about my people,” Sathis said dryly, “then who can I trust? What have the worlds come to?”

  “Point taken,” Erich responded, rolling his eyes. “Still that doesn’t sound so bad. I take it the other two social classes are yeomen and slaves?”

  “With some slight clarifications,” Sathis agreed. “Yeomen are any humans or cinderborn in the confederation that aren’t enslaved. This includes ordinary martial artists that learned their arts through a school or academy. Only self-taught warriors or those that have gone through an apprenticeship are considered to truly be part of a sword family. Most rank and file soldiers are yeomen, citizens that control their own destiny, but are otherwise bound by the law. As for slaves, we’ve mostly covered them, but we haven’t touched on-”

  The cinderborn pursed his lips, brow furrowing in distaste as he struggled with his follow up.

  “Flower tenders. A fate reserved for criminals, escaped slaves, and those who wish to eternally retreat from the struggle of living.”

  “Flower tenders?” Erich asked. “I haven’t heard anything about flowers. Frankly, I took the cinderborn to be more of a martial people. I didn’t know that art or floral arrangement were topics of interest in your society.”

  “Not that kind of flower,” Sathis said grimly. “Have you ever heard of the medicine Gliara’s Milk?”

  “It’s reserved for officers in the Imperial Army,” Erich replied. “It eliminates pain, greatly accelerates healing, and induces sleep. It’s a miracle draught except for the fact that the people that use it don’t stop when the pain is gone. There are rumors that most of the Milk doesn’t make it to the front lines. Rather, it’s sent to the various nobles that have grown dependent on it after they used it to recuperate from an injury.”

  “A fair assessment,” the cinderborn responded, his eyes clouded. “What you probably aren’t aware of is that gliara flowers can only grow in the volcanic ash that lines the mountain slopes of Cinder. The process of gathering the flower for medicinal purposes doses the person handling it, even if they wear leather gloves or a mask. All of them grow addicted to the stuff.”

  “Beyond addicted,” he continued. “There isn’t even a shadow of a person left behind. Nothing but a husk that lives to clip the gliara buds for processing. Slaves that are sent to be flower tenders do not come back. It is the only sentence in the confederacy that lasts a lifetime. Still, no matter how dirty and dangerous Gliara’s Milk is, it is the only product of note that we can export. The Empire pays handsomely for the stock we send to them, and the Confederacy’s worlds aren’t fully tamed. We need those supplies to build new cities and fight back against the monsters that seem to be lurking behind every corner.”

  “Trading with the Empire?” Erich questioned, eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to make sense of Sathis’ rambling. “Why would the Empire be trading with the Confederation? I thought the Empire and the Confederation were at war?”

  Sathis’ eyes flashed and he chuckled, a low scratchy sound.

  “The Empire is at war with us, but it’s not a proper war if you know what I mean. In the early days there were constant back and forth attacks, but now both sides are more or less content with what they have. Other than the occasional pointless charge from the Imperial lines, serving in the army is mostly an excuse for martial artists to focus on their aether mastery. Both sides intentionally turn a blind eye to smugglers that run back and forth. In fact, a good portion of the smugglers actually work for the various governments.”

  Erich’s stomach sank. He didn’t expect much, but every conversation with Sathis about the Empire lowered its estimation in his eyes. The entire war that impoverished his homeland and killed his friend was nothing more than a farce. It was an intentional waste of time and squandering of resources while the senior officers made a profit off of the illicit trade that went on between meaningless attacks.

  It was hard not to let rage overwhelm him. The war that justified the ruinous taxes in Hollendil was a farce. The martial arts he learned to fight in that war were fourth rate at best, barely worth more than the calisthenics the army put normal levy soldiers through. The battle his friends died in was a vanity project, doomed before it was launched by hubris and bad intelligence.

  Everything about Erich’s life today was pointless. Every minute he had suffered and sacrificed was without purpose and meaning, simply make-work to keep him busy. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to stop his thoughts from spiraling uncontrollably.

  “Maybe I will go to the Confederation,” Erich mused. “Do you know if there’s any way for me to defect without being enslaved or immediately forced to the front lines? I’m not sure that I understand how your society works, but it still seems better than Hollendil. Back home, even if I worked myself to the bone and advanced to the highest limits available to humans, that would only change the color of the boot the elves keep on my neck. There’s really nothing for me to return to.”

  “Heh,” Sathis replied with a ‘wink,’ flickering the glow in his left eye, and a half-smile. “You’re my apprentice Erich. That means you’re more or less adopted into my family. You won’t inherit anything, but by Confederation custom you’re something a little more than a cousin and a little less than a child. The Takkmor sword family isn’t the most prestigious in the three worlds, but I’d like to see the person that’s bold enough to try and enslave an apprentice of ours.”

  “That reminds me,” the old cinderborn continued. “If you’re going to become an adopted member of my family, that means you’re going to meet my son and daughter some day. I don’t think I’ve had a chance to talk too much about-”

  “You have,” Erich corrected, torn between frustration and amusement at his mentor’s antics. “At great length actually. Remember, our time here is limited. If all you’re going to do is teach me theory and a handful of practical tricks devoted to learning how to form my own abilities, we should at least do that instead. As much as I enjoy your cultural lessons, they don’t really help me avoid being slaughtered and eaten by scavengers in the dark.”

  “Youth and impatience,” Sathis said with a snort. “The only two things that are more inevitable than the sun rising in the morning and setting at night. When you’re my age, trapped in the cave with an ungrateful apprentice as your life slips between your fingers, you’re going to regret the days you didn’t spend focusing on the small things like family.”

  “Plus,” he continued, his dull amber eyes glinting mischievously. “Focusing on martial practice all the time actually dulls your learning. You need to spend time with companions or enjoying nature if you really want to digest your experiences and turn them into your own. Swinging a sword around all day might help you perfect an art that you already have, but if you’re going to make a sword style to call your own, then you’re going to need to be a lot more measured than that. Given your talent, anything less-”

  “Would be a waste,” Erich finished for him, repeating the words he’d heard dozens of times before. “I know.”

  “So long as you know.” Sathis replied, shifting slightly up against the cavern wall so that he was in a more comfortable position. “Now where was I before we got sidetracked? I think I was discussing the best method of refining an art that you’ve developed for the purpose of raising its level.”