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This story is licensed under the Creative Commons

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© 2008 by Noisy Bob All Rights Reserved

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: The world this story is set in is the one of Onyx Tao's excellent story series Cold Blood (don't throw a fit, it's all open license and Tao's a great guy!) and is set into the timeline at around about chapter 3 - Green Fields - but is to be considered non-canonical, being purely a fanwork. If you enjoyed this then go check out Cold Blood which as of the writing of this is up to it's 13th chapter, I guarantee you won't be dissapointed.

Waking huddled tight against a minotaur was, Claudius decided, not the worst experience in the world. No, scratch that, it was trancendentally wonderful. He felt euphoric, relaxed, and more refreshed than he had done in...well, he couldn't remember, his fragile constitution usually left him exhausted most of the time, even in the mornings, but for some reason the minotaurs very presence almost seemed to act as a panacea. There was the unpleasant experience of sudden rememberance of everything that had transpired the night before, What had he done? Worse yet, why had he...enjoyed it? Cassius yawned loudly as he shook off the last vestiges of sleep bfore pulling himself upright.

"Morning Scribe, I trust you are fully recovered from last night?" he said, looking down at Claudius as he reached for a stack of letters that had been left on his bedside table, one of the house slaves must have been in and put them there without making a sound.

"Yes, Master...I feel fantastic, come to think of it." he said the last part more to himself than Cassius but it made the golden minotaur smirk anyway.

"Glad to hear it, there is much to be done today if the number of these cursed epistles is any metric." he said, leafing through the pile and occasionaly flicking one adressed to 'Warlord Diomedes of Clan Manticore' into a smaller stack "I really shouldn't complain, it is the nature of diplomatic business after all, but so much of this is so ridiculously trivial it boggles the mind." at last he got to the end of the pile of letters and haded them to Claudius who sat up also "But, of course, that is why you are here. Go through these letters and sort the ones of genuine importance from those which would only prove annoyances; soiree' invitations from business interests, letters of complaint, that sort of thing. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master. I'm not sure how i'm supposed to decide what things are important and what aren't but-"

"Use your intuition and your common sense, it is all I have to do the same task. Consider this a test." said Cassius, cutting him off before he could finish the sentance, there was a hint of irritation in his voice but it was more weary than angry and on the whole his tone was not unkind.

"Trusting the common sense of a feral, you must be desperate. Are those for me?" said Diomedes, rousing himself and pointing to the small stack of letters on the bed.

"Yes. And it is true what you say; some individuals are blessed with more common sense than others." replied Cassius with a wry smile.

Diomedes slapped his thigh and laughed so loudly Claudius's ears rang "Goodness my love, was that a veiled insinuation on my character? How unlike you, I'll have you cursing like a true Manticore yet!"

"Oh stop, please. Lord Chimes has already chided me for 'going native' and attending those dreadful fights of yours." said Cassius, throwing his hands up in mock resignation.

"You have your duties and I have mine," said Diomedes Breaking the seal of one letter and unfolding it "Officiator of ceremonies is a revered position in my clan. Besides, if you are to do justice to your office you have to attend the fights, it's where all the biggest deals occur. Hmmm, looks like wolven activity along the northwestern border, probably Arcos Clave, more likely just a group of youths and stragglers gathered behind a lone leader than a full-blown incursion but I should probably investigate it just to be certain." he said, scrutinising the letter carefully.

"Curses, when do you have to leave?" said Cassius.

"Soon, if this is a real incursion I want to be there before it escalates."

"So you can gain a good tactical position?" inquired Cassius.

"So I can get there before the fun begins!" replied Diomedes.

Cassius groaned "I should have guessed, shouldn't I? I will never understand why you Manticore relish war so much."

"Death, destruction and easy money, what's not to like?" said Diomedes, swinging out of bed and tugging on a pull-rope that caused a hidden bell to ring. A human in a tuic of the same dried-blood red that warhound wore and with an identical collar of spiked brass stepped inside and dropped to one knee.

"Yes, Master? How may I be of service?" he said.

"Breakfast, something hearty, i've had all I can stomach of that listless southern fair. Anything for you, Cas?"

"I'll have some 'listless southern fair' if that's all right by you? And a set of livery for my new acquisition in my colours." replied Cassius, skimming from one of the letters Claudius had thought seemed important, a document requesting the immediate attention of 'Ambassador Cassius Lycaili' for the purpose of confirming the resumation of the economic year between Lycaili and Manticore.

"How about a bas-reth too?" asked Diomedes.

"Heavens, no. I hate those things, they are quite ugly."

"Hmph, suit yourself." said Diomedes.

"Master?" said Claudius.

"Hmmm? What is it Scribe?"

"I know this is probably a stupid question but, what's a bas-reth? I don't recognise the word."

"What? Oh, it's what those spiked collars are called, the word is taken from the Kurgani language, not Greek." as he spoke Diomedes dismissed the servant, who dissapeared wordlessly "They have been part of Manticore slave uniform since the earliest days of conquest into these lands, back then the soil was so poor that the fields had to be made unusually large to support the population and as a result field-slaves on the outlying areas would get attacked by starving mountain lions, bears or worse on a quite regular basis. The general idea is that because most predators go for the throat or back of the neck the spikes would pain the beast long enough for the slave to get help from an overseer or gather in a group to fight the creature off. Of course Clan Manticore mages have since discovered a way to enrich the soil with various arcane and alchemical solutions so the fields don't have to be quite as large anymore but we are nothing if not creatures of tradition."

"Tradition, Master?"

"The bas-reth has since become more a matter of fashion than practicality, many Manticore think it fetching, attractive even." said Cassius, signing the letter after a re-read.

"It would at least make that one look a little tougher." said Diomedes, pointing at Claudius.

"I said 'no' and I mean it, I honestly don't know what you find so endearing about the awful things."

"Hmmm, just familiarity I suppose, a human just doesn't look right to me without one." said Diomedes, uncharacteristically thoughtful.

"Nor to I with." Said Cassius, taking another letter for consideration, a request for a temporary travel pass and a licence to examine the Manticore 'creator ruins', whatever they were, from an archaeologist of the Lycaili University calling himself 'Provost Viruk'. Knowing how irritated his proffessors at the scholastica used to get waiting for similar requests to be confirmed Claudius got a certain measure of intellectual satisfaction from the act.

"Which reminds me, if i'm off dealing with the wolven then I won't have time to get in any training time with the new acquisitions, that's an annoyance, i'll never live it down if they aren't ready for the Kurganalia celebration." said Diomedes, who looked pensive as he dressed "Damn these wolven and their timing, i'll have to leave their training in the hands of Bloodmist and Warhound, not ideal but it'll have to do, i'm not sure Redmaw is quite ready to teach yet."

"Gah! That's another thing, why must you give your slaves such lurid designations? I swear, some of them turn my stomach." said Cassius.

"Those are fighter-handles, Cas. They're not given, they're earned. Bloodmist got his for his bladework, Warhound for his savagery and Redmaw for dealing a kill with his teeth when disarmed, a little berserker that one, a real crowd-pleaser." said Diomedes with a chuckle.

"Enough, enough! You'll put me off my breakfast!" protested Cassius, slightly angrily.

"Alright, my love, I forget how squeamish you are sometimes." said Diomedes, visibly holding in a peal of laughter.

"I'm just not fond of bloodsports, none of my line who keep to clan doctrine are. I'll attend the important matches for diplomatic purposes but don't ask me to like them, I find the practice cruel and distasteful."

"Bah, nonsense, the fights are the only place slaves of any species have a chance to feel free and know true power." said Diomedes, buckling his belt.

"That's part of what makes them so cruel. But please, mate, this dreadful hour is not one for discussions of philosophy." finished Cassius in a tone that implied he considered the matter closed.

A while later some slaves, both Cassius's and Diomedes's, returned with platters of food as well as a uniform for Claudius, the thigh-length grey/blue tunic and leather sandals worn by Cassius's swarthy southern servants, standing in stark contrast contrast with the dry gore worn by Diomedes's pallid Kurgani.

Much of the morning had been spent like that, Claudius sitting up in bed next to Cassius, sorting the missals by order of importance, when he had finished Cassius gave the remaining letters a cursory glance to ensure that nothing had been missed and told Claudius to dress and await him in the office next door. Cassius's office was suprisingly spartan compared with the rest of Adamant Manor, as the great house was called, the sole concessions to luxury being the high-backed armchair behind the carved walnut desk and a few tapesteries clearly not of Manticore design, Lycaili art Claudius supposed. In comparison to the heavily martial Manticore designs the tapesteries depicted more sedate scenes; fishermen, farmers and other rural activites, horses in mid-gallop and elaborate astronomical patterns that picked out constellations Claudius didn't recognise. Much of the room was taken up by row after row of bookshelves, apparently the place had once been a private library before Cassius had decided to use it as his Office and added the suitable furniature.

Lacking anything better to do he read the titles of a few of the books arranged allong the shelves, they were arranged by subject from History through to Inter-Clan law. On a whim he checked the Index for the word 'Kurgani' and found several references in the history section relating to Clan Manticore's incursion into the area during their expansion. Much of it was an attempt by Minotaur historians to paint the Kurgani as somehow non-human but rather as nightmarish, demonic savages. It reminded Claudius unpleasantly of the things reported by Imperial documentarists whenever some campaign against the Varingeans or Gaels looked like it was taking an embarrasingly long time. One quote in particular by a travel-writer from the time by the name of Torophetes stood out as patently absurd;

"I assure you it is untrue what you have heard about the savage Kurgani being impossible to train to civility, I have it on highest authority from the noted slave-breaker Jura of clan Amaranth that there is a foolproof method by which they can be pacified, it goes as so; one need only beat the recalcitrant slave soundly about the head with an axe, maul or other bludgeon, around six or seven times should suffice to render them suitably passive and compliant. Thereafter, to be assured of success, one should bury what remains beneath a menhir or similar edifice, for best results choose a large menhir."

To be fair, Torophetes had probably meant it as a joke but it still made Claudius groan to read it. The books proved extremely enlightening on other matters, a journal from Diomedes's section entitled O Katallilos Paideia apo Anthropinos, roughly translated as "The Proper Training of Humans" turned out to be a rather dry and impassive manual on minotaur slave-culture and the traditions and practices surrounding it. Much of it was stomach-twistingly graphic, especially the three chapters devoted to different punishment techniques, made even worse by the detatched tone of the author, Maelar of Ouroboros, somehow Claudius felt it would have been easier to read if it was written like the ravings of a psychopathic madman rather than a scholarly thesis on animal care. Other parts were just baffling, a chapter entitled "The Gentle Way: Methods by Which the Influence may be Empowered" made no sense to him at all so he ignored it.

He turned when he heard Cassius's approaching hoofsteps, Cassius was draped in a toga of Turquoise cloth, fastened at one shoulder with a brooch shaped like a sheaf of wheat. "Well, it seems your intuition is impeccable, Scribe. Not one of these-" with that he threw down a pile of opened letters "-was worth my time, from now on all missals will be processed by you before being sent for my consideration."

"I'm glad I could help, Master." said Claudius, returning the book to the shelf.

"Ah, admiring our collection I see...some might interpret touching that which you have not been given leave to as an act of disrespect." said Cassius.

"Oh, i'm sorry Master, I've never seen so many books in one place before and I didn't know you'd mind-" said Claudius, a slight undertone of desperation in his voice.

"I don't really, I am rare in that I value initiative amongst my servants, otherwise I likely would have sent you for conditioning, but others might so it is valuable that you bear that in mind from now on."

"Yes, Master. I will, thank you." Claudius said, relief dripping from his words. He didn't know what Cassius meant by Conditioning but he was sure he had seen the term a few times while leafing through O Katallilos Paideia apo Anthropinos.

"In any case, when you have finished your duties and are without orders you may read from my library, you need to become accustomed to our culture and I haven't the time to teach you and Diomedes..." he looked into space for a moment "has methods I would prefer you not exposed to, reading about it is as good a method as any considering the circumstances."

"Thank you Master, there's so much that I don't understand..." He said, trailing off.

"I sense a question, what is it?" said Cassius wearily but not unkindly.

"Well, I heard you talking with Diomedes-"

"Warlord Diomedes to you, Scribe."

"-Warlord Diomedes, sorry Master, about 'designations' and I noticed that none of the other humans here seem to have...well, real names." said Claudius with torturous wariness.

Cassius Sighed deeply before speaking "I had assumed you knew of that, most ferals object to not being called by their old names. Yes, whatever your old name was you would do well to forget it, from now on you Are 'Scribe', it is both what you are and who you are."

Claudius went quiet, he honestly wasn't sure how to react. Forget your own name? Was that even possible? Something about that simple sentance seemed somehow more obscene to him than anything written by Maelar of Ouroboros.

Cassius apparently noticed his discomfort "Yes, it is difficult, in many ways the name is the hook upon which our memories are hung. To lose it is to rock the foundations of ones entire world, but it is necessary if you are to accept your place here." Said Cassius in a soft voice, claudius thought he could hear a hint of regret.

"Yes, Master. I will...try." Claudius wasn't sure whether he could promise more than that.

Cassius strode up to Claudius and angled his bowed head up with one hand to look into his eyes "Good boy, for what it's worth I won't push you, as long as you are obedient, polite and honourable I am content, thusfar you have been all those things and more."

"Thank you Master, I will be, I can promise that much at least." said Claudius.

"Hmmm, perhaps for a while I could call you by your real name when we are Intimate? Like last night?" said Cassius "It would be unorthodox but...not entirely frowned upon, given the context, and in all likelihood no-one would ever know in any case."

"Oh, Master, you don't have to-" started Claudius before he was cut off.

"No, I don't, but it would help wouldn't it?"

"...Yes, Master. It would."

"Well, boy? What's your name?" said the golden minotaur.

"It's Claudius, Master. Of the house of Larcius."

"Claudius?" said Cassius thoughtfully "That name means 'Lame' or 'Crippled' doesn't it?"

"Yes, Master. House Larcius is a military family, weaklings are not much respected, I was something of an...embarassment." said Claudius, bitterly. In the back of his mind he thought it was strange that he was so willing to be open about his life with someone who only two days ago would have been a symbol of fear and hatred, but...the minotaur had been kind to him, much more than was expected, plus they had shared the most personal of experiences only the night before, perhaps it was only natural that he felt this way.

"Was is the operative word here, your old life is over, for better as well as for worse." said Cassius "Anyway, I have a new duty for you; write a suitable reply to each of these-" he waved at the pile of letters on he desk "-suitably comiseratory, of course, informing them that I could not attend or deal with them directly, I shall sign them later."

"Yes, Master." said Claudius with a bow.

Claudius's workspace was in the library, when he first sat in the chair provided the table, designed as it was for minotaurs, had reached up to the top of his chest and made working at it difficult until one of Cassius's servants, a girl in her early twenties who just called herself 'Maid' saw him struggling and, giggling at his predicament, brought in a tall stool instead, which lacked the comfort of the chair but made for a much prefferable vantage to work from.

Diomedes left for the northwestern border with a retinue of Manticore warriors after a half-days preparation, unlike the warriors who had attacked the base these ones all weilded double-bladed axes of ornate design instead of swords and wore crimson tabards set with the lion's head device of the clan over their breastplates. Cassius and Diomedes parted wordlessly, just clasping hands and passing a meaningful glance between eachother. Claudius watched from the window as the warriors hefted their weapons, adjusted the straps of their armour, formed ranks and disappeared. Claudius took a few steps backward when he saw it happen, it was just like the time they had attacked the base. There was just a moment where the minotaurs became a blurry smudge on the skein of reality and then they were just gone. Claudius suddenly got a sneaking suspicion that the Imperial tacticians calculation that five Legionnaires were a match for one Minotaur were woefully over-optimistic.

That night Cassius retreated to his personal rooms with a decanter of brandy and left Claudius without orders once he'd completed his work. Claudius felt a deep sense of empathy for the minotaur and considered trying to console him but thought better of it, he remembered the way he had felt when his brothers had went off to war in Celtia, this was something he had to deal with on his own. Instead he had went down to the gymnasium where the fighters trained, as it happened Warhound currently occupied it. Warhound earned his fearsome designation by fighting with platemail gauntlets with claw-tipped fingers and vicious conical studs covering the forearm and back of the hand. Claudius just stood by the door for several minutes watching him deep in concentration while landing hammer-blows on invisible enemies, his feet turning a blaze of sidesteps, lunges and pirrhouettes and his hands moving with such precision that Claudius could almost see the imaginary foes;

There, a lunging trident intercepted harmlessly between the fingers of one armoured fist and turned aside, the other hand contemptuously flicking off the assailants helmet before the blocking hand was brought round again to slam hard into their face, a knockout blow.

There, another foe ambushing from behind while he's distracted with the first, a sudden shift of the feet and a mailed gauntlet connects with their head in a spinning clothesline that sends them reeling before a power kick knocks them from their feet. A quick step forward and he drops to one knee and with a jab of his gauntlet crushes the abmushers throat.

There, an axe-wielder swings at him while he's on the floor but he rolled aside and was on his feet again in an instant, the invisible axe connecting with only the floor, then he barreled into them shoulder first, knocking the weapon from their hand and delivering two fierce blows to the sternum, enough to wind them. As their body falls he catches them by the head and twists, rolling their head between his plated arms until there is a snap of broken spine.

The whole display lasted probably no more than ten seconds before Warhound moved on to another set of excercises but Claudius was so enthralled by the brutality and savage beauty of Warhound's dance of death that it seemed to move in slow-motion, he almost applauded.

It was then that Warhound saw him and gestured for him to enter with one mailed hand, Claudius approached the training circle warily but warhound continuedto gesture for him to come forward.

"Um, hi." He said, not knowing what else to say to the mute fighter "I was just watching your training, you're quite good."

Warhound shrugged and took a short wooden sword from a rack of training weapons to hand to Claudius.

"Oh, no, I don't fight, really-" he started but Warhound was insistent, every time he tried to deny the sword he presented it to him again, urging for him to accept it.

"Allright, but really, go easy. It's been years since i've trained with the gladius." he said, taking the short sword.

Warhound took an identical training sword, ditching his gauntlets in the process, and squared up to Claudius in a fighting stance. Claudius did the same, adopting the forward-stance of the Legion with the flat of his gladius balanced on his left forearm for a thrust. Upon seeing this Warhound dropped his stance and made a short growl before walking up to Claudius.

"What!? What is it now?" he protested but Warhound patiently adjusted his stance, manhandling him into position. Looser, more open, the left arm playing a role only in balance, feet wider appart, the right arm having absolute freedom of movement. This was a stance meant for dueling, not the closed-ranks formation fighting of the Empire.

Warhound returned to the other side of the circle and took his stance again, for a while he did nothing but stand statue-still, studying claudius with his one remaining ice-blue eye. Claudius could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, even in a training spar with wooden swords his opponent was as intense as if this was life-or death. When he did come it was as a complete suprise, Warhound kicked off his position, leaving a small cloud of dust behind him a he lunged, a full-extension thrust to the sternum was turned away by Claudius's own weapon but with a kick of his heels it was already brought round full-circle for a horizontal slash. Reflexes fuled by suprise and adrenalin blocked that slash too but it was a close thing and Warhound's vastly superior strength jarred his arm badly both times, warhound had already forced claudius back a few steps, it was like trying to fight a waterfall, Warhound left himself wide open several times but his atacks came so quickly and relentlessly that Claudius had no time to exploit them, it was as if he didn't really value his life at all - all that mattered was the win.

With his second attack foiled Warhound slid his wooden sword up along Claudius's own and brought it down in a vertical slash.

This time Claudius had no time to react and the wooden blade struck him firmly on the left shoulder. He yelped loudly and dropped his gladius to press his hand against his bruised shoulder - a reflexive response, a bad idea. Seeing him unarmed, Warhound stooped low and hacked at his unprotected shins, dropping Claudius to his knees.

"Hey! I was down, that's dishonourable!" he protested angrily, this evoked a strange response in Warhound; he threw his head back and laughed uproariously, or at least made a rhythmic growling that sounded like laughter if you imagined someone laughing through a mouthfull of gravel.

"What's so funny?" said Claudius.

"He's laughing at the idea of an 'honourable' pit fight." came another Voice from offside, Claudius turned to see another human dressed in Diomedes's livery leaning against the wall and watching him with half-lidded eyes "Pit fights are about winning or losing, honour is for the battlefield." from the man's accent Claudius could tell he was Imperial.

"Even still, it's bad form..." se said weakly. The other man just sighed deeply and shrugged.

"See how much good it does you to fight fair when it's just you, your opponent and two thousand minotaurs around you placing bets and baying for your blood." he said, his voice was flat, emotionless.

"Is it...really that bad?" said Claudius, slightly taken aback.

The man cracked a wide smile "The fights? Yes, i've been doing them for years and I still damn-well piss myself before every match, even knowing there's a mage healer waiting for me there's still a risk. Warhound finds it easier but...Kurgani are a strange breed." he said with no small ammount of mirthful fatalism "But there are benefits, at least if you're Manticore-owned, most other clans use it as a punishment but to Manticore it's just another function, one you can get rewarded for if you do well."

"Benefits? I'm not sure there's much that could make up for...well..." started Claudius

"Possible gruesome, agonising and ignoble death? Trust me, there's worse than that and as long as we fight and obey we don't have to go through it, it would make us poor fighters anyway..."

"You mean conditioning?" said claudius, testing the word experimentally on the tounge. It brought the man's eyes to focus on him sharply, narrowing slightly.

"Aye, that's what I mean, hollowed out like a gourd: no will, no self-worth, barely a scrap of personality left. Trust me when I say i'd gladly take a Xiphos through the ribs over that, and have." he said, sternly "That's what those swords are called, by the way, not gladius. It's a scaled-down version of a minotaur weapon."

"Oh, Thanks. And you are?"

"The Master calls me Bloodmist, it's as good a designation as any." he said, stepping toward the ring and taking the wooden sword from Warhound "If you wan't to spar then i'll teach you, i'm better with the blade than Warhound anyway, plus I have a measure of self-control." Warhound looked away sheepishly.

"No no, I just came to watch really, i'm not a fighter." replied Claudius, keen to avoid another drubbing.

"I can see that, you wear the colours of the Masters mate. But still, there's no harm in a little practice, you actually did quite good to even block two blows using an unfamiliar style, I swear i'll go easy on you." he said as Claudius pulled himself to his feet, rubbing the dull throb from his shoulder.

"Well, alright then, just one more." he said, squaring up again.

Bloodmist took him through a slow series of strikes and parries, urging him to watch the motions carefully and memorise them as they gradually built up speed to the point where Claudius could no longer keep up, Bloodmist stopped his sword before it landed a blow on Claudius's neck and pulled back.

"And now we know your limit." he said "Next time we spar we can see whether you can do better."

"Next time? Who said I was going to do this again?" Said Caludius, holding his hands up.

"You have far too much potential to just let it go to waste, your strength is...frankly, crap, but your reflexes are good and you're perceptive, that's half of what it takes to be a good swordsman. Just think of it as excercise, a way to pass the time when without orders, I doubt your master would ever want you to fight, in fact i'm sure he wouldn't."

"Thanks...I think." said Claudius in reaction to the backhanded compliment "Well, that's enough for now anyway, I don't want to risk loosing the use of my writing arm as well." he said with a humourless grin.

Bloodmist nodded and squared up with Warhound, who was in the process of rebuckling his gauntlets. Claudius suddenly became overwhelmed with fatigue from the fight as the adrenalin rush and the vitalising effect of Cassius's presence faded and wandered back to he library in a blurry daze. He had no idea where the servant quarters were but the chair in Cassius's office was soft and large enough to sleep sitting up in and the room was heated to a level that made blankets irrelevant by panels of enchanted obsidian set into the walls. It reminded Claudius somewhat of his time back at the scholastica, writing essays right through the night and falling asleep at desk when he could go on no longer. Phantoms of the night before drifted through his dreams, the warmth of the minotaurs arms around him, soft kisses, softer words, undulating pulses of pleasure running through his loins and ever the all-consuming minotaur scent. When those same hands and same voice roused him from sleep there was a time when he was stuck between sleeping and waking and almost let out a passionate moan before he realise what was happening and blearily looked up into Cassius's face.

"M-Master?" he said with a yawn before blushing slightly at being confronted face-to-face with his phantasmic lover incarnate.

"Scribe, accompany me to my private rooms, I desire company in Dio's absence. I have a terrible habit of becoming melancholy and prone to morbid thoughts when alone and brandy only seems to exacerbate the problem." the last part seemed to be said more to himself than Claudius as he stared at the half-empty decanter clasped in one hand.

"Yes, Master. I think I know how you feel." said Claudius, sliding off the chair.

"I really shouldn't worry," Cassius mused as he led Claudius through into his lounge and took a seat in a wide armchair of padded leather, gesturing for Claudius to kneel at his hooves "Wolven are dangerous foes but Dio is a Tempus master, there's little he couldn't face, but..." a grimace flashed accross his features for a moment.

"There's always a risk, I know, Master." said Claudius, finishing Cassius's thought.

"Yes, even we are not invincible and the wolven have...strange ways." said Cassius.

"Strange ways, Master?"

"The wolven possess gifts of the creators, comparable to Tempus though with different paramaters, I don't know what their gifts are exactly, though they are potent in their own right. Ah, but all this must be going over your head, the Empire has no cognition of the Creators does it?" he said, seemingly breaking out of his fugue and returning to the state Claudius remembered the golden Minotaur by.

"No, Master. Though I think I can guess what you mean by 'Tempus', it's that vanishing power minotaur warriors have, right?" he said.

"Correct, though it is less a case of 'vanishing' as it is motion acceleratd by a bubble of quintessence, crystalised time, far too fast for the untrained eye to catch clearly." said Cassius "At least that's how I understand it, I attended a diplomatic accademy, not a war college, i'm only a Tempus novice."

"You mean minotaurs can control time? But that's...that's incredible! How does it work!?" said Claudius.

"It's not so much 'control' as it is 'sympathy', more like a riverboat zig-zagging to move against the current than a ship with the wind at it's back. Time pushes back, rebels against one who would dare attempt to master it. As for how it works, I haven't a clue, it just does, the creators gifted it to us but didn't see fit to furnish us with a manual, as it were."

"Creators as in 'The Manticore Creator Ruins'?" inquired Claudius, remembering the letter from Provost Viruk.

"Yes, we know virtually nothing about them, the creators. Just that they made us, as well as all other sentients, humans included, gave us dominion over you and then went about whatever ineffable purposes such beings have. The ruins in the Kurga valley are perhaps one of the only things they left behind to even suggest they existed in the first place, besides us, of course."

"So that's what you meant by minotaurs and humans not being 'natural' creatures?"

"Precisely, I wish I could tell you more but there is little else to know. Except..." Cassius looked pensive.

"Master?"

"No, you can be trusted...Claudius," hearing his name spoken caught Claudius's attention immediately "What I am about to tell you is not normally told to ferals but you have demonstrated enough intelligence that I suspect you will be able to discern what it implies. There is an...attribute of minotaurs, and humans, known as the 'Influence', you have already felt it's presence though you probably don't know what it is."

"I read something about it in a book from the library, I didn't understand it though." replied Claudius.

"I don't expect you would, put simply the influence causes you to become increasingly infatuated with me, makes serving me a pleasurable experience and lowers inhibitions, there is a counterpoint to the influence in that humans have a similar but different effect on minotaurs, we become possessive over you and hate to see you come to harm, an irrational protective instinct."

"That...awnsers alot." said Claudius, it really did.

"I thought it would, you seem to be unusually heavily affected by the influence, it varies from individual to individual, partially due to psychology and partially to the influence of the humours, it is one more of those things left behind by the creators that we do not fully understand. But you see the implications?" said Cassius.

Claudius was quiet for a moment "It means that...we are meant to serve you, it's written onto us, part of who we are."

Cassius smiled warmly and drew Claudius up off the floor into his arms and rested him on his lap "Clever boy, yes, I knew you would see what it meant. Does it set your mind at ease to know that?"

"It...it does, though it does raise one more question." said Caludius, losing himself slightly in Cassisu's pine-salt scent and treetrunk-thick arms.

"There's always another question, I have come to expect that. Well, what is it?" said Cassius, pouring brandy into a glass on a low table beside the armchair.

"Well...it's nothing really but if I follow philosophic logic it implies that there's really no reason to enslave humans at all." he said, hoping the conclusion wouldn't dispease Cassius, it had occured to him almost immediately.

"Go on..." said Cassius, taking a swig of the firey liquid.

"Master-" started Claudius.

"Cassius, this is an intimate conversation."

"Cassius, I know very little of these matters but I do know my own mind and...I know that if you asked me for something, anything, i'd do it. I'd do it without coercion, happily, just because you asked it. I don't know why I would but I just know that I would, so...what's the point of slavery then? If there's nothing you could take that I wouldn't give freely?" The words had come out before Claudius had even really though about it, they just came naturally.

Cassius exhaled deeply "Hmmm, irritating cultural and historical reasons that I shan't reiterate here, the worst kind, i'm afraid." he said in a sympathetic tone "I am just glad that you are better able to accept your role now, though it would be wise if you did not share your other...observations, wih any others. It would come off badly for you. Suffice to say that as a society we are highly heirarchical, we demand more than simple obedience from those below us in station, we demand submission, not a trait I personally find endearing in our people, but that is the way of things."

"Allright, It's not that I really mind...this."

"No, I don't suppose you would, it's just that ferals can have some of the most disturbing cognitive leaps on times-" Cassius had seemed mirthful as he spoke but as he finished the sentance his eyes glazed over and his face went blank. After a few seconds he spoke to Claudius again.

"Just a minute, Arafal. Be silent for a while and pay no heed to what I say, I must accept a farspeech message. Go on Lord Chant." The first and last parts seemed as though they were directed at someone else, an invisible third person i the room.

"I see, well whyever are you contacting me? I have no purview in matters of magic..."

"A Lycaili citizen? You are sure?"

"This is a gravely serious matter, I should inform Lord Chimes immediately, it would certaintly fall under his juris-"

"Allright, I will hear what you have to say first."

"Anytime."

"It is decided then?"

"Very well, I shall await your arival, good day Lord Chant."

The strange glassy-eyed look left Cassius and he whispered something under his breath before taking another sip of brandy.

"Scribe," he said finally, anouncing the conversations intimacy over "Find chatelaine in the kitchens and inform her that the Hekaton suite is to be opened."

"Yes, Master."

"And one more thing; Inform her that our guest is to be a mage."