The Change of Life

Valdor was very nervous. The dreaded day of the Yanta Entrance Exams had come. Well, actually the Exams lasted for two days; Day one was for the applicants from Netehdrez, and on the second day the applicants from Zaetron Derraz were tested. Very practical, he could tell, and even If he had been on high spirits when he had left the Holy City, he couldn’t say so anymore. It wasn’t that people were necessarily staring at him, but hot, red, annoyingly itching shame made his neck ticklish, when his eyes admired the armors and robes other people were wearing. The breastplates of nobles shone in the light of the crystals and made his ill-fitting, cheapest second-hand leather armor feel like it would have been picked up from a trash heap. It was too big on him, anyway, and there was a crudely stitched cut on the left side of the armor, which was probably a reminder of how the previous owner had suddenly found the armor useless…

He tried not to care about it, but it was difficult. Don’t think about what others think. You just need to do your best, show them that you can be ‘not half that bad’, as his mentor had used to say on those rare occasions when she had been surprisingly delighted of his progress. Some other people had formed small groups and were chatting and forming contacts, waiting to be called forward for the sparring test. Valdor, instead, stood quietly aside, nervously fidgeting with his daggers, like he had a habit of doing. His mentor’s words echoed in his mind.

‘You’ll be fine, kid.’

This was the moment they had been training for, and even if failing in the exams would taste bittersweet just by itself, it would feel absolutely worse when Miss Warmheart would get to know about it. He didn’t want to disappoint her, nor her mother, who expected that the short tutoring -compared to some others who had had at least a decade of tutoring by the finest teachers- would without a doubt pay out. So much had been put on his shoulders, so much depended on his success now that he would have just wanted to run away. But he couldn’t do that, as he heard his name being called out. He perked up, almost cutting his finger when the other of his daggers slipped out of his hand.

He crouched to pick it up and took a deep breath, bracing himself when he walked to the sparring area, legs feeling like two pieces of string.
“No drawing blood, this is only a sparring match.”
The strict-looking advisor lady in a fancy leather armor reminded them before the match started, repeating the same phrase probably for the 40th time today and sounding like it, too. Valdor could feel all the eyes of the judging older soldiers on his skin, but he tried to ignore it, and instead concentrate on his sparring partner -or opponent, if you wanted to think it that way.

The other one had strikingly orange-red eyes, his breastplate gleamed beautifully in such a dark greenish color Valdor instinctively knew this one’s family had money. And power. The young man was a little younger than him, most likely, but at least a head taller and handsome. His well-kept white, long hair was intently carefreely tied aside, his straight posture effortlessly elegant, only in a way one could find those of nobler blood. Valdor’s stomach turned in shame, yet again, and he almost raised his hand to scratch his short, coarse hair he had just cut last night himself with his own dagger, so he would look a bit more presentable. It was uneven (it’s very hard to see where you cut when you’re the one doing the cutting yourself!) and on the sides there were a bit longer strands as he had thought it looked nice on him -at least that was what mum always seemed to admire in the way more prestigious boys wore their hair. Last night it had seemed like such a good idea, but now he only felt ridiculous.

His opponent looked like he thought Valdor ridiculous, too. As, when Valdor nervously bowed his head to his more prestigious sparring companion, the other didn’t even offer him a proper nod, having that certain look on his face like he would have suddenly smelled something bad. But that was the look Valdor was used to, so he didn’t take it personally.
Valdor barely had time to straighten his back, when the other one already attacked with a longsword, which edge he noticed to be masterfully engraved, as the blade passed his temple just by an inch. Surprise made Valdor stagger, but he quickly regained his composure.

‘You might be weak as a stick, boy, but you’re quick. Don’t try to go all-in, make them come to you instead.‘

Remembering his mentor’s words, Valdor took distance, which proved out to be a good tactic. The noble boy was slightly faster than Miss Warmheart, taller too, so it took few attacks and dodges for him to learn to read the way the other one fought. The other one had very good style, straight posture and precise attacks; it was not once nor twice when the blade cut the air a bit too close to his liking. Valdor didn’t even try to parry, but instead he dodged, diving out of the harm’s way acrobatically. Their movements raised up some dust on the training ground.

His constant shifting seemed to irritate his sparring partner, whose eyes struck up sparks. Valdor didn’t notice that, as he had his mind full of the dodging and trying to find an opening in the other’s defense. And there it came, as Valdor had hoped for and he went for it, but of course, as drawing blood was prohibited, he stopped his hand before the blade could sink into the other’s groin, nastily between the joints of the armor. Valdor shifted his gaze to the observers, expecting to hear the command to stop as he had gotten the first hit trough, but instead he suddenly found himself on the ground on his back, painfully gasping for air.

His sparring partner had hit all air out of his lungs with a sharp right hook, wielding his longsword now only in one hand, and had sent him on the ground. Valdor stared up, pain forcing tears into his scared eyes. The other pressed the point of his weapon against Valdor’s windpipe, loathing look in those fiery eyes. For a moment he was sure he was a goner, but then the saving shout of Stop was called, and the more prestigious boy withdrew with a humph. He laid on the ground for a while, to catch his breath, but forced himself up, and cheeks red of embarrassment waved dismissively to the questioning eyes of a medic who had been positioned on the edge of the sparring area.

Valdor dragged his feet to the edge of the sparring arena, stopping to lean to a barrel and take a deep breath, which made him flinch in pain. He felt his stomach and came into conclusion that no bones were broken, so he should undoubtedly be alright. Just badly bruised for a while. He rubbed his face and suppressed a sigh. That hadn’t gone that well…
“Are you alright?”
Unfamiliar voice startled him and Valdor raised his moist eyes, alarmed. Would he now be immediately disqualified?

But no, apparently not. Another applicant had come to him and was now staring at him, observantly. His friends had stayed back, and were now murmuring something together further away. This boy had a pleasant face, nice armor if not as posh as Valdor’s sparring partner’s. His eyes were almost color of rose gold. Pretty, pale reddish yellow shade. He carried the symbol of the Dark Dancer openly on his neck.
“Ah, y-yes, just had to catch my breath…!”
Valdor hurried to explain, forgot to bow and fumbled to do so, as this boy was most likely a noble too.
“Are you sure?”
He continued, calmly, almost gently, in a tone which made Valdor at the same time feel strangely comfortable, but still anxiously confused.
“Yes, yes…!”
He answered, biting his lip. And this too had to happen! What did the other one want of him now? Mock him a bit further?
“Good…. Say, what’s your name?”
The other boy continued, and the smile which hung on his lips didn’t die out, and it did reach his eyes, too.
“Valdor…?”
Valdor answered, now more flustered than anxious. Why did this one want to know it? Had he done something to make him angry, too? It probably showed on his face that he was mightily confused. The other boy chuckled a bit.
“Nice to meet you, Valdor. I’m Amalraen. Are you sure you are okay?”
He continued in a very persisting way, but Valdor only bowed his head as he didn’t know what else to do.
“Nice to meet you, too…. Yes, I’m fine, thank you for your concern.”
Valdor mumbled, trying to act accordingly, but he wasn’t sure how. The polite words came out of his mouth a bit wavering.
“Nice to heard that. Well, I must get going now, the others are getting restless. But I wish you good luck in the exams.”
“T-thank you, likewise…”
Valdor bowed his head a little, and confusedly stared at the other boy’s back when he got back to his friends, others laughing something and shaking their heads, before they left, maybe to eat something together after the sparring matches. Valdor stood there for a while, trying to figure how to label this encounter in his mind. He didn’t know back then, but their paths would cross again.

***

“Ah, there’s our hero!”
Chaos’ heartfelt laughter never failed in forcing a smile on Valdor’s face. His purple-skinned big brother Ponder scooped the skinny drow up like he would have been just a sack of flour. Valdor struggled on the tiefling’s wide and muscular shoulder, but mostly in good humour, yanking the big man’s curved ramlike horns.
“We thought you’d betray us and stay in Netehdrez! You should have known better; You’ll never get out alive when it’s about our gang!”
Filnar laughed and shook his head, resting leisurely on a sack of feed. The drow boy was just a little bit older than Valdor himself, and as they had grown up as neighbors during their first years of childhood, it was taken they had become best friends. He had dark blue skin and orange-ish eyes, and a bandanna on his head as a fashion statement the others liked to tease him about. But Filnar didn’t much care.
“I’ve understood that much…”
chuckled Valdor, when he was finally let down.
“The Netehdrez girls have sharp nails, eh?”
Chaos pondered, eyes keenly on Valdor.
“Huh?”
He repeated, confused, glancing at the others. Ponder shrugged and Filnar gave him just as questioning look.
“You got a cut on your neck.”
Chaos answered with a sly grin. Valdor raised his fingers on his throat, and true enough, now he could feel the sting he hadn’t noticed before.
“Oh.”
He mumbled, and then connected the dots.
“Ah, this one… it’s made by a blade. There was a sparring match, and my opponent’s sword must have scratched me, I guess…”
“So did you lost then?”
“Well, it was not fought to death and…”
“So you did.”
“Well….”
Valdor’s cheeks felt hot. It was embarrassing enough to go through the sparring match inside his head, but to put it that way…
“Better for us! We wouldn’t want any Yanta traitors around! Although you could have been a useful ‘avoid the prison’ trump card.”
Said another voice, which belonged to a tall drow man called Dax, who was, despite his prettier looks, just as much of a commoner as the rest of them. Maybe his sire had been a nobleborn, but it didn’t really matter when your mother’s a whore. He closed the door after him and threw his dirty cape on top of a barrel in the lack of a coat rack.

“Dax, my man! Did you bring the booze?”
“Chaos, shut your stupid mouth. Of course not. We can’t have you completely drunk during the gig.”
Now everyone perked up. A gig was a welcome one, as everyone was starting to be out of money again.
“Big one?”
Ponder pondered, tilting his big ram-horned head. The good paying ones were rare, but something very much sought after. Their small gang just had to compete with the other groups to get a taste of the price. Dax was their main contact, as he knew most people, and thus had become the leader unanimously.
“Easy transfer one but pays well.”
The mood in the small backroom of an old partially abandoned tannery rose immediately by a notch. Transfer gigs were the easiest – just take stuff from point A to point B and collect rest of the payment.
“I snatched it from the Devils.”
Dax admitted and got a small whistle out of Filnar.
“Oooo~ I think I love you!”
Chaos chuckled and forcefully hugged Dax, who just pushed the overly enthusiastic tiefling boy away. They didn’t like the Devils, as that new group had been slowly starting to skulk closer to their turf, and they would protect their own small block with claws and teeth if needed to.


“Don’t slam the door!”
Dax hissed to Filnar, when the group slipped into a run-down warehouse, which was still very much of use despite its looks. Dust speckled every surface and moist smell of moss filled Valdor’s nostrils when they stepped in.
“Sorry!”
Filnar hissed back and smiled a bit sheepishly, before closing the door more gently, and remaining outside as a guard while the others did their business.

“So… The ones with the black mark should be taken from here to a cavern not far away. Remember that old mining shaft near Old man Vorn’s hut?”
The rest of the group nodded to Dax’s explanation. It was one of the most common transport hubs for these kinds of items. You dropped the boxes off and were on your merry way. Someone would come to collect them later, but when and how wasn’t your problem.
“What’s in the boxes?”
Chaos asked, curiously eyeing the marked crates.
“I don’t know, and to be honest, I’m not even sure if I want to know.”
Dax just answered, shrugging. Sometimes it was better for not to know… but judging by the size of the boxes it was undoubtedly something small and easily sellable. Drugs, weapons, stolen items perhaps. Hot items, as they were called. Something to raise too much suspicion on the streets, but which would also sell big in the black market.


“So, let’s get them moving.”
Ponder just stated calmly and took one of the crates on his arms, testing how heavy it felt.
“And then you, Valdor, if you could check the way to the back door and then we-…”
The sound of the door slamming open cut Dax’s explanation short, when Filnar bursted in, scared look on his thin face.
“Yanta is here!”
He yapped, voice cracking. For a short moment everyone froze in their respectable places like under some kind of a time-stopping spell. And then everything happened at once. There were yells from the outside, sound of pounding from the other side of the building -perhaps soldiers trying to get in through a side door and get them cornered in like rats.
They fled, scattering like a flock of bats. In these kinds of situations everyone was on their own; no one wanted to fight well-armored professional soldiers or entice the anger of Yanta. Valdor got a bit slower start, and instead of the rest who sprinted towards the back door, he noticed a small window in a smaller side room when they ran past it. He came to an immediate halt, made his decision and turned around, rushing into the small side room, which had been used to store old barrels. He climbed on top of a barrel, and then hands shaking of adrenaline tried to get the narrow window open, but it seemed to be stuck by the banes. After a second or two which felt for the eternity, and when he put his all strength into it, he got it moving and it let out a loud creak when it swung open. Valdor wiggled himself through it, but for a one freezing moment he got stuck by his bottom. The hilt of his dagger got stuck and fingers frantically yanking the belt it finally came loose and ejected him out of the window on a dirty, cluttered alley between the warehouse and another building. He didn’t waste time to brush off dirt off his hands or clothes but ran faster than he ever had. For once his lithe physique was of use -none of his friends would have fit through.


Valdor spent the next two days wandering on the other side of the city, on the opposite side of the lake, just to be sure, but the graveness of the situation didn’t dawn on him before he got back home. Filnar’s aunt was out hanging rags to dry, when he walked past.
“Valdor!”
She called, and Valdor stopped.
“Oh. Hi Aunt Haelra.”
He greeted, a bit surprised that she had something to talk with him, but her next question felt like somebody would have poured molten lead into his stomach. “Have you seen Filnar?”
Valdor just quickly shook his head and was off, biting his lip when he stepped inside their own house, fingers nervously searching for something to fidget with.

“Brother, you got a letter.”
Ereliara pointed to the edge of the table she was reading behind of, not even lifting her gaze from the pages of the pamphlet, which, judging by the tattered pages was something she wanted her brother to see. Smut, maybe, as the young lady had been getting on that rebellious streak and wanting to make her brother embarrassed had seemed to be her top priority for a few weeks.
Valdor burrowed his brows and lifted up the letter, when Yanta’s stamp made the blood freeze in his veins. Was this an order of arrest?! For a furious flash he weighted the option to just dump it to the trash, but then he noticed that it had the seal of the Netehdrez branch.
Oh.
Hands shaking, he tore the letter open and straightened the very thick and official feeling paper.

“To whom it may concern,

We are delighted to inform that Valdor Bloodworth has been accepted for the basic training, beginning from…”

And now all the blood wanted to flee his brain, sending shivers of cold down his spine.
“Bad news? You’re all pale.”
Now Ereliara sounded more curious. She hadn’t been able to keep up the act for any longer.
“No…”
Valdor muttered, something stuck in his throat.
“…I… I think I got accepted in…”
He gulped and set the letter down.
“But that’s great!”
Ereliara congratulated him, but her brother didn’t seem as enthusiastic.
“I’m going for a walk.”
He said before fleeing the house, in the middle of turbulent emotions.

Panic had started to seep in and sow its seed into his mind. If he hadn’t had much to lose, now he had everything; and not just his own future, but the future of his small, intimate family. Even if mother sometimes annoyed him, she was still very much dear to him, just like his sister he had practically raised alone. And if not for himself, he had to do this for them.

Her pondered, weighted options and finally decided to act as he was running out of time.
He mumbled ‘If you walk by the Crystal Bridge, watch out for the bats’, as he had been instructed and after a short, nervous moment of waiting, he was let in by a huge wall-of-a-tiefling called Beast. The man had horns like those of a rothé and skin color of the deep onyx. He could remember the Beast before him, though, as it sometimes seemed more like a title than a name when mama decided to change bouncers.
Valdor bowed deeply, when he was taken into the room and stopped before an older drow lady, who everyone knew by the name Mama Sanguine. Mama Sanguine had always struck him as a sly and powerful woman, who liked the place where she was now, as undoubtedly, she would have been able to climb much higher if it was just about skill. No, Valdor was sure she liked it here, and had found herself a perfect little niche to work in. She was preparing some concoctions, and he really had to force the words out of his mouth, back still bent into a bow. He noticed his hands shaking, his voice barely intact.
“I am sorry to bother, but I really would need Mama Sanguine’s help… It’s urgent.”