“I'll have you and The Velak stop right there,” The guard ordered, “Can't have anyone bringing trouble into Ashvale.”

  The guard looked at me in that bored yet aware expression I was sure I had at my post nearly every day for the past fourteen months. Significant hustle and bustle sounded from the other side of the reinforced wooden door as far more traffic passed through the main street and its two other gates than the side gate here.

  I remembered Ashvale then, if vaguely. I hadn't stopped for long as I camped outside its borders one night with barely a Mark to my name. It struck me as a place filled with the usual mostly-good folks and the guards were willing to keep an eye out for the safety of the other tents pitched nearby. That cold night alone had sapped my strength and the blizzard that sprung up halfway through the day after had ruined my plans of escaping Saovia.

  Obediently, I stood in front of the guard and waited for his questions. While I guessed fifty percent of Saovia knew something of reading and writing (including myself, obviously!), it was still something like forty eight percent less than where I used to call home, so I did not have papers and I would not be expected to give them.

  The trouble, of course, was that if I was expected of possibly lying, me and Meika would at the very least be prevented from entering as long as Ashvale's governor lived. I've once seen a man excuse himself from the entry queue and get shot for doing so.

  The second guard pulled out a piece of parchment while the first leaned on his spear.

  “Name,” droned the first guard.

  I put on a polite and airy attitude and acted pleased to be of service.

  “Austin Buskirk, sir. Her name is Meika- No last name, I'm sure you know.”

  While Meika gave me a brief look of delighted confusion, the guard quirked a suspicious eyebrow. “I do not need your Velak's name,” He corrected me.

  I rocked on my heels. “I'm sorry sir, I don't understand the issue.”

  Guard one gave guard two the side eye. Guard two shrugged and wrote Meika's name in the ledger as guard one decided it wasn't his problem.

  “Origin,” he droned again- Always with the undertone of “if we don't like your answer, the guards on the wall will kill you”.

  “The Grand Seil Forest Border Station, sir.”

  “Hm. On leave, are you?”

  “I returned The King's Mark to my captain just a day ago.”

  “What's it wearing chain-mail for?” He accused, pointing to Meika.

  Extra suspicious today, then? I thought to myself. I looked Meika up and down theatrically while I figured out a way to flavor the truth.

  “I believe the captain was sympathetic to her and wanted to make sure she was well clothed when I took her with me.”

  Guard one almost had another question until Meika distracted him, gracefully twirling and admiring the brilliant blue on her surcoat. “I think it's lovely! It brings out my eyes in a delightful way.” It was excellent timing as my purchase was so off the books that any outsider would suspect me of theft.

  Guard two watched her do one more spin. “She's a rather pretty creature, ain't she Marv?”

  “It's damaged,” “Marv” muttered back to his cohort. “And a waste to clothe it so-”

  “Marv” turned back to stare me down with suspicious boredom.

  “Purpose of your stay?”

  Easy one this time. “Well it's a bit dark out, sir,”- I gazed whimsically at the eight 'o clock night sky. “The lady and I would like to stay at your inn. Buy supplies tomorrow, get a bit of time with the doctor to be safe, and maybe come up with a place to leave for.”

  “Marv” must have decided he was annoyed with me.

  “Who's 'the lady'?” He asked- Trying to get me to be angry so he'd have some reason.

  “This one, sir!” I pivoted around his question, throwing an arm around Meika.

  Guard two was amused. “Marv” was about to pop a vein at the fool in front of him.

  “All I see is a Velak Bitch.” I knew that smirk. He thought he was very clever and took special satisfaction as Meika pulled back her ears and snarled behind a mask of calm. I knew it was intended to hurt me as Meika wasn't “people”. Still, five years of do or die interpersonal diplomacy taught me that it really was as The Good Lord said per that verse about “burning coals”- Treat your foes kindly and you might as well be setting them on fire.

  I gave Meika's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  “Well then, sir, The 'Bitch' and I would like to enter your fine city-”

  It happened very fast- Taking the reversal personally, “Marv” whipped the upper portion of the shaft of his spear at my head and my sword rose up to meet him. An arrow flew from the ramparts- Accurate, but uncertain as it struck the dirt at my heel, and no more followed- Guard two had both of Marv's arms locked in a grip from behind as he bodily threw the man to the side, while I realized some people burned a little too hot.

  “Dammit! The man's a lunatic, not a killer, Marvin!”

  Nuts. Just when I was getting to like guard number two.

  Guard number one pulled himself back up and shouted at his compatriot.

  “What's the fukkin' sword for then, huh?! That ASS drew his weapon on me!”

  “Maybe they kept his 'fukkin'' brains where they 'fukkin'' belonged, huh mate?”

  Guard one growled and resumed his post like a toddler stomping of to their room.

  “ENTER,” He snapped, like his anger was my fault, “And take the Velak with you.”

  Taking it as a signal, a couple more guards banged on the door and unseen hands turned the mechanisms to open it.

  I thanked him with tones as sweet as honey. As we passed by towards the waiting gate, guard two jovially called out to me.

  “She really is a pretty one, sir! Maybe tomorrow we can get us a pint and you can tell me what having a lay with a Velak is like!”

  THAT hurt. An icy cold fury shot down my back as Meika had another quiet panic attack on the spot, but I dragged us both away from the gate and looked for signs of an inn.

  So, at this point in the story, we were in a Saovian city, our first time together outside of the fortress.

  The only kind I knew of on this world, unfortunately, but a world power always builds impressive cities. The first thing is the profound effect that germ theory has on medieval city planning- There were not just fliers instructing the folk: “Clean Your Kitchens! Plague Mites Kill Children!” But the cobbled streets were also bare of animal filth and food waste, all swept and washed into a primitive sewer system on the surface powered by a pump for a rich and highly defended aquifer. The sewers drained into a communal latrine outside that I had more than once seen cleaned out by strong men in fully sealed leather suits, the filth drawn up in buckets and loaded up into a cart to be processed and disinfected by wind-weaving. I imagined before germ theory such people were shunned and lived short lives, but these men were paid well and admired.

  The first time I had ever seen it, I gasped as I admired beautiful Roman-styled aqueducts transport clean water all throughout the public living spaces- Some to cascade into public fountains to be admired, some to go to communal troughs- An upper tier to drink from and a lower tier to wash your hands in before you did. Both alike eventually fed the sewers, but the flow prevented stagnation and kept the water drinkable, and some of the upper tier diverted into huge barrels for making wine and beer. It was the next best thing to a faucet in your house, but I figured the town all paid for it with taxes and kept it clean on pain of death.

  Wind-weaving had also left its mark on Saovian cities in other ways, as complex synthetic structures were created on a per unit basis as needed- The results were never for private ownership except for the highest of nobles, but they nonetheless extended the light of the lamps in the street and slowed their burn- Smokeless charcoal and paraffin wax made the hard way, and crystal lenses to bounce the light around made of glass more pure than otherwise possible with mundane techniques of the middle ages. It made the streets at night warmer and safer and roads could be wider because of it. As for defensive artillery? Let's just say they had civil war era canons a few centuries too early- Not often used as they were expensive to fire and maintain, but any enemy ballista or trebuchet in an attempted siege was, well... Canon fodder as they were reduced to splinters, the tensed ropes killing men around them from flying apart. Pointed in, one or two shots would stop a raging mob dead, at a small cost of many peasant lives.

  But it was still night time. Operating hours for businesses could run longer thanks to the city lights, but most who had nothing to do stayed indoors and slept (and it had not taken long for the streets to empty), so Meika had few witnesses as she wept into my chest. I ran one hand in circles across her back and scratched an ear with another.

  “Let's hope nobody brings that up again,” I said as she snuffled and messed up my surcoat.

  I soon found my sign, carved and painted with a well crafted beer stein and proudly labeled “The Wretching Fletcher”. Spelling was clearly not as important as advertising. Names were more often than not just a way to distinguish “my inn” from “their inn”, so nobody needed any pleasing names when the service was meant to make up for references to puking craftsmen.

  Brought out of sorrow by the promise of real food, she took my hand and let me lead her inside. Her demeanor improved with the smell of stew, fatty mutton and fresh baked bread, but the experience at the gate made her a little less bold.

  I will tell you this- My first impression of the inn was far better than the gate as a green skinned maiden with a glossy mop of emerald hair came to greet us, tray full of food in hand. There were only a few patrons here and there sat in the tables and one hopeless looking Velak chained to the wall by his neck on a provided iron clamp.

  “Fonta's favor, friend! I can get you dinner for two Marks, beer for one Mark, and a room for Five.” I hadn't seen my reflection in a while except through (often rippling) water, but with the way her eyes sparkled I had some suspicion I was halfway nice to look at.

  No Saovian city had a major Christian population. For a while I wasn't sure there were any except for me, but I once met with a noble who opened his parlor to a small congregation, feeding any poor and homeless child who was brave enough to walk to his gate what he and his staff could not eat that night, while the members of the church opened up their homes to them. He had given me some level of hope for many of my five years prior to Meika.

  But when Saovia says The Church, they mean Fonta and Contii. They believed their two gods had worked together to create the world, but as happens with non-gods, they had a disagreement. Fonta wanted to keep things as they are, and Contii wanted to rip everything up and start over. This disagreement eventually led to war as all creation took sides.

  I'll give you two guesses who is said to worship Contii. Don't look ahead until you've guessed.

  … If your answer was “Everyone and everything Saovia doesn't like or respect”, you'd be correct! Witchcraft and magic and demons come from Contii, while wind-weaving is from Fonta. Change is bad- Change is Contii stuff. Being normal and staying in your caste is very Fonta of you. Defying the government or your family got you thrown to Contii and torn up in the afterlife. The Church did not have as much power as the kings, lords and governors, but it was convenient to keep the population acting as they should, and everything would be clean and just so if they all did.

  The Velak were not particularly Contii to even The Saovian Not-Church's most faithful though, so our green hostess was unbothered by Meika.

  We made her watch as Meika pulled eight marks from her coin bag alongside me, but I combined them into her waiting hand. “We'll have the meal, beer, and the room if you please.”

  Only batting an eye at our demonstrative act of equality, she bustled off with a smile to put food in front of earlier patrons before heading into the kitchen. Some people can't hate you as long as you're a paying customer.

  As I selected a seat close to the fire and near the counter, Meika detoured over to the Velak we noticed sitting on the floor. A man taking long pulls from his umpteenth beer that night turned to look at me as I let my slave wander away, but he failed to care.

  I heard something panicked and quiet from the male, but it was quickly hushed by kindly whispers. Straining my ear didn't help me with any context or discerning any words for that matter.

  The conversation ended soon with another whisper, then “my master is Christian”, followed by a hug.

  She got up to sit next to me at the table very politely and exactly like a model human customer. No one challenged her.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Chonno is getting a portion of my food,” She stated, and there would be no argument.

  I agreed. “Give him some of mine instead. You're still skin and bones.”

  Our hostess came back with a hot tray of food and two wonderfully frothy beers.

  “Oh wow- The lady's so well behaved! I'll have to get her something sweet on the house. There you are, sir! This will keep you both warm tonight, and when you're all done I can show you your room.”

  Not the reaction we were going for with Meika seated next to me, but we couldn't help but laugh just a little bit as I thanked her.

  The mutton, cooked to tenderness in its own fats and greasy as all get out, was served on a trencher- bread left to go stale enough to hold food and protect the table surface. Usually the well off would pocket it for their own rations, toss it to the dogs in the inn to watch them joyfully eat it, or give it to the poor if they were feeling generous, but I was poor often enough that I got into the habit of eating mine. Not only was I usually famished when I entered an inn, but I had grown a taste for the things that was probably a little loony- The trenchers were always saturated with grease from the food they held by the end of the meal and had a flavor the animal side of me couldn't get enough of.

  The mutton was paired with a flaky soft loaf of rye bread to be dipped in the bowl of stew until the liquid ran out, then eaten as is. Not as pure and finely milled as grocery store bread, it also kept its natural flavor and texture, needing neither salt nor sugar to play subtly on the tongue. I will not say the stew was ever all that impressive, but there was always a lot of it, and you never got the same stew even on the same day for different meals. Besides salting, smoking or pickling, putting older food into your cauldron of soup or stew was an excellent way of making your supply last longer and to feed more people. Inns which operated on a profit were no less inclined to such efficiencies, and it was a benefit to many patrons as they loved to be reminded of home.

  But the beer...

  When I was a kid, I would sometimes spend a weekend with my grandma on my mothers side. The sweetest old woman you ever met, she was also Catholic and would take me and my Reformed siblings to Mass with her on Sunday. It was always an awe-inspiring experience despite our many theological differences, but me and their communion tradition never got along, as I would politely choke down the most bitter wine I had ever tasted even now and resolved every time since the first that alcohol was not for me.

  That all changed with my first taste of Saovian beer. I was nineteen, tired and scared. The sellsword I had attached myself to was a tough man with a kind heart, but when I asked for a drink, I was a legal adult in Saovia and I got beer whether I was ready for it or not.

  I don't remember which theologian had said it, but prior to Saovian beer, the thought that “beer is proof that God loves us” didn't make sense with the American alcohol market. See, if you just wanted to quench your thirst, there were plenty of good options available without a drop of alcohol in them. Drinks were for getting drunk, and you couldn't tell if it was going to be good enough unless you tasted the alcohol. They were named offensive things like mudslide, bloody marry, and I swear I once saw something called a Garbage Can- Presumably getting drunk wasn't fun enough alone and people had to find new and interesting ways to achieve it.

  But in Saovia, beer was for quenching thirst. Sure, getting drunk was something people liked to do there as much as they did on Earth, but their beers are light and cool, fizzy and gentle going down, with their earthy flavor made to mask the bite of the alcohol as fermentation was used to make a safe drink and some people considered drunkenness an unwanted byproduct- Shock and awe! I had to watch myself- Drunkenness was easy to get to just for the sake of more of that taste.

  Meika did not eat like a starving animal. She had done that more than enough times as I squeezed food one morsel at a time through the bars of her cell, but she was here safe with me, and so she ate with grace and decorum, her mouth popping open only enough to manage the process of chewing. Her snout had to enter the stein fully in order to drink both swiftly and quietly, but she even managed the foam on her face afterwards in a polite way, subtly licking her chops exactly once and saying nothing more about it.

  And there I was, mouth still full of some mutton, some stew and a lot of bread, with grease all over my chin and utterly covered hands hovering over the trencher for fear of soiling anything around me. I've never lived it down since (“If I had been drinking, it would have gone out my nose!”).

  When I managed to finish and clean up, her prayer was quick, based on the Saovian faith tradition, but adapted to Christian practice as she prayed at the end of the meal. Where Fonta would have been thanked for reliable food (even if it wasn't reliable) and asked for continued permission to exist, Meika thanked God, Jesus and Holy Spirit for salvation of her eternal soul, and gifts in the meantime such as food and drink.

  I had often been too hungry or occupied to pray at all over a meal, but who had been more saved- Her or me? (Trick question. We both were lost sheep, but I'm sure the Good Shepherd had to walk farther to bring Meika home)

  After that she confiscated my trencher. There was good grease in that thing and I was more than happy to let Chonno have it.

  His chain was only long enough to let him sit directly under the iron clamp or stand up two feet away. Not every slave owner tied up their Velak slaves like this, but the ones who did were not soft hearted and the poor fellow was on the edge of starving.

  Meika spoke in hushed tones- Louder this time to get him to quiet down and be heard over his weeping.

  “Eat it, quick. It's from my master.”

  “He knows. He saw me do it.”

  “I know you love me. I gave you food. Now eat it.”

  “Don't let your master see it. Eat.”

  “Good. Be strong, okay? I'm so, so sorry.”

  She returned to the table again, sadly counting the Marks she had in her coinbag as she laid them out on the table. 112 Marks of silver coins.

  Tears uncontrollably flowing, she shoved forty Marks in my direction and looked me in the eyes.

  “Forty Marks, Austin,” She whimpered, “You can buy him.”

  It was the most painful “no” I ever uttered as I pushed the coins back.

  “I'll have seventy one left. You'll have over a hundred. We can live off of that for over a year-”

  “Spare clothes cost almost as much as a slave, Meika. A sword for you costs more, and we still need to get us both to a doctor.”

  Mr. Drinking in the nearby table looked at me again at the mention of a sword for my slave but decided his beer tasted too good to ignore.

  “We can't ignore him-”

  “We didn't. You fed him. That's going to have to somehow be enough. That and prayer.”

  “What if his master beats him?”

  “I don't know if he'd even sell him to me, Meika, or even at that price. You were Turkar's toy to beat and abuse when he was bored, and he hated you- But it still took two months because he wouldn't just give you away. He tried to convince me I was stupid for saving up the Marks to buy you.”

  Unable to bear it, she balled her hands into fists and thumped them on her knees, her crying came out in angry sniffles and shaky breaths and snot bubbles on her nose. I folded her into another tight hug and she melted into it, balling up my surcoat in her hands and biting the cloth in righteous fury. That was going to be another hole of many in my old guardsman's outfit, all so far inflicted by Meika and all the price of helping her.

  But in a short amount of time, our green hostess returned with another clean stein in hand.

  “Awww... She's had a rough night, hasn't she? The poor thing... Here you are- Some honeyed milk- Something sweet just like I said. I warmed it over the fire for you. On the house for you, sir.”

  Squeaking out a thank you, she clutched the stein in both hands and drank greedily.

  “She's upset by the Velak tied down in the corner-” I said, not lying as I pointed him out to her.

  The waitress glowered at the chain.

  “What kind of master ties up his slave in the common area while he takes a room all night? Throw him and those like him to Contii, I say. He doesn't even feed the damn creature.”

  “Have you ever thought of sneaking him any food?” I asked offhandedly.

  She planted one hand on her hip and looked outside.

  “Our employer put that clamp in the wall so they'd stop tying them up outside. The bastards bring their own chains and make them short- Can't let them get too comfortable by the fire, it seems. I get the litter folks can still eat and sneak them over, sir, but it's not a meal and it's not every day.”

  As the waitress reached over to take our empty bowls and steins, she ran a hand through Meika's cheek fur in admiration.

  “She really is beautiful, isn't she? Such lovely colors.”

  Not in the mood, Meika glared at the table. “I'm damaged,” she growled.

  This had the opposite intended effect as the waitress continued touching her. She ran a finger on the scar on Meika's nose, then pulled the lips apart to stare in concern at some of the missing teeth.

  “Oh no, what happened to her?” she asked, turning to me.

  Frustrated for Meika, I went for maximum effect.

  “Meika was raped and beaten every day for two months straight by her last master,” I informed her, and her green skin went a shade more pale.

  As though I had something to do with it, she glared at me. “You'd better treat that poor creature well or I'll kill you myself, you hear?”

  She had the wrong idea about Velaks, but I was thoroughly liking this woman- Me and Mr. Drinking both barked out a laugh, but while he returned to his very empty stein looking for more beer to manifest itself, I slipped her a coin- “For excellent service and a lovely smile,” I told her and she flushed a little red beneath the green on her cheeks.

  Meika searched herself and found it in her heart to tip the waitress too- Though maybe she regretted it when the woman responded with a condescending kiss on the nose. I couldn't help but think that in this woman's hands, Meika would have been pampered like a toy poodle.

  …

  “Third room down the right, sir, all the ones on the left are for storage,” The woman pointed out quietly, courteous of other guests in the Inn.

  I hadn't seen the inside of many inns in my time here- My most luxurious stay was with the church-hosting noble in a guest bed whose cost was more than I could have made in a year as a guard. He had hired me to clear out a den of robbers and their wind-weaving monsters, and as I dragged my bloodied, filth covered self back to his manor, he bandaged me up himself, had his seneschal send me to bed and pretended I didn't make the fine silk sheets and downy mattress just as filthy. (Despite my complaining in previous writings, I currently find myself missing it even as our bedding here is much better than the average)

  The few times I had, they were not as clean as germ-conscious Saovia would have considered appropriate and I had almost preferred my awful tent, save for the fact that I'd surely freeze and die in it. Neither all that much private nor quiet, it was a cold task to get up to use the chamber pot in the middle of the night, and scratchy sheets on near expired hay mats were all they had.

  This place was a blessing.

  “There are two cupboard beds in case you'd like some privacy from the lady, and we made sure to warm them both before I came to get you- We also have a valuables chest for your coin in your room and we'll leave you the key. If you have any emergencies, head back down the hall to the far door- Our personal housing is there and you can knock. Now good night!”

  With a final smile, our hostess closed the door behind her and we were left to our devices. We shed our cargo immediately and locked away our coin bags, slipping the key under the lower pillow.

  I patted the bed and was pleased: Pure cotton sheets and quilts laid atop a wool mattress with a cotton casing. In place of wood, each bed was supported on a lattice of ropes I was sure would be difficult to even notice under the conditions, yet promised a comfortable sag that would still hold strong as the ropes were not yet well worn.

  The pillows were the best, made from standard goose down that gave way to pressure easily. Meika soon joined me in petting the bed approvingly.

  “How much nicer the hay mattress felt compared to a dirt floor- And now this. I'm so glad I can live again, Austin.”

  Feeling sympathy for her once again, I nodded, taking off the outer elements of my outfit to leave only the long underwear.

  “Having someone to care about has made me finally do more than survive, Meika. I'd take the cold ground if it meant helping you.”

  Meika followed suit with some trouble as I helped her with the more complex straps, but the underwear came off as well to reveal little else but fur. (Don't be bashful now! A Velak is plenty modest!)

  When I chose the bottom bunk, I realized Meika might have some trouble climbing up to the top and offered to switch... Then I remembered that ball of living warmth.

  Meika stood waiting on the floor, not wanting to intrude. We did not think we had each other's permission until I took her hand.

  “I want you to know I'll be right here, Meika. Just in case tonight is another bad one for you.”

  But as I let go, she followed me into the bottom bed, planting her back against my chest and drawing the covers above us and over her head. I tried to give her some room, but she closed the gap anyway and I took it as a request to be held.

  I wrapped my arms around her chest and curled my legs in over hers, and she gently clutched her arms over mine, draping her tail just above my waist.

  “My friend... We have so little power here.”

  “That's true, Meika.”

  “We will not be conquering Saovia.”

  “No, it's... Not likely.”

  “We can only do enough to feed one slave, and he might starve tomorrow.”

  “I know, Meika... I know.”

  “Please... I want to hear the psalm.”

  As I recited the words of Psalm 23 again, she softened in my arms like slowly melting butter and I turned her around to cradle her. ...I still wanted too many things to count and I wasn't sure I could list them all.

  Meika placed her ear into my hand and I began to rub it. The last remaining tension in the both of us evaporated as I had unknowingly found the trick to stopping her nightmares.

  “...A table in the presence of our enemies. ...The people in Ashvale aren't kind to The Velak- Not all of them. ...And yet I still get honeyed milk.”

  I chuckled.

  “...Someday we will dwell in The House of The Lord forever. ...But there's still a shadow of death. Austin, is God with me still? When cruel men at the gates call me a bitch and fools imagine making love to me? When I sit here well fed and a Velak downstairs weeps over a trencher?”

  “Meika... He was with you every day inside that dungeon. And if God brought you to me... He must have sent me to you.”

  Meika hugged me possessively as she drifted off to sleep.

  “...I'm not giving you back.”