Wayfarer (Wanderlust 2)

Bonus - Myloh

Ten years before Wanderlust

Myloh was usually very good at keeping his head down. Being a servant in the Order was a good job. It paid well, provided him a room to sleep in, and kept him fed. For a half-Native orphan, it was about as good as life could get. Every morning, when the bells rang to wake up the servants, Myloh took a moment to thank Zianesa that he had taken after his father. He didn't look half-Native, and that was probably the only reason he had the job.

The daily schedule was simple and it almost never wavered. Myloh hadn't been working in the Order long enough to be trusted with the fancier jobs like scribing or library work. He hadn't been taught to help the lords train, or how to look after their weapons and armour. He mostly just cleaned. The dining hall, dishes, laundry, the lords' bedchambers. If it wasn't particularly fun work, at least it was easy. And for the most part, the lords ignored him.

For the most part.

Myloh, like all of the less valuable servants, had been through a few rough incidents with the lords. Sometimes it was simple, like being yelled at or insulted. Those moments were always embarrassing, but later in the servants' quarters they would rally and whisper about how unfair and spoiled the lord was. Sometimes, if the servant had actually done something wrong, it might involve a beating. But sometimes the lords were just bored, and those times were always the worst.

But Myloh, for the most part, was lucky. He managed to get his work done quietly and quickly, and rarely got in trouble. Until one day, when a mix-up in the schedule meant that he hadn't done the laundry that was assigned to him. Which was why he was rushing to carry a basket of laundry across the courtyard that evening, instead of helping clean dishes in the kitchen.

The laundry basins were in one of the outer buildings. Myloh didn't like crossing the courtyard during the day. There were always too many lords around. Sometimes they were training in the courtyard, but sometimes they just had free time. And that was when being near them could be dangerous.

Myloh saw that there was a group of four lords, maybe in their third or fourth year, whacking each other with wooden swords. They seemed occupied, so he steeled his nerves and walked past them. There really was no other choice, anyway. They were between him and the laundry room.

He had almost made it past them when their laughter stopped, and with it, Myloh's heart. He risked a glance towards them to see that they were all watching him. Every instinct told him to ignore them and keep walking towards the laundry, but he fell back on his training instead, and paused.

"Hello, my lords. May I do something for you?"

The one standing nearest to him was also the largest. Myloh realized with dread that he recognized him. Lord Feshor was the youngest son of a lesser noble from Triben. He had very little political power and relied on his size and skill with a sword to intimidate and impress his friends. Myloh knew who he was because every servant in the Order knew who he was.

"That's my laundry," Lord Feshor said, using his wooden sword to gesture at the basket Myloh was carrying. "Why isn't it done?"

"I apologize, my lord," Myloh said, trying not to stammer. "There was a mix-up. I'll have it done for you by morning, sir."

"A mix-up?" Lord Feshor repeated. "Really? What's your name?"

"M... Myloh, my lord."

One of the other lords took a swig out of the bottle he was holding. They weren't technically allowed alcohol outside of what was served at dinner, but it was hard to enforce the rules sometimes. "Fesh, isn't this the servant that rumour was going around about?"