The Borderlands The Memoirs Of Lord Tristan

Part 1-Chapter I

I have decided to begin recording my adventures, and though I am still in the midst of them, I believe in the end they will be a worthy read.
I will begin this story, my story, where it began, or as close to there as I can figure. It begins in the year 1262.

...oOo...

It was a cold, black night and I was in a prison cell devoid of all comforts. My meagre clothes barely covered me. And did nothing whatsoever to keep out the chill. I had been imprisoned for no real offence, I had entered a room which I thought was empty without asking permission. I was a slave, which meant that all punishments were harsher toward me. By this point in my life I had almost lost the will to live. Having been enslaved for almost half my life, my hopes of freedom had all but died.
But it was on that uncomely night where my luck changed. My cell door opened with a loud creak, making me wince.
"Up girl!" the gaoler's sour voice spat. I had long since become used to this treatment and scrambled to my feet. Not knowing the cause of the late night visit I hazarded a guess that my master had changed his mind about my punishment. "Let him have a look at you," said the gaoler sneering. He gestured to a well dressed man, perhaps a servant of a respectable Lord. The man surveyed me as best as one could with a single hand held candle.
"She'll do," he said, in a calm voice.
"Fifteen shekels it is then," said the gaoler.
"Deal." The man extracted fifteen coins from a corpulent purse.
My heart sank. I was being sold, perhaps to a cruel man, and an even worse life.
"You will give this directly to him?" the man asked.
"On my honour," confirmed the gaoler. I didn't doubt his sincerity. After all, he had no honour to swear upon.
My fetters were unlocked from the wall and I was led away by the well dressed man. He took me to a wagon outside my used-to-be master's property.
"In," he said, in a clear calm voice. I climbed into the covered wagon and found myself next to another slave. I could tell he was a slave as he had been branded on the chest. My fear, which was a perfectly rational one, began to surmount. I hadn't had any real friends in awhile, but being taken away from the people I knew without a moment's notice, and progressing into the unknown, was a truly terrifying prospect.
The wagon plodded forward for a long time, it was midday before it came to a halt. I was bleary eyed and very tired as I had just been jolted awake from dozing. I ventured an unwarranted peek out in between the canvas folds of the wagon cover. We had stopped next to a large Manor, and that's when I noticed we were atop a tall hill with a large scope of mountains beyond, that were formed in a crescent like shape. Below the hill was a large plain with a very small city, more like a collection of villages. That is when the truth finally penetrated; we were in the Borderlands.
I felt like crying, but I didn't. How many stories had I heard of the Raiders terrorising the Borderlands and capturing civilians to use for who knew what?
Too many, I thought, miserably.
I was brought back to reality by the sound of the well dressed servant dismounting. I scrambled away from my peephole and exited the wagon when I was told to.
"Come," he said to both the male slave and I. We obeyed. He led us through two large iron gates. If I hadn't known better, I would have said that we had come upon a fortress, not a Manor. We travelled through a vegetable garden where a tan man was pruning the bordering bushes, and pulling weeds. Next we came upon a flower garden, where the sweet aroma of roses dominated. I took a deep breath through my nose and sighed contentedly. We followed the well dressed man off to the right where a log house was built. No doubt the slaves' quarters. A thin, pale, elderly woman was spinning wool as she sat on an old wicker chair outside the cabin.
"You," said the well dressed man, though not unkindly. "Make this slave presentable to see his Lordship within the hour."
"Yes sir," said the old lady.
"And do you happen to know where his Lordship is?" asked the well dressed man.
"Both his Lordship and his mother are burying his father," said the elderly woman.
"Gods rest his soul," murmured the well dressed man in answer, and in that moment I saw a flicker of emotion in that calm, collected face. My heart was deeply touched, I had been prepared to loathe my new master, but this revelation rendered me incapable of any sincere hatred.
The well dressed man left with the other slave, perhaps to find someone else to make him presentable.
"Come girl, what is your name?" asked the elderly woman, carefully standing up from her chair. The question was so unexpected that it took me a moment to recollect what my own name was! For I hadn't been asked it in the last four years.
"Genevah," I said, "My name is Genevah."
"That's a pretty name Genevah," said the old lady, taking my hand in her gnarled fingers and leading me toward the log cabin. 

Once I was clean the old lady, whose name was Pamella, gave me a new, clean pair of clothes. The outfit consisted of four simple articles, a well fitting pair of brown woollen trousers, thin plain shoes, a dark brown tunic and a belt. When I had changed into the named clothes Pamella took me out to a clear pond to use as a mirror.
"Beautiful," she sighed tucking a white strand of hair behind her ear as I took in my reflection. My curly white blond hair was no longer a dirty tangled mess, but laid smoothly against my new clothes. I could clearly see my curved jawline, and green eyes in the rippling water. My face was thin and almost haggard looking, I had been enslaved for nine years and only once in that time had I eaten my fill.
From the lighting upon the pond and my face; my eyes looked deeply sunken. I sighed. I remembered the days when I was one of the most beautiful in my home town, along with my identical twin, but if I ever returned I doubted that even my own mother would recognise me.

As I watched my ever shifting reflection a voice to my left startled me and I almost jumped.
"New slave?"
I turned toward the voice. It belonged to a boy of about sixteen, his features startled me so greatly I actually did jump. I who had seen slaves for all my life, I who had been a slave for half my life, had never once seen a more hopeless face. His brown eyes were empty of all emotion and life, his black hair hung lank around his face and overshadowed his eyes, his skin was rough and tan. He looked weary, ill treated and his face was pinched from lack of food.
"This is Levi, he's a slave under the village baker down in the plains," said Pamella.
"Nice to meet you Levi," I said, trying to sound genuine.
He stared at me in return. Bruises and scratches covered his face. His eyes watched me dully, vacantly.
"You'll be treated well here," he said, his voice lacking even a trace of emotion.
A minute of silence passed uneventfully between us. 
"Levi go finish your chores and return to your master," said Pamella. Levi nodded and walked slowly away. Once he was out of earshot I turned toward Pamella.
"What's the matter with him?" I asked.
"He has lost the will to live, he has been a slave his whole life, and never while in his right mind has he heard a word of kindness from anyone," said Pamella, sadly.
"Have you ever tried talking with him?" I asked.
"Yes, several times, but he is incoherent of anything but an order." She sighed.
"How long has he been like this?"
"Ever since I met him, and I've known him a total of four years."

Our conversation was interrupted by the approach of the well dressed man. He checked me up and down. Apparently I passed any tests he had.
"Come, it is time for you to present yourself before your new master, Lord Tristan," he said, and beckoned me to follow. I acquiesced and followed him through the gardens and into the Manor. Lord Tristan's Manor was very lavish, not so to a point of disgust, but rather to the point of pleasure. After passing through several carpeted halls we came upon a pair of carved wooden doors where two guards stood.
"Is it his Lordship's will to see us in?" asked the well dressed man addressing the guards. After one of the guards received an answer from his Lord we were admitted in.