Half-Minotaur Slave

When Annan arrived in this world, he was like a blank sheet of paper.

The hardship of his first three days had stained it a muddy gray-brown. Then Aunt Susan's family and the Dawn Tavern had covered it with warm hues. But the bard's stories had added the most color, and the brightest.

Perhaps, in a foreseeable future, so many colors would overlap on that blank page that it would turn a motley black. For now, though, Annan still had beautiful dreams about this world's supernatural powers.

Mages waved staffs to cast spells and summon elemental beings. Sorcerers awakened the power in their blood to wield all manner of mysteries. Warriors swung greatswords and massive shields, fighting through blood to become either the sharpest spear or the strongest shield. Others held longbows and short daggers, dancing through crowds of enemies like elves. Hiding in the shadows like an assassin sounded good, too.

There were druids who protected forests, succubi he dreamed of meeting, barbarians with muscles for brains, and undead who looked terrifying but had kind hearts. And there were support specialists who wielded no supernatural power, yet made the best companions in a bard's tales.

But apart from the spell he had seen that night, Annan had yet to witness any other supernatural power.

The next day, Annan and Martin carried firewood to the market in the afternoon. As usual, Annan wandered the streets, widening his range day by day like a cat exploring its territory.

Annan could talk to anyone. Whenever he came across a stall, he would stop to ask, "How are you? I'm fine," or "How much does this cost?" He never bought anything.

The locals at the market were gradually growing familiar with the black-haired boy they had never seen before, with his strange, awkward accent.

As Annan expanded his territory, he soon reached a part of the market he had never visited. Animals like cattle and sheep were sold there... along with slaves.

Inside a cage stained with blood and rust crouched a hulking figure. Two horns grew from his head, one of them broken.

Perhaps Annan had stepped too close while looking, because a man beside the cage, dressed in filthy leather armor, warned him, "Hey, keep your distance. He might hurt you."

"Is he a Minotaur?"

"A minotaur? He's just a mongrel." The man struck the cage with his iron sword, producing a piercing clang.

The Minotaur raised his head. Only calm showed in his horizontal pupils as they reflected Annan. "You're not from around here."

"Uh... no."

Annan did not exclaim in shock that he could talk; the bard's stories had raised his threshold for surprise. But the Minotaur, at once so human and so different, closed his eyes and ignored the world again.

Annan stood to one side. Before long, someone took an interest in the Minotaur slave.

"Fifty silver coins," the man in leather armor said.

"Too expensive. He isn't even a Minotaur."

"You think you could get a real Minotaur for fifty silver?"

"Thirty silver is as high as I'll go."

"Then I might as well sell him to the Haunted Gold Mine."

The negotiation ended badly. Several more people asked the price, but no one bought him.

All Annan could do was listen. He owned only two silver coins.

"I can't help you..."

Annan murmured to the life trapped in the cage, then turned away. The half-minotaur opened his eyes and watched Annan's retreating back.

When Annan returned to the edge of the market, Martin had just sold the firewood. Annan went over and asked, "How much did you get?"

"Twenty copper coins."

That was the lowest price Aunt Susan would accept, and Martin always sold it for exactly that.

Which was why Martin always sold it so quickly.

They needed to buy five pounds of black bread on the way back. Annan volunteered and took fifteen copper coins to the bakery near the Dawn Tavern. With charm and a little talk, he got an extra half pound, then carried the paper bag back to Aunt Susan's house.

"The gold mine? Little Annan can't even lift a pickaxe."

The sound of an argument drifted from the yard. Before Annan could make out more, he saw an iron pickaxe leaning against the wall. He picked it up and pushed open the gate. "Aunt Susan, is this pickaxe ours?"

"I brought it back. Put it by the woodpile for me." Aunt Susan's expression changed at once, and she spoke gently.

"Okay."

Then she resumed arguing with Uncle Holin. "Little Annan is so thin. How could he swing a pickaxe?"

Thunk—

Annan brought the pickaxe down on the woodpile.

"Aunt Susan, what are you talking about?"

With an embarrassed smile, Uncle Holin told Annan that an old friend who had moved to Breeze City had invited him to work as a miner at the gold mine outside Pinglin Town. The pay was good, so he wanted to bring Martin and Annan along.

"How much does it pay?"

"Thirty copper coins a day."

That sounded like only ten copper coins more than a day of chopping wood, but Martin and Annan would each earn that amount.

"Are Uncle Holin and Martin going too?" Trusting Aunt Susan's family and eager to earn money, Annan agreed. "I'll go too."

"Little Annan, mining isn't right for you. You should rest for a while and think about your future," Susan urged. Despite her rough appearance, she had a surprisingly sensitive heart.

Annan believed his future lay in becoming a mage. To become a mage, he needed to have his aptitude tested. To have his aptitude tested, he needed a Gold Narl. And to get a Gold Narl, he needed to earn money...

As for asking Aunt Susan... Annan knew her family did not have much money.

All right, thirty copper coins a day was not much either. Annan convinced himself that he could sell his pajamas. Rather than leave a piece of modern craftsmanship gathering dust or keep it as a memento, he would benefit more by using it to catch the interest of some noble lord or mage.

Provided he could communicate properly and would not be swindled by a few words he did not understand.

Aunt Susan talked Annan out of it, and Uncle Holin was spared.

Early the next morning, Uncle Holin and Martin ate the previous night's leftovers, took their pickaxes, and set out for the Haunted Gold Mine outside town.

They left in high spirits and came back that evening with their heads hanging.

"What happened... Martin!" Aunt Susan's furious shout silenced the dogs barking in the distance.

"Uncle Holin accidentally dropped some ore on his foot," Martin said as he supported Uncle Holin.

The injury was not serious, and a few days' rest would see him recovered, but it left them one man short for the job.

"I'll go in Uncle Holin's place." Annan, who had tossed and turned all night, hurried to explain to the worried Aunt Susan. "I've thought it through, Aunt Susan. I need money right now..."

Susan doted on Annan too much to refuse him, but Uncle Holin and Martin were not so lucky. At dinner, they sat on edge under Aunt Susan's looming wrath. Only Annan quietly ate his black bread and meat soup, as though none of it concerned him.

That night, Annan and Martin lay in their separate beds.

Annan asked Martin about the gold mine. The sound of Aunt Susan and Uncle Holin arguing had not come from next door for some time.

Thud—

Something heavy hit the ground in the yard. Then all was quiet.

"What was that?"

Annan thought it might be a thief, but Martin casually scratched his backside. "Aunt Susan is throwing out clothes."

"Why are the clothes so loud?"

"Uncle Holin is inside the clothes too."