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Feroz watched the procession, his eyes still managing to light up when the Heroes walked past him. He'd seen so many in the years he'd been stationed at the gate, but the spectacle of the parade was enough to alleviate his boredom.
When the last of the hangers-on had gone by and the music was growing faint he shut the gate of the school and returned to his uncomfortable little chair.
He'd wanted to be a Hero once, before the real world had set him straight. Not that his lot in life was bad, but being the man who opened and closed the gate wasn't the same as wearing the blue-steel sword and protecting the land.
At least he wasn't a peasant like the rest of his family. Being a peasant was horrid; working every daylight hour, doing one back-breaking thing after another, and in the end managing to scrape together enough just to eat. And then being content about it, grateful even.
No, Feroz knew that leaving home was the best thing he'd ever done, and he knew he'd never go back. With his dream firmly fixed in his eyes he'd headed for the Sohrab school, the place where warriors were trained, where normal men could become Heroes that were worshipped by all. Entrance was immediate; all were accepted at first, but the whittling down of the hopefuls was a rapid process.
Feroz had made it as far as the entrants fifth tier, something worthy of note for someone of peasant stock. As a reward he was given guard duty at the gate, something his skills in hand to hand combat should be able to manage. He continued to practice, training with the warriors when his duties allowed, but they were beating him more and more often of late. The beatings were becoming more severe too, rattling him for days at a time.
‘Excuse me.' The voice sounded irritated, as though it'd been speaking for a while with no response. It belonged to a well dressed man, the silks of his robe the finest money could buy. He was bald and had strange blue eyes.
‘Sorry my lord,' Feroz said quickly, standing to attention. ‘How can I help you?'
‘I have an appointment with Sohrab,' the man said, his eyes attempting to burn a way through the steel of the gate.
Feroz let him in, trusting that with clothing like his, enough to buy several houses where Feroz came from, he was probably telling the truth. After shutting the door he escorted the man, who hadn't given his name, to the main building and up to the teacher's offices.
‘This man has an appointment to see master Sohrab,' Feroz said to the servant outside the school master's office. He was another of the failed entrants, one who'd probably made it as far as the seventh, or even eighth tier.
‘Name?'
‘I am Majeed,' the man said, dismissing Feroz with a wave. He headed for the stairs and back to his post but was stopped by a hiss from the servant. Standing to attention, Feroz waited.
‘I don't have a meeting scheduled for you, and Sohrab isn't in,' the servant said, treating the man as he would any other. The lack of respect in the servant's voice seemed to annoy Majeed.