While growing up as a slave in an Ammatar household, the story gleefully told over and over to his face, was that he was the inbred sprog of inbred sprogs. The likelihood of his being the offspring of incest of the family he now served was whispered loud enough for him to hear, but never loud enough to carry to ears upstairs. He had been found on a rubbish heap as a new born baby, and sold for a small pouch of tobacco to a kindly spinster amongst the household slaves. For the woman who was to become his mother, this was the sum of her fortune. Quickly drawn into the slave life, he was beaten into adulthood very fast. At eight years old, his mother was beaten to death for serving cold soup, a new delicacy produced by the cook. Days later, with the help of a few of the slaves, he ran away.


From that day to his enrolment with the Republic Military School in Ammold, he ran. From people, places, fears and shadows. A stowaway journey to Ammold on a passenger ship opened new avenues of escape, a universe of hiding places. If he could pilot a ship, no-one would ever catch him. ‘Enrolment’ is perhaps the wrong word for his joining the RMS. Scheming, lying, bribery and threat of force are better descriptions. Suffice it to say that at a very young age, Evan Skalder screamed a cry of triumph amongst the stars.

Evan never took the markings of his clan, partly as a result of not knowing who his clan is, and partly as a statement of intent: never to be caught in one place, never to be vulnerable. Ever. Sebiestor was his mother’s clan.