Part 1:7

Lucas crouched behind the side door of the stable, holding it partially open and peering through the gap. He gasped and silently shouted his brother’s name as Seth was dragged back into the room, screaming. Lucas went to help him but two armored men came around the corner of the house at a run, and he dashed behind several barrels stacked in racks.

Panting, he glanced around the stable. The building was long with weathered walls, a thatched roof, and a few enclosures for animals at the far end. Mounds of hay were scattered around the dirt floor and several horses were tied to the three central posts holding up the roof. Two knights were tending to the horses but hadn’t taken any notice of the commotion outside.

Tears began to gather in his eyes as he sat back on his legs and hugged himself tight. Then he thought of the old farmer. Maybe he could run to Mr. Olmar’s. He didn’t want to leave Seth, but he needed to get help. It may be the only way he could save his brother.

Lucas raised into a crouch and peered around the barrels. Both knights had their backs to him and were busy brushing down the horses. He dried his eyes on his sleeve, and as quiet as possible he crept from behind the barrels and along the back wall of the stable towards the rear door.

The wall was lined with shovels, pitchforks, axes, and all sorts of tools. Some were hanging on hooks, others just rested against the wall.

Lucas was halfway to the door when one of the knights sneezed. He froze and squeezed his eyes shut. His legs trembled and he didn’t dare look in their direction for fear of them noticing him.

Slowly he opened his eyes and peered through half-closed lids. When he was sure the knights hadn’t seen him, he took a small step forward and tripped on a shovel. He stumbled into the wall, knocking a pick off its hook, which then fell on a rake, toppling it over to clatter on the ground.

Both knights turned at the same time. “Hey, stop!” One of them shouted.

Lucas bolted for the door and out into the rear yard. He turned and ran across the small field towards the forest at the edge of their farm.

The two knights emerged from the stable just as Lucas disappeared into the thick cover of the trees.

Inside the barn was dark, and Seth laid on his belly in the loft amongst the piles of hay and old potato sacks. It was damp from a leak in the roof and the air was hazy and smelled of smoke. He must have fallen asleep and wasn’t sure for how long. But the glow from the fire no longer shone through the open barn doors, and the sunlight shining through the small square window at the end of the loft suggested it was early morning, possibly dawn.

Seth could hear Brack’s men patrolling around the barn. They must still be searching for him. One of the voices mentioned that Sir Tymon had not returned from the burning house. Good riddance, he thought. The knight scared the life out of him, and he was glad he wouldn’t have to face that giant of a man again. At least that was one less person after him. Seth had no idea how he was going to escape. He just hoped Lucas had managed to get away.

The shuffling of heavy boots on the dirt floor grabbed Seth’s attention. He froze, holding his breath. The sound moved closer, and he felt a burning desire to peer over the mound of hay. Maybe it was Lucas. He couldn’t leave his brother alone, together they could hide until the Viscount and his men grew tired and left.

Shifting his weight to his elbows, he brought his knees up and prepared to move into a crouch. The wooden slats of the loft felt spongy as he carefully rolled onto the balls of his feet. The slats groaned, then cracked and his foot fell through. Seth let out a gasp. The shuffling stopped. He prayed whoever it was didn’t hear the noise or see his foot. Holding his breath, he waited.

“There!” a voice shouted.

“We’ve got him,” another yelled. “He’s in the barn!”

Seth sprang to his feet but the sudden weight on the rotting wood was too much. The floor gave out beneath him and he went crashing through, landing feet first, then hard onto his backside. Stunned from the fall he groaned as he felt pain in his ankle. Hoping he hadn’t broken his ankle, he rolled and tried to stand.

“Get him, before he makes a run for it!” A voice growled.

Disorientated, Seth stumbled and fell flat on his face with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. Then they were on him. Large hands gripped his legs and dragged him across the ground. A second set of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and roughly lifted him onto unsteady legs. He tried to focus on the two faces before him, their foul breath warm against his face. One was bearded and the other sneered. Both wore iron skull caps with nose guards.

“Gotcha!” said the sneering face.

“The Viscount will be wanting to see you,” the bearded one said.

Seth struggled and tried to kick Sneering in the shin, receiving a fist to his stomach for the effort. He coughed and retched and bile burned in the back of his throat.

“Hey, come on Dav, he’s just a lad,” said bearded.

“Bah! He’s a good-for-nothing wretch. Had us marching all over this backwater place all night. Deserves as he gets I say.”

The two men-at-arms roughly dragged Seth from the barn and into the rear yard to a waiting Lord Brack. They stopped before their lord and gave a short bow.

“Search him,” ordered the Viscount.

The one called Dav roughly patted Seth under his arms, felt along his belt then down his legs. Finally, he tore open Seth’s shirt revealing the scroll and the small box, both of which fell onto the dirt.

“Bring those to me,” the Viscount said.

Dav picked them up and presented them to his lord with a deep bow.

Seth received a kick to the back of his knees, dropping him to the ground, and he winced from the impact of tiny stones pressing into his skin through his pants. He glanced around at the rest of Brack’s men as they gathered. Some were knights but most were ordinary men-at-arms. He hadn’t noticed before, but the knights wore the sixteen-pointed star of the Divine Order on their white surcoats, and the men-at-arms wore the symbol of a golden crown over crossed scepters on their green tunics over chainmail. All were armed with swords or spears, and some with bows. He turned back to stare past Brack’s legs, it was then that he noticed the dagger sheathed to the outside of his thigh.

The viscount took the scroll and the small box. He unraveled the scroll, briefly read its contents, then rolled it back up and tucked it into his belt. The Viscount then opened the small box, his eyes flashed in triumph and then snapped the lid shut.

“Quite the resourceful one,” the Viscount said, peering down his nose at the soot smeared face. The corners of his mouth curled with disdain as he looked over the boy’s shirt; torn, dirty, and greyed from smoke. “But what did we learn, hmm?” he said looking at the grim faces gathered around him. He stepped towards Seth and delivered a backhanded swing with a closed fist to his face.

Brack’s gloved hand, the knuckles reinforced with iron studs, connected with Seth’s cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. Seth grunted and sprawled on the ground. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he would not give Brack the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

“We learned not to meddle in the affairs of our betters,” the Viscount said, getting a series of grunts and chuckles from the crowd.

Seth struggled onto his knees. His tears trickled down his dirty face and he locked eyes with the Viscount.

“Defiant to the end. I admire that,” the Viscount said. “Under different circumstances, I would be inclined to take you in.” He smiled, a cold hard smile. “Good resources are scarce these days.”

The Viscount turned his back, then said: “Kill the boy.”