Defiance by Liz McHayes (carter reed txt) đź“–
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- Author: Liz McHayes
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taught me how! I can help defend Markenor,” Freed continued, “and what about Christopher? Aren’t you worried about him? What if he came home and we were all dead?”
“No, son. You must stay safe. And as for Christopher, he’s probably better off than you and I.” Arcate became quiet. “That is all I have to say. Now get on that horse and find Ammet.”
_____________________________________________________________________
Despite the fact that Freed knew he could prove he was a man and could fight, he obeyed his father’s will and reluctantly jumped on the horse. He made his way around his house, which also doubled as his father’s blacksmith shop, and into the center of town. Torches were being lit, making the atmosphere more warmer and brighter. The men had just started to crowd in the square and were all facing the same direction. Near the south end of town, there was an army of Darabris’ men, Freed guessed roughly one hundred, approaching. Then something obscured his vision. Freed grunted, pushed back the shaggy blonde mop he called hair out of his face and searched for Ammet and his father. Ammet, being the only boy in Markenor that had dark hair besides Christopher, was not hard to find. He was also dark skinned; unlike Freed, who was as pale as a candlefish scared out of its wits.
“Good, you’re here,” Ammet breathed out a sigh of relief, “I thought something had happened.” Before Freed could say anything, Ammet had noticed his questioning gaze. “My father told me to leave without him. He decided last minute that it was best for him to stay.”
“Frankly,” Freed replied, “I don’t want to leave either.”
Ammet looked down. “Yes, we could have helped.” He paused. A soldier near the front of the army had pulled out a scroll of some sort and was reading it aloud. Freed strained to hear what he was saying, since Ammet and he were near the back of the crowd of men.
“-people of the town of Markenor for committing these detestable crimes: refusing to pay taxes, not giving ten percent of their monthly income to the king’s men, and engaging in trade with other cities without permission from the king. Therefore,” the soldier announced, “the king has been so gracious to give you a choice between your deaths: die defending your town, or die in the prisons of Drallea.” An uproar came from the crowd. Ammet turned to back to his friend.
“We have to stay and fight.” Freed nodded and pulled his sword out of his sheath. The crowd was getting louder by the second, the air filled with the voices of men who took pride in Markenor, and they were not going to give it up so easily. The army before them drew their swords and charged. With a clash of metal against metal and shouts of men all around, the two groups met. The fight for their town had begun. Instantly Freed was alert and ready to strike. He lifted his sword and his voice joined the crowd as he spurred his horse forward.
The battle had not lasted five minutes when Freed noticed several men fall. Good, honest, hardworking men he knew from childhood fell. He had no time to feel any remorse for them, though, for a soldier on a horse came at him from the left and struck. Lifting his shield, Freed blocked the attack, and swung his sword randomly from underneath. Surprisingly, the soldier was struck and landed on the ground, where he was trampled by one of his fellow men. Freed realized he was now near the edge of town. Darabris’ men were pushing them back. He tried to get closer to the center of Markenor, but it was no use.
“Freed!” Ammet was calling to him. He glanced around and found him crouched behind a wagon being used as a temporary barrier. Ammet waved his arms frantically and shouted, “Freed! Behind you!”
Before he could turn around, something struck him in the back of the head. Everything went black. Imprint
“No, son. You must stay safe. And as for Christopher, he’s probably better off than you and I.” Arcate became quiet. “That is all I have to say. Now get on that horse and find Ammet.”
_____________________________________________________________________
Despite the fact that Freed knew he could prove he was a man and could fight, he obeyed his father’s will and reluctantly jumped on the horse. He made his way around his house, which also doubled as his father’s blacksmith shop, and into the center of town. Torches were being lit, making the atmosphere more warmer and brighter. The men had just started to crowd in the square and were all facing the same direction. Near the south end of town, there was an army of Darabris’ men, Freed guessed roughly one hundred, approaching. Then something obscured his vision. Freed grunted, pushed back the shaggy blonde mop he called hair out of his face and searched for Ammet and his father. Ammet, being the only boy in Markenor that had dark hair besides Christopher, was not hard to find. He was also dark skinned; unlike Freed, who was as pale as a candlefish scared out of its wits.
“Good, you’re here,” Ammet breathed out a sigh of relief, “I thought something had happened.” Before Freed could say anything, Ammet had noticed his questioning gaze. “My father told me to leave without him. He decided last minute that it was best for him to stay.”
“Frankly,” Freed replied, “I don’t want to leave either.”
Ammet looked down. “Yes, we could have helped.” He paused. A soldier near the front of the army had pulled out a scroll of some sort and was reading it aloud. Freed strained to hear what he was saying, since Ammet and he were near the back of the crowd of men.
“-people of the town of Markenor for committing these detestable crimes: refusing to pay taxes, not giving ten percent of their monthly income to the king’s men, and engaging in trade with other cities without permission from the king. Therefore,” the soldier announced, “the king has been so gracious to give you a choice between your deaths: die defending your town, or die in the prisons of Drallea.” An uproar came from the crowd. Ammet turned to back to his friend.
“We have to stay and fight.” Freed nodded and pulled his sword out of his sheath. The crowd was getting louder by the second, the air filled with the voices of men who took pride in Markenor, and they were not going to give it up so easily. The army before them drew their swords and charged. With a clash of metal against metal and shouts of men all around, the two groups met. The fight for their town had begun. Instantly Freed was alert and ready to strike. He lifted his sword and his voice joined the crowd as he spurred his horse forward.
The battle had not lasted five minutes when Freed noticed several men fall. Good, honest, hardworking men he knew from childhood fell. He had no time to feel any remorse for them, though, for a soldier on a horse came at him from the left and struck. Lifting his shield, Freed blocked the attack, and swung his sword randomly from underneath. Surprisingly, the soldier was struck and landed on the ground, where he was trampled by one of his fellow men. Freed realized he was now near the edge of town. Darabris’ men were pushing them back. He tried to get closer to the center of Markenor, but it was no use.
“Freed!” Ammet was calling to him. He glanced around and found him crouched behind a wagon being used as a temporary barrier. Ammet waved his arms frantically and shouted, “Freed! Behind you!”
Before he could turn around, something struck him in the back of the head. Everything went black. Imprint
Text: Cover Photos: © Jared Pallesen, 2008 © Etty Holparan, 2007
Publication Date: 12-06-2010
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