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[theopenbookprojectstories-blog]

Spin Your Tale - Chapter 2

Adan had considered his uniform a symbol of honour ever since he first put it on. The uniform meant he was loyal to his king and his country. Yet as he stared at his fellow soldiers he felt a growing sense of unease. His uniform also meant he was like them. These soldiers were blinded by their trust in the throne. They looked at him like he was filth only because of the orders they had been given. They did not know his internal struggle about killing a desperate old man. They did not know how hard he had fought to save the city from total ruin. They did not care to know.

He accepted responsibility for his inaction at the start of the rebellion. A trial for that offence could come later though. After the people were helped. After the city was rebuilt. He tried to justify why these soldiers were after him, but he could not. It was irrational of the king to hunt men while the city was still burning. Adan feared his trial would be just as unreasonable as this hunt.

“Do not resist,” the soldier threatened as he took a step forward. Adan took a step back. He met the man’s cold glare with equal intensity. The soldier’s expression tightened into a sneer. Adan almost wanted to laugh at how much enmity and suspicion he felt for the other man. Just a day ago, he would have stood next to the man in ignorant pride.

He tried to hold onto the hope the king was a just man, but this arrest was too quick. The city was burning, people needed help. This was not the time to chase after supposed deserters. Yet that was exactly what these men did.

The soldier in the middle grabbed the hilt of his sword. The other two followed suit. Adan started to seriously wonder if he would even reach the king’s trial this way. They looked way too eager to cut him down.

The impending sense of danger forced him to make a decision so out of character he barely understood it himself. Maybe he would have acted differently if he had had enough sleep. If he had not lived through the revolution. If he had not seen the pain and suffering around him. If he had been who he had been a day ago, he would have surrendered. But he did not. Call it a momentarily lapse of judgement, or maybe finally a moment of clarity, but Adan moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Surprise overtook the soldiers’ expressions for a second, but it was quickly replaced by contempt. All three of them pulled out their swords, but it was only the one in the middle that took another step forward. This time, Adan took a step forward too. Just as they wanted to rush each other, a loud yell distracted them.

“Stop!” She seemed to step up out of thin air. A young woman planted herself between Adan and the other soldiers. With long brown curls and fiery eyes, she stared the soldiers down. The intensity of her expression made her appear taller than she really was. Both Adan and the soldiers were so surprised by her action that the tension between them was momentarily lessened. The soldier lowered his sword slightly, and Adan simply stared at the woman in silent astonishment.

"This man has helped save many more than you have!" she snapped "Parading around in your shining armour!" Her voice trembled with rage, and maybe with fear too. "He is needed here. What good can he do in a cell? People are dying still!"

Adan gaped. She had voiced what he had thought, but she seemed to have forgotten that she was unarmed while the soldiers in front of her were not. Yet what surprised him most was that she had come to his aid. The street had so quickly cleared of people when the soldiers had arrived. He had expected nobody to come to his aid.

While he respected her immediately for her honesty and courage, the soldiers in front of him thought differently. “Another traitor to the throne!” The soldier in the middle hissed “Death to them both!” He launched himself at the woman, who flinched back but was not fast enough to evade him. NO! Adan moved before he could truly think. He wrapped an arm around the woman and yanked her back against his chest at the same time he whipped out his sword. Their swords clashed, and steel met steel hard.

If he had been alone, he would have been slain within the next few strikes. His swordsmanship had never evolved beyond that what was needed during training. He had never wielded a sword in true battle, nor had he ever wielded it with the intent to kill. Fortunately, the woman in his arm had a quick mind and wished to live as much as he did. She leaned back against his chest and kicked the soldier hard between his legs. The man doubled over in pain.

The other two soldiers were right behind the downed man, but they seemed more reluctant than their informal leader to engage in a fight. Adan took the small window of opportunity to turn around and run. He dragged the woman with him as he sped down the street. She needed little encouragement as she ran alongside him as fast as her legs could carry her.

They were followed by angry screams from the soldier on the ground “Kill them! After them! Kill them!” Adan looked back and saw the other two soldiers were in pursuit. They did not seem to run as fast as they could, but Adan was not going to take any chances. He and the woman ran because their lives depended on it.

——

Dorioan stared up at the white ceiling of the healers' hall near the army's headquarters. Around him, the soft moans of other injured men were a constant reminder of where he was. The hall was filled with soldiers. They bore injuries that ranged from inconvenient to life-threatening. It had been many years since so many people had been there, and student healers hurried along the beds to attend to as many men as they possibly could. No doubt the healers themselves were still saving men's lives in the other rooms. Here and there, an uninjured soldier or officer sat at a man's bedside. Most soldiers were still in the city though. While the fighting had mostly died down, the city was still in chaos. All capable soldiers were assigned to rebuilding it and helping the citizens through this nightmare. God knows how many had lost their lives in the previous hours.

But Adan is alive. The thought that his friend was still alive was comforting. He kept repeating it in his head. At least Adan is alive. During the night, he had been repeating the phrase like a mantra, over and over again. It kept him from feeling the full extent of his injury. Still, he could not stop his thoughts from occasionally trailing back to the moment the two healers had stopped working on his leg. They had both looked grim. Neither of them had spoken, but they had exchanged a look that spoke enough. Dorioan had been around Adan look enough to understand the subtleties of a gaze.

Dorioan dealt with it as he dealt with most obstacles in life. He grit his teeth and moved on. Thankfully, the healers had made him bite into a cloth. He would have broken his jaw without it. The pain had been unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was blinding and all-consuming. Lying on that table under the hands of the healers had been more traumatic than the actual moment he got the injury. A shiver ran through him as he remembered the feel of the saw.

At least Adan is alive. He forced himself back on that mental track. At least Adan is alive. He was going to punch his friend for being so stupid when they were reunited, but Dorioan wished for the man's wellbeing until then.

“…They’re after Zarrathorne as well.”

The murmurs of the two officers several beds down the hall had been background noise so far but at the mention of Adan’s surname, Dorioan perked up. He recognised the officer in the bed. Wearam had been one of the men in charge of their sword training. Dorioan remembered him to be a good man who believed all soldiers were equal. It was probably why the man was in a hall with regular soldiers instead of in a private room. “Adan Zarrathorne?” Wearam sounded as surprised as Dorioan felt “That kid is as straight as an arrow.” The other officer shook his head. He looked like he wanted to spit on Adan’s name.

“Bastard deserted the king mid-battle.“

“That cannot be,” Wearam muttered. The man seemed shocked.

“A good soldier lost his leg because of his betrayal.”

Wearam was silent as he stared at the other man. Then he cursed “Let his be a wolf's head then.”

The words froze Dorioan to the core. He remembered them from childhood stories. They had just named Adan an outlaw. Anyone could kill him on sight. For something Adan had supposedly done to him. Cold shock was quickly replaced by burning anger. They had named Adan an outlaw because of the wound he had taken. Even though he had told his superiors in very clear words that Adan was not to blame. This mistake needed to be righted or his friend may die. Adan was as capable of surviving on the run as a lamb. His friend had many good qualities, but survival was not one of them. Too honest, too nice, too soft.

Dorioan turned slightly so he could face the officers. "Sirs," he began. Both of the men looked up at him "I am that soldier. I reported to my superiors Adan Zarrathorne is not to blame for my injury." It took an effort to sound polite. Inside, Dorioan was seething. "He saved me from death." The statement was not untrue. When he had been helpless on the ground, Adan had lunged for his attacker. It was why he only had a shallow slash across his shoulder instead of a dagger in his throat.

Both officers regarded him with unreadable expressions. It was a trick most army officials used when they did not want their thoughts to be known. Finally, Wearam turned to his fellow officer "Then why?" The other officer seemed less than eager to explain himself in the presence of a low-ranking soldier, but Wearam gestured for him to share what he knew. ".. Others have told a different tale," the man finally responded, "He refused battle." The man looked at Dorioan then "While you did not."

“But I, the one who lost his leg, know he is a man of honour,” Dorioan shot back without thought “These accusations are wrong.” Politeness had never been his strongest skill, and he could not bring himself to address the officer with the proper form of respect when the man seemed to judge his friend without proof.

“Your memory might be affected by what has happened,” the officer stated “But he is guilty. Zarrathorne’s fate is sealed.”

“This is unjust!”

“Do you question the King’s justice, soldier?” The man’s tone had taken on a sharp edge. Before Dorioan had realised it, he had waddled into waters deeper than he should have. A hush had fallen over the hall. He worked his lips. He knew he was in too deep, but he could not back out now. Not with Adan’s life at stake.

“Adan Zarrathorne is not a deserter.”

The officer regarded him with cold eyes "Loyalty is a worthy trait to have," the man finally said "Especially loyalty to the Throne. Remember that." The unspoken threat hung thick in the air. The king over his friend or he might face the same consequences as Adan.

——

“You’re a silent one, eh?”

That was hardly worth a response, but Adan nodded nonetheless. The man in front of him snorted. Dark eyes regarded him with a mixture of arrogance and barely concealed disdain. Adan instinctively disliked the other man. Something about him was just off. The man’s uniform was as dirty as his own, but where Adan’s clothes were smeared with dirt, grease and blood, the man’s smelled like booze. He named himself Gaeram, but Adan doubted that was his true name. Gaeram had been a hero from a long bypass age who was said to have overthrown the tyrant that ruled these lands. It was a name that invoked respect. The man in front of him did not. Despite that, this so-called Gaeram had gathered a significant amount of men around him in a short amount of time. The small inn was filled to the brim with more than fifty men. They all seemed to be soldiers. All had run from prosecution by the King’s Guard. Some, like Adan, still wore their uniforms.

To all, this inn was their first stop after fleeing the city. The inn was in a village called Naroad about ten miles from the capital city. There was a larger town closer to Imorand, so Naroad had never truly developed into a thriving town. Most people only passed through Naroad. That lack of interest in the village made it safer for people like Adan. He had heard about the inn from another man on the road. Apparently, most of those with uniforms or the look of being hunted were told to go to the Brown Haem in Naroad. The inn had become the unofficial gathering point of those accused of treason, whether the accusations were just or not.

While Adan knew of himself that he was not untrustworthy, he did not know how to judge the other men. They might have gone through the same internal conflict as he had, but they might very well be true cowards. The moment he thought that he grimaced. In the eyes of many, he was also a coward. He tried to search for reasons why he might be more moral than the other men but found none. If anything, he was below them. Because he had actually been the cause of a serious injury to another soldier.

Gaeram tipped a finger towards a table near the front door of the inn “Guess you’ll do. Take a seat.” No sooner had he said it that his gaze settled on the woman hidden partly behind Adan’s back. Naen was her name. Adan had learned it only an hour prior. She had followed him after they had escaped from the soldiers. He had wanted to urge her to go home, but he could not guarantee her safety in Imorand. She had come to his aid in a desperate moment, so now he felt responsible for her safety. Which was terrifying, because he felt he could barely guarantee his own.

Gaeram’s leering smile revealed brown teeth. His eyes were still on Naen. “You’re a pretty one.”

The words made Adan’s skin crawl. Gaeram half turned towards a table in the centre of the room. It was filled with food and wine. Four other men sat on chairs around it. All had that same air of arrogance around them. Whatever the gathered men in the inn could be called, it was clear their unofficial leaders were at that table. Gaeram made a grand gesture towards the table “A special seat for you, my lady. Let me tell you my tale.”

Naen had already proven herself to be quick-witted, and she didn't miss a beat this time either "Talking is silver. Silence is gold." Her smile was so sweet Gaeram did not immediately catch on to the insult. They turned their backs on him before he realised it. Adan admired her composure, but it also made him wonder what kind of life she had led. She seemed unfazed by the number of soldiers around her. Aside from the two serving maids of the inn she was the only woman there, but she carried herself as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

As they walked towards the table near the front door, she leaned closer "Mister Gaeram the great reeks," she whispered. Adan grinned and made a move as if he tipped a glass of wine down his throat. She chuckled. Her expression smoothed out as they reached the table. Three men were already seated there. One of them was even younger than Adan. The other had a coarse beard and looked as grim as Adan felt. The third bit at his fingernail as he stared into nothingness. The man with the beard nodded as they sat down. The younger one smiled to them, but the expression fell from his face just as quick. They all sat in silence.

Adan glanced around the inn. The maids in the inn ran around to serve food and wine. They flashed bright smiles and cheerful winks towards the men. The innkeeper, a stocky man with graying hair, frowned though. Undoubtedly, the man wanted to stay away from any and all problems. He seemed to rethink accepting men with questionable backgrounds into his inn. He had probably been blinded by the promise of money. As soldiers, all of them carried a few golden coins. That was a small fortune anywhere outside of Imorand. Adan was glad for the man’s greed. He and Naen had been able the rent two of the last few rooms, even though they were overpriced. A roof over their heads and a night of sleep might clear up their minds. Adan certainly hoped he would feel less clueless as he did now. He felt like he needed to navigate in the dark. There was just no clear path of action he saw in front of him. The other men at the table seemed to share his feelings.

When Naen and he had received their meals, they ate in silence. The other men seemed somewhat reluctant to speak their mind with Naen around. It was only after they finished their food that she had excused herself and retired to her room, that they began to talk. The youngest one was named Olaer. He had fled from his post at a money bank when the protesting masses had turned into the streets. He had enough wits about him to understand he would be killed if he had stayed. Ioran bit at his fingers hard before he had admitted he had been too scared to fight. He seemed ashamed of it, and would not share more. Dario told his story last. He stroked at his beard as he recalled the events of the day. He been on duty as a watchman at the city's walls, but had been delayed by what he called ‘a previous appointment with a lady'. The protesters had gotten into the city. It would have happened even if he had been there, but his absence made him a deserter.

Dario focussed his gaze on Adan “And you? What is your crime?”

Adan tapped his lips and made a slashing motion. The older man raised an eyebrow “The crime of silence,” the man murmured sarcastically. Adan tried to show them his failure, but the men continued to stare at him blankly. He halted after some tries. “None of us wanted to give our lives for the throne,” Olaer whispered suddenly “That is why we must now. To set an example to all who think of straying from the Throne.”

Ioran made a sort of wailing noise, bit off against his hand. Dario sagged back against his seat and sighed “I’m afraid so.” Adan had heard whispers like that in the city. He had not paid them much mind, he had been too busy trying to save what could be saved. At Olaer’s statement, he felt he should have paid the rumours more mind. He could have fled earlier. At least he would have never met Naen then. That would have been one life saved.

Dario crossed his arms as he seemed to contemplate their current situation “No mercy for anyone. That has always been the King’s rule,” the man said “Especially now. They need to show control. Punish those that betrayed the throne, and set an example to all who think about desertion or sympathise with the rebels.”

Dario’s words twisted Adan’s stomach into knots. He had hoped his case was just a mistake. He had hoped he would be excused. But he seemed to be part of a larger plan. Individuals would get crushed in schemes like the one Dario had described to them.

As the men continued to speculate they became increasingly pessimistic. Adan found no comfort in their presence nor in their words, so he slipped away to his room. He hoped to find some comfort in a quiet space with a soft bed, but when he opened the door to his room, the stink of pigs assaulted his nose. The room was a tiny one on the first floor. A bed was crammed on one side and a closet on the other. The window in the middle of the opposite wall was cracked open. When he looked through it, he saw a pig pen just under the window. Several pigs were asleep in the mud.

Adan wanted to slam the window shut, but it refused and sprung open again. He struggled with it for a minute more, before he gave up and let himself fall onto the bed with a mental curse. He had sunk so low. He had been a proud member of the army. He had a best friend that understood him. He had a bright future ahead of him. All of that had changed because of his inability to perform his duty. Now he was nothing. He saw how the other men considered his silence to be a nuisance. He did not know if he would survive tomorrow. He did not know what he was supposed to do. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. He wanted to scream, but he could not. He thought he would not be able to sleep because of his worries, but he had forgotten he had not slept in two days. So when he rolled to his side he was gone within minutes.

The crack of dawn had become a dangerous time. Just as the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon, Naen shook him awake. Disorientated, Adan sat up. "The King's Guard," she whispered, "They are in the inn." He sprang up from the bed. His heart thundered in his chest as he gazed at her. He had so many questions, but she did not understand sign language nor could she read his lips. They simply stared at each other in fear. It was then Adan heard the shuffling of feet. There were many, but they were suspiciously quiet. Obviously, these people were not yet ready to be discovered. Naen moved to the door and put her ear next to the keyhole. She was chewing her lip as she listened.

Adan moved to the window and cracked it open further. Slowly, carefully, he glanced outside. His room was located at the back of the building, only the pig pen, the stables and storage buildings were located there. He listened to the sound of the pigs, to the softer sounds of horses snorting and moving. Everything else was still quiet. He snapped his fingers to get Naen’s attention. The sound seemed too loud in the tense silence, and he cringed as his gaze shot to the door. Had they heard?

When no soldiers forced the door open, he gestured for Naen to come to him. She backed away from the door slowly. He hoisted himself up on the window frame. One last look, and then he dropped himself down into the pig pen. He landed ungracefully in the mud, but he only felt relief he had gotten the room above the pig pen. He looked up and gestured Naen to jump down. Naen jumped after a slight hesitation.

At the same time, the sound of doors being slammed open and threatening shouts could be heard from the open window. Adan dragged Naen with him to the ground. They frantically crawled under a small wooden roof where the pigs could hide from the rain. A pig stared at them in startled surprise as they squeezed past it. It seemed mostly unbothered by them, and they used its body to hide from view as best as they could. Laying so close together, he felt Naen's pounding heart. He was sure his own heart was beating just as hard. His fear had turned into stark terror. He heard men scream inside the inn. The sound of fighting followed suit. And then the screams of dying men began. He had heard those screams only once before, during the terrible uprising in Imorand. It was a sound that he would never be able to forget.

It terrified him how the King's Guard seemed to hunt deserters as convicted criminals. His guilt had not even been formally proven, but Adan knew he would be killed if the soldiers got their hands on him. What had Dorioan told them? The thought that his friend ratted him out felt like a betrayal to the man, but why else did these men hunt him?

When the sounds faded somewhat from the building, Adan crawled to the edge of the low ceiling and peeked up. He was breathing hard and he wanted to run, but he forced himself to check every window. When he was sure that nobody was looking out of a window, he gestured for Naen to follow him. They climbed the fence of the pig pen and snuck around the side of the inn, staying as close to the walls as they could. As they came close to the main street, the sounds of men became louder again. Adan glanced around the corner with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The village street was filled with soldiers.

He looked back to Naen and shook his head. Naen seemed to understand immediately. Instead of despairing as he did, she pointed back toward the pig pen. He followed her as they snuck back. She did not stop at the pig pen, but continued to the stable. "Here," she whispered as she reached the wooden structure "We take a horse and run."

[theopenbookprojectstories-blog]

Spin Your Tale - Chapter 1

The noise was unbearable. The war cries and yells, the shouts of panicked men who pushed on despite their fears. The chants of the word justicethat continued to rise in volume, until Adan felt thousands screamed for it. The appearance of the king had been the catalyst that had caused the inevitable onslaught of the masses. They rushed towards the soldiers in one angry wave.

Adan raised his spear and poised himself to defend the king, even though he was appalled at the idea of injuring an unarmed citizen. It was then that he caught sight of a child running just behind the old man. The boy could not be much older than eleven. His youth emphasized the old man’s age, just as the old man’s age emphasized the boy’s youth. With his spear half-raised, Adan became even more painfully aware the men before him were not his enemies. Nor were they enemies of the state. They were just desperate human beings who saw no other solution to their problems than to be here. They were misguided by the bravery of other men. By the false promise of food or a better life. By the idea that attacking the king would solve anything at all.

The old man’s face was drawn tight. To Adan it seemed like the man pushed with everything he had to reach the line of soldiers. Despite his efforts, he was quickly overtaken by younger men who were more powerful and faster than him.

It was the sight of the struggling old man that froze Adan completely. He could not raise his spear any further. The thought of killing the man seemed to seize his body up completely. This was not why he had become a soldier. When he joined the army he had intended to protect his country from all outside forces and dangers. Having the courage to defend and protect his country and its people had been praised as the highest moral in the army. He had never once thought he would fight the people he wanted to protect. Courage suddenly seemed like such a warped concept. To Adan, it felt like a terrible mistake to raise his spear and kill others. Was that really the courageous thing to do? It seemed foolish to be courageous when that went against his sense of honor. There was no honor in slaying a desperate man. There was no honor in killing a boy.

In the few seconds it took the men to get to him, Adan realized he could not kill them. Perhaps he was a coward. A traitor to the throne and a failure to his country. But his compassion and honor won over his sense of duty. Besides, what could the old man do? What could any of these men do. The king was protected by layers of stone and had numerous flight routes. A quick glance to his right told him the king was also protected by Adan’s fellow soldiers. Their faces were uneasy, but their poses tight, poised to defend by whatever means necessary.

Adan turned back towards the crowd just in time. The crowd collided with the line of soldiers a split second later. Around him, he could hear the first heart shattering cries of death. If anything, that strengthened his resolve further. His drew his spear so the tip pointed completely upwards, and used its length to shield himself from the blows of people rushing by. “Adan!” he heard Dorioan’s panicked shout from somewhere to his right, but he paid it no mind.

To Adan’s growing astonishment, the old man continued to run straight at him. Adan wondered briefly why the man seemed so intent to take him down. He would take the man head-on though. He would try to wrestle the old man to the ground to prevent him from meeting greater dangers closer to the castle. Adan braced himself for the impact, but then the man produced a knife from seemingly nowhere. Adan’s body was completely open to any attack, as he had not anticipated any violence aimed directly towards him.

Before he truly had time to comprehend what happened, Dorioan stepped in front of him. The old man crouched down in an instant, then carved a debilitating cut across the inside of Dorioan’s knee. His friend howled with pain as he dropped to his knees. Adan wanted to scream no, but only a useless croak came out of his throat. He lunged for the old man as he aimed another cut to Dorioan’s neck. The force of his body slamming against the old man was barely enough to sway him though. The dagger slashed across Dorioan’s shoulder instead of his friend’s neck.

The old man was far stronger than he looked based on how frighteningly steady he still was. His dark eyes had somehow become even more intense than the first time Adan had seen them. With a growing sense of dread, Adan began to realize this man might even reach the castle and whatever goal he had. Looks certainly could be deceiving.

Dorioan fell to the ground as the man moved on. Adan lunged for his legs in a desperate attempt to stop him. He clawed at the man’s leg, but a brief flash of an old scar in the shape of a hexagon on the man’s ankle was all he gained. The old man slipped from his grip like water through his fingers. Adan landed flat out on the hard stone ground. The fall forced all the air out of his lungs at once, but he felt no pain. Every fiber in him was geared towards his friend. He hastily looked around and saw Dorioan on his side, clutching his knee. A small puddle of blood was beginning to form on the ground. No, no, no, no, no.The word kept running through his mind as he scrambled towards the other man. He was almost trampled by the men that still ran into the line of soldiers. Countless feet bruised him as he crept further. He pushed them aside as best as he could until he managed to crawl next to Dorioan. Sitting up, he shielded his friend as best as he could from the running men.

With quick and purposeful movements he examined his friend’s shoulder and leg.  The slash in Dorioan’s shoulder was shallow, but the injury to his knee was severe. The cut had clean edges, but it was deep and long. The tendons and ligaments on the side and back of Dorioan’s knee appeared to be completely lacerated. This was not something Adan could treat. He was afraid the injury was even beyond the skill of the kingdom’s healers.

Adan ripped off the sleeve of his uniform with one furious yank. He wrapped the cloth tightly around the cut to stop the bleeding. “Easy there,” Dorioan groaned. Adan glanced up towards his friend’s face. Smears of dirt and blood covered his cheeks and nose, while his features were contorted with pain. His eyes were hazy, but they were focused on Adan. With a few brief flashes of his hand, Adan signaled he needed to apply pressure to the cut. Dorioan looked even less happy, but nodded his consent reluctantly nonetheless. Adan wished he could utter words to ease the man’s pain, but he had none. So he silently pressed his hands to the cloth. There was not much more that he could do than that. He knew his friend needed a healer, soon. But in the chaos he had no idea where he could find one.

Adan took the chance to look back up towards the castle and then along its sides. The sight was beyond tragic. The line of soldiers that had stood so courageous before was almost completely eviscerated. Clunks of soldiers still held tight together, but they seemed more desperate to shield themselves than to stop anyone from going through. Bodies of both soldiers and demonstrators lay scattered on the ground. There was so much injury and death, and it all seemed so senseless.

The angry screams of the men that had managed to reach the castle walls almost drowned out the moans of the injured and dying. Hundreds of men pushed at the main gate, but it was locked securely and human hands alone could not break it. It seemed a reflection of a harsh reality of life. No matter how much common people tried, those that truly held power were still untouchable. Adan had accepted that reality, and it puzzled him that these men continued to fight, even though the outcome seemed so obvious. Clearly, there was something these men felt or knew that evaded Adan completely.

Adan’s gaze travelled up towards the balcony overlooking the square. It was abandoned. The king and his entourage had used the chaos to slip away unnoticed. Yet the rebelling men near the castle still tried desperately to fight their way in. Disillusioned, Adan stared at the empty balcony. He barely registered the shape of a sole man scaling the castle walls with spidery precision. Before he could truly focus on the shape, his attention was caught by a woman’s scream.

Adan’s eyes shot towards the square. He realized with a shock the uprising on the square itself had become dangerously chaotic and violent. While there was a sense of purpose to the men who were still rushing at the castle, others ran towards shops at the square’s edges and further into the city streets. They smashed windows and destroyed anything that was in their path. He saw people running away in complete panic, while others tried to hide behind crates or pushed-over carts.

The tide of the uprising had begun to change. The anger did not seem diminished, it seemed to divert instead. The city had become its new target. Adan watched as groups of men ran into the city, looting, destroying and burning as they went. Plumes of smoke began to rise from rooftops in several streets. While Adan had not been able to raise his weapon against the men desperate for justice, he felt a rising anger towards the men plundering and terrorizing the city.

Dorioan seemed to read his mind, “Go,” the man snapped “Stop them!” He practically voiced Adan’s thoughts back at him. He could not leave his friend in the middle of this chaos though. While the waves of men rushing towards the castle had nearly dried up, he feared for his friend’s life if he left him alone. So he wrapped the man’s arm around his shoulder. They shared a look before Adan stood up and pulled Dorioan with him. To Dorioan’s credit, he only hissed softly as he leaned against Adan with almost his full weight. Adan began to drag his friend towards a small gathering of soldiers close to the castle wall. There seemed to be relative quiet there, as it was far away from the central gate. When they came closer, Adan recognized some of his officers. They were furiously talking amongst each other, and sent soldiers running to and from places constantly. It seemed an informal command post and the safest place to leave Dorioan.

When they finally reached them, Dorioan murmured “I’ll do the talking,” he said “Go.” The implicit taunt made Adan grin briefly as he helped Dorioan to the ground. He saluted his officers, but they seemed too caught up in their desperate attempt to get a shred of control back to notice him. Their sudden disregard for military signs of respect spoke volumes to how completely out of control everything was. Adan did a mock salute to Dorioan, and then he ran over the square and into the city streets.

What he encountered once he reached them was absolutely appalling. The men had wreaked havoc on the citizens and their houses. Windows everywhere were broken and shops were completely destroyed. People sat huddled together, or wailed over the bodies of their loved ones. It seemed as though they had lost hope and no longer knew what to do. Adan’s heart hurt for them as he tried desperately to save those that still could be saved.

He lost all awareness of time as he ran through the streets. He decided his path based on the sounds of people and soldiers fighting farther off, the clinging of armor and swords in the distance. As he moved through the city, he pulled people from rubble or administered first aid to them. He dragged looters from shops, or fought men who intended to hurt civilians. Unlike when they had rushed the castle, the slightest show of strength swayed the rampaging men. Each time Adan faced one of them, he learned they had lost their original goal. There was no more determination in those eyes. The determination he had seen in the eyes of the old man was not in any other gaze he saw afterwards. These men were driven by greed. They seemed not to care about a greater good anymore, and simply took what they could.

He did not know how much time had passed when the pace of the chaos finally changed and calmed. Ever so slowly, the army began to gain back control of the city. Unfortunately, this was in part because many had fled the city with all the valuables they could steal. It became easier to hunt down the remaining people, and soldiers began to band together in more organized efforts to clear the streets.

The sun began to descend after hours of fighting, but the streets were still illuminated in the orange light of fires scattered throughout the city. Despite his exhaustion, Adan’s focus shifted to the fires. He cooperated with his fellow soldiers in guiding civilians to battle the flames. The people were desperate to save their homes and livelihoods, and they fought against the fires as hard as the soldiers did.

It was only in the middle of the night that people seemed to be able to breathe and talk again. Stories about the rebellion against the king spread all over the city. And then deep into the night, the rumors began. Adan heard them in passing, but they worried him. Apparently, the king meant to strike back hard. Not only against the protesters, but also against anyone that had failed the throne. People became quieter, though nobody stopped in their efforts to clean up the rubble and the destruction. Whispers of arrests and soldiers in shining uniforms gripped the city.

Just how merciless, arbitrary and quick the king’s justice would be, Adan would experience himself.

It was at the crack of dawn that three men in shining armor approached him. Adan’s own uniform was ripped up, smeared with blood, dirt, grease and sweat. He and a few  citizens had just unblocked a street from debris of a burned down house. Adan eyed them warily, unsure what to think of soldiers with uniforms so unspoiled. Just hours before he had been like them, but that seemed like a lifetime away.

“Adan Zarrathorne?” one of the men questioned. The man’s hostile tone sent a chill up Adan’s spine. Something was off about these men and this situation, but Adan was not yet able to pinpoint what it was. He sensed that the other people in the street slowly backed away until he was seemingly alone with the three men. The two soldiers on the sides slowly rounded in on him. Adan’s muscles tightened as he began to understand a confrontation was almost inevitable. He placed a hand on the dagger on his belt. If he had been in his right mind he would have balked at the idea of a confrontation with his fellow soldiers, but a lack of sleep and the trauma of all that had happened made him harder than he had been just a day before.

Finally, he nodded once. His gaze was fixed on the one that had addressed him by name. The man looked back at him with barely disguised contempt and hostility. “You are to be brought before the king’s trial for desertion, endangerment of the king, betrayal to the throne and failure to perform duty, resulting in severe and permanent injury to a soldier of honor.”

End of chapter 1.

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Spin Your Tale (prologue)

Adan was intimately familiar with silence. The absence of sound had accompanied him all his life, from his first silent cries as a baby to his voiceless adulthood. Yet the silence he faced now was unknown and terrifying even to him. It was the silence of a thousand people. Rows and rows of men all stood united on the city’s central square. They spilled out into the surrounding streets and seemed to swallow up the city whole. Farmers, merchants, fishermen, traders, blacksmiths and beggars, the men seemed to come from all walks of life. Never had Imor’s square not been able to hold all that came there. Its vast size was a testimony of the wealth of Imorand, the capital city of Randynar. Yet now it was completely swallowed up by all those who had come to demand justice of their king.

It was a fake kind of justice these men were looking for. Despite all of his power and abilities, King Ilian was not responsible for the heat of the summer and the absence of rain. Nor could he change it. The weather was not controlled by men, that had been known for as long as history had been recorded on paper. Yet the simple opportunity to show their anger seemed enough for these men to ignore truth and risk everything.

To a certain extent, Adan understood their struggles. Imorand had not been spared in the nationwide hardship caused by the heat. Food in the city had become increasingly sparse, and rations had been put in place for all classes of civilians. Life had become harder and the carelessness with which food was consumed had been put to a forceful but necessary stop. That the king still held his luxury banquets was a political necessity not many commoners seemed to understand. The men on the square were mostly folk from the country, so they lacked the general knowledge and education people from the capital city had. Adan knew better than to try and reason with any of the men though. Instead, he tightened the hold on his spear. It was positioned neatly next to him, just as the hundreds of spears of his fellow soldiers. Behind them, the castle of Imor stood tall and proud, a reminder of the might of the royal family and King Ilian. He would die before he would let any man through to spoil that symbol of national pride.

Adan glanced to his right and caught Dorioan’s gleaming eyes behind the crack of the man’s helmet. His friend looked oddly intense, there was not a trace of the man’s usual smile. Like Adan’s own, Dorioan’s navy blue and gold uniform was spotless, just as their helmets were polished to perfection and their swords completely chiseled. Their appearance was in stark contrast with the men in the crowd. With their tattered clothes, their broken teeth, their dirty skin. Even from ten feet away, Adan could smell the stench of sweat and hard work coming from the mass. It was not their appearance that was intimidating though. It was their eyes. Their eyes shone with an emotion Adan could not quite understand, but that he instinctively knew was dangerous.

A growing feeling of unease crept through him as he watched the crowd in front of him. That odd silence stretched on, yet he knew it was a silence that was meant to be broken. He suppressed the urge to shift nervously. A bead of sweat rolled down over his brow to the side of his face. As a soldier, he was supposed to know no fear. For the eight months that he had been in the army, he had indeed known no fear. But that was because there had never been a reason to. The country had not seen battle for over a hundred years. As impressive as he and his fellow soldiers looked, it was really just a sign of how unprepared and inadequate they were. Their uniforms had never been smeared by dust and blood, their helmets that had never seen combat and their swords had never cleaved another human being.

Adan’s gaze swooped over the crowd once more before it came to a rest on a fragile looking old man ten feet away from him. Those grey eyes set in a deeply wrinkled face held an intensity unbefitting the man’s age.

From what seemed like a great distance, Adan could hear the faint sound of drums and trumpets. The sound appeared distorted, out of place in this silent scene of tension. Yet Adan knew the tune by heart, it signaled the appearance of King Ilian.

As the sound of trumpets grew louder, there was a shift in the crowd. The old man’s expression darkened, and cracked lips drew back in a silent snarl. Adan’s grip on his spear tightened. He had never used the weapon in combat. He had never seen combat. He was as his uniform, inadequate and unprepared.

His back was towards the castle, but Adan could follow the procession of the king by ear alone. He did not need to look to know when the musicians stepped out onto the castle walls, he could hear it by the sound of trumpets. Adan did not doubt his superiors, but in this instance he wished the king had been kept away. He could not understand why the king’s personal advisors had allowed the man to show himself. He knew the king was furious that there were people that questioned his power, but a direct confrontation would be disastrous. Whatever the king wished to tell his people, it was not worth the disturbance of the peculiar balance that hung in the air.

The trumpets died down when the king stepped out into the open.

The crowd surged forward just as Adan began to comprehend the emotion on their faces. It was hatred. Pure, undulating hatred. And he and the two hundred other soldiers were the only ones that stood in the way between the crowd and the source of their hatred. Don’t. His lips formed the soundless plea. Who he was pleading to, he was not sure. The old man in front of him, whose grey eyes had turned to steel and who looked harder and stronger than the bag of bones Adan had taken him for. Perhaps to the Gods, with their apparent disregard for human life and suffering. Or maybe to his king, who he wished would flee back into the castle. Maybe he was pleading to himself, for not raising his spear and killing others. Most of all, he wished the crowd’s silence, like his own, would last forever.

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I’m so happy to get this story off the ground. It has been my longtime dream to write a story. Let me know what you think. Tips and suggestions are also more than welcome :)

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