“You know what?” I said, rather loudly. “I don't care anymore! I don't want to be a farmer, and I don't want to live in this hole. There's nothing left here for me anyway. I wish you hadn't hidden me from the recruiters!”

My father was seething with anger. “You know what, boy? I think you'd be better off leaving before I thrash you!”

I knew he wasn't joking. He already had his belt in his hand, which amazed me. He must've taken it off in a split second and considering he wasn't exactly youthful I was almost impressed. But there wasn't enough time for that. His worn, almost leathery face was a picture of rage. Unless I wanted a brutal thrashing at the hands of his old leather belt,which had had much practice in the fine art of beating me.

Still annoyed, I turned to him and said, “I'm glad I won't have to see you ever again, you son of a bitch,” and ran outside.

I shoved the old wooden door shut in my fit of rage, almost knocking it from the rusted brass hinges which held it in place. I stormed out and almost bumped into the figure who stood just metres from the cottage, if it could be called that. It was as big as any other house in Larindale but it was not in good repair. Shutters desperately clung to the walls with their last hinges, and both of the two glass windows were shattered. We could not afford the glass, or even just the few minor repairs that needed doing. Not since the wolves had taken our last cow. I snapped out of my state of total annoyance when the figure I had nearly toppled addressed me.

“Well then boy, where were you running off to?”. I glared up at my father then suddenly realised that I'd just left my father fuming inside. The figure, a man, was dressed in a rough leather tunic and wore itchy-looking brown wool trousers that were caked with mud halfway up his calf. He wore a tattered scabbard at his side that was slightly too short for his blade, which I could see was filthy iron. On the front of his tunic was a dirty, dagger and vine pattern. It was familiar but I couldn't recall where I had seen it before. The man grinned down at me, as he was a whole head taller than I was.

“I think, kiddo, that you'll be wanting to go back inside, eh?” the man said. “I mean, I would hate to have to gut ya here.”

Once again he grinned, but this time he was backing me towards the door. At that statement, something clicked in my mind. Bandit. I should have recognized the Dagger-Vine, their symbol of freedom. The dagger cuts the vines that hold it captive. Such a noble principle for people so cruel. Without taking my eyes off the advancing man I opened the door and slipped inside, heart pounding, eyes full of fear.

My father saw me immediately and smirked. “I knew you would come crawling back, but I honestly didn't think that even you would be that pathetic as to come a second after you left!”
I didn't have time for my father's taunting.

I pressed my back tight against the door and fumbled with the lock but I was too late. The bandit forced the door off it's hinges sending me flying forwards and the door toppling behind me. As the man stepped over me, he gave me a sharp blow to the head with his rusted iron boot.

He headed towards the kitchen where my mother and sister were preparing the day's meal. I tried to get up to stop him but was crippled by the throbbing pain in my skull and I fell back down, slipping into unconsciousness.

I blinked.

My vision was blurred.

There was something heavy and moving underneath me.

My head pounded.

The heavy thing was replaced by a feeling of falling, then an even larger heavy thing.

No, not heavy. Solid.

My body screamed.

Something tugged at my clothes. So cold.

My head pounded.

Voices, none I recognized.

Poking and prodding.

Something was tied around my waste.

My head pounded, and my vision cleared.

I screamed.

I woke in cold sweat. I was certain it was all a dream, but when I opened my eyes I had to feel them with my hands just to make sure they were open. Why was it so dark? I propped myself up on my elbows while I established the current situation. It was dark, that was certain. And there was pain everywhere. I was hard pressed to find something that didn't throb. I could feel bruises all up my back and legs, probably from my night on the gravel I now rested upon.

My head was still pounding.

Once again I looked around and found a small slit in the wall through which the tiniest fragments of light came through. The wall around the window, which was the only I could see, was made of some kind of rough stone. Even in the light it was unrecognizable.

I had no idea where I was but was sure the bandit wouldn't have done this. Keeping prisoners was not their style, unless the hostage was of some worth to somebody.

And as a farmer's boy, I was worthless.

I felt groggy as if I had been unconscious for days, and only then did I realise how parched my throat was feeling.

I shifted my weight from one elbow to the other as I felt around with my hands for water. There was none. Groaning, I lifted myself onto my feet and fell hard when my weak legs collapsed beneath me. Summoning every ounce of strength I tried again, steadying myself with the wall. My hand screamed, and I guessed that I had lost some skin there. I stumbled around against the stone until I felt the texture change. This part of the wall was much smoother. Probably the door. I banged weakly against the surface, first with my fists and then with my shoulder, which ached even worse than my hands. “Please...please...” I murmured with my weak voice and croaky, dry throat. All that was running through my mind were thoughts of my family who I had very recently abandoned, and that I may never get out of this strange, dark place. Tears stung my eyes. I was only seventeen winters old and had only been far from my family once before, and at least then I knew they were safe.

I cleared my throat and yelled in a voice that did not sound like my own, “For the gods, just let me out!”, and slammed my entire body against the door.

My head pounded some more and the sudden rush of adrenaline was gone as soon as it had come and I stumbled back and collapsed in a heap on the ground. Still sobbing, I brought my knees up to my chest and huddled there in a ball for what seemed like hours before anyone answered my pleas.

Light flooded the room as the door creaked open. Now it was my eyes turn to burn. I blinked until the blind spots faded and saw that a uniformed woman had stepped inside and was now looking at me with distaste.

“Not dead yet then, bandit?” she spat at me. I looked up at her with teary eyes, still unaccustomed to the light.

“I'm no bandit. I don't even remember how I got here,” I said, before I broke into another fit of sobs.

“Don't try to fool me, scum. You were found in a bandit camp, wearing bandit clothes with blood all over you.”

I blinked in disbelief. “Then... you're not... a bandit?” The woman laughed. Another figure, male this time, appeared at the door.

“What's going on, Yarienne? He's not dead yet, so get back to your post and don't worry about him.”

“He says he isn't a bandit,” said the woman who the other person had addressed as Yarienne, “and I found him sobbing. The others usually just curse us.”

The man glanced at me. “But he was found in a bandit camp, wearing bandit garb and...”

“I know that!” I cried, “At least, she,” I pointed to Yarienne, “already told me that. I'm no bandit. The last thing I remember is... is arguing with my dad. Back in Larindale.” My croaky voice trailed off and more tears rolled down my face.

The two guards turned to each other and murmured amongst themselves. I took the opportunity to see my surrounding in the light now provided by the oil lamp Yarienne was holding. Just as I thought, there was nothing at all in this cell. Just the stone walls and gravel floor. Yarienne and the other guard were wearing black leather tunics two horizontal stripes of blue across their waists. They both wore short sword scabbards and had black leather boots that matched their tunics, which covered most of the black steel leg guards they wore. They had simple steel caps with nose guards for helmets. Obviously this was a rough job, if they needed so much armour. Yarienne turned to look at me when she realised I was staring at them.

“You know where we are, right? Who we are, even?” I shook my head and Yarienne sighed. “This is Kil'Varris Keep. We are Kil'Varris militia.”

Kil'Varris. That was one of the largest fortresses in this part of the kingdom, second only to the capital city Hyari-Elfwatch. In Larindale, Kil'Varris warriors would often stay at the inns and pubs and told wonderful stories of warfare and adventure. I knew that most of these stories were exaggerated, but I couldn't help to be dragged in by their tales of dragons and orcs. They often spoke of the fortress itself, with its beautiful gardens and well-guarded walls and gates, so it seemed odd to me that the militia would be guarding the jail.

“Not soldiers then? I thought you...” but that just got a laugh from Yarienne.

“All the soldiers are on the front line down south. They couldn't spare a single one, it seems. Half the militia is down there too, but we were stuck in this hell hole with you bandits.” I tried to reply to that, but the guards were already out the door, leaving me on the floor with only my thoughts.

I slipped in and out of consciousness for a while.

I woke some hours later when I heard the clatter of wood against the stone walls. Crawling, I pulled myself towards to sound and felt the cool, smooth shaft of an arrow. It felt wet at the tip and I could smell blood. I swore. Whoever had fired this arrow had probably pulled it from a corpse. As I edged over to the window to inspect the arrow in the dim light, the faint cries of battle reached my ears. That would explain the arrow, I thought. Still appraising my possession, I flinched back as the door was once again opened and Yarienne stepped inside. I hid the arrow under my tunic. It was sharp, and even without a bow I could still use it to inflict damage if need be.

“Alright, boy. You're out of here,” said Yarienne quickly as she hauled me to my feet. She passed me a mug of water. “And you'd better drink this. I don't think you'll have the strength to run dehydrated.”

Before I could question her intentions I was being dragged out of the prison. As I ran after my liberator I noticed that most of the other cells around me were now empty as well, except for the ones that still contained the deceased bodies of their former captives. It was amazing how big the prison wing was, actually. I could never imagine there ever being enough criminals to fill them all. You could've fit my entire town, and then some!

We finally reached the main part of the fortress and now I found myself in a series of strangely empty, though well furnished rooms. Some of the rooms had obviously not been used in a while, as there was dust caked everywhere. It surprised me that the cleaners hadn't thought to remedy the situation. It also bothered me that all the doors were open and sometimes cracked as though they had been slammed open in a great rush.

I wondered if the former occupants of these rooms were still alive, but my intuition told me they weren't.

We burst out into an open courtyard. Battle cries rung loudly, as did the screams of the fallen. This was the edge of the fortress.

Yarienne pointed at one of the stone walls.

“There, climb. Once you're over, I want you to run into the forest. It's not far but there is a good chance arrows will be flying, so stay low,” she hesitated and I looked at her in confusion, “and don't worry. Others will already be there, and I'll be following shortly.” She ran back in the direction of the keep.

Still in shock from my unexpected rescue, I stood where she had left me. Why did she free me?

An arrow clattered just to my left, snapping me back to the reality of the situation.

I glanced around the empty courtyard to be sure nobody would see me before I made a run at the wall, pulling myself over with strength I didn't know I had.

There was a very long drop to the bottom, but I had somehow managed to land on a very soft bush, which surprised me. I was usually anything but lucky.

Once on the other side I could see the forest, half a mile away. Ducking low as Yarienne had advised I made a stumbling run for the trees. Arrows whistled overhead and I stole quick glances in either direction. There was a small group of militia on one side, dressed in the same uniform as my guards, and some archers on the other. They were hidden in the trees so he couldn't see their colours. Even if I could I probably wouldn't know who's soldiers they were. Another volley of arrows was released from the unknown attackers and I sped onwards. They weren't shooting at me but there was always the possibility that an arrow would stray from it's mark and hit me.

The trees were only a hundred yards away now.

I sped up and my bad luck prevailed. An arrow nicked my left shoulder and I almost cried out in pain, but bit it back so I wouldn't draw too much attention to myself. Ha, as if they hadn't all already seen me anyway. I had made the last few metres to the forest. Safe. Stumbling deeper through the low hanging branches and the undergrowth I made it to a small clearing where I collapsed to my knees.

I looked at my shoulder. Just a cut and it wasn't too deep, but it had bled through my tunic. Sighing, I ripped some cloth from the bottom of my pants and tied it around my arm as a makeshift bandage. I knew I should have cleansed the wound, but there was no water in sight. Even considering my current situation, I was grateful for the fresh air and the broken sunlight shining through the branches overhead. I lay down on my back which was incredibly painful for some reason, but I was exhausted. It hardly mattered to me if anyone found me. Chances are they would be in the same mess as me, and even if they were thieves, I had nothing worth stealing anyway, except maybe the arrow.

The arrow!

I checked inside my tunic and sure enough, it was there. Now that I was in the daylight, I could examine it properly. The tip was barbed... no wonder there was so much blood on it. It would be a painful thing to pull out.

The shaft was long but I couldn't tell the type of wood, because it had been painted black. On the end there were three plumes instead of the usual four. This was an elven arrow. Elves!

My whole lifeI had feared the elves. They were wicked and cruel to humans, treating them as nothing more than cattle. They were beautiful people, but evil. There were often border disputes between the two races but nothing ever as big as the war that had begun a few seasons earlier. All the land's forces had been sent south to drive the elves out. So how did the elves get all the way to Kil'Vannis? I shook my head clear of these thoughts. I had more important things to worry about.

Such as the fact that I had run through the middle of a battlefield, right in clear view.

And also that these clothes weren't mine. They reminded me of those the bandit wore when he had attacked my house.

No wonder the guards had been suspicious.

And, now that I had time to think, my head was still throbbing. Life sucked.

Wait.

My house had been raided by bandits.

I knew I was alright, but what of my family?

What about the rest of Larindale? It was unlike bandits to attack single houses.

I groaned.

No time to worry about all that, said my brain. For now, you must sleep.

Finally feeling rested, I stood and inspected my surroundings. The sun was setting now and there wasn't anything more interesting in the clearing than a bunch of trees and a few rocks, so I set off in search of the others Yarienne had told me about. Leaves crunching under my uncomfortable, unfitting boots, I wandered off deeper into the forest until I could hear the sound of voices in the distance. I set off in their direction and soon could smell fire and meat, which made my mouth salivate. My stomach thought my throat had been cut. Nothing had been coming down for it in days. Running and stumbling towards the delicious smells, I suddenly found myself face to face with a knife.

“I think it'd be in your best interests, boy, to tell us who sent you here.”

I sat by the fire, laughing and carrying on with the others. Once I had told them it was Yarienne who had sent me they warmed instantly. Most of them were also ex-prisoners who had been jailed for the same reason as me. For being found in a bandit camp, wearing bandit garb. I learned from one of the others that many bandits had adopted this new form of punishment. They saw it as an easier and crueler way to kill their captives; at the hands of the people who were meant to protect them. Not only did many die, but the ones who survived loathed all guards from then on and often became bandits themselves.

But even though we were all friendly towards each other, nobody would tell me who Yarienne was or why she had freed me.

Either they didn't know, or they were scared.