16:06:43, Saturday, 27th May 1329.

Eve of the Feast of Pentecost.

Town of Douglas, Scotland.

A second horn, then a third sounded. The world around the combatants reverberating with the cacophony of thunder and pure notes of heavenly Horns. Everyone in the narrow roadway was screaming, writhing in the mud.

Pain curled hands clutched at bleeding ears in a vain attempt to block out the sound, but the Horns blast pervaded the very fabric of the world. None could avoid it.

The writhing figures relaxed only when the cacophonous trumpets finally ceased.

Liam was the first to recover, grabbing the fallen sword. He darted forward.

Slipping slightly in the mud, Liam swung the razor-sharp blade at the archer.

The archer had regained his feet, staring in open-mouthed distraction at something only he could see. He crossed himself as Liam’s borrowed sword hit him in the neck.

The sword bounced off as it had turned in his hands through the swing, the sharp edge coming nowhere near the vulnerable neck. Liam had swung the sword like a club, not a blade, his lack of experience manifesting itself at the worst possible time.

Stunned at his fortune, the archer felt at his neck, having merely received the smack of the flat of the blade.

Still very much alive and unwounded, the archer turned on Liam, his vision refocussing. Brown hunter's eyes glaring hate at this new prey.

“You fucking runt. You’re for it now.” he said, his voice harsh.

The archer’s hand dropped the bow, and in the same motion, drew a hatchet from his belt. Liam was faster. Rushing forward once more, he clumsily stabbed his borrowed sword into the archer’s gut, having learned the first lesson drilled into all soldiers since the dawn of time.

The point always beats the edge.

Liam lacked strength to deliver a fatal blow, so the blade only penetrated a few inches through the padded jerkin. It was enough to force the archer back. He clutched at his stomach in pain, backing away from Liam to gain time.

A scroll of red covered in golden letters filled Liam's vision, followed by a second, larger veil of the same.

Deus enim dabo vobis spiritum, et exaltatum est.

Statistica de Liam Lamberton Titulus: N/A Nomen: Liam Lamberton Planum: 1 Genus: Homo Ordo: Nullus Aetas: 13 Tribulatio Experientia: 0/125 Valetudo: 50 Magia: 10 Vigor: 100 Attributo Viribus: 8 Agilitatum: 9 Toleratio: 5 Intelligenti: 9 Sapientia: 4 Lepos: 12 Fortuna: 22 Fidem: 13 Firmus: 8 Artium: Restituto: 13 Pecus Agricultura: 3 Mores: 4 Ars Militaris: 1 Ars Fabrilis: 19 Levis Armatura: 1 Ascia: 3 Furtim: 3 Magnanimaitas: 4 Athletica: 14 Cura Rei Familiaris: 09 Arboribus: 19 Mathematica: 1

Liam shook his head to get rid of it. He could see it was a form of writing, but he couldn't read a word of it. Now was not the time to indulge curiosity, anyway.

The archer had backed away a good distance now and was checking the wound. He too seemed to see something, and similarly shook his head, glancing up quickly to see Liam staring at him.

Hoping the man’s wounds were too great to continue the fight, Liam chanced a glance at the other combatants.

The guard and remaining bandit had also recovered now and began exchanging rapid blows. The foeman clearly held the advantage, and he used the reach of his polearm and his opponent’s injured leg to gain an offensive advantage.

The guard defended stolidly behind his shield, turning each blow of the heavy weapon aside, attempting to answer with cuts from the heavier forester's axe.

All the weight of the axe was towards the head. This was by design, to better smash through wood.

Had the guard chosen to hold it like a battle-axe at the lower handle, the heavy axe-head would unbalance him with every swing. The weight forcing the warrior to sacrifice distance for speed, and he gripped the axe halfway down its haft.

While this improved his defensive ability to parry, however, as the axe handle ran down the blade of his right forearm. His shield held in a guard by his left.

The guard, limited by reach and wounded by his fall from horseback, could only wait for his enemy to make a mistake. His only hope, to lure the bandit within range.

Liam knew that if the archer re-joined the duel, the guard would surely fall.

Setting his jaw in determination, Liam turned his attention back to his opponent. Hoping the man would turn and flee.

God, Help us! Liam prayed silently.

The archer, however, was still recovering from the wound. With a snarl, he pressed the heel of his spare hand into the wound.

Liam felt he may have struck something vital. He hoped enough to cause the man to give up.

From the blood on the blade, Liam knew that he'd at least wounded the man, but his hopes of a simple victory were in vain.

The archer finished inspecting his wounds. Judging himself as fit to continue, he advanced towards Liam in a rush. One hand pressing into his side, his hatchet held ready in the other.

Liam backed away as he assessed his opponent. The archer was a small man, not much bigger than Liam, but he had a weight of muscle on his arms and shoulders that told of years of training in the bow.

Liam reconsidered whether he could win this fight. Whether he should fight, and he backed away a step. I don’t need to fight him. He thought to himself. All I need to do is stop him from attacking the guard! Maybe they’ll run away if we can delay them!

The archer facing Liam let out a stream of violent cursing, promising foul tortures if Liam didn't surrender. Seeing Liam's weakening resolve, the man attempted a weak swing at Liam, who almost dropped the sword when he blocked the blow.

Although he prevented the archer’s tentative strike from hitting his flesh, he could barely recover the blade to answer the second, more forceful strike. This clash of weapons pushed Liam back to the ground, the sword dropping from fingers unprepared for the impacts of weapon-on-weapon combat.

Oh, God! NO! Liam thought he could taste his panic as rising bile made him retch.

The archer stepped forward, kicking Liam squarely in the chest, knocking him sprawling into the mud.

The apprentice lay across the ground fearfully, struggling to rise against the slippery clay of the road, trying desperately to get to his feet to flee.

God have mercy! He prayed weakly, at any moment expecting the crushing pain of an axe to smash into his neck or back.

His arms spasmed as he struggled and slipped once more. The adrenaline was pumping through his system with every heartbeat, making him shake violently. Sinister laughter came from the figure looming over him. Liam looked up at the archer, his eyes wide in terror.

The archer took advantage of the moment to gloat.

Enjoying the fear in Liam's eyes, he kicked the prone form of the boy with a satisfied smirk. Liam raised his arm in a reflexive block. What could have broken ribs instead smashed into his left arm. He screamed in fear and pain as the archer’s boot slammed into him again, this time kicking him in the gut and rolling him onto his right side.

Retching and without breath, Liam’s stomach heaved into a dry throat, so that he coughed harshly. A sticky bile spilling from his mouth.

“I’m going to end you slowly; cur. Make you an example to Lady Douglas of what happens if she doesn’t behave.” A sneer curled at the archer’s lip as he mocked Liam. “Then I’m going to teach her what a real Scotsman feels like.” He glanced up the road where the Lady was watching the remaining guard with concern.

She didn't even seem to notice the boy. Seeing the lady’s odd fear for the guard, the archer chanced a glance towards the figure. Seeing that the man was losing the fight with his compatriot, his face contorted into a smile, and he returned his gaze to Liam.

“I suppose the Lady doesn't care much for you!” He joked.

“You almost fucked us when you turned up with your wood chopping! Come to think of it, I know some people who will love to fuck you! Maybe I’ll leave you alive and sell you to the Moors.” He mused. “They like young boy slaves. But they always cut their bollocks off! Ha! I should save them the trouble!” Liam’s eyes widened at that.

I can't be a slave! And they cut off.... No! I have to escape! He thought, his fear overwhelming him.

Liam tried to speak. “P... P... Please don…” Liam didn’t get to finish as the archer’s sneer turned into a wide grin.

Then his face contorted with hate, and he stomped down hard.

The hobnails of his leather boots grated across Liam’s shin.

The world exploded into pain as his leg broke, the metal spikes splintering the bones in his lower leg. Small white shards of osseous tissue protruded gorily out of Liam’s leg, rubbing against his trews. Blood bloomed through the fabric immediately, and Liam stared in horror. He'd never seen this much of it before.

Then the pain ran through him. It was like a mountain fell upon his mind, blocking anything unrelated to his agony. It faded slightly and his vision returned.

Through the pain, Liam saw a red bar in the top right of his vision shrinking. It was now below half its initial size.

Not caring what it could mean, Liam shrieked. He lay back, impotent rage, agony and fear competing to rule his mind.

He wished for death, for the first time in his brief life.

The archer kicked his other leg wide and stepped on it too, breaking Liam’s kneecap. He had spread Liam’s legs apart so that his nethers were vulnerable.

Once more, Liam writhed, howling out his torment.

Liam could just make out the archer who was enjoying every moment of this and intended to inflict as much torment as he could before Liam died.

A small part of Liam's subconscious mind recognized that if he did nothing, the pain he felt now would be a mere fraction of what this sadist would pull from his flesh.

The archer drew a knife and stood over Liam, preparing to inflict more horror upon Liam’s flesh. “I've always wanted to try a torturer's trade, but I never liked the way they’re treated.” He said offhandedly. “Always outcasts, them!”

“Me? I'd rather be my own man. Have the best of both worlds.” His malicious smile never left his lips.

As he spoke, something snapped deep within Liam’s soul. A surge of animalistic strength flooded him, and the pain diminished, as did the fear.

GOD GIVE ME STRENGTH!

Liam unconsciously drew on the spirit of his primal nature. His animal nature. As fear disappeared, a cold, savage cunning replaced it. The cunning of a beast.

He could think again. Think through the pain.

The archer was mocking Liam by showing off the knife. Distracted as he made a show of how the blade would geld his victim.

Liam stared back up at him, unseeing. His conscious mind no longer present. It had wandered into memory as the beast arose, guiding his mind.

The previous winter, a wild dog snuck into the cold larder. It had a large gash on its flank and had raided their store of meat. Liam had confronted it, thinking to scare it away. The beast mauled him for his trouble. He might have died had not Colm rushed to his aid, slaying the dog with his knife.

A beast is most dangerous when it's wounded and cornered. The lesson from Colm returned to him. If it decides to fight, you're facing a true danger.

Liam realized. I am that beast.

If I’m about to die, I’m going to at least end this man’s wickedness. Liam decided. While his body cried out, still writhing in reflexive pain, his mind worked furiously. He needed a weapon. The sword! He remembered.

Reaching out, his grasping fingers found the hilt of the blade he had dropped earlier.

His reaching hand touched something in the mud, clutching at it. The handle of the sword fit snugly into Liam's palm, and with renewed strength and surety of action, he brought it up. His face locked in a snarl of hate.

Torquing his body to gain momentum, he gripped the blade of the sword with his other hand. Now holding the sword like a spear, he heaved the point ever onwards and up, driving it into the man’s unarmoured groin.

The archer stumbled back in surprise. There was no way the boy could...

Blood gushed down Liam’s hand and fountained upon the ground as it spilled in torrents from the wound. The archer stared in horror and let loose a howling screech of anguish as he fell to the road.

Liam, unable to regain his feet, instead crawled towards the moaning and twitching figure. Murderous purpose driving him on. His intent set, he ignored the pain of his broken legs as they bumped and scraped along the road.

The archer was keening like a stuck pig, his breath coming in desperate gasps as blood pooled onto the ground between his legs.

With a final grunt at the pain, Liam levered himself up above the man. He stabbed him again and again until the keening ceased. A thick gore of blood mixed with mud coated Liam from head to toe. As he looked at his hands, he slowly recovered from his rage, and pain returned.

Out of breath and with renewed fear, Liam stared at the corpse of his would-be-torturer. The animalistic rage leaving him. The physical pain seemed to fade, but the moral anguish only grew to replace it. Blood seemed to fill the surrounding area, pooling on the clay surface of the road.

He looked at the corpse in shock and confusion. His mind struggling to absorb the overwhelming emotions of moments before. In an attempt to cope, he began moralizing his actions, trying to find some way to justify what he'd just done.

D... Does this make me a murderer?

He remembered the ten commandments, drummed into him over and over by society and the Church.

Thou shalt not kill. That was the first. The most obvious.

He'd just done that, and with such a ruthless hate in his heart, too.

Tears formed in his eyes as he realized what he’d just done. His heart thundered.

I'm a sinner! I'll never go to heaven now!

That the man he'd killed had also been about to torture and kill him didn't present itself as pertinent to his thoughts. The adrenaline dumping out of his system merely aided his juvenile self-recrimination. The shock set in, making it hard for him to think clearly about actions, reactions, and consequences.

Even a shouted question from the remaining guard did not shake Liam from his shock.

It was only when he looked at his hands once more he snapped out of it.

He choked on his breath in terror.

But it was not the blood, nor his recent self-reflection, that awoke the fresh fear.

Liam’s skin glowed.

Faintly at first, it became a glow that filled up the surrounding woodlands with a soft and holy light.

Golden symbols like the writing he sometimes saw in the Carpenters ledger filled his vision. As he was illiterate, Liam simply stared at them in wonder.

There were numbers there, too.

All neatly aligned in rows, the symbols ran across a crimson field in his vision. He'd seen it before, but hadn't truly taken it in.

Statistica de Liam Lamberton

Titulus: N/A

Nomen: Liam Lamberton

Planum: 5

Genus: Homo

Ordo: Nullus

Aetas: 13

Utilis Attributo: 15

Tribulatio Experientia: 127/381

Valetudo: 50

Magia: 10

Vigor: 100

Viribus: 8

Agilitatum: 9

Toleratio: 5

Intelligenti: 9

Sapientia: 4

Lepos: 12

Fortuna: 22

Fidem: 13

Firmus: 8

Artium:

Restituto: 13

Pecus Agricultura: 3

Mores: 4

Ars Militaris: 1

Ars Fabrilis: 19

Levis Armatura: 1

Ascia: 3

Furtim: 3

Magnanimaitas: 4

Athletica: 14

Cura Rei Familiaris: 09

Arboribus: 19

Gladio: 2

Mathematica: 1

Ars Tactica: 1

Liam heard angelic voices raised in a chorus, as though a heavenly choir was sounding a lilting melody throughout the roadway. The song rushed through every part of him at once, its energies refreshing his body and mind.

The mud that coated his body fell to the ground as though a bucket of soapy water had doused him. Looking down, he saw that his shattered legs were now whole again. Somehow, a miracle had occurred, and he was healed! He hadn't noticed before, but that was why the pain had ceased when he had killed the archer.

He realized he'd wasted too much time on feeling bad for himself. Liam remembered why he'd been fighting. He looked over at the remaining combatants while climbing to his feet, sword in hand.

The guard and the bandit had stopped their duel and had been gaping in disbelief at Liam.

As he stood, the last of the glow fading from his skin.

As the boy turned towards the duellists, a gleaming sword in hand, the final ambusher saw the tables had turned. He backed away a few steps. Then, twisting away, he threw his polearm to the ground before the remaining guardsman could react, fleeing into the forest.

As soon as the sound of the man’s flight receded into the woods, the guard limped rapidly over to the fallen Lady Douglas.

She was unharmed but breathing heavily in fear and anguish at the rapid change in circumstances. “Wha…” she said, before fainting into his arms. Liam gingerly approached and asked. “S… Sir? Is the Lady well?”

The guard glared at Liam.

“Stand away Boy!”

The guard spent a few moments tending to the lady. It seemed to Liam he did so too familiarly, but he didn’t wish to argue with the commanding figure.

Satisfied that the Lady of Douglas was unharmed, the guard stripped off his tabard and rolled it. Gently placing it under the Lady’s head.

The guard wasted no time and turned to Liam. “You aren’t with them, then?” He asked threateningly as he approached.

Liam shook his head and knelt once more. He turned the borrowed sword and offered it to the soldier with his head bowed. “N… no sir. M… mm… m… M.” Liam stammered, still overwhelmed by recent events. He knew he was safe now, but he kept struggling to find some kind of balance between the warring emotions in his soul.

The soldier took the sword out of Liam’s hands and returned his shield to his back, shifting it by its sling until it became comfortable.

“Take your time, lad.” His sword held ready, though he took a rag from his belt and began cleaning the blade of mud and blood as he watched the tree line with a wary eye. “But not too much.”

****************************

After a moment to calm down and catch his breath, Liam regained a fragment of self-control.

“Sorry sir, my Master sent me into the forest to collect firewood.” Liam fidgeted. “Deadfall, that is Sir! Not standing trees! And... and my Master is Master Colm of the Carpentry in Douglas.” He re-stated.

“And you just happened upon the same tree that would block our party for the ambush?” The guard eyed Liam suspiciously as he nodded confirmation. “And now you can also glow, and the choirs of angels sing for you?”

Liam wasn't sure how to answer that.

The man gave a gruff harrumph of disbelief. Then consider for a moment. “The Horns.”

Liam looked confused. What were the Horns?

The guard grunted, ignoring Liam’s confusion. “Colm’s apprentice? I thought you were smaller.” More carefully, the guard inspected Liam. “Or are you the older lad?”

“No, sir!” Liam said. He rushed to explain, now his brain seemed to work again. “The older apprentice is…”

The guard held up a hand at the explanation, halting Liam. “So, since I can be confident you aren’t party with the Bastard Comyn’s raiders, I shall require your aid.” He said.

Liam was grateful for something to do. Anything really, to take his mind off what had just happened.

"But first I would like an answer." The guard said, "What caused you to glow?"

This took Liam aback. “Sir! I don’t know, sir. One moment, I was. I was… I..” his voice faltered, and Liam felt a surge of shame.

He realized he was about to admit to what he’d done immediately before the light had poured from him.

Murder.

The guard seemed to understand and leaned down to Liam’s eye level. He grasped Liam’s chin with a chainmail covered hand and forced him to look into his eyes.

The guard was tall, forcing Liam to look up. Deep lines framed his grey eyes. Shoulder length black hair stuck out from beneath his padded coif and blended with his bushy dark beard.

The guard looked like an old man to Liam’s eyes. But was probably only in his late 30s or early 40s.

But then, to a boy of 13, old is a relative concept.

The man gazed down at Liam. His expression was gentle, full of understanding and compassion.

“There is nae shame in killing, laddie.” He said, his voice soft. “It’s why you kill that matters to the Almighty.”

“A man defending his Lord and Lady is guiltless in the eyes of God and His Angels. Just as much as a man is in defending himself and his own, or in hunting down those intent on doing undue harm to others.”

Liam nodded, a sniff escaping as he tried to clear his suddenly thick throat and misting eyes. “Yes sir. I… I’m not ashamed. I just…”

“Killing a man is hard. Both on your soul and mind.” The guard continued. “Not feeling anything is when you know you’ve crossed the line, that should not be. That's a line God puts in all men's souls to warn them where the devil lies.”

“It felt good to end him, sir!” Liam admitted in a rush. “He was going to do many terrible things to me. He even said so! He hurt me and was enjoying it.” Liam shook, righteous anger building. His next words felt justified. “He needed to die.”

“But you’re ashamed still?” The guard smiled warmly. “You’re not ashamed of killing, but of it feeling good?”

“It felt good to end evil.” Liam said and looked at the stiffening corpse of the Archer. “And he was an evil man.”

“Few understand that. Usually, a man has to fight in a few battles to come to the understand.” The Lord looked him over. “Perhaps it hasn't sunk in for you yet, but if you ever become a soldier, it will eventually.”

“Was that why you interceded on our behalf? You wanted to kill evil men?”

The word confused Liam. “Intercede, my lord?” He asked. To Liam's ears, it didn’t sound like English.

“It means ‘to defend another’.” The Lord said. “It is not an apprentice’s place to do battle for his Lord or Lady.”

Liam pondered it for a moment. “It just seemed like you needed help, Milord. I thought that if I couldn’t help another in need, I wouldn’t be able to call myself a Christian!”

The guard laughed. The sound echoing like a bell, pealing back the dark mood that pervaded the roadway. "Very few people would go to such lengths to ensure their morals remain intact!" The guard stood to his full height and stretched his back. “You have no calling for carpentry lad, and I can always use men of your character.”

“James!” a soft feminine voice called from the roadway behind them.

“Yes, beloved?” The gua...

Liam’s eyes bulged, and he knelt in the mud once more, quickly bowing his head as he realized who he’d been talking to so casually.

“Milord.” He said and knelt. His voice soft as he kept his eyes on the muddy road.

James Douglas paid Liam no mind as he knelt beside his wife.

“We’re safe for the moment, my love. Although we need to head back soon. A storm is coming, both a physical and a spiritual one. Our people need us, and our King shall soon too.”

He kissed her gently on the forehead as she smiled up at him.

James picked his wife up in a princess carry and lifted her over the remains of the second fallen tree the ambushers had used to trap their quarry.

Liam followed at a respectful distance. Without permission to stand, he'd followed. He didn’t want to be left alone in the mud and blood of the road while bandits were about. The nobles, however, did not seem to mind.

The Lady Douglas seated herself upon the fallen tree trunk after her Lord had cleared some space amongst the branches.

Liam thought to keep an eye out for the last raider. Although he now lacked a weapon, he felt somehow more confident.

That surety was apparent to the Lord and Lady. And with an assessing glance, James Douglas turned to Liam.

“I owe you much, young Liam, far more than you likely know.”

He smiled at the boy, his handsome face framed by long black hair.

“You have proven you can think beyond your current station, and have the character of a warrior, not a carpenter."

It surprised Liam that the Lord knew his name. He was unsure how to respond, settling for a “Thank you, Milord.” and bowing his head in acknowledgement.

The Lord pondered a moment. “Did your Master ever tell you about your father, lad?” The Lord asked.

Liam shook his head. “The only thing he ever said was last year, just after the Lord Bishop died. He'd received some sad news, and said I was an orphan.”

Lord James looked embarrassed at that.

“Aye, he’s right. But this isn’t the place to discuss your sire, but maybe I can right some wrongs I’ve done to you, lad. After your service today, and knowing who you are, I bring you into my Household as a Page. It may absolve me of some of my guilt at failing your father.” He said cryptically.

“Although you may be old to start such duties, once you learn the basics, we’ll see if you are fit to become my second Squire.”

“M… MiLord?” Liam stuttered out.

There was no way this could be happening. He was the meanest peasant. An orphan boy. An apprentice, and even then, a second apprentice.

For him to rise out of the serfdom of peasantry and into the gentry to the point he could become even the merest servant of a noble lord like James Douglas was beyond… It just was absurd.

“Speak up, damn ye!” Lord James Douglas said with a grin. “I can’t hear your gratitude!”

“Yes, MiLord, and thank you MiLord.” Liam the Page said clearly. He was hardly about to argue with his Lord.

James Douglas’ grin widened. “Now go gather any of those damn scatterbrained horses you can find and bring them quickly. We must return with haste.”

Liam attempted a courtly bow, and slipped awkwardly, almost ending up in a pile of mud, and causing Lady Douglas to laugh softly behind a demure hand.

“Dinnae fear, laddie. If you don’t succeed in becoming a Knight one day, you may well excel as a Jester.” Douglas shooed Liam away. “Now go, get on wi’ye.”