Young Writers Society

James knelt down in the undergrowth. The damp soil soaked into the knee of his trousers. Sibo silently crouched down beside him. He took her small, calloused hand in his, and looked into her hazel eyes, barely visible in the patchy moonlight. She smiled back confidently.

“The archers are in place sir,” whispered one of the rebels.

“Right, on my order,” said the leader Mark, in his deep gravelly voice.

James put an arm around Sibo's shoulders and held her tightly. Her body was warm compared to the cold night air. Her long black hair caressed his shaved face as it blew in the slight breeze.

“Now,” whispered Mark.

James let Sibo go and quietly drew his sword. He crept out from the safety of the bush, with his newly found love at his side.

The Empire encampment sat atop a small clear felled rise. There were still rotting stumps and dry sticks scattered across the hillside, but nothing big enough to conceal them.

James stepped over a mossy log. He was hunched over, watching the oblivious sentries pace the perimeter of the camp; silhouettes against the camp fires.

A twig snapped. The splintering noise pierced the silence. James’ heart skipped a beat.

“What's that?” said a voice from the hilltop.

Mark raised his fist, the signal to stop moving.

James froze mid pace. He could see the sentry peering into the darkness towards them. The sound of frogs croaking became painfully loud.

“I thought I heard something,” said the sentry to his comrade.

Both of them were still and silent for a long moment. “Light a torch,” the second one said finally. They began moving.

Mark signalled for them to advance with a gesture of his hand.

James crept quickly forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the two men who appeared to be fumbling around with something. He could hear his heart beating. He glanced back, making sure Sibo was right behind him.

The sentries’ torch flared to life. The flickering light illuminated the rebels closest to the camp. James stopped, just outside the light’s radius, waiting for an order. All was still for a drawn out moment.

“Charge!” shouted Mark.

James picked up his wits and sprinted towards the camp. Shouts carried over the embankment and down the bald hill. Two arrows from the bushes sped past and hit the sentries as they drew their swords. Mark disappeared over the hilltop.

James charged into the camp, and was greeted by the smoke from a nearby camp fire. It stung his eyes. The air here was hot. A half dressed soldier emerged from a tent in front of him. James sized him up, eyes carefully fixed upon his foe's sword.

The soldier stabbed at James.

James jumped backwards, whilst catching the blow on his sword. A sharp scraping noise tore through the commotion. He took a backhanded slash, slicing open his adversary's tunic and cutting him across the chest.

The man staggered backwards, grasping his wound. A few drops of blood hit the ground beneath him. The soldier fell over into the dirt, groaning.

James stepped towards his injured foe, sword held ready to deliver the final blow. Then, from the side a second man jumped in, slamming his fist into James' stomach.

James reeled back, gasping for breath. He put one hand on the rocky ground, and held his stomach with the other, desperately trying to suck in air.

Rough hands grabbed him from behind and jerked him to his feet. He felt fists constrict around his wrists, and his arms being yanked behind his back.

He tried to pull free, but his captor's grip was like a vice. He glanced to where he'd last seen Sibo, but she wasn't there. Panic gripped him. He turned to scan the camp for her, but the soldier pulled him away.

“Retreat!” Mark's voice bellowed over the din.

James' captor pushed him to the ground. His face slammed against the gravel. A knee rammed into his back to keep him down. He gritted his teeth against the pain, his spine feeling like it would snap.

“Look where this got you, you filthy rebel,” hissed the soldier in his ear.

James felt a coarse rope being pulled around his wrists. The sound of heavy footsteps sped past. His only wish was for Sibo’s safety.

Then the weight on his back lifted, and he felt himself being pulled to his feet. Someone was dragging him away from the battle.

“Snap out of it,” came Mark's voice.

James shook his head and blinked, still dazed from the collision with the ground. He staggered for a moment, and then managed to start running. He looked over his shoulder to see Empire soldiers on horseback close behind him, wielding deadly curved scimitars which flashed in the firelight. He couldn't see Sibo.

The rebels were scattered across the hill, running desperately for the safety of the forest. It was too dark, and his vision was too blurry to make out individuals. He prayed that Sibo was among them.

“Make for the cave,” shouted Mark.

James dove into the forest. The horses behind them came to a halt at the tree-line. James picked himself up and ran blindly in the direction of the cave, following the loud footsteps in the gloom ahead.

Branches whipped at his face, and sticks bloodied his knuckles as he crashed through the dense scrub. Pain shot up his leg as he stubbed his toe on a rock. He stumbled, catching himself against a trunk of splintery bark.

After a few minutes the ground became steep. James powered along, ignoring the burning pain in his legs. All he could think of was whether Sibo was safe.

Finally, he reached the clearing. The gloomy outline of the cave was faintly visible in the feeble light of the new moon. There were a few dark shapes of people standing outside.

James stepped up to the congregation. Sibo had to be among them. He didn't think he could go on without her.