Young Writers Society

The crowd was in a frenzy. Miles had at first begun with songs on lighter subjects. Love, summertime, old stories of sailors and sea monsters, and the occasional song that was a bit more lewd but went right over Gwyn’s ears amusing Alec and making Carris wonder how anyone could focus on any of it with how much was at stake.

But then the tone had shifted. Suddenly Miles was singing well-known Sadorian songs, war songs, songs of mother’s sons never coming home, of father’s being taken away, and of Astoria crushing anything in its path. At first it made some sense to Carris. He was singing songs that were familiar to this crowd. Singing songs of glory to Astoria and King Ormen would have simply resulted in him being pelted with rotten food and tossed out on his face, but these songs weren’t just about home, they were about war, and uprising, and violence.

And the crowd loved every bit of it. As the night had worn on the ale was running rampant. Carris thought that she had seen lights outside through the windows, seen that bright red-white combination on the guards, and at one point had seen two slip in for a bit. But despite the hold on this town, two lone guards in a place this raucous seemed too dangerous for them, and they exited quickly.

Miles had taken a moment to parch his thirst, having been singing for over half an hour. Carris could see that heat on his cheeks, the stains on his frilly outfit, the redness creeping into his cheeks. As he took this quick respite Carris listened to those around her. There were grumbles of the occupation. Down on the first floor there was a group of angry men, including the two that Malcolm had bumped into, who were now red in the face and on the ears and unstable in the feet. Carris wasn’t sure if they were mad at each other, Miles, or the occupation, but whatever it was, it was getting louder, and those in the vicinity were starting to join in on the sentiment.

Carris called for Alec, but he didn’t hear over the din. She grabbed his loose sleeve and tugged. He looked down.

“I think it might be time to leave,” Carris said, motioning tomorrow the noisy crowd down below. “I’m not sure this is a suitable place for Gwyn.”

Alec nodded. “Of course, I was beginning to think along those same lines. This is an angry crowd, and those can go very sour very fast. I’m not sure that your friend is making the wisest decisions with his choice of music.”

Carris huffed. “He’s not my friend, but I agree. I am taking Gwyn back.”

Alec made a shooing motion toward the staircase. “Then let’s be off, aye. I’ve no inclination to get caught up in something nasty, and it be past my bedtime anyway!” He chortled.

Carris nodded, thankful that he had seen it the same way. Now for Gwyn, who had barely looked at here since the show had started. She knelt down.

“Gwyn,” she said, but Gwyn made no eye contact, choosing instead to look down on the performance as Miles mounted the stage once again.

“Gwyn, I think we should be going. I don’t like the way this crowd is turning.”

Gwyn finally turned, slowly. Her lips were tightly closed, and her brow furrowed slightly. She was still angry, and more than Carris had seen in a long time.

“You can leave then,” she said curtly, turning back to the railing.

“I’m not asking,” Carris said, grabbing her arm.

Gwyn yanked away. “You never wanted to come anyway. Why don’t you just leave and take your grumpy attitude with you!” Gwyn huffed.

Carris’s mouth hung open. Gwyn had never been so aggressive, so defiant. She looked back at Alec in a silent plea. He nodded and stepped in front of Carris, about to make his own attempt at coercing her into leaving. Carris didn’t get why this was so hard, why Gwyn had to be so stubborn, and why she was so suddenly such a friend to Miles. She didn’t like music. How could she? She had barely even heard any at Potter’s Creek. Perhaps Carris had a been a bit harsh with her earlier, and she could apologize for that, but Gwyn was being unreasonably stubborn.

Miles was on stage again, shouting out over the crowd as it quieted down.

“There’s a legend here in Sadoria. A story of a farmer and a bull.”

There was a stir among the crowd and a few laughs and cheers.

“We know it best as the Black Bull, the Savior of Sadoria!” Miles shouted and raised his arms in a triumphant celebration. The crowd erupted into cheers.

Carris was perplexed. What was he doing? Getting the crowd to like you was one thing. But this was antagonization. He was stirring this crowd into a frenzy, and the huge smile on his face said that this was no mistake. No lapse in judgment. This was deliberate. But why? More coins perhaps, or just for the sake of the chaos. Performers love an energetic crowd. But he was crossing close with consorting with enemies of the crown.

Carris cast a glance Malcolm’s way, and to her surprise he was looking back at her. There was a line of concern on his face. She had seen it countless times. When he had broken his arm in the creek. When he had listened to Carris tell him that she didn’t know her father and how her mother treated her.

When she told him that his father and her mother had been caught in an inappropriate setting. How quickly it had turned from concern to anger that time though. This time it was turning to worry. He was a boy, he had been her closest friend, and he was worried. And she had just offended her other friend. Perhaps Carris was the issue in all these instances. It seemed that wherever she was, the people she cared about were pushed away by her.

But there was too much at stake this time. She would not, could not let those she cared about fall right before her eyes. No matter if she had been in the right or the wrong, with Malcolm, with Gwyn, and perhaps even with Alec, if she didn’t have these people, she would have nothing, and that was an even worse future.

She looked down at Gwyn who was only half-listening to Alec over the clear, billowing voice of Miles. He did have a fine tenor voice, Carris had to admit with some reluctance. But that wasn’t important right now. The crowd had joined in singing now, shaking the very inn with their stomping feet and off-pitch singing.

She knelt next to Gwyn. Her hands were sweaty, and not just from the smothering of people in the inn, but because she was going to have to apologize. And that was something she wasn’t good at. Something that meant she had to admit to herself that she was wrong, and that she had hurt someone she cared about.

She took Gwyn’s hand from the rail, despite the tug Gwyn made at first to break free.

“Look at me,” Carris nearly shouted, not out of anger but out of necessity to be heard.

Gwyn’s head slowly turned. Then the doors of the inn burst open, and her head snapped to the noise.

A dozen soldiers plowed through the entrance and into the crowd, forcing them to back up and creating a domino effect that left Miles teetering on his platform as bodies pushed up against it an attempt to not be toppled down. The inn went silent for no more than five seconds as Miles was cut silent and the crowd was thrown off the rhythm.

The officer at the head of the soldiers, adorned with a helmet topped with a black horsehair tail strode forward, his heavy boots and spurs clanking on the floor. The atmosphere changed in an instant, going from excitement and drunken delight to dread and trepidation.

“What is going on here!” He bellowed, stamping a foot and brushing his thick moustache.

Carris looked at Alec. They may be too late. With a crowd so excitable her stomach turned in knots at the thought of the worst outcomes. But these soldiers had occupied this town for two years. Perhaps the people would realize how bad this would end for them and choose subjugation over death. Not that she would. At least she didn’t think she would. But then why would she expect these people to. The fear grew in her chest, tightening, making an already stuffy event even harder to breathe in.

No one in the crowd said anything for a moment. The officer stepped further, the crowd parting at a slower rate than he would like, and so he began to shove those in his way to the side. The eleven soldiers behind, armed with swords and daggers stepped in, creating a half-circle in front of the door. No one was leaving until this man got the answers he wanted.

Miles stabled himself on the platform and stepped forward. When he spoke it was with so much measure and calm that it caught Carris off guard. Was he not scared? Yes, these were fellow Astorians, but this officer looked ready to harm anyone he so chose.

“Officer, have we interrupted your night?” he asked with a thin smirk on his lips.

This brought a reserved chorus of laughter from the crowd that died the moment the officer snapped his gaze from Miles to them.

He gave his own half-smile devoid of any merriment. “As a matter of fact, you are. All festivities are required to be announced and approved by the magistrate or his Law Officers such as myself.”

“And you would be?” Miles asked with far too much flair to be appropriate for the situation.

What is he doing? Carris screamed to herself.

“I am Officer Baxter!” was the angry reply. Officer Baxter slapped his gloves in his open palm. “And who might you be?”

“My name is Miles of wherever won’t get me arrested,” he replied with a small curtsy.

Carris was bug-eyed. She could not believe the sauciness of this Miles fellow. She thought Alec had let out a chuckle at his last response, and she couldn’t believe that anybody found this funny. Who knew what this officer could do to him. He was the law, and there would be no one here to protect or speak for Miles.

“Well, your mouth is certainly as colorful as your outfit, young scoundrel. I’d like to see what a few days in the Red Keep would do to that bright disposition of your eyes.” Officer Baxter tucked his gloves in his thick leather belt. “It is by my authority that this ‘show’ is hereby ended, and that Miles Wherever be placed under arrest for inciting a riot and is to be imprisoned and sentenced tomorrow at dawn.” He motioned and two soldiers stepped forward headed straight for Miles, who did not seem the least bit concerned.

“I am afraid that it is in your best interest to delay that order and walk out,” Miles said.

“Unbelievable,” Carris muttered to herself.

Gwyn was shaking her head. She seemed as lost as the rest of the crowd who gasped in unison at that last comment.

But it seemed to set off the sparks in Baxter’s temper. “Enough!” He screamed.

He shoved the last two men out of the way and began to mount the platform as the two soldiers flanked him.

And then Miles strode forward and, without any hesitation, kicked him squarely in the face. For a moment all went silent as Baxter was sent arcing back, his helmet tugging at its strap. As if in slow-motion he crashed into the ground. His helmet strap snapped and went skidding across the floor to the foot of the soldiers and his armor clattered like the sound of a thousand dishes breaking on hard ground.

The doors were pulled shut from the outside before anyone could react.

The two soldiers closest to Baxter hauled him back to his feet as his face turned brighter red than his army tunic. The soldiers turned in confusion. There was a grinding along the wooden doors that sounded like a heavy metal object being dragged across the handles. One of the soldiers tugged on the doors, trying to open it, but it resisted. The door was locked from the outside.

The soldiers now looked around at the crowd who had been as stunned as them. Everyone except Miles, Carris noted. And that made her gut twist further. He looked down on Baxter, his sunny exterior turning to dark storm clouds faster than a mountain sky changes.

“For two years Atheron has been enslaved by unrightful owners. Tonight, it will be given back to the rightful people of Sadoria.” He looked over the crowd that seemed ready to explode. All it needed was a match.

“Long live the Black Bull!” Miles shouted, raising his lute high.

And the crowd went wild.