Young Writers Society

Author's Notes: 1,643 words.  Probably the bloodiest part of the story thus far.

"I'm the Prince of Exedor!" he shouted hoarsely, as though he'd spent the last five minutes stating it, which wasn't unlikely. "See? Even the soldiers have come to my aid! Desist at once, you foul peasant, and let go of your worthless food, and I might not kill you."

The old lady then spotted something behind the boy and let out a piercing scream, abandoning the food she'd just bought as she ran off and away, passing in between the soldiers and into the dissipating crowd. Eremia realized she was seeing the same thing as well, and her eyes widened in horror, but she couldn't do a thing about it. Now her brother was lying on his butt, happily raising the cabbage over his head and saying, "You old wench, fool, idiot! I'm happy to see you were smart enough to understand whom your superior is!"

"I'd say your's the idiot here," said a imposing man in a red bandana as he grabbed Jonah by the neck and lifted him into the air. "Prince Exedor, ya say? I say that makes you as good a ransom as any, ya get me?" The man's long blonde hair flowed down a strong body, and, despite the scars that outlined his face and tore up his cheek, the man wore a chainmail vest over a green suit and brown trousers. It actually looked rather opulent, as though an indicator that this man had clearly made himself wealthy from his craft, horrible as it was. Rougher-looking associates began to appear from the alleyway behind the vendor and started appearing at the corners of Eremia's vision. The crowd, as crowds tend to do, had long ago chosen to neglect the scene in its entirety, even as the shouting, swearing, and kicking boy struggled and was pulled into the alleyway by what was most likely the ringleader of a crime group, who was now beginning to be enclosed by cronies.

"No!" shouted Eremia in exasperation, as Yorew smacked one of the poor soldiers senseless. The others all pointed their spears at the duo in unison, but the crime boss, who handed off the boy to a man with a rope, stopped in between the contrasting dark alleyway and bright streets to wave them aside.

"There's'll be," he commented crudely. "I'm guessing you're with this poor sap?" He gestured to the boy before the individual in question was carried off into the shadows.

Eremia's eyebrow twitched. Yorew remained as silent and as expressionless as ever, but the way his eyes narrowed into slits and he cracked his knuckles told their own story.

"Guessin' so," he said, unimpressed with the display in front of him. "These here knuckleheads' too afraid to come in with only 'a fists. Can't blame em, though." He snorted, laughed, and gestured to the soldiers around him. This guy was completely crude, and his beet-red skin indicated that he was certainly not from the area. The sunlight wasn't nearly that harsh here, so he'd had to come from somewhere in the south. Eremia guessed it had to be the desert lands, although it was odd that he should look like he would have a perpetual sunburn. Or, she would've thought of this, if she wasn't struck by a wave of complete and abject horror when she heard her brother shouting curse words and what would've been pleas for help, if they weren't stuffed with an overwhelming amount of ego, from the alleyway.

"I'm assuming they're not Exedor soldiers?" calmly said Yorew after a few seconds.

The crook raised up a leg to see if there was anything on his sole. Finding nothing, he responded, "Nope. Couldn't buy 'em if I wanted ta'. We don't like them bluebacks hangin' 'round our towns, so we hanged 'em and let 'em rot! They'ven't been coming back since, heh. This's my own guard, and they can run ya through for all I damn care." He looked behind him and pointed in that direction. "'less you can come up with a ransom, kiddo, 'cause they's typing up that wimp back there, and he won't be around much longer if you don't got the wads of cash I know ya have."

The girl was presently frozen in a bewildered stance and appearance, incredibly pale and with ragged breathing as she tried to consider her options. None of them were looking good. She was outnumbered, outgunned, and she knew that Yorew didn't have a sizeable enough sum for what the crook wanted. After all, the crook had a prince, and one's expectations of a prince's ransom were typically far above the paltry sum Eremia knw that her group had. If she could attack the soldiers and make to run away, Yorew could probably steal a few spears and use them on the attackers, but they could still be easily killed, and Jonah would still be trapped. If she tried to run towards the crook, she would be all but dead, even if she conjured her magic. There were too many people, and likely too strong. It was hopeless. Her brother was going to die no matter what she did.

"Girl, you broke down o' somethin'?" said the crook, with a frown forming on his face. "I ain't here to kill a kid today, ya know that? The little runt's not worth that much effort. What's the holdup? I wanna know if this's worth my time, or I'm gonna give ya up to the nearest batch o' soldiers and let them kill ya themselves or somethin'."

A soldier next to the head criminal gasped and collapsed onto the ground, an arrow embedded in his chest at an angle. Blood began to spill upon the ground as the blonde man's face twitched in fury. The soldiers forming the perimeter pointed all their spears at Yorew and Eremia, the former of whom embraced the latter and tried to keep her from as many of the sharp objects as possible, while ignoring the twitching and bleeding figure on the ground.

"Which one of you traitors an' crooks killed one of my men? They ain't cheap, ya know! You'ere stupid enough to miss me, so ha!" It wasn't a bright or cheery laugh. This man was wholly and genuinely terrified and enraged, and the appearance of a second arrow embedding itself in the man standing in front of him, coupled by a third to make that individual fall, made clear the presence of a teenage boy atop a market stall, bow at the ready. The kid was barefoot and thin, with an outfit that looked like it had been made from re-sewn burlap sacks, and was coated in dust and a few bloodstains, as well as holes. His eyes, which would've otherwise seemed like ordinary brown ones, were consumed in tranquil and devoted fury, and his dusty hair shook particles down his face, casting his visage in an almost shadowy light as he prepared another arrow. Too, though he appeared frail, the muscles on his body indicated the opposite.

Here was a soldier, and he looked a strong and fast one.

The crook seemed to recognize him, as eyes widened in horror. "Kill 'em all!" he called after a few seconds, dashing into the alleyway as a fourth arrow bounced harmlessly off of the cobblestone floor. "Don't let a damned fool alive!"

Of course, by then, Yorew took the clear opportunity in front of him and grabbed one of the spears from the distracted soldiers, slamming one man onto the ground with it as he spun it around and struck another two into the head. Eremia narrowly snatched onto the fourth before its owner tried to thrust it into her stomach, and used all of her strength to thrust the soldier's end into his face. The four collapsed ungracefully onto the ground, and the duo raced towards the alleyway's entrance as more of the criminals' associates poured out, armed with their own bows, axes, and swords. However, the girl watched as the assortment of troops looked up in horror at something in the air and in front of them, and looked up above her as she saw a deer bounding into the air towards the gathering. Unfortunately, not to be bested by mere displays of power, one of the bowmen fired at the deer and struck it in the side.

It landed ungracefully on the ground between the girl, the servant, and the crooks, bleeding as it shifted back into the human boy from earlier. The child, however, apparently undaunted, ripped the arrow from his side, and responded by notching it towards his own bow and firing it at the attacker. The girl almost retched when she saw the blood on the ground, which grew every second as the bleeding teen struck more of the archers and dodged the movements of the men with various other weapons. Yorew seemed to feel similarly, as he rushed over to the archer. At least, as fast as a hobbling old man could travel. Nevertheless, he outstretched his hands towards the newcomer, and it was from these that energy began to spill out.

The girl gasped, knowing that her servant was weak enough already, and that making to heal somebody with that kind of an injury might have worse of an effect. And then, of course, one of the guards, who had not been incapacitated by a mere blow to the head, grabbed her foot. So, naturally, she kicked him in the face and ran off as the other guards assembled their wits and rose. All were now heading towards Yorew, who, in spite of the teen's briefly turning around and gesturing for him to stop, merely mumbled his own incantation and kept going. The teen could only shrug, whirl around, and fire a shot into the head of one of Eremia's pursuers.