Young Writers Society

Please read the previous chapters first. You'll be very confused if you don't.

Brennon’s eyes cracked open as his father slammed the front door. Three in the morning. The boy groaned and rolled off his cot. He could hear his father blabbing and slamming furniture through the house.

His sister, Bree, would usually be the one to go out and comfort their father. The old man responded a lot kinder to the gentle touch of a lady. Especially Bree. Brennon missed his other half so much. It was only Brennon and his drunk dad, for now.

“Get up, boy!” the man slurred outside the bedroom door.

Brennon exhaled and slunk from his bed. His dirty silver armor sat in a heap on the floor. His fingers fumbled in the dark as he tightened leather straps and clamped on his heavy armor. He slid his helmet over his wild curly hair and moved to the wooden door of his room like a robot. His dad grunted and shuffled around the hallway outside the door. Brennon gripped the knob as the man’s shuffling grew louder. He had no choice but to go out. He never had a choice when he had a job to do. He swung open the door.

The man leaned up against the wall his eyes droopy and his hair hanging by his eyes. “Child,” his father mumbled. His face screwed up and he screamed at Brennon like a girl afraid of a monster.

“Dad,” Brennon scowled, grabbing his father by the shoulders. He reeked of burnt alcohol and dirty clothes. The man relaxed at his son’s touch but Brennon didn’t. “You are waking the neighbors.” He pronounced every syllable.

Brennon led his father by the shoulders into the master bedroom. The creaking wooden boards brought back Brennon’s memories of hiding in this room from the monsters in his closet. He had been a stupid kid. He helped his dad crawl into the king sized bed. The man yawned as Brennon tucked him in.

“Go to sleep,” Brennon exhaled.

The man glanced around with wild eyes. “Angelina?” his father whimpered, feeling the other side of the bed. “Where’s your mother? Where’s Aiden?”

“They’re gone,” Brennon mumbled. “Still dead.” Same conversation every morning.

The grown man whimpered. His nose twitched as he rolled onto his side. He curled into a ball and sniffled. His back jerked as he began sobbing. Brennon hated it but he had to leave his father crying. He had to make money to eat. Keep what’s left of his family alive. What wouldn’t he give to have his family together again?

He walked out the front door, leaving the house a wreck. His father would wake up later and clean up the mess he made. The house would stay tidy until tonight when his father would ruin it again.

“So this is where you live?” a voice piped up in the darkness.

Brennon leapt back, his heart pounding. He clenched his jaw as a familiar face stuck around the front porch. “Reynolds. Did you follow me home yesterday?”

David Reynolds stood straight up and shrugged as Brennon made his way down the stairs. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t like me,” the young man chuckled. Reynolds stood at least 6’4” with enough muscle to intimidate a cave troll. Not to mention his matching, overbearing cockiness. Brennon glared at his most despised Captain and readjusted a strap on his armor to give him something better to do than clench his fists. Nobody in the guard was supposed to know where he lived. Now the worst blabber mouth stood on his front porch.

“That’s because I don’t like you.” A flurry of snow flew straight through the chinks in Brennon’s armor as he stepped off the porch. A shudder ran down his back.

Reynolds laughed. “Is this because of that time-“

“Yes,” Brennon snapped, cutting him off. Without another word, Brennon set off toward the King’s castle on the ridge. Captain Reynolds followed like a naïve child.

Brennon hated being so angry. It didn’t suit him well. He took slow easy breaths and turned his focus to the moons. Two silvery moons glittered in the deep purple sky. Both would soon be gone, blocked out by the rising sun. By then the two guards would be at work and Lorillia would be awake. Brennon recalled the old stories of the two moons watching over the planet. When one would sleep the other would watch. “How’d you find out where I live?” Brennon asked, keeping his eyes on the moons.

Reynolds shrugged. “I was getting ready this morning and saw Corporal Gazia come out of the pub across the road. You two have the same last name so I followed him. Big surprise, I was right,” he explained. “The shepherd girl also has the same last name as you, doesn’t she?”

Brennon snapped his eyes to his Captain. “If anyone finds out that Corporal Gazia is my father, I will murder you and make it look like an accident. I already have it rough with you running my nose into the dirt. I don’t need the entire guard after me,” he said.

A cool breeze ruffled Reynolds’s hair under his helmet. His expression didn’t seem too concerned for his life. “Is that Mr. I-don’t-need-anybody’s-help complaining?” he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be expecting a favor for keeping your secret.”

Brennon refused to acknowledge the last sentence and lugged his heavy feet up the snowy hills. Owls hooted off in the distance as he walked mindless like a zombie through the countryside. Why the king’s castle had to sit inside a valley of mountains half an hour away from the actual city, Brennon had no clue. The king had never been one to socialize with his peasants. Whatever the reason, Brennon found it exhausting. Why couldn’t he get a horse? A donkey would be fantastic. Maybe he could ride Reynolds.

Brennon stood at the white stone castle. His legs burnt with the effort as he walked over the snowy pathway.

Farnish decorations made the place seem far less cold than usual. Bright red poinsettias and shimmery garland decorated the rod iron gates.

The two night guards stationed at the gate chatted away as they opened the bars for Brennon and Reynolds to enter. The two saluted as their Captain walked through. “How’s the old man, Gazia?” the left one barked.

Brennon glanced at him as he passed through the gate. “Still sick,” he answered.

He ignored the guards’ eager talk of going back home. Despite the decorations, Brennon wasn’t feeling the holiday cheer.

“Why was your father at the pub if he’s sick?” Reynolds asked, bracing his thumbs on his breast plate and swaggering next to Brennon.

Brennon shook his head. “Long story and no I’m not talking about it,” he grumbled, stopping in front of the servant’s passage door. Without Reynolds around, he would sneak through the dark hall and pretend to be a thief there to steal King Lucas’s treasure. As if he needed another reason for Reynolds to pick on him.

Brennon yanked the wooden door open, shoving snow out of the way. Jealousy was like a syrup every morning as the maids slept and he shuffled to work. He could hear all the women snoring behind the doors. At least they’d be working soon and he wouldn’t feel so bad. He skipped up a couple of steps and out of the dark narrow hallway, into the main corridor.

“Brennon,” Reynolds called, shutting the passage door behind him. “I’m talking to you.”

They had emerged into one of the main hallways. The large windows filtered in the pair’s moonlight as Brennon began walking, deliberately trying to avoid Reynolds.

“You report to me today, pip squeak,” the captain called following Brennon down the hall.

Brennon’s semi-descent mood tripped and stumbled down several hundred flights of stairs as he turned back to face the menace. His joints felt rusty and stuck as he saluted against his own will. “Where do I go, Captain Reynolds?” he mumbled. The words seemed to hitch in his throat.

Reynolds’s sharp blue eyes gave Brennon a sly glance. “The kitchens.”

Anger boiled up inside of Brennon as he nodded and marched off down the hallway to get away from the captain. Guarding the kitchens! Outrageous. If Brennon wasn’t already the laughing stock of the Royal Guard, he would be now. Only the lowest of the low guard the chefs. What could possibly make this day any worse?