Loem, age 11
Gilneas, after the Second War
Loem was at his wit’s end, as they hadn’t stopped and he could find no other way to get himself free from his current mess. The cart had continued down the bumpy road, past forest and fields, to a small village not too far from the gate. Here, it stopped, and the driver got out, spoke to the village guards, and went his merry way. The other soldiers stayed put, waiting, obviously bored. A few buildings were close, and all of them were relatively familiar, though the style was a touch different from what Loem was used to seeing.
Suddenly, a door opened, and bright firelight spilled out, pushing the night back. A tall figure strode purposefully towards the cart, the driver right behind him, and the men all sat up straighter, trying their best to look more like soldiers and less like tired, lazy, layabouts. Loem quickly recognized the newcomer as their commander, from before, in the brig.
“Sir! We’ve brought the boy per your orders. We also picked up a deserter along the way. Shall we put them both in holding?” one asked, saluting messily as he did so. The commander sneered at him, glancing into the cage, and nodded, returning the salute. The soldier dismounted, untied Praetor from the back of the cart and handed him off to the waiting driver. “Put him in the stables. Commander Bosch will decide what he wants to do with him later.”
He then carefully unlocked the door of the cage. Eyeing the dirty deserter, he reached forward to take the chains keeping Tor secure. Suddenly, Tor sprung up, attacking the guard, yelling like a madman. “I won’t go back! I won’t! I won’t!” He bit and slapped, scratching at the guard’s face and arms. The other guards quickly dismounted, pulling swords from their sheaths, the moonlight glinting on their sharp blades.
Loem considered using the distraction to escape, but there was only one opening, which was filled with Tor and the guard. Besides, he thought, every person in the village is sure to hear this and come running to look. Sure enough, a small crowd was already gathering nearby, looking on. A few of the men were even rolling up their sleeves, ready to join in to help subdue the prisoner. Bosch had even turned back, though he made no effort to help his men.
In the end, Loem just sighed, scooting to the back of the cart again, doing his best to stay out of the way of Tor and his idiocy. Within a few moments, he was silenced as a blow to the back of his head knocked him out. The guards drug him out to the ground and Loem could hear a few dull thuds as some of the men kicked the unconscious deserter in retribution for his well-placed blows. Once he was well under control, the head guard looked into the wagon, a glint in his eye.
Loem just shrugged and moved slowly and calmly towards the cage door. The guard grabbed his chains roughly and pulled him out, but Loem gave him no reason to get any more violent, as he followed meekly. The bystanders whispered a bit between themselves when he passed by, and he wondered just what they were saying, but could catch none of their hushed conversations.
The guards led him and the unconscious Tor to the largest building in the village, to the side, where a small addition had been recently built on. Loem guessed it was the town hall. The small addition was a prison, with four small, but sturdy, cells. Tor was dragged and then thrown into the one furthest from the door and Loem was pushed into the one across. The guards locked them in, talking amongst themselves about what they’d eat at the inn, the drinks they’d have, if there were any pretty barmaids here, and finally left, leaving just one to guard the small prison, right outside the door.
Loem went to the corner of his cell and slid down the wall in a heap. He was bruised, tired, confused, and hungry, not to mention a little cold. The chains chafed his wrists, too. He sighed again, and closed his eyes, though he couldn’t sleep. Questions kept bubbling up in his mind, and he was trying to figure out what he’d say at his trial to prove his innocence.
----- * -----
Unbelievably, he had dozed off, as he was suddenly awoken by loud shouting outside. The door was too thick to make heads or tales of what was being said, though it seemed as though there were two men arguing. One seemed oddly familiar to Loem, too, though he didn’t dare call out.
The door of the prison burst open, and Loem nearly shouted with joy. Uldor was framed there, with Bosch and another, older man, behind him. He saw the young squire immediately and rushed to the door of his cell.
“I demand that you open this at once,” he ordered, pointing to the door. “This boy is one of my servants! Any order or punishment is at my discretion and mine alone.”
The older man coughed a bit, getting Uldor’s attention. “Lord Uldor, the boy is accused of thievery and falsifying his identity. He claims he’s from Lordaeron, that he’s a squire, and that the stallion in the stable, along with the pack of belongings he was found with are his rightful property.”
Uldor rolled his eyes, and Loem had to quickly stifle a giggle. “Master Merrit, while you may be judging the few prisoners from the end of the war that come through here, I give my word as a nobleman that this boy is of my house. As such, no matter what he’s been accused of, I have full discretion when it comes to his trial. As it stands, I’ll be taking matters into my own hands.” With that, he turned towards the commander. “Bosch, the keys, now. Unlock this door, unshackle him, and turn his possessions over to me, immediately. As of right now, I’m taking custody of this prisoner, as my right, by law.”
Though the older man, Merrit, seemed a bit upset about Uldor’s demands, Bosch did as ordered. The gate swung open and he unlocked the shackles around Loem’s wrists and ankles. Unsure of what to do, he stood there, looking to Uldor for guidance. The lord obliged, narrowing his eyes, perhaps a bit dramatically, and gestured for Loem to step in behind him. It’s as if he’s the best playactor in all the world, he thought to himself, careful not to smile. I’ll play along, not that it will take much, as I really am tired and hungry and feeling terribly pitiful.
Meek as a beaten dog, he shuffled behind Uldor, for all the world like a servant caught doing something terrible. Uldor led him through the village to the Inn’s stable, where Hekter was waiting alongside Praetor. He nodded to Uldor, his eyes cold, which troubled Loem a bit, and told the lord, “I just got him settled. They delivered him just as you were coming up the path to the inn.” He turned to Loem, then, all traces of the coldness gone, and smiled. “Seems like you got into a bit of trouble, young man.”
Loem smiled, relieved. “You don’t know the half of it, Hektor. Bosch, that commander, is a mean one, and his men are useless.” Uldor put his hand out to silence him as a stablehand walked by. “Sorry... I forgot I’m supposed to be in a lot of trouble.” Uldor smiled a bit, nodding silently, but the smile soon vanished.
“Unfortunately, my young squire, ‘pretending’ might not be the most accurate way to describe yourself. I’m afraid you actually are in a bit of a pickle. Now, I was able to use my political pull to get you out of this mess, citing a very old and unused law that just so happens to still be in the books, but there’s an even bigger mess to deal with now. The law states that I have the right to deal with servants myself, to hold them to a trial of my choosing, but that I must do so on my own lands and that the punishment meted out must be approved by a member of the courts. Do you understand?”
Loem didn’t, not really, so he shook his head. “No, m’lord, I don’t. What does it mean?”
“It means, young Loem, that I have to take you back to my estates... and they aren’t close. After that, we’ll have to hold a trial, even though it’s only for ceremonial purposes, and that any punishment that is decided must be deemed honorable and exceptable by a member of the courts of Gilneas.” He knelt down, placing a hand on Loem’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Loem, I truly am. You have no idea... It means that you can’t go back home. This was the only way I could think of to keep you out of harm’s way, as the trials that go on here are biased and unfair and they’d have found you guilty.”
Loem gulped, holding back tears. “I- I don’t understand? Why can’t I go home? Once the trial on your estate is done, why can’t I take Praetor and return to Lordaeron?”
Uldor glanced up at Hektor, who looked away, silent. “Because, young Loem... the gate the king is building will never be opened again. Gilneas is closed and no one, not you, not me, not even Hektor for all his sneakery, can go through it, ever again. I promise that I will do my best to get a message out addressed to your brother to send word that you’re alright, that you’re alive, but once that wall is finished it will be completely impassible by anyone.”
