Prologue
DCRBOF, Detention Center for Rebellious Boys in Outer Forest, also known as Dekkerbof, was the most dreaded place in every boy’s mind, and even more by the King’s Squire Corps. The Squire Corps was founded by the King after the Exile. It was an army of knights-to-be that was in training to become part of the King’s regular army. If you joined the Squire Corps, you were, by Franz the Black (Barak’s son), deemed rebellious and sentenced to Dekkerbof, never to return (if caught). And if you tried to escape they would release death hounds that would attack and leave nothing but bones.
…
Young Rolfe the Braxton (younger brother to Fredric) gritted his teeth at the thought of how close he was to Dekkerbof. He, the Supreme Commander of the Squire Corps, was leading a Squire Corps patrol deep into Outer Forest when he had broken off from the main patrol to search something suspicious some ways off from the main body. Before he knew it he was quite a distance from them.
He was studying a bush when a war-hatchet thumped into the tree beside him. Chills ran down his spine. It wasn’t that the hatchet had nearly hit him, he had plenty of near misses before, it was the emblem carved into the steel pommel of the hatchet. It was a dragon’s head, the official emblem of Barak the Black, his sworn enemy!
Leaves rustled as seven boys stepped into the clearing and made a circle around Rolfe.
“Drop your weapons!” growled the commander.
Rolfe dropped the war-hatchet that had been secured to his belt, but Rolfe did not surrender the long knife hidden underneath his uniform. The patrol members did not touch the hatchet because there was a lion’s head carved on the pommel (the lion’s head was the King’s emblem).
Over the next hour, he was then escorted toward the prison’s ominous iron gate, then to the prison itself. As he waited to see Franz the Black, rumors of the horrors of the prison swam through his head. Would he ever get out? Or if he did get executed, would it be a slow death or a quick one?
“Prisoner 782! You are summoned to the Head Warden! Hurry!”
Rolfe responded to his new identification number and followed the guard into Franz’s throne chamber. After he entered, Rolfe shivered at the unexplainable look of intense hate spewing from Franz’s eyes.
“What is your name slave?”
“Rolfe the Braxton. Supreme commander of the King’s Squire Corps,” righteous indignation burned inside Rolfe as Franz openly mocked the King, “I swear by the King, Franz, that on the Day of Victory the King will judge you and find you guilty and you will remember every person you tortured and every word used to mock the King. He will then throw you into the Pit of Fire where you will be in torment forever.”
Franz leaped up from his throne and said, “You speak against me and my father! Guards! Take him to Short Tower, Window Cell #45.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Rolfe knew that there were two towers at Dekkerbof, Short Tower, and Great Tower. Going to Short Tower, much more a cell with a window, meant that you would not live long. He also knew that Dekkerbof had an arena where prisoner executions were held. Rolfe knew that the executions would be held at midnight.
After an hour of being locked up, Rolfe noticed that there were no guards patrolling the prison. They must have gone to the pre-execution feast, thought Rolfe, my King, I need help. Please help me! He knew the King was present in his heart while being absent in person.
Rolfe looked up at the window. It was an empty space cut from the thick stone wall. It was barred, but, it could be unlocked. The guards unlocked it to throw out prisoners that offended them. This was not a favor because the hounds at the bottom would tear them apart.
He noticed the padlock that secured the bars was very rusted. He looked around his cell and found a hewn stone larger than a man’s hand. Thank you, my King, Rolfe thought. He took the stone and bashed the lock with it. After two hits, the lock gave way and fell to the floor. He swung the bars open, hoisted himself up, and launched himself out.
A yell split the air.
The newly arrived guard shot an arrow at him. It barely missed. Rolfe hit the ground and somersaulted to take some of the impact off his knees. He took off across the clearing, dodging left and right to avoid the arrows.
Soon, he heard the thunder of large animals running across the clearing as well. Is this how it ends? Death by demon dogs? His head swan with the stories of woe that were spread about the hounds. He looked behind him and saw boy-guards chasing him with horses. He had a chance! The boys quickly caught up to him and made a circle around him.
“Let’s have some fun boys! Attack him three at a time. Dismount and attack!”
The boys dismounted and the first group attacked Rolfe. Rolfe drew his knife and attacked the first boy, burying it in his chest. The boy gasped and fell. The two others attacked at the same time. One moved behind Rolfe, while the other attacked him in the front. Rolfe planted his foot in the stomach of the boy behind him, he then jumped back to avoid the other boy’s swinging war-hatchet. With a flick of his wrist, Rolfe threw the knife into the boy’s torso. The boy fell and writhed on the ground. Rolfe was suprised by a blow from behind and crumpled to the ground. One of the boys must have hit him with the staff of his lance. Another boy poised his hatchet above Rolfe. The boy drew it up and it began its descent of death but at the last minute, a gloved hand grabbed it and said,
“Allow me.”
Rolfe looked in shock at the boy who just stepped into the ring.
“Vemund? Is that you? Why would you betray the King?”
Vemund was the former lieutenant commander of the Squire Corps. He had turned up missing on one of their missions.
“I would rather do this and live than be a follower of the King and die,” Vemund replied.
“Remember what the King would say: ‘There are few honors greater than dying for the Me and My cause.’ You took the Squire Corps Oath: ‘I swear by the King that I will uphold all of the King’s rules, and everything I do will be for the King, forever.’”
Vemund brow creased in deep thought. One of the guards leaned into Vemund’s ear and his expression vaporized.
“So what? I have no need for the King,” Vemund said, “I am fine where I am.”
In indignation, Rolfe strode toward Vemund, “If you are so committed to this, kill me!”
Vemund raised the hatchet and asked, “Any last words?”
“LONG LIVE THE KING!”
Vemund brought the hatchet down, but at the last possible moment, pivoted to his left and plunged the hatchet into a nearby guard.
“Long live the King!” He ecohed.
They both ran toward the forest, leaving stunned boy-guards behind. One got to his senses and called for hounds. Rolfe heard their baying and knew that time was short.
“Thank the King that you turned to Him,” Rolfe said as they ran, “when you turned up missing we thought you were dead.”
Rolfe looked behind them and saw the hounds just feet behind. They would not make it to the forest in time. A hound leaped and tackled Vemund. The dog cried in pain as he slammed into Vemund. Rolfe saw an arrow protruding from the hound’s chest. The five other dogs were struck simultaneously by arrows and one closest to the awestruck Rolfe fell and rolled into Rolfe, knocking him over. He leaped up and ran over to Vemund and helped him up. He looked ahead of him and saw the entire 25th Regiment of the Squire Corps! They were saved.
"Praise to the King!" was all Rolfe could say.