text: The axe head glinted in the afternoon sunlight as Theophilus swung it in a wide arc. In front of him, the cord of wood split down the center with a neat thunk. He placed another log on the stump and swung again, his arms moving with the well-practiced rhythm of one who has done the same task a thousand times. As his body worked, thoughts crawled petulantly through his head. *She’s always harping on about the importance of books and learning.* Swish. Thunk. *But Father Hedden might be the most boring man alive. How does he even stay upright? He’s so thin that the next breeze might carry him off.* Swish. Thunk. He paused to swipe the sweat from his forehead. *And all we ever read are the dusty boring old histories of the country. Weren’t my ancestors warriors? Why aren't any of the stories about them actually interesting?* He stepped to the woodpile, grabbed another log. Swish. Thunk. *But no. Instead I’m stuck trying to read about how King Abelard, in the second day of the third month of the Year of the Stallion, brokered a deal with the Duke of Wherever, blah blah blah, established a treaty with so-and-so...* Swish. Thunk. One callused hand shoved thick black curls out of his face. *At least I only have to see the old fart once a week. And if I stay late cleaning the kennels, he only has me until fifth bell, which is less than two hours, I think. Plus, the more extra chores I pick up, the more Alden will take me on hunts.* Swish. Thunk. *If only I could spend all my time training instead of wasting it on reading and cutting wood-* Theophilus froze mid-thought, mid-swing, at the distant sound of metal hammering on wood. He spun to face the house, and the shine of light on armor was visible even from across the field. From here, he could tell that a squadron of the king’s men were pounding on his mother’s door. He knew these men - saw them often at the castle. Every day when Theophilus entered the gates, he looked up to see them posted high on the ramparts, keeping a watchful eye out for danger. Off-duty, they could be found lounging casually against the guardhouse walls, betting on card and dice games, flirting with the washerwomen, feeding the hounds surreptitiously with table scraps. As Theophilus watched, his mother opened the door and nine of them filtered into the house, leaving the last man to hold the horses. The squadron captain nodded respectfully as he entered, but something felt off. *Why are they wearing full mail? And they never carry both swords and spears unless they’re practicing for battle, or on parade.* The thought hit him like an axe cleaving through a log. *Oh blessed Aurum please no oh Lord please I beg of you please by Your Glorious Sword I pray please please please* Theophilus started running. It felt like his body was moving in slow motion as he fumbled briefly with the latch on the gate and sprinted the length of the field, dodging the uneven ruts the sheep left in the grass. When he was halfway across, he heard the first scream from the house, and his speed doubled. *Dear Lord if I have ever been a worthy servant to Thee I pray that you keep her safe oh Aurum please I can’t do this without my mother I beg you please by all the life in my body please* Breaths came ragged through his throat as he vaulted the fence and stumbled in the mud around the trough. As Theophilus picked himself up, he glanced in through the window and stopped dead in his tracks. The shutters were half open. Inside, two soldiers were holding his mother’s arms, and others were opening cupboards and tearing the mattresses off the beds. Theophilus locked eyes with her, and she shook her head almost imperceptibly, cheeks streaked with tears. *Please Aurum I have not asked for much in my life and I will never again ask You for a single thing if You would just keep her safe and please oh please let us get away and let them not know and let us escape please please Lord* A soldier stepped in front of her, and Theophilus recognized him as the captain of the squadron - Mit. "Where. Is. He?" Mit spat, uncharacteristic anger in his voice. Theophilus' mother only shook her head, lips pressed tightly together in a thin line. Then Mit cut her throat. As his head filled with a wordless scream, some animal instinct forced Theophilus to move. He stumbled around the corner of the house, hitting his shoulder hard on the wall in his haste. At the sound, the soldier watching the horses turned to look at him. Theophilus knew him; Dunstan, a red-haired, friendly man, married to the baker’s daughter. If Dunstan stopped Theophilus long enough for the rest of the squadron to finish tearing up the floorboards in search of him and come out of the house- Theophilus’ mind’s eye could only replay the way his mother’s body fell, lifeless, like a dropped sack of grain. Dunstan raised a hand and opened his mouth - to explain or cry for help, Theophilus would never know. Before he could make a sound, Theophilus was upon him. The axe, still in his hand despite his desperate race across the field, was raised high into the air a final time. The sunlight sparkled brilliantly on the blade. With the practice of a thousand repetitions, the muscles in his arms and back tightened. Swish. Thunk. He had hunted alongside the King’s guards, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them in the face of a charging boar, each man secretly hoping the animal chose another’s place in line to die. He’d set the hounds loose to drive pheasants out of the brush into their waiting arrows. He’d led them down trails in the forest that few knew of, and even fewer could follow. He’d watched longingly as they stalked the King’s deer, had curried their horses in exchange for spear lessons, asked their advice, looked jealously at their swords. He’d watched Dunstan flirt, court, and marry Ellie, the baker’s daughter. He knew these men. Hell, he’d wanted to *be* them. Riding west on Dunstan’s horse, pushing the animal the fastest it would go, Theophilus could not-- would not -- think. He would not think. Not of what he had seen, not of what he had done. Clenched tightly on the reins, his bloody hands began to shake.