CHAPTER ONE:                                                                                       

Darkness cloaked the city of Tarlock as the sun disappeared beneath the rim of the ocean.  The large, stone wall that surrounded the city seemed to rise out of the earth.  Ancient stone buildings sat within the city walls, while hastily built wooden structures surrounded the outside.  Fields of farmland stretched out from the city, stopping at the edge of a dense forest located at the feet of large, jagged mountains.  Candles within the city were blown out as men and women and children crawled into their beds, exhausted from a long day’s work.  The constant crashing of waves on the cliffs was a comfort to the people, something that they had heard and lived with their entire lives.  They listened to this soft roll as they drifted off to sleep.  However, not everyone in the city was intent on sleeping.    

An old man slipped out of a doorway of one of the wooden structures located outside the city walls.  His beard was graying and his face was lined with many wrinkles, but his body was strong, his muscles taught against his skin.  He hunched slightly, staying within the dark shadows of the night, traveling unnoticed.  He made his way toward the northern wall, staying well away from the western gate.  Sentries would be patrolling the walls, and he couldn’t risk being seen.  Weaving between the buildings until he reached the fields of crops, he ran across the patch of wheat fields without stopping, the seed still buried under the mid-October soil.  He changed directions, heading east, crouching down to stay hidden.  After a few minutes of running, he veered from the wheat field, scanning the high wall in front of him.  Staring at the west tower, he counted the blocks of stone until he reached fifty-seven.  He quickly ran over to the spot and pressed his body against the cold stone.  His fingers brushed against the rough blocks that had been fit together with expertise, a seam barely showing.  Twice, the old man quickly whistled like a lark before holding his breath, anxiously listening for any response.  The end of a rope suddenly hit the top of his head before slithering down the rest of the way to the ground.  He rubbed his sore head as he looked toward the top of the wall.  A shadowy figure leaned over, motioning furiously with his hands.  The old man smiled slightly as he grabbed the rope with both hands, pulling himself up into the air.  He planted his feet against the stone wall, pulling himself up with his arms.  His biceps ached, his chest heaving in and out.  He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and it was beginning to show.  When he reached the top, the shadowy figure helped him get up and over the lip in the wall. 

“Thank you, Scully.” the old man replied once he had gained his footing.

“Right on time, just like you wanted, Ruarc.” Scully replied, still crouched as he pulled up the rope.   

Ruarc brushed off his clothes as he scanned the walls.  He instinctively threw himself down into a crouch when he saw a guard patrolling the western gate.  “How will we get down from here unnoticed?” he asked. 

“Follow me,” Scully said as he rolled the rope into a tight loop before slinging it over his shoulder. 

Scully moved toward the east, staying low so the patrolling sentries wouldn’t spot him.  Ruarc followed suit, just behind Scully.  They reached a set of narrow stone steps that led to the city below.  Scully quickly descended these while Ruarc proceeded with more caution, carefully placing one foot in front of the other.  He pressed himself against the wall, staying away from the edge with the sharp drop.  He was glad when his feet were on flat ground again.  Scully scurried ahead, staying within the shadows of the wall, not waiting for Ruarc.  Ruarc hastened his pace as he struggled to keep up with the younger man.  He glanced from side to side, taking in the obscure surroundings.  He rarely wandered the areas within Tarlock’s walls, the sights strange and unusual.  He was relieved when Scully finally stopped, plastering himself against the corner of an old, badly worn building. 

“We’re almost to the king’s granary,” Scully whispered.  “We’ll have to take out the two guards, but once we do that…” he paused slightly, as if contemplating what was next.  After a moment, he continued, “…it should be easy to take all the food we’ll need.  I hear the king has plenty of food, even though the rest of us are starving.”

Ruarc felt his stomach grumble at the thought of food.  The king’s guards collected the food, leaving little for the peasants.  He thought about what he was about to do.  By law, stealing food warranted death by hanging.  He shuddered at the thought, but he was willing to take the risk.  He was barely surviving with the rations that he received, and he was too poor to buy the extra food that was sold behind those small, wooden carts.  He needed the food, and he would do whatever was necessary to obtain it.  With this thought, he set his jaw and continued forward after Scully, who was several paces ahead. 

“Ready?” whispered Scully, looking back. 

Ruarc nodded. 

Scully turned back toward the granary.  He quietly withdrew his knife.  Ruarc did the same.  Scully then continued forward in the dark, crawling on all fours like an animal.  Ruarc pressed his back against the wall of the building.  His stomach was tied in knots.  Once he attacked the guards there was no turning back.  Even though the night was cool, a drop of sweat snaked down Ruarc’s face.  He peered around the corner again.  Scully was almost to one of the guards, whose back was turned away from them.  Ruarc gritted his teeth as he gripped his knife firmly in his hand.  As Scully leapt up and grabbed the throat of one guard, Ruarc raced around the corner and drove his knife into the other before the guard could react. 

Ruarc panted as the guard’s body dropped to the ground.  His head snapped toward Scully, who was already searching the body of the guard he killed for a key that would open the granary door.  After only a few moments, he extracted a set of metal keys.  Ruarc moved over toward the doors, dragging the dead man’s body with him.  Scully inserted one of the keys into the keyhole; however, it didn’t fit.  Panic swept over his body.  They didn’t have time for delay!  He tried the next one, twisted the key, and to his relief, the door slowly creaked open.  Scully’s head darted to the left and then to the right.  Once he was certain that no one was around, he dragged the guard’s limp body into the utter darkness.  Ruarc grabbed his guard’s body with disgust as he pulled it into the granary, following Scully.  Once inside, he dropped the body, leaving it in the deepest shadow. 

“Now for the food,” Scully excitedly whispered. 

Ruarc felt around in the darkness, looking for baskets of food.  His fingers brushed against something smooth.  He picked it up in the darkness.  It was round.  He brought it to his mouth and sunk his teeth into the unknown object.  An explosion of sweet liquid hit his taste buds.  Some of the liquid dribbled out of his mouth and rolled down his chin.  He wiped it away with the back of his arm.  He took another bite, savoring the taste.  It was an apple, he decided.  He hadn’t had one this delicious in a long time.  He could hear Scully rummaging around to his right.  Ruarc bit into the apple once again and searched for more food.  He hoped that he would come across some cheese.  He hadn’t had that delicacy since he was a child.     

The two hungry men moved around the granary in the darkness, picking up fruit or vegetables and storing them in the packs that they had brought.  Ruarc never found any cheese, much to his disappointment.  Suddenly, several voices were heard.  More guards were approaching the granary. 

“Have we been discovered?” Ruarc hissed between his teeth.

“Quick!” Scully whispered.  “Close the doors.  We can’t be found in here.  They’ll kill us!”

Both Ruarc and Scully sprinted to the sliver of light.  They reached the doors and threw their weight against them, grinding them shut.  They worked furiously, picking up crates and barrels and pushing them against the door, hoping to slow the progress of the men that were coming to them.  The voices boomed directly outside the granary doors. 

“Who’s in there?” one asked. 

“Where are Bain and Liam?” 

“Whose blood is that?” another cried out.   

Ruarc backed away in the darkness.  Scully held in his breath as he lightly felt the blade of his knife.  Would two men be able to fight off half a dozen?  They had to escape.  Someone began pounding on the doors. 

“Something’s blocking the doors,” a man yelled.  “Someone grab an axe.”
“Scully,” Ruarc whispered.  “We have to get out.  Can we somehow break through the walls?”

Scully shook his head in the darkness.  “No,” he responded.  “These walls are made so that no intruders, animal or human, can break through.  The roof maybe, but not the walls.”

“Then let’s try to break through the roof.  It’s our only option.” Ruarc said.

The two men groped around in the dark, searching for a ledge that they could climb.  Ruarc found a series of shelves along the walls.  He quickly pushed off several baskets that were resting on the shelves.  He began to scramble up the shelves toward the roof when he heard the sound of metal digging into wood.  The man that went to fetch the axe had returned.  Ruarc reached the top.  He heard the wood creaking and groaning as it protested against his weight.  He felt for the ceiling with his right hand as he gripped the shelves with his left. 

The doors to the granary partially split open as the axe broke through the thick wood.  Ruarc twisted his head toward the sound.  The shelves holding him up broke, snapping under his weight.  He fell to the ground with a shout amid a pile of wood and dust.  The axe created a hole large enough for the men to begin to push the barrels and crates out of the way.  Ruarc thrust himself to his feet, and in the dim light from the opening, he noticed a large box, its lid only half covering the top.  It looked big enough for a person to fit into.  He ran over to it, pushing the top off the rest of the way.  Only a few vegetables rested on the very bottom.  Ruarc glanced back toward the doors.  The men had almost cleared away all the boxes.  He stepped into the box, curled himself into a ball, and pulled the lid back over the top of the box, concealing himself.  The heavy doors then opened and eight men carrying torches rushed in, swords drawn.  They could see Scully up against the back wall, his eyes wide, knife extended. 

The eight men, who were soldiers of Tarlock, rushed forward, reaching Scully in a matter of seconds.  Scully lashed out toward one of the men with his knife.  The man stepped to the side, barely avoiding the sharp blade.  He then drew his sword across Scully’s upper arm, forcing Scully to drop his knife, his mouth open in an expression of pain.  He sunk to his knees as the soldiers swarmed around him, yanking his arms back, causing excruciating pain to shoot down his injured arm.  They tied his hands behind his back before pulling him to his feet and shoved him toward the entrance. 

“Were there any others with you?” one of the soldiers asked. 

Scully remained silent a moment, a scowl on his face.  “No,” he finally spit out.  “Now get your filthy hands off me!”

The man rushed forward, grabbing Scully’s wounded upper arm, pressing hard.  “Say that again and I’ll kill you right now,” he growled. 

Scully’s vision blurred as he gritted his teeth, trying not to scream out in pain.  The soldier let go, his hand bloody.  Scully passed out. 

Ruarc’s back ached.  He had been lying in the crate for several hours now, waiting for all the soldiers to leave.  After it had been silent for what seemed like an hour, Ruarc carefully pushed the lid off of the box, gently placing it to the side.  He lifted his head as he peered out.  No one was in sight.  The granary doors were closed, although holes from the axe let the early morning sunlight pour through.  Ruarc pushed himself to his feet, raising his arms above his head as he stretched himself.  He stepped out of the box and then grabbed his bag that had slipped off of him.  He grabbed a vegetable and quickly devoured it before taking out his knife.  He furtively crept to the doors, peeking out into the bright sunlight.  He squinted his eyes, letting them adjust to the sudden change.  A few guards casually talked to each other, several yards away from the entrance.  Ruarc held his breath as he slipped through the large opening made by the axe.  He then ran around the corner of the granary while the guards talked, not paying any attention to their assigned task. 

Ruarc slipped the knife into his belt as he wearily wandered through the streets, heading toward the western gate.  He stopped when he heard his name being called. 

“Ruarc,” a high-pitched voice called out. 

He turned around and saw a woman running toward him.  She was young, in her early twenties, around Scully’s age. 

“Rylee,” he said as she ran up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.  “How have you been?”

“Other than famished?” she asked with a laugh.  Without waiting for an answer she responded, “Fine.” 

“How are your parents?” Ruarc asked. 

“The same as usual,” she said. 

Rylee was Ruarc’s niece, his older brother’s daughter.  Ruarc had been close with his older brother Fallon, spending long days together when they were both young, imagining that they were fierce warriors battling imaginary enemies.  But those days had long since passed.  Fallon grew older and assumed the responsibilities that come as one grows older.  He married young, yet Ruarc never married, even though he was getting on in years.  The two brothers drifted apart, seeing each other less often as the years passed by.  However, since Ruarc had no children of his own, he had always spent time with his brother’s children, especially his youngest daughter, Rylee.  Ever since she was a young girl, Rylee enjoyed going over to her uncle’s house to help him farm the land. 

“That’s good,” Ruarc asked.  His eyes drifted off to the side, scanning for any unusual movement.  He was still jumpy from last night’s events. 

“How’s the farm doing?  Many people lost their crops due to lack of rain.” Rylee stated. 

Ruarc nodded, not looking at her.  He was scanning the streets, distracted.  “Yes,” he said absently, barely hearing himself.  “Most of my crops have died, yet King Tiarnach still demands the same amount of food for himself.  Everybody is suffering, except him.” 

“Are you in trouble, Uncle?” she asked. 

Ruarc’s eyes darted over to hers.  “No,” he stated, trying to sound convincing.  “Why would you ask such a thing?”

She shrugged.  “You seem distracted, that’s all.”  After a few moments she said, “Oh, did you hear?  There’s going to be a hanging today.  Something about someone breaking into the granary.  I wonder who it is?”

Ruarc’s heart sunk. 

        Scully, he thought.