16:06:43, Saturday, 27th May 1329.
Eve of the Feast of Pentecost.
Town of Douglas, Scotland.
A second horn, then a third sounded. The world around the combatants reverberating with the cacophony of thunder and pure notes of heavenly Horns. Everyone in the narrow roadway was screaming, writhing in the mud.
Pain curled hands clutched at bleeding ears in a vain attempt to block out the sound, but the Horns blast pervaded the very fabric of the world. None could avoid it.
The writhing figures relaxed only when the cacophonous trumpets finally ceased.
Liam was the first to recover, grabbing the fallen sword. He darted forward.
Slipping slightly in the mud, Liam swung the razor-sharp blade at the archer.
The archer had regained his feet, staring in open-mouthed distraction at something only he could see. He crossed himself as Liam’s borrowed sword hit him in the neck.
The sword bounced off as it had turned in his hands through the swing, the sharp edge coming nowhere near the vulnerable neck. Liam had swung the sword like a club, not a blade, his lack of experience manifesting itself at the worst possible time.
Stunned at his fortune, the archer felt at his neck, having merely received the smack of the flat of the blade.
Still very much alive and unwounded, the archer turned on Liam, his vision refocusing. Brown hunter's eyes glaring hate at this new prey.
“You fucking runt. You’re for it now.” he said, his voice harsh.
The archer’s hand dropped the bow, and in the same motion, drew a hatchet from his belt. Liam was faster. Rushing forward once more, he clumsily stabbed his borrowed sword into the archer’s gut, having learned the first lesson drilled into all soldiers since the dawn of time.
The point always beats the edge.
Liam lacked strength to deliver a fatal blow, so the blade only penetrated a few inches through the padded jerkin. It was enough to force the archer back. He clutched at his stomach in pain, backing away from Liam to gain time.
A scroll of red covered in golden letters filled Liam's vision, followed by a second, larger veil of the same.
Deus enim dabo vobis spiritum, et exaltatum est.
(Translation in Spoiler)
God gives the gift of the system, and it is exalted.
Statistica de Liam Lamberton Titulus: N/A Nomen: Liam Lamberton Planum: 1 Genus: Homo Ordo: Nullus Aetas: 13 Tribulatio Experientia: 0/125 Valetudo: 50 Magia: 10 Vigor: 100 Attributo Viribus: 8 Agilitatum: 9 Toleratio: 5 Intelligenti: 9 Sapientia: 4 Lepos: 12 Fortuna: 22 Fidem: 13 Firmus: 8 Artium: Restituto: 13 Pecus Agricultura: 3 Mores: 4 Ars Militaris: 1 Ars Fabrilis: 19 Levis Armatura: 1 Ascia: 3 Furtim: 3 Magnanimaitas: 4 Athletica: 14 Cura Rei Familiaris: 09 Arboribus: 19 Mathematica: 1
Statistics of Lamberton Titles: N/A Name: Liam Lamberton Level: 1 Race: Human Class: None Age: 13 Tribulation Experience: 0/125 Health: 50 Magic: 10 Stamina: 100 Attributes Strength: 8 Agility: 9 Vitality: 5 Intelligence: 9 Wisdom: 4 Charisma: 12 Luck: 22 Faith: 13 Will: 8 Skills: Maintainence: 13 Animal Husbandry: 3 Manners: 4 Military Tactics: 1 Carpentry: 19 Light Armour: 1 Axes: 3 Stealth: 3 Chivalry: 4 Athletics: 14 Housekeeping: 9 Wood Chopping: 19 Mathematics: 1
Liam shook his head to get rid of it, willing it to disappear. He could see it again was a form of writing, but he couldn't read a word of it. No matter, now was not the time to indulge curiosity.
The archer had backed away a good distance now and was checking the wound. He too seemed to see something, and similarly shook his head, glancing up quickly to as he sensed Liam staring at him.
Hoping the man’s wounds were too great to continue the fight, Liam chanced a glance at the other combatants.
The guard and remaining bandit had also recovered now and began exchanging rapid blows. The foeman clearly held the advantage, and he used the reach of his polearm and his opponent’s injured leg to gain an offensive advantage.
The guard defended stolidly behind his shield, turning each blow of the heavy weapon aside, attempting to answer with cuts from the heavier forester's axe.
All the weight of the axe was towards the head. This was by design, to better smash through wood.
Had the guard chosen to hold it like a battle-axe at the lower handle, the heavy axe-head would unbalance him with every swing. Instead the warrior gripped his weapon halfway down it's shaft, sacrificing distance for speed.
Once more the guard parried a blow with his shield, this time nearly catching his opponent as he overextended with a vicious return swing.
As the bandit reset himself, the guard, limited by reach and wounded by his fall from horseback, could only wait for his enemy to make another mistake.
Seeing the standoff, Liam knew that if the archer re-joined the duel, the guard would surely fall.
Setting his jaw, Liam turned his attention back to his opponent. Hoping the man would turn and flee.
God, Help us! Liam prayed silently, as he moved forward.
The archer, still recovering from the pain of his injuries, snarled as he pressed the heel of his spare hand into the wound. Making ready to defend his life.
Liam thought that his blow may have struck something vital, as the man staggered as he tried to take up his stance. He hoped it would be enough to cause the man to give up or flee.
The archer, however, had other plans. With a shout, he advanced towards Liam in a stumbling rush. One hand pressing into his side, his hatchet held ready in the other.
Liam backed away, shocked. The archer was a small man, not much bigger than Liam, but he had a weight of muscle on his arms and shoulders that told of years of training in the bow. Worse, the keening scream he made, and the mask of hate were things that the insulated Liam found to be almost demonic in aspect.
Liam backed away further as he reconsidered whether he could win this fight. Whether he should fight. I don’t need to fight him. He thought to himself. All I need to do is stop him from attacking the guard! Maybe the other bandits will run away!
The archer facing Liam swung his weapon wildly as he let out a stream of violent cursing, promising foul tortures if Liam didn't surrender. Liam raised his blade to block, only for the hatchet to smash into the steel, almost wrenching it from the apprentice's grasp. Fear burst forth in Liam's chest as he stumbled.
Although he prevented the archer’s first tentative strike from hitting his flesh, he could barely recover the blade to answer the second. This clash of weapons pushed Liam back to the ground, the sword dropping from fingers unprepared for the impacts of weapon-on-weapon combat.
Oh, God! NO! Liam thought he could taste his panic as rising bile made him retch.
The archer stepped forward, kicking Liam squarely in the chest, knocking him sprawling into the mud.
Scrambling backward across the ground fearfully, Liam found himself struggling to find traction on the slippery clay of the road. He rolled over, turning his back on his foe in his desperation to flee.
God have mercy! He prayed weakly, at any moment expecting the crushing pain of an axe to smash into his neck or back.
His arms spasmed as he struggled and slipped once more. The adrenaline pumping through his system with every heartbeat made him shake violently. Sinister laughter came from behind him.
It as close.
Liam looked back, then his eyes turned up to the archer's face, seeing the man's evil face break into a smile.
The archer was taking advantage of the moment to gloat.
It didn't last long.
The bandit kicked at his body again. Seeing it coming, Liam raised his arm in a reflexive block. What could have broken ribs instead smashed into his left arm.
He screamed in fear more than pain as the archer’s boot slammed into him again, this time kicking him in the gut and rolling him onto his right side.
Retching and without breath, Liam’s stomach heaved into a dry throat, so that he coughed harshly. A sticky bile spilling from his mouth.
“I’m going to end you slowly; cur. Make you an example to Lady Douglas of what will happen if she doesn’t behave.” A sneer curled at the archer’s lip as he mocked Liam. “Then I’m going to teach her what a real Scotsman feels like.” He glanced up the road where the Lady was lying unconscious in the roadway.
Taking the chance, Liam looked over at the other duel, but received no reason to hope. The guard was losing the fight with his foe. Turning, the archer's face went pale a moment, as he put his hand once more to his wound. Liam, terrified had frozen, but some part of his rational mind knew that the wound he'd inflicted must have gone deep.
With a cough, the archer turned back to Liam. Now, blood flecked his smiling lips.
“I suppose the Lady doesn't care much for the likes of you, but she will for me!” He joked, grinning through bloody teeth.
“You almost fucked us when you turned up with your wood chopping! Come to think of it, I know some people who will love to fuck you! Maybe I’ll leave you alive and sell you to the Moors.” He mused. “They like young boy slaves. But they always cut their bollocks off! Ha! I should save them the trouble!” Liam’s eyes widened at that.
I can't be a slave! And they cut off.... No! I have to escape! He thought, his fear overwhelming him.
Liam tried to speak. “P... P... Please don…” Liam didn’t get to finish as the archer’s sneer turned into a wide grin.
Then his face contorted with hate, and he stomped down hard. Stepping back once more to clutch at his side for a moment.
Liam didn't see this, as the hobnails of leather boots grated across Liam’s shin, blurring his vision with tears of pain.
Another kick, and Liam's world exploded into pain as his leg broke, this time, the metal spikes splintered the bones in his lower leg. Small white shards of osseous tissue protruded gorily out of Liam’s leg, rubbing against his trews. Blood bloomed through the fabric immediately, and Liam stared in shock as his vision cleared.
The pain was beyond anything he'd felt before. It froze him completely.
It was like a mountain fell upon his mind, blocking anything unrelated to his agony.
After a long moment, he remembered he could breathe, and with this realization, Liam shrieked. He writhed, impotent rage, agony and fear secondary to the misery that ruled his mind.
He found himself wishing for death, for the first time in his too brief life.
The archer kicked his other leg wide and stepped on it too, breaking Liam’s kneecap. He had spread Liam’s legs apart so that his nethers were vulnerable.
Once more, Liam writhed, howling out his torment. Had his mind been working, he would have heard the Archer cough once more, harder.
Liam, trapped within his agony, could barely make out the archer leaning down. It seemed to Liam that the bastard was enjoying every moment of this, and intended to inflict as much torment as he could before Liam died.
A small part of Liam's subconscious mind recognized that if he did nothing, the pain he felt now would be a mere fraction of what this sadist would pull from his flesh.
The archer coughed again, spitting a clump of red spittle into the road as he drew a knife. Kneeling between Liams legs, the scum prepared to inflict more horror upon Liam’s flesh.
He coughed and spat again, before speaking. “I always wanted to try a torturer's trade, but I never liked the way they’re treated. They're always outcasts, them. Never allowed fun with their work. Me? I'd rather be my own man. Have the best of both worlds. This way, I get to have some fun, too.” As he spoke, his malicious smile never left his bloodstained lips.
As he spoke, something snapped deep within Liam’s soul. The pain, though still present, was no longer immobilizing him as it had. He let out a keening moan as a surge of animalistic strength flooded him. As the pain fled to the background, so did the fear.
GOD GIVE ME STRENGTH! Liam prayed as he unconsciously drew upon the core of his being. As pain receded to the back of his mind, a cold, savage rage replaced it.
He could think again. Think through the pain.
The archer was coughing again, distracted by something red on his hand. He glanced at Liam, about to speak again.
Liam stared back up at him, not seeing the archer as a man, but as an evil being, worthy of nothing but his hate. His conscious mind had fled with his pain. It had wandered into a deeper memory as an inner beast arose, guiding his mind.
He had no weapon, only his hands. He had no knives, only teeth. They would have to do.
Hurling his arms forward, Liam sat up, gripping the Archer's knife hand in both of his own. Still coughing, the Archer tried to stop him, but Liam's strength was one of desperation and pure, teeth-breaking rage. Twisting the blade to face the archer's torso, Liam slammed his hand upon the hilt, over and over, sinking the blade repeatedly into the man's gut.
Letting go of the knife, Liam jammed his fingers into the wounds, widening them with his hands, reaching with rending fingers and pulling. Intestines spilled from the archer's gut in knots, thick and ropey. Liam kept pulling until they refused to budge.
The archer's smile was gone now, replaced by a silent, open mouthed scream as he tried to comprehend the agony he suffered.
Liam had no time for disgust. He was not truly present.
As the archer tried to draw in breath to scream, he leant back his head, and as he did, Liam's blood slicked hand took up the knife once more.
Blood gushed down Liam’s wrist and forearm, fountaining upon the ground as it spilled in torrents from his foe's now open throat. The archer gaped in horror and let loose a rasping screech of anguish as he fell back, into the road.
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Liam, his legs destroyed, crawled towards the still moaning and twitching figure. Killing intent driving him on. His conscious mind almost fully disconnected from his body, he became as a spectator. The pain of his broken legs as they bumped and scraped along the road seemed no longer truly his.
The archer was thrashing like a stuck pig, his breath coming in desperate gasps as blood pooled onto the ground, churning into the clay and muck as he voided himself.
With a final grunt at the pain, Liam levered himself up above the man. He stabbed him again and again until the rasping breath ceased. A thick gore of blood mixed with muck coated Liam from head to toe. As he looked at his hands, he slowly recovered from his rage, and pain returned.
Out of breath and with renewed fear, Liam sobbed. He lay broken, next to the corpse of his would-be-torturer. The animalistic rage had left him and where they physical pain of his wounds had fled, the moral anguish of his killing rage remained.
Somehow, the pain of his wounds continued to fade, though his sobbing did not. After a moment, he rolled onto his side to look at the bloody work he'd done.
The open eyes of the archer stared up, unseeing, unaware. His open mouth had spilled over with blood.
I'm a sinner! I'll never go to heaven now! He thought pain and panic now warring for control.
That the man he'd killed had also been about to torture and kill him didn't present itself as pertinent to his thoughts. The adrenaline dumping out of his system merely aided his juvenile self-recrimination.
Even a shouted question from the remaining guard did not shake Liam from his shock.
It was only when he looked at his hands that he snapped out of his angst.
His breath caught.
But it was not the blood, nor his recent self-reflection, that caused his astonishment.
Liam’s skin glowed.
Faintly at first, but it had now become a glow that filled up the surrounding woodlands with a soft and holy light.
Golden symbols filled his vision. And unread, they remained.
There were numbers there, too.
All neatly aligned in rows, the symbols ran across a crimson field in his vision. He'd seen it before, but hadn't truly taken it in.
Statistica de Liam Lamberton
Titulus: N/A
Nomen: Liam Lamberton
Planum: 5
Genus: Homo
Ordo: Nullus
Aetas: 13
Utilis Attributo: 15
Tribulatio Experientia: 127/381
Valetudo: 50
Magia: 10
Vigor: 100
Viribus: 8
Agilitatum: 9
Toleratio: 5
Intelligenti: 9
Sapientia: 4
Lepos: 12
Fortuna: 22
Fidem: 13
Firmus: 8
Artium:
Restituto: 13
Pecus Agricultura: 3
Mores: 4
Ars Militaris: 1
Ars Fabrilis: 19
Levis Armatura: 1
Ascia: 3
Furtim: 3
Magnanimaitas: 4
Athletica: 14
Cura Rei Familiaris: 09
Arboribus: 19
Gladio: 2
Mathematica: 1
Ars Tactica: 1
Statistics of Liam Lamberton
Titles: N/A
Name: Liam Lamberton
Level: 5
Race: Human
Class: None
Age: 13
Available Attributes: 15
Tribulation Experience: 127/381
Health: 50
Magic: 10
Stamina: 100
Strength: 8
Agility: 9
Vitality: 5
Intelligence: 9
Wisdom: 4
Charisma: 12
Luck: 22
Faith: 13
Will: 8
Skills:
Maintainence: 13
Animal Husbandry: 3
Manners: 4
Martial Arts: 1
Carpentry: 19
Light Armour: 1
Axes: 3
Stealth: 3
Chivalry: 4
Athletics: 14
Housekeeping: 9
Wood Chopping: 19
Swords: 2
Mathematics: 1
Tactics: 1
Liam heard angelic voices raised in a chorus, as though a heavenly choir was sounding a lilting melody throughout the roadway. The song rushed through every part of him at once, its energies refreshing his body and mind.
The mud that coated his body fell to the ground as though a bucket of soapy water had doused him. Looking down, he saw that his shattered legs were now whole again. Somehow, a miracle had occurred, and he was healed!
He realized he'd wasted too much time on feeling bad for himself. Liam remembered why he'd been fighting, and despite the shock and emotional exhaustion, he managed to look over at the remaining combatants while climbing to his feet, the archer's hatchet in hand.
The guard and the bandit stepped back from each other, pausing their duel to stand gaping in disbelief at Liam.
As he stood, the last of the glow faded from his skin.
As Liam turned towards the duelists, a gleaming sword in hand, the final ambusher finally comprehended that the tables had turned. He backed away a few steps. Then, with a cry, he threw his polearm to the ground before the remaining guardsman could react, fleeing into the forest.
As soon as the sound of the man’s flight receded into the woods, the guard limped rapidly over to the fallen Lady Douglas.
She was unharmed but breathing heavily in fear and anguish at the rapid change in circumstances. “Wha…” she said, before fainting into his arms. Liam gingerly approached and asked. “S… Sir? Is the Lady well?”
The guard glared at Liam.
“Stand away, Boy!”
The guard spent a few moments tending to the lady. It seemed to Liam he did so in an overly familiar, but he didn’t wish to argue with the armoured man.
Satisfied that the Lady of Douglas was unharmed, the guard stripped off his tabard and rolled it. Gently placing it under the Lady’s head.
Satisfied at the Lady's welfare, he wasted no time and turned to Liam. “I presume by the way you were treated, you aren’t with them?” He asked gruffly as he approached.
Liam shook his head and knelt once more. He turned the hatchet and offered it to the soldier with his head bowed. “N… no sir. M… mm… m… M.” Liam stammered, still overwhelmed by recent events. He knew he was safe now, but he kept struggling to find some kind of balance between the warring emotions in his soul.
The soldier looked at the weapon in Liams hands and turned, picking up his sword, and giving a dissatisfied grunt at it's mud-spattered and chipped condition.
Liam, still shocked by the events, struggled to speak. Hearing his sputtering, the guard turned to look at him, offering a reassuring smile.
“Take your time, lad.” He spoke softly, taking a rag from his belt and began cleaning the blade of mud and blood as he watched the tree line with a wary eye. “But not too much.”
****************************
After a moment to calm down and catch his breath, Liam regained a semblance of self-control.
“Sorry sir, my Master sent me into the forest to collect firewood.” Liam fidgeted. “Deadfall, that is Sir! Not standing trees! And... and my Master is Master Colm of the Carpentry in Douglas.” He re-stated this fact again. Everyone knew Colm, and it would likely count for him if the man did not believe his tale.
“And you just happened upon the same tree that would block our party for the ambush?” The guard eyed Liam suspiciously as he nodded confirmation. “And now you can also glow, and have the choirs of angels sing for you?”
Liam wasn't sure how to answer that, so he shrugged. He hoped the guard would not take the gesture amiss.
The man paused a moment, then chuckled as if dismissing a foolish notion. His brows furrowed, as if in deep thought, and he followed it with a gruff 'harrumph' of disbelief. Then, he paused a third time to consider.
Eventually he spoke.
“The Horns.”
Liam looked confused. What were the Horns?
The guard chuckled at the look, “Aye. I feel the same way, though mayhaps only God truly knows." He said resignedly. "So, you're Colm’s apprentice? I thought you were smaller.” More carefully, the guard inspected Liam. “Or are you the older lad?”
“No, sir!” Liam said. He rushed to explain, now his brain seemed to work again. “The older apprentice is…”
The guard held up a hand at the explanation, halting Liam. “So, since I can be confident you aren’t party with the Bastard Comyn’s raiders, I shall require your aid.” He said.
Liam was grateful for something to do. Anything really, he hoped it would take his mind off what had just happened.
"But first I would like an answer." The guard said, "What caused you to glow?"
This took Liam aback. “Sir! As God is my witness, I don't know. One moment, I was. I was… I..” his voice faltered, and Liam felt a surge of shame.
He realized he was about to admit to what he’d done immediately before the light had poured from him.
I killed a man, like I was some beast. He let out a sob of horror.
The guard seemed to understand and leaned down, grasping Liam’s chin roughly with a chainmail covered hand, forcing him to look into his eyes.
The guard was tall, and strong. The grip forcing Liam to look up, alarmed.
The face looking back at him was not angry, but calm. Seeming to understand exactly what he was thinking. Deep lines framed his grey eyes, and shoulder length black hair stuck out from beneath a padded coif, mostly that mostly a trimmed, dark beard.
The guard looked like an old man to Liam’s eyes. But was probably in his late thirties or early forties.
But then, to a boy of thirteen, old is a relative concept.
The man gazed down at Liam. His expression was gentle, full of understanding and compassion.
“There is nae shame in killing, laddie.” He said, his voice soft. “It’s why you kill that matters to the Almighty.”
“A man defending his Lord and Lady is guiltless in the eyes of God and His Angels. Just as much as a man is in defending himself and his own, or in hunting down those intent on doing undue harm to others.”
Liam nodded, a sniff escaping as he tried to clear the tightness in his throat and the misting of his eyes. “Yes sir. I… I’m not ashamed. I just…”
“Killing a man is hard. Both on your soul and mind.” The guard continued. “Not feeling anything about it is when you know you’ve crossed the line. That's a line God puts in all men's souls to warn them where the devil lies.”
“But... I felt relief! It felt right!” Liam admitted in a rush. “Not after, but when I did it! He was going to do terrible things to me. He even said so! He hurt me and was enjoying it.” Liam shook, righteous anger building. His next words felt justified. “He needed to die.”
“But you’re ashamed still, worried about what it makes you?” The guard smiled warmly. “You’re not ashamed of killing, but of it feeling good?”
“It felt good to end evil.” Liam said as he looked at the stiffening corpse of the Archer. “And he was evil. But... It's not right. It's not good.”
The guard smiled. Patting Liam on the back. “Few understand that, lad. Usually, a man has to fight in a few battles to come to it.” The guard looked him over. “Perhaps it hasn't sunk in for you yet, but if you ever become a soldier, it will eventually."
"Men fight for many reasons, most of them evil. But for those who defend others, defend peace, and to end evil? Those are good reasons to fight."
"Money, power, lands. Thousands can die for these things, but nothing improves. But to fight for peace? For the true will of God?" He smiled. "That makes one noble."
Liam contemplated that a moment, then asked. "So it is just to kill evil men?"
The guard thought for a moment, then asked. "Was that why you interceded on our behalf? You wanted to kill evil men?”
The word confused Liam. “Interceded, sir?” He asked. To Liam's ears, it didn’t sound like English.
“It means ‘jumped in to help’.” The guard said. “It is not usual for a carpenters apprentice to do battle for his Lord or Lady.”
Liam pondered it for a moment. “It just seemed like you needed help, sir. I thought that if I couldn’t help another in need, I wouldn’t be able to call myself a Christian!”
The guard laughed. The sound echoing like a bell, pealing back the dark mood that pervaded the roadway. "Very few people would go to such lengths to ensure their virtues are upheld!" The guard stood to his full height and stretched his back. “You were never meant for carpentry lad, and the Realm can always use men of your character.” He seemed about to continue, but they were interrupted by a voice from the roadway.
“James!” a soft feminine voice called.
“Yes, beloved?” The gua...
Liam’s eyes bulged, and he knelt in the mud once more, quickly bowing his head as he realized who he’d been talking to so casually.
“Milord.” He said and knelt. His voice soft as he kept his eyes on the muddy road as he made an obeisance.
James Douglas paid Liam no mind as he reached his wife's side, his gaze focused only on her. “We’re safe for the moment, my love. Although we need to head back soon. A storm is coming, both physical and a spiritual in nature. Our people need us, and our King shall soon as well.”
Kneeling, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently on the forehead as she smiled up at him.
James picked his wife up in a princess carry and lifted her over the remains of the second fallen tree the ambushers had used to trap their quarry.
Liam followed at a respectful distance. Without permission to stand, he'd followed. He didn’t want to be left alone in the mud and blood of the road while bandits were about. The nobles, however, did not seem to mind.
The Lady Douglas seated herself upon the fallen tree trunk after her Lord had cleared some space amongst the branches.
Liam thought to keep an eye out for the last raider. Although he did not know how to use the hatchet at his side, he felt somehow more confident.
That surety was apparent to the Lord and Lady. And with an assessing glance, James Douglas turned to Liam.
“I owe you much, young Liam, far more than you likely know.”
He smiled at the Liam, his handsome face framed by long black hair.
“You have proven you can think beyond your current station, and have the character of a warrior, not a carpenter."
It surprised Liam that the Lord knew his name. He was unsure how to respond, settling for a “Thank you, Milord.” and bowing his head in acknowledgement.
The Lord pondered a moment. “Did your Master ever tell you about your father, lad?” The Lord asked.
Liam shook his head. “The only thing he ever said was last year, just after the Lord Bishop died. He'd received some sad news, and said I was an orphan.”
Lord James looked embarrassed at that.
“Aye, he’s right. But this isn’t the place to discuss your sire, but maybe I can right some wrongs I’ve done to you, lad. After your service today, and knowing who you are, I bring you into my Household as a Page. It may absolve me of some of my guilt at failing your father.” He said cryptically.
“Although you may be old to start such duties, once you learn the basics, we’ll see if you are fit to become my second Squire.”
“M… MiLord?” Liam stuttered out.
Lady Tatania chuckled. "Well, young man, you'll have plenty enough competition for that role. My dear husband seems to recruit Pages as often as he wins victories over the English."
Liam's eyes boggled at the idea. There was no way this could be happening. He was the meanest peasant. An orphan boy. An apprentice, and even then, a second apprentice.
For him to rise out of the serfdom of peasantry and into the gentry to the point he could become even the merest servant of a noble lord like James Douglas was beyond… It just was absurd.
“Speak up, damn you!” Lord James Douglas said with a grin. “I can’t hear your gratitude!”
“Yes, Milord, and thank you Milord.” Liam the Page said clearly. He was hardly about to argue with his Lord.
James Douglas’ grin widened. “Now go gather any of those damn scatter-brained horses you can find and bring them quickly. We must return with haste.”
Liam attempted a courtly bow, and slipped awkwardly, almost ending up in a pile of mud, and causing Lady Douglas to laugh softly behind a demure hand.
“Don't you fear, laddie. If you don’t succeed in becoming a Knight one day, you may well excel as a Jester.” Douglas shooed Liam away. “Now go, get on with ye.”