CHAPTER 1

Ambrose was born into a world in which he was perfectly fine. His family owned a large plot of land, which supplied them with a plentiful supply of food. Additionally, the family had a small inn business that ran for extra earnings on their behalf. One day, Ambrose would take this and build the business further, making his father proud. Yet, on the day that the fog could not be seen through, the Madmen came.

It was one year into the rebellion, in which the Madmen were beginning to take over the kingdom. At first, it was dominated by Arthur Stovrakis. He sought to take political freedom for his people who were enslaved. The witches and wizards which pulled the world together, grew the crops and fed the sunlight to the plants. That was the Madmen’s job. The kingdom of Fog couldn’t stop this slavery, for nearly every landowner had to provide their crops with the magic in which the witches and wizards could provide. Everyone could be fed, if the Madmen were enslaved.

So, for the Madmen to take victory, they thought to take every farmer’s land, and take back the slaves. Ambrose’s parents; were magicians of White magic. It was supreme and far more efficient than the laborious magic of the slaves. It could provide sunlight for the crops, energy for these crops to grow and flourish. Yet, on one fateful day; the land was attacked by the rebellion, and the Madmen assumed they were using slaves. The torches started to alight as they came closer to the building in which Ambrose and his parents lived. It was a small cottage, with not much protection. The fences were flimsy, with only small logs surrounding their land. The place was vast, with a long field of grape vines, vegetables and fruits.

Susan- Ambrose’s mother went out to check the crops, but she never returned. His father, Richard, heard a scream echoing from the west of their house. He immediately went out to check, and there he saw the madmen beginning to draw closer to the house, with contorted smiles peeling across their faces. Flames surrounded the crops, and Richard backed away from the door. Ambrose was pushed away into the bunker for safety. All Ambrose could hear was a few bangs from the musket his father once bought. BANG! BANG! BANG! The madmen scurried through the house, searching and rummaging through the drawers for money, and then they found the bunker. Slowly, they unlocked the door, to witness the boy’s small shoes. Cyprus, the leading man of the ambush raised his torch to shed light on the poor boy. His face twisted into a pained stare. Ambrose looked up at the man, shaking in fear. “I’m so sorry…” Cyprus said, grasping his chest with his other hand, his heart felt like a string had been pulled apart. The madmen whispered behind him, awaiting orders from Cyprus. They spoke in hushed tones, which Ambrose didn’t understand yet. He turned back to his troops, declaring his decision. “Take the boy with us. He will become my squire once he is at the right age.” The madmen gasped, their eyes widening and their jaws dropping. “But sir, he’s not one of us, he’ll be at every disadvantage.---” One of them called out.

“Not if he learns from us, he’ll know our weaknesses, and our strengths. He will be our greatest soldier… perhaps…” Cyprus’s voice trailed, and an argument rose between his troops. Ambrose turned his eyes to a small knife in the corner of the bunker, crawling over to it quietly whilst they were all distracted. He grasped the handle finally, until Cyprus caught notice, unsheathing his sword and pointing at his throat. “Drop the knife, boy.” His voice boomed. Ambrose had to drop the knife, with his voice choking on indecipherable words. His fingers stuck to the handle of the knife, only to roll off with a small clang against the cobble floor. Cyprus kneeled down to pick up Ambrose, who was now shaking in fear. Ambrose squeezed his eyes closed as they marched out of the house, one by one. They took their torches and heaved their gear over their shoulders, tightening the straps. There was a rustic, wooden carriage, large enough for the whole group of men.

Ambrose was pushed into the carriage, left sitting in the corner. Cyprus joined in, sitting down on the opposite side to him. The men all began to huddle together into the carriage, the metal of their armour clanging against each other, and their swords all sheathing. They all began to talk in their foreign tongue, yet Cyprus didn’t speak with them, far too distracted by the boy in front of him, anxiously tearing off his nails. “L-look, I’m sorry lil’ buddy.” Cyprus said to the boy. Ambrose only replied with silence. “That was expected.” He sighed, turning his head to the side briefly to the other men talking. He turned his head back. “Can’t you speak..? Did your parents not teach you how to express this stuff?” Ambrose still remained silent, now exchanging a cruel gaze over to Cyprus. His lips pursed to speak, yet something in his voice was reluctant, not daring to say a word. The carriage began to rustle against the path, and the storm began surging before them. The magic within Ambrose’s farm had run out, they were officially gone. Tears began to stream down his cheeks, just like the rain falling down. As the others happily conversed, Cyprus remained silent, watching over the sad boy.

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Outside, they were passing through long, extravagant hills of green grass, with tall trees stretching high above them. It wasn’t a rare sight in the land of the fog, it was quite common. Nothing impressed the madmen, the land which they stood on had hurt them deeply.

Ambrose kept awake each passing hour, not speaking with anyone. I want to go home… It was all he could think of. Every passing minute, he was thinking about how to escape. Then, the night emerged. Tiredly, the boy who was still awake, quietly slipped through Cyprus’s band of soldiers. He opened the door, letting it creak as quietly as he could make it. Ambrose then tumbled out of the carriage, hitting the rocky ground. He hit his head against the pathway, which left a small cut. Cyprus heard the scuffle of noise, and his eyes twitched open. He noticed the door was open, and that Ambrose wasn’t there. Ambrose began to shuffle backwards on the ground as Cyprus stepped out. A bulky silhouette stood in front of the light which drove from out of the carriage. It only kept distancing itself from the other two, driven by its horses. He grasped onto Ambrose’s wrist, pulling him up. Ambrose struggled to fight back, he was too tired to do anything. “Please… Just let me go.” Said Ambrose, his fear overtook him.

“You live like us now, boy. Tell me your name.”

There was nothing Ambrose could do, he was now trapped. The soldiers stepped out of the carriage that had now stopped. They began to surround him. Ambrose felt the eyes of every man, looking down at him. “Ambrose.”

“Ambrose… I’ve heard of that name before. It means something about immortality, Oui?”

He nodded.

“Now, listen here, Ambrose.” He kneeled down, letting go of his wrist.

Ambrose remained silent, a sombre gaze still faced upwards at him.

“Forget them. They’re no longer alive.”

“They’re my parents, I can’t forget them. Not on my dead body. You’re sick, all of you are truly madmen!” The boy yelled, and the soldiers each unsheathed their swords. Ambrose quickly fell silent, reluctant to rebel anymore.

“Refrain the tongue of a snake’s. Us, who you humans call the madmen, are the Fidèle. We are under the leadership of Gabriel Roux, and I am one of his faithful troops, simply put. You will become one of our soldiers too.”

Ambrose could see so clearly that he was being dragged into the rebellion. Dragged without his will, and he loathed the thought of it. They had killed his parents, and taken everything from him before he could even take it back, so stupidly, so childishly. Despite this, he had to abide, because every sword surrounding Ambrose was pointed at him. He was under threat, and if he didn’t agree, he’d be killed. Cyprus didn’t want to kill a child, it was against his morals, and he swore by it. “Put back your swords, everyone. Let’s move.” Cyprus pulled Ambrose up, heaving him into the carriage.

“This rebellion is for the better of the people, for the better of us.” Cyprus said, before closing the carriage doors. Ambrose banged on the door, but they wouldn’t budge. He was locked in, trapped. The soldiers walked behind the carriage in the freezing rain. Their boots began to pile in mud. The rain was strong, too strong perhaps, but these soldiers were formerly slaves. Their emotions were made of steel, there was no rest for these madmen.