The sound of the morning bell rang earlier than usual-- the sun barely showing above the mountains, far to the east. The light wasn't even streaming into their open window as each boy heard the call for training and pain about to start.

  "It's earlier than usual," Michael said as he sat up. Their room was still mostly in shadows from the lack of light. "What gives?"

  "He's an asshole,” Francis replied. “Does the man need a reason to make us hate him more?"

  Both of them laughed as they grabbed their dust-covered clothes. It was two more days before they would be washed, so the outfit could almost stand on its own. By that point, caked-on blood, dirt, and sweat sometimes appeared to be all that kept the fabric from falling apart.

  "No... he doesn't,” Michael said. “I’m just hoping this isn't another day of nonstop running. My boots can't take the beating."

  Glancing at their leather boots, Francis saw that his brother was right. The seams were tearing apart, yet getting another pair wouldn't happen before they shipped out. Acquiring anything new was almost impossible.

  The joys of being barely above a commoner. The promise of real armor and a weapon is still more than most of us could ever hope for now... Then again, the choice is to fight for the kingdom or die if we’re caught running away. Note to self, never sign up for this crap again.

  Francis knew that if they ever attempted to escape this path, they would be labeled as deserters. That status would put them on a list, most towns checking that list regularly, and those caught hoped for a quick death.

  ***

  "Good news!” Phillip exclaimed, smirking at them all. “I was just told we'll be moving out in two days! Five days earlier than expected!"

  Some murmurs came from the line of teens. Two more had vanished in the last week. Both had run away, choosing not to fight. A quick death on the battlefield was a gift compared to what they would experience when they were captured.

  “Luke... you idiot... I pray you find a farmer that will let you work instead of turning you in,” Francis thought.

  They all stood in a line, chests out, ready for whatever that day would bring. Two days weren't much time to prepare.

  "As such, we will be leaving today!” Phillip announced. “The town of Macenburg is three hours away. You’ll run there and get measured for your armor! Don't expect some custom-engraved piece of work. You'll get the basic leather, designed to keep the enemy from gutting you with their breath, nothing more!"

  Their dictator of pain began to move along the line, locking eyes with each of them as he passed by.

  "You'll be put up in a tent upon reaching Macenburg, fed real food, and allowed to rest. I suggest you make do with that. Or… perhaps you can enjoy something else."

  Suddenly, a tiny pouch was in his hand.

  "In here is five silver. Each of you will receive a pouch upon reaching town. Spend it on some drink, buy something nice, possibly find a woman willing to spend some time with your ugly faces, but know that when the bell sounds in two days, any of you who are not ready to leave will find yourselves on the list."

  Many of the boys started to bounce on the balls of their feet, clearly excited at the chance to enjoy everything they had just heard.

  “A real inn… I can’t remember the last time I drank ale that wasn’t more water than ale,” Francis thought.

  "Let me remind you of what the last one on that list endured," Phillip stated, his misshapen teeth making his smirk look even worse. "Any of you want to have each of their fingers and toes cut off, set on a stump for the birds to peck while you're tied up and forced to watch them fight over them?"

  Phillip tossed his head back and started to laugh, cackling for a moment as he walked back down the line.

  "Who are we kidding? None of you has anything worth the early bird getting up for. Now then…" With a clap of his hands, everyone shifted into the perfect position, standing tall, chests out, feet together, and eyes facing ahead. "Let's make this fun. The last one to Macenburg only gets three silver! The first gets two extra coins! Now, let’s move."

  Francis obeyed the moment he heard the word 'move'. Michael did as well, sprinting with some of the other trainees to get in the lead. It hadn’t taken long for Francis and his brother to agree that when Phillip had some kind of contest, trying to stay together often meant neither of them could win.

  Still, even three silver coins would be enough for food or something nice…

  Lost in his thoughts, Francis didn’t notice the foot that came out mid-stride, entangling his legs and sending him to the ground.

  Smacking the hard-packed dirt with his hands and chest, Francis looked up and saw that the oldest trainee in the group, Malcomb, had just tripped him.

  I swear... one day I'll kick his ass!

  Knowing that wasn't true, Francis got up, not bothering to dust himself as he ran, last in a line of boys who were all wanting to have a full five silver to spend.

  ***

  Phillip had lied about the journey being three hours. The only way that could happen was by cart. Only once had the trainees been allowed to ride in one, and that was when they had first arrived at the hellhole of a training camp. Set off in the woods, down a trade road, the winding dirt snake they had to travel was in good condition. It was far enough away from town to make running away difficult, yet close enough that supplies could be brought as needed.

  However, unlike most of his competition, Francis turned to the woods, knowing how the road twisted and turned through the forest.

  I should thank Malcomb for making me last. That way, I won't have to worry about anyone following me.

  Francis watched as Michael ran off with the pack. He was slightly envious of his brother's longer stride and higher endurance, which would make it easier to stay with the main pack.

  These woods, however, were where Francis had spent so much time as a child and teenager. He’d learned to track on his own, setting small snares that sometimes netted him a rabbit or other small animal. The food was always a treat, and the family cook had worked out a deal that for every three he brought the man, one would be prepared for him.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  It seemed like a terrible deal for most, but the cook had risked getting into trouble for cooking only for himself. Francis’ older three brothers got everything, and his sister was the youngest of them all, yet being the only girl meant she got more than the second and third sons.

  Trina is still the strongest mage our family has ever produced in hundreds of years. She’s barely thirteen… Francis thought as he continued to run.

  He knew four out of ten children received schooling, private tutors, magic lessons, and weapon training. The following two received an education designed to help oversee and work the family mines. Even his sixth brother, Ivan, had received training after showing talent with metal as a child. He was allowed to work in the family forges and earn a living, testing and crafting the family's materials.

  Francis, Michael, and his late brother Brennor got nothing. Anything they received came from earning it by whatever means they could. All clothes had been basically hand-me-downs. Occasionally, their mother would give them something small on a birthday, often just a few coppers, not wanting to earn the anger of a father who probably couldn't recognize them or even remember their name.

  Such a heartless bastard... To think he would have killed Michael had we stayed… One day... One day, I'll prove to you how wrong you were, so--

  A root almost tripped him, and Francis stopped thinking about the past. Right now, he needed to focus on the moment.

  Large trees with nuts that could fatten animals or livestock filled this section of the woods. The sound of their shells being crushed under his worn boots alerted everyone to his presence. He knew that in a few miles, the nut-bearing ones would give way to the taller hardwood trees that often got used for lumber.

  Predators shouldn't be a problem at sunrise, but Francis still grabbed a good-sized stick when one revealed itself. He was willing to carry the weight and occasionally use it as he slashed through the brush, ignoring the thorns that tore at him and his clothes.

  I need to make it to the stream. That's the main thing. Once I do, I'll be set.

  Like there was a map in his mind, he could see the direction he needed to go. Whatever it was that he could do wasn’t a skill, but somehow he could always make a map in his mind of anywhere he had been.

  Another one of the dozen snares he had set a week ago caught his attention. Francis had already passed a few spots where he had set traps, though he’d yet to have a chance to check them. Phillip had made the training times longer. The bastard had even turned their one rest day into a day of going over battle tactics and formations. While those days hadn’t been overly physical, no one got more than a few hours to pursue their own desires.

  There hadn’t been much light left after they’d finished training those days, and no one was foolish enough to go into these woods at night.

  The beasts that roamed at night were not to be ignored.

  Wolves, large cats, wild badgers that seemed to enjoy flesh, and other beasts presented life-threatening danger to those foolish enough to venture into their domain unprotected or unprepared.

  Bursting through some bushes, Francis grinned as he found what he’d sought.

  There was a small game trail exactly where he had remembered it. Running along the worn path, he could easily dodge the thorny bushes, which made navigating the overgrown area nearby much easier.

  There were a few with berries he knew he could eat, though instead of stopping, he ignored the pain of a few splinters and scrapes, raking a handful of berries as he ran.

  He acted like a forest animal, jogging with purpose, watching his steps, and listening to the sounds around him.

  ***

  Finally reaching the stream that Francis knew he would have to swim across, he took a minute to catch his breath. Having made the choice to take the forest, this was his biggest obstacle. After slapping his face a few times to psych himself up, Francis started wading in. He tried to ignore the frigid water as it soaked his boots.

  "Holy shit, that’s cold!"

  An audible groan escaped his mouth as the water hit his privates, and Francis wondered if, for a moment, he had made the wrong decision.

  The stream was faster than he had remembered, but the worst was how frigid it was. It felt amazing for about a second, but the moment it reached his taint, his whole body broke out in pinpricks.

  His worn boots struggled to move on the slick rocks, though now it was time to go all in. He couldn’t hope to run toward the bridge. The only option now was forward.

  Staring at the stream that had to be wider than seventy yards, all he could think about was how much he’d once enjoyed swimming.

  While he dove in, his lungs wanted him to scream as the cold water went over his head, the current already dragging him downstream.

  Coming up for air, he began kicking and swimming, knowing how to do it but having never really tried it in clothes before. His boots made the process even more demanding, and the way the water tugged at his tattered outfit caused panic and fear to start to set in.

  The shore looked so far away, but he would not die this way. He was going to make it.

  Focus... I can't leave Michael alone!

  That one thought drove him to fight through everything. Michael was his only connection in this hard world. Nothing would ever take his brother away except death.

  Forcing his arms to move, he breathed carefully, not letting his teeth chatter.

  The cold water made his limbs feel heavy, yet there wasn't any option but to keep swimming.

  Just keep swimming... just keep swimming...

  Over and over, he repeated that thought--finally, he was rewarded when his foot struck a rock as he neared the shore.

  Even though it hurt, relief washed over him as he could finally stand.

  Crawling out, Francis saw that his entire outfit was dripping water everywhere. His boots squished from their fullness, and his deep breaths were a sign of the energy he had just expended.

  Running and then swimming just to have to run is a horrible idea...

  Shivering on the bank momentarily, Francis saw he had drifted farther down than he had intended.

  A cry from downstream made him freeze; like a child or woman crying in distress, the sound meant just one thing.

  Shit! A puma... A freaking puma!

  Without waiting, he dashed upstream, looking for the game trail he thought he had seen.

  I don’t want to spend all my time doing a puma check.

  Each step caused his boots to make a horrible, wet sound—the dampness made his feet heavier and forced his tired legs to work harder.

  Yet the puma cried out again, causing his body to forget how tired he was. A surge of energy came, and Francis dashed into the woods, ignoring the pain of thorns that bit into his skin.

  ***

  His lungs ached, and his whole body was beyond sore and exhausted. About ten minutes prior, the sound of the wild animal had finally stopped. He forced his legs to move, his mind blocking the pain, stumbling out of the trees and onto the road.

  The coppery taste of blood was in his mouth, and each breath was dry and ragged.

  The town had to be close, but he couldn't guess how far along the route the others were.

  Holding both hands above his head, he gasped for air, slowly walking toward Macenburg, praying he wasn't last, while also faintly hoping he might be in the lead.

  Maybe I'll donate a coin at the temple if I'm first... As if someone up there actually cares about the ninth son...

  Trudging along the road, Francis walked for a few minutes before a shout from behind caused him to glance over his shoulder.

  As far as he could see down the dirt road, where the bend of the trees, was came, a pack of teens.

  He couldn't count them; they were a bit away, but he could recognize one of the leaders.

  Malcomb... This means I'm… I’m first!

  His body came alive again.

  Forcing his stiff legs and shoulders to move. After a few hundred yards, he could finally jog, breathing with each step, being mindful of where he placed his feet while avoiding the ruts in the road. Each step hurt, blisters having formed from running in the wet shoes, but the truth of what was before and behind him helped block out that pain.

  A win! For once in my crappy ass life, I can win!