The air was bitter with the smell of smoke and blood. All around the small gathering of individuals laid the wreckage of a campsite -- some of it burned, some of it torn down, but most of it being actively salvaged by the victors of the battle that had raged not a bell ago. Men and woman alike picked through the covers, crocus and supplies. Water and meat were regarded as precious. Tarpaulins, blankets and clothing even more so.Â
In the midst of it all knelt a young boy. He could not have been more than fourteen years of age, probably thirteen, given the deceptive development of his strong build. Ropes bound his hands tightly behind his back, mercilessly cutting to wrists stained with blood mostly not his own. All he wore was a pair of ragged pants and the blood of many of those he had felled. The lad was a Highlander through and through, with shaved brows, a strong nose-bridge and intense eyes that stared up with unfiltered hatred.Â
The subject of his loathing stood before him, looking down with an infuriating calm. The other Highlander dwarfed him in comparison; mightily tall with thick muscles wreathed about his tanned and  broad frame. A wild, battle-harassed mane of red hair fell from his shoulders, and green eyes regarded the captive with cold scrutiny. Behind him, a hardened looking midlander woman restrained a sobbing highlander lady. She blubbered and pleaded for the life of her son.
"Do you know who I am?" The red-haired Highlander asked of the boy.Â
By the way the lad spat at the other's feet, yes, he did. There was no reaction on the part of the captor, and he continued. "Do you know how many of my men you killed?"
"Nine," The boy answered with pride. "I cut down nine of your bastards." His golden brown eyes blazed with the fire of hatred.
"Nine," The captor repeated, "You are a warrior indeed. Very rarely does one your age accomplish such a thing. You remind me of myself."
The words seemed like the gravest insult to the young man, who lunged forward impotently with a snarl. "I am nothing like you."
"Hm. You're strong. You've murdered mine, which brings the penalty of death. Yet, your mother begs for you, for  you are her only child." He jerked his head back to the pleading woman -- her own captor had no need to hold her anymore; she had prostrated herself behind the man, uttering her most desperate plea.Â
He saw that it bothered the boy in the way his lips pressed thin. Battle drenched as he was, the bond between mother and son was ever a weakness to be exploited. The red haired Highlander knew this all too well. He took a deep breath and exhaled, putting on a show of contemplation. "I would like to spare you. But you must join me, and fight for me. Your worth is those nine lives. Spend them in my name."
Behind him, the boy's mother erupted into a new spurt of pleading. "Yes! Please. Please, he will serve you and fight for him, so long as he has his life. Please, Redhammer! Spare him!" While she was ignored by the Highlander called Redhammer, her own sun flashed her a grimace of deepest loathing. The glare did not last long; after a moment he seemed unable to bear the sight of her. Instead, he turned his burning eyes to his captor.
"I won't serve you. I'll kill you, just like I killed your men."
Redhammer looked down at him in placid silence, devoid of all emotion, yet rife with scrutiny. "Are you sure?"
Another wad of spittle fired at his feet. "Gods take you and swive you bloody, you bas--"
He wasn't allowed to finish his final curse; Redhammer's hand swept out in a blurring arc. The scimitar clutched in it severed the poor lad's head from the top lip go up, spattering an untidy trail of gore as the top of his head rolled in the sand. He had done it so quickly that it took a few moments for the boy's mother to realize what had happened.
And when she did, her wails into the smoke-thickened air did not cease.
As the young man's body crumpled into the floor, his mother's captor treated Redhammer to a disapproving scowl. "We don't kill children, I thought." She was barely audible over the anguished ululations of loss.
"He was a man," Redhammer said, "And given the chance to live, he would have been the end of us all. Take her away. She'll learn to live from her loss, or die from it. We have work to do."
In the midst of it all knelt a young boy. He could not have been more than fourteen years of age, probably thirteen, given the deceptive development of his strong build. Ropes bound his hands tightly behind his back, mercilessly cutting to wrists stained with blood mostly not his own. All he wore was a pair of ragged pants and the blood of many of those he had felled. The lad was a Highlander through and through, with shaved brows, a strong nose-bridge and intense eyes that stared up with unfiltered hatred.Â
The subject of his loathing stood before him, looking down with an infuriating calm. The other Highlander dwarfed him in comparison; mightily tall with thick muscles wreathed about his tanned and  broad frame. A wild, battle-harassed mane of red hair fell from his shoulders, and green eyes regarded the captive with cold scrutiny. Behind him, a hardened looking midlander woman restrained a sobbing highlander lady. She blubbered and pleaded for the life of her son.
"Do you know who I am?" The red-haired Highlander asked of the boy.Â
By the way the lad spat at the other's feet, yes, he did. There was no reaction on the part of the captor, and he continued. "Do you know how many of my men you killed?"
"Nine," The boy answered with pride. "I cut down nine of your bastards." His golden brown eyes blazed with the fire of hatred.
"Nine," The captor repeated, "You are a warrior indeed. Very rarely does one your age accomplish such a thing. You remind me of myself."
The words seemed like the gravest insult to the young man, who lunged forward impotently with a snarl. "I am nothing like you."
"Hm. You're strong. You've murdered mine, which brings the penalty of death. Yet, your mother begs for you, for  you are her only child." He jerked his head back to the pleading woman -- her own captor had no need to hold her anymore; she had prostrated herself behind the man, uttering her most desperate plea.Â
He saw that it bothered the boy in the way his lips pressed thin. Battle drenched as he was, the bond between mother and son was ever a weakness to be exploited. The red haired Highlander knew this all too well. He took a deep breath and exhaled, putting on a show of contemplation. "I would like to spare you. But you must join me, and fight for me. Your worth is those nine lives. Spend them in my name."
Behind him, the boy's mother erupted into a new spurt of pleading. "Yes! Please. Please, he will serve you and fight for him, so long as he has his life. Please, Redhammer! Spare him!" While she was ignored by the Highlander called Redhammer, her own sun flashed her a grimace of deepest loathing. The glare did not last long; after a moment he seemed unable to bear the sight of her. Instead, he turned his burning eyes to his captor.
"I won't serve you. I'll kill you, just like I killed your men."
Redhammer looked down at him in placid silence, devoid of all emotion, yet rife with scrutiny. "Are you sure?"
Another wad of spittle fired at his feet. "Gods take you and swive you bloody, you bas--"
He wasn't allowed to finish his final curse; Redhammer's hand swept out in a blurring arc. The scimitar clutched in it severed the poor lad's head from the top lip go up, spattering an untidy trail of gore as the top of his head rolled in the sand. He had done it so quickly that it took a few moments for the boy's mother to realize what had happened.
And when she did, her wails into the smoke-thickened air did not cease.
As the young man's body crumpled into the floor, his mother's captor treated Redhammer to a disapproving scowl. "We don't kill children, I thought." She was barely audible over the anguished ululations of loss.
"He was a man," Redhammer said, "And given the chance to live, he would have been the end of us all. Take her away. She'll learn to live from her loss, or die from it. We have work to do."
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
