Intro (Part 1)

"Yes, I told you, no big trouble has risen in the last while. Not since the last time you checked."

"All and well, Dock master Aden, but we still must do our routine check. Now get out of our way. Or would you like the king to hear you were forbidding your own soldiers to enter your docks?"

"Well?"

Their words didn't really matter to Tuathew, or make much sense. He was interested in the soldier's weapons. They were all wearing glossy breastplates and armor, with yellow-trimmed red cloaks underneath. The King's colors. Their helmets were shiny and the soldier speaking had a red plume to mark his rank. He had a sword, too. They all did, but his was the best. It had gold wiring, and a slightly curved blade. Tuathew wet his lips with excitement. What he would give just to touch that sword. He had seen some of the older kids steal things from people before. It looked easy enough, just have to make it look like an accident. He was sure he could do it. He felt bad stealing from a soldier, they were always doing good, but the desire for the sword was too great. He started walking towards the soldiers. They had their backs toward him. Maybe he could just sneak up, snatch it, and run away before they even noticed. His heart was pumping rapidly at the thought of owning such a beautiful sword. He could reach out and touch the sword now, and they hadn't even noticed. Wide-eyed, he reached out a hand to grab the golden handle, and in an instant, the soldier whipped around and took hold of Tuathew's outstretched wrist. The soldier's lip curled in disgust.

"What do we have here? A little poor boy that thinks he can go around and steal whatever he wants? Didn't your mother teach you not to take things that aren't yours? Or was she the one who told you to steal a pretty gold thing to sell for food?" Throwing the still-stunned Tuathew onto the muddy street, he drew his sword and pointed it straight at him. He was so scared; all he could do was stare with eyes as wide as they could go at the sword point an inch from his face. He tried to tell him he just wanted to touch it, that he didn't steal, he wasn't bad, but the soldier cut off his stutters.

"What's wrong boy? Bite your tongue?" Tuathew couldn't believe this. Why was the soldier being so mean? He knew he tried to steal the sword, but surely they would have more. Soldiers are supposed to be brave, proud, people who make things right again. The other soldiers were glaring at him to, now, with disgust filled eyes. Tuathew started crying. Why do they hate him so much? He isn't bad. They should know that. They're soldiers.

"Oh, are you sad? Because I made fun of your mommy? Go on, go crying home before I change my mind and end your useless life. Go!" his voice has full of disgust and hatred. People started to stop and eye each other, probably thinking on helping the poor frightened boy. But the soldier's glares kept them well back. Tuathew sat in the mud, crying. This soldier wasn't like the rest, he couldn't be. He was just like the snotty rich boys who made fun of him. This couldn't be.

"Don't talk to him like that!" came a hesitant voice, followed by another, and another, each more defiant than the last.