Listross’s stern eyes flashed between Emmya and Eppra. “Fine.” He drew his weapon. “Come men, let’s go take this city. We’ll enslave the Ferronians as they’ve enslaved us.” Eppra let out the breath she was holding and gave Listross a small smile. “Thank you.” “Bolfreed, take Emmya to Tales, and make sure she stays there. The rest of you, grab a weapon. When we go in, we will make a point to not kill. If the Ferronians resist, bind them. Flouth, grab the rope.” “Got it, Prince.” “But Daddy!” Bolfreed hoisted Emmya as she reached towards Listross. Listross turned his back as Bolfreed started jogging off. “I love you, Emmya. Just stay with Tales. You’ll be fine” Grink strode over and pointed at Eppra. “Your family lords over this town, correct?” Eppra gave a single nod. “Then, Prince Listross, I suggest you select three others to march with you to take that house. It’ll be a sign of power. Have the rest of the men position themselves in the city.” “If you’re breaking into teams, I’d send one to the blacksmith, one to the innkeeper, and one to the Rigor Farm. They have the most renown in town, that is, besides my father.” “Grink, take the blacksmith. Flouth, the innkeeper. Rawruin, the farm.” “Yes, Prince,” the three men saluted in unison. Listross thrust his blade into the air before marching. Eppra led her horse by his side through the forest to the city.
Grink and Listross sat at a small table that they acquired from their latest endeavor. They had managed to free a group of Tavalaskians on an onion farm. Thyrin and the men from his vineyard joined in the fray against the Ferronians and fought well. Unfortunately, instead of celebrating the victory, Listross had to have Flouth consol those from the vineyard. Killing those who were evil was not evil, but bringing justice. To Listross’s surprise, Thyrin didn’t take the battle as difficult as the rest of his men and was taking inventory of the new supplies. “This last battle was easy because we surprised the Ferronians and highly outnumbered them.” Grink sipped a cup of tea. “But you see, the more farms we attack, the more farms we free, the more upset we make Yurn, King of the Ferronians. We should soon expect more soldiers to be out searching for us and for the plantations to be more heavily armored.”
Listross hugged Emmya tight. “I should be back in a few days.” “Please don’t go, Daddy.” She clung onto his arm. “You know I must. Now be good for Flouth while I’m gone.” Listross picked Emmya up and tightly hugged her. He felt the soft tug of her curls untangling from his beard as he handed her to Flouth. “We’ll have fun!” Flouth hoisted her into the air, caught her, and rubbed his large nose on her belly. Emmya simultaneously giggled and groaned. Listross patted Flouth’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Flouth shrugged. His long hair swayed in the breeze. “It’s an honor, Prince. Now go so you’ll actually arrive before sunrise.” Listross kissed Emmya’s button nose and pink lips. He leaned in close and whispered goodbye in her ear. Adjusting the pack on his shoulder, he set out east towards the next farm.
“Now my prince,” Ideara smirked and stroked Listross’s beard. “How do you plan to free us?” The red welt on Emmya’s cheek caught Listross’s eye. He wouldn’t see her or any of the other children here suffer any longer. The time for change was now. “We attack tonight. While they sleep.” “Were there any weapons in that chest?” Flouth takes a bite of his soup, the usual glint in his eye. “No, but we have Grandmother’s cooking knife.”
Welcome all to Prince of Slaves, my interactive story where you get to decide what happens next! I'm really excited to start this and hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. At the end of the chapter, there will be two options. Please comment below with your vote and/or... Continue Reading →
King Sortsill swiped the back of his hand across the table, scattering the clay armies onto the floor. There was another knock on the door. “Your majesty, the assembly has been waiting three hours. They’re becoming rather impatient.” “Tell them if they want to survive they’ll wait an extra five! The fools!” The door burst open. Lord Drephin, a short noble that governed the South of Tavalask, stood there, holding the sides of his large middle. Bruhn, the elderly butler, glared at his back. “We’re the fools?!” Drephin large face reddened. “We’re just trying to get back home to equip our people!” King Sortsill rose and slammed his hands on the table.