November

Issue 50

Rand raced through the trees. The thick brush grabbed at his boots. He fell to his knees, crawling a little ways till his pursuers surrounded him.  Stale beer and a hard day’s work mingled into a foul stench that gathered on the men. He knew them by name, Belo the farmer, Argoth the bar’s strong-arm, even timid Hutto, who sold bread in the open market.

Hutto came at Rand with a horsewhip. Its five-strapped sting tore at his coat, shirt, and then the tender flesh. When Rand turned to speak, Argoth’s leathered knuckles struck his face. Rand tried to stand, but a day in the tavern caught up to him and he fell again. Belo’s wrath was on him now, his cane fell hard and fast. Rand turned a shoulder to the blows. When he thought he could take no more, the beating stopped. He turned his head to look.

Belo stepped forward. Rand cowered in his shadow and kept his eye on the cane.

“If you can’t pay your bills, we don’t want you in Osbon. Let Mandas have you and do what he wills with you and your sins.”

They filtered away, with Rand on his knees. When he was sure they were gone, Rand leaned on his one good arm long enough to throw up.  He collapsed, not unconscious yet, but aware of his own vomit as it oozed into his ear.

“Lord Mandas, why have you abandoned me? In my most needful hour, you have left me to my own means. Why?”

Then, the world was lost to him.