Storymakers: Fire and Steel

Storymakers: Fire and Steel

By Brandon
Seventh Grade
Homelink
Selah, WA

The forest was silent and peaceful. Now and then, a light breeze would sweep gently through the trees, and a bird would twitter merrily to herald the rising sun. Winter was drawing to a close, and small patches of green were starting to show from underneath the blanket of snow that covered the land.

In the quiet forest, an ermine scurried across a narrow pathway. Its coat was silky white, and the black-tipped tail swayed slowly from side to side. Stopping in the middle of the road, he sniffed the ground cautiously. He was hunting, and could smell a rabbit close by.

The peace of the forest was disturbed by a dull rumbling and the ermine scampered back into the safety of the trees. A tall man, his head held high, came into view, leading a platoon of cavalrymen. He held up his hand, signaling a halt. The troop came to an abrupt stop, with a handful of startled wows and whinnies.

"What is it now?" A small man on a black destrier said irritably. Sir Jordan, the leader of the platoon, turned to face the young knight.

"Do not speak to me in that manner." he said calmly. "You will address me as Sir, and you will do so with respect, Sir Derrin."

Derrin said nothing. He glared angrily at the tall man's back, as he turned to gaze down the road.

Finally, Sir Jordan said, "It's Derrick. He's coming." Derrick was one of three scouts Sir Jordan had sent out to reconnoiter the area.

"Sir!" the scout called. He was riding a swift grey courser, and a lightweight saber was his only weapon. "There's a group of Highland warriors not far ahead."

"Derrin," Sir Jordan said, "Have the men spread out in the trees and prepare to attack."

"We're cavalry; we can't attack effectively unless we have open ground."

Sir Jordan looked at him, long and hard. Derrin stared back, but at last looked away, unable to meet his commander's eyes.

"Whatever," he mumbled. "Sir..."

Sir Derrin pushed down the visor of his Anrian Sallet, and shifted his heater shield down onto his arm. Sir Jordan had a long broadsword resting on his shoulder, whereas Sir Derrin was holding a light cavalry sword.

"Stay with me," Jordan said sternly, "And don't do anything stupid."

Sir Derrin took the liberty of rolling his eyes behind the visor of his sallet.

"I wasn't knighted for being stupid," he grumbled.

The Highlander war party was spread out through the forest. They were all heavy, brutish men with long hair and wearing plaid cloaks and heavy boots, armed with an assortment of claymores, dirks, sgian-dhus and round shields. Their leader, McManus, stopped walking as he heard a strange sound from up ahead. He scanned the surrounding forest, searching for its source. There it was again, he thought, varying in volume as the wind changed velocity.

He realized instantly that it was the sound of horses, many of them. He roared at his men, telling them to prepare for an attack. Two armored men riding heavy battle horses appeared in front of them, both with their swords held over their heads, ready to strike.

Sir Derrin saw the man in front of him lunge out of the way as he came storming by, slashing his sword down. But the Highlander had moved too fast for him, and his sword sliced the air uselessly. He quickly focused his attention on another man standing a short distance away, knowing that if he stopped now, the momentum of his charge would be lost.

Around him, Sir Derrin saw their men crash into the defending forces. Instantly after their devastating charge, they dismounted from their horses, ready to fight in pitched battle. Sir Derrin jumped down from his saddle, and raised the visor of his helmet. Things were going quite well, he noticed...except for one terrible scene: Sir Jordan was on knee, blood gushing from a wound in his left leg, desperately trying to ward off the fierce blows from McManus. Somehow his shield had been torn away from him.

Sir Derrin rushed to his aid, jumping up and roaring fiercely as his sword slashed down with all his might.

Sir Derrin yelled with surprise as he felt the sword smashed out of his hand. He tried desperately to deflect the heavy, devastating blows with his shield, hearing the other man's scornful laughter ringing out through the forest. He felt the cold fingers of fear grasp his heart. But he couldn't give up now. He reached to the back of his belt, where a small dagger was sheathed. He snatched it out, and, moving his shield out of the way, hurled it at the man before him. The knife spun through the air, and bounced off McManus' heavy shield pathetically.

Sir Derrin fell to his knees, the constant battering on his shield too much for him. But as the massive sword rose for one last killing blow, a steel blad seemed to sprout from the man's chest. He gurgled, his eyes wide with shock, and slowly fell forwards.

Sir Jordan stood behind the dead man, his bloody sword at his side.

"You saved my life, " Sir Jordan said, looking down at the young man, his chest heaving.

"And you saved mine," Sir Derrin said with a smile, "Despite all your impudence."

"No," Derrin said, shaking his head, "I was scared to death."

Sir Jordan's smile widened.

"And you were right to be. Courage isn't fearlessness, Derrin. It's when you're afraid, but still do the right thing."

He held out his hand to help Derrin get up. The young man took it gratefully, and the two of them walked side by side back to their horses, amid the applause of their triumphant comrades.

Storymakers: A Creative Challenge for Young Writers, is a program inviting students in sixth, seventh, and eighth grades living in Washington State and British Columbia, Canada, to submit their own original creative writing pieces.