Son suddenly noticed that his leg was throbbing with pain, and he tried to keep his weight off of it. Bolstering his confidence, he replied, “You won’t be getting away with anything, stinkmonger! Maren and I are leaving here and there’s nothing you can do about it!”
“What?” the slaver croaked. “Did you just call me a stinkmonger?”
“Of course I did,” the boy continued, hoping that his aggression would overtake the pain in his leg. “You smell like a vomiting armpit!”
Micah glared at Son, then turned his gaze to his father. “Are you going to let him speak to you like that?” he asked.
“Quiet!” Sevuss snapped, clearly riled by Son’s insults. “I’ll tell you what, ragamuffin; if Maren wants to fight my son for her freedom, I will give it to her.”
Son was taken aback by the man’s offer. He was certain that, no matter what happened, the slaver would not be agreeing to let Maren go today. Hoping that Dulnear would be along to assist them soon, he agreed. “Okay, but you have to promise not to cry when your little lad is beaten by an even littler girl.”
Sevuss snarled behind tobacco-stained teeth, then looked at his son. Handing his knife to him, he instructed, “Don’t end it too quickly. I want to enjoy the show.”
Micah confidently held the blade out in front of him and made a slicing motion through the air. “As you wish,” he hissed.
“I don’t agree to that,” Son protested.
Maren stepped forward with her sword firmly in hand. “It’s okay,” she said. She glanced briefly back at Son, who also had a solid grip on the hilt of his weapon. “Part of a bigger story,” she whispered to herself.
As Son watched, every muscle in his body tensed and he thought about every action he could possibly take if he felt the fight was going unfavorably. He wanted desperately to just stop it now and take his chances with fleeing on a wounded leg.
The two children stood face-to-face. The young boy looked down on Maren, murmuring insults with a stony expression. As he raised the knife over his head to strike, there was a high-pitched whoosh, and his left ear fell to the ground.
“Ear!” the girl yelled, pulling her sword back to the ready position.
The boy looked down to see his bloody ear laying in the grass and stumbled backward with disbelief. “You…you cut off my—”
“Ear!” Maren yelled again, this time catching only the lobe of the right ear.
“Micah!” Sevuss called out as he ran to the boy, catching him in his arms. Wiping the blood from his son’s face, the slave master growled at the girl, “You cut up my beautiful boy!”
“Now I can go free,” Maren reminded the man sternly.
Sevuss gently laid his son down in the grass, then stood to face the girl. “I’ll set you free, Maren. Free to feel pain, free to bleed, and free to die!” He then took the knife from Micah’s hand and began to charge her.
Before he could reach the girl, Son stepped in and swept his sword low, hacking the man’s shin and causing him to tumble to the ground. “Leave her be!” he yelled. “Or I’ll take your ears too!”
Sevuss grabbed his leg and groaned in pain. “I’ll kill you, boy!” he proclaimed. He then hoisted himself to his feet and ran at Son as he released a slew of curses.
Son tried to step out of the man’s way, but his own wounded leg held him back. Sevuss tackled him, kneeled on his arms, and raised his knife to plunge it into the boy’s neck. “No!” the boy yelled, and he pulled his left arm loose just in time to hold the blade back. As he did, he could see Maren come up behind the slaver and pound him repeatedly with the pommel of her sword.
The man howled like an alarmed fox and swiped backward with his knife.
Seizing the distraction, Son wrenched his right arm free. They were too close for him to use his sword, so he made a stone-like fist and punched the man in the mouth, sending a brown tooth sailing through the air.
Sevuss coughed, then wiped his mouth. Without saying a word, he raised his knife once more. Suddenly, he dropped it and the ends of two of his fingers fell to the ground.
“Fingers!” Maren yelled as she stood over the man.
Like an animal, the slaver roared, spun around, and sprang at Maren. But before he could fully get to his feet, Son was on his shoulders, pounding furiously on his already wounded head.
Ignoring the pain and bleeding from his leg, the boy continued to punch and thrash, and would not relent. Finally, the man fell face-first to the ground, letting out a warbled groan of agony as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Maren stood over Sevuss with weapon in hand and arms shaking. Everything in her wanted to plunge her sword into the man’s body, but she knew that it was not right to kill for spite. Turning around, she saw Micah, now sitting up, holding his ear in his hand. There were tears of hatred in his eyes as he glared at her.
Maren walked over to the boy. “I thought you were my friend,” she said with eyebrows pressed low.
“I was never your friend,” the boy answered. “My father said you were a mark, so I did what he said.” He then added, “Besides, who would ever want to be friends with a graymind imbecile like you?”
The words cut deep into Maren’s heart, though she did not show it. She had yearned for friendship her whole life but found it in very short supply. The disappointment she felt by Micah’s betrayal was like an anchor around her neck. She searched her mind for the words to say, and finally replied, “I am not less.”
“What?! What’s that supposed to mean?” the boy snipped. “It’s like you’re not all there!”
Maren looked down at the boy’s ear, then back up
