[ WP ] Out of desperation , the recruits keep getting younger and the training shorter . Your number comes up .

Aeron Pike had just finished plowing the lower field when he heard the scream. 
 
 His dark green eyes widened in fear as he recognized the screams of a young woman. Rushing, he slipped the leather strap off his neck as he raced towards the wooden gate that swung slowly in the wind, leaping clear over the four feet high fence. The thin boots on his feet dug shallow furrows in the dusty lane as he landed, not pausing as he sprinted past the farmhouse where he spent sixteen summers. Mid stride he snatched up the pitch fork leaning against the stonewall, hard ash wood smacking against the flesh of his palm. Legs racing, chest heaving like billows, he ran down the sunken lane towards the sound of screams and harsh laughter. 
 
 There were four of them, three men and a young woman in her late teens, her dark brown hair spilling out of the handkerchief wrapped around it. The men were in their early twenties, the last traces of youth still clinging to their forms. They were obviously well to do, their clothes fine linens and cotton to Pike's rough homespun. They had blades at their waists, broad knives a hand wide at the hilt sheathed in leather scabbards. They took turns shoving the girl between them, pausing to pull at her clothes or run their hands through her waist long hair. They laughed at their sport, the stench of whiskey on their breath. 
 
 One of them, a broad shouldered man built like an ox reached down to pull the girl closer to him, hands wandering. He kissed her, forcefully, shoving his tongue down the outraged woman's mouth. An unwise choice on his part. 
 
 The woman bite, hard. The woman shouted in pain as blood leaked out between astonished lips. His eyes turned cold, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his blade. 
 
 `` You're gon na regret'hat you Menite bitch. I guarantee it.'' 
 
 He never got to make good his promise, the staff of hard ash finding the back of his head as Pike swung as hard as he could. The man's eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he fell like so much dead weight, a poof of dust billowing out from where his lifeless body hit the dry roadway. 
 
 The two standing men snarled at the newcomer, at the sight of the brain splattered pitch fork and charged at him blades drawn. Pike spun the farming tool, the whirling staff crushing the knee of one of the drunken men who fell in a screaming curse, his hands dropping his blade to clutch at his shattered joint. The other, perhaps the least affected by drink slashed at the plough boy, who barely managed to block the rain of blows. Pike blocked each and every one, but then the tough wood of the fork splintered, the steel head and two feet of shaft pinwheeling away. His defense thus broken, he took a solid hook from the larger man. 
 
 The older man then headbutted Pike; the boy reeling backwards with his vision spinning. He barely was able to shake himself clear before his attacker was on him, dagger raise in clenched fist overhead, the sharp steel catching the light of the noon sun. 
 
 `` Any last words, boy? Before I shove this blade down your fuckin' throat?'' 
 
 Pike coughed, dust wracking his lungs before hocking a wad of gritty spit in the eyes of his foe. Thus distracted the man did not react in time as Pike stabbed his assailant in the hand with the broken pitch fork, the dung covered tines stabbing through his palm and out the back. The man screamed as tendon and flesh was torn and he dropped his knife to land into the dust. Pike rolled out and away, helping the girl up as he rose. 
 
 `` Run, Emma! Just run! I'll be behind you, I promise, just go!'' 
 
 The older girl did as she was told, hiking up her skirts to rush away down the sunken lane. True to his word, Aeron Pike followed close behind. 
 
 -- 
 
 `` Aeron Pike of Cutter's Mill, you've been found guilty of manslaughter, of battery and of disturbing the peace. One man is dead, another crippled and a third will not see the next from due to lockjaw. Do you have anything to say before your sentencing?'' 
 
 The sixteen year old nodded and stepped forward, the eyes of the court upon him. 
 
 `` I do, your honor. It is true, I killed a man, and wounded his two associates but only under the most extreme of circumstances. They drunkenly attacked and accosted an innocent girl, and were about to... If I had n't intervened, those men would be hear on trial for rape. Or would you just let them go on account of their blood?'' Pike asked icily. 
 
 The judge frowned in disgust at the lad before him. 
 
 `` The man you crippled belonged to the Harcourt family, a noble and respected lineage of knights whose' service to the crown is unquestionable.'' 
 
 `` But their conduct certainly is n't.'' Pike retorted. 
 
 `` That is enough, Mr. Pike!'' The judge snapped, his jowls wobbling. `` Anyways, I have one of two choices for you. That you are guilty of the crimes listed is undeniable, and as you've much admitted, which you have my respect for. But a crime is a crime no matter the reason, and better to charge a Menite than to be forced to let a noble slide free. Therefor in my mercy, and understanding the nature of the crimes committed, will either sentence you to six years hard labor or else a tour of service in His Majesty's Army. What will it be?'' 
 
 Pike did not even have to think. 
 
 `` I'll take the King's Coin, Your Honor. I'll be a Trencher.'' 
 

