The iron gate groaned as it swung shut behind us. It was a sound like a bone breaking. I stood in the courtyard of the High Keep, the air cold and thin. It smelled of wet stone and old blood. My hands were shaking. I could not stop them. I looked at Sir Alistair. He did not look at me. He looked at the sky. The sky was gray. It was the color of the ash we had burned in the fields last winter.

"We are alone," I said. My voice sounded small. It was a foreign sound in my own throat.

Alistair nodded. He did not speak. He had not spoken much in the last three days. We had walked for days. We had slept in ditches. We had eaten nothing but dried meat and hard bread. He had carried me when my legs failed. Now I carried him. No, I did not carry him. He carried the weight of the court. I carried the weight of the sword.

The High Keep was a place of power. It was also a place of lies. The King sat on the throne in the great hall above. He was not a king. He was a child. He was a puppet. The hands that moved him were old and fat and greedy. They wore silk. They wore gold. They did not bleed.

Alistair walked toward the steps. I followed. My boots clacked on the stone. The sound echoed. It felt like a heartbeat.

Do you remember the oak tree? I thought. It was near the river. We used to sit there. We were boys then. We were not soldiers. We were not knights. We were just two boys who liked the quiet. We promised each other things. We promised that we would never be like them. We promised that we would keep the path clear. But the path had narrowed. The trees had grown tall. We were lost in the dark.

Alistair stopped at the bottom of the steps. He turned to me. His face was pale. There was a cut above his eye. It had dried black. He looked tired. He looked older than his years.

"Go back," he said.

I shook my head. "No."

"They will kill us," he said. "The guards are waiting. I can see them. They have the crossbows ready."

"They are waiting for you," I said. "Not for me. I am no one. I am just a squire. They do not know my name."

"I know your name," he said. "I have known it for twenty years."

He reached out. He took my hand. His grip was weak. It was the grip of a man who had given away all his strength. He squeezed once. Then he let go.

"Run," he said.

I did not run. I stood still. I watched him climb the steps. One by one. His armor clanked. It was a heavy sound. It sounded like a funeral bell.

The doors of the great hall were open. Light spilled out. It was bright. It was too bright. It blinded me. I squinted. I saw the shapes inside. I saw the King. I saw the lords. I saw the guards. They stood in a line. They held their weapons. They were ready.

Alistair entered the hall. He did not look at the King. He looked at me. He was still looking at me. He wanted me to go. He wanted me to live.

I wanted to stop him. I wanted to pull him back. I wanted to tell him that I was afraid. I wanted to tell him that I loved him. But I could not speak. My throat was closed. It was tight. It was like a fist.

Alistair raised his sword. He raised it high. He did not shout. He did not curse. He was silent. He was calm. He was the calmest I had ever seen him. He was like a stone. He was like the river in winter.

Then he threw the sword.

It flew through the air. It was a straight line. It was perfect. It did not waver. It did not drop. It went through the hall. It went through the crowd. It went into the chest of the man who stood behind the throne. The man who controlled the King. The man who had ordered our arrest. The man who had called us traitors.

The man fell. He did not scream. He just fell. He hit the floor with a thud. It was a soft sound. It was the sound of a book closing.

The hall went silent. The lords looked at the body. They looked at Alistair. Alistair was standing at the top of the steps. He was empty. He had no sword. He had no shield. He had no power.

The guards moved. They came down the steps. They moved fast. They moved like water. They surrounded Alistair.

I saw their eyes. They were cold. They were hard. They were full of hate. They did not hate Alistair. They hated that he had acted. They hated that he had been brave. They hated that he had been free.

Alistair looked at me again. He smiled. It was a small smile. It was a sad smile. It was a smile that said goodbye. It was a smile that said thank you.

I ran.

I ran out of the hall. I ran out of the gate. I ran into the street. The street was empty. The people were gone. They had hidden. They were afraid. They were always afraid.

I ran until my lungs burned. I ran until my legs gave out. I fell in the mud. I lay in the mud. I looked up. The sky was still gray. The ash was still in the air.

I was alive. I was free.

But I was alone.

I stayed in the mud for a long time. I did not move. I did not breathe. I was a stone. I was part of the ground. I was part of the earth.

Then I stood up. I brushed the mud from my clothes. I looked toward the High Keep. I could see the smoke rising from the chimney. It was thin. It was white. It disappeared into the gray.

I turned away. I walked into the forest. The trees were tall. The branches were bare. The wind blew through them. It made a sound like whispering. It made a sound like crying.

I walked for days. I did not stop. I did not eat. I did not sleep. I walked until I reached the river. The river was wide. The water was dark. It moved slowly. It moved like time.

I stood on the bank. I looked at the water. I saw my reflection. It was pale. It was thin. It was tired. It looked like a ghost.

I thought of Alistair. I thought of his smile. I thought of his hand in mine. I thought of the sword in the air. I thought of the man falling.

I had been free. I had been alive. But what was the cost? What was the price of freedom? Was it worth it? Had it been worth it?

I did not know. I did not have an answer. I did not have a choice. I was just a man. I was just a soldier. I was just a squire.

I picked up a stone. I held it in my hand. It was smooth. It was cold. It was heavy. It felt like a life. It felt like a death.

I threw the stone into the river. It made a splash. It made a ripple. The ripple went out. It went far. It went until it was gone.

I sat on the bank. I waited. I did not know what I was waiting for. I did not know why I was waiting. I was just waiting.

The sun set. The sky turned red. It was a deep red. It was a bloody red. It looked like the inside of a mouth. It looked like a wound.

The stars came out. They were bright. They were cold. They were far away. They did not care. They did not see. They did not hear.

I was small. I was nothing. I was a speck in the dark.

I closed my eyes. I remembered the oak tree. I remembered the river. I remembered the promise.

We promised to keep the path clear. But the path was gone. The path was closed. The path was buried.

I opened my eyes. The night was deep. The night was still. The night was silent.

I stood up. I began to walk. I did not know where I was going. I did not know if I would live. I did not know if I would die.

I just walked.

I walked into the dark. I walked into the cold. I walked into the silence.

I was alone.

I was free.

The wind picked up. It blew harder. It tore at my clothes. It tore at my skin. It tried to push me back. It tried to pull me down.

I did not stop. I did not turn. I kept walking.

The forest was thick. The trees were dark. The ground was soft. The air was heavy.

I thought of Alistair. I thought of his courage. I thought of his sacrifice.

He had given his life for me. He had given his life for the truth. He had given his life for the free.

What had I done? What had I given?

I had given nothing. I had taken everything. I had taken his life. I had taken his hope. I had taken his future.

I was a thief. I was a coward. I was a traitor.

But I was alive.

I kept walking. The road was long. The road was endless. The road was hard.

I did not look back. I did not look up. I did not look around.

I only looked forward.

The night was deep. The night was still.

I was alone.

I was free.