A small figure, half-concealed by the forest's fringe, gazed quietly toward the east. A castle, silhouetted by the rising sun, crowned a nearby hill. The air was still highly moist, to the point of restricting visibility; this did not, however, prevent the figure from taking notice of the large group, in the distance, approaching the fortress, nor the outward signs of the preparations being made within the structure.
The figure sighed. It was a boy of a mere fourteen years, dressed in a hooded, simple garment of red cloth. He had a far-away look in his eyes, as if painful memories haunted him.
Painful memories- of-
She had not been conscious for two days. She looked so helpless.
"Hard times," said the man. "Sorry, but if you can't pay, others need it, too... and they can pay."
"I can get the money soon! I'll bring it tomorrow, but please, give me the medicine now! She needs it!"
"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. Leave."
Could I steal the medicine?
No. They would notice it missing and make me leave town... and her, too, even in her condition. That would be worse than doing nothing for her.
Then, steal money? From where?
No one in town is that rich. The only place is-
Too dangerous-
But there is no other choice.
The castle.
The rumours of the group coming to storm the castle cemented his plan. He would sneak in during the confusion, take something that looked valuable, and escape with it. He resolved to depart before daybreak.
So, here he was, shivering slightly in the cold. He shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts, then, slowly, began moving toward the castle.
The guards had begun fighting the attackers. The boy could hear the battle going on, even though it was concentrated at the opposite wall from where he stood. This wall possessed a small side-door, which, he saw as he neared it, had a laughably simple lock. Presumably, the thought was that any army that could successfully invade in single-file, as the door's width necessitated, was powerful enough to give up on defending against... or something like that. The boy had not exactly undertaken a formal study of tactics.
Once within the castle, he strode quickly, yet not completely recklessly, down the halls. He quickly glanced through any likely-looking rooms he came across, but none of them had any valuable objects: at least, none light enough for him to take. Now and then, he passed some of the defending troops, but they seemed unconcerned with him. He noted that their uniforms were of almost the same red as his own clothing, and decided it most likely that they mistook him for one of their own force in the overall confusion.
The sound of the battle continued to grow louder as he frantically continued his search. He suddenly stopped short at a door, whose ornate designs promised something important beyond them. The complexity of the lock discouraged him for a moment, but he realised it only improved the likelihood that some treasure was kept within the room.
Some of the fighting was only separated from him by a single turn of the corridor when the lock finally clicked open. He rushed into the dimly lit room, seeing only darkness for a moment.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw that his guess had been right. Although most of the room consisted of storage for suits of armour and similar items, a pair of chests rested in a corner. His heart beat rapidly as he pried the lid of one open.
Within was a beautifully crafted object, in the shape of a shield.
Two things happened in the next moment.
The boy picked up the artifact, feeling a sense of protection around him as he did so.
An almost inhuman roar issued from the doorway.
The boy spun around to see a group of people at the room's entrance. Most of them had multiple weapons, and were obviously competent in their use. A few appeared to be more magically inclined, carrying books with ancient runes scrawled across the covers, but they, too, looked like seasoned combatants.
The roar was issuing from a strange person in their midst. This one carried neither weapon nor tome, and wore exotic-looking green clothes.
An arm shot up from the flowing sleeves to point directly at the boy. The figure then bellowed, anger pulsing from every word:
"Kill him before he gets the other chest! Stupid thieves! I've already restarted this mission enough!"
Notwithstanding the sense of protection from the object, he was set upon by the entire group well before he had begun to puzzle out themeaning of this confusing declaration.
Later, the apothecary, hearing the sad tale from the townsfolk, was smitten with remorse, and resolved to provide the medicine without cost as a small penance. In a tragically humorous twist, it turned out that the ailment had just been a slight cold, and the medicine was a quack tonic anyway, so the boy's sacrifice had been for nothing in the first place. Such is life.