“Raise your hands,” the man said. “C’mon now. Raise ‘em!”
Mykal didn’t want to let go of the tree. He knew if he did, his feet would wobble, and off-balance, he’d fall. “I can’t.”
“Raise ‘em!”
Mykal raised a hand. He put his palm on the top of his head.
“Both hands. I’m not askin’ again.”
It took physical strength releasing his death grip on the top of the tree. He managed. He placed the second hand on his head. His thighs kept him in place. He squeezed the trunk hard enough for sap to flow, he thought, giddy with fear.
The men that lived in these woods were runaways, military deserters. Most had been knights, and were either banished or had fled their post. Lethally trained, their deadly demeanor demanded attention, respect, and fear.
They rushed forward. He was stripped of his wea
