Man of War – Excerpt No. 122

The crowd could no longer be contained. At first there was the occasional whisper, but that grew in frequency and volume until it became a dull roar. Meanwhile, Marc bit the inside of his cheek, fighting against the urge to cut the man down. At least this one deserves it

“Guard,” Marc said to rouse the guard behind the Steward. “Escort this man off the premises.”

“You can’t do—”

“I can and it’s done.” Marc turned to face the fate guard, “That’s an order from your Comte.”

The guard’s lower lip trembled and beads of sweat formed just below his sideburns. The man clearly appeared torn as those eyes went from Marc to the Steward. He imagined the guard weighing who he had the most to fear, be it the old man that ran the household, or the one claiming to be the Comte.

A crowd of castle staff gawking and gabbing as something takes place further on. Background and clothing appropriate to 16th Century France.

Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.


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