In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 20

Village of Quenby, Barony of Ambleton, Duchy of Kingsheart, Sidor

The late afternoon lull that had settled over the village of Quenby, as the work day neared it’s end and the end days meals had started to be prepared, was broken by the sound of hoofbeats and the large cloud of dust coming down the single road that lead to the village.

Ambleton, generally not near anything exciting, had for a long time being a quite barony, and Quenby was a quiet village in that quite barony, which meant even large groups of visitors was more an occurance of interest than one of fear. Not a particularly rich place but well patrolled by the Baron’s men, banditry was exceedingly rare, so the people hear didn’t often worry for much.

Of course, that had been changing. They’d felt the pinch of the Edicts of Travel and had heard of the unrest in other villages, so the men started to make their way in from the fields at the sight of the dusk plum. Again, the riders, when they arrived, would not, normally, have been a cause for alarm. Bailiffs, from their armor and insignia, wearing the symbol of the Baron of Ambleton, a large tree on a hill, would have been a welcome sight in other times.

Now, it put everyone on edge.

As the bailiffs road into the center of the village, the villagers gathered around uneasily, talking in hushed tones to each other as the armed men dismounted. Their leader, a grizzled man with a bushy beard, stepped forward.

“By order of Baron Falkirk, we are here to collect taxes and penalties. Bring out your grain, your livestock, and any other provisions.”

The people over the village exchanged uneasy glances. This was the third such visit this year, and it was still only summer. In previous years, the Baron’s men would only come for taxes once, and yet each visit this year, the taxes were higher than they were for the single, annual visit in previous years.

Padarn, one of the older farmers, who’d lived here the longest, stepped forward when none of his neighbors dared to, and said, “But sir, we are down to our last cow and three hogs, the rest being taken by the Baron two months ago. We’ve barely enough to feed ourselves.”

“The kingdom is at war and every citizen must do their duty. Now step aside, old man,” the bailiff said.

Padarn reluctantly moved aside, his head bowed in resignation. The other villagers followed suit, allowing the bailiffs to enter their homes and barns. They watched helplessly as the armed men took what meager provisions remained, leaving them with even less than before.

As the bailiffs loaded their ill-gotten gains onto their horses, a young man named Ethan couldn’t contain his frustration any longer.

Stepping forward, he said, “This isn’t right! We’ve given all we can, and now you’re taking what little we have left!”

“Ethan,” the young man’s mother hissed at him, pulling at his shirt sleeve.

“Watch your tongue, boy. The baron’s word is law,” the bearded man said, turning on the boy.

Ethan pulled his sleeve free from his mother, clenched his fist and yelled, “How can his law starve us to death? You’re nothing but brigands!”

The bailiff’s face twisted with rage. Reeling back, he backhanded the boy, sending him crashing to the ground.

“Another word, and taxes won’t be the only thing we take from here!”

Suddenly an arrow plunged into the man’s chest, seemingly out of nowhere, surprising everyone, but not one as much as the bailiff himself, who looked astonished, hands going up to the shaft protruding from his leather jerkin. He stumbled back a few steps, mouth working uselessly, before his knees buckled and he crashed to the ground.

For a moment, no one, not the villagers nor the other bailiffs, moved, everyone just staring at the dead man in shock. From the edges of the village, a group of men emerged, armed with an assortment of swords, axes, and bows. They wore no armor, but their weapons looked dangerous nonetheless, sharp and gleaming as they charged. Then chaos erupted. Shouts of alarm erupted from the other bailiffs as they drew their swords.

“Raiders,” the bailiffs screamed, but none of the villagers reacted the same way.

These didn’t look like raiders. In fact, they were dressed much like the people who lived there. News didn’t travel to Quenby much, but even here, many of the villagers already suspected who these were.

Not that these men responded. They simply yelled and charged in, sending the villagers scattering for hiding places, not wanting to be caught in the middle. There was a clash of steel and screams as arrows and blades found their targets.

Ethan, the young man who had been struck, scrambled to his feet. For a moment, he almost rushed off to join the others hiding, until he saw the blade dropped by the dead bailiff. Reaching down and snatching it up, he leaped into the fray, swinging the blade with more enthusiasm than skill.

The fight was brutal and quick, the rebels pressing their advantage against the surprised and outnumbered bailiffs. A burly rebel wielding a massive two-handed axe swept his weapon in a wide arc, cleaving through the shaft of a bailiff’s spear before burying the blade in the man’s shoulder. The bailiff went down with a shriek, his arm hanging useless at his side.

Ethan found himself face to face with one of the men who, seeing his fallen leader’s sword in Ethan’s hand, charged. Ethan barely managed to get his blade up in time, the shock of the impact sending numbness shooting up his arm.

The bailiff pressed his attack, raining down blows that Ethan struggled to parry, giving ground continually. Just as it seemed the bailiff would overcome him, a sword exploded from his chest. Behind him stood the man that had been at the head of the people who’d attacked the bailiffs, coming in from the woods. A tall man with wavy brown hair and what would have been a kind face if it wasn’t for the streak of blood that had spurted from the bailiff as the man impaled him.

The bailiff gurgled, his sword falling from nerveless fingers, and collapsed, falling off the man’s sword. Ethan stood over the fallen man, his chest heaving as he wrestled with what just happened. Around him, the battle was winding down as the last of the bailiffs were cut down.

None were given the chance to surrender.

“Are you alright?” the man asked.

“I … uhh … I,” Ethan stammered.

“It’s okay,” the man said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You fought well. I’m Tom.”

“Ethan,” Ethan got out after a moment.

“Thank you,” Padarn said, coming over and saving Ethan from any more embarrassment.

Fletcher smiled at Ethan before reaching out and shaking Padarn’s hand. “We’re happy to help. These men have been devastating villages like yours across half the duchy. We just came from another settlement they’d stripped bare yesterday, and followed them to you. We weren’t going to let them anyone else.”

Padarn nodded, and then looked to the bodies of the fallen bailiffs. “But what about repercussions? When the Baron finds out...”

“My men will take care of the bodies, leave them somewhere on the road and make it look as if we ambushed them before they reached your village. If anyone comes asking, just feign ignorance of what happened and say they never made it here. Make sure all of your people are on the same page, though. If they handle this like other fights, they’ll already make up their mind we were involved and hit them where they fell, and won’t ask you too many questions.”

“I will. Again, we owe you a great debt. Without your intervention, I fear we would have been left with nothing to sustain ourselves.”

“No need,” Tom said, turning to his men who were already starting to gather up weapons and valuables from the fallen bailiffs. “Give everything back to the villagers. Keep the armor and weapons, but the food, the money, everything else goes to the village.”

Padarn looked at Fletcher with shock.

“You’re going to want to hide this, use it for your village, but don’t let any other bailiffs know about it. If they do try and take taxes again, and we aren’t here, it will go a long way to buying replacement goods for the winter.”

“We will. Forgive me, I should go speak with the others,” Padarn said, seeing the growing crowd watch the rebels stripping the bailiffs’ bodies. “But truly, thank you. For everything.”

Fletcher gave the farmer a nod, watching as he walked to join the growing crowd.

“Who are you people?” Ethan asked as Padarn left.

“We’re just normal folk, like you. Farmers, craftsmen, people who are tired of seeing our livelihoods stripped away by the king’s and his nobles’ tyranny.”

“You’re the rebels? The ones the king said were killed in Lindenwood?”

“I guess you can call us rebels, although I’d prefer to think of us as people who love Sidor, and are fighting for what’s just and fair. As for Lindenwood, that was a tragedy, no doubt. But no, we weren’t all killed. Some of our friends, the best of us, sacrificed themselves to ensure our escape. That doesn’t fit well with what the King wants people to know, so he says we were all killed. We’re here to prove that wrong.”

As Ethan thought about that, a lanky man with a bow slung over his shoulder joined them. He had a weathered face that looked tanned from long hours spent outdoors.

“Good job,” Fletcher said, slapping the man on the back.

“I’m just happy we’re back to it, taking the fight to those bastards.”

“I told you we wouldn’t stand aside for long. We just had to be patient.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for doubting you. Your friend certainly came through, and not just the money. The weapons and supplies … they did the boys a world of difference. Just knowing we had support.”

“I know, Fulk. I wish it was more, but he has to be careful how much he sends, lest the king find out.”

“I still wish you’d tell us who he is. It doesn’t seem right, owing a man we’ll never know.”

“I know, and if I could tell any of you I would. It’s how it has to be. We still have a long way to go. Small victories like this are good, and help the people, but they’re not going to put an end to these insane laws and oppressions until we get strong enough to take the fight to the king himself. All the way to Starhaven.”

The man named Fulk’s eyes at the mention of the capital.

“Wait, what? I thought we were just trying to help the people here, protect them from the bailiffs and the baron’s men. You’re talking about marching on the capital?”

“That’s how it started, but … that can’t be where it ends. These small victories, they’re important. They show the people that there’s hope, that they’re not alone. But if we want to truly succeed, to bring about real change, that will never happen until we show the King and everyone else that this is serious. That they can either change the rules on the people, or the people will change who their ruler is.”

“That …”

“Rebellion,” Fletcher said. “That’s what this is, even out here, so far from the capital. We’re in rebellion. We’ve killed the king’s soldiers. Our necks are no less on the line here, or at the capital. There, at least, we can effect real change.”

“But the capital... that’s a whole different scale. The king’s army, the royal guard, they’ll outnumber us ten to one.”

“I know it seems daunting, but it’s not impossible. It’s almost winter, and with so many men in Lynese, the Barons and Dukes will have to scrape their holdings dry to get enough men to send to Shadowhold. That’ll give us a window of opportunity. In the meantime, we focus on building our strength, gathering supplies, and rallying more people to our cause.”

“I want to come with you,” Ethan blurted out, not able to control his voice any longer.”

“Do you?” Fletcher said, raising an eyebrow. “I know you’re brave, but this isn’t a decision to be made lightly. The path we’re on, it’s dangerous. There’s no guarantee of safety, or even success. You’d be standing up to the king and all his nobles.”

“I don’t care,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “I can’t just stand by while they bleed us dry. I want to fight, to make a difference, just like you.”

“Ethan, no!” a woman who was standing not far enough said, pushing past the few people between them. “You can’t go with them. It’s too dangerous.”

“Mother, I have to do this,” Ethan said, turning to face her. “You saw what happened today. If it wasn’t for these men, we’d have nothing left. I can’t just sit here and wait for the next time the bailiffs come.”

“But you could be killed,” his mother said, tears welling in her eyes.

“I could have been killed here, today, if they hadn’t come to help us. I could be killed the next time the baron’s men come to take everything for us. They don’t care about us. They think we’re dirt.”

Ethan looked to Fletcher, who held up his hands defensively. “I can’t make this decision for you, Ethan. We’ll be here for a few more hours. Take some time, talk it over with your family. If you still feel the same way when it’s time for us to leave, we’ll welcome you. But make sure it’s what you truly want.”

“I will. Thank you,” Ethan said, grabbing his mother by the arm and pulling her away.

He was going to convince her this was the right thing to do. He had to.

***

Sidorian Army Camp, South of Port Belmar, Northern Lynese

William stomped his way through camp, trying very hard not to snap at any of the soldiers that stopped to salute or speak with him on the way. He respected his men and wasn’t one to take his anger out on them unfairly.

It was a close thing, however.

Another unproductive conversation with Baron Pembroke had left him feeling drained and disheartened. They’d managed to halt the spread of the Elder Curse by large-scale quarantining of entire units, but it had ground the army to a dead halt, and the enemy had begun to build up enough men to make breaking out of this forest and into the plains of Lynese much more challenging, giving up everything they’d earned with their breakout months earlier across the Chansol River.

Pembroke continued to be furious with William, blaming him for the army stalling. Worse, William wasn’t sure he was wrong, at least about it being his fault. William was certain that he’d made the right call, since a stalled army was preferable to a dead one, which is what it would be if the curse continued to spread. But his uncle Gavric had always said that the blame for an army’s failures always stopped at its commander, and not his men. William was left in command of an army on the advance, which meant it was his fault now that it sat still.

If his Aldric was here, William would have gone to him seeking advice, but Aldric not being there was the source of the problem in the first place. The other men left for William to turn to, Pembroke and Alistair, both blamed William for their current situation, which left William only one person to turn to.

William approached Eskild’s tent, situated slightly apart from the others. The Sidorian soldiers had made it clear that they were uncomfortable sharing quarters with someone from Thay, a sentiment that William found both disappointing and short-sighted. Eskild’s loyalty and dedication to their cause should have been enough to earn him a place among them, but old prejudices died hard.

Stopping outside the sergeant’s tent, William called out, “Eskild, do you have a moment?”

“Come on,” the sergeant said from inside.

William ducked under the flap of Eskild’s tent, finding the man stretched out on his bedroll, reading a tattered little book.

“What can I do for you, my lord?”

William suppressed a smile. None of the pleasantries or formalities he would get from a Sidorian, be it someone as high as Baron Pembroke or a common soldier. It’s what he liked about Eskild. He treated everyone exactly as he found them, without accounting for their station.

“I need your advice, Eskild,” William said, settling onto a stool across from the sergeant. “It’s about Baron Pembroke. He’s furious, ever since I made the call to quarantine the units affected by the Elder Curse. I know it was the right decision, but he’s been increasingly hostile and stubborn, even though time has proven me right. I listened to him, in spite of the warning we had, and it cost us dearly. I would have thought he would have taken that failure personally, but he seems to consider it little more than an inconvenience.”

“Some men don’t like being wrong.”

“I know, and if it was just that, I could deal with it,” William said, thinking to several instances with his adoptive father, who was very much that type of man. “It isn’t, though. When we meet, he can’t help but make small comments, usually about my youth and inexperience, suggesting that I’m not being aggressive enough with the army. It’s like he thinks I should just ignore the curse and keep pushing forward, no matter the cost.”

“And what do you think you should do about that?” Eskild asked, doing the same thing his uncle did, instead of just answering his question directly.

“I don’t know. I’m at my wit’s end. Part of me just wants to send him home, get him out of my hair.”

“That would be a mistake. Baron Pembroke is like every powerful man I’ve ever met, easily offended and sure of his own infallibility. It’s a common trait among those who are used to having their way.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’m not saying that to say he is somehow a bad man or leader. He’s an excellent field commander and, at least in your uncle’s estimation, a good leader for his people. It’s just that, men like this, they take a certain finessing. I had similar issues with your uncle Aldric when I first entered his service. He was stubborn, set in his ways, and not particularly fond of an outsider questioning his decisions.”

“How did you change that?”

“Patience, mostly. That and a willingness to prove my worth through my actions rather than my words. Your uncle came to trust my judgment, but it took time.”

William sighed. “I don’t know if I have that kind of time with Pembroke.”

“Perhaps not, but sending him home would only make things worse. Pembroke’s retainers are loyal to him. If he leaves, they’ll either follow him or become disgruntled. Either way, it weakens your position and creates unnecessary tension.”

“Which we can’t afford. We’re already short on men everywhere.”

“I know. And even if you could spare them, it would only strain your future relations with the Baron. He’s a proud man, and being dismissed would be a blow to his ego that he wouldn’t soon forget.”

“So what do I do?” William asked, frustrated. “I can’t just let him undermine my authority.”

“As I said, Pembroke isn’t a bad man. He’s just used to being in charge. You need to find a way to convince him of your value, to show him that you’re not just some green boy playing at being a commander.”

“And how do I do that?” William asked, spreading his hands. “I’ve tried reasoning with him, but he dismisses my arguments out of hand.”

“You stand up to him. You show him that you’re right.”

“But I’ve tried that. It only seems to make him angrier.”

“Of course it does. Like I said, he’s not used to being challenged. They expect everyone to fall in line, to agree with their every whim. When someone stands up to them, it rattles them. It makes them uncomfortable.”

“So you’re saying I should just keep arguing with him? Even if it makes things worse?”

Eskild shook his head. “Not arguing. Asserting. There’s a difference. You’re not trying to prove him wrong, that will only make him defensive. You’ve got to simply state what is. You’re not looking for his approval or agreement. You’re telling him how it is.”

William considered this. It made sense, in a way. He’d been trying to convince Pembroke, to get him to see reason. He hadn’t considered just telling the Baron to shut up and follow orders. Mostly because it seemed insane.

“And you think that will work? That he’ll just accept it?”

Eskild chuckled. “Oh, he’ll get angry. He’ll probably throw a fit. But deep down, he’ll respect you for it. More than he would if you seemed hesitant or scared. He respects strength, even if he doesn’t like it. It’s the second part that’s more important, though. And harder.”

William thought back to his decision to hold the army back, to listen to the warning from the Disciples. Pembroke had been furious, but he hadn’t actually done anything about it. He’d grumbled and complained, but he hadn’t openly defied William’s orders.

“The second part?”

“Showing victories. Pembroke, he values people for their achievements and hates those who try to take credit for things they didn’t earn. If you want to truly win his respect, you need to show him that you can lead this army to victory.”

“Great. Now I just have to figure out how to do that.”

“Welcome to Command, Lord Whitton. Heavy is the head … and so and so on,” Eskild said with a laugh, picking up his book again.