Lessons In Loyalty

Chapter Two - The Pain of Tyranny

The wounded man walked towards the mounted soldiers with a slight limp. Tufts of blonde hair poked over the bandage wrapped about his head. A dark, rust colored stain ran the length of the cloth above one ear.

The woman continued to kick and fight, lashing at the men with her nails, and tried to bite once when she managed to squirm her head close enough. One of her captors clubbed her across the back of the head with a gauntleted fist. They dragged her the rest of the way as she slumped forward.

The captain looked down on them both before speaking. “You’re the last remining rebel to have attacked our supply train.” It was delivered as a statement. “Do you deny the charge?”

The man looked over the crowd, his gaze faltering as he noticed Randall lying in a pool of blood. “I’m no rebel.”

“So, you deny having attacked King’s men? Savaging them and looting from the King’s coffers and armory?”

“No.” He lifted his head and looked the soldier in the eye. “I lead the group that struck at your wagons. I killed your men and horses, set fire to your wagons, and stole your swords. I deny being a rebel.”

The soldier snorted. “Sounds treasonous to me. Sounds like the work of a rebel.”

“Rebels fight against unjust rulers within their country. I don’t recognize your king or your country in Koffland. You’re invaders, threats to my countries way of life. I’m no rebel. I’m a patriot, repelling a foreign enemy.”

“Yes, well, you may as well believe pigs fly and s**t doesn’t stink for all I care. Etrana conquered these lands, and whether you like it or not, it means you’re a part of our kingdom. Which makes you a rebel.”

The sergeant returned with two lengths of rope draped over his horse’s saddle. A quick noose had been woven into the ends of each piece.

“And as a rebel, now admitted to treason, death is the penalty.” He indicated to the men holding the prisoner to bring him to a towering oak rising from the far end of the village common.

The crowd shuffled out of the soldier’s way as they lead the bandaged man towards the tree. He walked freely, without resistance, his head still held high. Gerralt hung his head, making sure Anyon’s eyes were covered. He admired the man’s courage, and his words had stirred the millwright’s blood, but he knew what was coming.

The noose was tossed over a low hanging branch. It swayed back and forth, a pendulum ticking away the accused’s last moments on earth. His captors fit the noose over his head and stood beside him should he suddenly show a change of heart and make a run for it. The other end of the rope was tied to a solid iron loop fastened to the sergeant’s saddle.

The captain dismounted and walked over to stand in front of the condemned man. He ran one hand over the two days’ worth of stubble that had accumulated on his chin, the other stroked the hilt of a dagger belted around his waist.

“Denounce yourself as a traitor, a rebel, and your death will be quick.” He dropped the hand from his chin and slid a finger along his throat. “Or you can continue to spout your foolish rhetoric and face a traitor’s death.”

Anyon pried away his father’s hand and craned his small neck to see the rebel.

He stared back at his captor with hard eyes and smiled. Anyon's heart soared at the man's bravery. He didn't want him to die.

"From the moment I picked up my sword I pledged I'd rid my land from your tyranny. You ask me to deny my very existence, my reason for living, to make my death easier." The man's smile vanished, and he hawked a glob of spit at the captain. The greenish phlegm struck the man's jupon and stuck there. "I'm ready to die for my country." He gazed at the crowd, his eyes passing over Anyon before coming back to settle on the terrified youth. “So, kill me. For every one of us who dies this way you give birth to dozens more.”

The captain pulled his dagger and scraped the glob of spit off his body and flicked it away. He smiled at his prisoner and lashed out with his mailed fist, smashing it into the man’s face. Blood spurted as his nose broke. Stepping back, he sheathed the dagger and raised his other hand, signaling the sergeant.

The officer clicked to his horse and started it forward at a slow walk. The rope went taut, drawing the noose tight around the prisoner’s neck. With agonizing slowness his feet were pulled from the earth. He reached over his head and grabbed at the rope, pulling on it with his hands, taking the strain off his bulging and tense neck muscles. The captain thudded a fist into the rebel’s stomach, driving the air from his lungs. The dying man let go of the rope, his legs kicking in the empty air causing him to start to sway from side to side.

Anyon’s eyes bulged as he watched the man fight to cling to life. His hands groped at the rope around his neck, seeking some sort of grip to pull the braided hemp from his pinched airway. He twisted and kicked, but ever so slowly the movements lost their vigor. They weakened and became more sporadic. Finally, the hands dropped, and the man’s head lolled to one side. A swollen tongue hung from his mouth, bloody from where he’d bitten it in his struggle.

A pair of soldiers untied the rope from the sergeant’s horse and retied it to a stake in the ground. Satisfied, the captain turned to the woman his soldiers had been holding. She knelt in the soft grass, tears streaming along her cheeks.

“What is your part in all of this?” He loomed over the woman staring down at her.

She didn’t answer, her eyes fixed on the corpse dangling from the branch.

“I asked you a question.” The captain grabbed her by the chin, wrenching her head towards him. “You were aiding this rebel?” He pointed to the dead man. “Healing him so he could kill again?”

“Please mi’lord, the girl didn’t know he was a rebel. None of us did. We believed they were king’s men, attacked and needing help.” An older man carrying a thick, black beard spotted with white streaks went to one knee in front of the captain.

“And who in God’s name are you?”

“Mervyn, mi’lord. Mayor of Oakreach.”

The captain moved away from the woman and walked over to where the mayor knelt. “You truly believed these men to be king’s men seeking aid?” He pulled the mayor to his feet.

“Yes, lord. We’re a peaceful folk and the battles are far from here. We wish no part of them.”

“I see.” The captain looked over the hushed crowd. “So, you accepted a story from a group of wounded men, running through the woods, bearing no mark as having belonged to the King’s army. You sent them on their way, rather than provide shelter, all except the one who was too wounded to continue. The one who just admitted to treason.”

Mervyn licked his lips and began dry washing his hands. “Yes, mi’lord. We had good intentions but were obviously lied to and mislead-”

The dagger bit deep as the captain shoved it into the mayor’s stomach. Mervyn grunted and doubled over, clutching his midsection. Angry gasps and a few shouts erupted from the crowd. The woman sobbed louder and hung her head. Turning to the soldiers holding her, the captain nodded.

They slipped the second noose over her head before she realized what was happening. As the rope settled around her neck she began screaming and lashing out again with a renewed ferocity. The sergeant clicked his horse again and as the beast stepped forward she was yanked from the ground. The tightening rope cut off her screams. Bloody gouges appeared on her checks and lower neck as she clawed at the rope while she spun and swayed. The rest of the soldiers pulled their swords free and turned to face the crowd who were murmuring curses at the mounted party.

Gerralt pulled on Rhiannon and Anyon, drawing them to the back of the crowd. He’d seen enough. If the rest of the villagers rioted and rushed the soldiers he wanted his family nowhere near the front of the line.

The captain reached down and twisted the hilt of the dagger, pulling a scream from the doomed mayor. He kicked the man to one side and yanked the bloody blade free. Mervyn moaned and twisted on the grasses, blood streaming through the clenched fingers clasped over his wound. Wiping the blade clean on the pants of the dead rebel, the leader of the Etranian patrol mounted his horse.

“You may be far from the Etranian border, but let this be a lesson to you. The hand of the king’s justice has no boundary. It will find you, even out here.” He nodded to the sergeant who cut the rope holding the now still woman as she continued to twirl and sway. Her body thudded to the ground. Two soldiers rushed to pull her back into the air and tie the rope to a second stake driven into the ground.

“It seems as though you’ll be needing a new mayor. I recommend you choose a man who has the king’s priorities first among his ideas. You’ll all be held accountable the next time.” With a savage yank on his reins he pulled his horse around and lead the patrol away from the village.

*    *    *    *    *

Gerralt pressed down, compressing the plain brown tunic deeper into his bulging satchel. He wouldn’t need many changes of clothes for a couple of months at least, when the weather began to turn towards winter, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be around to get what he needed later.

“I don’t understand what you’re hoping to accomplish by doing this.” Rhiannon stood behind him, tears streaming along her high cheeks as she glared at his broad back. “Do you think you’re going to change the world? Single handedly overthrow Etrana and free Koffland?”

“I won’t be alone. Several of us are going. We’ve let others do the heavy sawing long enough.”

“And what of us? What of me? How are we supposed to have a living with you gone?”

“I’ve made arrangements. Awstin will give you a job as a tavern maid. It’ll be up to you if you want to serve tables or work in the kitchens. It’ll be an easier life than hauling board. Barri will make sure there is enough wood and splits for the winter if I’m not back in time.”

“I’m to be a charity case then. Beholden to others for us to live.”

He stood and turned. Her face was creased with worry, delicate lines branched away from the corners of her eyes. Her cheeks glistened in the candle light above the firm line of her mouth.

Why can’t she see this is no way to live? For a Kofflandian, life under the yoke of Etrana was no life at all. This afternoons events proved that safety was a thin illusion at best. Any of them could become the victim of a pompous patrol captain at any time. His people...his family, deserved better.

“Not a charity case my love, no. This is how Oakreach can support the army. By supporting the families of the men who will fight on its behalf.”

“What of the children. How do I explain to Gwithlyn that her papa is gone? To Anyon? He’ll be crushed Gerralt. He worships you.”

The big millwright stared at his feet, afraid to meet his wife’s stare.

“What is it? What else is there?” She stepped closer, forcing him to look at her.

“The boy is coming with me.”

The slap caught him hard across the jaw. A fiery sting bloomed across his cheek, but it paled in comparison to the fire in his wife’s eyes.

“He is not. I forbid it. I may not have enough hold over you to make you see sense; but you are not dragging my son into this war.”

“He wants to go.”

“He wants to go? He’s eight summers old Gerralt. Eight! He wants to fly some days too, are you going to carry to him to a mountain and toss him off?” She raised her fist to hit him again, but instead collapsed against his muscled chest, sobbing as she clutched him. “My heart is breaking to lose you. I’m afraid for what’s next. If you take Anyon too...”

Gerralt stroked her hair as he held her close. The truth was, he was scared too. Not of leaving. Not of taking the boy into the countryside into only God knew what. But of staying. Of himself or one of his family being singled out by an Etranian soldier and standing helplessly by while they were r***d or killed for some bullshit indiscretion. Inaction was what scared him. And he was done living scared.

“Derec said there is no standing army. They disband over the winter except for a few who raid and harass. We’ll be back with the snow.”

“Derec is swinging from a tree branch at the end of the village common. Why? Why must you go? Why take Anyon?”

“Three people of our village died today. Three. For no reason Rhiannon, none. They leant a miniscule amount of help to those rebels, and were murdered for it. Gwenzel nursed Derec back from the brink of death for what? To hang from a rope next to him. If that patrol had decided we were all traitors, we’d all have been killed, our homes burned. It must stop. Anyon needs to know that this is not the way of the world. He needs to learn that Kofflandian men are not only willing to die for their homes and freedoms, but they’re willing to fight for them too.”

“He’s only eight summers, Gerralt.” She laid her head against his shoulder, the firmness of his argument and the emotional letdown of the day breaking her resolve. “He’s only eight.”

“The world we live in doesn’t care. Neither do the Etranian. Not only have they stolen our lands, but they’ve robbed our innocence too.” He held her close, savoring the way her warm body pressed against his, drawing comfort from the familiarity.

“You’ll be home with the snows?”

“Aye, I promise. We both will.”