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 workday neared its end and the day’s end meals started to be prepared, was broken by the sound of hoofbeats and a large cloud of dust coming down the single road that led into the village.

Ambleton, generally not near anything exciting, had for a long time been a quiet barony, and Quenby was a quiet village in that quiet barony, which meant that large groups of visitors were more an occurrence 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 here didn’t often worry about 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 dust plume. The riders, when they arrived, would not normally have been a cause for alarm. Bailiffs, determined by 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 rode into the center of the village, the villagers gathered around uneasily, talking to each other in hushed tones 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 of 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, but 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 no one more than the bailiff himself, who looked astonished, his 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 were shouted 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 men 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 in 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 bailiffs 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 attacker’s chest. Behind him stood the man who had been at the head of the men 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, sliding off the man’s sword. Ethan stood over the fallen man, his chest heaving as he wrestled with what had 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 that they’d stripped bare yesterday and followed them to you. We weren’t going to let them strip 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 have made up their minds that we were involved and attacked them where they fell, and they 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 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 these things, use them for your village, but don’t let any other bailiffs know about them. If they 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 watching 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 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 made a world of difference for the boys. Just knowing we have 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 oppression until we get strong enough to take the fight to the king himself. All the way to Starhaven.”

The man named Fulk’s eyes widened 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.”