Rovie felt a cold sweat on his back as he looked up at the castle. It was built on top of a steep hill and was surrounded by stone walls that were at least twenty feet high. An intimidating keep rose up from within. The hill overlooked the Dalesite River, and the stone arch bridge that spanned its wide, meandering waters.

“That’s a far cry from our Sir Fettis’ manor, eh?” Gavik remarked. He punctuated his sentence with a boisterous laugh as he pushed the wide-brimmed hat back on his head to get a better look.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Loric muttered.

It had been three weeks since they had cast Sir Fettis out of their village. Three other villages had driven their lords out since, with the help of Gavik and the people of Gofeldin. Once the dust settled, Gavik had been invited to the nearby town of Loverto by an old friend to see if he could help them with their lord. Rovie and Loric had begged their fathers for permission to come along, which had been granted grudgingly.

“What do you think?” a short man with large buck teeth and a curled upper lip asked. He rubbed his hands together nervously and very much reminded Rovie of a mouse with a perpetual sneer.

“I think we’d better start moving before we arouse suspicion, Daglin,” Gavik remarked as he glanced at a pair of nervous looking men. They wore the white cowls of the local reeve’s men, and each was armed with a sword and a pistol. Their eyes studied the peasants going about their business on the road that ran along the foot of the hill diligently.

“Lord Coriso’s locked his castle up tight and not left since what happened at your place,” Daglin whispered as they set off back towards the town, “properly scuppered our plan to storm his castle while his guard was down.”

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, corporal,” Gavik grinned toothily.

“Don’t call me that,” Daglin snapped, “I left the service years ago.”

“I thought you were let go,” Gavik pointed out with no little amusement.

“I suppose it’s more profitable for him to tax us more and use the difference to hire Landteers,” Daglin fumed, “most lords did after the Gorlin Glades uprising.”

That uprising had happened ten years ago and had been swiftly put down by the lords. They managed to get their hands on muskets, but the uprising was isolated, and the local lords had been able to band together to crush them swiftly. The village of Gorlin Glades had been razed to the ground, and the local lord quickly became destitute after losing his only source of income “Landteer prices have gone up at least four-fold,” Gavik mused, “that is if you can find any looking for work. I think most of them are off fighting the Renfians.”

“Serves him right,” Daglin spat, “now he’s feeling vulnerable because he has so few men left to defend him. Only around fifty that he trusts with arms including thirty or so cavalry.”

Rovie listened to their conversation with one ear while gawking at the sheer number of people on the road. He had never been beyond the borders of their own little village, and it staggered him that there could be so many people going out about their business a mere half a day’s walk away. At Gavik’s indication, he and Loric spread out ahead and created distance between the two men, using their bodies to give them some space to talk privately on the busy road.

“How many did you say you have?” Gavik asked, turning serious.

“Round about three hundred willing to rise up, and around thirty of them are former soldiers, infantry like me,” Daglin replied, “we also managed to get our hands on eight muskets.”

Gavik raised an eyebrow, “do you have a plan of action?”

Daglin nodded. “A barrel of gunpowder on the weekly supply wagon. Blow it up under the gatehouse and storm the keep.”

“That will garner a lot of attention,” Gavik remarked, the disapproval was clear in his voice, “what do you need me for?”

Gavik followed Daglin’s gaze as he looked up the hill. “They have ten cannons.”

Gavik let off a low whistle. “An entire battery? How heavy?”

Daglin shrugged. “You were the gunner, not me. But I do know he has at least a hundred muskets and plenty of powder and shot for everything.”

Gavik’s face changed. It reminded Rovie of the conflicted look on Gavik’s face when they had broken open Sir Fettis’ armoury. Inside, were twenty muskets and two cannons, that gleamed on their well-oiled carriages. Gavik said most of their taxes must have been spent on the cannon, for it was unusual for such a minor lord to have any at all. This Lord Coriso must be an important man indeed to have ten.

“That will force the League to take us seriously,” Gavik remarked. His voice was low and touched with concern.

“Yes, it will,” Daglin said with equal gravity, “for better and for worse.”

Gavik looked at the people around them and said, “mostly for the worse, the uprisings aren’t widespread enough to survive serious attention from the League.”

“Lucky for us, they’re being forced to focus on the Renfians, eh?” Daglin remarked, “word is General Penolith got soundly beaten and had to withdraw across the Sinlet.”

“Makes you glad we aren’t still in, doesn’t it?” Gavik smiled, patting Daglin on the back. They had served and fought together for years up until Gavik retired, and each man knew the measure of the other.

“We’ll still catch the brunt of it, us common people,” Daglin spat, “new taxes to pay for new armies.”

Gavik nodded thoughtfully before repeating his question, “so, what do you need me for?”

Daglin waved a hand at the hill, “once we blow the gate, our men will need to charge up the hill.”

Gavik winced. “Even hundreds may not be enough if they have guns and cannons manning those walls.”

“They’ve dismissed most of the servants, so I doubt whoever’s left in there will be able to mount the cannons on the wall,” Daglin remarked, “we need your cannons to help keep their heads down.”

Gavik nodded thoughtfully. That made sense, then something occurred to him, “how do you know we have cannons?”

A sly smile spread across Daglin’s face, “who do you think Sir Fettis bought his cannons from?”

“Coriso,” Gavik breathed, “I was hoping to keep it secret. No good can come of the other nobles knowing we have cannons, and Fettis wasn’t about to spread the word that he had allowed us filthy commoners to get their hands on some, was he?”

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag,” Daglin pointed out, “so it’s in your interest to help us. Taking Loverto secures the only crossing over the Dalesite for twenty miles.”

“Ten cannons on those walls would make the crossing very costly for any enemy indeed,” Gavik agreed, “why aren’t they on the walls, anyway?”

“Coriso was supposed to send forces to Renfy, but richer lords than he hired all the Landteers from here to Markvist before he could,” Daglin replied, “so what few men he has are all sitting on their hands up in that castle.”

Gavik stroked his beard thoughtfully as he weighed his options. “Do you remember the battle at Militet, when we took it from the Renfians?”

Daglin broke into a broad smile, “under General Penolith, wasn’t it?”

Gavik nodded. “I think we should try that here.”

“But that leaves the issue of the gate,” Daglin pointed out.

“You have a point there,” Gavik allowed, “I think the plan needs some fine-tuning, but if nothing else it will deal with the bulk of the lord’s men.”

“I suppose,” Daglin allowed.

“I’ll have to discuss things with my people,” he said at length, “but first, I’d like to meet yours.”

Daglin nodded in agreement, “I was of the same mind. I’ve arranged for the boys to meet with you at once.”

Gavik raised an eyebrow.

“The League’s armies have withdrawn, and the war with Renfy is over,” Daglin continued, “soon, the Landteers will be free to find new work, and the nearby lords will be more willing to lend a hand. The time to strike is now. What happened at your village proves that the lords are frozen into inaction… for now.”

Soon, they approached the outskirts of town. Rovie couldn’t help but stare at a windmill as its sails turned lazily on a nearby hill. They had nothing of the sort back in Gofeldin and had to use horses to turn the mill.

“Then let us get this done quickly,” Gavik said.

“I’m glad we agree,” Daglin smiled grimly.

They stopped when they realized they had left Rovie behind. They turned to find him standing in the middle of the road, still transfixed by the windmill. “Oi, Rovie, if you’re quite done standing there looking gormless,” Loric called out.

Rovie blinked and turned red. “Sorry,” he said, as he hurried to catch up.

“Why don’t you two boys go check out the town?” Gavik suggested.

Rovie couldn’t help but break into a broad smile. “Can we?”

“You’re such a bumpkin, Rovie,” Loric snorted.

“You say that, but you’ve only left our village once, yourself,” Rovie retorted.

“I’ll meet up with you boys in front of the church in an hour,” Gavik grinned.

“Are you sure?” Loric asked.

Gavik nodded. “I’m going to a boring meeting with old men. You boys would be bored out of your minds.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I think I’ll explore the town with Rovie,” Loric replied, happy to be convinced, “someone needs to keep this yokel out of trouble.”

Rovie punched Loric in the shoulder as Gavik walked off with Daglin. Once they were alone, Rovie glared at Loric. “I don’t see why you have to use me as an excuse to not attend the meeting.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Loric replied, smiling innocently. Before Rovie could retort, the larger boy pointed at the crowd gathered in front of a traveller’s tavern up ahead, “hey, what do you suppose is going on over there?”

“Oi, don’t change the subject,” Rovie protested, but Loric gave no indication of hearing him as he pushed through the throng of people.

“The Lord of Loverto takes nine parts out of every ten for himself, leaving us with next to nothing!” a woman’s voice cried over the din of the crowd, “and for what, to protect us? He can’t even protect himself from us! What use have we for him?”

“None!” the crowd shouted back.

“Hey, she’s cute,” Loric remarked. Rovie tried standing on tiptoes but could not see over the people in front of him.

“Coriso has grown fat off the fruits of our labour,” the voice continued, “no more! No longer shall we pay usurious taxes to bloodsucking parasites who hide behind their stone walls at the first sign of trouble!”

“Hear hear!” someone shouted.

“Those are some dangerous words you’re spouting there, little lady,” came a nasal voice from inside the tavern. A hush fell over the crowd, and bodies began bumping up against Rovie as the people in front tried to step back.

“What’s going on?” Rovie gasped as he became sandwiched between two people larger than himself.

“Some armed men have turned up,” Loric replied as he used his bulk to create some space for his friend, “they have a real mean look about them.”

“I can’t see,” Rovie groused, wishing he was taller, “are they Coriso’s men?”

“Yes, some might say treasonous words,” another voice called out, agreeing with the first.

“These words are so dangerous that even listening to them might get you the chop,” the nasal voice warned.

As the crowd began to disperse, Rovie saw a girl around their age standing on an empty crate. She was covered in soot and wore a white long-sleeved shirt over thick overalls. Rovie found her garb strange given that it was the height of summer. Her long dark hair was tied into a neat braid, and she was surrounded by nine men. They each wore steel breastplates and were well armed. Some with great swords, others with spears. Half of them wore a pistol in their belt while the rest carried a musket slung across their back.

“I’ve only been speaking the truth,” the girl replied defiantly. Rovie could see no fear in her eyes, “who are you? You don’t look like Coriso’s dogs.”

“Let’s get going,” Rovie urged, “this doesn’t concern us.”

“What, and leave that poor flower to those thugs?” Loric replied, arching an eyebrow.

“How are you going to defend her… or yourself for that matter?” Rovie hissed, “we didn’t bring any weapons.”

One of the men who wore a plumed hat noticed the boys, and grinned broadly, revealing a mouth full of strong, white teeth. He was armed with a great sword and a pistol, and Rovie marked him as their leader.

“Are you gents thinking of playing the hero to rescue this poor damsel?” he asked with his nasal voice.

The other men sneered as they noticed the two boys. “They look like a pair of country bumpkins the both of them. They probably don’t even know what’s going on.”

“You’d better get going, or your mothers will be most cross with you,” another man laughed, “perhaps send you to bed without supper.”

“Sure, but I’m taking my sister with me,” Loric said confidently as he stepped forward.

“Are you looking for a fight, boy?” the leader said with an amused smirk. He tilted his head back as he spoke so he could look down his nose at Loric, who was half a head taller than he.

“Quite the opposite,” Loric replied, as he attempted to take the girl by the arm, “I’m trying to keep my sister out of trouble.”

“Who’s your sister?” the girl demanded, pulling herself away, “I’ve never seen you before in my life, and I certainly don’t remember asking you for help.”

The nasal man broke into a broad smile. “See? She doesn’t need your help. Be a good boy and run along now.”

His eyes narrowed as he saw Loric back down briefly and turned his full attention back to the girl. “Now then, young lady…”

He was cut short as Loric lunged for him. The nasal man sidestepped the muscular boy’s first lunge and stuck a foot out which caused him to stumble. In the same fluid motion, he launched a fist into Loric’s midsection. The force of the blow was amplified by Loric’s loss of balance and caused him to double over.

The girl looked at Loric and rolled her eyes before turning to Rovie. “Well, are you going to do anything, or just tremble there like a lost lamb?”

Rovie racked his brain as the nasally voiced man in the plumed hat turned his attention to him. He then became aware that the noises of the town had stopped and looked around. A large crowd of people had gathered and were watching the men in silence with malevolent looks in their eyes. Most carried weapons and Rovie recognized some of the people from the girl’s audience later. It seemed they had slipped away to arm themselves against these newcomers.

“What’s this, then?” the plumed man asked loudly as he and his men slowly gathered closer together, “are you planning to take arms up against us?”

His men eyed the crowd warily, though none of them reached for a weapon yet.

“We’re killers, you know,” the man warned when he received no reply, “if we fight, people are going to die.”

Daglin’s words echoed in Rovie’s mind, and he put two and two together. “You’re deserters,” Rovie stammered with a small voice.

The plumed man half-turned to Rovie so he could see him out of the corner of his eye. “What was that?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

“You are obviously mercenaries, and all the bands in this region were hired to fight the Renfians,” Rovie said, knowing his guess had hit the mark, “I hear it’s not going so well there, which is why you deserted and now find yourselves here.”

The man’s eyes ground into Rovie’s but undeterred, the boy continued, “we must be hundreds of miles from the Renfian border. You must have run for your lives. And why come so far? Because it would be easier to hide if there is unrest?”

“You have a smart mouth on you, boy,” the plumed man said, stepping forward threateningly, “let’s see if it’s so smart once I slit your throat.”

“That’s enough out of you,” came a voice from behind Rovie, and his knees went weak with relief, “you and your men should leave at once.”

“Are you going to make us?” the man demanded, giving all his attention to the newcomer.

By now, Loric had recovered sufficiently to slink his way over to Rovie which made him feel much better. Together, they watched as a group of twenty or so townspeople stared down the mercenaries. The townspeople were unarmed, but their numbers were growing with each passing moment.

“If it comes to that,” the man replied, “a few of us might die, but so will you and your men. I think it’s in everyone’s best interests for you to leave, and never show your faces here again.”

Rovie could see the gears turn in the man’s head as he thought over his options. At length, he broke into a broad smile and raised his arms theatrically in mock surrender. “You heard them, boys, it seems we’re not welcome here.”

The men grudgingly fell in step behind their leader. One of them bumped into Rovie intentionally as they walked past, and he would have fallen if Loric hadn’t been standing behind him.

“Watch it,” Loric snapped.

“Don’t press your luck, boy,” the man said, before spitting deftly. His spittle landed just to the side of Loric’s foot.

“Wait,” Rovie called out, “go the other way.”

Their leader came to a halt and whirled on his heel. “I don’t know who you think you are…”

Rovie cut the man off, feeling emboldened by the crowd, “you’re on your way to offer your services to Lord Coriso, aren’t you?”

“What possible business is that of yours?” the man demanded. He looked back up the road they were going to take and saw that a few of the townspeople had begun to block their path.

“Fine,” he spat, “I’ll remember your faces, all three of you, and pray for the day that we meet again.”

He and his men turned around and slunk away in the opposite direction.

“See to it they take the east road out of town,” the girl ordered imperiously. A few of the townspeople grudgingly began following the mercenaries.

“Your father will be most upset when he hears about this, Grestel,” one of the remaining townspeople remarked.

“I’m just doing my part,” Grestel replied defiantly as she hopped down from the crate. She walked over to Rovie and smiled impishly.

“Well done,” she beamed.

“It was nothing,” Rovie replied, not noticing the condescension in her voice.

“You made it through the entire encounter without wetting yourself,” Grestel continued in the same breath, “most commendable.”

She then looked both boys up and down. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Around them, the townspeople began to disperse and continue about their day. Loric and Rovie exchanged sheepish looks before Loric replied, “no, we’re from Gofeldin.”

“Never heard of it,” Grestel replied breezily. She paused and her eyes widened, “wait, isn’t that the village that ran their lord out?”

“The same,” Loric replied, puffing his chest out.

Grestel stepped closer, filling Rovie’s nostrils with the scent of apples and lavender. “Are you here to spread the rebellion?” she asked, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

Loric and Rovie exchanged looks again. They had been told to keep it a secret.

“Yes,” Loric said, completely misunderstanding Rovie’s expression.

Grestel’s eyes lit up. “Hopefully you are what we need to inspire these obstinate people into action.”

She locked her arms with each boy and led them into a nearby alley. “Come with me,” she said, “we should discuss this somewhere private.”

“Wait,” Rovie protested, but Loric overrode him.

“Lead on,” the larger boy said and winked at Rovie.

Grestel was an inch shorter than Rovie and a full head shorter than Loric but took the lead easily as they walked through the narrow alleys.

“The buildings are all so close together,” Rovie breathed, “how many people live in this town?”

“Loverto’s not a particularly big town,” Grestel replied, “just under a thousand people live here according to the last census. We’re taking the backroads because it’s a market day.”

“Of course,” Loric said brightly.

Soon, they emerged onto a quiet street across from a tall stone building. Smoke poured from a chimney, and two burly men worked a pair of huge bellows outside.

“Good morning young lady,” one of the men said without stopping his work as they walked past, “your father was just wondering what sort of trouble you were getting yourself into.”

“Just bringing about a brighter future for everyone,” she called back. She turned to the boys and said, “we just need to say hello to my old man, then we can find somewhere private to talk.”

Before either boy could reply, Grestel walked through the open door. The boys followed her in and were greeted by a blast of hot air. The air was heavy and oppressively hot and Rovie found himself wanting to leave at once. The large room was dominated by a furnace that stood at least twenty feet tall. A sweat-drenched man was peering into the hearth beneath the furnace. He was a thin man with leathery skin and his face was blackened by soot. Satisfied, he closed the grated door to the hearth and gave the thumbs up to a man standing on scaffolding above. The man hefted a sack and emptied it into the top of the furnace. Rovie stared curiously at sacks lining one of the walls and a system of pulleys that could be used to lift the sacks to the top of the furnace.

“More air lads, put your backs into it!” the muscular man shouted to the men outside.

The hearth grew brighter from behind the grated door and the temperature in the room rose perceptibly.

“Hello father, I’m back!” Grestel said, embracing the man from the back.

“And you’ve brought some friends,” her father observed sourly, giving each boy a baleful look in turn.

“They’re from Gofeldin,” Grestel said brightly, “here to spread the rebellion.”

The man arched an eyebrow. “I’d like a word with you. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

As Rovie elbowed Loric in the ribs, Grestel turned around and beamed. “This is Nemil, my father. Don’t worry, despite how he looks, he’s just a giant teddy bear.”

“Only to you, young lady,” sang the man standing at the top of the furnace.

After a few minutes, Nemil pulled on a thick glove and used it to turn an iron tap at the base of the furnace. Red hot molten metal oozed from the tap and flowed into channels that had been cut out of the beaten earth floor. Once all the metal had been extracted, he closed the tap.

“We’re taking a break, lads,” he called out.

One of the men outside poked his head through the door. “Did I hear that right, boss? We’ve only just started.”

“You heard me,” Nemil said as he took the glove off and hung it on its hook, “we have important guests.”

The man shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

After a quick check and satisfied that everything was in order, Nemil approached the boys and placed his hands on his hips as he appraised them with a critical eye. The blacksmith was much smaller than Loric, but they knew he was not one to be trifled with.

“I heard that the others were meeting with your leader,” he said at length.

“You should be at that meeting, father,” Grestel said as she stood next to the boys and opposite her father.

Nemil snorted. “Why should I? Those arrogant sods think they know everything just because they’re former soldiers and haven’t listened to a single thing I’ve said. Their plan is bound to fail.”

Rovie felt almost faint from the heat, but Nemil’s words caught his attention. “Why is that?” he blurted.

“Let’s go talk somewhere quiet,” Nemil said, glancing at the man standing on top of the furnace who was listening intently while trying his best not to appear to, “these are good lads but will spill their deepest darkest secrets after a drink or two.”

Nemil led them through a door that led to a small kitchen. There was a small table with seats for four, a washbasin and a fireplace in the far corner for cooking.

“Have a seat,” he said and turned to his daughter, “serve our guests, would you?”

Grestel’s jutted her jaw. “Why should I?”

“We’re fine,” Rovie said nervously as he sat down in the seat furthest from Nemil, “no need to worry about us.”

“See?” Grestel declared defiantly as she sat in the chair next to her father.

“Why are you gents trying to stir the pot in my backyard?” Nemil asked bluntly as soon as Loric sat down.

Rovie blinked and Loric replied, “we were invited to, by some chap by the name of Daglin.”

“What?” Loric demanded after Rovie dug his elbow into his ribs.

“We’ve only just met him,” Rovie hissed and quickly looked at Nemil, “please forgive my caution, we are talking about insurrection after all.”

Nemil smiled in spite of himself and gave Loric a grave look. “Your friend is right. You had best be guarded with your tongue or you’ll be the first to get the chop.”

Loric bowed his head sheepishly.

“Anyway, let me guess. Daglin’s told you he intends to blow up the castle gatehouse, hasn’t he?” Nemil ventured.

“He might have,” Loric shrugged, trying to look nonchalant as Grestel rolled her eyes.

“That plan is bound to fail. I’ve told Daglin a thousand times that the portcullis is designed to fall into place if the mechanism is damaged,” Nemil sighed.

“Didn’t you help him reinforce the wagon that’s going to jam the portcullis open?” Grestel pointed out.

“Even if it did survive the blast intact enough to hold the weight,” Nemil said evenly, “you would still have to crawl to get through and there’s a nasty murder hole on top of the gatehouse that will choke the place with corpses.”

“And Daglin doesn’t share your concerns?” Rovie ventured.

Nemil shook his head. “He thinks it’s worth a try. Lord Coriso has only twenty defenders there after all. I think his plan will get a lot of people killed needlessly.”

Rovie chewed his lip thoughtfully before asking, “I take it you have an alternative plan?”

Nemil’s smiled coyly. “Indeed I do.”

The boys listened intently as Nemil outlined his plan to them. When he was done, Rovie was left uncertain. “Are you sure that will breech the wall?” he asked.

Nemil nodded.

“But Daglin doesn’t agree?”

Nemil opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Nemil gave his daughter a look who stared back defiantly and sighed before getting up to open the door that led outside himself.

“Good day, are you Nemil the blacksmith?” the boys heard Gavik ask.

“Depends on who’s asking,” came the suspicious reply. Grestel walked over to the counter and armed herself with a knife.

“He’s with us,” Loric called out.

“We’re with him, rather,” Rovie corrected his friend.

Gavik poked his head through the door and arched an eyebrow. “Hello, boys, fancy meeting you here.”

“Did Daglin send you?” Nemil asked, stepping aside to admit the leader of the Gofeldin rebellion. Grestel placed the knife back down and quickly returned to her seat. Her glared at her and she looked back innocently.

“Please, take my seat,” Nemil said tersely. He disappeared back into the smithy briefly and returned carrying a stool.

“Daglin’s told me about your plan,” Gavik said, getting straight to business.

Nemil raised an eyebrow. “And what did you think of it?”

“It can work as a backup alongside Daglin’s plan,” Gavik replied, “it won’t work as our only way in.”

“But Daglin has demanded we use every ounce of gunpowder available for his,” Nemil protested, “we have to decide one way or another.”

“How much gunpowder do you think you’ll need for yours to work?” Gavik ventured.

“What does it matter?” Nemil asked bitterly, “Daglin insists on reserving gunpowder for guns we don’t have.”

“Well, we happen to be in possession of a few barrels of gunpowder,” Gavik said with a coy smile.

“But that’s a precious resource!” Loric protested, “you said so yourself!”

“I’ve also agreed to lend them all our muskets and our cannons as well,” Gavik added, “and as many men as they will need.”

“But…” Loric began.

“They say Lord Coriso has almost ten times the muskets we have in his armoury,” Gavik continued, “and taking this town keeps us safe from attacks from the west.”

Gavik then turned back to Nemil. “So, how much gunpowder will you need?”

Nemil fell silent. A group of men walked past the window. They carried pitchforks that Rovie thought for a moment were muskets, and his heart almost leapt out of his chest. It was surreal that they were discussing assaulting a castle here in someone’s kitchen. He then turned his attention to Grestel. She was pretty. Prettier than any girl back at the village. She had piqued Loric’s interest, that was for sure. As for him…. no, she was too contentious for him.

“Fifteen pounds should be plenty,” he replied at length.

Gavik nodded thoughtfully. “What else would you need besides the gunpowder?”

“My men and I are enough to do the job... at most, one or two more,” Nemil said, “fewer is better. Stealth will be our ally.”

“I could help,” Grestel offered.

“No,” Nemil stated flatly.

“Say,” Rovie began as a thought occurred to him, “who’s going to be in charge of these lands that free themselves from their lords, in charge of defending them anyway?”

Gavik broke into a broad smile. “That’s an excellent question, my boy.”

“You have discussed it, haven’t you?” Rovie ventured.

Gavik nodded. “Each town and village will largely be run by a headman, but there will be a council with a representative from each place that will decide broader strategies. As for command of our troops, Daglin and his mob agreed that I should be in charge.”

Nemil’s eyebrows soared. “Really? They’re going to defer to you?”

“We go back many years, Daglin and I,” Gavik said, “he trusts me and convinced the others that I am the best fit. That of course may change as our alliance of free villages and towns grows.”

“It’s an alliance now?” Nemil remarked, “how far do you intend to take this insurrection?”

“As far as I can,” Gavik replied, dead serious as he looked Nemil in the eye.

Nemil laughed and shook his head. “That’s a lofty goal, perhaps you intend to sit on the Imperial throne, eh?”

Gavik continued staring deadpan at Nemil for a spell before breaking into a hearty laugh himself. “No, I don’t think I’ll be able to take things quite that far.”

“What next after Loverto for Gavik, the peasant general, then?” Nemil asked with mock gravity.

“We spread the rebellion to the nearby towns and villages,” Gavik replied, “provided that’s what the people want.”

“And then?” Nemil asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Loz Valley,” Gavik stated simply.

Nemil’s jaw dropped. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Gavik nodded. “Only minor towns and villages lie to the north up until the Dalesite Mountains. To the south is the Lud Forest and the elves who live there will suffer no trespass by humans. If we take Loz Valley, the only way to attack us from the east will be through Stroving Pass.”

“Putting the fact that Baron Lest has almost a thousand men at arms under his personal command aside,” Nemil said, “and that deposing a lord as highly ranked as him will almost certainly invite immediate reprisals from the strongest army the League can muster to come against you.”

“Well, that’s a long term goal,” Gavik grinned, “for now, let’s focus on the town of Loverto and their lord, Coriso.”

“Just be careful you don’t bite off more than you can chew,” Nemil warned.

“I know my limits,” Gavik reassured him. He looked at Nemil, appraising him for a moment before venturing, “you wouldn’t be able to cast muskets or cannon next door, would you?”

A wry smile spread across Nemil’s face, and he said, “well, I’m afraid I don’t have an Imperial License.”

“But what if that wasn’t something that concerned you?” Gavik suggested, “just for argument's sake.”

Nemil rubbed a calloused hand against his bare arm thoughtfully and said, “no, my furnace won’t be able to do a cannon in one cast. Muskets on the other hand… if I had a skilled mould maker…”

“That should be simple enough to come by,” Gavik said, “I’ll keep in touch.”

“However,” Nemil said as Gavik was about to stand up, “you know what the punishment for making guns without a license is.”

Gavik looked from Nemil to Grestel and replied, “is it any worse than the one for insurrection?”

“It’s easier to hang one family for making illegal guns than it is to hang an entire province for insurrection,” Nemil pointed out.

“Are you saying no, father?” Grestel exclaimed as she leapt to her feet, “the rebellion needs arms!”

Nemil’s eyes turned cold as he set them on his daughter. “I haven’t said anything yet. This is one decision I will make. Now sit down.”

The was a harshness in the blacksmith’s voice that Rovie had not heard before and Grestel obediently sat back down.

“I agree that this is a big risk I’m asking you to take,” Gavik admitted, “I won’t ask for your decision now. Perhaps wait until I’ve proven myself worthy.”

“Worthy, eh?” Nemil remarked, “that’s big talk for a man from the sticks.”

Gavik got to his feet and flashed him a broad grin. “I’m going to be the face of the rebellion. My fate is sure to be worse than yours if this all turns to shit.”

“That’s reassuring,” Nemil snorted.

“Lads, it’s time we went home,” Gavik said, “we have a lot to do.”

“Thank you for your time,” Rovie said before following Gavik out the door.

“I’ll be sure to come by next time when we’re in town,” Loric said to Grestel, which earned him a dirty look from her father.

“You’re the face of the rebellion?” Rovie asked in a low voice as they walked down the street.

Gavik gave Rovie a funny look as they joined the flow of people out of the village. Around them were wagons laden with goods, some coming into the town from other parts of the province, others leaving. The road was filled with people going about their day, but there was a strange energy in the air. Conversations were muted. It was as though people were waiting for the fuse to be lit that would set off an explosion.

“Yes,” Gavik said at length.

“Why you?” Rovie asked, “you might be qualified to be a leader, but the figurehead? After seeing this town I’ve realised just how insignificant our village is.”

“Perhaps it’s because I have the least to lose,” Gavik replied. He looked at the boys long and hard before continuing, “if history has taught us anything, this rebellion will in all likelihood end up being put down by the lords.”

“But…” Loric began.

“And when that happens, the leaders will be rounded up and very publicly executed, along with their families,” Gavik continued.

“Do you really think we’ll lose?” Rovie asked in a small voice.

“It’s not too late to back out,” Gavik offered kindly.

“No, that’s not what I was trying to suggest,” Rovie said, shaking his head, “I want to be in this until the bitter end.”

Gavik smiled wanly.

“You know, I thought you would be more aggressive about all this,” Loric remarked at length, “after what happened to your family.”

“So did I,” Gavik said, “I must say am surprised at how rational I’ve been myself.”

“Why let Sir Fettis go?” Rovie asked. The question had gnawed at him. He was sure their former lord would have been torn apart had Gavik not intervened.

Gavik’s eyes hardened. “Because the way to really hurt these nobles is to grow the rebellion to the point where they have to and live like normal people. That’s what happened in Fluvia. The minor nobility there was reduced to poverty in a single generation because they hadn’t the skills to contribute to society.”

“Did they have a successful uprising there?” Rovie asked, wide-eyed. He only knew that Fluvia was an island kingdom that lay northwest, across the Narrow Sea from Renfy, and that they were ruled by a queen, and that they controlled the seas with their navy.

“Not quite,” Gavik replied, “but that’s a complicated story that I’m not learned enough to tell.”

“However, the only way to do the same here is for us to be smart,” Gavik continued, “we won’t rock the boat too much until we are in a position of strength. As it stands, the League could crush us in a matter of days if they saw us as a threat.”

“Who will rule over us then?” Loric ventured, “we don’t have a king like the Fluvians.”

Gavik shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Perhaps we could have a peasant ruler, eh? That would ruffle feathers all across the Continent.”