A cloudy sky loomed ominously over a column of soldiers as they marched uneasily along a paved road. Sheer cliffs lined either side of the road as it carved its way through the mountains. The road was only wide enough for them to march six abreast, and any travellers coming in the opposite direction were instructed to stand in the ditch that ran along the road until the long line of soldiers marched past.

As soon as news of Conlow’s fall had reached Gradja, the prince had mustered a force of six thousand men who were now marching to destroy the rebel threat in the south once and for all. Many of the ousted lords who were already in the city petitioning for intervention had insisted on joining and now rode on borrowed horses armed with borrowed weapons.

“Perfect place for an ambush,” Atri muttered as he looked up at the cliffs that soared above them, “we could be marching straight into a trap.”

“They’ve set the perfect bait for it,” Kotro remarked, as he shifted uneasily in his saddle. He had recently been promoted to general, and this was to be his first command.

Scouts reported that a two hundred strong rebel army had positioned themselves at the exit of the mountain pass which had made little sense to Atri. The ideal place for the rebel army to fight them was right here where there was no cover, and the pass was at its most narrow and ambushers would enjoy cover and a significant height advantage. From the reports, their leader, Gavik, was a canny tactician who was unlikely to overlook such a fact.

“I’ll tell the men to be on their guard,” Atri said, uncomfortable with his role as second in command. He was more used to carrying orders out rather than issuing them.

“Even so,” Kotro said, as he scanned the ridgelines above them, “their days are numbered, eh? What hope do two hundred have against us? I’m surprised they haven’t gone to ground.”

“So am I,” Atri agreed, happy to be distracted from matters at home.

His father had banished Lepon from Markvist lands for life, which was the lightest punishment he could mete out. The betrayal of his mentor was hard to swallow but to be forbidden from speaking to him ever again cut even deeper. Lepon had been ever-present throughout Atri’s life, and he would miss him dearly.

“However,” Atri continued, “we shouldn’t underestimate them. They defeated the baron’s army. That is no mean feat.”

“Do you really think they tortured them to death?” Kotro asked nervously.

“It would be out of character for Gavik,” Atri replied uncomfortably.

They had encountered men who had fled from the battle in Corith a few days ago, and they swore about the atrocities they had described in graphic detail that the rebels had inflicted upon the nobles that had been captured. Atri felt he had the measure of Gavik’s character from the brief time they had spent together and found it hard to believe that the man was capable of such barbarism.

Kotro nodded grimly. “The baron did have a reputation for torturing and disfiguring his people. Perhaps the rumours were true, and his pigeons simply came home to roost.”

“It’s dangerous to say that out loud in present company,” Atri warned. The baron championed the cause of the ousted nobles, many of whom were riding nearby.

Kotro sighed and smiled ruefully. “I suppose my loose tongue is the reason father told me I had no future in politics.”

“Amongst other things,” Atri said good-naturedly. His brother was well aware of his shortcomings and took them in stride.

“I’m eager to get this over with quickly,” Kotro said, turning serious, “our armies are needed in the east.”

Atri nodded in agreement. Renfy was massing soldiers on their borders with Vetory as they spoke. That war was expected to be a brief one and once they were done, they would set their sights on Gothria. The Haroways had given them the perfect excuse, and every day the Nescovian League delayed in denouncing them increased the arguments their enemies had that they were complicit in the Haroway’s activities. Ekestron, the Leagues’ allies and neighbours to the east had already signalled their alarm to the prince and demanded to know where the League stood on the matter of the resurrection of the Empire. It was not unthinkable for the Ekestroni to ally themselves with Siaro against them should they not receive a satisfactory answer soon.

“The Continent is going to descend into open warfare thanks to the Haroway’s ambitions,” Atri spat, “the silver lining will be that their House could be eradicated out once and for all.”

“My, aren’t we feeling bloodthirsty today?” Kotro laughed.

To their surprise, they reached the end of the pass without coming under attack. At the exit, on a small rise to their right, was the rebel army arranged in a tight semicircle four men deep, right where their scouts said they would be. Standing a hundred yards in front of them under a white flag were three men.

“I suppose they want to parlay,” Kotro remarked, sounding surprised.

“I’ll go,” Atri offered.

“You’re too valuable as a hostage,” Kotro objected.

“If they do take me hostage, wipe them out without consideration for my life,” Atri replied. He exchanged his musket for a pole with a white flag tied to the end, “but I don’t think they will.”

Atri took a deep breath before raising the pole and riding towards the three men. As he approached them, he recognized Gavik standing in the middle and noticed that the two men on either side of him were missing an eye. One wore an eyepatch over his right eye while the other showed the empty socket openly. Both men were missing two fingers on their right hand, and Atri knew at once that they were victims of the baron’s brutality.

“I am prepared to accept your unreserved surrender,” Atri said as he approached them.

“We refuse,” Gavik replied, grinning broadly, “you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, young prince.”

“You cannot possibly win,” Atri said. He gestured over his shoulder at the five thousand men who had spread out into fighting columns behind him, covering every inch of the available ground at the exit of the pass. He narrowed his eyes at the semicircle of rebels in front of him, “where are your cannons?”

“What cannons?” Gavik asked innocently, “how would peasants like us have cannons?

Atri raised an eyebrow. “Tell your men to lay down their arms and come quietly.”

“We will fight to the bitter end,” the broad-shouldered man with the open eye socket beamed, revealing a mouth full of broken yellow teeth.

“Then you condemn your men to death,” Atri said.

“Atri niv Markvist,” Gavik said, as Atri was about to turn around and return to his men.

Atri paused and Gavik continued, “you know what is coming. Let the battle between the nobility and the rebels end here.”

Atri turned around and understood at once what the rebel leader was saying. “You’re serving yourselves up to us so that we won’t root out the rebels who have gone to ground.”

Gavik levelled his gaze on Atri and turned serious. “I am but a humble farmer, but even I know that everyone is doomed if things return to the status quo.”

Atri glanced at the men on either side of Gavik and could tell that they were confused by what he was saying.

“I don’t see how a breakaway province in Gothria’s heartland can change anything,” Atri replied carefully.

“There will come a time when the people need to unite and fight against the larger foe,” Gavik said, “the people. That cannot happen if we are led by men who cannot look past their own interests and work towards the greater good.”

“What are you saying?” Atri demanded. Sweat began to trickle down his face despite the cold.

“That the place we met was suspiciously close to Nescovia, whose ruler has now installed himself as the new Calfurion Emperor,” Gavik replied. There was a visible surprise on the bald man’s face upon learning that Atri and Gavik had met before, but he held his tongue.

“You are surprisingly well informed for a humble farmer,” Atri remarked. He took a deep breath to compose his thoughts, “however, even if I agreed with what you said on principle, I do not have the influence to prevent reprisals. These lands will be returned to their rightful owners who will rule them as they see fit.”

The grin returned to Gavik’s face. “That’s a shame.”

“So you will not lay down your arms?” Atri ventured.

“We will not,” Gavik replied with conviction.

“What a pity.”

As he rode back to Kotro and their army, Atri wondered what he should do once this wasteful battle was over. It was obvious that hundreds of weapons and fighters had gone into hiding in Loz and Boverlind. Should he advise his brother to have his army sift through the provinces with a fine-toothed comb until the weapons and fighters were found? The brutality that would bring about left a bitter taste in his mouth. The alternative was to play the fool and declare the job done with the defeat of this army. He shook his head to clear it. First things first. There was a battle to win.

The battle turned out to be a one-sided affair. The rebels were heavily outnumbered and the terrain they had chosen to fight on was completely open. Atri recommended restraint, wanting to take as many men as he could alive. However, the rebels fought with fatalistic savagery, obliging Kotro to bring their cannons to bear to minimize their own casualties, which brought proceedings to a swift close. True to Logran’s word, the rebels fought to the bitter end, and only a small handful survived to be taken prisoner. Among them was Gavik.

“You must turn him over to us,” a Boverlind lord named Fetis demanded, as Atri stood over the broad-shouldered man. He stared back at them defiantly as he lay on the ground. His legs had been mangled by cannon shot, and he had been found swinging a musket with a bayonet attached wildly at anyone who came near. Disarming him had been easy enough.

“Stabilize him,” Atri ordered, “he is to be returned to Gradja to stand trial.”

“We insist on judging him ourselves,” Fetis insisted.

“I agree,” a man Atri recognised as Lord Coriso chimed in. The ousted Boverlind lords were crowding around now, all demanding that the wounded rebel leader be turned over to them.

Atri glanced at his brother who shrugged helplessly. Taking a deep exasperated breath, Atri roared, “enough! This man is a prisoner of the Prince of Markvist and will be brought before him to be dealt with appropriately.”

“Men of the First Cavalry, you are responsible for him,” he ordered.

“As you command!” Captain Novist said as he and his men filed forward, forming a protective cordon around the stricken man.

“The prince will hear of this!” Fetis warned.

“You lords of Boverlind should be more concerned with regaining your lost fiefs,” Atri said, overriding them with the force of his will, “we are sending a detachment towards Corith which will then proceed on to Boverlind to restore their rightful rulers. They are departing at once.”

The lords of Boverlind, led by Lord Coriso grumbled before falling in line behind the departing infantry. They were eager to return to their lands and knew that their returned lands would be plundered by the armies that entered if they were not present to prevent it.

“You really stuck your neck out for him,” Kotro remarked once the last of the lords had left.

“Much obliged,” Gavik said through gritted teeth as his bravado gave way to pain, “but I suspect I’m staring at the death penalty anyway. Why not dispense with the theatre and do it here?”

“It is not my place to decide,” Atri replied, looking at Kotro.

His brother took a deep breath, “our father ordered that you be brought back to Gradja if you were taken alive, and that is what I will do.”

Gavik and the other captured rebels were bound and placed on a wagon that was open to the elements. Atri took a deep breath at the bloodstained battlefield and his heart ached at the wasteful loss of life. The two maimed men who stood next to Gavik had died in the skirmish, one it seemed by his own hand. Losses on their side had been relatively light, five dead and thirty wounded. Now, it was time to return to Gradja with all haste and wait for Renfy’s next move.

Despite having just fought, Atri had the men march quickly all the way back to Gradja where they received a muted welcome, but there was no surprise there. Nobles putting down a people’s revolution was not something the common people would celebrate. The soldiers themselves were not in a celebratory mood either, there was no joy to be had at their one side victory.

They trudged into the Gradja barracks where the prince greeted them and thanked them for their service before the men were dismissed for the day.

“You have done well, my sons,” Solon niv Markvist said.

“Thank you, father,” Kotro sighed as he sank into a deep, high backed chair, “it’s been quite an exhausting eight days.”

Atri remained on his feet as his father studied his sons from the other side of a large desk. They were in the lavish quarters set aside for the commander of the Markvist armies.

Kotro looked around his quarters and propped his feet up on the hardwood desk, “I should have Marise lend a hand in redecorating this place. It’s all so stuffy.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Solon sighed, “this place will be turned over to Penolith next week.”

Kotro raised an eyebrow. “Am I being demoted already, father?”

Solon grunted, “well, if you think you are capable of leading our armies against the Renfians, the good general has long hinted that he wishes to retire.”

Kotro abruptly removed his feet from the desk and beamed, “no, I think I’ll leave this place just the way the good general likes.”

“Any news from the Renfians?” Atri ventured, “have they attacked?”

“Any day now is the word we’re receiving,” Solon replied, “it’s a matter of time.”

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room as the men stared off into the distance, each lost in his own thoughts.

“What are you going to do with our prisoner?” Atri asked at length.

Solon blinked and looked up at his youngest son. “I’m surprised you took him alive.”

“Should we not have?” Atri ventured, taken off guard.

Solon shook his head. “Forgive me, I’m tired and my tongue isn’t as guarded as it should be.”

Atri waited patiently for his father to continue. The prince took a sip from a tankard of beer and sighed. “We will have to hold a trial.”

“Why waste time?” Atri asked, “we all know what the outcome would be.”

Solon’s eyebrows arched up in surprise, but it was Kotro who spoke, “that’s very cynical of you,” he said with a wry smile, “do you doubt your father will give him a fair trial?”

“Perish the thought,” Atri replied, “but at the same time, we cannot afford to have him found innocent, can we?”

“Do you think he is?” Kotro asked. His tone was innocent, but Atri knew it was a challenge.

“Of course not,” Atri replied, “it will be a sham trial, and everyone will know it. It just seems unbecoming of father.”

“Be that as it may,” Solon said irritably, “a trial will have to be held. I have scheduled it for tomorrow. No point drawing this distasteful affair out for any longer than necessary.”

“Will his execution be public?” Atri asked softly.

“I don’t think I have a choice there either,” Solon replied, “it’s good that you finally ended the rebellion. We need to move on from this uprising business quickly.”

Solon paused and eyed Atri. “Oh, and I have received official word from Salini, as it happens.”

Atri’s eyes lit up. “Oh?”

“The duke has been made aware of your current disgrace,” Solon said, as Atri lowered his face to hide his dismay, “but he has agreed to permit the wedding to proceed.”

“Congratulations, brother,” Kotro grinned as Atri struggled to keep the joy from his face.

“That’s wonderful news father,” Atri beamed. He paused before adding, “and what of his investigation of the church?”

Solon frowned. “The duke says he found no evidence of strange activity and stressed that the church has been nothing but cooperative in aiding his investigation.”

Atri’s face fell, and Kotro swatted him on the shoulder. “You should savour your victories, little brother.”

“Congratulations, my son,” Solon said gruffly, “I’m afraid the wedding will have to be a low key affair. However, take your step away from politics as a blessing. You will be able to focus on your marriage and start a family.”

Atri blinked. Perhaps that was something to look forward to. He nodded and said, “thank you father, you’ve given me a lot to think about. May I be excused?”

Solon nodded and got to his feet. “I had better get going as well. Will you come by the palace soon?”

“Within the next day or two if the general permits,” Atri replied.

Kotro winked at his younger brother and said, “I’ll think about it, major.”

Atri snapped to attention smartly and saluted his brother before leaving the room. Once he closed the door behind him, he took a deep breath and turned and began walking toward his quarters. He walked two steps before coming to a halt. Cursing himself, he turned around and instead walked down the stairs towards the dungeon.

“Leave us for a moment,” Atri ordered upon entering the special dungeon in the bowels of the building. There was a table and chairs for the guards in a dingy room. The only ventilation came from a window that was twelve feet off the floor. Gavik was the only prisoner in the two cells on the far end of the room and lay strapped to a stretcher.

The four guards in the room looked at one another and Atri sighed exasperatedly, “the man has two broken legs and you’ll be right outside. What’s he going to do?”

Reluctantly, the guards left. Atri stood in front of the cell and studied Gavik who stared back at him curiously.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to set me free?” he offered weakly and grimaced at the pain from his legs.

“I’m afraid not,” Atri replied. He rubbed his face before continuing, “I haven’t much time before the guards inform someone that I’m here, so I’ll get straight to the point.”

“You’re a Markvist prince, who have you to fear?” Gavik grinned.

“Were you in contact with Lepon Wilvist?” Atri asked, fearing the answer.

The broad-shouldered man studied Atri for a moment before shrugging. “And if I was?”

“I should tell you that he is a confessed Renfian agent and has been banished from these lands,” Atri stated flatly.

Gavik blinked and fell silent as he digested the information. “He seemed genuine enough,” Gavik said at length, “and with his help, I have planted seeds that could yet bear fruit. Fruit that will improve the lives of the common people.”

Atri raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you feel used?”

A broad smile spread across Gavik’s face. “I was aware I was being used to further someone else’s agenda from the get-go, and I was happy to be used as long as I could change the people’s lives for the better.”

“Do you that will happen?” Atri ventured.

Gavik shrugged. “Even if their lives don’t improve, I will go into the next life knowing I did my best.”

“Are you a religious man, Gavik of Gofeldin?” Atri probed, doing his best to sound innocent. Perhaps the church had a hand in fermenting this rebellion.

“No more than the regular man,” Gavik replied, “I believe in a higher power, but do not believe that men should speak in God’s name.”

Gavik paused before looking at Atri, “what about you? Are you nobles as God-fearing as you claim to be?”

“We nobles are no more homogenous than you common folk are. As for me, I do believe in a higher power and the word of the church.” Atri paused and shifted in his seat.

“But you have your doubts,” Gavik grinned.

Atri sighed. “I have often been reminded that the Church is governed by men who are fallible.”

“When is my execution?” Gavik asked abruptly.

“Your trial is in tomorrow.”

“Don’t coddle me,” Gavik said, the mirth gone from his voice, “I know that my end is to be a public execution. I’m asking you when it will be.”

“I’m not sure,” Atri replied, “perhaps in a week.”

“No chance for it to be sooner?” Gavik ventured.

Atri looked at the man in surprise. “Are you that eager to die?”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“It appears we’re out of time,” Atri remarked with a rueful smile. It was strange. It felt like Gavik was the only person in Gothria he could have a heart to heart conversation with.

“Your men were most efficient in telling on you,” Gavik remarked dryly.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that you’re in here,” Atri turned around to see Kotro standing in the open door, “come with me, you’re needed.”

“I was just trying to get some information out of our prisoner,” Atri protested as he got to his feet. He then saw the expression on his brother’s face, “this is about something else, isn’t it?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Kotro said, “come, father has gone ahead to the palace. We’re to meet him there.”

A carriage was already waiting for them outside and the driver set off as soon as the doors were closed.

“What’s going on?” Atri asked.

“Word just arrived from one of our spies in Vetory,” Kotro replied as he looked out the window. Outriders rode ahead to ensure that traffic gave way and they sped through the city quickly.

“It’s about time,” Atri remarked, “what news did he bring? Has Renfy attacked?”

“No,” Kotro said absently, “the Haroways have purged a third of the Vetorian nobility and almost a quarter of their standing army.”

Atri’s eyebrows shot up. “With the Renfians at their doorstep? What was their response?”

“I imagine they’re just as shocked as we are,” Kotro said, “they were due to attack yesterday, but have paused the invasion to see how things develop.”

“Why strike when your foes seem content to destroy themselves, eh?” Atri said thoughtfully, “this is very puzzling.”

They spent the rest of the trip in silence and Atri couldn’t help but feel that he was forgetting something important.

The sky was grey and bare trees were whipped about by the howling wind. The frozen ground crunched underfoot as Rovie and Loric walked down the crowded street. Winter had come early to Boverlind and both were dressed in multiple layers of clothes and wore their thickest cloaks. There was also a strong presence of armed soldiers wearing the white and black of the Markvist armies who kept a watchful eye over the gathered masses.

Rovie felt a sense of melancholy at being back in Loverto. They had just buried Grestel the day before, and Rovie could feel another change in his friend who felt to him more like his old self.

Silently, the two boys entered an inn that looked over the town square. They nodded solemnly at the proprietor before climbing up the stairs to the roof. It was still early in the day, but the square was packed with people. Lord Coriso, who had recently reclaimed his province uncontested, had made attendance to the day’s event mandatory, but all the people of Loverto would have been here even if it wasn’t.

A large stage had been erected in the middle of the square and the people were prevented from coming within twenty paces by a line of white and black-clad soldiers. Balconies and rooftops around the square were crowded as well with people making the trip from as far as Loz.

Loric checked the height of the sun and grunted. “Any time now.”

“There’s old Coriso,” Rovie remarked, pointing at a grey-haired man who was climbing the stairs to the stage.

“He’s lost some weight,” Loric observed without humour. He clutched his cloak tightly as the wind began to pick up.

Soon, a pair of Markvist soldiers carried a man dressed in white up onto the stage on a stretcher. Rovie’s pulse quickened when he saw that it was Gavik. Another familiar face walked next to the stretcher dressed in the same white and black uniform the other soldiers wore.

“Isn’t that the Markvist prince we met?” Rovie wondered out loud.

“He’s getting quite the audience,” Loric remarked sourly.

Another six men marched single file behind them. Their steps were measured and deliberate, and their uniforms were spotless. Each had a rifle slung across their backs.

The door to the roof opened behind them and the tavern’s proprietor popped his head out of the door. “Everything’s ready Loric,” he said.

The taller boy nodded in acknowledgement, and the man disappeared back down the stairs. Soon, Coriso strode arrogantly out onto the middle of the stage. He glared at the crowd and fidgeted irritably.

“People of Boverlind,” his voice echoed out over the square which fell completely silent.

Coriso hesitated, unnerved by the sudden quiet and wiped a bead of sweat away before continuing, “Today you are here to witness the execution of the notorious leader of the Boverlind rebellion, Gavik.”

The lord of Loverto paused to lick his lips. “He has been tried and found guilty of insurrection and sedition and has been sentenced to death…”

There was another pause as Coriso’s face turned crimson. He took a moment to contain his rage before spitting, “death by shooting.”

He stopped once again to wipe the spittle from his lips before saying, “if it were up to me, he’d have been boiled alive, but I have been overruled.”

He glared at Atri who stared back serenely and let off an exasperated sigh. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

Atri gestured at the six men, who dragged Gavik to his feet and bound him to a pole that stood in the middle of the square.

“I, Atri niv Markvist, have been tasked to carry out your execution by the prince, Solon niv Markvist,” Atri said loud enough for everyone in the square to hear, “have you any last words, Gavik?”

“Get it over with quickly,” Gavik replied, wincing, “the pain is quite excruciating.”

At that moment, Loric stepped up to the roof’s edge and raised a finger high into the air. “Together as one!” his voice boomed across the square. The soldiers below bristled, and muskets were readied for trouble.

They then watched dumbfounded as the gathered common people raised their arms into the air, pointing one finger skyward. The pain vanished from Gavik’s face as he saw the people’s defiance, and he broke into a smile. Atri looked at the crowd before drawing his pistol and pressed it against Gavik’s chest, over his heart.

“May God have mercy on your soul,” he said and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot echoed over the silent town square and Gavik’s head slumped. His body remained upright, held up by the ropes that bound him to the pole. In complete silence, the gathered crowd began to disperse. Coriso could only watch in silence, feeling a mixture of fear and rage at their open defiance as they filed out of the square in orderly lines.

“Farewell, Gavik,” Rovie said, brushing away a tear.

The boys stepped off the ledge and made their way down the stairs. Loric trembled as he took a deep breath and turned to Rovie. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Rovie replied, “and I’m going to seek that Lepon person we met in Calgone and take him up on his offer of mentorship.”

Loric nodded and Rovie asked, “how about you?”

“I suppose I’ll keep the fires Gavik started smouldering,” he mused, “so that they can turn into an inferno when the time is right.”

“Good luck, Loric,” Rovie said, “I get the feeling we won’t be seeing one another for a while.”

They passed a weeping boy who was flanked by his parents upon joining the crowd on the street.

“Is the rebellion over?” he asked his parents through tear-filled eyes.

Loric stopped and stooped to place both hands around the boy’s shoulder. “No,” he said, looking him in the eye, “it has just begun.”