Rebel

The mead was good, the fire was high, and the young couple’s voices wove an exquisite harmony, fit to soothe the soul. The accompaniment of the lute was perfection, over the the distant buzz of conversation and the crackle of the flames. Presiding over the feast was a tall, handsome, man with a bare reddish hint to his sandy hair, seated in a well-made chair of ironwood. Holder Talman Brightblade leaned back into it, enjoying the mix of the wind's chill and the campfire's warmth, placed a hand on Jaima’s shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. She sighed and leaned into his arm. “This is really something, if I do say so myself. I’m glad you do this for them.”

For the the past few years, the Holder had invited farmers, carpenters, peasants, and everyone who depended on him to his own Harvest Festival. The Cerelia hadn’t been observed in Travan for hundreds of years, not since the Fall reduced everything to ashes. What it had rebuilt had been cold and hard: maybe too hard. But it had been decades since Travan had last gone to war. Count Ervallyn had been squeezing him for every penny, and worse, squeezing his people. They deserved some hope, some taste of what they were working for every day. He owed them that. They were good folk. Now they were all here, hundreds of them. Redhold was more prosperous than most.

Tinah, over by the fire, gave him a warm smile. Slim, dark-haired, and sloe-eyed, she was beautiful in her deep red gown. When her husband abandoned her and her young daughter, Talman had personally helped her get her farm back on her feet, and forgiven her debt. He’d never asked anything in return, and never would. But the gratitude in her eyes wasn’t entirely innocent. Watch it, the ever-present feminine voice reminded him, I lent you to Jaima, but you belong to me always.

You enjoy being married to her as much as I do, Talman thought, amused, maybe more.

He sensed a chuckle tickling through his heart and mind. Yes, and wasn’t that the surprise? Now, behave.

For you, anything. Talman returned the smile, then turned his gaze back to his wife. “It turned out beautifully, my love, and I have you to thank for pulling it off. The laborers seem to enjoy it, and we could use the goodwill, especially with the taxes rising three times in two years. Beside, what better way to spend a night?”

Jaima was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with porcelain skin. He remembered when she was wispy as a nymph, but the curves she had earned in the birth of his son only made her more beautiful. She could be rough as a file or sweet as wine as the mood took her, but she had a neat and orderly way, and never accepted less than perfection. She and a dozen of the farmers' wives had organized the gathering, to see that the menfolk didn't ruin it entirely. Most of the sweets and baked goods were courtesy of them, though their husbands had engaged in a fierce competition to decide who could provide the best home brew. Talman was enjoying the fruits of the winner, who had earned a nice little purse. eyes flashed with a warmth and a heat that was hers alone, and her lips curled. “I have a few ideas.”

She kissed him then, and her lips tasted of raspberry wine, but then she looked up, and groaned, pulling away slowly.

“What is it now?” Talman asked, with a hint of irritation. Olrik had finally started sleeping through the night, and the circles around Jaima's eyes had started to fade. He had thought maybe they could finally have a night of peace.

“Don’t look,” she replied softly. “We have an uninvited guest.”

Talman wished he could take his wife’s advice, but he had responsibilities. From the right arrived four tall and armored visitors, in Talyk's colors. Damn. “Lord Toram, what a pleasure to see you. I had no idea you were coming. Please, sit. Would you like something to drink?”

Toram pulled up an empty chair on the Holder's left, joining him by the fire. His three armsmen remained standing. “I think I’m insulted, Holder. You’re holding a party, and you never let me know. As for that drink, I’ll have what you’re having.”

The festival was held in the common area where multiple farms met, with their barns backing up against it. There was a table next to one that held fruits, nuts, berries, breads, and a great keg of mead. There had been a servant standing by it, but he apparently had gone to answer the call of nature. Most of the other servants seem to have vacated the area, but there was one woman still here to ask. “Tinah, would you mind filling a goblet for our guest?”

The woman nodded, and turned to go, but Toram, snakelike, grasped her by the wrist. “Tinah, is it? I remember you. You're the girl who whined and begged, 'Please, my Lord, I don't have anything to pay taxes with!' But here you are, in a new dress, wearing pretty jewelry, and drinking fine wine. You've been holding out on me, girl."

Damn and double damn. Toram's shit list was too long to keep track of, but Brightblade regretted drawing his attention to the poor woman. "My Lord, perhaps you should let her fetch the wine? This is a feast. Afterwards is soon enough to handle business, is it not?"

"Ah yes," Toram sneered, and sat back in his chair, "you were the one to stick up for her last time. Your mead had better be something extraordinary."

Tinah stumbled off towards the banquet table, clearly nervous. She filled the goblet quickly, and handed it, still foaming, to Lord Toram, who waited impatiently. Toram was the eldest son of Count Ervallyn of Talyk. The Count himself was bad enough: he was capable of cruelty, but he was competent enough to keep it on a short leash. His oldest son, however, had been chomping at the bit for years for any scrap of power his father would let to him. So far, that had mostly been the collection of taxes. Rumor was, he trusted his third son Morgren's intelligence more, and the eldest bitterly resented it.

Toram downed the mead in a single draught, and winced. "Took you long enough. What a pity your competence falls so far behind your beauty, girl, or you might amount to something. This was all foam! Another!"

Shaking, Tinah moved to comply.

"Be at peace, my Lord," Talman urged. "You are of course most welcome, but you seemed surprised to find us here. What brings you tonight?"

The Count's son rolled his eyes. "Wasn't it you who asked that I hold my business until later? No matter. There's trouble in the South, and the Count is asking that we call in the levies. Half again the grain tax, and thirty fighting men from you. We'll need them both in a week's time."

Brightblade's eyes widened. "As you will, my Lord, but if I might ask, what happened?"

The visitor gritted his teeth, and Jaima shook her head slightly. She knew better than to object, but something about a powerful man out of composure offended her sensibilities, and of course, she was protective of the Hold's sons. "Never you mind," Toram replied, "Just you see it done. And your best men, mind you - "

At that moment, just as Toram swung his arm accusingly to the Holder, Tinah had nervously extended the tankard of mead to him. The collision between the sent drink and foam spraying everywhere, leaving the Lord soaking and furious. Tinah reflexively cowered as his rage spewed forth. "Demons above, girl, haven't you the sense God gave a cockroach? First you refuse to pay your lawful taxes, then you show up dressed like a whore's impression of a Lady, and finally you throw your drink on me?! Tell me why I should have my coin out of your hide!"

“My Lord,” Tinah gasped. “The Holder said I din’t haveta pay. These were from my wedding. I promise, I'd pay what I could, but I still don’t have nothing. Honest, my Lord. See for yourself.”

Toram’s expression was cruel, even for him. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. If your Holder won’t make you pay, then I will. With interest. Come, let’s discuss this in private. Armsmen, follow me, and wait outside.”

Talman’s mouth opened, and he started to rise, but Jaima’s fingers were suddenly like claws, grasping desperately at his arm. “Don’t go,” she whispered intensely. “You can’t help her. We’ll lose everything.”

He is nothing. He is an ant beneath your feet.

Talman only watched helplessly as Toram dragged Tinah outside of the light. He was headed for a nearby barn. Her barn. It was possible he was checking how much grain she had stored there. Toram was a monster, but even he had limits. "Jaima, she's one of ours, and we have to deal with the Count's son eventually."

"Deal with him?" Jaima replied. "Have you hidden an army somewhere I don't know about? You're a strong man, but don't be too proud. Do you recall when Eirenhold rebelled twenty years ago? Ervallyn near to burned it down, and had the Holder torn to pieces. Think of your people. Think of your son. There's nothing you can do. Have the sense to admit it."

There was a cry, and some other muffled noises he couldn’t identify. The armsmen kept their eyes forward. The once harmonious voices faltered, and began to drift out of key. No, he couldn’t bear this, not a second longer. Talman stood, gently removing his wife’s hand from his arm, and pleaded to the voice inside of him, the one who had always spurred him through hard times. The one who had time and time called him to be a man when Toram had spat upon his people. This so-called Lord is too far gone. I need your help.

Finally, the hard feminine voice replied, you stand up like a man. It's about time. Use my strength. Make it count.

Jaima's soul was in her eyes, but she said nothing. The storm rising within her husband was implacable. There was nothing to do but wait it out.

Outside of the barn, an armsman raised his hand with chuckle. “Stop, Holder. You don’t want to do this.”

Talman snarled, and grabbed him by the chest, lifting him against the barn wall with a single hand, chain mail and all. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, and you really don’t want to. Go.”

Two armsmen complied. One didn’t. Talman’s punch shattered the iron rings of the guard’s chain mail. He felt man’s ribs break, and the armored man crumpled to the dirt. The Holder opened the barn door, to find the Coiunt's son standing threateningly above Tinah as she wept. One of her hands was raised to a bruised cheek, and the other was at her breast.

“Get out, Toram,” Brightblade snarled.

The Count’s elder son laughed. “You’ve gone too far this time, Talman. I’m the will of Talyk, fulfilling my duty as my Lord’s tax collector, and you’re interfering with the law, Holder. You’re under arrest.”

Talman's rage seethed, boiling within him. It was all he could do to keep from ripping this useless man apat, and hang the consequences. "This is my Hold, and these are my people. If you need money, talk to me, and we'll work something out. But don't you dare touch her."

Toram drew his weapon, and laughed. "You really are willing to throw away your life, and that of your family, over this little whore. Pity."

Talman’s sword split Toram’s skull like a melon, in a single downward strike. Idiot. “Tinah, are you alright?”

The poor woman glanced at the body, blanched, then ran from the barn. Talman examined the cold and grisly body at his feet for only a moment, then stepped slowly outside, and shut the door.

The Count will never accept the death of his son without a fight. It is time, my love, it's finally time.

The Holder ignored the voice, and walked slowly, wearily, back towards his wife. He had cleaned his sword, but a streak of red stained his tunic, one that thickened until it reached his blood-soaked hand. “My love.”

“What did you do?” Jaima whispered, staring in horror at her gore-soaked husband.

“I think,” Talman replied, “that I’ve started a war.”

The feminine spirit had been within Talman as long as he could remember, in every waking moment. Sometimes she had been hard within him, sometimes amused, often disappointed, and in rare occasions vividly sensual. There were fevered nights where she possessed his dreams, rattled him to his bones, and let him hungry for more. She shared his emotions, saw through his eyes, and felt every physical sensation. She urged him on with a will of iron, scourging the weakness from him, but he never doubted for a moment that she loved him deeply. But now, when his world was being turned inside out, she was - pleased, more so than ever before, almost triumphant. Yes, it will be a war. You're finally becoming the man I’ve missed for so long. You were meant to be so much more than a glorified farmer. This is your destiny, my love. It's time to embrace it.

Jaima stared at him, frightened, but when he offered his let arm, she burrowed into him, and pressed against his chest. Tinah had returned to the fire, reluctantly, and was curled up before it. She was weeping, and her face was full of fear, but when she saw his eyes, she managed the ghost of a grateful smile. Talman, however, clenched his fist. So be it. The Count and his men think they can terrorize my people? They'll learn to fear me instead.