Rebellion

         The sky overhead turned orange with twilight, the setting sun silhouetting the nearby forest dark hues of green. The air was sticky with the smell of wood and sap. John left the axe stuck in the marred top of the tree trunk in front of him. There was just less than half the pile of timber left. The Amberlight Mountains filled the horizon to the northeast, glowing a burnished gold as they swallowed the sun, and the forest west of the house struggled to catch a last bit of light.
         A figure in a deep green cloak appeared in front of John’s house, hopped the low fence that divided his land from the path, and walked toward him quickly, not waiting to be invited. John pulled the axe out of the tree stump and held it loosely in both hands.
         “Justicar Jonathan Larcas?” The man said in a coarse voice. He was a bit larger than John, but he appeared to be unarmed and not intent on harm. He stood in front of John and pulled back his cowl revealing an aged face, the grey of his stubble beard, and scars that surrounded the slate cataracts of his eyes. “You must leave here by tomorrow.”
         “What?”
         “You and your wife are in danger here. We can shelter you. Go to your friend Dieter’s house, a guide will be waiting for you there.”
         “What danger? Who are you?” John gripped his axe tighter, the axe rising as if it were a gauge of his temper.
         “I am Lucien, and I am serving as a messenger for the Order of the Ardent Heart. Lord Arran’s paranoia has driven him past the brink, and he is killing off anyone who could turn against him. Lords of the noble houses with radical ideas, any kind of Firebrand or Demagogue, higher ranking military, he’s even attempting to purge his own family of those who are not so quick to follow.”
         “The Ardent Heart? A mob strung followers of the Ardent Heart from the walls of the citadel not two months ago.” John lowered his axe again, “Why would I want to leave my life to be strung up on a wall?”
         “Those men were not ours, they were likely beggars used as propaganda. The lord has begun to recognize the threat we present.”
         “If what you say is true, what does our lord want with me? Why would he want to kill me?”
         “We do not know his reasons; we only know that he has sent riders with instructions to take you and your wife, alive preferably, and they will be here by tomorrow at the latest.”
         Lucien did not wait for John’s decision. Pulling his hood back over his head, Lucien departed toward the now black interior of the forest.
         It was now night, the moon big and bright hanging between tall clouds. John walked into the warm yellow glow of his house, turning the conversation over in his head. The main room was lit by a large stone fireplace, and was furnished by a pair of small tables, each flanked by two chairs. The entire room looked a golden brown, the fire expelling the darkness that had claimed the bedroom and kitchen. The only color in the room was Sara sitting in a chair in front of the fire sewing.
         “You finished with all that quickly,” Sara said looking up from sewing the sides of a small doll together. “I think we should get a bearskin for under these chairs.”
         John propped the axe up by the door. “Sara, we need to talk.”
         “What’s wrong?” Sara put the shell of a doll down the small table next to her.
         “A blind man from the Order of the Ardent Heart approached me while I was outside, and he said that I was being hunted by our lord out of paranoia.” John knelt in front of Sara. “He said we should leave here by tonight and go to Dieter’s, where we’ll meet a guide from the order.”
         “And you believe him?”
         “No, not quite. But I would like you to gather some things just in case he wasn’t lying. If he was wrong, you’ll just have to put your stuff back; but if he was right, we can be prepared.”
         Sara gave a submitting sigh, grabbed a candle from the small table’s only drawer, and carried a bit of light with her into their bedroom.
         John walked back out into the bright silver gaze of the moon, and around to the shed he’d added to the house. Assorted tools all hung in place, except for a bare spot for the axe he’d left inside, the reek of polishing oil hung in the air like the smell of rain. John moved to the back of the moonlit shed, finding the chest where he’d stored his military life.
         Lying immediately on top was a thick stabbing sword, long as a man’s forearm, used for impaling in confined areas. Beneath that, his weapon of office, a heavy pronged morning star. More an elaborate collection of blades than the crude sphere of metal with a handle that was used by militiamen; this was as much a work of art as it was a weapon. Spectacular gold gilding and curvature lined the killing edges, the fine steel ending in a deerskin grip, polished and gleaming in the moon. John pulled a chain vest from the trunk before letting it fall closed.
         The echo of pounding found its way into the shed. Dropping the vest, John ran around to the front of the house, sword in one hand, morning star in the other. He rounded the corner and saw four men standing looking at the door with torches and drawn swords, all dressed in the bright blue livery of Lord Arran.
         “Jonathan Larcas,” one of the men in the back shouted at the door. “You are charged with heresy and conspiracy to commit treason. Come with us, and His Majesty will grant you mercy!”
         John unsheathed the stabbing sword and hurled it through the air, sending it into the neck of the closest soldier. A spray of arterial blood gleaming black stained the half yellow path, and smoke rose in thick gouts as one of the torches was put out.
         “Kill him,” the leader shouted, gesturing with his torch.
         John ducked behind the corner of the house, morning star ready to crush the legs of the first man to run into him. The sickening crunch that can only come from a bone snapping beneath flesh was followed by a scream of anguish as one of John’s pursuers fell forward, his leg folded beneath him sideways at the knee. The next of the pair was stopped dead by his comrade’s shriek, and by the time he turned to face John, the side of his head had become an alcove oozing gore down the side of his face.
         John ended the screaming man’s pain, and the quartet’s leader had fled upon seeing John emerge. John ran back into the house finding Sara standing in the center of the room, longsword in hand.
         “We have to leave,” John said.
         Sara lowered her sword. “They’re all dead, right?”
         “No, one fled. And even had I stopped that last one, they would have sent more had the first group not returned.”
         “Alright. I’ve got some personal things, but I still have to get some traveling supplies together.”
         John walked back outside and retrieved his sword and vest, the moon was high overhead, casting stark shadows over the world he knew. Tall storm clouds obscured the stars, and there was no sound outside anymore, save Sara walking up behind him.