by Brandon Barr
The Baron led his force to one end of the pavilion and dismounted. Pike, Zamlah, and Rose followed him to the ground. Rose turned to the siblings and said, “Follow the Baron onto the stage.” She leaned in close and in a low voice added, “No trouble. Or I promise you I’ll kill you two first.”
Aven and Winter dismounted and followed them up onto the pavilion. Behind them came a half dozen soldiers, the sergeants, and officers of the Watch.
Aven looked out over the crowd. Foxjoy, the old picker from Plot 7, scowled at him. A number of others did the same. Most simply looked up at him with confusion, wrinkling their brows. Didn’t they know? he wondered. Hadn’t Gray Bear told them about the summons he and Winter had received? Didn’t they know the two of them had no choice?
He suddenly felt very exposed, standing up there with the Baron and his hired dogs, dressed in the Baron’s finery, having ridden in on the Baron’s horses. A horrible thought entered Aven’s mind. If the farmers went to war against the Baron, would they know which side he and Winter were on?
Another thought followed the first.
Did Aven know what side he was on anymore?
“Good farmers,” Zamlah said in his booming voice, stepping forward. “Baron Rhaudius, son of Lord Sephorus and brother to Queen Taia of the Second Quorum, thanks you for coming here today. You are curious, no doubt, as to why you have been summoned. You will find out soon. The Baron does not wish to keep you from your labors long. His message is simple. He has come today to make you a generous offer.”
The Baron stepped up to the front of the pavilion. “Loyal farmers, most of you here have been faithful, diligent workers. Today, I want to reward you for your efforts.” He paused. The crowd stared at him unblinking. “I have decided to amend the farming contracts. You will be able to keep more of the harvest, either for your own use, or for trading with outsiders. And I have for you a second gift, as well. Trade, which was previously prohibited, is now open within the borders of my land.” He waved his hand to encompass the village. “I envision this meager marketplace will grow quickly, as I also plan to approve ten more seller’s slots to join the ones already here.”
“How much more do we get to keep?” someone called from the crowd. Aven couldn’t see who it was.
“I am doubling the percentage of the harvest that goes back into your pockets. If you are frugal with your coins, debt will no longer last a life time.” The Baron crossed his arms, waiting for their response.
There was a deafening hush.
Aven’s spirits sank. Where was the applause? Had Gray Bear hardened every farmer against the Baron? Were they really going to reject his generous offer?
He scanned the faces before him and saw subtle things. An old farmer named Stump fingered a sword hilt half-hidden within his cloak. A farm girl Aven recognized from the East Vale of Plot 10 stared at the ground, a poorly concealed knife folded in her arms. Men and women whispering. Subtle nods. Silent gestures. When looked on as a whole, the entire assembly stirred faintly, like water disturbed by the wind.
The Baron’s face darkened as the silence dragged on. His hand dropped to the hilt of the sword that hung from his hip. Aven tensed, knowing something bad was very close to happening.
It was then that a powerful voice called out from the midst of the farmers.
“Disband the Watch! Or the rest of your professed concessions mean nothing!”
Aven recognized the voice at once and spotted the speaker. It was Gray Bear. His broad frame was clearly visible in the crowd.
“Do you speak for yourself?” asked the Baron, in a low, dangerous voice. Aven saw his hand close on the hilt of his sword. “Or do you presume to speak for everyone?”
“I presume nothing,” shouted Gray Bear, his voice rough like a saw. “I only speak aloud the sentiments of the men and women standing before you this day. On their behalf, I thank you for your change of heart, and your concessions, but we have this one further demand. The Watch must be disbanded. No more intimidation. No more listening to our private lives. We shall say what we please without your ear listening from behind the fortress walls.”
The Baron drew his sword with a rasp of steel on steel. “This is my land you farm, Gray Bear. I alone make the law. I alone make demands. I have given you much today, but I can take it away as quick as my sword can remove your head from your body.”
Aven noticed movement on the far side of the crowd. Soldiers were issuing forth from the thick trees on the far side of the field. These were not the Baron’s men, for they bore a strange flag with a sword passing through the eyes of a skull. They had to be mercenaries, hired secretly by the Baron for this very occasion. A few people at the back noticed them and cried a warning to the others. More cries followed, and people turned and saw the armed men, a hundred of them at least, spreading out to block off the crowd’s retreat.
The Baron spoke again, drawing the crowd’s eyes back to him. “Farmspit like you, Gray Bear, is the reason the Watch exists. They aren’t here because of the good farmers around you. Those who are loyal, those who do not cause problems, they have nothing to fear. It is you they should fear. Your kind does nothing but stir up trouble. You are a malcontent, never happy with what you have. You seek power, so you loose your tongue like a hungry leech and prey upon your neighbors, stirring up their fears. The only one who should be afraid right now is you, wretch.”
Gray Bear surged forward like a gentle bull, pushing farmers out of his path with huge hands. “I care nothing for power,” Gray Bear said, stopping before the pavilion. “It is only freedom I and my friends are after. Behind you stand Aven and Winter. Good farmers, just like their parents. Those parents are dead now, murdered by your Watch. It is because of that, and a hundred other atrocities, that we demand the Watch be disbanded!”
Aven feared his friend’s boldness as much as he admired it. Gray Bear had the courage that he no longer possessed. But Gray Bear had not suffered as he had. He didn’t truly realize how easily all he loved could be stripped from him. He didn’t realize how much the Baron had already offered, and how important it was that he and the others accept it.
How many of the farmers felt as Gray Bear did, willing to fight and die to achieve everything? And how many felt as Aven did, that it was better to take what one could get and treasure it over having nothing? How many would have cheered, as Aven would have, at the Baron’s amendments, if Gray Bear and the others weren’t there to keep fighting? They’d gained so much, so quickly. Why couldn’t they all see that? At least Aven hoped they could see that now, with the arrival of the mercenaries, they had no chance to gain more.
But there was still so much they could lose.
To Aven’s surprise, the Baron did not reply angrily to Gray Bear. Instead, he said, “All of you know Aven, son of Lynx, and Winter, daughter of Amethyst.” The Baron turned and gestured toward him and his sister. “These two lost their parents at the hands of an incompetent captain of the Watch. That captain was put to death on the spot by my own hand. Aven here can swear to that, for he was there when it happened. The irony is that, yesterday, it was you, Gray Bear, trying to persuade Aven to join in a rebellion against me. Aven, being a man of honor, refused, and even tried to warn you against your foolishness.”
Aven’s hands closed into fists, the words striking deep. He’d agreed to be the Baron’s puppet for the day, but he hadn’t thought the man would go this far. How many of his fellow farmers would now see him as a traitor, no different from Pike?
“There’s more,” the Baron said. “So that you will see my goodwill and judge it fairly. Today I will be rewarding Aven and Winter with an honor greater than any ever seen in my lands. For today, the Guardians will arrive. And when they leave, Aven and Winter will be going with them. By this you shall know that I honor my promises.”
A surprised silence from the crowd met these words. Even Gray Bear seemed at a loss for words.
The Baron raised his sword and pointed it at Gray Bear. “Today, you
, Gray Bear, and those who choose to stand with you, will see that I honor all my promises. To all who reject my concessions, I promise you justice, the justice of my sword.” He looked over the crowd. “All who wish to go to their grave with this man, come, stand with him now.”
Almost immediately, a space appeared in the front as the nearby farmers backed away, leaving Gray Bear and only a few others standing alone. A number pushed forward through the crowd as if they would join Grey Bear, only to stop and stand on the outskirts once they saw the hopelessness of the meager band arrayed against the Baron.
Stump, whom Aven had seen fingering his sword, was not among those who joined Gray Bear. Neither was the girl from the East Vale with the knife. The Baron’s concessions, coupled with the hired swords, had quenched what little fire the farmers had felt so recently.
Only ten stood with Gray Bear. Surprisingly, Rabbit was not among them.
Aven wondered at the madness of those eleven farmers. Did they have nothing to live for anymore? Did they care nothing for their loved ones?
Gray Bear had Rabbit. Why was he so willing to die futilely? Aven had lost the woman he loved. He already knew how fragile life was. Why couldn’t Gray Bear see that?
Aven turned toward Winter, hoping that she would not join this madness, that she would finally show some sense.
His heart stopped. She was gone.
WINTER
Winter crept forward, toward the Baron. The eyes of the crowd were on him. The eyes of the soldiers were on the crowd. No one was paying any attention to one slight girl. A vision had come to her moments ago, while listening to the Baron talk. A knife, dripping with blood, held tight in the grip of one of the Baron’s soldiers. On the ground lay Rabbit, green eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky, lips parted, blood trailing from her mouth and nose.
As soon as she had the vision, without even consciously making the choice, Winter began moving. Somehow, she intuitively knew what she needed to do if she was going to stop what was about to happen.
One hand went to the vial hanging around her neck. Touching it, a gentle tug pulled her spirit upward and outward, toward something. She could sense the blue wings opening as Whisper responded to her touch.
Her other hand closed on the dagger hidden inside her shirt.
Between the two of them she would find the strength to stop this.
More visions came, like dreaming with her eyes open. They horrified her, but she couldn’t turn away. She saw soldiers dragging eleven blood-slicked bodies. Gray Bear was among the dead, his face spattered with blood, eyes much like Rabbit’s had been, eyes open, staring up at the sky.
The Baron’s voice shattered the grisly vision as the present clashed with the future.
“All who wish to go to their grave with this man, come, stand with him now.”
She was running out of time. Soon, the point of no return would be passed, and she would be helpless to change anything. Part of her, the reasonable part, screamed at her to stop. She was only one girl. There was nothing she could do.
It didn’t matter. She had to try. She had to use the gift Leaf had given her. She had to trust him.
Leaf, do you see me now? Are you watching? Will you honor your promise?
Even if the Makers weren’t watching, she knew she could not live knowing Gray Bear, Rabbit, and the others were dead, and she had, once again, done nothing. She had barely survived the guilt the first time. She couldn’t face it again. Why Leaf entrusted her with such a terrifying duty she didn’t understand, but she knew this: if she didn’t do something, every death would torment her until the day she died.
You’re being irrational! a voice screamed silently from within.
She bit down hard on her lip and took the last few steps to the Baron quickly, before any could stop her. Her fingers were wrapped around the leather grip of the dagger as if it were the neck of a snake. Ahead, the Baron was pointing his sword at the condemned men. Winter came up behind him to his left, the dagger concealed from the farmers behind the Baron’s girth.
She lifted the Baron’s light chainmail shirt with the dagger’s tip, then pressed its sharp point into the hollow just below his rib cage. A quick thrust there and he would surely die.
“I ask that you show them mercy, Baron,” she said loudly.
A hush came over the crowd at her words, and people stared at the unexpected sight of her standing pressed so close to the Baron.
Rhaudius turned his head slightly in her direction. The color of his face could have been fear or fury.
“Remove the blade,” he whispered between clenched teeth, “and we can talk.”
She didn’t dare obey. “The farmers don’t see it,” she whispered back. “None of them needs to know. Declare your mercy upon those men and show the farmers your kindness.” She pressed harder with the dagger and felt the tip pierce his soft flesh. Why not kill him now? she wondered. Wouldn’t that save lives? But it didn’t feel right.
The Baron smiled for the farmers, apparently playing along with her, for the moment. His voice came out in a low growl, for her ears only. “I offered you your freedom. I offered you a spot with the Guardians, and this is how you repay me? I will take all of that away, and more, if you don’t put your weapon away. It’s not too late to change your mind. But soon it will be.”
Winter glanced behind her. The waiting soldiers were looking at the two of them, their hands resting upon their sword hilts. They looked suspicious, confused. At a word from the Baron they would surge forward. She hesitated.
The Baron seemed to sense her weakness, for he said, “It’s not so easy to do, is it, little girl? To take a man’s life is no small thing. Can you do it?”
Winter’s courage failed briefly, and she felt her knees grow weak. She thought she might fall down on the spot. She fought back against it. She needed to summon up a girl deep inside she barely knew—a girl who spoke the only language that Rhaudius understood.
She clenched the dagger tightly and pressed the tip into the Baron more forcefully, drawing a grunt of pain from him. “Give them mercy, or I swear I’ll cut out your liver.”
The Baron nodded and smiled as if agreeing with her. To the crowd, he said, “Winter has made a noble request on behalf of these farmers standing here. I have decided to grant her request.” He gave Winter a curious, sidelong look and added in a low voice, for her ears only, “I will never disband the Watch. Your friends will die today.”
Winter’s heart went cold. She hesitated, unsure what to do.
A loud shout came from behind her, and she turned her head. Pike was standing behind Aven, one fist gripping his hair, pulling Aven’s head back. His sword was pressed to her brother’s throat. “Let my father go, or I’ll carve your brother a new smile.”
Winter froze. She could hear mutterings from the crowd. The Baron was looking at her, a cruel smile on his face.
“I knew you couldn’t do it,” he whispered.
Suddenly, she felt the pull of Whisper’s spirit, and her eyes went to a large bulge oak standing at one end of the pavilion. A slight woman was carefully hidden high in its branches, her bow string pulled taught, her arrow ready to fly.
She was aiming at the Baron.
Winter felt everything on the verge of exploding. She had to act. Reaching a sudden decision, she withdrew the dagger and slid it into her shirt, taking a step away from the Baron as she did so, putting herself between Rabbit and her target.
The Baron turned, putting his hand in Winter’s long black hair and running his fingers through it. “My son, you’re mistaken,” he called out. “Winter was merely asking that I kill these rebels quickly and not let them suffer. A very noble suggestion, isn’t that right, Winter?”
Her heart pounded in her brain, her thoughts spiraling crazily. She stood in darkness, the abyss in every direction. She knew what the Baron offered. Agree with him and save her brother, thereby condemning the eleven to die, or call the Baron out for the liar he was. She knew what Aven would
do if their places were reversed. He would save her and send the eleven to their grave, but she couldn’t stomach that. That choice might still get them all killed.
What was the point of her vision if she couldn’t change things?
She wanted to waver, but she couldn’t. She had cast her lot with the Makers. She wouldn’t turn back now. She wouldn’t cower before the Baron. She wouldn’t allow herself to be the clean white cloth he used to wipe his filthy, blood-stained excretions on. She would go down fighting.
She saw Aven shaking his head, but she ignored him and turned to the crowd.
“I said nothing like it!” she shouted, her eyes finding Gray Bear’s for a moment. The big man’s lips thinned into a sliver of a smile, but his face was bleak. “I’m begging you, Baron Rhaudius,” she continued, “in front of these good farmers, to have mercy on Gray Bear and the men beside him. Show our community grace, and we will forever remember this day.”
She reached out and took the Baron’s hands in hers and, as a final gesture, took a knee and bowed her head.
She stared at his dusty leather boots and wondered what she would see in his eyes if she looked up.
“Rise child,” said the Baron, pulling her slowly to her feet. He kept her hand in his strong grip and placed his other hand upon her back, raising his face to look down on the crowd of farmers. “Is she not the sweetest thing you ever saw?”
A shriek of pain escaped her lips as the Baron suddenly squeezed her fingers in a bone-crunching grip. She felt one or more fingers break. Then he grabbed the back of her shirt and lifted her over his head.
“This is what happens to those who defy me!” he shouted and threw her down off the pavilion.
Winter plummeted helplessly head-first toward the hard ground. In the brief moment before she struck, she saw a vision. In it she was falling from a great distance. Below was a frothing sea, thundering as it pounded the boulders with its waves. A man in dark wool clothing was standing on the shore, hair wild and long.