Go For Stories

Staren sat in the council chamber and watched her husband debate the merits of attacking the Earl’s fortress outright. His face was red and his gestures wild. It had been two days of arguing back and forth between the nine members of the council and they had reached no consensus. The council wanted to do something about the Earl and his oppression of the Natural Order, they all agreed, but nobody could agree on what was best.

Staren had watched Rense grow more and more aggressive. He was passionate about attacking. He claimed there were enough people who stood for freedom that they could muster a force and take the fortress. The council leader, Helav’ill, stood on the other end of the argument. His stance was that, were the Earl provoked, he would bring his rage upon them like a storm. His troops would surely swoop in and crush this village and those of any other Order member.

Staren sat back and groaned. She had remained mostly silent until this point, but could take it no longer.

“This is getting us nowhere,” she said, bringing a silence over the room. “All we have achieved since yesterday is a broken council and frayed tempers. Rense,” she looked at her husband, “I love you, but you are wrong. We cannot attack the Earl with what resources we have at the moment. Yes, we could get the troops, but what weapons and armour do we have? We don’t even have the money or steel to make more. Do you propose that we attack with bare chests and nothing but pluck to keep us safe?”

Rense’s face, much to Staren’s amazement, went even redder.

“Helav’ill,” Staren continued, “don’t think you’ve gotten out of it. You are just as wrong. If we simply wait and see what happens, we will not be waiting for long. The Earl is growing bolder as every day progresses. It will not be long before he grows impatient with us and attacks, provoked or not. He is ruthless and will not spare us because we don’t seem to have done anything wrong yet. Yes, we pay his taxes, but we do not send him young men to bolster his troops. He has let it slide for now, but not forever.”

Helav’ill stood and pulled back his long sleeves, leaning his hands on the table.

“It is not wise to call out the flaws in others’ plans without having something to offer yourself, Staren. What do you propose?”

Staren stood. She had thought about every possibility over the last two days and she had come up with what she saw to be the best course of action.

“We need to ensure our survival. If we are destroyed, the resistance will fall with us. Helav’ill, I say you return to your village and everyone else return to theirs.” She looked over the other faces of the council. Their wrinkled brows betrayed their confusion. “Put your people to work fortifying the villages. Build walls, dig trenches, find places for people to hide in the event of an attack. Prepare to fight to the last man. While this is done, I think we should send runners out, searching for fighters and anyone sympathetic to our cause. We can take our time to ensure we have the resources to stage the coup that my husband – and the Order – so desperately wants.”

The council stared at her with blank faces. Staren sat back down and gave them time to think over what she had said. Rense sat beside her, but didn’t look her way. After a painful silence Helav’ill spoke.

“What you say has promise. The council shall vote.” He sat and clasped his hands in front of him. “Anyone that believes we should do as the Earl instructs and wait until an opportunity presents itself to act, stand now.”

Staren watched the room. One member stood. He looked about himself and, when nobody else followed suit, his eyes fell and he returned to his seat.

“Anyone who believes we should attack soon, stand.”

Rense was on his feet before Staren could even look his way. Another member on the opposite side of the table stood also. She looked around, then shrugged at Rense and sat again. Rense growled at no one in particular and sat. He cast a sideways glance at Staren, who avoided his gaze.

“Anyone who feels that Staren’s plan is the most appropriate course of action?”

The six remaining members, including Helav’ill and Staren, stood.

“It is decided,” said Helav’ill, remaining on his feet. “We should all return to our own villages and set about improving the defences. Each of you should send at least one Order member out to find sympathetic troops and able fighters. They must also seek blacksmiths and armourers who are willing to supply us with weapons and any protective clothing they can.” Helav’ill rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “It has been a long two days, so I feel it wise that we should finish up now and head home as soon as possible. If anyone has anything else to add, now would be the time.” The council remained silent. “I thank you all.”

Helav’ill, never one to dilly dally, bowed his head and left the room. The other members of the Order followed suit, leaving Staren and Rense. The redness of Rense’s face had paled a little, but he still held his furrowed brow and bristled posture. Staren put her hand on his shoulder.

“Are you angry?”

He turned towards her, his gaze severe. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Rense, I only said what I felt was right.”

He reached up and put his hand on hers. With a great sigh, he removed her hand from his shoulder. He stood and pushed his chair under the table.

“I am not angry at you,” he said, crossing to the door, “I am angry at the whole situation.”

Staren stood and went to her husband. “But you wish I had sided with you?”

“Of course I do. You’re my wife and we are meant to act as one in these sorts of matters.”

They left the room and Staren closed the door behind them.

“You do realise,” she said, “that if we had attacked the Earl in our current state, we would have been completely destroyed. The Order would have been vanquished and any who survived would have been forced into slavery, or worse.”

Rense lowered his head. “Yes, I know, but something has to be done. If we don’t act soon he will likely attack anyway. There is no way that he is going to sit back and watch our attempts to spread the faith. I do know that my arguments are rash and dangerous. I just can’t handle this oppression. It’s killing me, Staren.”

Staren moved in to hug Rense. He accepted her embrace and curled his muscled arms around her. As she held him, Staren could feel his body slump into hers. Rense was tired. He wasn’t old, but he had lived a very large life. Staren had felt that he was slowing down, not that he would ever admit to it. She rubbed her hands up and down his back.

“How about we get you home for a nice hot drink? I picked up some new leaves yesterday from the store. I think they’ll get you feeling young again in no time.”

Rense released himself from her grip. “What do you mean, ‘young again?’ I will always be young, thank you. Look at this chest.” He puffed out his ribs like a preening wildbird. “Is this the chest of an old man?”

Staren laughed. “Not at all. In fact, I’d be surprise if you were a day over twelve.”

He held his hand to his barrelled chest and screwed up is face in pain. “Ouch. Settle down, dear, you may offend these young ears. Although, I do have the drive of a twelve year old.”

He reached out and grabbed her bottom in both hands, pulling her body close. A firm bulge pushed against her belly. She slapped his hands away and winked at him.

“Now now, we’re married. Married people don’t do that sort of thing.” She began the walk back to their house. “I take your libido to mean that you are no longer upset, then?”

Rense followed along behind Staren. She felt his eyes burning into her from behind. “If that were the case, then I would never be upset around you.”

Staren dropped back and held Rense’s hand as they walked. It was a nice day – not too hot – and she thought it perfect to enjoy the walk. They walked hand in hand through the village, smiling at those who passed. As they reached the square, Rense froze. Staren stopped with him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shh.” He held a finger up to his mouth and cocked his head to the side, turning to face the way they had come.

“What do you hear?” whispered Staren.

“Listen,” he said. “There’s something coming from the east. Marching.”

“Marching?” She listened for the sound that Rense heard, but her hearing wasn’t as honed as her husband’s. After years fighting for the Sovereignty, he could hear the clank of armour from two villages away, under water.

“It’s there,” he said, “I promise. We should get home.”

Rense was right. They had a large bell built into their loft years ago, in case of an emergency. If there were soldiers marching on the village, they had to let the townsfolk know before it was too late. They ran from the square as fast as they could. As they rounded the corner, Haver called from the bakery.

“Rense, Staren, where are you two going in such a hurry?”

As they fled past, he ran to keep up.

“Rense has heard marching towards the east,” said Staren. “We’re going for the bell.”

Haver looked back over his shoulder towards the square.

“Are you sure what you heard, Rense?”

“Positive.” His breath was heavy, but constant. “Look, Haver, we’re going to ring the bell. If it’s a false alarm, nobody gets hurt; if not, we save some people. We need you to protect who you can. Get them to the Empty Flagon. Gygyn will find places for everyone. If you have time, look for the other council members. They have a job to do and they need to be alive to do it.” He looked at Haver, who still ran beside them, looking about with concerned eyes. “Go now, Haver. NOW.”

Haver nodded, turned, and sprinted away.

Staren and Rense made it to their house and burst through the front door, swinging it shut behind them. Rense flew through the house and up the stairs, three at a time. Staren heard him throw back the hidden panel and the bell sounded three times, loud enough for the whole village to hear. Rense must have been deafened, being so close to it.

“STAREN,” Rense shouted from the top of the stairs.

She ran to the bottom step.

“What’s happening?”

“They’re here. Half of the Pyre have flanked us through the forest. Get up these stairs and don’t go outside.”

She ran up the stairs and stopped in front of her husband. “What are you going to do?”

“Anything I can.” He grabbed her by both hands and looked her in the eyes. “I love you, Staren. I always will.”

The look of fear in his eyes broke her heart. Half a Pyre, two hundred soldiers in full battle armour; Rense didn’t stand a chance.

“Don’t do this, Rense, there are more men out there that can help. Younger men.”

“Exactly.” He ran a hand down her cheek. His rough hand brought the tears from her eyes. “I have lived well. I have loved and been loved. Survive, Staren, for me.”

Staren grit her teeth and forced herself to be strong. If this was to be the last time he saw her, she refused to show weakness. He married a strong woman and he would remember her as such for eternity.

“I love you, Rense. Be careful.”

“Ha! Fat chance of that!” He gave her a kiss in the forehead and descended the stairs in three leaps.

Staren held tight to the banister to refrain from collapsing and watched him go. She would do as he said and stay put. Even if she did want to help, at best she would be a distraction. She heard his exit from the house and the sound of him removing his axe from the hook against the back wall.

Throughout the village, the screams came forth. She looked through the window and watched the tail end of the advancing army. They had reached their destination; the bloodbath had begun. The clanging of metal on metal could be heard and the shouts of men, already dying, begged for the pain to stop.

“Please, Wind, be good to him,” she whispered a prayer. “Rain and Moon and Soil, allow him to live or to die fast and with courage.”

The front door crashed inwards and Staren screamed. A dozen soldiers flooded in through the shattered wood. The first of their number spotted Staren and headed straight for her, the others in tow. She screamed again and looked for something with which to protect herself. There, next to the bed was a black sword that V’esen must have brought home with him. She grabbed it with both shaky hands and held it out in front of her, preparing to fight.

A gut-wrenching roar echoed through the house and in burst Rense. His face was spattered with blood and he looked for all the world like an old being, bent on death and destruction. He charged towards the unlucky soldier at the back, slamming the axe into his shoulder so hard that his arm fell to the floor with a wet crunch. The soldier looked stunned for a moment before slumping to the ground.

This caught the attention of the other soldiers. They rounded on him and levelled their swords his way. He barrelled forward, swinging the axe with the force of an ox. His thick muscles gleamed with sweat and blood as he cleaved the head half off a soldier’s neck and kicked another so hard in the gut that he fell backwards, knocking down two more soldiers.

A wound opened up on Rense’s arm and blood ran from it. He turned to the soldier who delivered the cut, and opened his chest, breast plate and all. The soldier fell back, taking the axe with him. Rense now stood in the middle of the house, alone, unarmed and surrounded. He raised his fists and bellowed. The soldiers closed in. True to her vow not to distract him, Staren remained quiet. If he was to stand a chance it would be due to her silence. She watched as her heart tore at her insides.

Rense swung his fists, knocking down two soldiers in one punch. Another cut opened across his face. He pulled the soldier in and head-butted him so hard that the man’s face exploded. Rense tore the sword from his grasp and threw it into the unprotected throat of another. Two soldiers grabbed him from behind. They has snuck up behind him while his attention was divided. Both soldiers bared their teeth and groaned with the effort of containing the man in full battle rage.

Rense lashed out with his feet, connecting with one knee and another’s groin. He spat and tugged and swore. The soldiers dropped their swords and fell upon him with their fists.

“You’ll all burn,” he screamed at them. “You’ll all burn.”

He fell to his knees as the punches rained down; his face a mess of blood and pulp. Staren could watch no longer. She dropped the sword and covered her face with her hands. Her husband’s groans quietened. He was dying. There was no fight left in him and her tears flowed to the floor.

“STAREN,” he called, his voice shaking. “GET OUT. STAAAREN.”

She removed her hands from her eyes and looked down in time to see Rense’s arm flop to the floor. He now lay on the wood, one side of his face swollen beyond recognition, his other eye wide and unblinking. Staren screamed and picked up the sword once more. With Rense gone, she was nothing. Her eyes hurt from the tears and her chest felt torn open and strewn about the floor. She had to get out. Half a dozen soldiers stood between her and the exit. For Rense, she would try, and she would take out as many men as should could on the way. She would be brave for her fallen love.