Rebel Spring
Page 3
“They’re dead,” she whispered. Her heart felt like a stone that had dropped into her stomach.
“I was watching and listening as I ran. The king’s guards are gathering any survivors up and they will make them work the road.” His voice broke. “I must go back to help the others. Go— find the rebels. Do what you can to stop this from happening anywhere else, Lys. Do you understand me?”
She shook her head, her eyes burning from the smoke and from hateful tears. “No, I won’t leave you! You’re all I have left!”
Gregor took her chin sharply in his hand. “Follow me,” he growled, “and I’ll put an arrow through your heart myself to save you from whatever fate now lies before our friends and neighbors.”
It was the last he said before he turned and ran back to the village.
And all she could do was watch him go.
Chapter 1
JONAS AURANOS
When the King of Blood wanted to make a point, he made it as sharp as possible.
It was midday. With bone-chilling thuds, the executioner’s ax fell upon the necks of three accused rebels, severing their heads from their bodies. The blood dripped through the stocks and spread across the smooth stone ground before a swelling crowd a thousand deep. And all Jonas could do was watch in horror as the heads were then mounted upon tall spikes in the palace square for all to see.
Three boys who’d barely reached manhood, now dead for being menaces and troublemakers. The severed heads stared at the crowd with blank eyes and slack expressions. Crimson blood trickled down the wooden spikes while the bodies were taken away to be burned.
The king who had quickly and brutally conquered this land did not give second chances—especially not to anyone who publicly opposed him. Rebellion would be dealt with swiftly and remorselessly—and publicly.
With each deadly fall of the blade, a growing uneasiness slithered through the masses like a heavy mist they could no longer ignore. Auranos had once been free and prosperous and at peace— but now someone with a taste for blood was seated upon the throne.
The crowd stood shoulder to shoulder in the large square. Close by, Jonas could see young nobles, well dressed with tense jaws and wary expressions. Two fat, drunk men clinking their wine-filled goblets together as if toasting to a day filled with possibility. An old, gray-haired woman with a deeply lined face and a fine silk dress, her gaze darting around suspiciously. All were clambering for the best spot to see the king when he entered onto the marble balcony high above. The air was scented with smoke from both chimneys and cigarillos and with the aromas of baking bread, roasting meat, and the fragrant oils and cloyingly floral perfumes liberally used by many in lieu of bathing regularly. And the noise—a cacophony of voices, both conspiratorial whispers and deep-throated shouts—made it impossible to think clearly.
The Auranian palace glittered before them like a massive golden crown, its spires rising high up into the cloudless blue sky. It was set in the direct center of the City of Gold, a walled city two miles wide and deep. The walls themselves were heavily veined in gold, which caught the sunlight and reflected it like a pile of gold coins in the center of acres of green. Inside, cobbled roads led to villas, businesses, taverns, and shops. Only the privileged and important were able to make this city their home. But today, the gates had opened to all who wished to hear the king’s speech.
“This place is impressive.” Brion’s voice was hard to hear above the incessant chatter of the throng.
“You think?” Jonas shifted his grim attention from the impaled heads. His friend’s dark blue eyes were fixed upon the glittering palace as if it were something he could steal and sell for profit.
“I could get used to living here. A roof over my head—golden tiles at my pampered feet. All the food and drink I can swallow. Sign me up.” He looked up at the executed rebels and grimaced. “You know, providing I keep my head attached.”
The rebels who’d been executed today had been Auranian and not a part of Jonas and Brion’s group—a gathering of young, likeminded boys who wished to rise up against King Gaius in the name of Paelsia. For three weeks now, ever since the siege upon the castle, they’d made their home in the thick of the forest that separated Auranos from their much poorer homeland. The Wildlands, as this forest was called, had a fearsome reputation of being filled with dangerous criminals and wild beasts. Some superstitious fools also believed dark and evil demons and spirits also found home in the shadows of the thick, tall trees that blocked out all but a sliver of daylight.
Jonas could deal with criminals and beasts. And he, unlike the overwhelming majority of his countrymen, thought such legends were created only to incite fear and paranoia.
When news reached him of the executions scheduled for today, Jonas had wanted to see them for himself. He’d been certain they would strengthen his resolve, his certainty, to do anything, risk anything, to see the stolen kingdoms slip like sand from the hands of the tyrant who now ruled them.
Instead, they had filled him with dread. Each boy’s face turned into that of his dead brother Tomas’s as the ax fell and their blood flowed.
Three boys with their lives and futures spread before them—now silenced forever for speaking differently than what was permitted.
Such deaths would be considered by most to be destiny. To be fate. Paelsians, especially, believed that their futures were set and that they had to accept what they were given—be it good or bad. It only served to create a kingdom of victims afraid to stand up against opposition. A kingdom easily taken by someone happy to steal what no one would fight to keep.
“I was watching and listening as I ran. The king’s guards are gathering any survivors up and they will make them work the road.” His voice broke. “I must go back to help the others. Go— find the rebels. Do what you can to stop this from happening anywhere else, Lys. Do you understand me?”
She shook her head, her eyes burning from the smoke and from hateful tears. “No, I won’t leave you! You’re all I have left!”
Gregor took her chin sharply in his hand. “Follow me,” he growled, “and I’ll put an arrow through your heart myself to save you from whatever fate now lies before our friends and neighbors.”
It was the last he said before he turned and ran back to the village.
And all she could do was watch him go.
Chapter 1
JONAS AURANOS
When the King of Blood wanted to make a point, he made it as sharp as possible.
It was midday. With bone-chilling thuds, the executioner’s ax fell upon the necks of three accused rebels, severing their heads from their bodies. The blood dripped through the stocks and spread across the smooth stone ground before a swelling crowd a thousand deep. And all Jonas could do was watch in horror as the heads were then mounted upon tall spikes in the palace square for all to see.
Three boys who’d barely reached manhood, now dead for being menaces and troublemakers. The severed heads stared at the crowd with blank eyes and slack expressions. Crimson blood trickled down the wooden spikes while the bodies were taken away to be burned.
The king who had quickly and brutally conquered this land did not give second chances—especially not to anyone who publicly opposed him. Rebellion would be dealt with swiftly and remorselessly—and publicly.
With each deadly fall of the blade, a growing uneasiness slithered through the masses like a heavy mist they could no longer ignore. Auranos had once been free and prosperous and at peace— but now someone with a taste for blood was seated upon the throne.
The crowd stood shoulder to shoulder in the large square. Close by, Jonas could see young nobles, well dressed with tense jaws and wary expressions. Two fat, drunk men clinking their wine-filled goblets together as if toasting to a day filled with possibility. An old, gray-haired woman with a deeply lined face and a fine silk dress, her gaze darting around suspiciously. All were clambering for the best spot to see the king when he entered onto the marble balcony high above. The air was scented with smoke from both chimneys and cigarillos and with the aromas of baking bread, roasting meat, and the fragrant oils and cloyingly floral perfumes liberally used by many in lieu of bathing regularly. And the noise—a cacophony of voices, both conspiratorial whispers and deep-throated shouts—made it impossible to think clearly.
The Auranian palace glittered before them like a massive golden crown, its spires rising high up into the cloudless blue sky. It was set in the direct center of the City of Gold, a walled city two miles wide and deep. The walls themselves were heavily veined in gold, which caught the sunlight and reflected it like a pile of gold coins in the center of acres of green. Inside, cobbled roads led to villas, businesses, taverns, and shops. Only the privileged and important were able to make this city their home. But today, the gates had opened to all who wished to hear the king’s speech.
“This place is impressive.” Brion’s voice was hard to hear above the incessant chatter of the throng.
“You think?” Jonas shifted his grim attention from the impaled heads. His friend’s dark blue eyes were fixed upon the glittering palace as if it were something he could steal and sell for profit.
“I could get used to living here. A roof over my head—golden tiles at my pampered feet. All the food and drink I can swallow. Sign me up.” He looked up at the executed rebels and grimaced. “You know, providing I keep my head attached.”
The rebels who’d been executed today had been Auranian and not a part of Jonas and Brion’s group—a gathering of young, likeminded boys who wished to rise up against King Gaius in the name of Paelsia. For three weeks now, ever since the siege upon the castle, they’d made their home in the thick of the forest that separated Auranos from their much poorer homeland. The Wildlands, as this forest was called, had a fearsome reputation of being filled with dangerous criminals and wild beasts. Some superstitious fools also believed dark and evil demons and spirits also found home in the shadows of the thick, tall trees that blocked out all but a sliver of daylight.
Jonas could deal with criminals and beasts. And he, unlike the overwhelming majority of his countrymen, thought such legends were created only to incite fear and paranoia.
When news reached him of the executions scheduled for today, Jonas had wanted to see them for himself. He’d been certain they would strengthen his resolve, his certainty, to do anything, risk anything, to see the stolen kingdoms slip like sand from the hands of the tyrant who now ruled them.
Instead, they had filled him with dread. Each boy’s face turned into that of his dead brother Tomas’s as the ax fell and their blood flowed.
Three boys with their lives and futures spread before them—now silenced forever for speaking differently than what was permitted.
Such deaths would be considered by most to be destiny. To be fate. Paelsians, especially, believed that their futures were set and that they had to accept what they were given—be it good or bad. It only served to create a kingdom of victims afraid to stand up against opposition. A kingdom easily taken by someone happy to steal what no one would fight to keep.
