The sun hung low over the village as Elira worked tirelessly, distributing supplies and organizing tasks. Villagers approached her with questions about food rations, repair schedules, and defensive duties. Her calm demeanor and decisive answers brought a sense of order to the bustling community.
Kael approached, leaning casually against a wooden post. “Fitting, isn’t it? Elira the Industrious, working harder than a colony of bees.”
Elira glanced at him, her face flushed from exertion but still carrying a faint smile. “Someone has to keep this place running, and you’re certainly not volunteering.”
Kael chuckled but didn’t argue. “Fair enough. What’s the status?”
Before she could respond, a loud shout echoed from the village gates. The head watchman, perched high on the newly built palisade, pointed toward the horizon. “Riders! A group of them—carrying royal banners!”
Elira stiffened. The villagers gathered quickly, whispers and tension spreading like wildfire.
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The village moved with purpose. Bowmen climbed to elevated positions on the palisade, staying low to remain hidden. Others, armed with spears and swords, gathered behind the gates, their grips tight on their weapons.
Elira’s father called for calm as the riders approached. Kael, Felix, and Eric joined him near the gates, their faces grim. “We stick to the plan,” Elira’s father said. “If they mean to parley, we’ll parley. If not…”
“They’ll regret coming here,” Felix muttered, gripping his shield.
The gates creaked open just enough to allow a delegation to step forward: Elira’s father leading, followed by Kael, Eric, Felix, and Elira.
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The Seventh Brigade halted just outside the gates, their horses snorting and pawing at the ground. Sir Drennor scanned the village defenses, his keen eyes noting the unusual organization and preparedness of the villagers. He spotted the bowmen partially obscured behind the palisade and frowned.
As the delegation emerged, Drennor’s sharp gaze locked on Eric. His breath caught. “Eric?” he murmured, disbelief etched across his face.
Eric froze briefly, then nodded, a faint smile crossing his lips. “It’s been a while, brother.”
Drennor dismounted, striding forward as the two met halfway. Their brief handshake and exchanged words carried both warmth and sorrow.
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Orlan, watching from his position, raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. “A family reunion?”
Drennor’s expression hardened, and he returned to his position. “Just an observation,” he replied curtly.
Orlan dismounted with a flourish, his golden armor gleaming ostentatiously in the sunlight. “Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “A quaint little rebellion you’ve got here.”
The villagers remained silent, their hands gripping weapons tightly.
Elira’s father stepped forward, bowing slightly. “My lord, we mean no disrespect to the crown. Unfortunate circumstances have prevented us from delivering our due tribute. We offer our sincerest apologies and propose a solution: double the usual tribute during the next collection.”
Orlan laughed mockingly. “Double? How generous. But no, I’m afraid that won’t suffice. You see, peasants like you need reminders of your place.”
His words drew angry murmurs from the villagers. Felix visibly tensed, but Kael placed a calming hand on his shoulder.
Elira’s father’s face fell, though he stood firm. “If my life is the price to spare my people, then so be it.”
Orlan’s grin widened. “How noble. But I have a better idea.” He pointed at Eric, his tone dripping with malicious glee. “Sir Drennor, as part of your kingly duty, I command you to execute this man. Right here. Right now.”
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The air grew still. Drennor’s hand hovered over the hilt of his sword as he stared at Eric. His brother met his gaze steadily, stepping forward.
“Do it, brother,” Eric said softly. “If this is what the crown demands, then I will pay the price.”
Drennor’s grip tightened. His voice was barely a whisper. “After all these years… this is our reunion?”
Eric knelt, lowering his head. “Do what you must.”
Orlan smirked, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “And don’t forget,” he added, “we’ll be taking all their supplies as well. Property of the crown.”
The final straw snapped. With a roar of rage, Drennor swung his massive sword. The blade arced through the air and cleaved Orlan’s arm cleanly from his body.
Orlan screamed, stumbling back as blood poured from the wound. The knights froze, shock rippling through their ranks.
Drennor turned to face the brigade, his sword still raised. “Enough! No more blind obedience to fools like him!”
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Chaos erupted. Several knights dismounted, forming a protective circle around Drennor. Others hesitated, their loyalties torn.
One knight grabbed Orlan, dragging the shrieking noble onto a horse before fleeing with a dozen riders close behind.
Drennor lowered his sword and turned to face the remaining knights. He stood tall, his voice commanding. “We swore an oath to protect the people of this kingdom. Not to serve tyrants who trample them underfoot. Honor is not blind obedience. It’s defending what’s right. And today, I choose honor over a crown.”
The remaining knights, about thirty in number, moved as one. They saluted Drennor in a silent, resolute gesture, affirming their loyalty to his cause.
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Elira’s father approached Drennor, his voice quiet but steady. “You’ve risked everything for us.”
Drennor nodded. “It was the only choice left.”
Kael stood silently nearby, watching the scene unfold. The weight of the moment pressed on everyone, the villagers and knights alike knowing that there was no turning back now.
The village stood together, a fragile but determined unity forming in the face of the storm that loomed on the horizon.