The dead were starting to pile up in the streets now that most of the food had gone. Fortunately, Col and his wife hadn’t succumbed to neither starvation nor disease yet. Vestis, their young son wasn’t so lucky though. While disease hadn’t gotten him, he’d gotten caught up in one of the food riots and had been trampled to death.

  The bodies were frozen solid now, but when spring came, they would thaw and generate an entire new outbreak of disease as they rotted. In the beginning, there was an attempt to move the dead somewhere safe, but as the winter wore on and the starvation got worse, no one had the energy. Now, the corpses were left where they had died.

  Many were blaming the Camulani and elvish armies outside, but a larger group were quietly blaming King Drahius. If the rumors were right, he had gone mad and was hoarding what remained of the food. To preserve his supplies, it was said he was roasting and eating his own servants.

  It was clear that the king had lost his mind. It had been a month since the Camulani dropped the leaflet bombs all across town explaining that their general, someone named Aeolwyn would feed and protect all the citizens if they just opened the gates. There was an immediate attempt to open the north gate, but fighting broke out among the guards and the people trying to open the gate that resulted in a lot of deaths. After that, the king doubled up the guards at every gate and forbade anyone from coming closer than a block from the outside walls.

  That was the end of the revolt, though many people still grumbled.

  Col and his wife Talia just tried to keep their heads down and kept out of trouble. They mostly stayed inside the little hovel they called home. The only time either of them ventured out was to line up with the other peasants to get their weekly bread and bean allotment.

  The house was a lonely place without Vestis. Talia spent most of her time in the corner of the room, sobbing. Col tried to do his best to comfort her and make things better, but it never worked; she just continued to sob. And on the lucky days where he did manage to cheer her up, she would end up sitting in the chair by the window and stare blankly out of it for hours.

  Today, he had to physically drag her out of bed. It was allotment day, and they needed to hurry to get a good place in line. Otherwise, the food might run out before they got to the front. Whether her lethargy was due to depression or starvation wasn’t clear, and he wasn’t about to ask her.

  “Oh, Col, I’m worried about this,” Talia said as they took their small loaf of bread and handful of beans. “Couldn’t they at least give it to us in a sack? People have been killed for less than this!”

  He grabbed her and pulled her from the guards doing the distribution. Here was not the place to suggest such things. “Don’t worry Tal,” he said. “There are a lot of guards. They will protect us.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He wasn’t. He led her down a less traveled alleyway that he and Amis had been using to get to the tavern. While there was some danger of being out of view of the guards—who were nominally providing security—it wasn’t any more dangerous than showing starving people they had food.

  As they exited the alley, Talia bumped into a guard with sagging skin. He looked like he used to be fat. His uniform hung loosely around his bones, and the armored chest plate he was wearing was so oversized, it barely protected him.

  “Sorry,” Talia whispered.

  The guard grabbed the bread in her hand and shoved her away. He greedily stuffed his newfound meal into his mouth, chewing loudly. His eyes glassed over orgasmically as he tried to eat the entire piece of bread in one bite.

  “Hey!” she yelled, getting back up and trying to reach into his mouth. “Give that back!”

  Without hesitation, the guard drew his sword and plunged it deep into Talia’s belly. Col cried out as the man pulled the blade out and wiped the blood on her collapsing body. He turned to Col and grimaced threateningly.

  “Talia!” Col cried, collapsing beside her. He pressed his hand on her belly and tried to staunch the bleeding, but it was no use. It just kept coming and coming. The blood ran through his hands and stained his clothes. He heard the guard chuckle as he sheathed his sword and walked away.

  “No!” He couldn’t lose her. She was the only thing he had left. Their son was already stacked up in the south quarter waiting for the thaws so he could be buried. Col couldn’t bear it if he had to add Talia to the corpse pile.

  But he could do nothing. There was no time to get her to a healer, and no money even if he could. He watched impotently as her life bled away out onto the streets, where it froze. Steam slowly drifted upwards from her wound.

  She reached out to him, trying to touch him one last time. He cradled her head and tried to kiss her, but when he did, she coughed, spraying blood all over his face. It tasted metallic. He didn’t care. They had shared everything in this life together. Why would a little of her blood matter?

  “I love you, Talia!” he said softly as her eyes went glossy. “Tell Vestis I love him, too.”

  He wanted to stay with her, and keep holding her until her body got cold, but a rage started bubbling up inside him. The guard didn’t have to do that! There had been no reason for her to die. In fact, the only reason they were all starving was because the king wouldn’t surrender and open the doors to Aeolwyn. It was his fault, and someone had to do something.

  Col stood up, white-hot anger coursing through his veins. He chased after the guard, who had only gotten a few feet away from him. Col pulled out his eating knife and plunged it into the massive gap between the guard’s armor and skin.

  The knife didn’t go very far, but the guard still cried out, turning and reaching for his sword. As soon as he did, Col punched him hard, right in the nose. The guard stumbled back, his arms cartwheeling.

  While he was off balance, Col grabbed the sword from the guard’s belt and drew it. It was heavier than he expected. He had to hold it with two hands. The guard’s eyes went wide with shock as the blade came wildly at his neck.

  A second later, and it was over. The guard’s head tumbled down from his neck and came rolling to Col’s feet. He kicked it away from him and dropped the sword. What had he done? If anyone saw, he was sure to be executed.

  As the head rolled away, two men came running up beside him.

  “Down with the king!” one of them shouted, picking up the sword. “Come!”

  With nowhere else to go, Col followed. The three men raced back down the same alley they’d just come out of, and the man slew the first guard he saw. His associate grabbed that sword. The long line of starving peasants waiting for their bread stared at them with shock.

  “Revolt!” someone cried.

  Three more guards came through, to see what the commotion was all about. As soon as they saw the two men with the swords, they charged. A woman in the line stuck her foot out and tripped the lead guard. The man beside her jumped on him, bashing his head on the cobblestones until he stopped moving.

  The other two guards were pelted with rocks as they tried to cut their way through the line of peasants who had, up until that moment, been waiting patiently for their meager allotment of food.

  A dozen more guards appeared as though from nowhere, and the whole place exploded in violence. Starving men and women with nothing left to lose charged the new guards, who immediately started swinging their blades. They were no match for the sheer number of revolting peasants. They killed the first few, but after that, the guards disappeared under a pile of men with stones in their hands.

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  “Col!” he heard behind him.

  He turned, in time, to duck a guard’s sword slash that would have taken his head off. A second later, the guard was shoved aside, and a massive man grabbed his head with both hands and crushed it like a grape.

  It was Amis! Behind him, Betram and Thurstan were running towards him.

  “To the castle!” Amis shouted as he picked up the sword easily in one hand. Col, who, up until this point wasn’t a revolutionary, followed eagerly, craving blood. Behind them the entire mass of peasants came along. A few were armed with the guard’s swords, but most were either armed with rocks peeled up from the cobblestones, or with pitchforks. Many only had their bare hands.

  The few guards that were outside the castle stood no chance against the mob of peasants. Some started banging on the wicket door, but the men on the other side refused to allow them entry. The men who weren’t killed with sword, rock, or pitchfork were crushed against the massive stone wall.

  “Give me a boost!” Betram shouted. Three of the mob grabbed him and lifted him easily in the air. Like a spider, his friend, the same one who claimed not to be a thief, climbed the stone wall, and disappeared over the other side.

  A few moments later, men screamed from the other side of the gate, followed by the sound of someone lifting the massive beam that held the gate in place. After that, the gates easily swung open, and the mob poured through like a sewer full of rats trying to escape a flood.

  The mob got unbelievably lucky. The king, the man responsible for their starvation was standing in the yard in his nightshirt, as fat as a hog. Why he was there and not hiding safely in the castle, Col didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter. They descended on him like he was a roast pig.

  They beat him unconscious, pounding his head with stones and fists.

  “Stop!” Col cried before they tore his limbs off, remembering the promise written in the leaflets. “Take him to the north gate!”

  “Open the gates!” Someone shouted. “Open the gates!”

  The mob hoisted the battered body of the king and turned like a thick stream of oozing mud turning a corner. People turned and ran into each other, shoving and pushing in both directions. Some fell and were trampled.

  Together they all raced down the streets, adding more guards to the mountain of corpses. Many of the peasants paid for the attack with their lives but were too desperate to care. They would be dead in a month anyway.

  The guards at the gates, seeing the mass of peasants running their way, threw down their weapons and fled. Some tried to fling their armor off and disappear into the mob. Col didn’t know if they succeeded. Some were beaten to death where they stood. Others vanished before he saw their fate.

  Col, Amis, and Thurstan hurled themselves onto the massive beam that held the gates shut and lifted. It was as tall as an oak tree and twice as thick. Even the three men couldn’t lift it until a dozen others came to their aid.

  As soon as the beam was removed and the gates opened, the mob flooded out of the gate, carrying the body of the king. In the distance, alarm bells started ringing, and Col could see solders getting ready for a fight.

  “Stop!” he shouted. “Stop for your lives!”

  Many did, seeing that this army was well equipped, formed up, and most importantly, not starving. Others still ran towards the army while others ran in other directions. The ones who reached the line of soldiers were stabbed to death before they could explain who they were.

  “We have opened the gates for you, Sir Aeolwyn!” Col shouted.

  The mob, those that were smart enough to stop waited anxiously to see what the line of soldiers were going to do. There were rumors that mages were among them who would rip the very earth out from below them and send them to the underworld.

  “The king is dead!” someone shouted.

  “The king is dead!” another echoed as the mob took up the chant.

  They continued to chant as the soldiers held their line. They were well disciplined, and none broke off to attack the mob. The men in the tower just behind the line looked to be yelling anxiously to someone below.

  “Send an emissary!” one of the men in the tower shouted.

  Someone shoved Col forward. He tried to step back, but he was shoved again. And again. They kept shoving him until he was at the front of the line.

  “It has to be you,” a stranger said. It was the man who had taken the sword of the guard he’d beheaded. With his family dead, he had nothing left to live for, so he might as well find out the truth of Aeolwyn’s promise.

  He slowly stepped forward, struggling to make progress through the nearly waist-high snow. It was difficult going, but he kept going. His legs started to get stiff, and he felt like he was freezing to death. But none of the soldiers made an attempt to attack him. Even the bowmen kept their weapons out of view.

  His teeth were chattering, and he felt frozen by the time he made it to the line of soldiers. He could no longer feel his feet, and tiny little icicles were starting to form around his eyelashes.

  He took one more step, and he was suddenly overcome with warmth. It was as though he’d plunged directly into a hot bath. One moment he was freezing, and the next he was so hot he started to sweat.

  What sort of trickery is this?

  Two men were there to greet him. An older man built like a boulder, and a taller, thin man. The tall man was dressed like an old soldier, but not in the same uniform as the others. The thinner man was dressed in a robe designed to look like the uniforms the soldiers were wearing. He began to glow slightly as an icy coldness washed over Col. His freezing joints were suddenly warmed, and the stiff and aching knee that had been troubling him for years had stopped hurting.

  “Come,” the taller man said.

  They took him through the warm camp to a large tent. It was spartan inside, only enough room for a large table and a few chairs. Standing beside one of the chairs was another tall man, taller than the boulder-built man, but not as tall as the thin man. He was young. Maybe only a few years older than Vestis. His flame-red hair was held back from his head by a leather thong.

  Behind him was the darkest woman he had ever seen. She wore trousers like a man and a hood covered most of her features. Even through the hood, he could tell she was strikingly beautiful.

  He smiled warmly and offered Col a cup of warmed wine, which he drank from deeply.

  “I am Prince Aeolwyn of House Camul,” he said. “What is your name, friend?”

  Col fell to his knees and bowed deeply before the man. He buried his face into the dirty carpets of the tent. Prince Aeolwyn? He had no idea that the man who had promised them safety and food was a prince! He thought he was just a general.

  “I am called Col, My Prince.”

  “Rise, Col,” he said. “You needn’t prostrate yourself before me.”

  Col did as he was bid but avoided looking directly at the man. Instead, he studied the tent. There were plates of half-eaten food on the table. More than he’d eaten in a month. He wanted to run over there and gorge himself, but he couldn’t. His feet were rooted in place.

  Prince Aeolwyn saw where he was looking. “There will be as much to eat as you can hold and more. But first, tell me what has happened?”

  “My wife,” he started. His heart suddenly dropped, and he felt himself weeping. The reality of what had just happened was sinking in. “The guard killed her, so I killed him back. And then a man took the sword and killed another. Then everything exploded.”

  “A riot?”

  “A revolt, Your, uh, Princeness. We killed as many guards as we could and stormed the castle to find the king.”

  “You may call me Aeolwyn, Col,” he said. “Or Your Highness if you want to be formal.”

  Col dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

  “And the king? Did you find him?”

  “Yes! He was wandering the grounds like he was lost. The mob got to him before I could. I think he’s dead.”

  “Excellent news, Col. And you opened the gates to let me in?”

  “Yes. We got your letter.”

  The fire-haired man shot a glance to the dark woman behind him and grinned. She gave him a scowl in reply. He chuckled at her response. Col wondered if they were lovers. They were both young and beautiful. Why wouldn’t they be?

  “Thank you, Col,” the prince said and gestured to the table. “Eat your fill. When you’re ready, we’ll send you back to your men with food and instructions.”

  Col needed no further bidding. He raced over to the table and started to eat.

  ***

  Alfyn sat in his apartments. Behind him, a barber was attending to his wild mane of hair. It had been long past time for a cut, but with the riots and trying to find suitors for Filliya, he just hadn’t had the time.

  It was good to finally be able to relax without the stresses of the kingdom bearing down on him. Before he was king, he hadn’t realized how many little decisions had to be made every single day. It was never ending.

  His door burst open and Lord Smyton hurried in. He looked panicked. So much for leaving the stresses of the kingdom for a little while. Smyton had a letter in his hand that looked like it had been stored in a wet bucket for a week.

  “What is it?” he asked, annoyed. He’d been given strict instructions to be left alone. Lord Smyton believed himself to be above such orders.

  “Your Grace, our spies have found your brother!”

  “Which one?” He had two brothers who were currently missing.

  “Prince Aeolwyn,” Smyton said. About time. It had been months since they’d had word that Aeolwyn had made it to Fort Camulan and then disappeared.

  “And…?”

  “Your Grace,” Smyton paused, as if he were either trying to find the words, or the courage to tell the rest of the story. “He and his army are currently laying siege to Castle Fenn.”

  “What!?” This was outrageous. His brother had started a war without his permission? How dare he! He’d had enough. “I’m through with him. Draft an order, Smyton. I want his head.”

  Aeolwyn was too arrogant for his own good. And his army was getting too popular. If the rumors were to be believed, he had come up with a new way to deploy mages in combat that would be devastating to their enemies. He clearly wanted to test them out on their biggest enemies.

  “As you command, Your Grace.”

  “Wait,” Alfyn said. What if he could turn this to his advantage? The boy had clearly fallen for the ruse that the Fenns had taken Fort Camulan from him. That was good. Maybe he could send a message to King Drahius offering his aid.

  But what if the siege succeeded? By rights and tradition, he would be offered the Fennish crown. He, of course, was supposed to give it to the next highest ranking noble, but what if he didn’t? Maybe he would give it to Alfyn as a peace offering.

  If he did that, everything that Aeolwyn had done would be forgiven. If he didn’t? Well, Alfyn had an army of his own, and mages besides. He would have to visit Jor Wiret after this and make some plans.