The Thorian Sagas. 2. Insurrection.

Thorians? Here so soon? They were all horrified, and they were stuck outside of the potential sanctuary of the city. This could mean only one thing for them: death!

One of them spoke again. “You seem to have severe grievances against us. But what grievances, exactly? Why has no one spoken up before now of these iniquities you accuse us of?”

He, they, had to be looking at Christine, demanding an answer, but behind those close-fitting helmets with their nose guards, it was difficult to tell.

“Speak up. You had a lot to say before we interrupted you.”

Christine was resigned to what would happen to her now, having been so outspoken against their overlords.

She braced her shoulders and stepped forward though her legs were trembling and there was a tight knot of ice in her gut.

“Are you dissatisfied with what we do for you? Why have you not spoken up before?”

Boril helped Christine in a way that she could only see as the height of folly and stupidity, but she repeated, even defiantly, what he was telling her to say.

“Everyone knows it is death to resist any Thorian or to speak out against them.”

There was a low rumble of laughter from the one who seemed to be their leader, but it was not a laugh of humor.

He, the one who had spoken, had listened, and then had laughed. He had not immediately approached her and struck her down as she’d feared.

“Go on.” He did not sound pleased.

Christine’s internal voice cautioned her.

Yes, go on if you dare, girl; dig yourself into even deeper trouble if that is possible.

‘Hung for a sheep, as for a lamb’, sprang to her mind. She could not turn back now even if it cost her her life. She still had some pride.

“You Thorians rule us with an iron fist. That is what that treaty represents.”

She was now started… thanks to Boril… calming her unruly heart, her turbulent thoughts, her rationally, irrational fears.

She would say what she had to say, and then die, but if she could sacrifice only herself by speaking out like this, rather than seeing all of her comrades struck down, even those not known to her, she would. Better one, was to die, than one hundred and more.

“We are made prisoners in our own cities, stripped of all real freedom.”

She gained confidence.

They were actually, listening.

It was hard to believe that she was not immediately struck down with a heavy spear through her heart, impaled to the desert floor.

Boril prompted her to continue.

‘Courage. Liam is listening. He is their leader. Go on.’

She did so.

“We may not leave our cities; may not even go beyond its walls.” She was warming up now.

“We may not trade with the other cities. Others must do it for us.”

“We may not travel the inland sea, or fish for ourselves, as you do.”

The men were still listening.

“And then the cruelest lash of all that stings the hardest; there are Tributes that you take from us: our youngest and best women, sent out to their deaths each month. Thirty of our best, each year, from each of the cities.

“Why?” Her voice broke with emotion. “That, and all else that we struggle to bear, is nothing but tyranny. Such a powerful overlord should be more considerate of his weaker subjects.”

She fell silent upon Boril’s instruction.

‘That, should be enough, Christine of Dorian.’

More than enough.

‘I am dead!’

Boril, chuckled in her mind.

How could he laugh at a time like this?

‘You are far from being dead, Christine.’

She questioned him, not understanding their silence.

‘Why do they say nothing? Do nothing?’

‘You took them by surprise. Give them time. They have rarely been faced by such courageous and outspoken honesty.’

Such reckless stupidity, more like!

‘But that was you. Not me.’

‘It was you. I merely lifted those thoughts out of your own mind and gave you a voice to say them. One thing about Thorians… they appreciate honesty. Usually.’

One of them spoke. Their leader? Liam.

“What would you have us do, Christine MacBeath?”

They knew her name. They must have heard it earlier.

She suppressed her need to retreat and spoke out for them all.

“Stop taking tributes from us. Leave us alone.”

There was a more-lengthy silence.

That was when each of the ten giants standing a few tens of feet from them drew their swords as their answer.

Boril was not laughing now.

‘Oh, dear. On the other hand… I could have been wrong about them appreciating honesty and outspokenness; especially, Liam. Unless something has changed.’

Boril seemed uncertain for once. Too late to reconsider now.

Christine’s heart almost leapt from her chest.

‘What should I do?’

‘There is only one thing you can do now that they have listened and responded as they have. Draw your own sword. It is what is required of you. Do not back down now.’

‘But…’ Nothing would induce her to do that. Draw a weapon against a Thorian? Madness!

Death was all she could expect now.

Boril was impatient with her.

‘Draw your sword. Do it now!’

This urgent voice in her head may not be giving her the best advice, but she did it.

She heard those beside and behind her draw their swords too. Not even all of them could possibly prevail against these men, but they would go down fighting. What a waste, so many dead with nothing to show for it.

‘Now challenge them. Step forward and challenge them. Ten of you, stand forward in a line and challenge them. Shout it loudly. Make sure they hear you.’

Boril was mad. He must be mad! Or had gone from madness to total, raving insanity.

Many thoughts went through Christine’s mind.

‘Challenge them?’

‘Yes. Challenge them to combat. They have something that you desire to possess. You want to win back the freedom to determine your own course. That will be weighed against what they want… a continuation of the present state of affairs… presumably. Such an impasse is soon resolved with a direct challenge.’

This was madness. Sheep… lambs… in for a penny, in for a pound. What the hell!

She did as she was told, as the other two leaders stepped beside her, joined by seven others. They would all die for this. Fifteen waves of them.

It would go down in history, how 150 women from the cities were struck down; slaughtered by the Thorian devils outside of the walls of Fenn. Another iniquity to count against them. Better this way, than to go silently into that darker night, as a prisoner.

She raised her sword high in defiance and shouted.

‘We challenge you, Thorians.’

Boril hesitated and then swore, politely.

‘Oh dear. I should have said something earlier about the protocol. You, challenged them, so they get to choose the contest, the weapons, and the rules. Usually, there are no rules when they fight, and victor takes all.’

Too late to un-challenge them!

She could not move to charge at them and take them by surprise. Her feet seemed to have rooted in the desert. Her mouth was dry; her head, pounding in fear.

Everything had gone silent.

One of the Thorians chuckled.

These monsters would enjoy this. It was what they had been born for… to fight, to kill, to subdue all rebellions; punish all weakness.

These men advanced as one, swords at the ready, pausing within sword’s length of each of the women.

Their swords flashed in the sunlight.