An Insurrection Read Free Page B

fear. Their protectors stood with them. Their armor shelled bodies were the only thing standing between the people and Desh’s men. They thought them to be savages, but they only killed armed men. No one was harmed. When Thurstan’s last contingent of men dropped their arms they too were spared.
    Morn was shocked by their restraint as he kneeled over the guard still clinging to life, tugging as his gauntlets. Morn knew the look well. Life was far more precious to the man now. He wanted his wounds to close. He wanted to be saved, so that he could live.
    ‘Please,’ the guard muttered, his voice ragged and full of suffering.
    ‘The killing is nearly done,’ Morn said with kindness in his commanding voice. He studied the man’s face as he set Thurstan’s crown on the floor beside his head. His eyes shined still, but not with the lust of death as they always had. A morsel of compassion was there. ‘I shall be merciful so that your misery might end.’ With those words Morn covered the guard’s eyes with his hand and slipped a short blade into his throat. Severing the large vein as he cut sideways, the guard’s hand dropped to his sides and he fell silent.
    ‘Hail Garvin Desh! Our king!’ One of the men proclaimed.
    ‘Long live the king!’ Another proclaimed with more eagerness than the last man. ‘Kneel before your king.’ He stepped to the center of the room, just before Beld’s guards and pointed his sword at everyone around him. One by one the fearful bent the knee to Desh. The unarmed guards followed soon after. ‘Kneel,’ the man said to Morn seeing everyone else upon the knee in supplication.
    He should have known better. The man should have taken note of the armor Morn wore. Like Brack’s it was identical to Desh’s in every way. Sure, Desh was giving the orders, but nothing about his armor and cape was different. Maybe to this man, armor was armor, no matter how it looked. The fact that Morn and Desh wore the same emblem upon the left side of their breastplates didn't matter either. Sure Desh’s backside was on the throne, but Morn held Thurstan’s crown in his hand. Desh knew it. He’d watched him take it from the dead king’s head. He didn’t demand the gold circlet, nor did Morn offer it. Not even when Desh took the chair.
    If none of those things moved the enthusiastic man to rethink his position, Morn’s eyes should have. Those grey dead eyes weren’t worn by a man who bent the knee. They were the frightening windows into the realm of the dead. His voice was the beckoning of Death’s Summons. ‘What is your name?’
    He stammered for a moment as he looked around at Beld’s men who offered no support. Old friends he was with Brack, but he knew the legend of the Shademaker far better. Beld had quickly told them to stay where they were. The man turned his eyes to Brack. The bald man shrugged and rolled his eyes uninterested. Shock poured over his face. His expectation was drowned in silence and Desh clenched his jaw, watching Morn fervently.
    ‘Dane,’ Dane said breathing in deeply.
    ‘Dane. I would bend the knee to your king if you are capable of forcing my legs to fold,’ Morn said.
    Dane moved quickly, covering the space between Morn and himself in a few strides. He was no coward. He bared his teeth as he readied his strike. His swing was packed with malice, but it missed. Morn had shifted sideways, too fast for him to see. Dane spun, swinging his sword high to slash at Morn’s neck, but again he found air as his sword sung.
    Dane shifted fast, raising his sword high above his head ready to strike hard. He was sure that the blow would land and put an end to the man who wouldn’t bow to his king. Morn was foolish enough to stand still as he brought his sword down. He had to be begging for death.
    As his sword came down Dane felt a jolt of discomfort shoot through his arms. The ringing of metal against the hard floor sung in his ears. He’d missed again. Disbelief clouded his mind.