Tom Tim loved his job. He was a member of Rahavi's Mad Mob, and he specialized in breaking bones. His was a massive figure, towering 6’6”, 320 pounds, the complete opposite of the cobbler, Helms, whose door he currently knocked upon. Helms answered it himself.
“Yes?” inquired the small, elderly man.
His old, fragile neck suddenly felt a hand grasp hard upon it.
“Taxes…” grunted Tom Tim.
“Taxes?” Helms questioned frightfully. “For what?”
This was Tom Tim’s favorite part. He lifted the poor man off the ground and into the air as if he weighed no more than a fly.
“Taxes!” he yelled.
The old man, nervous and struggling, reached for a purse upon his belt. As he went to open it, Tom Tim snatched it from him with his free hand. Then, dropping the old man hard upon the floor, he proceeded to the next door.
He knocked.
This time a woman answered, rosy and plump.
“Yes, dearie?” she said with a smile.
“Taxes…” grunted Tom Tim.
“Oh, yes,” said the woman, “let me get them for you.”
“Darnet,” Tom Tim thought. “No fun with this one.”
She stepped away from the door and into the house, disappearing from view. A few seconds passed and already Tom Tim was becoming impatient. He poked his head in, but saw nothing.
“Hurry up!” he yelled.
“Just a second, dear.”
He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers on his forearm. Finally he could take it no more. He stepped through the doorway and into the house.
“I want it now!” he screamed.
“All right, then,” a man’s voice answered.
Whack! The butt of an ax came flying out from behind the door, and crashed hard into Tom Tim’s face. He fell, unconscious, to the ground. Out from behind the door stepped Cosko, ax in hand.
“You asked for it,” he said, “you got it. Taxes! Paid in full!” Then, stepping calmly over Tom Tim’s body, he began to sing; loud and obnoxious so that the other thirty or so brutes would be sure to hear:
“They try t’make ya pay fer taxes,
Fer no reason a’tall.
But all ya need are good strong axes
T’make them taxes fall!”
“Grab him!” cried the squad leader, a bald man with a V-shaped mustache. “Grab him!”
A herd of brutes came filing forward, but Cosko moved not an inch. He placed the ax head on the ground and leaned comfortably on the handle, smiling calmly, though more than a dozen brutes neared him.
Is he crazy? thought the squad leader. “Kill him if you must!” he shouted.
The brutes pressed forward, a mere few feet from him. Cosko smiled and nodded as the first of many huge hands reached out for his neck.
Thwump! - an arrow shot out from nowhere and fell the brute to the earth! A scream, loud and piercing, rent the air, as man after man rushed from over and around the cottage. Like a raging tide they came, arrows striking from all sides as men with swords clamped down on the astonished brutes! Cosko picked the ax from the ground and joined in the fray, swinging into one brute and then another.
“Get them!” screamed the squad leader. “Hurry!”
Taylor ducked a giant fist, then struck its owner through the heart. He spun round to face another, but Robert’s arrow from above disposed of him first. Another brute coming, and another brute down. Then two more.
Cutting and slashing into giant heads, giant arms. Penetrating giant chests.
Within a minute the fight had drawn to an end, with many big bodies piled up upon the ground. Taylor looked for the squad leader, but he was nowhere to be found.
He raised his sword in victory.
Slowly, the people of Asbury came out to see the destruction. They marveled at the fallen bodies with shock, disgust, and gratitude. Before them now stood a man, tall and dignified, the oppressor of their oppressors. He spoke to them in a loud, clear voice. He offered them salvage, a chance for freedom. He offered them honor, a chance to fight for something, a chance to lead their families to safety. He offered them his very being.
By the time he left, a hundred more villagers followed with him.
…………………………………………..
The Dark Duke, much at home now in his new palace, lay back in comfort on King Peter’s old bed. The room was one of the Dark Duke’s favorites: with a large crystal chandelier, gold trimmings along the side, and a fluffy down bed in the center.
Three women tended to the Dark Duke as he laid upon this new pillows collecting his thoughts. One woman tended to his toenails, another to his fingers, and another fed him grapes from a stand alongside the bed. This was one of the Dark Duke’s favorite pastimes, to be followed by a full massage, which he looked forward to every morning.
“You…” the Dark Duke said to the one by his hand, “…what is your name?”
“Dorothy,” the young lady replied.
“Dorothy…Dorothy…” he pondered, “…You must be new.”
“I am, Your Highness.”
He slapped her hard across the face.
“No wonder you don’t know what you’re doing.”
The young woman brought her hands to her face and began to cry.
“Take her away,” the Dark Duke ordered one of his Guards.
The Gray Shirt picked her up by the elbow and led her to the open doors, dragging away her whimpering figure.
“Bring her back this evening,” the Dark Duke added, “before I go to sleep.”
The Guard nodded, then exited, opening the door just as another Guard entered.
“Your Highness,” he said with a bow, “Rahavi is here with a squad leader. He says he needs to speak with you immediately.”
“Is it important?” the Dark Duke demanded, much annoyed.
“He says that it is, Sire.”
The King of Belsden, Monastero, and Sarbury sighed.
“Very well. Send them in.”
The Guard exited and a moment later Rahavi entered with the bald, mustached squad leader by his side. Both men seemed rather anxious, the squad leader fidgeting with his hands against his chest.
“Your Highness,” said Rahavi, “news from the Royal Revenue Service.”
The Dark Duke gestured with an open hand, as if to say “What?”
Rahavi turned to the squad leader.
“Mirf,” he said, “tell him as you did me.”
The squad leader nodded and began:
“My squad was in Asbury,” he said, “collecting taxes as usual. I had thirty-two men with me, going door to door. Everything was fine until I heard this terrible singing. I looked over to see this fat man standing over one of my best men with an ax in his hand, singing something about defying your taxes with axes. Naturally, I ordered my squad to subdue him, but when they went to do so, out of nowhere there came a herd of men…”
“A herd?”
“At least a hundred, Sire, probably more – I can’t be sure. They had bows and swords and spears. They destroyed my entire squad, except me of course. I managed to hide out in a nearby bush. And there I saw this one man, the leader apparently, step out before the villagers, claiming that he was Taylor James, and that, if they wished, they could join him in fighting against you. And they did, Sire. Practically all of them. A good hundred in all. I waited to see more, but then a couple of villagers spotted me and I just barely escaped on a horse I saw nearby. I rode straight to Master Rahavi and told him just as I told you.”
The Dark Duke had been listening with the utmost intensity, and by now his pleasant mood had rapidly vanished. He addressed the servants: “Leave. Both of you.” Quickly they made their way out and he turned his attention back to Rahavi and Mirf.
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Early this morning,” Mirf replied.
“And Taylor James…you saw him? Did you get a good look at him?”
“Yes, Sire.”
&nbs
p; “What did he look like?”
“He was tall and lean, with dark hair; his eyes a distinct blue.”
The Dark Duke rubbed his chin.
“Thank you. You are dismissed.”
Mirf bowed and made his exit.
“First things first,” the Dark Duke said to Rahavi once he was gone. “Get rid of him. I don’t like cowards. Have him give our artist a description of this fiend, Taylor James, then kill him yourself. Next: increase your numbers. From now on I want your squads in groups of no less than seventy, and on guard. Understand?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good. In the meantime I’ll have Farv track this troublesome vagabond with his army. We’ll find him. And when we do…” the Dark Duke made a crushing motion with his fist.
Rahavi, however, seemed to have more pressing matters on his mind. He stood looking down at the floor.
“Something bothering you, Rahavi?”
The Mad Mob leader glanced up at him.
“Speak it, then,” said the Dark Duke.
“Harris,” Rahavi began – the Dark Duke shot him a cold glare – “I mean, Your Highness,” Rahavi corrected, “it has occurred to me that there is another problem which we must confront…”
The Dark Duke waited. Rahavi continued:
“The people, Your Highness. It seems they are already very restless. As you can see, when Taylor James offered another option – a dangerous one, I add – they took it right away. It’s not a good sign.”
“What are you saying?” the Dark Duke questioned.
“Your Highness…” Rahavi’s mouth gaped for the words, “…after the slaying of their king, the people seemed to have formed a resentment toward you, and our taxes certainly didn’t help those feelings. We can control them, yes – but an angry people certainly doesn’t help matters, and I think it might be a good idea to try to improve your image in ways.”
The Dark Duke considered this a moment.
“It would never work,” he said at last. “Confound the people.”
“But wait, Your Highness. Hear me out a moment.”
The Dark Duke paused.
“Very well. Go on.”
“It happens,” said Rahavi with a gesture of his hand, “that Monastero’s 300th Anniversary is approaching in just two and a half weeks. I think it might look very good for you if we were to hold a festival around the palace that day.”
His master thought for a moment.
“With me as the guest of honor?”
“Why, of course, Your Majesty.”
The Dark Duke waved his hand in dismissal.
"The people would never go for it," he said. "They know me too well already."
"I think, Your Highness," said Rahavi, "that you overestimate the intelligence of the masses. Most of them are dumb as thimbles, I assure you. Their allegiances can be recovered, and why not have them praise you rather than hate you?"
The Dark Duke nodded.
“You have a point," he admitted. "Fine, then. Do it. I suppose I have nothing to lose.”
Rahavi smiled. “A good choice, Your Highness. You won’t be disappointed.”
“I certainly hope not,” the Dark Duke snapped.
Chapter 25
Lind