“Now, however, is a bad time to be wandering alone. Something is happening in the great square. We have seen from the roof. There is fire and the noise of combat. Pelasian soldiers are mobilising in the courtyard. We may all be in danger.”
Asima blinked again and craned her head to stare at the lady behind her. Now that she concentrated, she could hear many things. Distantly, across the roofs of M’Dahz, there were sounds of fighting and screams. Closer by, on the balconies above, she could hear worried conversation and groans. Warning bells chimed around the Pelasian barracks of the city and soldiers gathered in the complex outside, shouting orders. Something was happening and, from the sound, it was something dreadful.
In which unrest occurs
Samir and Ghassan crouched in the shadow of the vine-covered pergola on the roof of a low building fronting on to the great square of M’Dahz. From their earliest days out and about in the town, they remembered the square as a place of life, colour, noise and commerce. The grand bazaar was located here on an almost permanent basis, only closing up when the public space was required for festivals or parades.
In these oppressed times, however, the bazaar was strictly controlled and only licensed on two week days. Flags of Pelasia and the satrap Ma’ahd festooned the walls and poles; a constant reminder to the people of their new master.
But not today.
It had begun only a few minutes ago, although the boys had been aware of the plan for some time. The resistance, which had begun on the night of the invasion under the mercenary captain Cronus, had been slow and careful in developing. As Pelasian soldiers had burned, raped and murdered their way through the town that night, Cronus, already disenchanted with the manner in which the government had yielded and capitulated to the invaders, had gathered the militia near the docks. A decision had been made and the resistance movement that resulted had steadily grown in strength and number over the succeeding months.
After just two days hiding out in a secluded cover two miles from the walls, the boys and their mother had, slowly and cautiously, taken their boat and returned to the town under cover of darkness. As soon as Ghassan discovered what the militia were doing, he and Samir had approached Cronus and volunteered. The grizzled mercenary had accepted them as scouts and since that day the boys had quietly gone about their business in M’Dahz, attracting no unwanted attention and yet gathering information through watchful eyes and attentive ears.
The resistance was now twice the size of the militia who had initially stood on the walls and watched Ma’ahd and his men arrive, whereas three quarters of the satrap’s force had returned to the family holdings in Pelasia. The odds, while still steep, were considerably better now than they had previously been.
Many of the members of the resistance, spurred on by Pelasian atrocities, were twitching with the need to make a move, but Cronus had expressly forbidden any such activity. It was all about subtlety and timing. The force had picked up more and more members over the months and had received illicit caches of arms from both seaborne and desert sources and had kept them in hidden locations around M’Dahz, preparing for one great event.
And this morning had been a flurry of hidden activity as resistance cells across the town gathered their arms and moved silently through the streets. The plan was simple. Some had complained about it, of course, but Cronus had been adamant. It had to be simple, well-timed and above all, it would require sacrifice.
Volunteers had been called for for the demonstration. In all likelihood, many would not survive this, but the demonstration was necessary; a diversion for the main event.
Grinning at Samir, Ghassan opened his shuttered lantern, the light from the candle burning within hardly visible in the brilliant sunshine. Samir tipped a small amount of his precious oil flask onto the Pelasian flag that hung from the spar that jutted out just below the roof line. Glancing across the square to other rooftops, he smiled.
“Now.”
Ghassan nodded and withdrew the candle, touching the burning wick to the flag. The great, heavy banner leapt ablaze, fire rippling across the surface and roaring in the silence. With perfect timing, all around the square Pelasian flags burst into flame as scout groups of men too young for Cronus to accept them as soldiers carried out their own acts of defiance.
With a roar, the main group of protesters rushed into the square from three side streets, converging among the burning banners, and made for the Pelasian guard barracks that occupied the once proud civic hall. The two black-clad guards on duty beside the door took one look at the advancing mob and disappeared inside, closing and bolting the door. Samir could not see their faces, but smiled grimly as he imagined their panicked expressions.
The force of over a hundred protesters rushed up to the building and began to hammer at the doors and windows, others rushing to the buildings on either side to gain access to upper floors.
Ghassan nodded with a deep sense of satisfaction. Finally they would get to do something. They just had to hope now that Cronus had been right and that the Pelasians would react in the predicted manner.
Ghassan and Samir dropped below the low parapet and watched, tensely, as events unfolded. The barrack was a three storey building, standing proud into the square, but abutted on either side by houses and shops of two storeys. The Pelasians had taken some pains to bolster the defensive capabilities of the building, reinforcing the doors, placing bars on the windows and heavy wooden shutters. It would take an hour for the rebels to gain entrance, but the Pelasians would now begin to panic. There was no rear exit from the building, as they had walled it up as part of their defensive adjustments and they were outnumbered two to one by their attackers, so issuing forth from the building would be extremely unwise. They may be able to hold it for a long time, but the building had no well and would burn easily.
The mob could quite simply torch the building. Samir and Ghassan knew that wouldn’t happen. It could turn into a blaze that destroyed half the city, but the Pelasians didn’t know that. They would have to do something and Cronus had predicted what that something would be.
Samir, counting under his breath, grinned as he saw the door on roof of the building fly open. He turned to his brother.
“The captain underestimated them. They panicked quicker than he said they would.”
Ghassan laughed and focused his exceptional gaze on the three figures that issued from that door. Just as Cronus had said they would, two of them hauled up to the parapet one of the great horns that were once used to warn ships away from port during sandstorms. Shaped like a narrow cone six feet long and supported at the flared end on a hinged iron pivot, the great horn took a great deal of effort to get a powerful sound from. Indeed, as the boys watched with quiet mirth, the three men took turns breathing deeply and blowing into the horn. There were a number of low honking noises; loud, certainly, but not loud enough to reach the reinforcements they needed at the palace complex.
Finally, after a little discussion, one of them seemed to arrive at a conclusion and positioned himself.
The blare that issued was still quieter than the port hornsman would have managed, but would carry a warning to the complex, and that was all they needed. Satisfied, the three men blew a half dozen more blasts, gradually increasing in volume, and then returned to the open doorway. Ghassan slapped Samir on the back.
“That’s it. It’s all in Cronus’ hands now.”
Samir nodded and was about to reply when where was a cry of alarm from the square. Turning, he gazed down once again, just in time to see an arrow pass through the neck of one of the resistance.
“Oh no…”
Ghassan lunged to the edge and joined him, staring down in dismay. The Pelasians didn’t carry bows in the town. They were of little use in the narrow streets, so the guards relied on their spears and swords and slings if needed, so why did they have bows now. As he watched, he realised with cold dread that he already knew the answer. Groups of a dozen black-clad and heavily armed Pelasian soldiers had appeared in all the side streets, blocking the exits from the square. As the boys watched, more arrows whispered their deadly song as they emerged from windows all around the square and thudded into the crowd of protesters outside the barracks.