The Still Small Voice

The Still Small Voice

  by Matthew Lee

  Copyright 2016 Matthew Lee

  This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA 94042, USA.

  In an age long since forgotten, far to the west of the City of Doors, there was a kingdom of plenty named Arles and a people known as the Arlestene. This land knew only pleasant seasons year in, year out. In summer the harvests were bountiful, and in winter the snow fell as gently as a mother might cradle her sleeping child. The ruler, Eudes the Munificent, guided the progress of his kingdom with a deft hand on the tiller. All of the Arlestene wanted for nothing, from the mightiest noble to the lowliest peasant.

  Eudes and his subjects saw their country as paradise on earth, and themselves as favoured amongst all God's children. But others saw them as a herd of cattle, and their beloved kingdom an unguarded pasture. So it was that Piedra Cold-hearted led a mighty army across Arles' southern border, and began laying waste to all in his path. When Eudes sent heralds to treat with Piedra, the southern king slew them out of hand. He returned their heads with a message he would not relent until Eudes and all the Arlestene bent the knee.

  Eudes raised an army, though it pained him to urge his people to war, and led his host onto the field of battle by the mouth of the River of Stars. But the Arlestene were not warriors, and for all their king set a brave example, he could not make heroes of them merely by willing it so. Piedra smashed the host of Eudes the Munificent, and drove the Arlestene into the River of Stars, until their bodies piled high upon the sandbanks and the waters ran red with gore.

  The conqueror took the fallen king as his prisoner, and dragged Eudes in chains to what had once been his seat of power in the City of Glass. From there he announced that the country of the Arlestene now fell under his dominion.

  Not all the Arlestene meekly accepted Piedra's presence on the throne. There were those who distinguished themselves in the fighting along the River of Stars, among them a warrior known as Roul the Black. Roul and twenty Arlestene held off near two hundred of Piedra's men-at-arms in a forest not far from the river.

  Though their valorous efforts came too late to save their king, all of Roul's company were gladdened to see that at least one of their countrymen meant to have the invader pay dearly for his arrogant presumption. Among them was a young archer known as Joslin the Fair. After their company fled the River, Joslin thought that had Roul only led the host, perhaps they would have won the day.

  But Joslin said nothing of this to anyone. So his country bowed its head for Piedra Cold-hearted, and mourned for Eudes in secret, as their king lay rotting in the conqueror's gaol. There was no further resistance, for while Piedra was cruel he was of perfectly sound mind. Though he ground the Arlestene beneath his boot heel, he made sure to stop just before they begged him for mercy.

  So it was that in time the people came grudgingly to uphold Piedra as their new ruler, much as a man might fancy the chain about his neck not half so uncomfortable as he first imagined.

  Joslin the Fair settled in a village to the north, far from the River of Stars, where he became a carpenter. He showed no special sympathy with the wood, and yearned on lonely nights to feel a bow in his hand, rather than a plane. But he told himself such things were no longer fitting for a simple craftsman, what with the dour and spiteful monarch watching him from the City of Glass.

  Joslin courted, then married a local beauty, Cateline Riverwind, and thought this another sign it was high time he buried his memories of the battle over that dark and sodden copse for good.

  Yet Cateline had other ideas.

  “Piedra is a monster,” she said as they shared a flask of wine one quiet autumn evening. “Yet a lazy, slovenly beast for all that. He grows distracted with the effort of keeping two separate countries under the thumb. His subordinates rebel the moment he turns his back, like wayward children around the dinner-pot waiting for their mother to leave the room. He disciplines one kingdom, then spins around to face the other. He sways, he stumbles. One good push could bring him down.”

  “Perhaps,” Joslin said. “But why say this to me? What of the children you might one day have underfoot? What if their father tried to unseat the king?”

  “And if he did not?” Cateline said. “Would you tell these children-to-be their lives might have been less of a misery, had their father picked up his bow and demanded they receive better... but he ignored the opportunity when it came? You were a soldier once. You could be again, I think. Raise a banner for poor dead Eudes, strike a hard blow at Piedra, and the conqueror's enemies would flock to your side.”

  “But what would you do?” Joslin said. “Tend hearth and home until I return, be that triumphant or carried on my shield?”

  “Not a chance,” Cateline said. “You shall teach me archery, and I shall fight by your side.”

  And Joslin was so amazed at her demands that he agreed to them without thinking.

  So it was that the young couple fomented rebellion against Piedra Cold-hearted. Joslin's skill with a bow had not deserted him, and Cateline his wife proved an apt pupil. There were malcontents aplenty in taverns across the duchy, and in no time at all the young couple had a warband of grizzled rogues, with whom they harried the conqueror's outposts and garrisons until military men across the country spat their names like a curse.

  But such a strategy proved of limited viability. Emissaries arrived at Joslin and Cateline's camp to make it known there were interested parties who would fund their efforts, lend them all manner of aid – but only once they had proved their mettle, by landing a trophy larger than any they had set themselves against thus far. Storm a castle, perhaps, or depose one of Piedra's regional governors.

  Thus were the young couple and their bravos condemned to wander about the country in a vicious circle of sorts. They could not take a castle, say, without far greater strength of arms – but their mysterious well-wishers would not afford them this strength of arms before they had first taken said castle. Their one attempt to do the impossible ended in near-disaster, with six men dead and Cateline missing an eye, after which she could no longer manage a bow.

  But Joslin refused to lose heart. I will seek out Roul the Black, he told his wife. The man led twenty to victory against ten times that number. He could help us.

  Far and wide did Joslin search for Roul, until he came at last to a farm many miles to the south, where out in the field he found a man driving a team of oxen as they pulled a plough through the rich red soil.

  “Were you once known as Roul the Black?” Joslin said to the man.

  “I was,” Roul said, for it was he. “Though right now I am simply Roul the Muddy, or Roul Covered-in-Cow-Shit. You are Joslin the Fair, from the battle in the forest near the River of Stars. I know full well you have become quite the thorn in our king's side of late. But I warn you, I will not entertain any ridiculous notions of taking up arms with you against Piedra. My place is here, working my land, that I might better care for my family.”

  “Your place as an Arlestene is with anyone who would drive out the conqueror,” Joslin said, and the other man's face grew dark.

  “It is?” Roul said. “Who dictates things must be so? Is it you, you vainglorious puppy? Begone.”

  “I will not,” Joslin said. “I have come many a mile to request a fair hearing.”

  “Consider that request denied,” Roul said. “Now get off my property, before I thrash you for your impudence.”

  And Joslin fled.

  Not knowing what he ought to do, Joslin made camp in the woods not fa
r from Roul's farm; but once he had set a fire for the night, he found he had drawn unwanted attention. Seven armed men appeared grinning from out of the shadows, and made it plain they expected poor Joslin to surrender all his worldly goods without so much as a by-your-leave.

  Joslin was young, and bold, and refused their demands, at which point battle was joined. Yet the ruffians were seven, and Joslin was but one, so the fight went very poorly. Then even as Joslin fell bleeding from countless wounds, out sprang Roul the Black into the midst of the ruffians, bellowing and swinging a great hammer.

  In mere moments Roul had slain two of the swordsmen, and seeing this the rest of the party fled in mortal terror.

  “You are an idiot,” Roul said once he had carried Joslin back to the farm, “and your lady wife an idiot besides. But perhaps I am not done with idiots quite yet.”

  So it was that Roul the Black elected to join Joslin and Cateline's warband, and lead their men against the forces of Piedra Cold-hearted. Under Roul's tutelage they stormed the hold at the Green Marches, stealing into the keep in the dead of night, and then they burnt it to the ground. They met the raiders of Jimenez