The morning sun warmed the village of Redstone, hiding the tension from the day before. Ash Bourne stepped out of his small hut, and the wooden door creaked. He looked around the village square, where the stocks stood as a sign of Baron Cedric's power. The boy from yesterday was gone, probably let go by the baron's guards. Ash felt a knot in his stomach at the thought, but he pushed it aside. He had work to do.
The blacksmith's forge was a familiar place filled with heat and the sound of metal hammering. Harold had asked him to help with deliveries, and Ash needed the extra money. His clothes were clean but old and patched. His boots were worn out, with soles that were about to fall apart. As he walked toward the forge, he could hear the steady sound of a hammer hitting an anvil.
"Morning, lad," Harold greeted, his broad face shiny with sweat. The old man paused in his work, setting down a glowing horseshoe.
'Ready for another day?'
Ash nodded. "Always."
Harold chuckled, wiping his hands on his leather apron.
"Good. There's a shipment of tools that needs to be delivered to the northern farms. The cart's ready out back. Shouldn't take more than a few hours."
"I'll get started," Ash replied, already moving toward the cart. The sturdy wooden vehicle was loaded with iron tools, their dull sheen hinting at Harold's craftsmanship. Ash hitched the cart to an old mule, its ears twitching as he gave it a pat.
The journey to the northern farms was uneventful but tiring. The path wound through barley and wheat fields, the air rich with the scent of earth and growing things. Ash passed a few farmers, and their faces weathered but kind. They waved, and he returned the gesture with a slight nod.
When he reached the farms, he unloaded the tools, exchanging brief words with the workers. Most knew him by name, their familiarity stemming from years of shared hardships. One of them, a wiry man named Gregor, clapped him on the back as he handed over a sack of grain in thanks.
"For your trouble," Gregor said. "You've earned it."
Ash hesitated, then accepted the sack with a quiet "Thank you." The extra food would go a long way.
When Ash returned to the village, the sun was high, and the square was busy. Merchants shouted to sell their goods, children ran around the stalls, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air. Ash led the mule to the forge and unloaded the empty cart. Harold greeted him with a smile.
"Quick work, as always," the blacksmith said.
"Here's your pay." He handed Ash a few coins, their weight reassuring in his palm.
"Thanks, Old man," Ash said, slipping the coins into his pocket.
"Don't mention it. You've earned it," Harold replied, his tone firm.
"Now, go get yourself something decent to eat."
Ash offered a faint smile and a nod before heading toward the marketplace. He passed familiar faces, some offering greetings, others merely glancing his way. When he reached Sophia's stall, she was busy arranging jars of honey and bundles of herbs. She looked up as he approached, her expression brightening.
"Back already?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Just finished a delivery for the Old man," Ash replied. "Thought I'd stop by."
Sophia's gaze flicked to the sack of grain slung over his shoulder.
"Looks like you've had a productive day."
"Something like that." He set the sack down and leaned against the edge of her stall. "How's business?"
"Steady," she said with a shrug. "Not much changes around here. Except for Baron Cedric's mood, of course."
Ash's expression darkened at the mention of the baron, but he said nothing. Sophia seemed to sense his unease and changed the subject.
"You should take a break," she said. "You're always working. Don't you ever get tired?"
"I don't have the luxury of rest," Ash replied.
Sophia sighed. "Well, if you ever do, let me know. I'll save you a spot by the fire."
That evening, Ash returned to his hut, the sack of grain heavier than it had been that morning. He set it down by the hearth and lit a small fire, the warm glow illuminating the room. As he prepared a simple meal of bread and boiled grain, his thoughts drifted to the day's events.
The villagers were kind, but their kindness didn't change the reality of his life. Baron Cedric's authority loomed over them all, a constant reminder of their place in the world. Ash clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He couldn't shake the image of the boy in the stocks, his terrified face etched into Ash's memory.
"One day," he said quietly to himself, "things will change."
The fire crackled softly as Ash ate alone. Outside, the village became quiet, with crickets humming in the air. Inside his hut, he felt a strong determination growing within him with each moment.
The next morning, a loud knock woke Ash. He sat up, blinking against the bright light coming through the cracks in the walls. The knock happened again, more urgent this time.
"Who is it?" Ash called, his voice rough from sleep.
"It's Harold," came the reply.
"Open up, lad."
Ash swung his legs over the side of the bed and crossed the room, opening the door to reveal the blacksmith's imposing figure. Harold's expression was grim, his brows drawn together.
"What's wrong?" Ash asked, his stomach tightening.
"Baron Cedric," Harold said, his tone low. "He's summoned the villagers to the square. Wants everyone there within the hour."
Ash's heart sank. A summons from the baron rarely meant good news. He nodded, grabbing his coat and following Harold into the morning chill. The village square was already filling with people, their faces mixed with curiosity and apprehension. Baron Cedric stood on a raised platform, his guards flanking him. His expression was as smug as ever, his eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk searching for prey.
When the villagers had gathered, Cedric raised a hand for silence. The murmurs died down, replaced by an uneasy hush.
"Loyal subjects," Cedric began, his voice smooth but cold.
"I have called you here today to address a matter of great importance. It has come to my attention that some among you have grown complacent, forgetting the laws that bind us."
His gaze swept over the crowd, lingering briefly on Ash before moving on. Ash felt a chill run down his spine but held his ground.
"To ensure that order is maintained," Cedric continued,
"I am implementing new measures. Taxes will be increased, effective immediately. Any failure to comply will be met with swift punishment."
A ripple of shock and anger passed through the crowd. Voices rose in protest, but Cedric silenced them with a sharp glare.
"This is not a negotiation," he said,
"It is a decree. Disobedience will not be tolerated."
Ash clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The villagers around him exchanged worried looks, scared of what was happening. Harold put a calming hand on Ash's shoulder, but it didn't help the anger building inside him.
As the baron finished his speech, Ash's mind raced. Cedric's words weighed heavily on him, but so did a spark of defiance. For years, he had silently endured the baron's cruelty. Now, looking at the worried faces of his fellow villagers, he felt a different urge.
Maybe it was time for a change.