Wings of Freedom

The defeat of the village guards sent shockwaves through the village. What had begun as whispers of rebellion had now erupted into full-scale celebration. Those who had once been too afraid to rise against the iron grip of tyranny were now pouring into the streets, their voices rising in victorious cheers. Thabis' plan had worked—against all odds, he had led the villagers to victory. But as the fires of rebellion burned bright, he knew that their work was not yet done.

The once lively tavern now lay in ruins. Its wooden beams, once sturdy and proud, were splintered and broken, scattered across the blood-stained floor. The acrid stench of death hung heavy in the air, a nauseating reminder of the violence that had taken place. Thabis stood in the midst of the destruction, his heart pounding with a mix of triumph and urgency. He turned to face the crowd that had gathered outside, their eyes filled with a mixture of hope and rage.

"Your fight is not yet over!" Thabis' voice cut through the chaos, commanding the attention of every man and woman in the square. His voice, firm and unwavering, carried the weight of a leader who had borne witness to too many injustices. "Let us march! Let us bring justice to those who feasted on your suffering! Tonight, we shall burn the manor to the ground and take back what is rightfully ours!"

A roar of approval erupted from the crowd, their bloodlust ignited. The villagers, armed with makeshift weapons and fueled by years of pent-up anger, surged forward as one. The streets, once lined with houses and market stalls, became a pathway of fury as they made their way to Lord Hammond's manor. The cobblestones echoed with the sound of their footsteps, a relentless drumbeat of impending justice.

Inside the grand manor, a stark contrast to the village's modest homes, the atmosphere was one of frantic desperation. Lord Hammond's servants, once the picture of calm efficiency, now scurried about like frightened mice. The shuffling of feet and the clattering of valuables being hastily packed into bags filled the air. Portraits of long-dead ancestors seemed to gaze down disapprovingly as the maids struggled to stuff priceless heirlooms into chests.

"Hurry! We must leave now and alert the baron! Only he can quell this rebellion!" Lord Hammond's voice cracked with fear as he barked orders at the flustered maids. His face, usually a mask of cold detachment, was now drawn and pale. The realization that his iron grip on the village had been shattered by mere peasants gnawed at him, a bitter pill he could scarcely swallow. The fear that gripped him was palpable, a chilling reminder of a battle long past—a battle that had left him scarred both physically and mentally.

The manor, once a symbol of his untouchable power, now felt like a gilded cage. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he paced back and forth, his mind racing. Who would have thought his men—well-trained, well-armed—could be defeated by these upstarts? The very notion was unthinkable, and yet here he was, on the verge of fleeing from his own home like a common criminal.

"Elizabeth! We must leave now!" Hammond's voice carried up the grand staircase, where his wife was frantically searching for her most prized possessions. Her hands trembled as she tried to gather her jewelry, her eyes wide with panic.

"I'm coming!" she called back, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress as she descended the stairs, clutching a small bag to her chest as though it held her very life. She was a woman used to luxury, not the terror of being hunted like prey.

Lord Hammond's impatience grew with every passing second. "If you don't come this very moment, I swear I'll leave you here to face the villagers' wrath alone!" His threat was as cold as the steel of a blade.

Elizabeth, her face pale and tear-streaked, finally reached the carriage. They climbed inside, the plush seats doing little to comfort them in their terror.

"Drive, you fool! Drive as if your life depends on it, because it does!" Hammond shouted at the coachman, his voice quivering with desperation. The crack of the whip sent the horses into a frenzied gallop, the carriage lurching forward with a sudden jolt.

As the carriage careened down the winding road, Lord Hammond's mind raced. There were two ways out of the village: the main entrance, heavily guarded by the villagers, and a secret passage that cut through the forbidden forest—a place so feared that even the bravest of men dared not enter. But Hammond had no intention of using that route. He had planned for this, preparing a decoy carriage filled with useless trinkets and a body double dressed in his clothes. With any luck, the mob would fall for the ruse, buying him just enough time to escape.

Meanwhile, the mob had reached the manor gates. The iron barriers, once a symbol of the lord's unyielding power, were now torn from their hinges by the sheer force of the villagers' rage. They poured into the estate, a tide of anger and frustration, smashing windows and grabbing anything of value. The opulence of the manor only served to fuel their fury, each piece of fine china or silk drapery a reminder of the disparity between their lives and the lord's.

Thabis, watching the chaos unfold, knew that he couldn't let the manor be ransacked completely. He had a mission—one far more important than the looting that was taking place. Pushing through the crowd, he made his way into the manor, his eyes scanning each room with purpose. As he passed through the richly decorated halls, he couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the lavish surroundings and the poverty-stricken village outside. The injustice of it all burned in his chest.

Finally, he found what he was looking for: Lord Hammond's office. The room was as grand as the rest of the manor, lined with bookshelves and adorned with expensive tapestries. But Thabis wasn't interested in the decor. His eyes fell on a large oak desk, its surface cluttered with documents. As he sifted through the papers, his heart raced. There it was—a map of the kingdom, marked with notes and symbols. This was the key. The information that could change everything. With this, they could finally understand the surrounding powers and grow their influence. Robert would be pleased.

As Thabis folded the map and tucked it into his coat, a distant sound caught his attention—the unmistakable clatter of hooves on cobblestone. He rushed to the window and saw the decoy carriage tearing down the main road, the villagers in hot pursuit. But something didn't feel right. The carriage was moving too quickly, too confidently.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the streets below. That's when he saw it—a second carriage, barely visible, slipping through a narrow alley. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. "It's a decoy!" he muttered under his breath. Thabis turned and sprinted out of the office, his boots thudding against the polished floors.

Bursting out of the manor, he spotted Thornton among the villagers. He wasted no time. "Thornton! The real carriage is escaping through the alleyway! We have to stop them, no matter what!"

Thornton, a man of few words, nodded sharply. His legs, blessed with supernatural speed, propelled him forward like a blur, cutting through the streets with a singular focus.

Inside the decoy carriage, Lord Hammond finally allowed himself a small, bitter smile. His plan had worked. He could hear the mob behind him, their cries of fury growing fainter as they fell for his ruse. He was almost out—almost free. But the feeling of relief was short-lived.

Back at the decoy, the villagers had caught up. They swarmed the carriage, smashing the wheels and ripping the doors from their hinges. Inside, they found an old man, huddled in the corner, his body trembling with fear. His appearance, though dressed in Hammond's clothes, was enough to tell the villagers they'd been tricked.

"This isn't Lord Hammond," one of them growled, seizing the old man by his collar. "Where is he?"

"Please, don't hurt me!" the old man begged, his voice quaking. "I was just following orders! I don't know where he went—I swear!"

A villager struck him across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. "We should kill you where you stand, you filthy coward. But we're not like you." He spat on the ground beside the man. "Run. Run before we change our minds."

The old man scrambled to his feet, running as fast as his legs could carry him, not daring to look back.

Meanwhile, the real carriage raced towards the village gates. Hammond's heart pounded in his chest as the gate loomed ahead. Freedom was so close he could almost taste it. But just as the carriage reached the threshold, a loud bang shattered the air. The wheels exploded into splinters, sending the carriage crashing to a halt.

"What's happening? Keep moving! Are you trying to get me killed?" Hammond screamed at the coachman, stumbling out of the carriage in a panic.

"The wheels—they're destroyed!" the coachman stammered, his face pale with fear. "We'll have to abandon the carriage and ride on horseback!"

"But the wealth!" Elizabeth shrieked, her voice filled with despair. "We can't leave it behind!"

"Shut up, woman! Do you want to die here?" Hammond snapped, his patience fraying. "Get on the horse. We can replace the money, but we can't replace our lives."

Before they could mount the horses, the air suddenly grew cold—a deathly chill that sent shivers down their spines. They turned to see a massive figure emerging from the shadows, his breath visible in the freezing air. Thornton's presence was like that of a predator, his eyes glinting with malice.

In an instant, icicles shot from his outstretched hand, impaling the coachman's head with terrifying precision. The man's skull shattered, blood spraying across the ground as his lifeless body slumped to the earth. Elizabeth screamed, the sound piercing the night, as two more icicles flew through the air, striking the horses. The animals reared in pain before collapsing, their blood pooling on the cold ground.

Thornton's laugh echoed through the night, deep and menacing, as he approached the terrified couple. "You're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice dripping with malice. "Did you really think you could escape?"

"Please, I can give you money—more money than you can imagine!" Lord Hammond stammered, his voice trembling with desperation. "Just let us go, and I'll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams!"

Thornton's expression remained unchanged. "Money? You think I care about your pathetic bribes?" He grabbed Hammond by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. "The more you beg, the worse it will be for you. Accept it—you've lost."

With a cruel smile, Thornton dragged Hammond and Elizabeth by their hair, their screams echoing through the night as he hauled them back towards the village. Thabis, catching up, felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw Thornton approaching with the prisoners in tow. The rebellion had succeeded. But the night was far from over.

As the villagers saw Lord Hammond being dragged through the streets, their anger reached a fever pitch. They surged forward, ready to tear him apart with their bare hands. But before they could reach him, Thabis stepped in front of the crowd, raising his hands to stop them.

"Wait!" Thabis shouted, his voice cutting through the clamor. "What are you doing? We're not like him. We don't murder in cold blood."

The villagers hesitated, their bloodlust battling with their sense of justice. They had waited so long for this moment—for the chance to exact revenge on the man who had made their lives a living hell. But Thabis' words hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the principles they had fought for.

One of the villagers, the bartender who had been a silent observer until now, stepped forward. "He's right. We should let Lord Robert decide his fate. He'll give Hammond the trial he deserves."

Thabis nodded in agreement. "We've won the battle, but the war is not yet over. There are still those who need to answer for their crimes. The merchants who profited from your suffering, and Henderson—the man who betrayed you. We cannot leave until they are brought to justice."

The villagers murmured in agreement, their anger now channeled towards a new target. They fanned out through the streets, searching every corner of the village for the merchants and the traitor Henderson. But as the hours dragged on, it became clear that Henderson had vanished. The only explanation was that he had fled as soon as the fighting began, taking his ill-gotten gains with him.

The night wore on, and the fires that had been lit during the rebellion began to die down. Exhausted and emotionally drained, the villagers returned to their homes. For the first time in years, they felt a sense of peace. The rebellion had been costly, but it had also been a necessary step towards their freedom. Thabis watched as the villagers slowly dispersed, the adrenaline of the night finally wearing off.

"Tomorrow, we'll leave this place," Thabis said quietly to Thornton, who stood beside him. "We'll take these people to the village, to a new life."

Thornton nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And what about Lord Hammond?"

"Robert will decide his fate," Thabis replied. "He'll know what to do."

As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, Thabis turned away from the smoldering remains of the manor. The village was quiet now, the only sound the distant cry of a bird welcoming the new day.