Chapter Six

“I just want to know that you support what I’m doing,” said Dain to his wife, who had hardly been speaking to him of late. “I’m only doing what’s best for the family, isn’t it obvious?”

Gelen swept her blonde hair out of her face and turned to look at him.

“It isn't obvious, actually,” she icily, her voice low so as not to wake the children, who were asleep at that point. “If we just accepted the situation we could deal with it, and get by, as we always have. What you’re doing risks putting the children through yet another funeral. You think the King will choose the poor over the rich when he has the power to wipe you all out in a heartbeat?”

“I’m not going to die,” protested Dain. “I know we can’t fight an army, I’m no fool, I’m just doing what needs to be done for the sake of all the families, ours included. Besides, there’s no way to reverse what has already happened, so the only thing to do is follow through with it.”

There was a pause, in which the sound of birds could be heard outside, singing while oblivious to the problems of men.

“Well as there’s no choice, of course I will support you and the family to the best of my ability, in public if necessary. But, if an offer comes to end this thing with no deaths, I don’t want you to let your pride stop you from accepting a reasonable offer. If it’s impossible to get your pay back to what it was, accept it and stand down, alright?”

Dain hesitated, before nodding.

“This isn’t about pride, I’m not doing it to get back at anyone, it’s just the only way I see us being able to change anything. If the right offer comes, I’ll take it.”

“Alright,” she said stiffly. “That's settled then.”

Dain nodded, beginning to move towards his wife but then stopping himself. He didn’t know how to behave around her now. Her arms were folded, and she was looking away from him. He couldn’t tell whether she blamed him for Heymon’s death or was just angry at him putting himself at risk, but there was an obvious wedge between them. The awkwardness was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Dain immediately moved to answer it. The miners were alternating between personal time and guarding the brimstone store, and he had asked for someone to find him as soon as something important happened.

“Dain, good you’re here,” said Parry, once he saw him. “The King sent a messenger, he’s waiting by the camp.”

Dain looked to his wife, who sighed.

“Do what you have to do,” she said, her face expressionless. Dain kissed her on the cheek, forcing a smile.

“For all we know, he could be telling us that we’ll get what we want,” he said, and closed the door.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” muttered Parry, glancing over his shoulder to check that they wouldn’t be overheard. “I didn’t want to mention it in front of Gelen, but the messenger brought men with him.”

Dain gulped, fearing the worst.

“Troops?”

“Thankfully just staffmen, although none of our men are armed so let’s hope they’re just for the messenger’s safety,” said Parry. “I told him you were the leader and were the only one who could speak for us. That gave me time to come and get you, and a couple of others on the way.”

“You think it will turn into a fight?” asked Dain, preparing himself for the eventuality.

Parry shrugged.

“I don’t think those men were here to kiss us goodnight,” laughed Parry. “But it doesn’t look like they want to kill us, so there’s that at least.”

Dain nodded, considering his options. The King was probably relying only on Slynn’s information, and wouldn’t have realised their numbers had multiplied as much as they had. That would be crucial if things came to a fight.

“Alright, here’s what I want you to do.”

He outlined his idea briefly, and Parry went away to carry it out. Dain hoped it wouldn’t be needed, but he wanted to make some kind of provision for negotiations going sour,

It didn’t take long to reach the stores, but by then the light was fading, and fires had been lit, giving a warm glow to the proceedings. The King’s messenger was on horse, smartly dressed, and surrounded by a large troop of staff-bearing men in light leather armour. They numbered well over one hundred men, perhaps even two hundred. It was an intimidating force, but it had been designed to be overwhelming before Dain had rallied the other miners to join him. As it was, they were on more even ground.

The miners had gathered outside their tents where the camp had been set, a sprawling mass of them facing off against the ordered lines on the other side, just a couple of hundred yards between them. The miners, perhaps intimidated by the silent stance of the men across from them, were refraining from calling insults and merely talked quietly among themselves, waiting for a development. Dain had used the money given to them and paid some of the local farmers to supply food directly, meaning that for the moment the men were well fed, although some of them will have been drunk on ale. That had been a necessary purchase as well, to keep up morale. Merek spotted him as he approached and joined him as he approached. Since the whipping, Dain had come to appreciate Merek’s presence, being more reliable and less hot headed than Parry. He felt he could trust him more than some of his other friends from the mine.

“Where’s Parry?” he asked, looking to see if he was following Dain.

“He’s busy,” replied Dain. “Now, I think I’ll see what they have to say.”

He walked out into the no-man’s land between the sides, feeling everyone’s eyes on him as he did so.

“Dain Hardwood?” asked the messenger imperiously.

“Aye, that would be me,” he called in reply. “And who might you be?”

“My name is Mr Tesserell,” he replied. “And in the name of the King I order you to leave.”

Dain gritted his teeth.

“Are you willing to negotiate terms?”

The rider sniffed disdainfully.

“Here are your terms. Abandon the brimstone store or it will be forcibly retaken. You may continue your strike elsewhere, or go back to your jobs without punishment. That is all.”

Dain could feel the wave of unhappy chatter break out behind him as the words hit home. It had been a mistake to approach him in public. By doing so he had let the messenger get the upper hand, as hesitating while deciding on a course of action made him look unsure of himself. Whatever he decided, he needed to appear strong.

“And what of our demands? Will they be met if we return to work?” shouted Dain, so that everyone could hear him. “Do we get what we deserve?”

The messenger bristled at his tone.

“You get more than you deserve in going home unpunished. Be grateful for that, and let us have what is ours. The brimstone is not yours, you have no right to it. Tell your men to move away, or you will be declared criminals.”

The messenger was right, the brimstone wasn’t theirs, and they could still continue the strike without it. But they had made a stand, and it would be a crushing blow to give into the threat and hand it back. Dain turned to the miners.

“Well men. He says that the King wants what is his, but won’t give us what is rightfully ours. Does that seem fair?” he paused for effect. “I think not! He knows we are in the right, and chose to send men with sticks rather than swords. Will we give in to them?”

“The fuck we will!” shouted someone among the uproar, as men roared their defiance. Dain turned back to the messenger, feeling a surge of elation as the men yelled their support. He was playing with fire defying the king like this, but to stand up for what they deserved with all of the miners was an incredible feeling.

“Very well then,” said the negotiator tautly. “I have my orders. Men, advance!”

At his word, the men spread out into a long double line of men, twirling the eight-foot-long pieces of wood in an intimidating sequence of moves as they slowly came forwards. They clearly knew how to handle their weapons. Dain backed away, keeping his eyes on the staffmen, and raised his voice above the hubbub.

“Spread out! There are more of us, if we fight in groups we can take them.”

Dain wasn’t entirely sure of his statement though. The staffmen were ordered and professional, and the moment the miners began to be forced back it could turn into a mass retreat.

Some of the men, caught up in the heat of the moment, ran forwards to take on the advancing lines. The response from the front line was swift and brutal, wood battering against flesh, knocking the men back. One man tried to block a hit to the head as the staff smacked into his arm, being followed almost immediately by a hit to the stomach as his other hand instinctively clutched his wounded arm. A follow up hit from the staff knocked him to the ground.

“Attack together,” roared Dain, angry at the impatient fools who had just suffered for their foolishness. He raised his fist into the air. “Everyone, charge now!”

He ran forwards, knowing their only hope was to overwhelm them with sheer mass of numbers. They couldn’t hesitate; they needed to get within the reach of their weapons so they could rip them from them. Dain picked a man out of the line, focusing on him as he closed the distance between them. The man saw him coming, and raised his staff defensively. When Dain could see the whites of his eyes he leapt towards him, bracing for the impact that he knew would come.

Sure enough, the staff swung around, catching Dain in the midriff and winding him as he barrelled forwards. He didn’t try to block it, knowing he could easily break an arm, but absorbed the impact and grabbed hold of the weapon, not letting go as his momentum took him into the man.

They both kept their footing, and although Dain was struggling to breathe and sore from the hit he kept hold of the staff. The man behind him struck at Dain while he was unable to fight back, catching him painfully in the ribs. As far as Dain could see, it was a similar story along the rest of the line. The staffmen had been forced back a step, but had absorbed the charge, and while the front line held off the mass of miners with horizontal blows, the second line were using their long reach to strike forwards at the men to keep the first line from being overrun.

Dain locked eyes with the staff-holder, his hands hot from the friction against the wood while he forced the man back into the man behind so that the latter didn’t have enough space to swing. The noise around him was deafening as both sides struggled to gain the upper hand. Where the hell was Parry?

A new roar came from behind the lines of staffmen, and Dain saw the outlines of more men running from the forests, holding flaming branches as weapons. Finally.

The King’s messenger, who had been observing the battle from his horse, tried to spur his horse to ride away, but a branch swung in his direction and knocked him clean off his horse, out of Dain’s sight. The additional miners, led by Parry, ran to join the fight, crashing into the backs of the staffmen, who were suddenly faced with a fight on two fronts. With a burst of strength, Dain strained his tree trunk-sized arms, digging his heels into the ground and lifting the staff into the air, with its owner still on it. With a grunt, he swung it over his head, and the helpless man was set upon by miners.

Now with a weapon in hand, Dain rejoined the fight. A staff-wielder in front of him swung his weapon around, knocking a miner Dain didn’t recognise to the ground with a flourish, before turning on him. There was a tense moment where the two men appraised each other. The man was young, lightly muscled, and sweating from the action. Dain saw his face change giving away that he was going to attack. He blocked the man’s first swing towards his head, wood cracking against wood, but with lightning speed the staff came around again to hit him in the side. Wincing at the pain, Dain swung his own weapon around hard, almost hitting a miner when his opponent dodged the attack. An unarmed miner came to his aid, and Dain joined him in the attack, swinging wildly. The staffman deflected his attack, deftly sidestepped and hit the other miner between the legs, and followed it up with a feint attack towards Dain that gave him time to finish the groaning man with an elbow to the head. Dain swore inwardly, realising he was clearly outmatched. He discarded the staff and ran at the man instead, knowing that even if he didn’t have the skill, he was stronger than the other man.

His opponent somehow managed to avoid him, tripping him with the staff as Dain collapsed in the churned up dirt. He rolled, looking up as the staffman prepared to bring his weapon to bear on him.

“Hey, fucker, over here,” called a voice, distracting the man long enough for the speaker to punch him in the stomach, which even through the leather armour made him double over. Dain seized the opportunity, and kicked at the man’s leg. He stumbled, and then Dain’s saviour knocked him down with a backhand to the face. Still conscious, the man dropped the staff and put his hands up in surrender as he lay on the ground, unable to fight any more.

“You’re damn right you give up,” said Merek, offering Dain a hand. “Struggling?”

“I had it under control,” said Dain, lungs still burning from the exertion as he looked around him. “First you attack the guy whipping me, and now this? You fancy me or something?”

Merek laughed, clapping Dain on the back good-naturedly. The King’s men were now in full retreat, their lines broken and unable to cope with the numbers. Several men lay groaning on the ground, while others nursed serious wounds, but in all honesty he was more relieved to see them moving. There would surely be broken bones, and they could only hope that there had been no deaths. He spotted Parry in the distance, apparently unharmed. Dain’s role in the fight was done, he would just need to deal with the aftermath.

“I assume you organised the reinforcements from the forests,” Merek said, brushing himself off and looking around at the men around him.

Dain nodded.

“Parry went round and fetched some more of the men who had left the camp, and took them into the forests. I didn’t think the staffmen would realise the missing men, as we already had more than they seemed to have prepared for.”

“Fair enough,” laughed Merek. “Well we have the King’s messenger, and a bunch of his men. What shall we do with them?”

Dain sighed, not really in the mood for decision-making, but knowing that things needed to be done.

“The staffmen we can gather up and send on their way with some stretchers for those who need them. Keeping them prisoner wouldn’t be worth it and we’re certainly not executing them.”

He looked around, trying to ascertain who was who in the dark. The miners had allowed the remnants of the King’s forces to retreat without giving chase and were now cheering and celebrating their victory, as they deserved to. Mourning the costs of it was something for the morrow.

“Anything else?” asked Merek.

“Bring me the messenger, I want to speak to him,” said Dain. Merek nodded and went to do as he said, leaving him a little time to think. They needed doctors, or nurses. Some of the miners’ wives could perhaps see to them, if they were sent for. He himself knew nothing of how to patch people up.

He checked his ribs, and winced at the pain in his side. He hoped they weren’t broken, that could end up being very inconvenient. Dain saw that a couple of men were gathered around a prone figure on the ground, and approached to see what was happening. Whoever it was, they weren’t moving, and when Dain got closer, his heart sank as he saw that the head wound made it pointless to try reviving him.

“What was his name?” asked Dain quietly.

“People called him Big,” said a miner gruffly. “I dunno what his real name was. He had no family, i’ was jus’ him.”

“Well then, all we can do is make sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain,” said Dain, knowing the words sounded hollow. He sent a prayer up to Anim that this would be the only casualty of their war, and that the man was with his loved ones now.

“Dain?” asked Merek, behind him. “I have the messenger.”

“Alright,” said Dain, turning to see the well-dressed man being held between Merek and another miner.

“If you’re going to kill me, might I say-”

“Shut your mouth and listen, I have a message for the King, and I want you to relay it word for word,” interrupted Dain, in no mood for posh pricks like him. “Tell him that a man has died now, it is his fault, and that there will be no negotiating until we have our pay back to normal. Tell him that I never wanted hostilities with the King, and remind him, we did not kill anybody in taking the brimstone store, yet after killing one of ours, he calls us criminals. Tell him,” Dain raised his voice, feeling anger at the injustice of it all build up inside him, “that we are moving the brimstone, and he is in no event getting it back unless he gives us what we want, regardless of what his bed-friend Favian Slynn has to say about it, and that from now on, violence will be met with violence.”

The messenger hesitated, glancing at the intimidating men surrounding him, and nodded.

“Well then that’s settled,” said Dain, rubbing his hands together as a sudden chill hit him.

The real struggle had begun.

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Next Chapter: Chapter Seven