Roland was beaming at the suggestion of rebellion. Some day they'd sing songs of how he single-handedly led a group of ragtag villagers against a tyrannical authority. He was sure they'd include the fierce image of his dashing face splattered with the blood of the oppressor. He was daydreaming the images as they began their ride out of town, waiting in heated anticipation for the villagers to arrive.
"Lady Renata," he said, once she was mounted and outside of earshot of any townfolk. "What do you know about Iste? We may be able to strike quickly and take the defenses before the messenger reaches Caelin. If not, we face a certain death. That would be a waste of a very handsome group of revolutionaries."
"Lady Renata," he said, once she was mounted and outside of earshot of any townfolk. "What do you know about Iste? We may be able to strike quickly and take the defenses before the messenger reaches Caelin. If not, we face a certain death. That would be a waste of a very handsome group of revolutionaries."
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