Liam slammed his silver-tipped cane against the floorboards, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "You are giving up? The man who stared down my brother's executioner's cleaver is surrendering to a piece of paper?"
"It is an order from the High Council, Liam!" Arthur snapped, his own anger finally flaring. "I am a man of the law! If the Crown strips me of my authority, I have no power here!"
"The Crown is blind," Liam growled, stepping closer. "But the people of this Shire are not. You brought light to a place that has been drowning in darkness for decades. If you leave now, Vance's allies will release him, and the rivers will run red with the blood of everyone who testified against him."
"And what would you have me do?" Arthur demanded, throwing his hands up. "Start a rebellion? Declare myself King of Oakendell?"
"No," Liam said, his expression hardening into a look of absolute, dangerous resolve. "You stay right here. You pack nothing. Give me ten days."
Arthur frowned, confused. "Ten days? To do what?"
"To fight poison with fire," Liam replied mysteriously. "I have brothers in the shadows. Men who owe me their lives. We operate outside the law because the law is too slow, too rigid, and too easily corrupted by men like Lord Vance. But we recognize true justice when we see it. And we will not let it be extinguished."
Before Arthur could ask another question, the giant vigilante turned and strode out of the study, disappearing into the night.
Liam Thorne did not return to his own estate. He rode his massive black warhorse deep into the treacherous, heavily forested northern hills, far beyond the reach of the Shire Guard.
He arrived at a hidden, fortified encampment nestled in a deep ravine. This was the sanctuary of the Brotherhood a coalition of honorable outlaws, mercenaries, and vigilantes who operated under Liam's strict code.
Liam strode into the main longhouse, where a dozen dangerous men were gathered around a roaring fire, drinking ale and sharpening weapons.
Among them were Julian the Silver Tongue, Marcus the Iron Fist, and Silas the Shadow. But there were others, equally formidable: "Silent" Finn, a master archer who never spoke; "Mad" Dogger, an explosives expert with a terrifyingly cheerful demeanor; and "The Twins," a pair of identical, silent assassins who moved like ghosts.
"Brothers," Liam's voice boomed, instantly silencing the room. Every man turned to face their leader.
Liam stood by the fire, his face illuminated by the dancing flames. "The Chief Magistrate of Oakendell, Arthur Pendelton, has been stripped of his title by the corrupt politicians in the capital. They intend to release Zachary Vance and let the wolves back into the sheep pen."
An angry murmur rippled through the men. They all knew of Arthur's incorruptible nature. Many of them had quietly respected the man who managed to clean the streets without resorting to their bloody methods.
"Pendelton is a man of the Crown, but he fights for the same justice we do," Liam continued, his voice rising in volume and intensity. "If we let him fall, the Viper will consume this entire region. I made a vow to protect this land. I intend to keep it."
"What's the play, Liam?" Marcus the Iron Fist asked, cracking his massive knuckles. "Do we ride to the capital and start cutting throats in the High Council?"
"No," Liam said, a cunning, dangerous smile touching his lips. "We cannot fight the Crown's army. But the politicians in the capital only care about one thing: gold. Lord Vance's power comes entirely from the massive wealth he hoards from his corrupt grain monopolies."
Liam unrolled a detailed, hand-drawn map of the regional trade routes on a large wooden table. The men gathered around.
"In five days, Lord Vance is moving a massive shipment of extorted silver and gold from his regional stronghold to the capital," Liam explained, tracing a line on the map. "It is his 'tribute' to the High Council the bribe money he uses to buy their loyalty and secure his nephew's release. It will be heavily guarded by his private mercenary army."
Liam looked up, meeting the eyes of every man in the room.
"We are going to take it," Liam declared. "We are going to hit the convoy, slaughter Vance's mercenaries, and steal every last piece of silver. We will cripple his financial empire in a single night."
"And then?" Julian the Silver Tongue asked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Then," Liam said, his smile widening into a predatory grin, "we use Lord Vance's own stolen gold to buy back Arthur Pendelton's badge. We will send a message to the capital that the Viper's money is gone, and the White Stallion is backing the Magistrate."
The men in the longhouse erupted into a roar of approval, drawing their weapons and slamming them against their shields. The Brotherhood was going to war.
For the next four days, the Brotherhood prepared. They scouted the route, set traps in a narrow, treacherous canyon known as the Devil's Throat, and coordinated their assault with military precision.
On the fifth day, the sun beat down mercilessly on the dusty highway.
Deep within the Devil's Throat canyon, the Brotherhood lay in wait. Liam Thorne sat atop his black warhorse, hidden behind a massive boulder on the high ridge, looking down at the road below.
A cloud of dust appeared on the horizon.
"They're coming," Silas the Shadow whispered, dropping down from a high branch.
A massive convoy entered the canyon. There were five heavy, armored wagons, pulled by teams of massive draft horses. Surrounding the wagons were over fifty heavily armed mercenaries, wearing chainmail and carrying loaded crossbows.
At the head of the convoy rode the commander of Vance's forces a scarred, brutal veteran known as Captain Thorne (no relation to Liam). He was a man who enjoyed inflicting pain, and he rode with the arrogant confidence of a man who believed his numbers made him invincible.
Liam Thorne drew his broadsword, the steel singing softly as it cleared the scabbard. He looked down at his brothers, who were hidden in the rocks and brush all around the canyon.
"For justice," Liam whispered.
He raised his sword high, the blade catching the sunlight, and then brought it down in a swift, violent arc.
(To be continued...)