An Insurrection by A. S. Washington Page A

pitchfork at your side than a sword in the chest,’ Desh replied harshly.
                ‘True.’ Thurstan couldn’t deny the fact. ‘But why do you care?’ He continued, looking Desh up and down, almost as if analyzing his very intentions, a confused annoyance written across his face. ‘Let’s not fool ourselves here. You’re a murderer, a thousand times over. How many men have you slain? How many families have wept because of you?’ Thurstan’s accusations were sharp and meant to sting.
                ‘The men standing behind me do not have me on trial for my crimes. I am a killer, ruthless in every way. The highest bidder has my allegiance. I do not claim to be something I am not.’ Desh smiled lustfully, licking the blood from his blade and swallowing heartily. ‘You on the other hand, claim to love your people openly, but allow them to be butchered by foreign invaders. Did you not expect that they’d rebel, being hungry and afraid of your enemies?’ Desh smiled again. ‘They don’t think rationally. They are debase and impulsive. As you say, they are indeed peasants and brigands, not noble men.’ Desh turned sideways on his horse, surveying the men who stood behind him in defiance of the king.
                ‘But why you?’ Thurstan asked. He could not fathom why an assassin, one he had employed on many occasions, would lead men into battle against him. There was no gold in it. Surely there was glory, but Desh’s reputation for butchery was well known. ‘What do you hope to gain?’
                ‘Consider it a change of heart. With no motivation other than gold, I’ve killed the dirtiest politicians, the most fearsome warriors, harlots, and priests. I’ve even killed the nameless at the whims of royalty like you and rich men with vendettas. Now I kill for a cause, one I thought you stood for. But I was obviously wrong.’ Desh huffed, almost cracking a smile. ‘Have you visited your wife’s grave since I slit her throat in your bed.’
                The hairs on Thurstan’s finely trimmed beard stood up, his forehead a wrinkled mass of anger. If it were possible to see his knuckles through his leather gloves as he gripped the reins on his horse with the fervor of a dying man struggling for life, they had surely changed colors. Thurstan scowled at Desh, and closed his eyes to compose himself, as he breathed in slowly. The image of his naked wife in bed with her throat cut roused his anger. Her infidelity was a grievous enough injury to his ego. Yet, losing the opportunity to punish the queen in his own way angered Thurstan to no end.
                ‘I see I’ve hit a nerve,’ Desh said full of pride.
                Thurstan snatched his sword from its scabbard, his teeth bared like a raging beast. Ludan and Carmine followed suit, their broadswords cutting through the cold air. Brack and Morn were armed now, unsettling their horses as they moved about. Thurstan pointed his sword at Desh with murderous intent, grinding his teeth and growling like a mad dog as he searched for words to speak. Desh stared at him unfazed.
                ‘Lorencia belongs to me! I say who has right to eat and be protected. March this mangy army from the gates of my city or suffer the wrath of Thurstan the Mighty.’ Thurstan whipped his horse around quickly and darted toward the middle of his army, followed by his trusted champions.
                Desh yelled at him in the distance. ‘I’ll meet you in the middle mighty king!’ Mocking Thurstan’s threatening outburst, he laughed as he watched him ride away.
                ‘He looks angry,’ Brack said in a tone of indifference. He appeared bored as he scratched his baldhead.
                ‘More killing…’ Morn said as he let the words hang in the air as he stared at Brack and Desh with an unmatched lust in his eyes. Those grey dead eyes. Desh