The Revolution Came

Chapter 3: Battle of Midnight Rim

Mey nodded as he took the letters from Cody and tucked them into his small bag. Without another word, he mounted his horse and rode off into the night, his lantern flickering against the dark countryside.

The road was eerily quiet, but as he neared the outskirts of Cheverton, voices drifted through the trees.

"You heard the General, local militias and armed society members are hiding in Cheverton and St. Ezekiel."

Mey's grip tightened on the reins as he quickly blew out his lantern and steered his horse into the brush, crouching low behind the foliage.

"Do they really stand a chance against us? They're fighting the most powerful army in the world."

"Their pitiful revolution will crumble. Troops from Fort Herodia will surround them at Lovington, cutting off any chance of escape."

The voices faded into the distance. Mey clenched his jaw, struck a match, and relit his lantern before galloping toward Cheverton.

Upon reaching the town, he rushed to the militia headquarters and knocked firmly on the door.

"State your business," came a wary voice from inside.

Mey handed over Cody's letter. The militia officer scanned its contents, his expression hardening.

"Spread the word, the Regulars are coming!" Mey announced.

The officer nodded and disappeared inside, already issuing orders. Mey didn't wait to see the response; he was already back on his horse, riding for St. Ezekiel.

Cutting through farmlands and dense woods, he suddenly heard the steady beat of a drum and distant voices. Blowing out his lantern once more, he melted into the shadows.

"Do they really think the King will compromise? They either swear loyalty to the Crown or die as traitors."

Mey exhaled slowly as the British platoon passed by. Once they were gone, he relit his lantern and pressed forward.

Upon reaching St. Ezekiel's safe house, he knocked briskly.

"State your business," the militia officer said, opening the door.

Mey handed him the letter. "Spread the word, the Regulars are coming."

The officer gave a firm nod before closing the door. Mey exhaled, taking a moment to steady himself before checking his pack. One letter remained.

He spurred his horse toward another part of St. Ezekiel, reaching a second safe house. He barely had time to knock before the door swung open.

"The Regulars are-"

A shout cut him off.

"Here! He's here! Get him!"

Redcoats poured from the house. Mey's blood turned cold as he yanked the reins, forcing his horse into a sharp turn. Gunshots rang out, bullets whipping past him as he rode hard through the darkened streets.

The British gave chase, but Mey had the advantage of knowing the terrain. After weaving through back roads and dense brush, he finally lost them.

Sweat-drenched and breathless, he arrived at Commander Pratts' residence and knocked urgently. No answer.

Frowning, he circled to the back of the house, only to find the militia commander partially drunk, a bottle in one hand.

"Commander!" Mey snapped. "You need to prepare your men. The Regulars are coming!"

Pratts blinked, the fog of alcohol clearing as he processed the words. He cursed under his breath and grabbed his pistol and musket.

"Aye, General Rivera finally gave the order," he muttered.