Travis Starnes
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An Ending of Oaths (Shattered Lands #2) - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2024-07-18 14:00:04 +0000 UTCCestralion, Aurorin Province, Lynese
William stood on the balcony of the Viceroy’s keep, watching as snow fell, blanketing the city of Cestralion. Despite the cold and its occupation by a hostile force, the city bustled with activity, people going about their daily lives as if nothing had changed.
“Seems strange, doesn’t it?” Pembroke said, joining William at the railing, his breath misting in the frigid air.
“My lord?”
“The quiet. The people going about their lives. We took a city from them, killing so many of their fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands in our march here. You’d think there would be more unrest.”
“I don’t think it matters, to their daily lives. Their men have been sent to the coast during maw season, sent to put down uprisings, dying for far away masters. Life goes on. As long as we don’t abuse them or put them more of a burden, they’re quiet, if not content. Less food has traveled to rich cities to the south, even, which has meant more food on their tables. They just want to live their lives, as long as we leave them to it.”
“Maybe,” Pembroke said, sounding unconvinced.
That surprised William little. Pembroke was a good man, but a noble through and through. He, and his fathers, and his fathers’ fathers had been born into the nobility. Lives of wealth and privilege. They had no idea what real need, not just want but the most basic need, was like.
William had never been poor himself, of course, but he had not been born a noble. William didn’t remember his father, but his mother would tell him of the man. How he struggled to provide for them.
And William remembered his friends, from before Edmund married his mother, not all of whom had been wealthy. True, it was a long time ago and he had lived as nobility more than half his life, but he remembered what it was like, and had a frame of reference for it.
“I’m certain you didn’t ask for me to discuss the people of Cestralion, however,” Pembroke said when William refused the bait.
“I did not. I wanted to talk to you about Talabot.”
“What about it?”
“With Barentez secure, I want to turn our attention there. It’s the last large port the Lynesians have in the north. If we can take it, we’ll control the entire coast.”
“True, but Talabot is a tough nut to crack. It’s well defended, and the Lynesians know how important it is. They won’t give it up easily.”
“I know, but I think we have an opportunity. We sent the Lynesian army that sallied out of Talabot to try and retake Barentez back to the city in defeat. Along with the soldiers who escaped our attack on the port. Morale has to be low.”
“That was a sally in winter for a port we already held. They will offer a much more stern resistance once we directly assault their home, and we do not have the men to waste against their walls. Not and still be effective on a march south,” Pembroke said.
“True, but the snows have started and the men have marched to the maw. This is the season when armies hold and campaigns pause. Surprise would be on our side. They think they’re safe behind their walls until the thaw.”
“There’s a good reason armies don’t campaign in winter, my prince. Supply lines become treacherous, and provisions themselves grow scarce. Ours is worse than many armies, trying to live off of the harvest we took without our own supplies coming in. Our men would move slowly, vulnerable to ambush or the elements. Meanwhile, the enemy sits comfortably behind their walls, warm and well-fed. Your ruse in Barentz was brilliant, to be sure, but the Lynesians know we control the northern seas and have blocked all shipping to Talabot. They would not fall for that trick twice.”
“Which is why I would not suggest the same ruse twice. I want to send a small part of our force, maybe Sir Alistair’s men, south, toward Valemonde. I don’t want them to assault the city, but I want them to make a lot of noise doing it. I want them to seem like a much larger army than they are, leaving encampments in their wake that would suggest significantly more men than they have, setting up fires at night that aren’t needed, moving frequently but making little ground. I want the enemy to notice them.”
“To what end?”
“Talabot is the only large, organized force in the northern half of the continent. The rest were dispatched toward the maw. They know Valemonde is our ultimate goal, which is why they have a force there at all, to threaten an attack from our rear should we march on Valemonde, or so Valemonde can attack from our rear should we march on Talabot. They offer each other mutual protection.”
“So you send a force in between them to … what, be attacked by both sides?”
“No. Valemonde’s forces would only march if they see us engaged. They had to send so many of their men to the southeast, they just don’t have the forces to come against us, which is why moving now, while they’re understrength, is the best move for us. In the spring, they’ll be reinforced and any move will end up with us fighting in two directions.”
“Do you really think they’ll take the bait? They only need a few scouts to see through the ruse.”
“We’ll have to be aggressive in countering their scouting, no doubt about that, but I think they will. It’s what they’ll expect. They know I’m in command now, and I’ve heard what everyone says about me. I’m the warrior cub. A hothead, aggressive, and inexperienced. They’ll expect something like this from me. I’ll lead the group that rides out, with my banners and personal guard. They’ll see what they want to see.”
“So you think they’ll sally from Talabot, thinking you’re making your move on Valemonde?”
“Yes. And when they do, I want you to come in from behind and hit them. Valemonde’s forces will be dug in and waiting, giving me time to turn around, put them behind us. Once defeated, Talabot will be all but open, letting us march into it mostly unopposed.”
Pembroke did not look convinced. “It’s bold, I give you that.”
William could hear what the baron wasn’t saying. “I know it’s not without danger, but so is everything in war. We can’t sit idle all winter. You and I both know we will not be receiving reinforcements or supplies from my cousin. Now, we have stores, and Talabot is sitting on stores. By spring, they will have men back and be stronger while we are running low on food goods and getting weaker. I do not plan on giving them that kind of opportunity.”
“Your point is well reasoned, my prince, but I am still not entirely convinced this will work. The Lynesian commanders aren’t fools. They might see through our deception.”
“If they do, then we will have lost nothing but time, and we’ll have given our men some valuable experience in winter maneuvers. Either way, it keeps us active and unpredictable.”
The older man nodded slowly, giving grudging respect. “You’ve thought this through more thoroughly than I gave you credit for, Your Highness. I apologize for underestimating you.”
William waved off the apology. “You are doing exactly what I asked for from you. I value your counsel and advice.”
“I’ll go speak to Sir Alistair now,” Pembroke said, saluting and returning indoors.
William turned back to the city, considering. Convincing Pembroke was the easy part. Now he had to show that he wasn’t just being aggressive, but had a viable strategy.
***
Edmund watched snow drift down outside the window, landing lazily on the balcony railing. White blanketed the city beyond it, a tranquil picture and a stark contrast to inside the palace. Behind him, Serwyn continued to pace, wearing a line in the plush rug.
With a sigh, Edmund turned back to his nephew. “I understand your frustration.”
“Frustration? Is that what you call it, uncle? Frustration? Frustration was when you made surrender to peasants. PEASANTS. Frustration is being forced to continually go before their damnable council of trash and bow and scrape, pretend that their opinions are worth anything at all.”
“I know, Serwyn. I do. But the situation remains delicate. We have to proceed with…”
“I swear to the ancients, if you tell me we need to be cautious, I will have you thrown out a window,” Serwyn screamed, his face turning deep red. “To the depths with caution, and to you and your damned patience. For a year I listened to your plans. Your scheming, and what has it gotten me? Nothing! Nothing but mockery and disrespect.”
The boy king resumed his agitated pacing, hands balled into fists at his sides. It had been like this every day since the peace agreement with the peasants was signed. Anything that reminded Serwyn of it sent him flying into a rage, and Edmund knew his explanations were wearing thin.
It had the Duke concerned. There was a way to play this, but it was very unlikely he was going to hold his nephew off long enough to properly time it. The last year went poorly, it was true, but it did not end as badly as it could have, and it seemed like Serwyn was determined to achieve that worse outcome.
“I advised patience because it was necessary. It still is. We just barely avoided open rebellion from the Barons, and we could easily find ourselves there again. For now, we have stability, giving us a chance to regroup and reposition ourselves. The wrong move now could throw us back into chaos. The barons can’t keep this unity for long. They will revert to their petty bickering, giving us a chance to counter their gains. We just have to out-wait them.”
With a roar of rage, Serwyn swept his arm across a side table, sending a vase and several goblets crashing to the floor. “And how long will that take? Weeks? Months? Years?”
“Your Majesty, please. This isn’t helping.”
“To the depths with your help! The barons are already against me, and I do nothing. I am the king and you treat me like a child.”
“That’s not fair, Serwyn. I just…”
“No! No more of your excuses,” Serwyn yelled, pushing Edmund back, causing him to stumble. “I’m tired of waiting, tired of your endless counsel of patience.”
He stalked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle, looking over his shoulder at his uncle.
“If you won’t do something about this, then I will.”
With that, he wrenched open the door and stormed out, slamming it behind him. Edmund stared at the door and broken dishes on the floor, an uneasy feeling in his gut. Serwyn had always been impulsive, but he was devolving.
Edmund turned back to the window, watching the snow fall, trying to hold his own composure.
Patience. He just needed patience. And an opening.
***
Ducky of Shadowhold, North of the Salt Marshes
Men screamed, their bodies thrown through the air like children’s playthings off Aldric’s head.
The duke cursed the creature as it tore into his small army. The smaller ones, with their elongated bodies, spindly legs, and rows of razor-sharp fangs, were bad enough, but the mammoth creature that towered over all of their heads had Aldric worried.
Of the variety of maw-spawned creatures he’d fought over the years, these were the worst type. Fast, agile, and covered in a hard carapace that made it hard to kill, they had a seemingly endless desire for flesh. What he wouldn’t give for the fat ones that spat noxious acid or the wolf-like creatures. At least those his men could kill.
And why did it have to be the large one? It had been years since he’d seen one of the larger beasts, and he’d hoped they’d finally seen the last of them.
He’d been wrong.
Aldric led his wave of knights back out of the melee, preparing for another charge as his footmen pushed hard, trying to keep the smaller ones from breaking through their line and into the archers in the rear. They were the only ones doing real damage so far to the mammoth creature, peppering it with arrows and causing it to shy away.
As he watched, a group of spearmen charged one of the little ones, pinning it to the ground as one or two of the spears found a softer spot in its thick hide, only to be set upon by another small pack of the creatures that ripped into his men, tearing them literally limb from limb.
The giant creature swiped another massive, spindly leg, sending more of his men flying through the air.
They needed to take care of the thing, and now. Despite the losses, his men were handling the smaller ones well and had already thinned out their numbers greatly, but the behemoth was a problem, shaking off anything his men did to it.
Aldric lifted his sword, wheeling his horsemen around to make another pass at the creature, spurring his animal forward at a full gallop. His men thundered across the field, hooves pounding into the frozen dirt as they ate up the ground between them and the behemoth.
The giant creature turned its attention to the approaching cavalry, its maw opening wide as if to swallow them whole. Aldric ducked low in the saddle as it dipped its head low at them, knowing that if the creature decided he was its next meal, it would be pointless but unable to resist the instinctual response.
The creature’s massive jaw swept over his head, close enough he could smell the salty seawater stink coming from it. He was safe, but a group of riders several back were less so as its jaw closed around them and their horses in a cacophony of shrieks and screams.
And then Aldric was clear of the beast’s head and near its forelegs. He’d kept his distance, focusing on the smaller one so far, but other groups of riders had tried to cut the beast down and had been unsuccessful.
They, however, did not have the luxury of being armed in the same way as Aldric, who swept the hand-and-a-half bastard sword in an arc as he rode by, the gleaming blade cutting through the thick carapace, sinew, and bone with barely any resistance, until the entire limb was severed, the bottom section falling away.
The creature let out a shattering howl of pain and anger as it began to topple over. Aldric spurred his horse on faster, not wanting to be caught under it as it fell, and wanting to ensure the job was done. With another swing, he repeated his work on one of the back legs before clearing the beast as it tumbled to the ground, shaking the very earth beneath them as it smashed into the hard-packed ground.
His footmen did not wait for the order. Seeing the beast down and vulnerable, they veered around its snapping jaws and swarmed its underside, where there was no protective carapace, spears and swords hacking and stabbing into its exposed belly.
The creature thrashed and snapped, managing to take a few more men with it before it finally went limp.
Aldric pulled his horse to a stop and surveyed the battlefield. With the large creature gone, his men were able to finish the last of the smaller ones. They still lost a few men, but the battle was all but done.
Another group of knights thundered toward him, most of the men peeling off to help with the remainder of the creatures while the man at the head pulled his horse up, coming to rest next to Aldric’s own mount.
“Impressively done,” Edrik Blackwood, Duke of Shadowhold said, looking past Aldric to the massive body lying still on the ground.
“Impressive would have been killing it earlier, before we lost so many men. What’s the news from the south?”
“Another wave has come in from the sea and is headed for the marshes. I want to move my men up to keep them from getting loose in the open, hitting them while they’re still vulnerable.”
“Your men will be equally vulnerable in the marshes. You’ll lose the use of your cavalry which, depending on the type of creatures you face, will leave your footmen at a sore disadvantage.”
“True, but I don’t see as how we have much choice. I need to keep them out of the farmsteads. I’ve only recently convinced a new batch of villagers to move further south and begin working the land. I promised them protection. It will be a generation until my family can persuade men to move that far south again.”
“And if your men are wiped out?” Aldric asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We can’t let that happen,” Edric said.
“Then we have to be smart about it. We can move south, but only to the edge of the swamps, not in them. I won’t risk the army, not with so much winter left.”
“Every league we cede is another we’ll have to fight twice as hard to reclaim,” Edrik argued.
“And every man we lose is one we can’t replace,” Aldric countered. He paused, considering their options. “Not with the bulk of our men across the straits in Lynese. If we do this, I need the fortified towns of Blackmire and Fenhold set up as fallback positions. We’ll need somewhere to retreat if things go poorly.”
“Agreed. I’ll send word to have them prepared immediately,” Edrik said with a nod, turning his mount and riding off.
Aldric frowned. The duke had a point and, had Aldric been in his shoes, he might have made much the same argument, but it was a constant trade-off between the needs of war and the resources to fight it.
And right now, lack of resources was winning.
Comments
Travis Starnes
Ha, that's funny
D.J. Clarke
Maybe David McCallum lives? :)
Brett Grayson
"Men screamed, their bodies thrown through the air like children’s playthings off Aldric’s head." Sentence doesn't make sense with inclusion of "off Aldric's head".
Brett Grayson
Ducky of Shadowhold, North of the Salt Marshes. Shouldn't it be "Duchy"
