Travis Starnes
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In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 28
🕑 Added 2024-04-29 14:46:01 +0000 UTCKingshold River, Duchy of Shadowhold, Sidor
Aldric pushed open the weathered wooden door, stepping into the dimly lit interior of the farmhouse, not for the first time wondering where Fletcher managed to find these out-of-the-way places. They always looked unkempt and lived in, meaning this was someone’s home, and yet the occupant always managed to find somewhere else to be when these meetings happened.
It spoke to how far-reaching Fletcher’s network had become and what kind of loyalty he received from the people in it, willing to give up their homes to him without question, upending lives that were almost certainly difficult.
The man in question was sitting in a chair placed in the middle of the room, looking at his hands and deep in thought as Aldric entered.
“Your Grace. I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Fletcher said, jumping up from his seat.
“I said I would come, and I always keep my word. I’m sorry I’m late. This far into the country, it is hard to ditch my household guard and find a way out without being noticed. I should warn you, this will probably be the last time we can meet like this for a while.”
“I assumed as much. I’ve seen the men marching south and the building is all most folks can talk about. You’ve about stripped the country bare of guards and soldiers, although how you convinced the king to part with his precious cutthroats I’ll never know.”
“I wouldn’t call them all cutthroats, but he had little choice. Your protests may be difficult for him to manage, but they would pale in comparison to what would happen if we didn’t stand in the way of what the maw will be spewing onto our shores. Faced between unrest and total destruction, even the king has to make the obvious choice.”
“Well, I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me with all that going on. You’ve already done more for us than we could’ve hoped. Those supplies you sent, they’ve been a godsend. With you being gone through the winter, shouldn’t you put us in contact with some of the others you’re working with?”
“No. I’m sorry, and I know it seems that it would be better if you had access to more of the network, but these are delicate negotiations. Not everyone providing supplies is thrilled with the more aggressive tactics you are using. I’m not judging you, and I agree they are needed, but it requires finesse to convince some of our backers, and the more access they have to information, the less likely they are to give. I know it’s difficult, in the scenario we find ourselves, to ask you to trust me, but it is, unfortunately, all I have to offer.”
“Of course I trust you, Your Grace. I’m not trying to sound ungrateful or asking for more than you’re willing to provide, I just am worried that, with you gone, the support might dry up just when we’re getting close.”
“I won’t let that happen, Tom. I’ve already set up cutouts and associates to facilitate getting everything you need when I’m not around. The supplies will keep flowing. I promise.”
“I’m glad of it. We’ve been pushing toward the capital from every direction, faster now that you’ve pulled most of the king’s retainers away. We’re squeezing in on Starhaven Bay. If things continue, we’ll have the city isolated within the month, then we can finally take the fight to the king himself.”
“Remember what this is all about, Tom,” Aldric warned. “You’re not here to fight the king.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t that the whole point of this? To make the king bow to reason and change his ways?”
“Yes, that is the point, but it’s a difficult one to make right. These things can easily get out of hand and go too far. Yes, we want to force change, but we do not want to overthrow the monarchy. The king’s new laws have placed a heavy burden on the people, one I hope to remove, but there are worse outcomes for the people than even living with the edicts of travel. If the monarchy were to fall, or be damaged to the point of true weakness, it could lead to even greater upheaval. There are many people outside our kingdom who would like nothing more than to see Sidor crumble so they could pick our bones, and many inside of it who would help them. If the crown becomes too weak to hold the kingdom together, they will swarm like vultures. The very people you’re trying to help could end up suffering more than if you had done nothing at all.”
“I see your point, Your Grace,” Fletcher said, sitting back in his chair and looking. “We’ll be careful. The people, they’re upset, but they know what we’re really doing this for. It’s not about power, it’s about justice.”
“Good. Remember that, and remember that real change takes time. Just getting the edicts reversed won’t solve everyone’s problems. Patience is the key to victory.”
“I won’t let you down, Your Grace. I won’t let the people down,” Fletcher said solemnly.
Aldric was about to respond when a noise outside the farmhouse caught his attention. The sounds of men on horses and men in armor.
Fletcher shot out of his seat, a hand going to his sword, until Aldric stopped him, placing a hand over Fletcher’s and keeping the weapon in its sheath. Pressing a finger to his lips, Aldric moved to the shuttered window, peaking through a small opening.
Outside were a dozen men in the livery of the Starhaven city watch. An unusual sight this far from the capital, and well outside of their normal purview.
“Start searching the houses,” a man wearing the insignia of a captain of the guard commanded, sending his men sliding off their horses to carry out his orders.
“Let me handle this,” Aldric whispered to Fletcher. “Stay here and stay quiet.”
Fletcher looked like he wanted to argue, but only nodded, stepping back further into the room, away from the windows and sources of light. Checking to make sure Fletcher couldn’t be seen, Aldric pulled the door open and walked out of the house, head held high and shoulders back.
“Captain. What is happening here?”
“Your Grace,” the very startled guardsman said, his mouth dropping slightly at the sudden appearance of one of the highest members of the Sidorian Peerage. “What are you doing here?”
Aldric raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking a duke to explain himself?”
“No, Your Grace. Apologies. I was just … surprised to see you outside of the capital or your duchy.”
“I am on my way south to oversee preparations for the maw season. It’s been a long ride, and I needed to rest for the night, and these people were kind enough to take me in. Speaking of being in unexpected places, we are very far from Starhaven. What is the city guard doing in Shadowhold?”
“The king dispatched us to track down the leaders of the rebellion. We have reports of one of their leaders in the area.”
“Good. The sooner this foolish rebellion is quashed and the kingdom can regain some peace, the better.”
“Agreed, Your Grace,” the captain said. “I am very sorry to have disturbed you. We will search these buildings quickly and be away.”
Aldric looked at the building behind him and then back to the captain, “Do you really think I am hiding the leader of a rebellion that is trying to overthrow my own nephew and House Whitton?”
The captain paled. “No, Your Grace! Of course not!”
“Then you can assume I am the only one here,” Aldric said firmly. “Now, go do your duty elsewhere. I need my rest, and I’d rather not be disturbed further.”
The captain bowed hastily. “Yes, Your Grace. Apologies again for the intrusion. Men! Mount up!”
Aldric watched as the guards swung back into their saddles and rode off, waiting until the sound of hoofbeats had faded before turning back to the farmhouse.
That was too close.
***
Starhaven, Sidor
Edmund passed in front of the window to his chambers as his servants prepared the room for evening, lighting a fire in the hearth and padding the bedding for that night’s rest. He ignored them, keeping his eyes locked on the high window as he cut a line back and forth across the thick rug, his impatience on full view.
A light came on in the courtyard below. It was small, a lantern uncovered near one of the far sections of the wall, and only for a moment before being hooded again. Then it reappeared, finishing the pattern two more times before darkening for good.
“Leave me. All of you,” Edmund said, turning from the window finally.
His servants, who were used to him and his foibles, bowed and filed out, the last one closing the door softly. Edmund crossed the room and locked the door, to ensure his privacy, before resuming his pacing across a new stretch of the room. Each step became more agitated as he crossed back and forth in front of the large bed.
Finally, he heard it. A click of a latch being worked, but not from the door. This came from a bare section of wall between a large bookcase and a tapestry. The section swung inward without a sound, showing only a dark void inside. A moment later, his scribe, Orlan, and a man in a dark cloak that covered his face came through the doorway, Orlan looking around to ensure the coast was clear.
Of course, if it wasn’t, both the man and the door would have been revealed, but his scribe was needed more for his loyalty than his brains.
“Were you seen?” Edmund asked.
“No, your grace,” Orlan said.
“Good. Wait below and keep watch to ensure we are not disturbed. When he returns to you, see that you aren’t seen as he leaves the city.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Orlan said, bowing deeply before melting back into the darkness.
“I trust you have good news for me,” Edmund said as Orlan left.
The messenger reached into his cloak and withdrew a small pouch, tossing it to Edmund, who caught it and then looked at it as if the pouch were a dead rat instead.
“What is this? He promised shiploads, not … this. How am I to hire Werna or Inos mercenaries with this?”
“That is equal to what you have provided. No more. My master’s demands have not been met. Until the Sidorian armies are withdrawn, that is all there is.”
“Tell your master I’m working on it. It’s not as simple as waving my hand and making it so. Anything too overt will raise suspicions and make things more difficult,” Edmund said angrily, beginning to pace again. “It doesn’t help that your master has been pushing his allies to increase harassment and raiding on the borders. It’s distracting me from the task at hand.”
“From what I hear, border raids are the least of Sidor’s problems,” the messenger said, his head slowly turning to follow the path of Edmund’s travel, but otherwise unmoved. “Regardless, the agreement you have with my master hinges on removing the armies and bringing them home. Any difficulties in doing so are yours to solve, not ours.”
Edmund stopped pacing and turned to glare at the man. “I’m working on it. Tell your master I will have an excuse soon to recall the men. As it is, I’ve already begun choking their supplies, slowing their advance. That should count for something.”
“Then your efforts are insufficient. Our men continue to die and our cities continue to fall. Now your armies are stripping the our farmland in the middle of harvest season. They grow fat on stolen grain and livestock. They eat well while our people starve.”
“That isn’t my problem. I can only promise what is within my control. If your lord cannot protect his own supplies, then perhaps he is unfit to keep his lands.”
“Then perhaps I should tell my master there is no need for this partnership at all,” the messenger said, finally showing some sign of emotion in his voice.
“I only point out the reality of the situation. I can’t order my people to just stand aside and not fight. Not and remain in a position to offer any help. All I can do is limit what is available to them. I will see what I can do to further limit them. That is the best I can do.”
“And what of your promise to bring them home?”
“Again, it isn’t that simple. The people hold my late brother in high regard, and see this war as his legacy. If I bring them home, especially on the heels of victory, it will raise suspicions. I must have a pretext. If your men could counter them, even cause them to suffer some defeats, then I would have a pretext. Otherwise,” Edmund said, and then held his hands up in a ‘there’s nothing I can do’ gesture.
“We will do what we can, but once our armies begin achieving victories in the field, there seems to be no need for this partnership anymore. It is on you to find a pretext in spite of their victories. And quickly. My master’s patience grows thin. Our agreement was clear. Remove the Sidorian threat, and you will have our support.”
“And I will have it done. But I need more time. And more importantly, I need more resources. The funds you’ve provided thus far are a pittance compared to what I require.”
Finish the Scene with description of The mesanger tells him he will pass it along, but warns if things do not show improvement, his master might have to find other allies also looking to gain advantage in Sidor now that the former king was gone, suggesting there are others who have expressed interest. Edmund says anyone else would have no access to the king and would only rebel, and word of his masters support would get out, fueling more public support for the war to continue. The messanger says the future is hard to see, and leaves.
The messenger regarded Edmund for a long moment, his face unreadable beneath the shadows of his hood. “I will pass your message to my master, but I must warn you, if things do not show marked improvement soon, he may be forced to seek out other allies who are also looking to gain advantage in Sidor now that your brother is gone.”
Edmund’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? What other allies?”
“There are always those who see opportunity in times of upheaval. With a young, untested king on the throne, some may see this as a chance to... negotiate a better arrangement for themselves.”
“Anyone else would have no access to the king,” Edmund scoffed. “They would have to rebel openly, and then where would they be? If word got out that your master was supporting them, it would only fuel more public support for the war to continue. The people would demand retribution.”
“Perhaps,” the messenger said, his voice maddeningly calm. “But desperation can drive men to take risks they normally wouldn’t. And if those men happen to be powerful barons with armies of their own... well, let’s just say the future is often hard to see clearly, even for those with the gift of foresight.”
Edmund clenched his fists at his side, fighting with all his might to control himself. Throttling this man for his insolence would feel good, but it would not help him. He needed to be smart, to play this carefully.
“I understand your master’s concerns,” he said, his voice barely controlled. “But I assure you, I am the only one in a position to give him what he wants. Anyone else would just be blowing smoke. I have the king’s ear. I can make this happen. I just need a little more time.”
“I will convey your assurances to my master. But I would advise you not to take too much more time. Patience, like loyalty, has its limits.”
With that, the messenger turned and slipped back through the hidden door, disappearing into the darkness beyond, Edmund staring after him.
Was it a bluff? A ploy to try to force his hand? Were they already dealing with some of the barons to double play him? A civil war would serve their purposes better than even just having the armies withdrawn, since they couldn’t stay in the event of outright war at home anyway, and the end result would be a weaker Sidor. They had to know that was foolish, though.
It was also exactly how their emperor operated.
***
Havensport, Barony of Penleigh, Duchy of Kingsheart, Sidor
The bitter chill of the off the bay cut through Taran Bramwell’s cloak as he led his men up the Tradesway, away from the docks and into the heart of Havensport. Even for the final day of spring, it was unusually cold, a portent of a particularly violent mawseason, if one was to believe the superstitious types. Bramwell wasn’t one of those, but he had still sent out orders to the Gates, the two forts protecting the mouth of Starhaven Bay, making sure they had already put up the chains and netting to block anything from entering from the straits. It was standard procedure, but it was better to be careful.
It had been on his mind anyway, as those preparations were the source of his current problem.
With the connection to Leviathan straits and the greater seas now cut off, the bay that supplied the capital was now reliant on the ports dotted Starhaven Bay for its supplies, all of which were now in the hands of the rebels with the exception of Havensport. He’d moved his flag to the port a week ago after the last of the remaining large ports fell, partially to ensure it stayed open and partially to avoid finally being stabbed during one of the king’s rages, which had been growing in intensity the closer the rebels got.
He’d promised the duke and his king that he would hold Havensport at all costs. He had little choice. Although some of the smaller villages on the bay could still supply goods, none could send enough to keep the massive city at the heart of the bay fed. As it was, Havensport was straining to bear the weight of what was needed, with ships continuously sailing the short distance to the capital and back every day.
Bramwell also wasn’t sure how he was going to keep his promise. They had stripped half his guards, sending them out into the kingdom to track down and fight the rebels. That had been bad enough when he’d only needed to keep control of the city, but another large contingent was sent to the Gates for the season and even more were pulled and sent to the army Duke Aldrich was building in Shadowhold. He’d had to abandon all of Starhaven save the port, the main thoroughfare, and the palace tier in order to properly defend those three. The nobles had been forced to hire toughs from the city to protect their homes and the lower peasants tier had fallen into complete chaos.
That left just under one hundred guardsmen to hold all of Havensport from, what he’d heard, was thousands of well-armed peasants. Bramwell was determined to do his duty, but the odds were not good. The people of Havensport knew it as well as he had, and the streets had been all but deserted except for the traders heading to and from the docks.
Or maybe it was just because of what day it was. Tonight was Sorrow’s Night, the last evening before the beginning of the season, where families gathered for quiet celebration. A last time together before the long winter. Of course, ever since Sidor unified, its armies had deployed to protect the homeland from the horrors unleashed by the maw, so it was unlikely many this far north would lose people to the creatures. But people clung to tradition, and this was one of the oldest dating back to the first years after the fall, and one of the few celebrated across all countries, even in the heretical Thay.
All of which meant, it was traditionally a night when everyone stayed home. So maybe that was why it was quiet, and not fear of an upcoming attack.
As he thought that, he realized it had suddenly grown even quieter. For weeks, the merchants and drovers had come down the Tradesway night and day, dropping off loads at the docks, and yet as they pushed closer to the center of town, he realized he hadn’t seen a wagon or anything else in almost ten minutes.
Even for Sorrow’s night, that was unusual. He opened his mouth to order his men to heighten their vigilance when the first arrow whizzed past his ear, embedding itself in the neck of the man to his right.
Chaos erupted as a swarm of figures burst from the alleyways and corners of the surrounding buildings, all well-armed and even some in simple armor. Bramwell barely had time to draw his blade before they were on him and his men.
“Form up!” he ordered. “Defensive circle, now!”
His men were well-armored and on armored horses, but if they were swarmed individually, without support, it would take short work to pull them all off their saddles and kill them. Already he could see the men on the edges of his forces suffering just such a fate, the tide of attackers so overwhelming they couldn’t swing their weapons fast enough to keep them from their fate.
As city guards, his men were well-trained for specifically this situation and reacted instantly, pulling their horses into a tight formation, each man covering the one next to him. But the rebels fought ferociously and continued to swarm out of the darkened lane between buildings, their numbers seemingly unending. His men were pressed from all sides.
Bramwell’s men did well, cutting their attackers down again and again, piling up the bodies. It was not enough.
One by one, his men fell, pulled from their horses and slaughtered. Bramwell pushed into the battle with his guardsmen, fighting like a man possessed, hacking and slashing as fast as he could swing his sword, each stroke killing another attacker. But for each one he struck down, two more rushed forward to take their place.
“Stand fast!” he roared. “For Sidor and the king!”
Suddenly, a spear took Bramwell’s horse in the throat, sending him and the animal crashing to the ground. Bramwell rolled clear and came up swinging, his blade taking the spearman in the gut.
He whirled to face the next attacker, a burly man wielding a heavy axe. Their weapons clashed, the impact sending shockwaves up Bramwell’s arm. He gritted his teeth and shoved the man back, then followed up with a riposte that caught his opponent under the chin.
There was never a moment to breathe. Even as the man fell, another rebel slipped past Bramwell’s guard, their blade scoring a deep gash along his ribs. Bramwell grunted in pain but kept fighting.
His men had been forced back against the walls of the surrounding buildings, almost all off their horses, either pulled down or the beasts killed. They were fighting desperately to hold their ground. His ninety-eight men were now only a handful as, one by one, they fell.
“To me!” he yelled, seeing the men getting separated and made easier targets. “Rally to me!”
The survivors tried to fight their way to his side, but the rebels cut them off, surrounding them in smaller and smaller circles until they were completely overwhelmed.
He killed two more men, but not before paying the price in another injury. Blood poured from a dozen wounds, and his vision was starting to blur. He knew he couldn’t last much longer. But he refused to go down easily.
He stabbed out, skewering another man, bellowing with rage, when a heavy blow caught him on the side of the head, sending him reeling. Another slammed into his sword arm, numbing it to the elbow.
Bramwell staggered back, his weapon falling from nerveless fingers. A sword found him, stabbing into his side. And then another, into his stomach. And then a third. The captain’s legs went weak, his knees buckling, sending him to the ground, his head banging off the hard stone.
Bramwell lay on his back, the cold stone leaching the remaining warmth from his broken body. Blood bubbled at his lips with each labored breath. He watched, vision blurred, as the rebels stripped his men of their weapons and armor, not even sparing a glance for the dying man at their feet.
Legs stopped near his head. Bramwell’s vision was fading, blackness creeping in along the edges. He had to focus hard to make out the face of the person standing on top of him. There was something about the man that struck Bramwell as familiar. He’d seen, not the man, but his likeness before. His brain was growing foggy, making it harder to remember.
And then it struck him. He had seen the man before, or at least drawings of him based on rough descriptions given by rebels and injured king’s men. This was, supposedly, the leader of the rebels. It struck Bramwell as odd, in that moment. They had his picture, but no one had his name.
Why hadn’t they found his name?
“Secure the docks! I want every ship searched and every warehouse locked down. This is their last port. Nothing else goes to the city without our say-so. They’ll have to either negotiate... or starve.”
The man only stopped for a moment, barking orders, sending men running this way and that, before he was off, heading toward the town center with a large group of men.
As the sounds of the rebels faded, Bramwell felt a strange sense of peace settle over him. He had failed in his duty, yes, but he had fought to the end. He had given everything for his king and his kingdom.
At least the king couldn’t yell at him anymore.
