Travis Starnes
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In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 26
🕑 Added 2024-04-25 12:40:01 +0000 UTCEast of Cestralion, Lynese
William rode at the head of a long column, with the rest of his commanders, his army finally on the move again after being stalled for months in the Lysmir woods. The spread of the Elder Curse had been stopped, and almost all of the quarantined soldiers had been released by the Disciples. Thankfully, with the widespread quarantining and halting of the men, allowing the Disciples to do their work more efficiently, they’d managed to halt most of the spread of the disease, losing only a few dozen to its ravages.
Most of the army was with him, leaving only a small force to block any Lynesian troops retreating from Lysmir Woods into Rendalia. It was a risk, but one he deemed necessary.
It had been a long three day ride from their previous lines, but they were close enough to Cestralion that signs of civilization had reappeared. Farms, large roads, and the like showed they were almost to their destination. As the the group of scouts riding towards him, bringing their horses to a halt and saluting.
“Report,” William ordered.
“My lord,” the lead scout said. “The Lynesians have reinforced the city. Their walls look to be strong and well-manned. From the standards I could see, I believe some of the forces who fled our battles to the east came here. The city looks to be fully manned, maybe more so.”
“Not a surprise,” Pembroke said. “This is the largest settlement to return to, and keeps them near the front, as opposed to running all the way back to Valemonde. It’s the dregs of broken armies, but still a significant force behind stone walls.”
“Taking those walls will be a costly affair,” Sir Alistair added.
“Which is why I don’t think we should take them,” William said.
Sir Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Then what are we doing here?”
“We’re going to surround the city,” William said. “Cut them off from their supplies and starve them out. Commander Haverhill, Commander Baldwin, assemble your squads. I want you to start pulling in supplies from the countryside immediately.”
“The locals may not take kindly to that, my lord,” Commander Baldwin said. “Unrest in the surrounding countryside will make things more difficult for us, and possibly cause issues with our supply lines back through Rendalia.”
“Try to be as diplomatic as you can. Use the money we confiscated from Port Belmar and the Lynesian build up in Lysmir Woods. Pay a fair price for what you take. But make it clear they don’t have the option to refuse selling to us.”
Haverhill frowned. “And if they don’t have surplus to sell?”
“Leave enough for the villages to get by,” William said. “But anything extra, we take. Inform them the markets they usually sell to in Cestralion will be closed. We’ll be their only buyers now. They won’t like it, but I’m hoping the fact that we leave them enough to not starve and pay them fairly will offset that.”
“Even paying them, a lot of people won’t want to sell,” Sir Drummond said. “They’ll hoard what they can or try to sneak it south to Valemonde.”
“I know. I’m trying to soften the blow, but we can be more forceful as needed. We’ll have to send out regular sweeps to confiscate harvests as they come in, but they will sell to us. This will also be costly, so any manors, noble residences, or keeps are to be stripped bare, as long as it doesn’t draw us into prolonged fights. Treating the peasantry fairly will make our lives easier, but I see no reason to offer the same consolations to their nobles.”
“What about the nobility themselves?”
“Put them in chains. If the Emperor wants them back, he can ransom them back from us. If not … well, we could always use some forced labor in the works. Send a detachment to secure the roads leading south. I want checkpoints on every route. Nothing gets through without our say-so.”
“It will be done,” Haverhill said.
“If a keep or other defensive work is heavily enough fortified, skip it and inform us, and we will make the determination if it should be taken or bypassed. Do not let yourselves get bogged down in protracted fights.”
“Understood,” Baldwin said.
“Sir Cedrik,” William said, turning to the grizzled knight as the two men-at-arms rode off. “Once the perimeter lines are established, I want you to position siege equipment and archers along the shoreline on both sides of the city.”
“Not around the city itself?”
“No. I’m not looking to storm the walls unless we have to, and would prefer to take it intact if at all possible. These are to further limit their supply. I want you to target any ships attempting to resupply Cestralion. We cannot allow them to bring in fresh provisions or reinforcements. Every vessel that reaches the docks lengthens this siege.”
“It will be done,” Cedrik said. “I’ll see to it personally.”
William hadn’t interacted with Sir Cedrik much, but the times he had, he’d been impressed with the man’s willingness to get his hands dirty carrying out orders, instead of standing back and letting others do it.
“We should also send word to our fleet in Rendalia Bay,” Pembroke suggested. “Have them redeploy to the mouth of the Lysmir River. They can intercept any ships trying to aid the city from the north.”
“Agreed,” William said. “That will allow us to concentrate our efforts on vessels coming up from Valemonde and Dawnstar Lake to the south. Cestralion’s position on the river gives them too many avenues for resupply. We need to cut off as many as we can. They also have a port up there that I’d like to deal with. We can’t siege it, since they’re on the wrong side of the river, but we can choke it off from the river once we have Cestralion. I’d like to take both this city and that one before Winter. Together, they’ll get us a jumping-off point for the march to Valemond and allow our army to supply via the river instead of a long overland route.”
“One thing at a time, however,” Pembroke warned.
“Yes. Just thinking ahead. Send a messenger under a flag of truce to Cestralion. Offer them terms for surrender. If they yield the city peacefully, we’ll spare them a sacking.”“
“They won’t agree to that,” Pembroke said. “Not now, at least. Those walls are strong, and they’ve got plenty of soldiers to man them.”
“True, but they also have a lot of mouths to feed,” William pointed out. “Every refugee and soldier that fled into the city is another drain on their food stores. The downside of their foes in the city being so strong is they all have to be fed, and you can’t keep soldiers you want to fight on half rations. It’s why I want to cut off their access to the river and strip the countryside. Anything we do to make their ability to bring in more supplies weakens them and feeds our men. Give them a few weeks, maybe a month or two. When the granaries start running low and the belts start tightening, they’ll start thinking differently.”
William had never run a siege himself, or been present at one, but he’d heard stories from his Uncle Gavric and some of the weapons masters in Starhaven, all of whom did time in the armies before mastering their craft enough to be allowed to teach the prince … and William.
In the beginning, the defenders would be defiant, confident in their walls and their stores. But as the days dragged on and the food dwindled, their resolve would start to crack. First would come the rationing, the cutting of meals to stretch the supplies. Then the first pangs of real hunger would set in, the gnawing ache that never quite went away. Tempers would fray, and fights would break out over scraps and crumbs.
When they looked out of their walls, they would see the besiegers, well-fed and waiting, the promise of plenty dangling just out of reach. Few cities could withstand that kind of pressure for long. Sooner or later, someone would decide that a quick surrender was preferable to a slow death by starvation. They would either convince their commander, or replace him with someone who was willing to end their suffering.
It was just a matter of time.
***
Grand Hall, Starhaven, Sidor
The ancient grandeur of the great hall was on full display, with long tables laid out across the central chambers, and the massive columns decorated with banners bearing the sigils of Sidor’s noble houses and tapestries showing scenes from Sidor’s history, long before the unification.
The hall was packed with guests from across the kingdom, all gathered to celebrate Redwald’s Day, the commemoration of Sidor’s triumph over Thayan invaders in the sixth century. Nobles from as far away as the Duchy of the Icelands in the north to the far southern duchy of Shadowhold filled the space, each dressed in their best finery, making an impressive showcase of the breadth of styles to be found across the kingdom. Servants wove through the crowd, bearing trays laden with delicacies and flagons of rich wine.
Edmund lived for these sorts of affairs. Not only did it allow him to dress in his finest, which today included a magnificent doublet of deep blue lakesilk and a thin, magnificently elaborate duke’s crown to remind everyone of his station. This was maybe the second biggest event in the kingdom, after Lion’s Day, and was one of the few times so much of the kingdom’s nobility would all be in one place, making for an excellent opportunity to feel out Sidor’s current political undercurrents and begin planning his moves for the next year.
Of course, there was a downside too, especially in difficult times, such as the one the kingdom found itself in at the moment, since it gave those same nobles a chance to waylay their betters and complain about things above their station.
“I admit things are not as advantageous as they should be, Arden,” Edmund said to Baron Stonehill, who’d pulled him aside to complain about more unrest in his region, as if he was the only one facing difficulties. “But you’ve been given more than adequate resources to deal with it. In fact, from the reports I have been getting, the troubles in your barony are worse than in any of the others in your region. How is it that your neighbors have managed to maintain a hold on their people while you have not.”
“My lord, I was not saying the situation was out of control or that I cannot contain the issue. I simply wanted to bring the problem to your attention. While I will acknowledge that some of my fellow barons had suffered less indignities from the rabble, I would argue that is perhaps a side-effect of their shirking their responsibility to the crown, and refusing to uphold the law as vigorously as I have. If you are suggesting that I should lessen my efforts …”
“If you have specific charges against any of your fellows, Arden, lay them out. The king has made it clear he wants to root out any of the nobility unwilling to uphold the king’s law.”
Edmund, of course, knew that he would do no such thing. The one thing he could always count on the perfidious baron for, was his willingness to do whatever he had to do to social climb. In that way, he was much like his father, Tolan Harald, the previous Baron Stonehill, ready to put a knife in anyone’s back he could, if it meant bettering himself.
He also wasn’t an idiot and knew he couldn’t outright accuse any of his fellows of direct misdeeds. Edmund had read the reports, and knew that, while it was true some were shirking on their duties, it had more to do with being spread too thin, with most of their men headed south or in Lynese, and not some avarice, that was the problem. Harald knew this as well as he did and also knew most of those men had as much dirt on him as he had on them.
“I’m not laying specific charges …” Harald said, holding up his hands defensively.
“Good. Then I hope I can expect improvements in your barony.”
Stonehill opened his mouth to respond, most likely to dodge more responsibility, when the sight of the king, looking furious, pushing his way through the crowd, halted him. The man might have willed up enough courage to complain to Edmund, but most of the barons had learned the dangers of doing so in front of their new king.
“Have you seen this?” Serwyn demanded, thrusting a crumbled set of wyvern messages in his face.
“If you’ll excuse us, Arden,” Edmund said, looking past Serwyn.
The baron, smart enough to not want to be involved in whatever this was, bowed and disappeared into the crowd.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what ‘this’ is, Your Grace,” Edmund said, turning his attention back to Serwyn and taking the strips of paper from him, smoothing them out.
“The latest dispatches from the front,” Serwyn said through gritted teeth. “All praising William’s exploits while leading the army and defeating some insignificant Lynesian force. Of course it doesn’t mention he still hasn’t made it to the plains or anywhere near their capital.”
Edmund scanned the messages from Baron Pembroke, Sir Alistair, and others, updating the king on the progress of the war. They did indeed speak highly of William’s recent victories against the Lynesians. One even went so far as to call his stepson the “Warrior Cub,” a clear reference to his deceased brother’s epithet, the Golden Lion. High praise from men who’d served with his brother for years. Edmund was honestly surprised, more than anything.
When he’d sent William with the army, it was partially to get the boy out from underfoot and hopefully man him up some. He hadn’t actually expected him to succeed and certainly not for Aldric to leave him in command. Edmund had been highly skeptical of the move, except that every message since had proven his brother right.
“It’s becoming infectious. Did you know, over the past month, I’ve overheard courtiers and nobles alike comparing him to my father. Saying he has the makings of a new Gavric. It’s an outrage. An outrage,” Serwyn spat, loud enough that several guests turned to look at the pair. “He isn’t even a Whitton. Not really. To compare him to my father sullies his name and memory.”
While Edmund did see some issues with the level of praise William was getting, he wasn’t so concerned about Gavric’s memory as he was any time a noble began building fame. Although in this case, he was less concerned than he would have been had it been someone like Pembroke or Sinclair, who could have turned that fame into a hammer against the crown. Or maybe even a sword.
“I understand your frustration, Your Grace, but …”
Before Edmund could finish the sentence, Quentin Blout, the Baron of Langmere, approached them, looking concerned, bowing deeply as he reached them.
“Your Grace, forgive the interruption, but I must speak with you about the dire situation in my barony.”
Edmund sighed inwardly. It seemed everyone had a complaint today.
“Go on,” he ordered.
“My lord, the losses we’ve sustained at the hands of the rebels are devastating. With so many of my household guard sent to bolster the army in Shadowhold for the winter defense, I fear we are vulnerable. The rebels grow bolder by the day, and I do not have the men to keep them in check.”
Edmund had suspected as much. Aside from the fact that all anyone wanted to talk about was the rebel activity in the kingdom, Langmere and the other baronies along the border with River Mark were still seeing the bulk of the attacks. A pattern Edmund had taken note of and was concerned pointed to much more dangerous trends that he preferred not bring up to anyone else until he was sure how to deal with them.
“I recognize the difficulty of your position, Baron Langmere. Truly, I do. But we all must make sacrifices for the greater good of the kingdom. Would you rather endure temporary hardships now or see monsters from the Maw ravaging your lands and homes come this winter?”
“If you had done your duty and crushed the rebels when they were weak, Baron Langmere, we would not be having this conversation,” Serwyn cut in. “Your failure has brought this upon yourself.”
“Your Grace, I assure you, I have done all I can with the resources available to me. The rebels are like vermin, multiplying faster than we can exterminate them.”
“Perhaps,” Serwyn said coldly, “it is time for a new Baron Langmere. One who can handle the responsibilities of the position.”
The color drained from Langmere’s face at the thinly veiled threat. Edmund stepped in quickly, placing a hand on Serwyn’s shoulder.
“Now, now, Your Grace. We are all allies here, working towards the same goal. Baron Langmere, rest assured that the crown is deeply concerned about the growing rebel activity. We will review our resources and see what aid we can spare to assist in your barony’s defense.”
Relief washed over Langmere’s features. He bowed again, this time to Edmund.
“Thank you, Your Excellency. Your support means a great deal in these trying times.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Quentin,” Edmund said, taking Serwyn by the elbow and, gently as possible, leading him away from Blout and to a more secluded side of the Grand Hall, on the other side of its massive pillars.
“Your Grace, I must advise caution,” Edmund said, keeping his voice low. “Relations with all of the barons are strained right now, and Baron Langmere is one of our most steadfast supporters. With other barons likely plotting against us, we cannot risk alienating any more allies.”
“For someone so loyal, he complains about doing his duty to the crown quite a bit,” Serwyn said, but apparently accepted the correction as he shifted back to his original topic. “You know my father, he led men into battle. Led armies and the people loved him for it. He didn’t cower behind castle walls while his kingdom fell into chaos. Maybe that’s what I should do. Leave the peasants to you and show these rebels the true might of their king.”
Edmund placed a firm hand on Serwyn’s shoulder. “Your Grace, your place is here, in the capital. Your father was a great warrior, yes, but his prolonged absence may have contributed to the peasants forgetting their place. They need to see you, to feel your presence and the weight of your authority.”
Serwyn frowned, but didn’t say anything to dispute it.
“While you’re right, the rebels have to be reminded who the true king is, the barons, too, must be reminded of who sits upon the throne. Until we can identify who is behind these attacks and remove them, it is crucial that you maintain a strong presence here. To keep them in line.”
Serwyn’s jaw clenched as he worked over Edmund’s reasoning. Edmund knew he didn’t like it, but he had to see how poor of an idea it was for him to join the armies now.
“And what of William? The people sing his praises while I sit here, doing nothing.”
“William is doing his duty, as you commanded him to do. His victories reflect well upon you, Your Grace. The people see a king who can lead his armies to triumph, even from afar. Perhaps we haven’t guided that strongly enough. I will start drafting a proclamation to be read across the kingdom to the victories your armies have achieved and the glory you are bringing to your people. If worded right, and if we continue to be proactive, claiming each victory for its rightful bearer, I think we can make the people remember who’s really behind our successes.”
Serwyn was silent for a long moment, looking past Edmund at the milling crowd of nobles and sycophants.
Finally, he nodded and said, “Fine. See to it.”
With that, Serwyn turned and left. Edmund watched Serwyn join the group of barons, their faces lighting up with practiced smiles as they bowed and greeted the young king. No doubt they were already singing the king’s praises, stroking Serwyn’s ego.
He sighed, turning away from the spectacle. It had already been untenable, but Serwyn’s outbursts and threats were becoming more frequent, more public. It was only a matter of time before he said or did something that couldn’t be taken back, something that would turn even more of the barons against him. Against them.
Edmund rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. He’d worked so hard to keep the kingdom together through his brother’s foolish war and inevitable death. He’d gotten Serwyn on the throne and begun the reforms needed to righten the monarchy and repair the damage his brother did to the kingdom. And for what? To watch the boy tear it apart with his own hands?
If Serwyn continued down this path, something would have to be done. Edmund had no illusions about his own position. If Serwyn fell, he would fall with him. The barons already blamed him for the new laws, for the chaos they had created. They would not hesitate to turn on him if given the chance.
But what could he do? Even if Serwyn were to be removed, there was no guarantee the throne would fall to him. In fact, it was more likely the barons would rise up in revolt, each vying for power in the vacuum left behind. They would tear each other, and the kingdom, apart.
He’d fallen into a trap, and for the first time in his life, couldn’t see a way out of it.
