In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 27

Kenna, Duchy of River Mark, Sidor

Aldric slid off his horse in the courtyard of the keep that sat at the center of the city, a feeling of warmth filling him. He hadn’t been back to his capital in almost a year, and he’d missed it.

It was good to be home.

Handing his reins to a stableboy that came running out, Aldric climbed the steps of the keep and through its large central doors. These were as they always had been, a reminder that life at home did not stop just because the armies were away.

“Your Grace, it is good to have you home,” Thurston Whitby, his majordomo, said, intercepting him only a few steps into the door.

“It’s good to be home.”

“Will you be staying long? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“A few days at the most before I have to ride south. And yes, I would kill for a warm bath and fresh clothes. I’ve been in the saddle for weeks and nothing sounds better than a nice, clear bed. Is the Duchess home?”

“Yes, your grace. She arrived three weeks ago, and not a moment too soon. The duchy withers without guidance.”

“I’m sure the duchy carried on just fine without us,” Aldric said, stifling a grin.

It was an old game he and Thurston played, who knew how much Aldric hated fawning and played it up to the hilt as a way to tweak his master’s nose.

“If only it were true. I will have the servants prepare you a bath and fresh clothing,” Thurston said, bowing. “I believe the mistress is in the study.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Aldric said, patting him on the shoulder as he passed.

Making his way up the stairs, Aldric found his large study where most of the work of the Duchy passed, although in all honesty it was more his wife’s study. She was the heart and brains of the River Mark, and did the necessary work of keeping it running.

She was seated in a large, comfortable chair, her feet tucked under her, pouring over sheets of parchment as he entered. She had a mildly annoyed look at the interruption that shifted into a giant grin as soon as she recognized him.

“Aldric!” she exclaimed, jumping out of the chair and rushing forward to embrace him. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“I decided to stop for a night and visit before continuing on to Shadowhold,” he said, pulling her into a deep hug, breathing in the scent of her hair. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

“What of the men you’ve had gathering on the other side of the Kingshold? They’ve been marching through for weeks.”

Pulling out of the embrace, Aldric tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and said, “The army can wait a few days. This is my first chance to be home in almost a year. I wanted to take it.”

“Your timing is impeccable,” she said, pulling out of his arms and picking up a pair of rolled wyvern messages from the desk. “I received wyvern messages for you from Baron Pembroke and William. They seemed urgent.”

Aldric took the two pages and unrolled the first one, noting the wax was already broken on it.

Uncle,

I hope this message finds you well. Our supply situation continues to be difficult, and the men grow restless. We have managed to capture enough supplies to sustain us for a time and are in the process of a plan to secure more that should be able to keep us going through the winter. Without additional supplies from home, however, the advance will grind to a halt.

More troubling are the rumors from home. Word has reached the men from their families back home of unrest, mostly around the laws passed earlier this year. They fear for their families and question the purpose of our fight. I’ve done what I can to reassure them, but I fear it’s not enough.

I implore you, uncle, to speak with my stepfather. Convince him to change course before it’s too late. The kingdom cannot sustain this path.

I eagerly await your guidance.

Your nephew, William

Aldric sighed heavily and looked to Alyssa, “You read these?”

He was already fairly certain of the answer, considering the broken seal, not that it was a problem. He kept no secrets from his wife. If anything, he valued her opinion almost more than his own, and often asked her to weigh in on decisions.

“I have, and he is right to be worried.”

“He’s a smart boy, and the new ‘recruits’ made it pretty clear how things were going, although if men are starting to get complaints from home, it could significantly endanger morale. I’m not sure what to tell him about Edmund. Their relationship is already so troubled, telling him there’s no chance Edmund or Serwyn will change their minds will only make it worse.”

“I doubt there’s anything you could tell him that will do more damage to their relationship than your brother has done willingly all by himself. He’s never been subtle about how he feels about William.”

“I know,” Aldric said, switching to the other letter.

Your Grace,

I write to update you on the progress of our campaign and the development of your nephew, Prince William. The boy has shown remarkable growth in the months since you left him in my charge. He has a keen mind for strategy and a natural ability to inspire loyalty in the men. In many ways, he reminds me of your late brother.

However, William has been asking pointed questions about the actions of Duke Edmund and King Serwyn back in Sidor. It is my belief that the time has come to have a more full conversation with the Prince. The boy has proven himself trustworthy and capable, and his influence with the men grows by the day. Important qualities.

There may be some haste needed in the matter. As the Prince’s status rises, I believe there maybe attempts to sway his loyalty. While it seems unlikely, from what I have heard, that such attempts will work, should he change his priorities, it could make future work difficult.

As always, I remain your faithful servant.

Baron Rowan Pembroke

“Rowan is walking a fine line,” Alyssa warned as Aldric lowered the letter. “Should someone intercept his wyvern and read that …”

“It would be fine. It might clue my brother in to the idea that there is more going on, but Edmund has never trusted me anyway. We’ve already assumed he knows I’m doing something, and this tells him no more than that.”

“Maybe,” Alyssa said. “You have a bad habit of underestimating him, though. He has many faults, but lack of intelligence was never one of them. He’s very capable of working out what is happening here.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Aldric said, not dismissing her, but not wanting to continue an argument they’d been having since he’d first begun his work against his brother’s work with Serywn. 

“Is he really suggesting that Edmund might convince William to back with him and Serwyn? While I get why Edmund might want that, if what Rowan says about William’s status with the men is true, it’s absurd to think William would ever consider such a thing. Anyone who’s spent more than a few minutes with them can see the tension there.”

“Which Rowan never has done, and William’s very good about not talking about his issues with his step-father to anyone outside of the family. It’s admirable restraint for someone so young, but it would leave others with a skewed view of their relationship. From his perspective, it’s a reasonable assumption.”

“He should still see William is too smart for that.”

“Maybe, but he’s also only fifteen, or rather almost sixteen. Remember what we were like at that age?”

“Barely,” Alyssa said with a soft chuckle. “So will you do it?”

“I don’t know. Like you said, there is almost no chance William backs Edmund or Serwyn, meaning there isn’t the kind of time pressure Pembroke assumes and the last thing I want is to put William in danger by involving him in this.”

Alyssa placed a hand on Aldric’s arm, her expression softening, “He’s already in danger, my love. Edmund has never trusted him, and their relationship has always been strained. If Edmund discovers what’s happening, he will almost certainly blame William. Especially considering how poorly he thinks of the boy and the proximity he has had to you, Rowan and some of the others. Put that with your brother’s conspiratorial way of thinking, and it’s a foregone conclusion. At least by telling William, you give him a chance, should things go badly.”

Aldric scrubbed his face with his hands letting out a guttural noise. She was right, of course. Edmund thought everything was part of the game, and couldn’t conceive of anyone not vying for power. The depths knew that, even if he didn’t suspect William, he might use the opportunity to rid himself of an annoyance or use the boy as some kind of scapegoat.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “I’ll send a message to Pembroke, let him know to proceed with caution. But we need to be careful about the timing of involving William. Not everyone in the army’s command structure is aware of our plans.”

“Rowan is a smart man. He’ll know when the time is right to bring William into the fold. And he’s always been loyal to you. I trust his judgment.”

“As do I,” Aldric agreed. “I’ll send the message first thing in the morning before I leave.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go so soon. I know they need you in Shadowhold, but I miss you terribly when you’re away.”

Aldric pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head, and said, “I miss you too, my love. If I could stop the seasons or close the maw for good, I would do it for you. In a heartbeat.”

“I know, I’m not blaming you, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch you ride away, knowing I won’t see you again until spring.”

Pulling back, he tilted her chin up, smiling down at her. “Then let’s not waste the time we have together talking about politics and war. We’ll have plenty of time for that come morning.”

***

Cestralion, Aurorin Province, Lynese

A delegation of Lynesian nobles and commanders sat on fine white horses in front of the high stone walls of Cestralion, a large white banner signaling safe passage of parley held by a retainer near the rear of the group.

William could see hundreds of faces peering over the battlements, watching the commanders of the two armies facing off. William didn’t blame them for their curiosity, since they would be the ones to feel the effect of whatever he and the other nobles below decided. Not for the first time, William was aware of the position he’d been born into, a life where he was the one to decide his fate, rather than have others decide it for him.

Baron Pembroke and Sir Alistair rode with William, along with a contingent of guards that were more of a formality than for actual protection. While these types of negotiations did sometimes fall into violence, that normally happened in more secluded meetings and not on the field between two armies, at least when both leaders were on the field. If something did happen, the Viceroy knew as well as William did how unlikely it would be for either to make it back to their own lines intact.

It wasn’t hard to pick out which man the Viceroy, Raemond Valiterre, was. In resplendent attire, his finely embroidered doublet a rich burgundy, a fur-trimmed cloak about his shoulders, and enough jewelry and other finery to be effective as a kind of armor all on its own, he practically announced his station. While William had met pretentious barons and knew how well his own step-father liked to put on an impression, no one did pomp like a Lynesian. Especially someone as high as a provincial viceroy, only one step removed from the Emperor himself and essentially the same standing of either his step-father or uncle Aldric in Sidor.

They halted a dozen paces from the Lynesians. William’s destrier snorted, pawing the ground. He patted its neck, more to calm himself than the horse. Commanding men in the field was simple, straightforward, and he’d been at it for months, growing more comfortable with it each day. Negotiations of this sort, however, were new to him. He’d gone over it repeatedly with Pembroke after the Lynesians signaled their offer of negotiation, but the Baron had been insistent that this had to be done by William himself.

Valiterre urged his mount forward, alone, and William matched him, riding forward so taht the two sat between their respective parites. Up close, William saw the man was older than he’d first thought, his dark hair shot through with gray at the temples. 

“What is this? I will not treat with an green officer barely out of the swaddling clothes. I demand to speak with the commander of your forces of which I have been much hearing,” the man said, looking William up and down as he spoke.

It was clear this man was not fluent in Sidorian and spoke in a thick Lynesian accent. William was almost certain that his Lyensian was better than this man’s Sidorian, but Pembroke had suggested that William stick to his native tongue, pointing out one of the many power plays that can happen in a negotiation between opponents, where anything that made the other person off balance only helped their position.

“I am William Whitton, son of Duke Edmund Whitton and nephew to the late King Gavric Whitton, the Golden Lion. I command the Sidorian army,” trying for as confident and steady of a tone as he could muster without sounding like he was playing at soldier.

“You?” Valiterre said in disbelief.

“Yes. Me. If you doubt my word, you’re welcome to return to your city and await starvation alongside your men. The choice is yours.”

Valiterre’s face reddened and his jaw clenched. For a moment, William thought the man might turn his horse around and do just that.

But after a long pause, he said in almost a pained tone, “Very well, let us cut to the hunt, then.”

“Chase,” William corrected.

Waving a hand dismissively, Valiterre said, “I am willing to surrender the city, but only on the giving of promise for good conduct marching of my men south, taking with us what supplies are to be needed.”

“Those are not my terms. If your men wish to return, your emperor will have to be willing to ransom you and any others he wants freed. I will agree to send a single messenger down the river with word of the ransom request, but only after my army is inside the walls and your soldiers are held under guard,” William said, before pausing for dramatic effect. “Any ships sent south before then will be sunk or boarded, just like the ones you’ve already tried to send.”

Valiterre’s eyes narrowed. “You think to hold me hostage?”

“You already are held hostage, behind your walls. You wouldn’t be here, speaking to me, otherwise. I think if your emperor values you, he will pay the ransom. If not...” William let the implication hang in the air between them.

“That is an outrage,” Valiterre bellowed, causing some of the men far behind him to stir, the mounts stamping nervously. “You dare to be threatening me? I have months of food storing within these walls. We can outlive your siege through winter and onto spring if be needed.”

“I think not. While it’s true you have stores, they were for the city and its guard, not all of the additional soldiers you’ve taken in. By my count, what you have is not enough to feed your men and the city’s population through the winter, let alone the spring. Not without the supplies being harvested across your province as we speak. Supplies that my army is collecting instead.”

“My Emperor will send reinforcements. He will not be abandoning his loyal subjects.”

“Are you certain of that?” William asked, raising an eyebrow. “Your emperor has lost several armies already, with thousands of men dead or wounded and winter approaches. Even now, he’s sending men southeast to prepare for the opening of the maw. It is unlikely that, even if he wanted to, there are enough soldiers left in the empire to send until spring. By which point your men will all be dead and I will still gain control of the city.”

He could see his words land. The man was full of bluster, but even with how entrenched the Lynesian nobility was, anyone who made it to such a high position as Viceroy would understand just how bad his position was.

Valiterre’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the reins tighter. “And what of my men? What assuring do you have for their safety if we are to be surrendered?”

“You have my word as a Whitton. Any man ransomed will be sent south and those not will be held under guard until the war ends and they can be released. It will not be comfortable, but we will not let them starve. For those who do get ransomed, however, they leave with only the clothes on their backs. Everything else—money, supplies, weapons—is forfeit. Those are my terms.”

“You ask too much! To leave my men defenseless, at the mercy of their enemies? It is an insult to their honor and mine.”

“This is war. You will return home intact and alive, which is far better than honor-bound and dead. Besides, you have little choice. Your men are already defenseless, trapped within those walls. Which is more important, your honor or your life?”

The Viceroy’s mouth worked silently for a moment before saying, “Very well. We accept your conditions, but know this, the Emperor will be hearing of this insult. You may be winning this battle, but the war is not over.”

“Thank you for your cooperation. When you talk to your emperor, make sure he knows come the spring, I intend to be at his gates, offering him insults of his own,” William said with a smirk.

Valiterre’s lips pressed tight as he jerked his horse around, riding back to his lines.

‘Negotiations were easy if you have all the leverage,’ William thought as he headed back to his own.

Of course, that would probably feel very different when the boot was on the other foot.