In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 22

Sidorian Army Camp, South of Port Belmar, Northern Lynese

The commander’s tent bustled with activity as William’s officers filed in, all looking concerned. The last month had been difficult on the entire army, as their men lay dying, forced to watch the enemy that had been fleeing, on the verge of destruction, pull itself back together and reinforce, establishing new lines, extending the war even further.

Even Pembroke, who normally looked as if he was immune from self-reflection and rebuke, seemed somewhat diminished. On top of his worry, however, was something else, something between concern and annoyance. Pembroke kept eying the other commanders as they took their places around the large table with the map of the front drawn out in detail, updated with all the information their scouts were able to obtain.

William had a guess what was bothering Pembroke specifically. Since Aldric returned home, leaving William in charge, he’d allowed Baron Pembroke to take the forefront of their conferences, calling the commanders together, leading the meeting, and directing the strategy. This is the first time William had called one for himself, without speaking to Pembroke directly, and clearly the word had spread to the other commanders, as they returned the looks Pembroke was giving them.

William didn’t take offense to it. There was bound to be some friction when he made his first independent command, and he imagined Pembroke was less concerned that he was showing independence, and more concerned that William might try to pass blame to him for the losses they had suffered to the curse. Something William had never addressed directly, either publicly or in private. William didn’t plan on changing that today.

William cleared his throat as everyone found their places, “Gentlemen, thank you for coming. Before we begin, I want to take a moment to welcome back Sir Drummond. It’s good to see you recovered and back with us.”

Sir Drummond, his face still bearing the scars of the Battle of Dead Man’s Hill, nodded in appreciation. “Thank you, my lord. It’s good to be back, though I must admit I’m not yet fit for the front lines.”

William clasped the knight’s shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring, “While I appreciate your sword arm, I’m just as much in need of your experience and wisdom, and glad to have you with us today.”

Sir Cedrick, Commander Haverhill, and Commander Baldwin all nodded their agreements, smiling at the comment.

Pembroke did not share the moment of levity. “With all due respect, my lord, I’m sure everyone is needed back at their commands, what with the Lynesians bolstering their forces by the day.”

“You’re right, they are,” William said, meeting Pembroke’s gaze, not letting the older man shake him. “Gentlemen, I understand your concerns. We face a dire situation. Our enemy believes us routed, weakened by the elder curse ravaging our ranks. They perceive our sickness as an opportunity, a chance to press their advantage. While this is concerning, I think it also contains a chance for us to set things back in our favor again.”

William had spent the past several days in deep conversation with Eskild, running what he wanted to say, what the Barona and others might counter with, and the feasibility of his plan. This was his first chance at real command, not as a figurehead for Pembroke, and he had to make sure everything, from its proposal to execution came off just right.

“What do you propose, my lord?” Sir Cedrick asked.

“That we attack their lines directly. My plan is an immediate frontal assault. We catch them off guard, strike while they believe us crippled.”

That got their attention, with each of the commanders looking to his comrade, clearly concerned the boy left in charge had lost his senses.

“With all due respect, my lord,” Commander Haverhill said. “Our men are already on half rations. And the sickness... it spreads daily. Mounting an attack in such conditions will be... challenging, to say the least.”

“I understand your reservations, Commander, which is one of the reasons I want an attack now. We all know that one of our challenges, aside from the sickness spreading through our ranks, is our supply situation. It’s why the Duke chose to return home when he did, to correct the problem. The Enemy has been building up in front of us for weeks, and our scouts report that buildup includes a large amount of supplies, probably in preparation for an attack of their own. By moving swiftly, we can capture their stores, resupply our forces while weakening theirs. It’s a risk, I grant you, but one we must take.”

“And what of the sick?” Pembroke said. “We can hardly bring them into battle and we are undermanned without them.”

“Undermanned from our initial force, but not as much in comparison to the Lynesian forces. Right now they have the advantage on us, but only by a small amount. If we wait and that continues, their force advantage could grow even greater before the quarantined men are released by the Disciples. While I know it has been suggested we release those men from quarantine now, and take the risk that the sickness spreads further, I cannot take that risk. The quarantined forces will remain in the rear with the Disciples. Our attack will commence with the forces we have at our disposal now.”

“You expect to win an all-out attack with a smaller force?” Commander Haverhill said, the words escaping before he could stop them. “I apologize, my lord. I simply am... concerned at such a plan.”

“Normally, yes, your concern would be well-placed,” William said. “But our scouts have reported that the enemy, fearing the plague, has weakened their center and instead reinforced their flanks, probably expecting us to remain on the defensive and, if we were to attack, to do so from the flanks as well.”

“Which is why the center is exactly where we will strike,” William said, leaning over the map and putting his finger in the midpoint of their line. “We will strip our own flanks to the bare minimum and concentrate every available man in the center, far enough back to remain unseen. They are expecting the sickness to spread and, hopefully, we write off a reduction in our forces to exactly that. When the time for the attack comes, we will make one decisive push to break their lines.”

“And if they attack our flanks? They’ll collapse like a house of cards.”

“A risk, to be sure. Commander Haverhill, Commander Baldwin, I want each of you to dig in on your respective flanks and hold your ground. Do your best to fortify your possession. Based on all of our recent scouting reports, the enemy isn’t currently in position for an attack and has brought up mostly line infantry, and very few knights. They will likely increase their deployments once they see our lines thin, but it will take them time. It will be a race to see who gets their forces in place on time, except we will know when the race starts and they will not. Giving us an advantage.”

“What about the village between us, the one where the sickness originated?” Sir Drummond asked. “Both armies have avoided it, putting it almost in the center of our two armies, creating an almost no man’s land. Any attack would end up being split by the village, weakening it.”

“Which is why we do not split our attack but go through the village instead, directly to the point of the enemy’s line that is the weakest, concentrated, punching through the Lynesians like an arrow through chainmail.”

“Through the village?” Pembroke said, almost aghast.

“I’ve spoken to the Disciples who’ve recently come through the village, purely in terms of concern over the spread of the disease. I know they are normally neutral and refuse to discuss anything military or secular they might see, but, perhaps because I’ve been so focused on our own afflicted, they told me that the sickness in the village has been contained and all those infected moved into the same quarantine tents as our men. What’s more, they were adamant that the sickness only transfers from person to person and never from items. The village is safe to travel through.”

“The men won’t like it,” Pembroke countered.

“The men will do their duty. I have complete confidence in your ability to convince them of the safety of this, Your Lordship.”

William met Pembroke’s eyes head-on, not blinking or looking away. This was the moment his plan could turn south if the Baron balked or challenged his leadership. Of course, that would mean admitting he was not, in fact, capable of convincing his men to attack in spite of their fears. Something William knew Pembroke would never admit to.

After a moment, Pembroke nodded and said, “And once we break through?”

“We’ll be in the heart of their army. They’ll have no choice but to retreat before our central force can wheel around, get behind either flank, and roll them up like a carpet.”

The commanders all looked to the blocks on the map representing the respective lines and units, playing out the scene William set for them. One by one, their expressions changed as they came to the same conclusion he had.

Commander Baldwin leaned forward and said, “It’s a gamble, my lord. If our center fails to break through...”

“It won’t fail,” William said firmly. “Not if we commit everything to it.”

“It’s bold, I’ll give you that,” Sir Cedrick, smiling for the first time since entering the tent.

“We’ve been on the back foot long enough. It’s time we seize the initiative, catch them off guard.”

“It’s a good plan,” Pembroke said, grudgingly, but still with respect.

“I hope so,” William said. “Gentlemen, these are your orders. Sir Cedrick, Commander Haverhill, Commander Baldwin, Sir Alistair - I want you to begin repositioning your forces immediately. Strip your forces as best you can, keeping the minimal forces you need to hold your wings. It’s imperative that every man you can send to the center, the better the chance we break through. Baron Pembroke, as the senior commander and most experienced in the field, you will of course lead the attack itself.”

Pembroke nodded, accepting his due. William hoped giving him the proper amount of respect would be enough to smooth over his earlier ruffled feathers.

“How long do we have before we launch the attack?” Pembroke asked. “I assume soon, if you want to go before they build up enough forces to overwhelm our flanks and defend the center.”

“You’re correct. I’m setting the attack for the twenty-second. That gives you four days to move your men and prepare.”

“The 22nd? But that’s Lion’s Day, my lord,” Sir Drummond said.

“I am very much aware,” William said.

He should be. Lion’s Day celebrated the day his ancestor, Charles Whitton, was first crowned in the great hall of Starhaven, beginning the Whitton family rule over Sidor.

“A fitting day to honor your ancestor’s victories with one of your own,” Sir Alistair said. “It will give the men something truly worth celebrating.”

“Only if we win,” William said. “You have your orders, gentlemen. See to your men, make the necessary preparations. We’ll reconvene tomorrow to finalize the details. Dismissed.”

***

Starhaven, Sidor

Aldric made his way through the finely gilded palace corridor, its opulent surroundings a stark contrast to the villages he’d spent the last week touring. He should have come to see his nephew sooner, right as he arrived back in the capital, but the reports he’d been getting from the cutouts between himself and Fletcher had been concerning enough that it had seemed like a priority at the time.

Part of him was glad he did. He knew about the Serwyns, or more likely Edmund’s, new policies, but knowing about them and seeing the results were two different things. Witnessing the results of these policies in person had been startling. While there hadn’t been much he could do in Lynese, beyond agreeing to support the barons who’d contacted him and ultimately Fletcher himself, as a member of House Whitton, he had to at least try and settle this the right way. If Edmund had been in charge, this would have been a lost cause, but Serwyn was still young. Aldric had to give him a chance to do the right thing.

A pair of guards stood outside the king’s personal study. Not the normal city guards who’d served as palace guards, but men in different armor, who looked much less formal and polished than the men who should have been there.

Again, almost certainly Edmund’s doing, another step in a long line to control access to the boy. Not that it worried Aldric. That might work for the courtiers of the palace, but Aldric was a Duck, a peer of Aldric himself, answerable only to the king.

The two men looked at each other, clearly conflicted.

“Announce me,” Aldric said in his duke’s voice.

It had its desired effect as one of the men knocked on the door and said loudly, “His Excellency, Duke Aldric of the River Marc.”

“Come,” came Serwyn’s voice from inside.

Aldric entered the study, noticing the changes from when Gavric had occupied the space. Swords and axes and armor lined the walls and many of the bookcases. Definitely Serwyn’s work and not Edmund’s.

“Uncle, this is a surprise. I heard you returned to your duchy?” Serwyn said, smiling.

A good sign.

“Only briefly, your grace. Summer is almost at an end and the Kingdom runs short on manpower. I wanted to come back and have words with Bramwell and some of the barons here at court, getting a sense for the number of men able to go to Shadowhold come winter.”

“Ohh … I hadn’t even considered,” Serwyn thought.

That was a surprise. The annual maw seasons was one of the major events in their kingdom, one that required all of the nobility to rally together every year. This year would have been all that more important, what with the army at War as it was. If Edmund had been preparing him for anything, it should have been for that.

“Not to worry. It is traditionally handled between the myself and Duke Blackwood. I will, of course, be submitting our plan to you and the noble’s council once it is in place for approval, and a request for the men we need, but that won’t be for another month at least.”

“Good. Thank you for keeping me informed.”

“I am simply fulfilling my duty as one of your loyal dukes,” Aldric said with a slight bow. “I will say, the months have been good to you. You’ve grown since I last saw you, at your coronation.”

“You think?” Serwyn said, swelling a bit with pride. “I have been working diligently with the weapons master, honing my skills. A king must be strong to lead his people.”

“Indeed, he must. You learned from your father well. I’ve heard you’ve grown in more ways than one. Word is you’ve really come into your own as king since I last saw you. Your father would be proud.”

“Thank you, Uncle. I will admit, it’s been difficult, but I’m determined to be a strong king. So, if it isn’t to inform me about your duties come winter, what can I help you with?”

“On my way to my duchy, I spent some time touring through the villages between here and there, trying to get a sense of things since my last trip home. What I saw made me somewhat... troubled.”

“Troubled?” Serwyn asked, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “In what way?”

“It’s these new laws and restrictions, Your Grace. I understand the need for order and control, especially in times of war. But the people are suffering. The increased taxes, the limits on travel and trade... it’s taking a heavy burden. For many villages, it is weighing them down to the point of starvation.”

“These measures are necessary, uncle. We must ensure the loyalty of our subjects and the strength of our kingdom.”

“You are very right, of course, but the kingdom cannot exist without its people. I’m certain there were pressing reasons for these rules to be put in place, but every rule should be reevaluated after it is enacted, to determine the exact cost it places on our subjects. Perhaps it is time to ease up on some of these restrictions. To show the people that their king cares for their well-being, even in difficult times.”

“Uncle,” Serwyn said, the smile from earlier fully gone, replaced by thinly controlled annoyance. “During your tour of the villages, did you happen to notice that parts of the kingdom are in open rebellion against my rule? These very people you speak of are rising up against their rightful king. Do you suggest we simply give in to the demands of the rabble?”

“I, of course, do not think we should give in to the demands of any hostile force, and I believe that every man in arms against the crown should be dealt with. At the same time, I believe the people are not reacting without reason. I know you want to be a strong king, one who commands respect and loyalty. But true strength lies in compassion and understanding. By removing some of these burdens, you show your love for your people. They will no longer be distracted by their basic needs and will be able to see the wisdom that I see in you. The rebels will lose their support and their uprising will wither and fade.”

“No, uncle,” Serwyn said, standing up from hsi chair and thrusting a finger at him. “This has nothing to do with the rabble and their demands. This rebellion is a sign that the barons have their hooks in too deep. They are willing to burn the kingdom to the ground rather than let me lead it as I see fit. Mark my words, this defiance will not stand. I am the king, and my word is law. If the barons think they can undermine my authority, they are sorely mistaken.”

Aldric did not reply. What could he say? Serwyn might be speaking, but he could hear his brother’s voice coming out of him.

“If you truly wish to see the burden eased on the people, then I suggest you speak to your friends, the barons. Convince them to end their sowing of unrest and discord. And while you’re at it, dear uncle, I suggest you warn the barons that if this rebellion continues, I may have no choice but to respond with a more direct approach. One that will leave no doubt as to who holds the power in this kingdom.”

“I seem,” Aldric said, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

What else could he say? Serwyn had made his position, and the position of the kingdom, painfully clear.

“If there is nothing else, uncle?” Serwyn asked, returning to his seat and picking up a sheet of paper Aldric was all but certain he had no use for.

The message his nephew was sending was crystal clear.

“No, Your Grace,” Aldric replied, bowing his head. “I see you are very busy. Thank you for your time.”

Serwyn waved a dismissive hand. “Safe travels, uncle. Remember what I said about the barons.”

Aldric inclined his head once more before turning and leaving the room. All of Aldric’s worst fears had been confirmed. Edmund had done his work well, twisting Serwyn’s already aggressive tendencies into something his brother could use.

The barons had long been a thorn in his brother’s side, and he’d found the vehicle through which he was going to get them back under his thumb. It was clear now that if Serwyn was going to change his mind and ease his insane laws, it would not be done willingly.

He had to be careful, though. Rebellions like this could easily spiral out of control. People, when pushed too far, could become unreasonable. Fletcher was a good man and Aldric trusted him to keep things in the right direction, but this still had to be managed. Serwyn was the king. All Aldric wanted to do was nudge him, albeit forcefully, into doing the right thing.