In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 18

Village of Haxby, Barony of Lindenwood, Sidor

The barn was dank, smelling of dirty men and animals, reminding Tom of another barn he’d hidden in, not that many months ago, with many of these same men, plotting their defiance of the king.

The people and the location were where the similarities ended, however. For one, while many of the faces here had been present at that first meeting, many faces were missing, captured or dead. The mood was so much different than it had been back then. Gone was the angry fire that drove them to stand up to the king, replaced by a malaise that threatened to end the entire rebellion here and now.

He and his men had run for days, dodging the pursuers who’d killed so many of them. Even when they’d shaken their pursuers, they’d kept running east, until they’d reached the very foothills of the Shatterstone mountains yesterday, only stopping because one of the men had a distant relative here who’d been able to hide them while they reconsidered their options.

Since then, his men had done little more than feel sorry for themselves. He didn’t blame them for it, but they needed to figure something out soon. They couldn’t stay in one place for too long. Not with the king’s men looking for them.

For now, though, Tom let the men vent their frustrations. They were weary, both physically and emotionally, from days of running and grieving those they’d lost, and needed to lash out.

“It’s over, Tom,” Evan, whose relative owned this land, said. “We’ve lost too many. Half our number dead or captured. More men slip away every night, returning home to their families.”

Murmurs of agreement passed through the group.

“This was a fool’s errand from the start,” Fulk, a hunter from near the Thunderhorn, said. “We should never have stood against the king’s men. What could a band of farmers and woodsmen do against trained soldiers? Godric had more experience than the rest of us, and he died covering our escape. What hope do we have?”

“He’s right. It’s over,” Connal said. “I’ve a wife and babes at home. They need me there, not dead out in some field.”

“We’re out of our depth,” added another. “The harvest will be in soon, and our families need us if they’re going to make it through the winter.”

“I’m from near the King’s hold,” a man named Aelfric said. “It’s almost Maw season, and I don’t want to leave my family unprotected. Especially not with so much of the baron’s men off fighting in Lynese. What use is standing up to the king when everything I love is destroyed behind me?”

Tom let them go on for several more minutes, venting out their fears and anger. Only moving when the volume started to crescendo, raising his hand to call for silence.

“I know how difficult this is,” he said, meeting each man’s eyes in turn. “We’ve suffered losses that cut deeply. Losing Godric and the others hurts more than I can say. But we can’t let grief and weariness defeat us. The king hopes we’ll give up and slip away quietly into the night, back to our villages with our heads hung low. He wants us to feel this is hopeless. But it’s not.”

Tom paused, letting that sink in. The thing he’d gotten from most of their complaints and worries was how little control they felt they had over their lives. It was common among their class. Tom felt it himself. But breaking from that had been the main impetus bringing them all together. A belief that they could stand against their ‘betters’ and the unjust rules placed upon them. The loss was making all of them forget that.

“We’re also not alone. I’ve already sent word by wyvern to our benefactor, explaining our plight and requesting aid. Help will come, though I can’t say how soon. We just need to hang on a little longer.”

“You keep talking about this benefactor, but you haven’t told us who he is,” Aelfric said, frustrated. “We’re risking our lives here - we deserve to know who we’re fighting for.”

He could see several of the men nodding in agreement.

“I understand your frustration,” Tom said. “There are... a lot of complications that come from that. They are risking a lot by helping us. More than just their and our lives are at risk.”

“How can more be at risk?” someone else demanded.

“The future of the kingdom, your homes, your children’s futures. It’s all at risk. Sidor sits at a precipice. If the King, and the people advising him, continue the way they are, they’re going to bring the entire kingdom down. Every barony will be on their own, fighting among each other, their people dying.”

“I thought we were trying to bring down the kingdom.”

“No. Replace those in charge or force them to stop these insane laws, but Sidor itself can be a good place, as it was under the last king.”

Hushed murmuring passed among the men. Most had been angry when they joined up, only wanting to lash out. They were past that phase now and needed to have an actual goal, or at least a realistic goal, if they were going to continue. Something the last message he’d received from their supporter had mentioned.

“I know it’s a lot, and if some of you decide this isn’t what you signed up for, and you want to return home, I’ll understand. I’ll be sorry to see you go, as we desperately need you, but I won’t stop you.”

A few grumbled and walked out, but most felt silent or talking in small groups. Tom hoped the ones that left were just going to think, but he expected to lose a few, at least. Rebellions were easy when they were winning. It was after losses that people became disillusioned.

Tom spoke to a few men here or there, but there was not much else he could tell anyone. They didn’t have the men or supplies to do anything other than sit and wait. Even if they tried to hit any of the king’s forces, his men weren’t in the place to take anyone on.

He slowly made his way through the back of the barn until he made it out of the back and outside into the cool night air. Away from prying eyes, he allowed his confident facade to slip. They desperately needed a victory to revive morale before more men deserted. He hoped his friend came through because if help didn’t arrive soon, they were doomed.

***

Sidorian Army Camp, South of Port Belmar, Northern Lynese

William planted his hands on the edge of the map table and leaned over it, as if getting closer to the markings would somehow make the situation laid out in front of them clearer. Across from him, Pembroke stood rigid as always, his normal sour expression somehow even less approving than normal.

“…they’re stalled as badly as the center,” Sir Alistair said, concluding his report on his survey of the left wing of the spread-out Sidorian forces.

“Damn it,” Pembroke cursed.

“There are too many small villages where their armies can hole up. We’re having to dig them out of each one like rats.” Alistair added, eliciting an even deeper frown from Pembroke. “These forests are too thick. Without open ground, our cavalry is almost completely ineffective, putting the enemy on more equal footing. Until we either break out of it, through this narrow gap between Lake Lysymire and the Dead Man’s Hills, we’re going to be moving slowly, fighting for every centimeter of soil. We could cross the river here, north of the lake, and swing down this more open section here, going straight south for the capital.”

“I’ve said it before. Without the protection of these hills for our supply lines, we’d be open to forces coming out of the mountains to the west. If we could …” Pembroke started to say, before the tent flap opened and a dusty and harried-looking messenger was ushered through by the guards outside.

“Speak,” Pembroke commanded when the man froze, looking from Pembroke to Alistair to William, clearly unsure of who to report to.

The messenger cleared his throat and said, “Message from Commander Haverhill, my lord. During a scouting mission this morning, they found the village opposite them... abandoned.”

Alistair’s eyes widened, and he exchanged a worried glance with William. Haverhill was currently commanding the center, which was instructed to only move forward slowly, allowing the wings to take the greater risks, protecting the center of the line. Pembroke, on the other hand, remained impassive as always.

“The commander says he’s extending his scouts around and beyond the village to be sure, but he wanted further orders before entering the village itself,” the messenger continued.

“Very well. Get some food and rest before returning to your command,” Pembroke said before waving one of the guards still standing in the open entrance forward. “Send messengers out to Sir Cedrick and Commander Baldwin, ordering them to probe the line ahead of them, and find out if the enemy has pulled back in those areas as well.”

The guard bowed and took the messenger by the arm, pulling him along. Pembroke ignored both, turning his attention back to William and Alistair.

“My lord,” the messenger said, escaping the guard’s grip, reaching into a pouch at his side, and extending a sealed envelope. “I also have this. A man from the village came forward to their scout with this sealed message for the ‘Sidorian Commander.’“

Pembroke raised an eyebrow. “A message?”

“Yes, my lord. It has a seal.”

Pembroke reached out and took the letter, turning it over in his hands, examining it closely.

“Thank you. You can go,” he said after a moment, dismissing the messenger for good before turning to address William. “This has the seal of the House of Montborne.”

William looked at the small, folded note in Pembroke’s hands, confusion on his face. Why would someone from the Lynesian royal family send a message here, and how did it end up in the hands of a villager?

William could see Pembrook was right as soon as he took the letter. One of the topics his tutors loved to cover was the signants and seals of all of the major houses, not only in Sidor, but in Lynese and even to some lesser degree the Island nations of Werna and Inos as well. The seal on this letter was unmistakable, it was the crest of the House of Montborne, the royal family of Lynese. Breaking the seal, he quickly read over the contents, his eyes widening in disbelief as he did.

“It’s from Princess Isolde, one of his daughters,” William announced.

“What does it say?” Alistair asked.

“My lord commander,” William said, reading the note. “I implore you to withdraw your forces immediately from the village of Molinad and send disciples into the village instead. There are people suffering from the Elder Curse in the village, placed there by my father’s command, in hopes of infecting your soldiers. I fear for my own people if an outbreak of the plague happens, made all the more likely if your soldiers get sick and infect villagers and other Lynesian citizens in your area of control. I beg you, help me prevent this calamity.”

Alistair gasped in horror, his hand flying to his mouth. “The Elder Curse?”

“This is the same Princess whose name was used in that face disciples supply train, isn’t it?” Pembroke scoffed, taking the letter from William’s hands and crumpling it up in his fist. “It’s another Lynesian trick, hoping we drop our guard and fall to a planned attack. We won’t fall for it this time.”

That made sense, and it was likely that Pembroke was right, but what if they were wrong? Could they accept that risk? The thought of the Elder Curse spreading through his ranks filled him with dread.

“Shouldn’t we at least pull the men back and send in a few scouts to explore, talk to the locals, and make sure it isn’t real?” William asked. “It will cost a few days, at best.”

“That is exactly what the Lyneseans want, William. They want us exposed so they can destroy a part of our army. There hasn’t been an outbreak of the elder curse in decades. They want us scared, running from the boogeyman.”

“But what if it’s true?” William pressed. “We should be as concerned for our men as she is for innocent civilians?”

“You’re too soft, Whitton,” Pembroke said dismissively. “This is war. There are no innocents.”

William was annoyed at Pembroke treating him like a child, but he let it pass. He was young, after all, and nothing would prove that more than starting to bicker with his subordinates.

“What danger is there, though?” William asked. “Our lines are solid. If they were trying to get us to rush forward then, maybe, I could see how that could turn into an ambush, but to keep our lines intact? How could that threaten us?”

“War is chaotic. You can’t always see the enemy’s moves. Sometimes you just have to feel them and understand the enemy is trying to get you to do one something, move in some specific way. In those moments, the best thing you can do is do exactly the opposite of what they’re trying to get from you.”

It made sense, in a way, but maybe because he wanted to believe Pembroke.

“But, are you sure?”

Pembroke returned William’s gaze, his eyes hard as flint. “Positive. The army is yours, William. Aldric put you in command and we will do as you order, but I have not a doubt in my mind that what I am saying is right.”

William didn’t answer right away. Just looking back at Pembroke, thinking. When Aldric had left him in command, he had made it seem so simple. Listen to Pembroke and Sir Alistair and follow his own intuition. Aldric had never mentioned what to do if those came in direct conflict.

He knew that if he followed Pembroke’s advice and the village was indeed infected, the consequences could be disastrous. But if he held his men and it was a trap, he could lose the army. Even if it turned out to be a false alarm, he would be seen as weak and indecisive, losing the faith of the soldiers. Which was the entire reason he’d been left in command in the first place.

“Very well, my lord,” he said finally with a resolute nod. “We will do as you say.”

“Good choice,” Pembroke said. “I will pass the order for the men in the center to move forward.”

As Pembroke left, William turned his attention again to the map, trying to see what Pembroke saw. What if he was right and Pembroke was wrong.

What would happen to his army?

***

Starhaven, Duchy of Kingsheart, Sidor

Captain Taran Bramwell walked down the hallways of the Royal Palace, toward the king’s private study. Strangely, he was not going there today, however. The Duke had recently appropriated a new office, a spacious chamber near the king’s study, but not exactly adjacent to it. What made it strange was that he was rarely ever called before the Duke in his own chambers, since the Duke was almost always with the king, instead. Or at least, he used to be.

Lately, according to the guard schedule, the Duke had become a much less frequent visitor in the king’s private study, which had facilitated his picking an office of his own. Bramwell couldn’t help but wonder about the shift, especially coupled with rumors that had been circulating around the palace, but knew better than to ever put them into words.

“Enter,” a Duke’s voice called out when he knocked.

Bramwell pushed open the door and stepped inside, and received his second surprise. Although the Duke’s being less in the king’s presence had been something of a topic of gossip around the palace, Bramwell knew that was often because the Duke was with Colm, who until very recently would never have been accepted in the King’s presence. Which is why Bramwell had expected the brigand to be in the office with the Duke, and had been surprised when he wasn’t. Instead, the Duke sat behind his desk, in the office by himself, a sour expression on his face.

“Do you care to explain about the increase of incidents of unrest in the city?”

“My lord, there has been widespread unr …”

“No,” the Duke said, interrupting Bramwell. “There was widespread unrest, until Colm … sorry, Sir Colm, defeated the rebels several weeks ago. Since then, we have had no more large-scale attacks against either the king’s men or those of his vassals. And yet, the number of incidents inside the city, the Capital and heart of the kingdom, I might add, have increased.”

“Yes, your excellency, incidents of direct attacks have decreased, but I believe smaller incidents of disobedience have increased. If the latest reports to the king are to be believed.”

Edmund’s lips pulled into a tight line, his nostrils flaring. Bramwell knew he was on dangerous ground. Beyond not being in the King’s office as regularly, the Duke had also been “away” at several audiences in front of the King, and those he’d been to had involved more than one incident of the King putting the blame of bad reports on the Baron. Bramwell was almost certain the Duke was looking for someone to take the heat of some of that blame, and the last thing the Captain wanted was to be the one the Duke decided to pin those on.

“Not like they have here, Captain. If you want to talk about reports, I have some here in front of me,” Edmund said, picking up a piece of parchment from his desk. “In just the past ten days, there have been multiple confrontations with your guards, some of which turned violent. I see several injuries across your men and even one death. I also see an injured tax collector and one warehouse burned to the ground by a small mob. Sounds a lot like direct attacks on the king’s men to me. Would you like to try that again? How do you explain yourself, allowing the rebels to infiltrate our own capital?”

“My Lord Duke, I don’t believe these incidents are connected to the rebels. Our reports indicate that the last of their forces were spotted near the Shatterstone Mountains, on the other side of the duchy.”

“And yet, here we are, with guards and officials getting attacked. Seems like rebellious activity to me.”

Bramwell hesitated. There was an obvious answer to the Duke’s statement, but it was one he knew the Duke wouldn’t want to hear, let alone believe. It was also the only thing he could say in response.

“I’m not sure … I believe these incidents are isolated, your Excellency. Each one seems to involve a commoner becoming angry over some perceived slight, usually the travel edicts, but also taxes and the recent requirement to quarter soldiers in their homes. As you know, these edicts and laws are unpopular, and as the king brings more and more men into the capital to quell the insurrection, requiring more to be quartered in homes here in the city, the tensions are rising.”

“Isolated incidents, you say?” Edmund scoffed. “I see a pattern here, Captain. A pattern of disobedience and disrespect for the Crown. And a pattern of failure on your end. It seems to me that you are failing in your duty to maintain order in the city.”

Bramwell choked down his anger. It was amazingly unfair, and not something he could respond to in any way. The duke was angry, lashing out, and had all of the power here. Anything he would say in his defense would be seen by the duke as a challenge, one that he had to respond to.

“My Lord Duke, if you are unhappy with my performance, I will of course step down. I have handled each situation exactly as I’ve been instructed to, aggressively and instantly. We have arrested anyone in violation of the king’s laws, several of whom have already been executed. But with each arrest, unrest increases. I believe that our hardline stance is only exacerbating the problem, not solving it.”

It was borderline, at best. Yes, he hadn’t disagreed with the duke directly, but it could also be taken as a challenge to the duke’s standing orders.

Edmund darkened as he said, “So, you would suggest we take a softer approach? Allow these rebels to run rampant in our own capital? Is that it, Captain?”

“Not at all, my lord. I am only suggesting that, perhaps, we should consider trying a different strategy, one that addresses the root causes of the unrest, rather than simply …”

Bramwell was cut off short as Edmund shot out of his seat, slamming both fists on his desk.

His nostrils flaring and face turning deep red, a cord of veins standing out on his neck, Edmund shouted, “The only strategy I’m interested in is reminding these peasants who their king is! They will learn obedience and respect, or they will face the headsman’s axe. I’ll not have rabble stirring dissent in my kingdom!”

Bramwell forced his face into a non-expression, “I understand, your excellency.”

“You better. You are to hire as many men into the guard as you need to, but I want you to increase the patrols. I want no incidents of dissent or resistance to stand. By order of the Crown, anyone involved in violating the king’s laws, no matter how small, will be subject to execution. Their property and homes will be confiscated by the Crown as repayment for their treason. Any families that resist or inhibit the seizure of this property will also be found in violation and added to the list of executions.”

Bramwell clamped his jaws down for a moment, forcing the words in his throat back. This was going to come back on them ten-fold, and create a mass of uprising. There was no way this ended without it being an unmitigated disaster. And he knew without a doubt, that the Duke would find a way to turn it around on him, and make it somehow his fault.

He also couldn’t say any of that.

“As you order, your Excellency,” he finally managed.

What else could he say?