In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 5

Sidorian Army Camp, Doree River, Empire of Lynese

The sounds of men and beasts could be heard well before William, his uncle, and the small force that traveled with him crested a hill to see the sprawling encampment of the Sidorian army. Situated on a vast plain surrounded by gentle hills, thousands of tents and pavilions formed an orderly grid, with larger elaborate pavilions at the center marking the locations of the nobles and commanders. Flags and banners bearing the sigils of Sidorian houses fluttered in the crisp morning breeze.

As they passed through the outer perimeter marked by sharpened wooden palisades, the sentries saluted sharply, fists to chests in salute to the royal party. Aldric nodded in return, his manner easy and familiar, even though this was his first time joining the army that Gavric had led onto the Lynesian shores. For his part, William struggled to take in the huge force and its organized chaos.

He’d accompanied his father to several baronies across the duchy of King’s Heart and his Uncle Gavric to a tournament he had thought, at the time, was the largest assembly of men and armor the world had ever known. Both were dwarfed by the military might displayed in this camp.

At the center of the camp, grooms rushed to take their mounts as they dismounted in front of the commanders’ pavilion. The heavy canvas structure was hung with banners of gold and white, emblazoned with the royal lion of the House Whitton. Inside were a dozen men dressed in the gambesons and padding they would wear under their armor, when the time came to don it.

As William followed behind his uncle, Eskild caught William’s arm, pulling him aside.

“Best you take a place over there,” he said, pointing to a far side of the tent with a clear view of the map and wooden markers that filled the central table. “Listen, but stay silent. It’s a rare thing to be present at something like this, and a good opportunity to learn.”

William just nodded, moving to take his place. In truth, he had no plans to speak at all. These were seasoned warriors who made William feel just how few his fifteen years were. He knew they paid him no mind, focusing on their new commander, but William couldn’t help but feel there were eyes watching him, evaluating him for weakness.

“Lord Aldric,” said a powerfully built knight with a neat brown beard. “We did not expect you so soon.”

Aldric clasped the man’s hand warmly. “I made haste, Sir Alistair. Our new king has declared the end of the war to be his highest priority, and winter is ending. Had my brother not passed, I imagine you would have already marched for the spring campaign.”

“We would have at that, but … the crowning of a new king takes precedence. However, now that you’re here, we can make up for lost time. You know Baron Pembroke and Sir Halwyn,” he said, pointing at one of Aldric’s barons and a man William didn’t know, but presumably his uncle did. “These are commanders Baldwin and Haverhill.”

The grizzled older men inclined their heads respectfully.

Aldric moved to stand before the table, surveying the markers and maps intently, “Tell me of our progress. The dispatches sent to Starhaven have been vague regarding the war’s status.”

Sir Alistair cleared his throat, “Truth be told, we’ve made little headway since taking the coastal cities and northeastern peninsula last season. Baudric has bolstered the smaller forts on the central river crossing over the Dorée, cutting us off from the main part of the Lynesian plains and the central part of the continent. Worse, most of the other side of the Dorée is covered by the Black Hills, which I understand are a nightmare as far as scouting goes. Cave systems, little water, some pretty spectacular cliffs, and false valleys, it would be easy pickings for bandits or locals on our supply lines if we went that way, which leaves us only the northern pass between the hills and the ocean. They know this and have concentrated their strength there, mostly along the central crossing over the Dorée, here. The next nearest crossing is twenty miles northwest and is not only a lot smaller, limiting how quickly our men can get across at a time, but the bay on this side of the peninsula is still in the hands of Baudric’s navy.”

“From the reports, I had thought we’d made it further inland than this. He still has all of these northern ports open, giving him easy access to Werna and its markets. Holding only one peninsula, no matter how big it is, and the mouth of the straits doesn’t do us any good.”

“Did you try pushing across here? I understood you outnumbered the enemy?”

“We did, and still do, although they have heavily reinforced over the winter. The issue is, besides a small blocking force at the crossing, they hold the forts here and here, two miles north and south of the crossing, and they’ve divided their army almost equally between the two forts. We can push through the blocking force without much problem, but from there, things become complicated. We can’t keep charging straight through because our supply line will be open to their men in the forts, and if we attack either of the forts, the other one will sally and assault our rear. Gavric tried splitting our forces and attacking both simultaneously last fall, just before the first snows, but we got bogged down in sieges when we didn’t quickly take the forts. It was in an attempt to take the forts that Gavric was injured.”

“I see,” Aldric said, cupping his chin in one hand, staring hard at the map. “And what is this northern fort like? What are the defenses?”

“It’s at a small curve of the river, which makes it difficult to assail from that side. The southern approach is on a fairly steep rise, giving their catapults and archers a fair view of the fields in front of it. It does flatten at the rear, but with the way the land lays and how the fort is situated, you have to come in almost completely from the north to get the advantage of that more shallow side, with the men in the fort watching you the whole time you circle it. There are also two small defensive fortifications behind it, guarding the northern approach. Not forts, really, more redoubts protected by thin trenches facing north against a wooden barricade.”

“You’ve gotten men around to see it?”

“No, but we have a woman in the town between the fort and the river that hikes up to the redoubts and forts each day to sell bread,” Sir Cedrick said.

“And you trust her information?” Aldric asked.

“She has no love for Baudric’s men. It’s a small town, and some of the soldiers are less disciplined than they should be. She also has a baby to feed and needs the coin.”

“I see,” Aldric said again, and then fell quiet for several minutes, studying the map. “We will hold the bulk of our infantry, archers, and artillery here, to be used in the crossing, along with one-third of our knights.”

He tapped a location farther upriver, “The other two-thirds of the knights will ride north under your command, Baron Pembroke. You’ll circle around to this smaller crossing here. You’ll then swing south and attack the northern of the two forts. I will take the remaining force here, force the bridge crossing, and attack it from the southern face. Between us, it should collapse fast, giving us time to wheel around before the southern fort rallies. Facing our then combined force, with half the power they had before we crossed, they’ll have to retreat or we’ll destroy them. Either way, the crossing will be done and we can continue our march toward Valemonde.”

Pembroke raised an eyebrow, “That’s easily twenty leagues, through rough country, and they’ll certainly be watching that crossing. We’ll lose the element of surprise.”

“Not if we do it right,” Aldric countered. “We’ll give you a portion of the scouts to take with you. Half of them were cutthroats and bandits before they were pressed into the levies. The tree line goes right to this crossing, and there’s a rise here, limiting their line of sight if you bring your men in this way. It’s a bad position to hold watch from, but they don’t have much choice but to watch the crossing. According to the star watchers, we should have a moonless night three days from now. You need to get your men in position, covered by the trees, and send your … most talented scouts across in the dark. They must take out every oneof the Lynesian scouts. If they miss any, word will get out and this whole plan will turn into a fiasco. Take only the lightest of provisions, to speed your march.”

Pembroke looked at the region around the crossing, nodding slowly as he saw what Aldric was saying.

“If you push hard, it will take you the better part of the day to reach the fort, but it should still give us several hours to take the fort. We will attack at noon watch, to draw their attention as you get close. With their eyes focused on us, you should have a clear shot to the walls.”

“It’s risky,” Pembroke said slowly. “If they should look north; if your attack is early; if our attack is late; if a scout escapes. There are a lot of chances, any one of which will turn this into a tragedy.”

Aldric nodded. “War is ever a gamble, my friend. But I believe this offers us our best chance to take the fort quickly and with minimal loss of life. Assuming our success, of course.”

Pembroke nodded solemnly, “I’ll need to select the lightest armored knights and fastest horses. They’ll be tired when we arrive, but if we have surprised the enemy, the battle should be short. It can be done.”

“Excellent.” Aldric clapped the baron on the shoulder. “I know I entrust this task to capable hands. I have one more command. You are to take my nephew with you.”

“My Grace, we’re going to be moving fast and with minimal support forces. I’m not sure we’ll have time to act as mentor or tour guide.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be sending him with you alone. Sergeant Eskild will go with you and will take responsibility for the boy.”

“Then take him we will,” Pembroke said, giving a nod to Eskild, who returned it.

Eskild placed a hand on William’s shoulder, leaning in to speak softly. “Come, it’s time we take our leave. Your uncle and his commanders have much planning to do, and we have to get you ready to travel.”

William nodded, allowing himself to be steered towards the tent entrance. As they stepped outside into the bustling camp, he glanced back over his shoulder, watching his uncle gesturing animatedly over the map table, deep in discussion with his advisors. He felt his stomach twist. He’d just arrived at the army, and he was already being sent off. Not to safety or to be out of the way, like his father would probably have done, but to join a force on a real attack, doing something useful. Sure, he’d be kept at the back of the line, and mostly have to just watch, but he’d still be there. With them. It was a chance to prove himself.

Sensing William’s disquiet, Eskild guided him away from the tent towards the supply tents, “You know, this could be a fine opportunity for you. Observing a battle firsthand, seeing how the commanders plan and lead. It’s a rare education.”

“I know. I’m excited, not worried. Well … not very worried,” William said, and then turned to look at Eskild directly. “Maybe I’m a little nervous. I’ve never been in a real battle before.”

Eskild smiled reassuringly. “No one escapes nerves before their first taste of combat. But this is a good opportunity. We’ll be with Baron Pembroke; he’s one of your uncle’s most trusted men. He’s got a good head for strategy and doesn’t throw his men away needlessly.”

“You make it sound so simple,” William muttered. “Just stay close and keep my head down, I suppose?”

Eskild laughed heartily, clapping William on the back, “Now you’ve got it! Though it wouldn’t hurt to keep those eyes open, observe how the other knights handle themselves. Courage and faith in your own abilities will carry you through, so long as you keep your wits.”

William just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else that might show his nerves. Eskild seemed to read his thoughts and just put a hand on his shoulder, continuing to guide him toward the supply tents. The supply area was a maze of tents, some holding crates and sacks of supplies, others with entire smitheries set up inside them. It was into one of those tents Eskild took William, where they found a squat, barrel-chested man inspecting the mail hauberks hanging from a wooden rack.

“Otto, I’ve brought you some work,” Eskild called.

The man turned, bushy eyebrows rising as he looked William up and down. William was large for his age and could be mistaken for a very thin young man, if you saw him at enough of a distance. Close up, it was hard not to see how few years he had on him.

“Let’s have a look then,” Otto said gruffly, gesturing William forward.

He spun William around, lifted an arm and dropped it, then spun William the other way, the entire time making small grumbling noises. Eskild stood back, infinitely amused by the whole thing.

“Plate or mail?” he said, looking at William, but clearly addressing Eskild.

“For a young lordling? Plate, of course. Wouldn’t want him getting any of that fine Whitton blood scratched.”

“I see,” he said, looking back at William, seemingly with new appraisal. “Have you had much experience in armor? It takes some work, getting used to the weight.”

“I competed in a few squire jousts, for my uncle. They had sets of plate. And I … Some of the weapons trainers allowed me to practice wearing it.”

He was a little embarrassed to admit he’d gotten the weapons master to allow him to dress up in the armor Gavric had gotten him for the joust. Those had been wasted days, since he hadn’t really gotten used to doing much more than sitting on a horse in it, but he didn’t want to give the armorer reason to believe he couldn’t wear it.

“I see,” he said, then repeated himself. “I see. Well, I think I have something that might work. A knight of shorter stature ordered a set. He’s a little broader than you, but I can adjust it. Perhaps we might do a half-suit. Breastplate and pauldrons, then mail for the rest, to give you time to adjust.”

“That would work fine, Master Smith,” William said as formally as he could.

In reality, he wanted to run around in circles whooping for joy. His own armor, which he’d wear into a real battle. This was everything that he could have hoped for and more.

The man let out a booming laugh and said, “While I appreciate the courtesy, I’m afraid ‘Master Smith’ might be a bit too much hubris for my blood to take. Please, just Otto is fine.”

“Yes,” William said, dipping his head slightly in a casual sort of bow, “Otto. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. How much time do I have,” he said, again looking to Eskild.

“A day. Two maybe, but it’s possible we ride early to make sure everything’s in place.”

“A day? You blond-headed demon, I should curse you here and now.”

William held his breath. Calling someone a blond demon was tantamount to calling them a Purifier. A heretic. He’d seen boys fight over lesser words.

Eskild, didn’t seem to mind, just laughing along with Otto, “I have faith you’ll manage.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll do my best, but you will remember this,” he said, shaking a finger at Eskild.

“Of course I will. I always remember my friends, even the short, bald ones.”

“Always the sweet talker,” Otto said, as they both continued laughing. “Out, out. I have much work to do.

***

Starhaven, Kingdom of Sidor

Courtiers and petitioners crowded the massive audience hall of the royal palace. High arched windows let in large amounts of sunlight, which fell across gold and white banners draped from the ceiling. Seated in the intricately carved oaken throne, embossed with golden lions and wheat sheaves on a raised platform, was King Serwyn Whitton. Scribes and messengers waited a few steps down, ready for his slightest command, with a wall of guards creating an open space between the assembled mass and the great throne. Edmund had arranged everything to make sure that Serwyn was projected in the right light, putting all of the weight and power of the kingdom behind him.

This was all made harder by how obvious it was that Serwyn didn’t want to be there. Lounging on the throne, one leg kicked over its arm, his elbow resting on the other arm of the throne, his hand supporting his head. It was obvious to anyone who looked at him how bored the young king was.

“An envoy from Baron Garris Sinclair of Stormhaven, Your Grace!” one of the royal heralds standing at the perimeter of the ring of guards said, a slightly disheveled and dirty man in riding leathers standing behind him.

“Send him forward,” Edmund said.

All eyes turned to watch the travel-stained man walk through the ring of guards, stopping on the gold and white carpet that ran down from the throne all the way to the far door of the audience chamber. Reaching the appointed spot, the man dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

“Your Grace, I come bearing urgent news from my lord, Baron Sinclair of Stormhaven.”

Serwyn shifted in his seat, regarding the messenger with a bored expression, “Out with it then.”

“Your Grace, my lord Baron Sinclair sends his regards and requests the Crown’s aid in a matter of the utmost importance. Over the past month, a dozen villages and hamlets across the Iron Keep and Ice Lands have been sacked and burned by raiders from Alchmara. Houses burned, livestock stolen, people killed or carried off. The scale of the destruction and loss is catastrophic.”

He paused, taking a breath, “Two-thirds of the Stormhaven’s knights and near half our levies have sailed to Lynese with the Royal Army, and we know most of the other baronies are in the same state. We lack the men to patrol the entirety of the northern shores, much less meet this threat head-on. Our remaining men are overstretched, leaving our villages vulnerable.”

“And what does that have to do with the crown?” Serwyn asked, bringing his leg down from the arm of the chair and sitting up straight.

The question came out aggressive, almost as a challenge.

“With respect, Your Grace, the recent … increases in taxes to support the war have left many baronies without resources to expand patrols or rebuild defenses, and without the men already pressed into service, we are left with few options. My lord humbly requests men and arms from the Crown to reinforce the coastal garrisons and bolster our defenses. Else, at least return some number of our marched levies and knights, that we might better protect our people.”

As the messenger spoke, Serwyn’s face darkened more and more as he became increasingly agitated.

“If your lord is a loyal baron, then he will deal with this matter himself and understand the needs of both his men and his taxes to the Crown. And if he cannot maintain his lands with his remaining forces, then perhaps he should not be a baron at all.”

The messenger paled at the harsh tone. Before he could respond, Lord Edmund smoothly interjected.

“What His Grace means,” Edmund said diplomatically, “is that there are limits to what the Crown can provide at this time. Much of our strength is committed to the war in Lynese, as I’m sure your lord understands.”

“He does, my lord. But without assistance or some of our men back …”

“However,” Edmund continued, holding up a hand. “We will, of course, investigate options on how we may assist Baron Sinclair and the other threatened coastal holdings. The defense of the realm is paramount, of course. But until such measures can be enacted, it remains beholden upon all the barons to maintain their obligations. That includes adequately garrisoning and defending the lands tithed to them.”

The messenger gave a low, sweeping bow, and said, “Thank you, Your Grace. I will deliver your words to my lord baron.”

There wasn’t much else he could do. He was a messenger and not one to argue his baron’s position for him. Edmund was surprised the man had gone as far as he had, since men of his station had paid dearly for such impertinence in the past. It did speak to how bad things must be on the eastern shores of the kingdom.

The man turned and hustled through the ring of soldiers and the crowd, leaving the audience chamber. Edmund lifted a hand, halting the herald from calling forth the next petitioner.

“Your Grace, a word,” he said quietly, kneeling next to the king’s throne.

In contrast, Serwyn made no effort to keep his voice down, “Do not presume to tell your king what he means, Uncle. My words were clear. If Sinclair and the rest cannot defend their lands, I shall find barons who can.”

Edmund nodded, speaking softly. “Of course, Your Grace. In fact, I agree with you. I just … think we should be careful not to move with undue haste. The time is fast approaching when we shall be able to deal with these disloyal barons as is their due, but we are not there yet. Your rule is still young and there is much groundwork to be laid before we can … make changes.”

“I will not coddle these wretches!” he snapped. “They should be grateful I allow them to kneel before me at all!”

Edmund bowed his head contritely, “Forgive me, Nephew. You are right, of course. But men like Sinclair are well entrenched in their baronies and hold long claims to their titles. The Duke of Iron Keep grows old, with no heirs of his own. Soon, the time will come when a new duke will be selected. We will need the support of many of Iron Keep’s barons to install the right man in Windermere’s place. Once our ally holds the duchy, we can reshape the landscape there as we see fit.”

“I do not want to wait,” Serwyn said petulantly, then sagged. “Fine. I will follow your counsel for a little longer, but my patience is not infinite. I grow weary of diplomacy, of always coddling them.”

“I understand completely, Your Grace.”