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, either captured or dead. The mood was very different from what 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 they needed to lash out.

“It’s over, Tom,” Evan, whose relative owned this land, said. “We’ve lost too many. Half our number are dead or captured and 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 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 many of the baron’s men off fighting in Lynese. What use is standing up to the king if 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 that brought them all together. A belief that they could stand against their ‘betters’ and the unjust rules placed upon them. Their losses were 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. We need to 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 to ask, 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 try to stop you.”

A few grumbled and walked out, but most fell silent or talked in small groups. Tom hoped the ones that left were just going out 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 wanted to hit any of the king’s forces, his men weren’t in a place to take anyone on.

He slowly made his way through the back of the barn until he made it 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, Lysmir Woods, 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 him 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 a more equal footing. Until we either break out of it, through this narrow gap between Lake Lysmir and the Dead Man’s Hills, we’re going to be moving very slowly, fighting for every centimeter of soil. We could cross the river here, north of the lake, and swing down through 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’ll 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 from those areas as well.”

The guard bowed and took the messenger by the arm, pulling him along. Pembroke ignored both men, 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 the 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 to them, and how did it end up in the hands of a villager?

William could see that Pembroke was right as soon as he took the letter. One of the topics his tutors loved to cover was the signets 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 the king’s 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, that will be 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.”