Chapter 9

Lindvale, The Barony of Lindenwood, Sidor

“ ... supplies for the work to be done,” Thurston said, sitting in his simple but comfortable chair, enjoying the always sour look on his steward’s face. “We’ve been cut off from Iron Keep all winter, and I know there has been a lot of worry about when the roads will reopen. I’ve already spoken to the barons on the other end of the pass through the Shatterstone Mountains, and they’ve agreed to lend their men and coin to clearing from their end as well, which means we should have the rockslides clear by Reliquary Day, if we work hard.”

“I’m surprised they agreed at all. They’ve always been more concerned about their mines than commerce, as if they are the ancients themselves and their ore just vanishes, to reappear in a new city without any work at all.”

Thurston smiled. Lundun was a true man of the Lindenwood, carrying all the prejudices of the Shatterstone barons, and really any of the nobles from Iron Keep as well. Normally, Thurston didn’t mind, as a little rivalry helped keep people focused, as long as it didn’t go too far.

This time, however, he needed his people to work with the men from the other side of the mountain range to get the work done. The Greenway was the major road through the forest of eastern Kingsheart and up into Iron Keep, traveling all the way north to the two keeps that guarded the entrance to Althear Bay, known as The Sisters.

A huge amount of trade made its way down the Greenway and into the rest of the kingdom, and it had been closed for months. It wasn’t uncommon for the road to become impassable in the height of winter, but it was usually clear well before the middle of Maw’s end, and the rockslide that had blocked it had shut trade down for an additional two weeks, which was hitting the coin purses of everyone involved.

“Believe me when I tell you they do care when it means their ore is stacking up without forges for it to be delivered to. Much of it has already been spoken for, and no one wants to see those merchants decide it’s better to risk the mines of the Gloompeaks getting the business instead. So no, they will work with us this time.”

“As you say, my lord,” Lundun said, getting another smile from Thurston. “Speaking of the Greenway...”

His words were cut off as raised voices came through the window of the keep, partially opened to allow a slight breeze in the room, enough to counter the fire but not so much as to chill the bones.

Thurston stood and made his way to the window, pushing the shutters open. His was a small keep, more a tower than a proper fortification, which hadn’t been needed this deep in Sidor in centuries, which meant he was only a few stories above the ground, and able to easily see the cause of the commotion.

Part of him wished he hadn’t.

A dozen men in the livery of the crown were at the gate to his keep, arguing with his own guards, who had their hands on their sword hilts. It was a worrying sight, as was the wagon bearing a barred cage a few paces behind them.

It wasn’t difficult for Thurston to realize what was happening. He’d heard the rumors, same as everyone else, and knew he was a target of the king ever since he stood and openly defied him at court. Sinclair and the duke had warned him that he was stepping out too far, making himself a target, but Thurston hadn’t listened. He’d always believed that if something was right, you stepped forward and said it plainly. He hated playing in the shadows. He was willing to stand for what he believed in, no matter the cost.

And it was clear the time to pay that price had arrived.

What he wasn’t willing to do was let his men throw their lives away for him needlessly. Yes, they could probably defeat the dozen men the king had sent, but that would put him in open rebellion and force the hands of others he had agreed to follow willingly.

“Stand aside,” he called down. “I want no bloodshed.”

“My Lord,” one of his men yelled back, not taking his eyes off the king’s men. “These men say...”

“I know why they’re here. Let them by!”

His men looked up now, almost pleading with him to let them defend themselves. They were good men, who’d served him loyally for years, through hard winters and lean summers. Which is why he was willing to do what he had to, now, for the good of them and the rest of his people.

The guards saw the look on his face, saw that he meant business, and reluctantly stepped aside. As the king’s men rushed into the keep, Thurston turned from the window and back to Lundun.

“Get word to Sinclair. Let him know what has happened here and that I hold him to his word.”

Lundun gave him a grim look. He was Thurston’s closest advisor and friend. Thurston had known Lundun before Gavric raised him from one of the minor families to become one of his direct vassals, a replacement for a family that had been cast out after their treason to the crown, and Thurston had brought Lundun with him, appointing him steward of his house to ensure he was always at hand when needed.

Lundun had advised against the agreement with Sinclair, saying that it would end with Thurston’s neck in a noose. It seemed like his old friend would be able to say ‘I told you so’ one last time. It was because of Lundun that Thurston had extracted a promise from Sinclair that, should things turn bad, he would watch over his people and ensure someone appropriate, someone like Lundun, took his place, not one of Edmund’s sycophants.

“As you wish, my lord,” Lundun said, not breaking eye contact with Thurston until they heard the boots of angry men stomping down the corridor toward the room.

“Open it so the fools don’t break it down,” Thurston said, gesturing toward the door.

Lundun made an expression but did as he was bidden. He’d only just gotten the door unlatched and started to pull it open when he was forced to jump back as the soldiers burst into the room, all but kicking the door in.

Each had their hand to hilt, as if they expected Thurston to be making a last stand, sword in hand, even though he had just ordered his own guard to stand aside.

Seeing none, and seemingly disappointed in the bloodless nature of this event, one of the men stepped forward, producing a very official missive from his belt.

“Baron Thurston,” the man said as he unrolled it and held it up. “By order of His Majesty, King Serwyn Whitton, you are hereby charged with high treason against the crown. You will submit yourself to the king’s justice immediately.”

“You serve a fool and a puppet,” Thurston spat. “But I go willingly.”

With a gesture to Thurston, two of the men hustled forward and grabbed the baron roughly, putting manacles on his hands, as if he were a common brigand.

Thurston allowed himself one last look at Lundun, who looked equally devastated and furious, as the men hauled him out of his rooms and down through the keep. Servants and guards lined the halls, watching him, their expressions similar to Lundun’s.

The men pushed him roughly down the stairs and out the front door of the keep, causing Thurston to stumble and fall to his knees in the street. A crowd had gathered, brought by the shouts of the guards and the sight of others running toward the commotion.

The looks on their faces were of anger and disbelief, but became outright fury at seeing their baron thrown onto the street. People began shouting at the king’s men, who picked him off the ground and again pushed him forward to the cart.

Thurston appreciated his people’s loyalty to him, but two of his soon-to-be jailers had pulled their swords in response, and the baron could see this turning deadly.

“Return to your homes,” the baron called out, raising his voice over the shouts. “These men are doing their duty. Please, go home peaceably. I do not want any of you hurt to save me.”

Some backed off, but most did not and continued to press forward, forcing more of the king’s men to pull their swords.

“See our people home,” Thurston yelled to the guardsmen shadowing his captors.

The guards looked like they would rather join the people in rioting and attacking the king’s men, but they were loyal as well and did as they were ordered, pushing and cajoling the citizens back and out of the street.

Tensions dropped, at least enough to keep things from becoming deadly. The men kept their swords in hand but didn’t take it further than that, instead returning to pushing him toward the barred wagon.

“Enough of this,” one of the men said. “Into the wagon with you.”

Thurston banged his knee as he was shoved into the wagon, and the man slammed the iron door of the cage shut. Through the bars, he could see the faces of his people. Concerned, angry, and afraid.

The wagon lurched forward, and the crowd parted reluctantly to let it pass. Some reached out, trying to touch Thurston’s hand through the bars. Others shouted words of support or hurled insults at the king’s men.

All Thurston could hope was that Sinclair would hold true to his word.

Tala Plains, North of Valemonde

The rain had been falling for hours, thick sheets drenching the men as they trudged through the mud. Cloaked and soaked, he rode at the head of the column, his horse’s hooves sinking deep into the saturated earth.

“This is what I hoped to avoid,” Pembroke said from beside him. “This will be a nightmare to fight in.”

“It will be a nightmare for them, too,” William said. “You’ve seen what they’ve thrown against us. They are short on men and supplies. We know the Werna have been supplying a lot of their arms, but their ships will have to sail all the way south and up the Elandrine River into Dawnstar Lake to deliver them, and the seas have only just become passable. In another few weeks, they will have more arms and more time to train their conscripts. Hitting them now will let us push all the way to the city, and even if it doesn’t, they will be forced to throw everything they have to stop us, keeping them weak.”

“It could also weaken us. We also have limited supplies.”

“Haverhill will be in Werna by the end of the week and, thanks to the funding so helpfully provided by the Lynesian nobles, we will have our own resupply. And ours just has to travel the Merchant Sea.”

That was an idea that William had been proud of. Taking the heart of the Lynesian nobility in Soriveau had given them not just a new base to operate out of as they pushed south, it also provided a deluge of Lynesian coin. Since his father had deemed the resupply of his army as ‘currently impractical,’ as his last letter had said, William had decided it was time for them to do something about it themselves.

William had pulled together all of the confiscated Lynesian coin and sent it with Haverhill, along with several of their larger ships, north to Werna to buy food, weapons, and armor. If this came to a siege of Valemonde, which William was almost certain it would, then he would need those supplies to see the siege through.

“Your father is going to be very upset by that. Traditionally, the liberated coin is sent home to be melted down and recoined.”

“Traditionally, our king provides supplies for men in the field, along with reinforcements. If my father wants to change the rules, then he has to deal with the consequences. Unless he wants to sue for peace and bring us home.”

“You know he can’t do that, not with ... how things are.”

“So he’ll have to settle for my decision. I’ll deal with my father when this is over,” William said.

Pembroke gave him a look, clearly not agreeing. They had had this argument repeatedly since William ordered the march south. He knew Pembroke disagreed with him, but William didn’t need the baron to agree, only to follow orders.

Whatever Pembroke was going to say was cut off by a shout. William looked past the baron to see one of their scouts riding hard toward them.

“Your Highness!” the rider said as he pulled his horse up short next to them, the animal’s hooves squelching in the mud. “We have found the enemy. They hold about ten minutes march further south.”

“How many?”

“It is hard to say with this visibility, but maybe three thousand, mostly infantry.”

“Less than we expected,” Pembroke said.

William had five thousand men with him. His army was becoming spread out, guarding a line that stretched all the way back to Rendalia and up to Talabot, which was another reason he wanted to take Valemonde as quickly as possible. If the emperor ran south, they didn’t have enough men to hold the entire continent.

“Order the men into battle lines.”

“They’re tired,” Pembroke said.

“I know. But we are close to the city. This has to be his last sally. Once we get past this, we’ll be at their walls.”

Pembroke nodded. He might not like William’s plan, but he couldn’t fault the analysis of the situation.