The Barons' War
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 14
Devonport, Barony of Shalesport, Eastern Kingsheart
Garris Sinclair practically stomped through the halls of the large manor house, trying very hard not to let his rage overtake him. Newberry’s message had been urgent, but very light on details. Sinclair had almost ignored it. The fast progress he’d made after finally stopping and then reversing the Northerners’ progress at the Battle of Four Corners had come to a grinding halt.
The Icelanders were smart and weren’t trying to have a stand-up fight anymore. Instead, they’d dug themselves into the hills and were making him battle for every inch of ground. Ambushes, forced rockslides, and about every other trick they could pull were costing him men and time.
Time he didn’t have to be sailing here for whatever the annoyingly charming merchant prince had to say.
The man’s majordomo had directed him through to the parlor, and Sinclair hadn’t waited for him to lead the way. He pushed his way into the room with enough force to send the overly carved door slamming hard against the inner wall with a satisfying crash.
“I lost fifty men yesterday and I will probably lose more today. What can be so urgent that you have to pull me from the front but not so important that you can’t say what it is about in your message?”
“That was my doing,” a voice to his far left said.
Sinclair found himself momentarily at a loss for words, which was a feat in itself, as he watched the man step away from the hearth and into the light.
“I didn’t want my presence known until I could get back to the River Mark and get the duchy in order, so I asked the baron not to say I was the one requesting this meeting.”
Sinclair still found himself slow to get over the shock of seeing the man. He hadn’t received a wyvern or any other kind of message in more than a month, to the detriment of the entire rebellion. The man had a lot of nerve, dictating how he returned now.
“Pembroke,” Sinclair said, the name half question, half accusation.
The damnable man gave no expression in return, only saying, “Baron Sinclair.”
“We could have used you sooner.”
“I came as soon as I could.”
“Did you?” Sinclair looked up, meeting Pembroke’s eyes. “And yet not a word, no matter how many wyverns I sent. During which, Baron Trelwaney and half his men died at Middlewood and Baron Halbrok barely escaped with a third of his forces. So where have you been? We’ve needed you, especially since Aldric’s death. You took your time while Edmund’s army pushed deeper into the eastern baronies every day.”
“We’ve been working to get here, or do you forget how long it takes to sail from Lynese, especially when our enemy controls the northern half of the continent? We were forced to sail south around Thay, where communication would have been ill-advised.”
“Does that mean you brought the Rendalia army with you?”
“No. That wasn’t possible.”
“Not possible? Those men were left under your command!”
“They were, but that is very different than leading them into a war like this at home. They would follow William into the Maw itself. Without him, I can’t guarantee who the men would fight for. Many come from the western baronies, and it is a dangerous thing to ask men to question their allegiances in situations like this. They would do it certainly for William. For me ... it’s unsure.”
“You could have at least brought all of the River Mark men with you. Or are you suggesting they would have had divided loyalty?”
“We had other limitations. Sailing around Thay requires discretion.”
“Then what exactly did you bring, or should we just be honored you graced us with your presence?”
“I brought my personal bannermen and a few others from neighboring baronies who could fit on the two ships we brought.”
“Which is?”
“Twenty-five sworn knights and a hundred and fifty seasoned infantry.”
“That few? A handful of men when we need ... it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting the southern duchies back into the fight. Edmund’s forces have driven a wedge between the eastern baronies and the southern duchies. Halbrok still holds the Tradesway east of the Horn Road, but his position is tenuous. Meanwhile, the Icelanders have dug into the Darrien Hills and have started getting reinforcements from across the Narrows. I will deal with the Icelanders, and I believe we will break through and push them out of Iron Keep in the next two weeks. I want you to bring the men from Shadowhold and the River Mark to back up Baron Halbrok. Once you have stopped their advance, I want you to begin pushing them back to clear the path to Starhaven. Talk to the officers Aldric had with him. I’m sure his original plan is still viable.”
“I will talk to the barons and we will take your suggestions into consideration.”
“What?” Sinclair said, his train of thought halting as he heard the tone in Pembroke’s voice.
“Just as I said, we will take it under advisement. I need to talk to the barons and figure out what we need to do to protect the River Mark, and then determine what aid we can give to your efforts. We need to assess the situation first.”
“Their situation?” Sinclair’s voice was dangerously calm. “Their situation is war, Baron Pembroke. Your concern should be victory, which is what I am trying to achieve.”
“Nevertheless, I must consult them before making any commitments.”
“We don’t have time for consultations. We need those men in the field now.”
“I’m sure you do. What my barons need is assurance their sacrifice won’t be wasted.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’ve had time to talk to some of the men who’ve been on the ground since you were reinforced by the baronies, who protected your rear and allowed you to strike back at the Icelanders. My understanding is while they have been fighting to push the Crown back, you’ve been holed up on the peninsula, fighting your private war.”
“My private war?” Sinclair’s face flushed with anger. “I started this rebellion! I stood against Edmund when everyone else accepted his heinous policies.”
“Only after he killed Thurston. Before that point you were happy to sit at home, kept safe from his tax collectors by your duke, who I notice is still in his castle, counting his days until he joins the ancestors. What has happened since then? My understanding is that most of the gains made were made under Aldric’s leadership. What gains has the rebellion seen since his death?”
“I’ve tied down the Icelander forces that would otherwise reinforce Edmund. I’ve secured the eastern flank so the rest of you could focus on Starhaven.”
“That’s one way to look at it. But if you want to lead all of the forces in opposition, you need to show that you contribute to it, preferably something that is not self-serving. So far, you’ve only benefited from other baronies joining your cause.”
“Benefited? Do you know how many of my men have died?”
“Less than those lost by your patrons. And I have to ask, how many more men will die without a clear path to victory? The truth is, Baron Sinclair, William Whitton is the only reason you aren’t hiding in the Shatterstone Mountains right now.”
“William Whitton is an upstart child who...”
“Gentlemen.” Newberry stepped between them. “We fight for the same cause. We face the same enemy. This discord serves only Edmund’s interests.”
The chamber fell silent. Sinclair glared at Pembroke, breathing hard through his nostrils. Pembroke returned his gaze steadily, betraying no emotion.
After a long moment, Pembroke spoke. “I will talk to the barons and see what I can do to get the war back on track, but I promise nothing until I have spoken to them.”
“Fine. Then I look forward to seeing you assert your authority and get those men moving.”
“I will do what I think is best,” Pembroke said, not waiting for a response as he marched past Sinclair and out the door.
“As will I,” Garris Sinclair said quietly to his retreating back.
Kasikskad, Rikshof, Werna
Barnabas Mercer crouched behind a half-collapsed wall, his cloak pulled tight against the late autumn chill. The excavation site was full today with acolytes sifting through dirt and stone, cataloging remnants of the past.
He wasn’t here to watch them, however. His interest was in only one of the scholars: Acolyte Tomas Volden.
Barnabas couldn’t help but notice how fine everything was that the acolytes had. Werna was a place richer than most places, but even for here, the level of riches was astounding. Tools made of pure gold and silver, equipment with inlaid jewels. The acolytes would, of course, assure everyone that it was necessary for some perfectly valid reason, but the acolyte was still holding a single tool that was worth more than Barnabas’ family had when they lived near the Silverhall sludge pits.