The Barons' War
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 25
Starhaven, Sidor
“You summoned me, Your Majesty?”
Edmund set down his quill. “I did. There have been developments that require immediate action.”
“More news of the rebels?” Orlan asked.
“In a manner of speaking.” Edmund rose from his chair and walked to the window.
From this height, he could see the sprawl of Starhaven, the city that had been the seat of power for the Whitton dynasty for generations. His dynasty now.
“The time has come to change our strategy.”
“A change, Your Majesty? We are just seeing success in the east, with the splitting of the rebels. If we give Baron Harald enough time...”
“Time is something we are short of,” Edmund cut him off. “Yes, we have made progress in the east, although not everywhere in the east, to be certain. But my son will be back with a new, veteran army in the spring, and potentially a solution to the fracturing the rebels are dealing with. A conscript army, no matter how large, will not be able to counter a newly unified rebel force. We have to do something before that happens.”
“My lord?” Orlan questioned.
“We need to look beyond the military situation and to the people. We must win back the hearts of the common folk. They blame us, they blame me for their hardships, and that needs to change. We need to give them a new ... perspective.”
“I don’t think the people blame you precisely, Your Majesty.”
“I have decided to enact immediate changes to our fiscal policies throughout the kingdom,” Edmund continued, ignoring him. “All taxes will be reduced to match the levels during my brother’s early reign. In addition, the rights of travel Serwyn put in place that we paused after the incident with the peasants will be eliminated and your rihgts of travel restored permanently. Publicly ended and denounced, in fact, along with the market tariffs that went in place at the same time.”
Orlan’s mouth opened, then closed before speaking. “Your Majesty, such dramatic changes in tax policy would...”
“These measures must be implemented without delay,” Edmund cut him off. “I want royal messengers dispatched to every corner of the realm still under our control by dawn tomorrow.”
“Your Majesty, I must remind you of our precarious financial state since our friends from across the sea terminated their support. The royal treasury barely contains enough gold to maintain our current operations for two more months. With the loss of tax revenue from the eastern baronies and the expense of fighting on multiple fronts, any further reduction in income will be catastrophic. The army must be paid, supplies purchased, loyalists rewarded. Without adequate funds...”
“Have faith, Orlan. The means to pay for everything we need will come to us in time. But for that to happen, for us to be able to exploit that, we must gain the goodwill of the people.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but this seems ... unlikely. The people love their king, of course, but when times are difficult, they forget themselves. I must confess my confusion, however. The Crown’s finances have always been your primary...”
“The Kingdom is my primary concern, Orlan,” Edmund said, returning to his desk.
“Of course, Your Majesty. But I fail to see the connection...”
“You do not need to see it, you simply need to carry out my instructions, which right now means drafting the proclamation that must accompany these tax reductions.”
“Proclamation, sire?”
“Yes. If we are to do this, the people must know it was their king who lessened their burden, but it must be carefully worded. We must make sure the source of their burdens is placed where it belongs, on Serwyn’s youthful inexperience and the rebels’ disruptions.”
“Naturally,” Orlan said, pulling out a paper and quill from a side table and beginning to make notes.
“The proclamation will express my deep regret for the suffering endured by the people of Sidor. It will acknowledge that my nephew, in his youth and inexperience, was ill-advised and enacted policies that caused undue hardship. But I want it to be clear that the rebels bear the greater share of blame. Their selfish ambitions disrupted the proper functioning of government, preventing the Crown from addressing these issues sooner. The message must be clear, that I understand the people’s suffering and wish to make amends for the hardships they have endured under my nephew’s brief rule.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Once finished and approved, this proclamation must reach every village and hamlet in the kingdom, especially territories bordering rebel-held lands. I want the people there to know what they could gain by returning to the Crown’s protection.”
Orlan nodded, scribbling notes. “It shall be done, sire.”
“Along with the proclamation, I would like a notice sent out that I intend to embark on a royal tour across Kingsheart duchy and into the Icelands in the coming weeks.”
“A tour, Your Majesty?”
“Yes. Advance notice will be given to each location before we visit, allowing common folk to gather and present their concerns directly to their king. Many have never seen their monarch in person. Such an opportunity will create considerable goodwill.”
“And when would this tour begin, Sire?” Orlan asked, looking very unsure of the idea.
“Within the month. The first visits will be to baronies closest to Starhaven, then progressively farther afield.”
“And your security, Your Majesty? With rebels still active...”
“Will be handled discreetly. The people must not feel intimidated by an excessive show of force.” Edmund rose and walked to a side table where a carafe of wine waited. He poured two cups and offered one to Orlan. “Each stop on the royal tour will feature lavish public festivities, funded entirely by the Crown. There will be games, entertainments, and free food distributed to all who attend.”
“All who attend?” Orlan’s voice rose slightly.
“Yes. I want criers hired in every town to spread word of these events well in advance. Maximum attendance is essential. The people must associate the Crown with generosity and prosperity, not hardship and restriction.”
Orlan set down his untouched wine. “Your Majesty, forgive my impertinence, but I must object to such extravagance. The Crown already struggles to pay its soldiers and suppliers.”
“Your objection is noted.”
“Even modest distributions would bankrupt the treasury within weeks. Perhaps a scaled-back alternative might achieve similar goals without catastrophic financial consequences?” Orlan suggested. “Limited distributions to the neediest families, or smaller celebrations focused in key strategic areas? Or perhaps such expenditures might be better directed toward military efforts? With additional funds, we could hire mercenaries from...”
“Enough,” Edmund said. “Finances will soon be the least of our concerns.”
Orlan blinked. “Your Majesty?”
“You will begin preparations immediately. Or do you want to continue to question my orders?”
Orlan paled. “No, Your Majesty. Never.”
“Good. That will be all, Orlan.”
Orlan tucked his notes into his pocket. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
He backed toward the door, bowing repeatedly.
“Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?”
“No. You are dismissed.”
Orlan backed out of the chamber and closed the door quietly behind him. Edmund listened as the sound of the man’s hurried footsteps faded down the corridor.
He probably should have explained more specifically what he was doing, as Orlan had been trusted with potentially damning information in the past. But this ... this was of a different level.
Better to not test the man too much, when Edmund’s own neck might be on the line.
Riversmeed, Barony of Yorwick, Kingsheart
Garris’s mood was about as dark as the overcast sky as he led the small force down the Tradesway through Riversmeed, the capital of the barony seat of Yorwick run by Donnington. An unassuming town, not as magnificent as places like Ramsgate or Devonport.
It was also as far back as the easterners had been pushed since they’d been on their own, without Aldric. He’d hoped Pembroke would be able to stem the tide, but he’d proven as ineffectual as the easterners.
And now it was up to him to fix it. Once again.
“A dreary place for a war council,” Garris said.
“Strategic though,” Sir Odran said from next to him. “The Stonebridge River doesn’t have much in the way of fords and feeds into the Cragshand where their forces have had poor luck so far. Trelwaney’s remaining knights are doing a good job holding things together, in spite of their lord’s untimely demise. As long as they hold this, they can hold the line to the east for a while, especially since in splitting our forces as much as they have, the Crown forces have had to split their army, half fighting Pembroke and half pressing here and along the Graceshand. They’ve spread themselves out.”
Garris nodded. He knew all of this, of course. He just wished they would have been able to operate on their own, without his help.
The keep’s gates swung open as they approached. Baron Killian Donnington himself stood at the entrance, wrapped in furs against the bitter cold of Darktide. Baron Donnington was tall with dark hair and had an elegant bearing despite the frigid weather.
“Baron Sinclair,” Donnington called. “Welcome to Riversmeed.”
Garris dismounted, clasping arms with his host. “I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Donnington.”
“The others await inside,” Donnington said. “They’ve been here since midday.”
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