An Ending of Oaths - Chapter 23

Devonport, Barony of Shalesport, Kingsheart

Baron Kieran Newberry entered his private solar to find seven of the eastern barons finally assembled, seated around his broad table. It had taken most of the day to sneak the men into the city through hidden passages and side alleys, and then into the keep without being seen. They all knew they must be careful, considering the eyes this kind of meeting would have on them from the west.

Tension was high in the room, the men looking to him as he entered, none smiling or seeming pleased he was there.

Everand Trelwaney of Cragshand spoke first, as he always did. “What game are you playing at, Newberry? Summoning us here when the king has already made clear his worries about our loyalties. Do you have any idea how a meeting like this would look, should word get back to him? It makes us look like we’re conspiring against him.”

“Good, because that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before chaos erupted. Baron Donnington and Baron Loxon shot to their feet, while Holden Kenmore just looked stunned, like he wanted to find an escape. Voices overlapped in a crescendo of outrage and fear.

“Have you lost your mind?” Donnington’s face had gone crimson.

“This is treason!” Loxon backed toward the door.

“Sit down, all of you!” Roderick Halbrok’s commanding voice cut through the din.

Halbrok was the only one of them to see service with King Gavric, having been a loyal aide and retainer to the Golden Lion for more than a decade before his wounding. He’d been given the Barony of Harlington as his due and he’d shown himself to be as good of an administrator as warrior ever since. Despite his limp and the cane he’d been forced to use since the lance shattered his hip so many years ago, he remained an imposing figure.

“We all knew what we were doing when we came here and everyone knew what a meeting like this meant when you agreed to attend. Professing your loyalties now is performative nonsense. Now sit down and hear him out.”

The men looked unhappy about it, but they all did as they were told. Like chastised boys being scolded for making too much ruckus.

Even though he obeyed like the rest, Trelwaney couldn’t control himself from taking one more shot before he quieted.

“I might not have come had I known you were also inviting him. A meeting of his eastern barons is one thing, but to include a Baron from Iron Keep, which has been declared entirely in open rebellion, is quite another. Might as well send a wyvern to Edmund confessing our plots,” he said, jerking a thumb at Baron Whitby of Deepford.

“That’s unfair,” Holden Kenmore retorted. “Deepford has made his allegiances clear. He has not sent men to join Garris.”

“Did he have a choice?” Trelwaney’s words dripped with venom. “Trapped on this side of the mountains with the rest of us?”

Fergus Whitby’s weathered face darkened, but he kept his peace. He was in a tough position and he knew it, with technical allegiance to Iron Keep but traditional cooperation with Kingsheart due to his being so separated from the rest of his fellow Iron Keep barons.

“He has as much to lose with current events as any of the rest of us,” Newberry says. “Now that we’ve expelled the requisite outrage, shall we discuss why I truly called you here?”

The other men didn’t settle entirely, but under the glare of the Halbrok, none argued further.

“First, a question. How many of you have received messages from trusted advisors or subordinates serving with our armies in Lynese?”

One by one, they raised their hands. Even Trelwaney, after a moment’s hesitation, acknowledged with a slight nod.

“Then you’ve all heard about the king’s son. William Whitton has returned with a portion of his army and now fights alongside Aldric and Garris.”

“We’ve heard,” Donnington muttered.

“And I suspect your messages, like mine, suggested we chose poorly in supporting the crown, or even remaining neutral.” Kieran pulled out a letter from his doublet. “My man writes extensively of this man they call the ‘warrior cub.’ He speaks glowingly of William’s judgment, his devotion to the Ancients, how he shares the soldiers’ hardships.”

“The natural flattery of men toward their commander,” Trelwaney interrupted, waving his hand dismissively.

“A commander who conquered Lynese without any additional support from the crown, something that even Gavric did not manage,” Halbrok said, tapping his cane against the floor for emphasis. “And who also controls the largest and most battle-tested Sidorian army in the Shattered Lands. One of the reasons River Mark and Iron Keep have been so badly outnumbered so far is because so many of their men were across the straits in Lynese. Consider this, if William brings his entire force back, what chance do the crown’s armies stand, even with Icelander support?”

The question hung in the air. Lynese was far away and many had not paid much attention to the progress of the war this past year, not with all the chaos happening at home, but they had all been equally stunned by the shocking victory pulled off by the youngest of the Whittons.

“There’s more to consider. These messages have spread far beyond our own lands,” Newberry said as the men looked to each other, considering Halbrok’s words.

“What do you mean?” Donnington asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“I’ve been in contact with Duke Blackwood. His barons report similar sentiments from their men in River Mark and those who witnessed the naval victory in Alther Bay. Shadowhold will declare for Sinclair within days.”

The room erupted once more.

“Finally!” Halbrok exclaimed, thumping his cane against the floor.

“Madness,” Trelwaney spat. “Pure madness.”

“Listen to yourselves,” Kieran said. “I understand our position. We backed the crown because it appeared the wisest course. The East Bridge fell, Iron Keep suffered defeats, it seemed Edmund would crush the rebellion swiftly. We had to protect our people, our lands.”

“That wasn’t the only reason,” Donnington interrupted. “Have you all forgotten what Aldric did? He murdered our king! Many of us withdrew support from Sinclair after Aldric’s treachery came to light.”

Halbrok’s laugh was bitter. “And you believed it? Pure fiction, and you all know it. We’ve known Aldric for years. I’ve fought beside him, hunted with him, broke bread at his table. And we know Edmund just as well. Tell me truly, which man would more likely murder his own blood for power?”

Murmurs of agreement came back to him. Even Trelwaney’s expression softened slightly.

“Besides,” Halbrok continued, “Duke Aldric tells a very different version of events. One that fits far better with the men we know.”

“The truth of Serwyn’s death matters little now,” Kieran said. “What matters is our future and the future of our people. We all know Edmund orchestrated those laws that brought us to this point. He’s worked for years to diminish baronial authority. If he prevails here, he’ll finally have the power to succeed.”

“He’ll strip us of our ability to protect our own people,” Whitby added, speaking for the first time. “Force us to send more gold to Starhaven while our people starve.”

“Remember why we first supported Sinclair,” Kieran pressed. “His complaints against the crown were just. Those reasons haven’t changed, only our fear of backing the losing side. But now, with William’s return and Shadowhold’s support, victory seems far more certain. We can finally follow our consciences rather than our fears.”

The barons exchanged glances. They had all seen their people suffer under Edmund’s policies, watched their ancient rights erode under those commands. Perhaps Serwyn had signed them, but they all knew in whose mind they had originated.

“When I served King Gavric, he told me something I never forgot. He said a man’s true character shows not when he must choose between right and wrong, but when he must choose between right and safe,” Halbrok added. “I believe we face such a choice now.”

“It’s not that simple for everyone,” Kenmore said. “My duchy is filled with the king’s men. They watch everything. The moment I begin gathering forces, Edmund will know and I’ll be in chains.”

“Then don’t gather forces,” Kieran replied. “Hold your position. Continue to cooperate. But speak with the knights you trust. When the moment arrives, they must be ready to fight for the right cause.”

“That... that I could manage.”

“Baron Halbrok.” Kieran turned to the older man. “I’ve never led men to war. If there was one of us to decide how to manage this, it would be you.”

Halbrok leaned forward, resting both hands on his cane. “We face two challenges, supporting Garris in Iron Keep and Duke Aldric in River Mark. I suggest you, myself, and Donnington gather what forces we can spare and move through the Lindenwood. We’ll help drive out Edmund’s puppet baron, then push north with any of Thurston’s remaining loyal knights we find to reinforce Garris.”

“What of Stanfield?” Donnington asked. “He’s always aligned with our interests, and you two have history, Newberry.”

“Darrington’s position is too exposed and he could not get to us without being seen,” Kieran said. “But Stanfield supports our cause, even if he can’t openly join us yet. He has given me assurances that, whatever we decide, he will be with us.”

“Good.” Halbrok nodded. “While we go to Garris’s aid, Stanfield, Donnington, and Farrow must secure our eastern borders against crown forces, particularly those from Ambleton and Langmere. They’ll need to watch Penshaw and Dunwic’s Reach as well, freeing up Loxon and Kenmore to send men to River Mark.”

“Once my lands are clear of Edmund’s spies,” Kenmore added.

“Precisely.” Halbrok pointed at Loxon and Whitby. “You two will muster your forces and prepare to support Aldric’s assault on Twyver. The timing must be perfect, we’ll need to coordinate through trusted messengers. As far as I’m aware, all of the crown shipping has been driven out of the Iron Straits, so you should be able to send ships back and forth easily through merchants bay.”

Both men nodded. Iron Straits deposited out into the eastern seas with Alchmara, Iron Keep and the frozen north above and Inos and Thay below. Very little western crown shipping ever came this way. Most traveled across Alther bay and out the narrows. Even with the loss of the sisters, the twin forts guarding the exit from the bay to the seas beyond, the defeat of the Icelanders in the bay meant nearly all of the eastern shores were still controlled by forces loyal to Garris.

“If we succeed,” Halbrok continued, “the east becomes one unified force. From there, we look to Aldric and Garris for direction.”

Kieran studied the faces around the table. Fear still showed in some eyes, determination in others. But they all understood the gravity of their choice.

“Then let us begin,” Kieran said.

***

Waldar Plains, North of the Iron Mountains, Iron Keep

Garris watched his men trudging down the Waldar Plains. Named after an ancient king of the keep, the littoral plain between Bleakwater Straits and the Iron Mountains extended west out of the Shatterstone Mountains and part way up the western half of the Iron Peninsula. In normal times, it was a wonderful place to live, fed by the sea and runoff from the Iron Mountains, not as cold as the northlands but still far enough north to be cool in the summers. A great planting region and one of the jewels of Iron Keep.

For the last two months, the hundred-mile-wide stretch of land was an escape route for refugees fleeing from up the peninsula, making for the eastern Kingsheart baronies or the strongholds in the Shatterstone mountains. Anywhere that wasn’t currently being ravaged by invaders.

Garris wasn’t sure there were many places like that left in Sidor. Edmund had murdered his way to the throne and was essentially invading the entire continent with his evil. The fools in central Kingsheart might support him now, but they would learn their folly when he finally got rid of all opposition and had a free hand to rule as he wanted.

At least the Icelander nobles were smart enough to get paid for selling their people out.

As perfect as this land was for living, it was terrible for defense. Not wide enough to give him space to operate against a bigger force but not so wide to use it as a bottleneck to counter their numerical superiority. And when he reached the base, he was going to hit the Shatterstone, and either fade into its narrow passes to the traditional Iron Keep strongholds or be smashed against its walls.

Not a choice at all.

“My lord,” Sir Odran said, pulling his horse alongside Garris’s mount. “A messenger reports Kingsleigh’s men have abandoned their positions in the Darien Hills. They’re falling back toward us with the northerners close behind.”

Damn. His best chance had been to hold them at the Darien Hills. Now that that had failed, he’d lost his only real chance for saving his people without something major shifting in the balance of power. He had known this was coming, but the news still struck him like a physical blow.

“How many did they lose?”

“Nearly half their fighting men, including the Baron, who was injured and last seen being overrun by the Icelanders. They’ve been conducting rear-guard actions, trying to slow the advance, but...” Odran shook his head. “The numbers are simply too great.”

“I’m sure his men fought well,” Garris said. “Better than we had any right to expect, given the odds. Send word to whatever remains of their rear guard, they’re to abandon their position and fall back to our lines immediately. They’ve done enough and when the time comes, we’ll need their swords.”

Ordan waved the messenger who’d ridden over with him and gave Garris’s quick reply. It wasn’t a long message, and the man was shortly spurring his horse northwest to bring back the last of Owen’s retreating men.

Garris watched him go, considering their increasingly limited options. The Icelanders would know exactly where he was retreating. That was the other problem with coming down the Waldar Plains; he had no choice but to use this corridor of land between mountains and sea, and the enemy would know it. It was the worst possible tactical position.

“What of our supplies?” he asked Odran.

“We’re having to abandon stores almost as quickly as we can bring them forward, my lord. The men are down to half-rations, and even that won’t last more than a few weeks, and it’s not like we’re going to be able to hold long enough to distribute any more we could bring up or do any proper foraging.”

“We need a defensible position where we can halt long enough to properly establish supply lines.”

“The victory in Alther Bay should help, shouldn’t it,” Odran offered. “With their sea route contested, the Icelanders’ reinforcements will start to dry up.”

“Eventually, but that does little to address our immediate problem. Their forces already in the field outnumber us significantly, unless the men we sent to Lynese suddenly appear back here in the next month, those numbers won’t change.”

“Perhaps we could…” Odran began, but Garris raised his hand, cutting him off.

“No. We’re too badly outnumbered. The Shatterstone is our only option now. I’ve been trying to put it off, since retreating there means the end of any real resistance. We’ll be trapped in those mountain keeps, surrounded and useless while Edmund feeds the kingdom whatever lies he wishes about us. It’ll be the end of any chance we had of freeing our kingdom. But so would be our defeat in the field.”

“We could turn south instead, my lord. Once we’re past the Iron Mountains, we could take the Greenway...”

“Through Lindenwood?” Garris shook his head. “The barony’s in chaos, but it’s still held by the Crown. And every other baron along down the Tradesway has declared for Edmund.”

“Only because they had no choice, but circumstances can change. Baron Halbrok, for one. I know he’d stand with us if given the opportunity.”

Roderick Halbrok was a fine soldier once, but he’s well past his fighting days now and he has his own people to protect. He was an amazing tactitian and he can read a map as well as anyone else. He won’t risk standing alone against Edmund’s forces unless he saw a reasonable chance of success. And right now, he won’t.”

“It’s still worth a try. We should send him a wyvern, my lord. If we could rally even a few of the eastern barons to our cause, we could hold both the Greenway and eastern Iron Keep. Perhaps even begin pushing back up the peninsula.”

Garris turned to the knight. “I cannot make plans based on maybes, Odran. I will not march these men into a trap on the slim hope that others might come to our aid.”

A group of children passed below them, helping an elderly woman who stumbled in the mud. Their faces were dirty and drawn with exhaustion. Garris looked to them and back to Ordan, the message clear. They had more to protect taht just their soldiers. This was what he ahd been fighting for.

“Send your wyvern,” Garris said finally. “But unless Halbrok and the others commit their forces immediately, we make for the Shatterstone. I won’t sacrifice what remains of our army on uncertain allies.”

“If we retreat to the mountains now…” Odran began.

“Then we’ll survive. At least for today. And right now, that’s all we have.”

***

***

The Greenway, Four Corners

The retreat continued, much slower than Garris would have liked. It had taken them four days to reach Four Corners, the crossroads where the Greenway stopped in Iron Keep and split off. One road, the one he’d been on for the past week, heading northwest up the peninsula through the Waldar plains, another continuing northeast to the coast, and the third heading southeast into the Shatterstar Mountains, the one he was planning on continuing down.

The retreat might have been slower than Garris had wanted, but it had sped up much faster than it had been. There were much fewer civilians trudging along with his army than there had been several days ago, left behind unable to keep up with their pace, many slowed by trying to cart their few animals or earthly possessions with them.

Garris’s decision to increase the pace of the army had been in direct contradiction to his sworn duty to the people of this land. It was one of the conundrums of leadership. He had to sacrifice some of the people he’d been sworn to protect to be able to continue to fight for the rest of them.

Which was little comfort to the families he’d left behind.

The reports he’d received from his scouts still shadowing the Icelanders, staying ahead of their main elements, were filled with horror. They were no better than the Alchmaran raiders they’d contested with for generations. Villages burned, women violated, children enslaved, men butchered like cattle. They were decimating the countryside behind them, quite literally burning it to the ground.

The majority of the people in the duchy lived on the peninsula and only a small portion had managed to flee. When this war ended, Iron Keep would have to struggle to rebuild.

If they survived it at all.

“This is a tragedy,” Garris said.

“It had to be done, my lordship. If the crown was allowed to continue as they have for the past year, the outcome would have been no different, except it would have been our own people rising up and burning the keep down, instead of invaders. And it isn’t over yet. We could still win.”

Garris grunted. He appreciated Ordan’s positive outlook, but he was a realist. He knew how many men he had available and what the crown had. He knew what his position looked like.

Unless something changed, they were going to lose this war. Of that he had no doubt.

“My lord, a rider,” Ordan said, jutting his chin down the Greenway.

Garris had sent scouts in each direction, just to ensure he received no surprises, but the ones down the Greenway had left only thirty minutes before. It was impossible that they had enough to report to be back already. The Lindenwood was down that road and the last news he had was that the barony was in complete chaos following the murder of Thurston.

“My lord, an army is approaching up the road. They march slow, but should be here in an hour at the most.”

“What?” Garris said, shocked. “How could they get on us so quickly?”

“Perhaps they sailed a second fleet that Rokeby missed,” Ordan said. “One that sailed for Daunton Isle instead of the Peninsula.”

That was a reasonable guess, but Rokeby had a lot of ships out and had been able to track all of their movements to date. Fifteen ships of soldiers was a lot to sacrifice as a diversion.

“How many? A thousand at least, although I wasn’t able to get around to see the full force and they were close enough I had to ride straight back if I was going to warn you before they were on top of us.”

“No, you made the right call,” Garris said. “Go back and keep them under watch as best you can, and update us on their progress.”

“As you command, my lord,” the man said, saluting and turning to ride back down The Greenway.

“How did they get so many men so close to us? And with the numbers they have on the peninsula, how do they have so many to sneak around us? The number of ships that would have taken would be enormous. There is no way Rokeby could have missed that large of a fleet and if they were sailing them down in batches, we would have heard word. That many Icelanders sitting in a southern harbor with nothing to do but wait can’t help but cause havoc. Word would have leaked.”

“It could have been an army from Kingsheart,” Ordan suggested.

“Why now? The last word we have from Aldric was that he was fighting halfway down the River Mark, thanks to his brother being able to focus the entire might of Kingsheart against him. It was his whole reason for paying off the Icelanders. I can’t imagine Aldric fell so soon.”

Garris cursed the slow communication between himself and Aldric. Pushed out of his home, the closest Raven had to go to keeps inside the Shatterstone or word had to come by boat up merchants bay. Either way, the travel time was, at best a month for any word to reach him of what was happening in the south. He was confined the only way Edmund would turn his forces against Garris from that direction would be if his brother fell.

Could Aldric be out of the fight?

Not that it mattered. His men were spread out. At most he could put together five or six hundred fighting men in the hour he had to prepare for the battle, more than half conscripts and all exhausted.

If there were any seasoned fighting men in the enemy ranks, Garris’s army would not survive the day. He’d been outmaneuvered, caught between hammer and anvil, and the final blow was coming. Even if he survived this battle, it would allow the Icelanders to catch up.

He wasn’t making it to the Shatterstone. That much was clear.

“Form battle lines!” he shouted. “Spears front, archers second rank. Move!”

This was the hard part. Standing, ready for battle, with no one to fight. The anticipation and dread had time to work on a person as they thought about the horror they would be facing shortly. It broke many a man and made even the strong ones less confident than they should be.

Garris liked to study the ground, work through how the enemy might come at him. How they might try to get around him. How he might counter them.

The answers that came back to him weren’t good.

Finally, the enemy crested a bend in the road, a sea of banners and spears.

“Ready!” Garris called, his men pulling shields up, preparing swords and shields.

The horns Garris would have expected, however, didn’t come. Instead, the enemy stopped, blocking the road and spreading back around the bend, out of sight. They didn’t charge or even seem to prepare for battle. They only stood there.

It was then that Garris noticed their banners. The sigils of Shalesport, Yorwick, Harlington, and, surprisingly, the tree of the Lindenwood. The last he’d heard, the majority of the men of the Lindenwood were in open rebellion against their Edmund’s handpicked lackey. The surprises didn’t stop there. A small group broke off from the line, riding forward slowly under a white flag of truce.

What kind of treachery was this?

“Stay here. Keep the line ready in case,” Garris said to Ordan before nudging his horse forward.

He recognized the men in the small party coming forward to parlay, although part of him had hoped they wouldn’t be a part of this, even if their banners were. Garris didn’t have much of an opinion of Newberry and Donnington; both had seemed capable and well-meaning enough the times he’d met them, although Newberry had the brashness and self-assuredness of youth that could be grating.

Halbrok, however, was another story. He’d been a towering warrior, almost on par with the Golden Lion himself, one of Gavric’s hand-picked lieutenants. Garris had always looked up to him, and even faced him on the tourney field once. It had been a high point of his squiring years.

To imagine that he’d ever lead an army for Edmund was like a spear to his soul. Garris wouldn’t have thought it possible.

“This is not Kingsheart,” Garris said, his eyes locked on Halbrok. “Go back to your homes and you will survive the day.”

“You have us wrong, Baron Sinclar. We are not here as invaders. We come as friends. Though I must beg your pardon for our tardiness. We had to clear the last of Edmund’s bootlickers from the Lindenwood before we could march.”

“The Lindenwood?” Garris asked, so surprised his brain had almost come to a halt itself, trying to understand what was happening.

“Thurston’s men had fought long enough, so we thought it time they get some support before we came to join you.”

“I don’t understand,” Garris said.

“We’ve come to join you,” Halbrok said. “Not just us. Darrington, Merrick, Cragshand, Penshaw, Deepford, even Dunwic are all with us. The rest are going to Aldric’s aid or preparing for defense from the crown to the west.”

“That many? But why now? You held back out of concern for your people. Why change your minds now?”

“Have you not heard?” Donnington said.

“Heard what?”

“William Whitton is back with a quarter of his army. He came to the aid of his uncle and is pushing toward Twyver even now.”

“He declared?”

“He did. The wheel has turned, Garris,” Halbrok said. “The time is now. We brought five thousand men, and more are mustering as we speak. Not as many as I’d hope, but as I said, most of our strength remains in Lynese or guarding our eastern borders. The self-proclaimed king will surely seek revenge for our defection.”

Relief washed through Garris, and the visions of Iron Keep on fire, under the boot of the Icelanders, were thankfully wiped away. If they had the full might of the armies of Lynese, which were mostly Iron Keep and River Mark men anyway, then things were definitely going to change.

“You’re more than welcome,” Garris said. “Your timing couldn’t be better. The Icelanders are less than a day behind us.”

“Are they indeed?” Halbrok’s weathered face broke into a hard smile. “Then perhaps it’s time we showed these northern barbarians that Iron Keep doesn’t stand alone.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Garris said.