In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 29

Cestralion, Aurorin Province, Lynese

William stood on the balcony of the Viceroy’s keep, looking out over the city of Cestralion. Although snow hadn’t started to fall yet, there was a notable chill in the air, helpfully marking the first day of winter. In spite of that, the city bustled with activity, people going about their daily lives despite the occupation by Sidorian forces.

That part, at least, had gone well. William’s biggest concern over the negotiated surrender was that the people would still have defiance left in them to push back against their occupiers. Amazingly, they’d adjusted relatively well. There had been a few contentious spots, and he’d maintained pretty rigorous patrols, but he’d also made sure all of his officers knew to come down hard on anyone who abused or took advantage of the locals, which would be the surest way to turn this into a problem.

Cestralion would be their home for the foreseeable future, and the last thing they needed was civil unrest all winter. 

“My Prince, if we could continue,” Pembroke called from inside.

William gave one last look at the city, his biggest achievement to date, a real, tangible trophy, before going back inside, where Pembroke was still seated at the long table the Viceroy used for entertaining.

“As I was saying, with Winter here and the first snows most likely to start within the next few weeks, I recommend we hold our position here. We’ve managed to secure enough of the harvest and ransom payments from the Lynese that our supply situation is good, we have strong fortifications to operate from, and complete control of the entire Rendallia province. If we handle things correctly, we will have enough resources to last through the winter and cover at least half of next year’s campaign, solving most of our problems from this campaign season. I am concerned that, if we continue to operate aggressively, we will burn through our resources now, leaving us unable to hold onto any new gains we do make and giving the Lynesians an advantage when they do bring their forces from the coast back once winter ends.”

“We’ll stop soon,” William said. “I’m concerned we aren’t as secure as we’d like to think we are.”

“How so?”

“Our supply lines are still too long. I know we’re mostly relying on captured supplies at this point, but Aldric is trying to get that fixed, and I have hope that he will by the spring when it’s time to begin the campaign again. When he does, I want us to be prepared for it, and the smaller ports we’ve captured, like Port Belmar, are just too small to do the job.”

“True, but we can work on expanding their capacity over the winter. It’s not ideal, but it’s manageable.”

“I’m not so certain we can get the capacity to where it needs to be, and that is only one concern,” William said, shaking his head. “We are still open to attack by river from the north and south, which will make us weak during next year’s campaigning season.”

“While it could be better, I would argue our stance right now is still fairly good. We have patrols along the Dead Man’s Hills and they already saw how easily we defeated the last group that tried to attack through there, and the Lysmir Woods are well within reach of here. Between Cestralion and Rendallia City, we have both ends of the province, giving us a strong position for defense.”

“It could be better and the Lynesians will not sit still come the spring. I want to get us prepared for that, but controlling at least from here north through Lake Lysmir to the sea. Which is why I want to Barentez, the port at the mouth of the Lysmir River. It would give us control of most of the northern coast, with the exception of Uvengati Bay.”

“Crossing the river there would be no easy task,” Pembroke said, pointing to the map spread on the table in front of them and tracing a line from Cestralion to Barentez. “The Lynesians could easily contest our landing on the other side. We would need to cross south of Lysmir Lake and march north, exposed to attack the entire way. They have an army in Talabot to the west that could march in time to either intercept us or break any siege we set up of the city. They’ve been limited by our partial control of the river so far, but if we attack Barentez, we will be the ones in the weaker position on the wrong side.”

“That is all true. There are, however, considerations in favor of this,” William pointed out. “Barentez itself is lightly defended at the moment, having sent most of its garrison to bolster the forces in the Lysmir Woods in anticipation of our advance. Men who we either just ransomed or are sitting in our prison camps. With everything that’s going on in the southeast, I don’t think they will reinforce until spring. From the reports I’ve seen, other than keeping a garrison on hand and the walls lightly manned, they aren’t doing much, and no one from Talabot has shifted to Barentez in preparation. I don’t think they expect us to do anything before spring either.”

“But you want to do something? How do you plan on taking the city without losing a large number of our men? Men that, I should remind you, will probably not be replaced from home anytime soon.”

“I’m not planning a big risk. In fact, I have a plan that might work. It’s risky, but if we pull it off, we could take Barentez with a relatively small force and secure the city before Talabot even realizes what’s happening.”

“Really?” Pembroke said, leaning forward. “Tell me more?”

***

Starhaven, Sidor

Edmund stood next to the king on the balcony of his personal study, watching the crowds down below. Hundreds of people, maybe thousands, swarmed the gates, pushing them with enough force to cause the thick metal to shake and bend. Edmund couldn’t see the faces of the few guards still in the closed courtyard below, but he could imagine the fear they felt.

Even looking down on them from above, everything about the guards looked anxious, worried. And they were right to be. Before he got the remaining guard in the city pulled back to the palace, several had been literally ripped apart by the angry mobs as the peasant tier rose up in a giant, violent mob, storming the merchant tier and the docks, taking anything that wasn’t nailed down.

Those merchants and nobles smart enough and with a few guards had managed to seal themselves up in their homes, like small islands in a violent sea. The rest had become chum for the starving masses.

It had been fifteen days since the last shipment of food to the city, after another three weeks of reduced shipments as ports fell, which had left the city in incredibly short supply when the food stopped coming at all. By day three, people were hungry and angry, with fights and violent conflicts over stolen food on the rise. By day five, most of the smartest had taken the last ships out, choosing to take their chances captured by the rebels surrounding Starhaven Bay or hoping to swim across it into the wilderness, running for their lives.

The riot itself started on day ten, when a group of protesters ran into some of the last guards trying to hold the market square. Things had gotten out of hand and a few peasants were killed, sending the rest of the city into a bloodthirsty rage. Half the guards in the market quarter had died, swarmed by men and women ready to lash out at anything they could over their current state. For the last five days, they had been trapped in the palace, eating through the stores in the sub-basements, waiting to see which would go first, their food or the gates to the palace.

It was only a matter of time.

“It’s time to negotiate with the rebels,” Edmund said, turning to Serwyn, who was busy glaring at the crowds, silently trying to will them all to drop dead.

“Absolutely not!” Serwyn slammed his fist on the balcony railing, his face twisted in rage. “I want the guard sent out to slaughter every last person daring to attack the palace.”

“You know that’s not possible. We barely have enough guard left to hold the palace from being overrun.”

Serwyn whirled on him, red in the face and nostrils flaring. “Then bring back the army that Aldric put together and marched to Shadowhold. He has thirty thousand men. They could easily crush the rebels holding the port and end this damnable revolt.”

“It isn’t possible either, Serwyn. The Maw has already opened and the assault on our southern shores started again. If we were to pull the army there back, the creatures will ravage the south, maybe even through River Mark and into Kingshold itself. We would lose a full duchy for a generation, and maybe half the kingdom, which would end the us. Even if they didn’t, to give away Shadowhold would make the rebellion exponentially worse. Right now, the rebels are just peasants, but once we allow the Chaosborn to ravage the country, the rest of the people, including knights and barons, will rise up. The result would be the same if we just waited to starve here.”

This is unacceptable! I am the king, and they dare defy me? I’ll have their heads on spikes!

Serwyn was working himself into a fit of rage that threatened to overwhelm even what little reason he had. Edmund needed him to get it together, or they were doomed. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Edmund spun him around and held him tight, meeting his furious eyes with anger of his own. It was a gamble, but only a minor one. Most of the guards who’d made it back to the palace were more loyal to Edmund than they were to the king, who had terrorized them since he was little. It was still a risk, but Edmund needed the boy to snap out of it.

“Serwyn,” he said, shaking the boy hard. “Get a grip. You need to listen to reason, and you need to do it now, or we’re all dead. You are the king, and it’s time to act like it. I know how infuriating this is, but being a ruler means making difficult decisions, even if it means accepting a temporary setback.”

Serwyn tried to jerk away, but Edmund held him in place. “I will not bow to the demands of rebels and traitors!”

“Do you want to die? Do you want these people, this mob, to rip the gates down and tear you limb from limb? I love you, boy, but you need to get it together right now, before it’s too late. Are you ready to give up your crown to these people?”

Edmund wasn’t sure which part of that got through to him, but Serwyn stopped fighting, almost sagging as he weakly said, “No. I want to be king.”

“Good. That’s good. Now it’s time to understand that a wise king does what needs to be done for the greater good of the kingdom. Sometimes, you must take a step back before you can move forward. I know you are a wise king, Serwyn. You have the potential to be one of the greatest rulers Sidor has ever known, but only if you learn to make the hard choices.”

“What would you have me do, uncle?” a defeated Serwyn said.

“Negotiate. Even the rebels have yet to call for your head or crown, so there is room to make this work. We will have to repeal the Edicts of Travel. It will strengthen the barons, who will see this as a victory, but we have no other choice. There are other ways to deal with the barons and the peasants who defied us, but we must do so from a position of strength. Offer to put things back to how they were.”

“They’ll see that as a victory. It will open the door to more demands. To thinking they can stand up to us every time this goes wrong.”

“Some will, it’s true. Others will just be happy it’s over and want to go back to their lives. It will buy us time. Time to bring the armies back from Lynese, fortify our position, and deal with the traitors then. It’s our only real option. We have only three paths before us: Negotiate, giving the rebels the minimum of what they want, recall the army in Shadowhold and allow the kingdom to fall to the Chaosborn, or do nothing and die from starvation or the mob. The choice is yours, Serwyn. I know you’ll choose wisely.”

Serwyn pulled out of Edmund’s grip and turned, leaning against the railing, watching the crowds screaming and pushing the fences below.

“Fine,” he said in almost a whisper. “We’ll negotiate.”

“A wise choice, your majesty. Unpleasant, but wise.”

“Send word to whoever is leading the rebels holding the ports. Express our willingness to negotiate if they resume food shipments and assist in quelling unrest in the city. We will guarantee safe passage.”

“I’ll see to it, your Majesty,” Edmund said, bowing and backing away.

He left quickly to carry out the orders, before the boy could work himself up and change his mind. There were going to be far-reaching repercussions to this. The only question was if they could end up on the right side of them.

***

Port of Barentez, Desmonte Province, Lynese

Juelle Villant, standing in the center of the docks he had called home for twenty years, watched his domain proudly. It was very slow, with only two ships in harbor at the moment, but that was to be expected. A life on the wharfs meant he didn’t need the puff of misty breath that came out each time he breathed to tell him what season it was.

Even for winter though, it was slow. Aside from the small amount of traffic from the south, most years they would have ships that would brave skimming the coast from Rendallia City or one of the ports on Uvegati Bay, braving the horrors of the maw to try and eke out a little more profit. Not that it was so dangerous. The Merchants Sea got much less of the creatures than the Sea of Kings or the straights between Sidor and Lynese. Still enough to make sailing the sea itself unwise, but they usually only lost a handful of the ships that tried to hug the coast.

That was before they lost Rendalia and Sidorian ships began to sit near the mouth of the Lysmir River, all but drying up their traffic just as winter set in. He would be glad to have this war done with so his docks could get back to work.

Still, it afforded him something he hadn’t taken in almost five years. A vacation.

“Looks like we’ll have a long winter ahead of us, Marien,” Juelle said, glancing at his assistant. “With the port all but shut down, I’m thinking of heading to Talabot for a while, get some time away from watching this sad excuse for a wharf.”

Marien Delar, a wiry young man with a shock of red hair, shrugged.

“Might not be a bad idea, sir. Even the north-bound traffic is all but done, what with the Sidorians in Cestralion. We only had two ships make it through yesterday,” Delar said, pointing at the two Lynesian-flagged ships currently sitting in harbor. “I suppose I can handle things here while you’re gone. Not much for a dockmaster to do when the ships are few and far between.”

“Oh, so you think you can manage without me? Are those four ships that just came out of Lake Lysmir going to unload themselves?” Juelle asked, holding back a smile and trying for a peeved look instead.

Marien saw through him. The boy had worked for him for ten years, making his way up through the ranks, and knew his boss’s teasing well.

“I didn’t mean it like that, sir,” the assistant said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Juelle clapped the younger man on the shoulder, chuckling. “Relax, lad. I know what you meant. And I appreciate you holding down the fort in my absence.”

“Of course, sir. You can count on me.”

“I know I can,” Juelle said, his tone turning serious. “These are troubled times, Marien. War, winter, and who knows what else lurking on the horizon. We’ve got to stick together, watch out for each other. Let’s get those ships docked and unloaded. The sooner we’re done, the sooner I can be on my way.”

“Right away, sir,” Marien said, hurrying off to rally the dockworkers and get them to where the four ships were pulling into port.

He was a good lad, Juelle thought, watching him work. And he’d make a fine dockmaster one day, once the powers that be decided to let him retire for good.

The four ships were the classic river transports. Sitting much higher in the water with a much smaller sail plain, they would swamp easily if ever allowed out on the seas, but did a good job making it up and down the river that started at this end, went through Dawnstar Lake, and all the way out the southern end of the continent at Gray Harbor.

He was just starting to join Marien and the others, to look over the boys’ shoulders and make sure they had no problems, when a shout pulled him up short. It took a moment for his brain to recognize what was happening. The sailors who’d been manning the ship had disappeared and suddenly, without warning, a swarm of Sidorians came spilling over the side of the ships, tearing their way through everything in their path.

With horror, he watched young Marien get cut down, a sword slashing through him, sending the red-haired boy tumbling over the side of the dock. On and on the Sidorians poured, a seemingly endless supply of them. The few guards on the docks, there mostly to deal with the occasional brawl and scuffle between rowdy dockhands, fell quickly, most not even putting up a fight.

“Run,” he yelled to the men still far enough back. “Into the city. Run!”

He didn’t wait to see if they had. The Sidorians were charging forward and would be on him in moments. Villant was unarmed and wouldn’t have survived even if he was. He was no warrior, and he knew it. He turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, pushing past the mostly quiet city, still waking up and starting the day.

Behind him, he could hear screams and shouts as people who didn’t realize what was happening were set on by the Sidorian monsters. Villant couldn’t spend a moment looking back for them. The best he could do was shout to run as he passed, but most were so surprised they stood there in horror trying to realize what was happening until the moment they were struck down.

“Not all ignored him. Rounding a corner, he nearly collided with a woman carrying a basket of bread. She yelped in surprise, the loaves tumbling to the ground.

“Run,” Villant gasped, not stopping to help her. “The Sidorians are coming.”

The woman’s eyes widened in terror, and she abandoned her fallen goods, fleeing in the opposite direction.

Villant continued his desperate sprint, weaving through the narrow streets. He could see Sir Santil’s keep ahead, towering above the nearby houses. He and his knights were given sovereignty over the city in exchange for their protection, and Villant needed that now, more than ever. Other than the men on the city walls and the handful of city guards, they were the only people in Barentez capable of dealing with the horde swarming their city.

The shouts and screams were starting to pick up as more and more people encountered the enemy. Enough that it must have been audible even in the keep, as the gates to the compound surrounding the building swung open just as Villant arrived, and Sir Esmond Santil and a handful of his retainers stepped out.

“My lord,” Villant cried, stumbling to a halt before the knight. “We’re under attack. The Sidorians, they’ve breached the city.”

“What?” The shocked knight asked. “How did they get past the wall? Why was an alarm not sounded?”

“They came on ships, disguised as merchants. They slaughtered the dockworkers and guards before anyone realized what was happening.”

The knight cursed under his breath. “How many?”

Before Villant could answer, screams and the thundering of dozens of boots on stone came from behind him. Spinning around, Villant saw the Sidorians who had been on his heels flooding the open plaza in front of the keep gates, a sea of steel and grim faces charging at them.

Grabbing him, Sir Santil pushed Villant hard behind him, sending the dockmaster crashing into the stone wall surrounding the keep as he pulled his sword.

The Sidorians overwhelmed the knights’ retainers, outnumbering them three to one. Sir Santil showed how he achieved such a high position, fighting valiantly, cutting down two of the Sidorians with fluid strikes.

Villant slid to the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs, terrified. The Sidorians were everywhere, cutting down anyone that ran in range of their blades. Villant felt completely paralyzed.

In the middle of the Sidorians was a young man with short brown hair, no more than sixteen or seventeen, and fancy armor shouting orders to men here and there. Even Villant could see the boy was some kind of lordling in charge of this attack, and Sir Santil wasted no time, ignoring the other Sidorians and charging right for him.

The young man brought up his sword, deflecting Santil’s attack, parrying it and counterattacking so fast that Villant was surprised the knight could stop the blow. Both were incredibly fast, and Villant was having trouble following the movement of their blades as metal met metal again and again. For a moment, it seemed like they might be at a stalemate, and then Santil took a high swing that would have taken off the young man’s head, had he not ducked under it. In a lightning-fast counter, the young man’s sword came up, inside Santil’s guard, his blade finding a gap between helm and breastplate.

Sir Santil stiffened, his eyes going wide as the young man’s sword punched through his throat. He staggered back, blood fountaining from the wound, and collapsed to the ground.

The young man didn’t pause, already moving to engage the next foe. His men swarmed over the remaining retainers like ants over a carcass, until all of the armed men around the keep were dead. A few Sidorians lay with them, but not nearly enough as the enemy continued to flow past the keep and further into the city.

In the middle of the chaos, only a few feet from where Villant sat on the ground, stood the brown-haired noble, his sword and armor streaked with blood.

A group of older men came running up to him. They spoke in Sidorian, a language Villant understood well enough from his years dealing with merchants, many of whom had been Sidorian before the war.

“My prince, we’ve secured the docks and the southern half of the city.”

“Excellent,” the young lordling said, before turning to the larger of the men. “Sir Drummond, move your knights forward quickly. Get to the walls while the enemy is still surprised. It’s imperative that you take the guard houses and barracks before they can rally. Don’t slow for anything, including taking prisoners. Do what you have to.”

“Understood, my prince,” the large man said, sprinting off without another word, waving a large group of men to follow him west, toward the city walls.

The boy didn’t stop. As soon as the large man left, he turned to one of the other men with him and said, “Commander Baldwin, check the keep. Make sure there are no more soldiers hiding within.”

Orders given, the boy paused, looking over the courtyard, scattered with bodies. For a moment, his eyes met Villant’s, and the dockmaster’s body froze up, fearful of what might happen. He was the only uninjured Lynesian in the square, and feared what might become of him. 

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come. The young man looked away, seemingly dismissing Villant as unimportant.

Instead, he said to the other men standing with him, “Come with me.”

Without another word, the boy turned and ran deeper into the city, his chosen men following close behind. Villant remained where he was, listening to the fading shouts and screams as the Sidorians tore through his city, hearing the moans and cries of the injured and dying around him. His legs refused to obey him, to take him away from here.

He could only listen as his city fell.