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Iron Kingdom B3Ch11: Oaths and Games
🕑 Added 2025-01-16 15:00:01 +0000 UTCA short while later—barely enough time to bathe and change clothes—Matt found himself eating with Angru and some members of his court.
The room where they were feasting was dominated by a long table, one where the various nobles of the Hard Scythe Clan had gathered to meet their monarch personally. Unlike the table in Heartlight, however, the table had been built wide enough for both Matt and Angru to sit side by side, with Matt on the right and Angru on the left. Gorfeld sat on Matt’s other side, with Tanniven on the next seat down. Other, lesser nobles sat along the length of the table, up until the opposite end, where the delegation from the Coalition sat, relatively isolated from the rest.
Anrgu’s wife, the lady Unseln, was placed next to her husband, along with another Orcish lady who was staring with undisguised hatred at Matt as she sat down. Her name was Lady Rothnala, and she was apparently Grufen’s wife.
Matt winced as she delivered that news in a voice that could have been forged from heated iron. He sighed. “I apologize for keeping your husband from you, Lady Rothnala. You must know that he has provided an extremely valuable service to the Kingdom.”
Rothnala seemed entirely unmoved by the compliment. She answered in that same heated tone. “And yet, for his service, he has been stripped of his titles! You honor him with an empty house!”
He met her gaze with a steady one of his own. “Margrave Grufen is one of the three highest commanders in the Kingdom. Even now he secures our victory in the north. While that is an honor, it was one he felt was worth the cost when I offered it to him.”
Angru blinked. He turned to look at Matt incredulously. “You gave him a choice, King Matthew?”
Matt raised an eyebrow. “Of course. In fact, the Margrave had approached me about the title. I was honored to offer it to him, given his valiant efforts against the traitors. I would have been foolish to deny it to him.”
Surprise washed across the expressions of all three Orcs. Rothnala’s expression quickly became stubborn again. “Foolish man! I shall have to… inquire as to his reasonings. If you could ever find it in your heart to order him home, King Matthew.”
It was a request that Matt had every intention of granting soon. Grufen was still occupying the northern provinces, but he couldn’t just keep troops there forever. As soon as he could trust the Frost Elves to stay loyal, he would need to pull those troops south to help with the war. The question was how quickly could Winterfast be relied on to stay quiet?
Out loud, Matt simply nodded. “I hope to be able to do so soon, Lady Rothnala. In fact, it is my hope that all our wars can come to a stop for a time, so that the men and women who have been fighting for us can receive a well-deserved rest.”
Angru growled something under his breath. “Would that were true, King Matthew, but it seems to be a dangerous kind of optimism. The Alliance is nothing to take lightly, and peace… sits ill with many.”
As the Orc spoke, his eyes went to the distant envoys of the Coalition. His attention didn’t stay there, however; instead, they jerked over to some of the other Orcs dining at the table as well. Matt nodded. Clearly, Angru suspected that some of the members of his own Clan would be more than excited to begin a fight with their supposedly peaceful neighbors. At least it didn’t seem to have risen to the level of a minor insurrection, like it had with the Red Moons, however. At least, not from what Gorfeld had told him about before the dinner.
Matt washed down a chunk of meat with a quick drink and then spoke quietly. “Tell me about this dispute, Lord Angru.”
Angru nodded slowly. His eyes were still moving between the Orcs and the Coalition delegates seated at the far reaches of the table. “Three villages on their side of the border, two on ours. All hit by raids of some kind in the early morning or at night. The attackers were wearing cloaks and cloth masks on their faces. None left bodies behind, except for their victims.”
Something about the incident felt… off. “All five attacks had the same description for the attackers?”
“Close enough.” Angru grimaced. “The tactics are not unheard of in border raids. Both sides are used to disguising themselves—it helps conceal your origins to prevent direct retaliation. The attackers that hit the Elves were speaking Orcish. The ones that struck at our villages spoke Elvish.”
Matt frowned. It still felt a little too coincidental. “How many casualties?”
“Wuranis claims twenty-one dead and five wounded. Simarenal claims ten dead and thirteen wounded.” Angru paused. “We’ve lost at least thirty-four dead, and seventeen wounded.”
The depth of it made Matt suck his breath through his teeth. Clearly, if the raiding had started up again, his people were suffering the worst of it. He tried not to glare at the opposite end of the table. “Any idea why we are being hit so much worse?”
Instead of answering, the Orc looked away and muttered something else. Unseln put a hand on his wrist and answered. “Our troops have mostly been pulled back. We do not have the banners to patrol as we would need to, not if we mean to guard Harvesthold itself. The raiders must know that our people are wide open to attack.”
Anger flickered in Matt’s heart, and he allowed his fists to clench for a moment. He nodded. “How have they proposed to end it?”
It took a long moment before Angru responded. When he did, the words were a growl that seemed to reverberate in Matt’s chest. “They offered to show the evidence of the raids to us. Give us an escort to the villages, and show the things left behind in each attack, so long as we do the same.” He stabbed a piece of meat, sawing away with his knife. “From there, the delegates will determine which Houses or villages are at fault. Then, by the treaty, they can be held accountable.”
Matt felt an alarm bell go off in his head. He glanced back at the far end of the table. “And who will be coming along with us?”
Angru gestured. “Ambassador Paralus. Delegate Par’thel from Wuranis. Delegate Soreath from Simarenal. Delegate Dornal from Alterian. Delegate Monsarr from the Order of the Bear.” He paused. “My Lady Unseln wishes to come with us as well. Lady Rothnala will watch over things here while we are gone.”
It seemed like a foolish risk to bring his wife, but Matt wasn’t exactly going to cause a problem by trying to deny it. He’d be taking Gorfeld along too, and he doubted that he’d be able to convince Tanniven to stay home. “Will we be taking some of the Westguard with us?”
The Orc shook his head. “No. They’ve permitted your lifeguards to enter their territory with us, and they will have some of their own soldiers to guard them, but aside from that, we will go unescorted.”
The alarm bell was ringing that much louder in Matt’s skull. He narrowed his eyes. “They aren’t worried that the raiders are still in the area? It seems like it would be unwise to go wandering around without protection.”
“A group of raiders wouldn’t dare challenge an armed group of nobles.” Lady Rothnala waved a dismissive hand. “There shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”
Matt exchanged a look with Gorfeld. Snolt’s warning about traps and assassins only seemed to get more prescient. “I see. Well, that should be an interesting journey.”
Angru grunted in agreement and stabbed his food again like it had owed him money. Matt set to his own meal as well, but not before he glanced down the table one more time. Delegate Dornal was watching him with hooded eyes, the way the Elf might have watched a dangerous beast.
Matt gave the visiting Elf delegate a quick grin and then ate another bite of bread. The next few days were definitely going to be interesting.
“Might I have a moment of your time, King Matthew?”
The day was a bright one, for once. Overhead, the clouds had parted enough to reveal a brilliant blue sky, and the sun was already warming the air as the party rode north, towards the first of the villages that had been raided. It was a difference that had been hard not to appreciate as they had ridden north from Harvesthold, heading for the first of the raided villages.
Matt glanced at Paralus. The Wizard looked a little furtive, darting careful glances at the delegates that were riding along with them. He probably had orders to avoid cooperating too closely with Matt in front of the rest of the Coalition; after all, the help from the Circle of Echoes was still supposed to be secret.
Still, the Wizard needn’t have worried. All of the delegates had approached him at one point or another during the ride. Paralus wasn’t going to stick out, even if the lifeguards had been a bit less reluctant to let him through their protective ring around Matt and Gorfeld.
“Of course, Ambassador.” Matt inclined his head, and the lifeguards relaxed a little more. “I was happy to see you here. Hopefully, you’ll be able to restrain some of your more vengeful companions.”
Paralus winced, glancing at the Elves again. All three of them had been hostile and combative throughout the journey, though Dornal had been the most contemptuous of the batch. It didn’t make a lot of sense, since none of the villages in Alterian territory had been touched. “I apologize for their behavior. Tempers are still running hot over these incidents, and there are some who have thought the peace between our peoples was a wasted opportunity.”
Matt nodded. “I understand. I hope we’ll be able to convince them otherwise.” He blinked as a stab of pain went through his head; the headache had been getting worse today. “After all, I’m sure we all have better things to do than kill each other here.”
The Wizard nodded, a nervous jerk of the head. “Yes, of course.” He paused, as if uncertain how to continue. “How have you been feeling, King Matthew?”
He started to give a glib answer, but Matt paused as he looked at the Wizard’s expression. Paralus didn’t seem to be asking for the purpose of small talk. Did he know something? “I’ve felt better. The past few weeks have been… difficult. Bad enough to cause me quite a headache, actually.”
Paralus’ eyes grew sharper; for a moment, he reminded Matt of his older mentor, Alerios. “A headache? How severe is it?”
Matt blinked. He’d meant the comment to be dismissive, but Paralus had latched onto it quickly. Too quickly. His eyes narrowed, sending another pulse of pain through his temples. “Bad. Not exactly bleeding from the ears yet, but…”
The Wizard was nodding slowly. “When did they start? Perhaps around the time that you fought the Battle of Seven Princes?”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe. Why? Is it some kind of problem caused by my learning magic?”
“Yes. Or rather, no.” Paralus looked around and lowered his voice even further. “You’re familiar with the Oath your enemies have sworn?” When Matt nodded, he continued. “If they go against it, the Oath can cause them pain. Occasionally, great amounts of pain. It can even kill them.”
Nothing the Wizard was saying was a surprise; he’d already learned most of it before from Melren. Matt started to ask what the Oath had to do with his situation and then stopped. His eyes widened. “You’re saying their Oath is affecting me somehow?”
Paralus shook his head. “Their Oath? No. Your Oath, definitely.”
Matt stared at Paralus. “I didn’t swear an Oath.”
The Wizard winced. “I believe you did. With a different purpose, but an Oath no less binding.” He tapped his head. “You recall your coronation?”
Realization dawned. Matt remembered Alerios talking about the consequences of the ceremony, and how it might bind him. He dimly realized that he probably should have looked into that line of thought sooner. “You’re saying that is an Oath of some kind. One that is hurting me somehow.” The Wizard nodded. “Then why now? What’s changed…”
Another connection made itself clear in his mind. “The Copper Hills. The Alliance invaded the Copper Hills.”
“And stayed there.” Paralus took another careful glance around. “They didn’t just attack it, like the Noble Races did with the High Peaks, and they weren’t rebels like the Frost Elves or Teblas. An actual invader has claimed territory that you swore to protect and defend… and you made an Oath to stop them.”
The steadily increasing pain in his head suddenly made a dreadful kind of sense to him. Matt blinked as another stab of it went through him. What was the Alliance doing to the Leaffall Orcs? “But I’ve been fighting the Alliance. Shouldn’t that have counted to—”
An extra strong pulse of pain cut his question short. He gritted his teeth for a moment. “So I have to get them out of the Copper Hills, or this kills me?”
“It’s possible.” Paralus licked his lips. “It has been too long since another monarch has made the kind of pact that you formed. I do know that it is a threat to you. You cannot afford to ignore it forever.”
It made a terrible, punishing amount of sense. He winced and shifted in his saddle, remembering how foolish he had thought the Alliance were to bind themselves. Did he really need more distractions to worry about? “What should I do?”
Paralus didn’t answer for a moment. “For now, continue as you have been. Defend your Kingdom, push back the Alliance, and fulfill your Oath. Free the Copper Hills as soon as you can, and guard your borders well. Then you just need to act for the good of the Kingdom.”
Matt snorted. “Is that all?” He shook his head. “At least it’s all connected to what I need to do already.”
“Is it, my liege?” Gorfeld’s quiet question made Matt blink and Paralus nearly jump out of his saddle in surprise. The steward had clearly been listening to the conversation, and he didn’t seem at all ashamed of his eavesdropping. “This may limit our options heavily in the future. You really should have listened to me about the coronation.”
He rolled his eyes and grinned. “Oh, come on, Gorfeld. You got a monarch that literally has to act for the good of the Kingdom, and one with real magical power to boot. What else can you complain about?”
Gorfeld fixed him with a stare. “My liege, do you believe that a King or Queen is good for the Kingdom?”
Matt frowned. “Well, for now, maybe, but in the future, I think that…” His eyes widened as another idea occurred to him. “Oh.”
“You’ve avoided naming an Heir for weeks now. Like the very idea caused you pain.” Gorfeld’s stare could have melted through a wall now. “Do it. Name me your Heir. There doesn’t need to be a ceremony; the Divine Right will recognize it.”
Still reluctant, Matt opened his mouth to speak—and nearly fell from Nelson’s saddle as the world went white around him. Only a desperate grab for the saddle horn kept him from toppling over. It was a long moment before the literally blinding pain drained away from him and his sight returned. His hearing returned just as slowly; it took him a long moment to recognize that someone—Balred?—was holding onto his arm to keep him upright.
Blood dripped on Nelson’s back, leaking from his nose. Matt scrubbed at it with one hand. “Shit.”
“Indeed.” Gorfeld produced a handkerchief from somewhere and passed it to him. Matt used it to stem the blood for a moment, his head still pounding. “You aren’t just being kept from doing something against the Kingdom. You can’t even do something you believe would be bad for the Kingdom, even if others would disagree. I wonder if it would even allow you to resign, after all.” A mixture of fear, respect, and frustration filled the Imp’s expression. “For better or worse, you may be our last King, sire. Unless you get yourself killed.”
Matt shook his head. He gave Balred a nod that seemed to convince the Orc to pull back; he couldn’t miss the look of concern in the lifeguard’s eyes. Then he spat into the dirt, a bright red chunk of spittle and blood. “That was always going to be the case, Gorfeld. One way or the other.”
Riding beside him, Paralus suddenly went very, very still. He stared at Matt as if he’d just been slapped. Matt gave him a quick grin. “Sorry to shock you, Ambassador Paralus. Thank you for your warning. Tell your ruler that you have done your best.”
Still staring at him, apparently numb with shock, Paralus nodded and turned his greatelk aside. The lifeguards allowed him to pass, and Matt looked back at Gorfeld. “Can we trust him still?”
Gorfeld turned his gaze to the Wizard. “I believe so. He has always been sincere, and he’s seen the changes you’ve made in Redspire. Your ideas are shocking—how could they not be?—but he will see no reason to betray you. Especially not now.”
“Good.” Matt spat again. The spittle was less blood-flecked this time. One more problem for the pile, but at least he knew it wasn’t the magic itself that was poisoning him. Small benefits, but ones that would matter a lot if he was going to keep his own magically enforced words from killing him.
They reached the first of the Hard Scythe villages that afternoon. It was a small place called Crodder’s Field, home to barely more than two hundred people—less, now that the raiders had come and gone. Several of the farms clustered around the crossroads had been set on fire, and there were fresh graves on the hill just outside the town.
It took a very short time to collect the evidence that the villagers had uncovered about the attack. Once it had been gathered, it painted a fairly damning picture of what had happened. The villagers showed the tracks where several dozen boots had tracked through the rain-softened soil. Arrows of distinctly Elven make and style had been recovered, along with scraps of fabric in Wuranis colors, arranged in the fashion of House Duranine. These, together with the accusing stares the villagers sent in the Elves’ direction, seemed to lead to a single conclusion.
Matt was still looking over the evidence as the delegate from Wuranis began protesting the accusations of his companions. The Knight seemed to be unconvinced, though Paralus and the delegate from Simarenal were listening more attentively. Delegate Dornal was standing apart, in some kind of staring match with Angru.
Gorfeld crouched down next to Matt, his voice quiet. “The Wuranis delegate seems to think the evidence was planted. He claims House Duranine is one of the foremost advocates of peace with the Kingdom, and that raiding the village would be unlike them.”
“He may not be wrong.” Matt reached out and poked one of the arrows. There was blood on the tip. “This attack seems far too straightforward. The raiders didn’t steal anything, did they?”
His steward paused. He glanced around and shook his head. “No, sire. As far as we know, they just struck and retreated.”
Matt stood up and looked at Angru. “Lord Angru, has this village ever participated in a raid before? Were any bandits stationed here in the past?”
The head of the Hard Scythes stopped glaring at Dornal long enough to study Matt a moment. “No, King Matthew. They’d never participated in such things.”
Another thought occurred to him. “Where is the noble in charge of this place? Were they here when the attack happened?”
Angru tilted his head to one side. “This village is made up of freeholders, sire. Their former liege freed them weeks ago, before moving to Redspire.”
Matt couldn’t help himself this time. He glanced in Dornal’s direction and caught the Elf staring at the village. The sheer contempt in the man’s face irked him to no end. He straightened up and looked back down at the tracks and the arrows.
Gorfeld was staring down at them as well. “Sire, what do you see?”
“They cared a lot about hiding their faces and taking the village by surprise, but they made no attempt to hide their tracks or gather up their weapons. Some of them even left behind pieces of cloth.” Matt shook his head. “They aren’t trying to satisfy a grudge, and they didn’t take anyone captive or carry off any supplies. What kind of bandit just attacks a village for the fun of it?”
His steward shrugged. “Some people just enjoy making others suffer, sire.”
Matt gave his steward a level look. “Individuals often do, but this is a group. Even if the leader was some kind of sadist, he’d still need to persuade the rest of them to help. No, something else is going on here. Keep your eyes open.”
Gorfeld nodded, and Matt left the evidence behind as he walked back to Nelson. They still had another village to visit that day, after all.
The story was much the same in the second village, except for the fact that the attackers had been flaunting Simarenal colors. Again, the delegate from that Elven nation was protesting the evidence, once again saying they belonged to a peaceful House that had no motivation to participate in such a deed. Again, the Knight and the Orcs seemed skeptical. Paralus looked worried, while Gorfeld and Tanniven remained neutral. Dornal simply shook his head in obvious disdain for the complaints and sniffed when his companion turned to him for support.
That night, the party camped a couple of hours’ ride away from the Orcish village, having left it behind in order to start the next day closer to the border. The first of the Elven villages was located across that border, in Simarenal’s lands. Matt already didn’t look forward to seeing what was waiting for them there.
At the same time, he didn’t let himself dwell on the future too heavily. He focused on his studies, reciting the mantras with a bit more assurance now. The foundation for Spring was advancing far more quickly than Air had, and he made an encouraging amount of progress before he went to sleep that night. He tried to console himself with the possibility that even if he was right about the planted evidence, at least he would be closer to having another tool to respond with when the time came.
Matt stared down at the pile of Orcish arrows and cloth. He looked from it to the bootprints, clear in the mud. There was a swatch of cloth that the raiders had left behind, in the grey-and-white of Hard Scythe heraldry. Once again, nobody had been captured, no belongings taken. Buildings had burned and people had died, but to no clear purpose.
Angru was shaking his head over the pile, his expression clouded with anger and confusion. “This makes no sense. I ordered all raids to stop. Why would my own House disobey me?”
“Perhaps you don’t have nearly the level of control over your minions as you should, Orc!” The Simarenal delegate snarled at Angru in anger.
Before Matt could open his mouth, Tanniven spoke up. “It seems like neither of you do. Or was it not you that was protesting your innocence yesterday?”
The other Elf’s mouth snapped shut, and he looked abashed. Dornal directed an imperious stare in Tanniven’s direction. “We owe you no explanations, betrayer of your own kind. If you had any real sense, you’d abandon these treacherous Orcs and rejoin your own people to work for the good of all.”
Tanniven arched an eyebrow. “So you’d have me set aside my own freedom so I can work as an obedient little serf, Lord Dornal? Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
Dornal’s jaw twitched. “There is no shame in knowing your place, cur.”
“Let me know when you find yours, then.”
Matt grabbed hold of the Voice’s arm and dragged him away, even as Dornal stepped forward, his expression twisted in fury. He glared at the Elf once they were out of earshot, trying to keep his voice low. “Are you trying to start an incident here? We are already on the brink of losing the treaty.”
Tanniven glanced at him in surprise. “I thought it wasn’t legal to impede a Voice, sire.”
“In the Kingdom, sure. We are outside the Kingdom at the moment. Don’t make me kill you and bring back the body to prove a point.” Matt held Tanniven’s eye until the Elf paled and looked away. “Now, can you explain what has you so worked up? It’s not like you have any fondness for the Hard Scythes.”
For a few moments, Tanniven simply looked away with an inscrutable expression on his face. Then he looked back at Matt with frustration plain in his eyes. “It’s a setup, sire. I can see it, you can see it—and they killed a bunch of freeholders and serfs just to make it look real.”
Matt nodded slowly. “Tell me what you see.”
Tanniven nodded. He gestured to the pile of arrows. “Hard Scythe troops aren’t big on arrows, sire. The War Reapers use polearms, and the Westguard is more attached to swords, shields, and javelins. They do use arrows to hunt, but they wouldn’t have carried anything like that on a raid. These are arrows that were made up to look like Hard Scythe hunting broadheads, but only if you don’t look too closely.”
The Elf shrugged off Matt’s grip and pointed to where the boots of the raiders had trampled the nearby grass. “No self-respecting bandit would have come through that terrain either. Better to have circled around the left, there, where the trees would have let them get closer to town. The ground is rockier there too.”
Gorfeld smiled, still hovering at Matt’s shoulder. “You speak from experience, Voice.”
“A sad fact of fighting in the Sortenmoors the past few months, steward.” Tanniven turned back to Matt. “The only reason to attack through this place is because the soil would hold a track. Also, do they really expect us to believe that someone would just drop a piece of cloth with identifying colors at each raid? It’s ridiculous.”
Matt grimaced. “So you think the same group is behind it.”
Tanniven nodded. “Yes, sire, I do. It’s probably a mix of Elves and Orcs—that would make at least some of the eyewitnesses more sensible—but they aren’t from the Hard Scythes. I don’t think they’re from the Wuranis or the Simarenal, either.”
It was hard not to glare back at Dornal. “You suspect Alterian?”
The question seemed to catch Tanniven off guard, but the Elf nodded. “Yeah. My mom used to tell me stories about a mercenary group that worked on the border of the Alterian Princedom and the Sutmar Plateau. They were a bunch of Alterian ex-soldiers and Sootwash Orcs that hired themselves out for odd jobs. Mostly just attacks on other warbands, skirmishes on larger campaigns…”
“And assassinations.” Gorfeld shook his head. “Sire, if they are really here, we need to leave.”
Matt shook his head. “Leaving now would give the game away. We need to have proof of what is going on, or else the Alterians are going to try to use this to start a war. Besides, they can’t…”
He trailed off as he realized something. “Well, shit. That was a big loophole.”
Gorfeld stared at him in surprise. “What, sire?”
It was getting even harder not to glare at Dornal. “The treaty says that we aren’t allowed to send assassins after people in their home territory, but it doesn’t say anything about when a visitor is in someone else’s territory.”
The Imp started cursing under his breath, and Tanniven went a little pale. They weren’t exactly deep into Elven territory, but they definitely weren’t back at home. After a few choice words, Gorfeld sighed. “Do we run now, sire?”
“No.” Matt shook his head. “I don’t think they would want to make a move yet. Not when it would risk some of their own people. Besides, I’d imagine that they are already following us. If we run, they’ll just chase us down.”
Tanniven nodded. “That makes sense. So what do we do?”
Matt looked around until he found Gwelfed. He motioned for her to join them. “Well, in a situation like this, you’re either the hunted or the hunter.” As the Goblin walked over, he gave the others a broad smile. “Guess which one we’re going to be?”
