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Iron Kingdom B3Ch10: Harvesthold
🕑 Added 2025-01-09 15:00:04 +0000 UTC“You’re sure you don’t want me to come, sire?”
Melren seemed genuinely worried, but Matt waved him back. “You’re in the middle of something important, Melren. I’m not going to pull you away from it now.”
The advisor looked a little wretched as he nodded, but it was the truth. Matt had already written down all the mantras that Melren had available, and if he advanced to the next stage of his second Source, he’d just have to make do by himself. Besides, hopefully, the dispute wouldn’t take too much time.
Matt turned to Captain Creps, who was waiting next to the other Imp. “Captain, I’m leaving you in command. I want you to exercise caution. Don’t let the Alliance lure you onto their side of the river, and if they come at you with overwhelming numbers, don’t sacrifice your whole force for no reason.”
Creps nodded. He seemed far less eager to be on the front lines, compared to his attitude back in Redspire. “Do you think they are coming soon, sire?”
“Not in numbers that should worry you.” Matt shook his head and looked out the window that showed the bridges over the river. “We haven’t seen any sign of their forces yet, and if they come in large numbers, they should move slowly. You should have plenty of warning when they do arrive, but all the same…”
The Imp nodded. “Yes, sire. I’ll keep watch here. You can depend on me.” Then he hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t need more of an escort? We can always send a banner or two.”
Matt shook his head. “You need those troops too much, Captain. I won’t weaken your position, not when the moors are nearly stable.” Then he paused. “Though I think I’ll ride along with the Royal First when they head out tomorrow morning to hunt those last few bandits. That should at least give me some safety until I leave the moors at least.”
A flicker of relief went through both Imps’ faces. Creps continued in a low voice. “How long will you be gone? When should we look for you?”
It was an easy question, but Matt didn’t have an easy answer. “I’m not sure. Hopefully, I can return within a week or two. I’ll send word if things change.” He shook hands with both men, trying not to show any of the irritation and nervousness in his face. The fact that a diplomatic incident had pulled him away from the front lines now, of all times, was agonizing. Still, there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
He turned to the last of the three people who had joined the meeting. Voice Tanniven was smiling at him, which wasn’t the best sign. “Sire. I happened to hear that you are heading north to the Broken Hills. Is that correct?”
Matt nodded. The news had probably flowed through Bridgeton at a breakneck pace; after all, it wasn’t like a king could sneak out of a town this small without it getting out. He’d needed to ask the lifeguards to get ready to leave; fortunately, the healers had done good work, so most of them were able to ride with him. There were still three who would need to stay behind, but he’d already reassured them they could rejoin him when they were once again in good health. All twenty-one of the rest were coming, though some were unsuccessfully hiding some minor injuries.
It was hard to figure out how he’d won such loyalty from men and women who had paid so much to keep him alive, but Matt just felt grateful he wasn’t riding to Harvesthold alone.
He brought himself back to the current moment. “Yes, Voice Tanniven. There’s an unfortunate problem we need to take care of.”
“How fortunate for me, at least.” Tanniven’s smile grew. “I would like to revisit my home, and I’d appreciate the chance to travel with you.”
Matt blinked. He tilted his head to one side. “Don’t the members of the militia need you here to supervise them?”
Tanniven shook his head. “No. I trust that Captain Creps is more than able to train and command them.” The Imp captain snorted and gave the Voice a severe look, but Tanniven ignored it. “And I believe you did mention that I had other responsibilities to take care of, aside from commanding troops. Now would be a good time to get started on them, with the Sortenmoors in relatively good hands.”
There was something incredibly untrustworthy about that smile. “Didn’t you say that your former lord had threatened you with death if you returned to the Broken Hills?”
The Elf’s smile widened to something almost ghoulish. “Why yes, sire. He did happen to say that. Of course, that was before I was elected a Voice. I’m sure he wouldn’t threaten me now.”
Matt gave him an exasperated glare, but the Elf seemed immune to it. Then he sighed. “All right. You can travel with us, but we don’t have time to waste. If you decide to visit some old haunts, you’ll be going alone.”
Tanniven bowed low. “Of course. Thank you, my liege.” When he straightened, his smile was somewhat smaller, but no less filled with glee. “It will be a pleasure to ride with you.”
It was an effort to not roll his eyes. “I’m sure.” Matt gave the others a quick nod, and then he headed for the stables. He wanted to make sure that Nelson was ready for the journey, and he couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. The entire journey was going to be enough of a disruption already.
The journey north started nearly at first light. Grey and white clouds were still overhead, the wind-torn remnants of a brief rainstorm that had swept through the previous night. Luckily, it hadn’t lasted long; the roads were damp, but not the entirely mud-sodden mess that Matt had feared.
Of course, the addition of nearly a hundred Wargs, plus the mounts of his own escort, didn’t help the quality of the dirt track, and Matt once again tried to make a mental reminder that on top of everything else, the roads of his Kingdom needed some attention. They weren’t Romans, but they had to be able to do better than hard-packed dirt for a paving technique. Every time Nelson shook his antlers at another flying clod of mud, or slipped painfully on a slick spot, Matt had to grit his teeth and tell himself that he was doing the best he could with the time and resources he had at hand.
Captain Snolt seemed to be in fine humor, at least. The Goblin had been itching to head out against another of the few remaining bandit outposts; he hadn’t even been willing to wait for the supposed reinforcements that were en route to Bridgeton. It was a consistent amount of bloodthirstiness that was both endearing and frustrating. There was a reason that Matt hadn’t left the man in charge of the forces at Bridgeton, after all. He’d needed someone he could depend on to avoid being baited out of the fortifications by the prospect of a nice fight.
The worst part, though, was the fact that Snolt seemed to think it was Matt who was the reckless one.
“You should really take some of my men with you, sire. Your lifeguard is good, but a lot of them are still hurting, and you have a habit of running face first into traps.”
The lifeguards shifted on their mounts and gave the Goblin glares. Their unhappiness was somewhat undercut by the number of them that were hiding bandages or riding gingerly due to unseen injuries that still hadn’t healed. Tanniven, for his part, coughed into his hand—something that sounded suspiciously like a hastily concealed laugh.
Matt just grunted and shook his head. “You might end up needing all the troops you can get. Better to have the Royal First at Bridgeton intact if the worst happens.” Then he grinned. “After all, are you really going to deny them their chance at another big battle?”
Snolt grimaced. He reached down to stroke his Warg, his expression still deeply unhappy. “True enough, sire. It won’t mean much if you manage to end up dead this time, though.”
“It’s just a diplomatic meeting, Captain. We’re at peace with the Coalition. There shouldn’t be any threats.”
The Goblin snorted. “Yeah. A meeting that just so happens to pull you away from most of your soldiers in the middle of a war. Remember what happened in Redspire when you got summoned to a meeting with the Coalition?”
Matt grimaced and rubbed at a spot on his chest. Suluth had been particularly clever with that ambush. It had actually killed the first two of his lifeguards that had fallen in his defense, and the wounds he’d taken had made his fight at Folly’s End quite a bit more uncomfortable. “It wasn’t a random messenger that sent for me, Captain. Gorfeld was the one who told me about it.”
“Gorfeld, eh? Well, I doubt anyone could have managed to get to him at least.” Snolt shook his head. “All the same, just because the meeting is real doesn’t mean the assassins aren’t. You need to be careful.”
He shook his head and then paused. Just because it sounded paranoid didn’t mean it actually was. “The treaty prohibits the Coalition from sending assassins into our territory. It’s even magically enforced.”
Snolt put a finger alongside his nose. “Oh, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be any assassins. They could be coming from the Alliance, or even from our side. The Hard Scythes might have decided to try their hand at regicide this time.” One of the lifeguards, a Hard Scythe Orc named Rethferd, shifted in his saddle, and Snolt gave the man a shrug. “Sorry, you know how nobles can get.”
Rethferd didn’t seem reassured by the comment, but Matt frowned. Snolt wasn’t wrong, exactly. The Alliance certainly wouldn’t miss the chance to kill him, after all, and he hadn’t met Grufen’s replacement for the head of the Hard Scythe Clan. Supposedly it was some relation of the Margrave, but that didn’t change anything, and he had almost been assassinated in two of the Clan capitals he’d visited… out of four. A coin flip on what would happen this time wasn’t exactly encouraging.
All the same, Matt still shook his head. Regular soldiers weren’t going to keep him alive if another batch of killers came after him, and Creps needed all the backup Matt could give. “Thank you for your concern, Captain, but I should be fine. I trust my lifeguards, and I’ll be careful.”
The Goblin sucked in a deep breath. “Sire, please. At least let me send Gwelfed with you. She can make sure the roads are clear of ambushes, and she’ll be a reliable soldier if it comes to it. You know how good she is.”
Matt blinked. Snolt wasn’t usually this serious about things, but the Goblin looked as if his native cheerfulness had vanished. He met Matt’s eyes with a level-headed stare that was more compelling than any argument that the captain could have made, and in the end, Matt sighed. “Of course, Captain. I know Gwelfed will do a good job.”
“You can depend on her, sire.” Snolt’s serious expression broke into a broad smile. He turned his attention back to the road ahead. “You won’t have to worry about anything outside of a city with her around. I’ll let her know that she’s joining you when we split off.”
As Matt nodded, the Goblin spurred his Warg forward a little, leaving the circle of lifeguards. Matt watched him go for a moment, still shaking his head. Tanniven had finished clearing up his coughing fit and looked over at him with a speculative expression. “Your men are quite loyal to you, sire.”
Matt shifted his shoulders. “Snolt is a good captain. I trust him.”
“As well you should.” Tanniven’s expression grew more serious, and he looked at the road north as if he was seeing a storm that hadn’t arrived yet. “As he said, we know what nobles are like.”
The Royal First accompanied Matt for nearly a full day before turning east. Matt watched them ride away, off to hunt down one of the last troublesome bandit hideouts in the Sortenmoors. For a moment, he wished he could go with them; fighting raiders seemed far better than walking into whatever frustrations lay ahead.
His path, however, was already set. The road led north, skirting past the Night Hills that formed the Sortenmoors’ northwestern border. Those not-quite-mountains were part of the border with the Alterian Elves, members of the Western Coalition. There shouldn’t have been any real threat of bandits from their side of the line, but Matt noticed his soldiers still watched the west a bit more carefully than the other directions when they served as sentries.
As they passed by the unofficial border between the moors and the Broken Hills, the road shifted to the east. The relatively flat land became broken by ravines, sharp hills, and deep forests. It wasn’t quite as heavily forested as the Dark Woods that belonged to the Goblins, but the Broken Hills seemed to have plenty of wilderness within their borders.
Nobody had explained the reasons to him, but Matt could guess at least some of the history of the place. Many of the hills seemed like they had once been mountains before some cataclysm had shattered them. Bare stone formed cliff faces, and the slopes carpeted by undergrowth still had random clusters of boulders and craters, spots where whatever terrible conflict had left scars on the land itself.
It was also the perfect place for an ambush. Matt started to realize exactly why Snolt had been worried about someone hiding in the hills and waiting for his lifeguard to ride by. Fortunately, Gwelfed seemed to be just as aware of the threat. She seemed to be constantly riding out along their path, searching for signs of enemies. Every time she came back to the group and reported the path was clear helped dispel the feelings of paranoia that continued to creep up on him. The Grimfen Goblin continued her work until finally, days later, they arrived at Harvesthold.
Matt’s first view of the capital of the Hard Scythe Clan came as the road wove its way around yet another sharp-edged hill and the ground opened up into a wide valley. A quiet rain started to patter down, but the sun had already broken through the clouds up ahead, giving Matt the quiet promise that the drops falling all around him were a temporary annoyance at best.
He forgot almost entirely about them as he looked down at his first view of Harvesthold.
The city had been built around a single, gigantic plinth of grey stone, something that seemed to have once been a small hill. Somehow, the Hard Scythes had sculpted the thing, carving steps, windows, and tunnels into the rock, until it had become a massive, towering fortress, jutting out of the earth like a defiant block of pure obstinance. A shining blue river wove its way between two hills, passing by the monstrous thing on its way south to merge with the River Crimson.
Around that fortress of stone, there was a sprawling city surrounded by a large grey stone wall. It seemed much larger than the other cities that Matt had seen, and it was quickly obvious as to why. Where the other capitals had been packed with buildings, Harvesthold was covered in pastures and fields, all of which were actually on the inside of the wall. Matt’s eyes widened as he spotted clusters of multilayered buildings clustered around those fields, all of which flew the flags of the Houses that owned them. Gardens festooned those towers, as if the Hard Scythes were determined to raise food even in the mansions of their nobility. Lower, more humble buildings showed where serfs and animals were quartered.
He'd heard that some Hard Scythes bragged that their capital could withstand a siege forever. Seeing what they had built, he almost believed it. The walls were not as high as Redspire, and they were inconveniently long, but if they could be held, then the fields and gardens would provide plenty of food for a very long time. If they fell, he had a hard time picturing the army that could break through the defenses of the massive fortress, too.
Of course, there were always weaknesses. He could picture concentrated attacks toppling parts of the outer wall, could see enemy magic breaking through the native stone of their central fortress. Fire could set the fields alight, and if the enemy managed to damn the river, they city would run short of water fairly quickly. No place was invulnerable, and most fortresses were more of a delaying tactic than a true challenge.
Still, as a deterrent, it definitely served its purpose. Matt could imagine that the Elves of the Western Coalition had looked at the defenses and simply decided to attack another target multiple times in their centuries of feuding. If that was true, then all the effort to construct the place had already paid off.
He rode with the others along the road, closing with the walls in short order. Some of the guards shouted and pointed, but none of them closed the gates against him, which was encouraging. Serfs in the fields were already pausing their work and peering at him. Matt returned the favor, studying them in turn. The people here didn’t seem as beaten down as they had been in Heartlight; perhaps the Hard Scythes weren’t as brutal in their oppression as the Red Moons. It was a slim hope, but he could at least lie to himself that much for the time being.
A moment later, a familiar figure appeared alongside Nelson, and Matt glanced down in surprise. He smiled without realizing it before looking back ahead. “Gorfeld.”
“My liege.” The Low Imp had his own satisfied smile. His good humor was not shared by the lifeguards, who seemed vaguely disturbed or disgruntled at yet another person who had been admitted to their protective circle. Tanniven was a bit more obvious in his reaction; the Elf nearly jumped out of his saddle before staring down at Gorfeld in wide-eyed astonishment.
The steward seemed unaware of the Voice’s presence. “We have been waiting for you, sire. It’s good to have you finally here.”
Matt glanced at him and quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, about that. Why is it I’m needed here? I doubt the rulers of the Coalition are here, right?”
Gorfeld winced. “You’re correct, sire. The Coalition only sent their appointed delegates, though the Circle of Echoes sent Ambassador Paralus. Technically, we could have likewise sent our own representative.”
“So why didn’t we? We have one, right?” Matt thought back over the news he’d received from Redspire over the past days. “An Orc named Futhren?”
His steward nodded. “A noble from the Red Moons, yes, sire.” Gorfeld sighed. “The Council initially proposed to send him, but Voice Cholia protested. She couldn’t be persuaded, and so they had to agree to summon you instead.”
“That’s… unpleasant.” Matt grimaced. “Any reason she was so adamant about it?”
Gorfeld shrugged. “She claimed that Ambassador Futhren didn’t have the full confidence of the freeholders in this matter. Voice Girtun seemed to think it was just an excuse, however. She did not… react well to the news that you were wounded at Bridgeton. It’s possible she views these negotiations as less risky.”
Matt grunted. “She couldn’t have possibly chosen a worse time to pull me away from the front. If the Alliance attacks while I’m still here…”
“She would just point out that at least they wouldn’t have the chance to kill you when the crossing fell, sire.” Gorfeld gave him a level look. “Perhaps if you had not taken so many risks, she would not have been so hasty in restraining you.”
It was a fair point, as irritating as it was. Matt shifted in his saddle for a moment before he asked his next question. “How did Tanya react?”
His steward paused. “I have not had news of the Maiden in some time, sire. Supposedly, she is still touring the houses of the Frost Elves alongside Magrave Grufen. I did hear something about a Wildman raid, but it was only a rumor, nothing more. She shouldn’t have been anywhere near it, anyway.”
Matt frowned. Apparently, the Wildmen were a group of nomadic sailors that raided the northernmost parts of Winterfast occasionally; the stories he’d heard made them seem like Vikings of some kind. Fortunately, their attacks were infrequent, and the Frost Elves were more than capable of defending themselves, especially with Grufen still present.
Somehow, it didn’t help him feel any better about Tanya’s apparent disappearing act.
He shook his head. “Did the reinforcements reach Morteth? Has the war stabilized there?”
Gorfeld nodded. “Our last news said that Lady Einreth and Margrave Karve were marching to his aid. Their troops should be more than enough to stabilize things, I expect. The forces of the Alliance have been somewhat… clumsy lately in the Copper Hills. Morteth believes they are unfocused for some reason.”
Maybe the Oath was disrupting their ability to fight on a battlefront where he was absent? Matt nodded absently before a new realization swept over him. “Einreth was with Karve? That’s… interesting.”
A matching smile bloomed on Gorfeld’s face. “Yes, sire. You could say that they are somewhat inseparable lately. The servants have been… gossiping.”
Despite himself, Matt started to laugh. With all the death and destruction he’d seen in the past few weeks, the concept of one of his best generals and one of his most powerful vassals acting like twitterpated fools in the middle of a desperate military campaign was as ridiculous as it was heartwarming. “Well, more power to them. Literally, I suppose.”
His steward raised an eyebrow at him. “You aren’t concerned about their eventual union?”
“Maybe, but not yet.” Matt shook his head, still chuckling to himself. “Einreth has learned her lesson about loyalty, and Karve has always been true to his oaths. Anyway, seeing their Clan head get together with a simple soldier might start to shift things in the Red Moons. It’s worth seeing how it shakes out.”
They walked along in a comfortable pause for a few more moments, and then Matt sighed as he looked up at the imposing fortress. “Besides, both of them have earned it. Someone in this Kingdom deserves to find happiness.”
Gorfeld gave him a curious look. “I’m sure the Maiden is safe, sire.”
Matt glared at him, though he couldn’t make it a harsh enough expression for some reason. “She’s a friend, Gorfeld. A friend who also is depending on me to see her home. Nothing more.”
The satisfied expression on the Imp’s face was indescribably frustrating. “Of course, sire.”
They arrived at the fortress a short time later. Matt heard someone call it the Greathold, which fit the massive structure well.
A small crowd of nobles was waiting for him on the broad steps that led up to the massive stone wrought front doors. It felt strange to see them waiting in their relative finery when he and his lifeguards looked so wartorn and road weary; he felt a certain sort of resentment for them, despite the fact that they were waiting with every appearance of courtesy.
There was a cluster of nobles that were clearly from the Alliance. Three Elves, all wearing relatively hostile expressions, a Knight that was decidedly more neutral, and Paralus, the ambassador that the Western Coalition had chosen to represent them in Redspire. All of them waited patiently as Matt dismounted and walked up the stairs to greet the second, slightly smaller group standing directly in the middle of the entrance.
Three Orcs waited for him there, each dressed in armor. Unlike traditional Orcish dueling armor, however, these were not festooned with spikes or other useless decorations. Instead, it was the simple, straightforward plate and mail worn by the War Reapers and Westguard that made up the majority of the Hard Scythe Clan’s contributions to the military of the Kingdom.
The middle of the three Orcs was Angru, Grufen’s replacement as the leader of the High Clan. He was a solemn Orc whose armor fit well, but still seemed somehow out of place. Both of the Orcs on either side of the man wore it better, though that could have been because they were guards meant to guarantee the Clan head’s honor.
Matt nodded to Angru. “Lord Angru, it is good to finally meet you.” He stuck out his hand.
Angru blinked. He glanced at the warriors on either side and then clasped Matt’s hand. “Yes. I wish you had come to my city in better circumstances, King Matthew.” He shook Matt’s hand carefully, almost gently. Then he let go and stepped back. “Welcome to Harvesthold.”
The neutrality of the Orc’s tone was somewhat telling. Matt tilted his head slightly. “When I met your…”
“My cousin, King Matthew.”
“Your cousin, I had told him that there was no need to meet me in armor.” Matt smiled. “I hope that you can feel a similar comfort with me, in time.”
Angru raised an eyebrow. “I do not wear dueling armor, King Matthew. This is the armor that our troops wear to war, and it is a time of war in which I meet you.” The Orcs on either side of him nodded in satisfaction as he continued. “Thus I meet you, not in challenge, but in readiness to march out and confront our foes. Just as you should be.”
The Orc’s eyes flicked over to where the representatives of the Coalition were waiting. All three Elves stiffened in obvious offense, though the Knight seemed to sigh in exasperation. Paralus seemed to be ignoring his companions and focusing on Matt, however. Unless Matt missed his guess, the ambassador looked like he wanted to speak privately with Matt as soon as he had the chance.
Matt turned back to Angru, who was watching him with a guarded expression. “I do stand ready to defend you, Lord Angru. Even now, I have ridden to be here from Bridgeton in the Sortenmoors, where our forces have turned back an assault on the Kingdom. As soon as we complete our business here, that is where I will return.”
His statement didn’t seem to impress Angru at all. The Orc studied him for a moment before he responded. “That assumes you will not have other work here, among our borders. You are hoping to not need to defend us, as you have worked to defend others.”
“That is correct, yes.” Matt nodded slowly. “Your borders I had hoped to secure with words rather than swords. It… pains me to hear that I might not have done as well as I hoped.”
Angru finally broke into a smile. It was a bitter twist of his lips, and his eyes glittered with frustration. “Words are often a fragile hope, King Matthew, but perhaps they may prove more reliable with you here. Let us see what can be done.” He stepped back and gestured. “The High Clan of the Hard Scythe Orcs welcomes you to our hall and offers you sanctuary and rest. May the work we do here be to the glory and legacy of the Clan, as well as all those who shelter beneath our protection.”
