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Iron Kingdom B3Ch8: Recovery
🕑 Added 2024-12-26 15:00:03 +0000 UTCThe day after the battle, Matt managed to complete the difficult task of dressing himself with one arm in a sling, only to stagger out into his antechamber and find Melren waiting for him.
“Melren.”
“Sire.”
The Imp’s expression was serious. He watched as Matt moved towards the door. When Matt reached for the handle, he cleared his throat.
Matt sighed. “Yes, Melren?”
His advisor gave him a stern look. “I’ve asked for your lifeguards to send everyone away today. Everyone except for the Voice, of course.” From the irritation in his voice, the former nobleman still found it annoying he couldn’t deny the Elf access, too, but he continued in a casual voice. “Your captains are seeing to their troops today, and everyone is resting from the battle. It should give you an excellent opportunity to train.”
Matt gave Melren a disapproving stare. “I’m not in any state to spar, Melren.”
The Imp’s lips twisted, as if he was fighting a smile. “I was thinking we would focus on mantras and mental exercises, my liege. The rest can wait until you are whole.”
He looked back out of the window, feeling curiously reluctant. “There’s so much else to do, Melren. With the Alliance cleared out of this area, I need to work on destroying the rest of the bandits. We can’t have secure supply lines until that is taken care of. I also need to send a message to Redspire, see if there are any messages waiting for me…”
He trailed off as the Imp shook his head. “King Matthew, you gave me your word. You gave the Maiden of Art your word. Will you break it?”
Matt grimaced. Apparently, the little Imp had been around him for long enough to learn which buttons to push. “I’m not breaking my word, I’m just…”
His words failed him, and Melren smiled. “Reinterpreting it? Creatively?”
He threw up his arms—or tried to, wincing as one of them failed to respond. “The people need to see me leading, not sequestering myself away with some books.”
“The people nearly saw you get your head chopped off, and at least a few of them are worried about it.” Melren tilted his head to one side. “Gorfeld pulled me aside when we were still in Redspire. He told me you had a habit of being somewhat… reckless, sire. Brave, almost to the point of disregard for your own safety. I believe I know exactly what he was talking about now.”
Matt gave him a glare. “I know what I am doing.”
Melren smiled. “That doesn’t mean you’re doing the right thing, sire. And frankly, yesterday proved that while you are powerful and wise, you are not invincible, are you?”
The silence answered that question well enough. Matt looked away. “I can’t afford to slow down, Melren. Not now.”
“All the more reason to study, then.” Melren shrugged. “You’re wounded. Your mount is wounded. Your lifeguard has been reduced to a handful of able warriors. Now, while you rest and recover your body, it would be the best time to train your mind. Unless you plan to try to force that poor warbuck to ride out with arrow wounds? And your lifeguards to get up out of their sickbeds so they can accompany you?”
The questions brought Matt to a complete halt. He pictured the lifeguards riding out with him, wearing a collection of bandages that would have made them look like a batch of cripples instead of a band of warriors. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to order them to stand down, either. “Fine. But only for so many hours a day. I still need to read reports about what is happening.”
“Of course, sire.” Melren’s smile bordered on being smug. “I’ve asked the Voice to bring us anything urgent, and I believe you should have enough time to speak with your captains just after each of your meals. Until then, however, you are mine.”
The words sounded far more ominous than Matt wanted. Still, he walked over to the chair opposite Melren’s own and sat. It was a motion that pulled at the wound on his arm, but he ignored the pain and tried to focus. “All right, let’s begin.”
Nearly seven hours later, Melren allowed him to escape for a late lunch.
Breakfast had been delivered while Melren had drilled him on the mantras for Air, and Matt had scarfed the eggs and bacon down while he listened to his advisor expound on the various spiritual differences between the two Elements. The fact that air and wind were controlled by Air seemed obvious to Matt, just the same as Earth controlling dirt and rock.
What seemed less obvious were the differences between the various Seasons. Matt had started with Autumn as the Season for his first Source for a variety of reasons, foremost being that it had been in the middle of the fall when he’d first started building the Source in the first place. Apparently, the differences were far more profound than he had given them credit for.
“So Autumn is the Season that controls decay and degradation?” Matt shook his head. “I can kind of see it with the burrowing spell and the mudpit one, but what about the haunted dust spell? I create stuff with that, don’t I?”
Melren held up a finger. “True, but you do so by breaking down something else. If you pay close attention, you don’t just collect loose dirt for the spell, you actually grind some of the dust from the soil around you in the process. Add that to the fact that your creations only last for the duration of the spell, and you can see why Autumn rules over it.”
“So if I wanted to make something permanently, I’d have to use a Source for Spring?” Matt frowned as the Imp shook his head.
“Very few things are permanent, but Spring would be a good choice for it. Spring is about creation and growth. Basically, if you wanted to use a spell that summons stone from nothing, that would be something you could base on a Spring Source.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “And let me guess, Winter is about destruction?”
Melren paused. “More purification than destruction. Winter can be a… complicated subject.” The Imp shook his head again and continued. “All the same, if you are searching for a true antipode Source to your current one, you’ll need to have Air, Spring, and Body as your foundation. Are you sure that is what you want?”
“It would allow me to build it quicker than any other way, right?” Matt waited until the Imp reluctantly nodded again. “Then yeah, that’s what I want.”
His advisor sighed. “You’re aware that the Kingdom has very few of such spells, correct? Most of the spells we have obtained relate to other foundations. For that matter, the ones you are currently using are not… normal for rulers to embrace.”
Matt grinned. “They’ve served me well so far. I’m sure that I can find enough for the new Source, too.”
Melren had simply nodded, and then continued with the lesson. He’d sketched out the best mantras to use for Air, and then had Matt repeat them. The Imp had interrupted each time to correct Matt’s pronunciation and timing, and then asked him to repeat it. By the time Matt had mastered each one, he was already starving and ready to eat whatever the servants put in front of him.
Only two of his lifeguards accompanied him to the meeting with his captains. Both were wounded—Mulwan had a limp as she walked, and the other, a Copperflame Goblin named Gulb, had his arm in a sling as well. They made for an interesting picture to be sure, but at least he wasn’t facing the soldiers alone.
The captains had brought little news for him. None of their scouts were reporting any signs of further Alliance activity, though they had found evidence of a handful of bandit camps nearby. Matt had ordered those camps destroyed, something that he could spare a handful of banners to take care of. Every bandit group he hunted down was one less threat to his back lines that he would need to worry about.
Then, just as soon as he had finished eating and speaking with the others, Melren appeared in his peripheral vision. His advisor pulled him back to the same antechamber for another round of training, this time the kind of drills that would help him form his spells more quickly. Matt had given Snolt a pleading look, but the Captain had simply grinned and waved goodbye.
He made a note to have Snolt start accompanying him in his lessons when he got the chance.
By the time the sun set, Matt had spent nearly the entire day studying and repeating mantras, or working through the process of creating his spells. Melren had gotten more and more exacting as time went on. The Imp even seemed slightly annoyed that Matt took the time to have dinner and once again read reports. It was as if his advisor had suddenly decided that the fate of the entire Kingdom rested on Matt’s magic alone.
Fortunately, Matt knew better. If the Kingdom came to depend on him alone, then they would never let go of him as a monarch, and they’d soon go right back to the same succession of warlords and monsters that had ruled them before. So as he ate, he told the lifeguards to bring both the Voice and his captains to meet with him again.
While they assembled, Matt hurried stuffed another meal of potatoes and beef down his throat, hoping that he could finish it quickly enough to satisfy his now-fanatic of a tutor. He didn’t know if all the effort was going to be worth it, but at least he would learn the next Source much faster.
When he finished, Matt waved for the lifeguards to bring them in. There was still no sign of Melren, but he didn’t know how much longer that would last.
Snolt led the others in, while Tanniven brought up the last place among them. The Captain of the Royal First nodded easily to Matt as they gathered around his table. “Is there something that we can do for you, sire?”
“Yes, actually.” Matt tapped the map he had been reading as he ate. “We’ve been getting reports of bandits throughout the Sortenmoors, right?”
Urled nodded. “Yes, sire. They’ve been everywhere as of late.”
“I would like them to not be anywhere inside my domain, now.” Matt put a heavy emphasis on the word, and several of the Captains blinked in surprise. “From now on, each day I want three of our banners to march out, find a bandit camp, and destroy it. Any who surrender or are taken prisoner can be brought back for judgment. When one of the banners comes back successfully, another banner can march out in their place.”
Captain Montfar spoke up cautiously, as if trying to avoid any sign of disagreement. “My liege, committing to this course will weaken our defenses here. We might be attacked while some of our soldiers are out there dealing with these brigands.”
Matt nodded. “True. I’d rather be attacked while we have fewer men here and have open supply lines, however. We cannot count on getting food and reinforcements here if we allow these bands to continue raiding towns, villages, and caravans behind us.”
He turned back to the map. “Our scouts will continue to locate and report on any bandit camps nearby. I also want several of them to scout the Alliance’s territory. We know they have to be building up another army to attack us, and I don’t want their assault to catch us by surprise.”
The captains seemed to be a bit happier with that plan, at least. Some of them relaxed a little more, as if reassured he wasn’t ignoring the Alliance entirely.
While they were still nodding along, Matt continued. “In the meantime, the soldiers here will need to begin training.”
Several of the captains paused, as if surprised. Creps was the first one to speak up. “Training, my liege?”
“Yes.” Matt shrugged. “Our numbers are less than I would have liked, so we’ll need to make up for it. Any soldiers who aren’t wounded or hunting down bandits need to practice their skills as much as possible each day. I want them kept sharp for when the enemy comes again.”
The captains nodded; the ones who might have objected glanced at the others and subsided. Matt would have to watch them closely, probably, just to avoid having any one group slack off, but maybe their previous experiences with fighting the Alliance would motivate them.
Then he noticed Tanniven nodding in a self-satisfied manner and turned to face the Voice with a smile. “Of course, that training should include our freeholders in the Irregulars.” The Elf jerked in surprise, and Matt let his smile grow a bit further. “In fact, I’d recommend they train even harder than the soldiers of the Crown Guard, given their relative lack of experience. Captain Creps, if you would help supervise them? Use the time that you had with the Irregulars at Redspire as inspiration.”
The Captain of the Fourth Foot was grinning just as widely as Matt, now, and he nodded with clear satisfaction. Tanniven grimaced. “Sire? Can we speak about this?”
“No.” Matt shook his head, and Tanniven looked taken aback. It was probably a good step to remind the Voice that his privileges weren’t unlimited, just like the rest of the Kingdom. “For that matter, while the scouts are out looking for bandits, I want them to carry messages for the rest of the militia that are loyal to the Kingdom. They are to report here for training and to support the Guard in defending this point. There will be no exceptions.”
Tanniven shifted on his feet. He looked a little uneasy now. “Sire, there may be some groups of militia that feel… rather strongly that they have other responsibilities.”
“Then I urge you to use your influence to correct them, Voice.” Matt let all the humor drain from his expression. “Any militia that refuses these orders will be considered bandits and eliminated appropriately. I hope, for their sake, that they make the correct choice.”
The Elf looked like he was about to argue, but he looked around at the rest of the Guard and paused. Then he nodded. “Yes, sire. I understand.”
Matt nodded and opened his mouth to continue. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he caught sight of Melren, who had just poked his head in around the edge of the corner. “I’m going to be busy developing my magical skills for the next few days. During that time, I want regular reports on how your missions are going, what our scouts find, and the progress we’ve made in recruiting and training our troops. I’m going to be spending at least a few hours a day making inspections, but it will be preferable for you to tell me there’s a problem before I find it myself. Understood?”
The captains all nodded, and Snolt stepped forward. His expression was already full of his usual pre-battle glee. “My liege, the Royal First would like to volunteer to be one of the first banners deployed against the bandits.”
Matt heard the eagerness in the Goblin’s voice, and nodded. “Very well, Captain. Keep in mind that you’ll be expected to come back after each battle, not just send a messenger.”
A flash of disappointment crossed Snolt’s expression, but the Goblin nodded.
With a conciliatory smile, Matt nodded again. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to get so carried away that you miss the big fights here.” He looked around again and felt a flicker of his headache leak through. “Our Kingdom isn’t safe yet, but we are getting closer every day. Stay true to your cause, and to the future of our people, and we’ll see the other side of this war soon enough. You’re dismissed.”
The captains saluted and filtered out the door. Tanniven hesitated, as if wanting to speak further with Matt alone, but he caught sight of Melren waiting for him and grimaced. As the Voice followed the others out of the door, Matt turned to Melren.
His advisor stepped forward, his expression intent. “My liege, we can definitely fit in another few hours of—”
“Melren, stop.” Matt raised his hand. “I understand the urgency you are feeling, but after a certain point, it can be counterproductive to develop this kind of obsession. I need some hours to take care of some other things. We can start again on magic tomorrow.”
Melren sighed. His hands clenched at his sides. “I’m sorry, sire. I just… when the enemy nearly had you this time, it was all I could do to stop some of them. I tried to picture a Kingdom without you, and couldn’t see how we would survive. You have to stay alive. The Maiden was right. If you die…”
The Imp shook his head, and his eyes burned with a fanatic’s stare when he met Matt’s eyes again. “I need to do more. I cannot simply stand aside any more.”
Matt watched the Imp for a moment. Then he nodded. “Good.” He smiled at the Imp’s surprised expression. “What I’m about to ask you to do will anger just about every single one of your former peers. Is that price acceptable to you?”
For a long moment, Melren stared back at him. Then he nodded, slowly. “Yes, sire. It is.”
“Then come with me. I have something else for you to work on.” Matt grinned. He’d finally hit on an idea that would keep his own overzealous advisor from killing him with overwork—and even better, it would be something that could benefit the Kingdom as a whole.
All he had to do now was make things work, one day at a time.
The next three days passed in something like a blur.
Matt spent the morning of each day walking around Bridgeton. He visited Nelson, who was recuperating well, as well as all of the soldiers and lifeguards that were still healing. They’d been placed in the most comfortable beds in the barracks, and Matt had the healers attending to them every day. Each of those veteran fighters was more than worth the cost, after all, and he’d need all of them soon enough.
He also had the chance to speak with the townspeople a little. At first, the former serfs seemed intimidated by him as he walked through the streets. Given his unflinching, heavily armed escorts, he didn’t really blame them. All the same, he seemed to become enough of a familiar sight and they grew used to him. It helped that the place was so small; there literally wasn’t enough room for adoring crowds to pack the sides of the streets, and he ran into nearly everyone as he made a short circuit of the place.
Of course, Matt made sure to visit at least one group of soldiers each day, poking his head in to see how they were handling their training. Each time, he failed to catch anyone ignoring his orders. Instead, he found them shooting at targets, or practicing their attacks from Warg-back, or sparring with one another. The Irregulars were being worked twice as hard; he caught Creps often marching them around the city in formation, forcing them to retrace their route if they fell out of step. It was the kind of skill an army needed on an open field, but a bunch of reformed bandits didn’t usually develop. Anyone who complained too loudly was reminded of what had happened to the bandits outside the town when their lines fell apart.
Once he’d eaten lunch, Matt let Melren pack him away for another intensive session of spellwork. As much as he hated the process, Matt could already feel his power growing, and at a much faster rate than his first Source had. Melren was an excellent teacher, now that he had something else to focus his attentions on, and Matt spent a lot of time congratulating himself for finding such a good diversion. Even if the Imp didn’t manage to develop anything at all, at the very least, he’d be too distracted to spend all his time harassing Matt. It was a good compromise, and one that he hoped would hold through the coming battles.
Each evening, Matt spent his time reviewing the reports of his soldiers and the news brought in by his scouts. The ones that had headed into Alliance territory had occupied most of his attention; after all, that was where the next major threat would come from. Yet the scouts hadn’t found any signs of an approaching army. Instead, they were finding more and more villages that had seemed partially evacuated, as if a portion of the population had just vanished overnight. Those left behind seemed to be struggling to manage their spring crops; Gwelfed in particular had mentioned that a lot of the remaining farmers had seemed almost desperate as they worked, driving themselves harder than usual to get the crops in.
The fact that the Alliance might be struggling with their harvest was good news, in a way. Maybe a famine would keep them from coming to his doorstep anytime soon, but Matt doubted the Oath would let them ignore him for that long. Still, every delay allowed him to build his forces more, and every disadvantage would give him the chance to come up with a new trick to turn against them.
His scouts had delivered reports on the rest of the Sortenmoors as well, as they passed by the various remaining towns left standing. The former capital of Celriisset had declared themselves loyal and had already sent caravans of supplies. At least one scout had found another caravan from Greyspring headed in the direction of Bridgeton, which was also encouraging. There had been no word from Brensville or Coorsford yet, but he had hope that both towns were still safe and unbothered now that they were no longer viable crossings.
His banners delivered results, too. By the end of the third day, at least six groups of bandits had been hunted down and destroyed. Two other groups had just happened to be ‘loyal militia’ that obeyed the summons to gather at Bridgeton rather than being destroyed. As a result, the number of Irregular banners had grown to three, and the newcomers had quickly joined the rest on the training schedule.
Things were actually starting to look a little more optimistic now, despite the headaches that continued to plague him. Matt was just starting to plan out a series of traps for any army trying to besiege the walls when a messenger from the north finally arrived.
They carried news from Redspire, and it wasn’t exactly encouraging.
The war in the east, where Morteth was holding off the Alliance in the chasms and mountains north of the Copper Hills, was not going extremely well. The Imp Margrave had been fighting hard, and the sappers that the Gnomes had sent to aid him were doing incredible work in allowing him to outflank the enemy and bypass some of their defenses.
Unfortunately, the enemy had found their own methods of changing things. The Ponthuul Elves had joined the fighting, and they had entire banners of Prancers, a cavalry that could leap the chasms and allow them to attack Morteth’s flanks and rear. Stormcallers and Mistweavers were working to counter the High Guard that Morteth had available, and while the Alliance hadn’t broken through yet, the Margrave was already calling for reinforcements.
Matt gritted his teeth as he read the message. Karve was doing all he could to raise more soldiers, repairing the damaged banners that had fought during the Battle of Seven Princes, but it was a long process. Apparently, Voice Cholia and the Council had been feuding over the various measures they wanted to take to fund the war, and her disagreeable behavior was causing the nobles to become somewhat more fractious as well. The Alliance’s unending pressure on the Kingdom was also not helping the situation; Gorfeld described the morale in Redspire as becoming bleak at the news of further fighting.
There was also no news of Tanya. The Maiden of Art had traveled north with some of the Winterknights that had fought in the Grim Hollows as an escort. They had not sent word of what she was up to, but Matt felt like it would only be a matter of time before he heard of some disaster.
At the very least, progress was going forward on the New Arsenal. Parufeth had reported that the construction was almost reaching completion on the first stories, and that soon they’d be ready to move the soldiers into the structure. He also begrudgingly wrote that the House of Art that Tanya had sponsored was also making progress, though the stonemasons appeared to be focused on finishing a much smaller initial building, and then intending to add wings to it as their work continued, rather than building it all at once.
Matt wrote back for them to send Morteth his reinforcements—a massive group of Red Guard, Crown Guard, and Bloodsworn would probably do wonders in the mountains—and gave a brief account of his own situation. He hoped Karve would find some way to get him the support he needed, even if it was just replacements for the soldiers who had been lost. The Alliance in this part of the warfront couldn’t have that many more troops, at least not unless they had somehow hidden a massive force from everything that Matt knew about. As long as they were well-supplied and kept strong, thirteen banners might even be enough to hold Bridgeton against all comers, especially as more Irregular units arrived to help.
As he sent the letter on its way and turned his attention back to his studies, Matt just hoped that the measures he was taking would work. He’d already put more pressure on the Alliance than he ever had on the Noble Races. Something had to break. He knew it would.
