WanderingLeaf
patreon
Iron Kingdom B3Ch5: Drawing Boundaries
🕑 Added 2024-12-05 15:00:02 +0000 UTC“All told, we captured almost five banners of Knights, sire, and if more than half a banner of them managed to get away, I’d be surprised.” Captain Creps seemed stunned by what he was saying, but he continued on in an even voice. “It’s the kind of victory they write stories about, to be sure.”
Matt nodded and looked at Melren. “Have any of the prisoners been talking? How many more troops did they leave behind in Coorsford?”
The advisor blinked. “None, sire.” His eyes cut to the captains, as if to remind Matt that they were there. “The Princess Solara ordered every soldier of the Alliance to leave with her. They weren’t expecting reinforcements anytime soon, but she apparently felt it would be worth leaving the town unguarded if it meant that she could… achieve her objective.”
Of course, it was better left unsaid exactly what that objective would be; Matt appreciated the way Melren had avoided saying it out loud. He nodded and turned to Snolt. “Are the scouts showing any more movement? Any bandits coming for us, or other armies?”
“No, my liege.” The captain of the Royal First had a wide grin on his face and seemed to be almost half-drunk with the victory. Matt cleared his voice, and Snolt shook himself. “Once we finish here, we can move on Coorsford without worry. I’d stake my Warg on it.”
“Now, now, Captain, I wouldn’t want to break your heart by taking him.” Matt paused as a chuckle ran through the captains, and then continued. “Can the wounded make it back to Greyspring with the volunteers and the prisoners?”
Marg responded, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. The Orc had taken a cut across the cheek, but a healer had already stitched it closed. “Most of them are fine enough to make it there, sire, as long as we send a few wagons with them. The Greyspring militia should be enough to fend off any trouble.”
“Good. Off load whatever supplies we can into the rest of the wagons. We’ll need all the food we can carry.” Matt looked back down at the map of the Sortenmoors and considered his next steps. If the garrison at Brensville had heard of what was happening, there could very well be another army headed his way. At the same time, they couldn’t reach him before he reached Coorsford—he hoped.
It would just have to be enough.
“Very well, get your troops enough rest. We have a hard march tomorrow.” Matt paused and gave them all a tired smile. “And congratulations on your victory. You did everything you needed to, and I am confident that you’ll continue it for the rest of the campaign. Well done!”
The captains dispersed, saluting as they went, and Matt waved to them as he turned to his own work. Burying the dead was not the most regal of responsibilities, but it was something he could do easily, and it would help remind him of what he was trying to stop.
They reached the town of Coorsford the next day.
The small town had been built on the shores of the Blackstone River, at a spot where the flow had widened and the river itself was much shallower. Trade between the Sortenmoors and the Noble Plains had allowed for it to become larger than the nearby villages. As more and more trade had passed over the river and through the town, the residents had built up inns and warehouses. A small palisade surrounded the borders of the town, along with a high watchtower to watch for approaching danger.
Matt could see someone in the tower as they approached, though there wasn’t a bell like there had been for Greyspring. Moments later, he saw a trio of riders leaving the town and approaching the column. Their mounts did not look well-cared for; the trio of bedraggled greatelks barely seemed to be on their feet, even compared to the road-weary Wargs and other mounts in his column. He wondered if the retreating Alliance troops had stolen any better mounts as they fled.
When the riders reached the column, Matt rode forward to meet them. His lifeguard formed an unobtrusive screen between him and the townspeople, who were dressed in plain clothes and wore wary expressions. Their leader, a Knight by the look of it, bowed low in the saddle. “King Matthew?”
Matt nodded. “That’s me, yes.”
The Knight straightened in his saddle. His eyes flicked to the lifeguards as he continued. “My name is Moxin. I’m the town Reeve here, and I would like to know your intentions for our home.”
The lifeguards stirred, as if the question was testing their patience. Matt simply nodded. “I intend to make sure that there aren’t any Alliance troops inside of the walls. Then I’m going to cross the river and make sure that Coorsford can’t be used to invade the rest of the Sortenmoors again anytime soon.”
Moxin’s face paled slightly. He swallowed before he spoke again. “There aren’t any Alliance troops left, sire. They went north two days ago. The ones who came back barely even paused for water when they ran through the town, and they took the handful of scouts waiting here with them.”
Melren gave the Reeve a stern look. “You didn’t fight them?”
The Reeve glared at the Imp. “We’re serfs here, not soldiers. By the time the Alliance came, they had nearly as many troops as we had residents. Should I have put a pitchfork in my daughter’s hands and shoved her in their way?”
Melren leaned back in his saddle, likely unused to that sort of response, and Matt spoke up smoothly. “You will not need to worry about that, Reeve Moxin. The Alliance will not be returning here, not for a long time. You have my word.”
Moxin turned his attention back to Matt, and his expression went a little slack from fear. “I-I’m glad to hear that, sire. We’re just worried, is all. Our children have already seen a lot, and we don’t want to see any more trouble.”
“You won’t.” Matt glanced at Melren and then looked back at the man. “Who is your liege?”
The Reeve paused. “It was an Orc from Red Moon a while ago, but I don’t know if he survived the fighting. He did have his soldiers with him, but we haven’t heard from him in months.”
“Then as far as I’m concerned, you’re mine. All of you.” Matt smiled. “Which means you are all now freeholders. Do you know what that means?”
Moxin stared at him for a long moment. Then he shook himself and nodded. “Y-yes, sire. We heard the proclamations, even this far south.” He paused again, clearly hesitating out of fear. “Does this mean we will not have your protection, my liege?”
Matt shook his head. “I remain your defender, Reeve Moxin—but you’ll also be able to arm and defend yourself.” He looked back at Coorsford, and winced. “Things will also change here. You’ll need to change with them, but it will keep you safer than you would be otherwise. Do you understand?”
The man nodded, and Matt continued in an even voice. “We’ll pass through town. There will be a brief search to make sure no spies or assassins were left behind. If you can spare any supplies, they would be appreciated. If not, then say so. I won’t have us taking your daughter’s last mouthful, not when we could take it from the Alliance instead. Do you have any questions for me, Moxin?”
For a moment, it looked like the Reeve had simply collapsed in on himself in relief. Then he shook his head. “No, sire. We just want it to all be over. We’ve seen enough war for a lifetime, here.”
“That ends today. Now go and tell the rest of the town so that they can be ready for us. Go on.” Matt gestured, and the townspeople turned their ragged mounts around. He watched as they made their way back to the town, at a pace that just barely outmatched the soldiers’ march.
Melren spurred his dogelk forward a little, his eyes still on the departing townsfolk. “Do you trust them, sire?”
“Trust or not, I won’t let the Alliance use this place again.” Matt glanced at Melren and then looked back at the half-deserted town. “Let’s get the men across the Blackstone. We can camp for a while on the other side.”
It took only a short time to search the town for Alliance spies, and only a little while longer to cross the Blackstone. Coorsford was well-named, after all. The river here was broad, but shallower than it was downstream, allowing the troops to cross with barely enough water to reach the middle of their thighs. Some townsperson in the past had augmented the spot with a thin wooden bridge, one that stood high enough that it would remain unbothered by floods.
When his troops had finished crossing, Matt gestured for Melren to follow him. He looked across the water at the town and then sighed. It was time to get to work.
“Melren.” The Imp stiffened slightly, and Matt grimaced. “I’ll need you to set the bridge on fire. I want the entire thing burnt to the waterline. Do you need help with that?”
His advisor stared at him for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “No, sire. I can do it with enough time. I may need some days to recover, of course, but…” He gestured to the ford. Half of the troops had used it instead of the bridge from pure impatience. “Even with the bridge destroyed, the Alliance would be able to cross here. It won’t change anything.”
Matt smiled, wishing he felt actual humor. “You worry about the bridge. I’ll take care of the ford.”
He left Melren on the shore, wading back into the river. The townspeople were watching him from the other side of the river, clearly still worried. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that they were just waiting for him to order his troops to march back and burn their town to the ground. Another ruler might have seen it as the best way to handle the problem that Coorsford represented.
Matt knew better, though. Destroying his own town wasn’t going to stop the Alliance from having supply lines through the crossing. It might inconvenience them, but it would do far more harm by convincing the people of the Sortenmoors that he wasn’t on their side.
So instead, Matt reached deep inside himself and began to construct the framework of his magic. The Earth Source he’d built and developed rumbled and turned within him, yearning to be unleashed even as he built an arcane channel for it. Then, slowly, cautiously, he bent at the waist and put his hand on the bottom of the riverbed.
His magic was unleashed a moment later. It was a simple builder’s spell, meant to help with mining or surveying. The Curious Tunneller’s Burrow had never been extensively used in war, since it didn’t move enough earth to matter in most cases.
Of course, most of the time, it didn’t have Matt channeling it.
The riverbed churned beneath Matt’s feet as he burrowed a ditch through the silt. He dragged the dirt from the northern end of the ford to the south, gouging a channel wide and deep enough to bury a cart inside. Dirt sprayed out into the air at the end of the trench, before plunging back into the water below the ford.
When he was done, the water on the riverbanks settled a little lower on the banks. The water in the river flowed a little deeper, a little faster. Matt nodded slowly and began to dig again. And again. Again, while the water and piled dirt sprayed downstream, turning the shining waters of the Blackstone thick with silt as the current carried it off. He dug the new trench in the riverbed deeper and wider, trying to make sure that the changes would last.
It wouldn’t be permanent, of course. Eventually, the natural erosion and deposits left by the water would rebuild the crossing. Trying to change the river entirely was probably pointless, or at the very least something he couldn’t manage alone, even with his newfound powers. Matt just wanted the river to be an impassable barrier here for the next few months. He owed Coorsford that much.
He heard the townsfolk beginning to yell and shout as each spray widened the gouge, but Matt refused to let them distract him. Spell after spell flowed through him, until at last he stepped back—staggered, really—and the work was done.
The river had changed, if just for the next little while. It had shrunk in width, but the water was now deep and fast in the middle. There were jagged rocks, too heavy and stubborn to have been carried away with the silt, which now littered the bottom of that channel. Matt examined it with weary eyes. He’d been casting spells for nearly two hours, and in that time the seemingly never-ending tumble of energy from his Source had diminished beyond anything he’d ever felt before.
As he stepped back from the wreckage of the ford, there was a sudden flash of heat and light from his left. Matt looked over to see Melren hurling a literal wave of fire across the wooden bridge. It coated nearly half the length of the structure, wrapping it in flames that continued to burn. There were more shouts from the townsfolk, but Matt looked back to see the Reeve watching him with wide eyes.
Trying not to look as exhausted as he felt, Matt gave the Reeve a salute with his mace. Moxin looked from the river to the burning bridge, and then back.
Matt shouted at him across the noise of the river and the flames. “Your town is safe now, Reeve. Make sure it stays that way!”
Moxin nodded, his eyes wide. Then, to Matt’s surprise, he saluted.
As Matt watched, the Reeve began barking orders to the rest of the townsfolk, telling them to stay back, or to spread lantern oil on the parts of the bridge that were still untouched. Matt stood in the river a while longer and then turned to rejoin his troops. Some of them were looking at him with shock and horror, but others were simply nodding and shaking their heads. Snolt was among the latter; the Captain of the Royal First was actually chuckling to himself for some reason.
It was a mystery that could wait for another time. He’d done enough for one day, and they had another long march ahead. Matt forced himself to put his troubles out of mind for the moment and went to the tent that the lifeguard had set up for him. If there was one thing for certain, he was at least going to get a very good night’s sleep.
Their march began early the next day.
Matt wasn’t entirely sure where the fleeing Alliance troops had gone, but he bet they wouldn’t have to go far to find someone to help them. The last thing he could afford was to get bogged down fighting inside Alliance territory, so as soon as he could get everyone moving, he had the entire column headed west along the riverbank.
It was not an entirely popular decision.
“I still don’t understand why we aren’t headed south, sire. There’s at least one or two towns that are just waiting for us to strike them.”
Matt sighed. Captain Snolt had been grumbling and grousing at him for most of the morning, though he hadn’t actually spoken up about his real reason for complaining until now. The Goblin’s complaints had been finding an unhappy match with the throbbing headache Matt had been feeling since they left Coorsford.
Still, the Captain was a loyal officer, so he shoved down his own irritation and tried to remain patient. “Raiding the Alliance isn’t going to stop them from invading us, Captain.”
The Goblin looked mulish. “It worked against the Noble Races.”
“True.” Matt held up a hand before Snolt could continue. “But that time, the enemy’s main army was already past us. We were hitting their supply lines while most of their troops were actually in the field waiting for them. This time, the main army is still on its way. If we burn a few villages, all it’s going to do is force them to bring along a few more wagons and plan ahead a bit better.”
“Oh.” Snolt looked a bit frustrated, and Matt couldn’t blame him that much. It would be a much easier world if all his problems could be solved with a little arson, but that wasn’t what he was dealing with.
Melren spoke up in a rather smug voice. “Take comfort, Captain. At the very least, you’ll get to destroy whatever villages are between us and Brensville.”
Snolt opened his mouth to respond, but Matt answered before he could. “Nope. Not this time.” Both men blinked in surprise, and he continued in an even voice. “The members of the Alliance are going to use any attack by us to justify creating a larger and larger army to fight us with. The more damage we do to these villages, the more it will motivate them to support their rulers.”
The Imp frowned. “We cannot just let them continue to give their rulers supplies and material, though, can we? If we don’t act against their people, then they will have less and less to fear from us when they attack.”
On his other side, the Goblin snorted. “Much as I hate to agree with the Imp over there, but he’s right. That kind of damage is just part of a war like this one. You know that; it’s part of why we burnt so much of the Order of Griffon’s territory.”
Matt shook his head. “We did that in part because we knew the damage would be enough to convince the leaders to back off. They could figure out that the cost they were paying wasn’t worth whatever they were hoping to win.”
Snolt gave him a baffled look. “So why wouldn’t that work here?”
Instead of answering immediately, Matt looked around carefully. Even if he trusted Snolt with the secret, there were far too many ears around. “Trust me, it will not. The leaders of the Alliance are committed to continuing this war no matter what cost they have to pay. They aren’t going to care about a few burnt villages.”
“The peasants would, though.” Melren frowned. “They might blame us, sire, but are you sure they wouldn’t blame their own royalty instead?”
Matt grimaced. “Not if they were incredibly afraid of us. So my goal is going to be to win them over a little. If they don’t fear our armies will hurt them and their families, then they won’t be as committed to the cause as their leaders are. So when the royals come to demand supplies and recruits…”
Snolt was still frowning when Melren’s eyes suddenly went wide. “You’re trying to convince them to revolt. To turn against their own rulers.”
He nodded to his advisor. “That would be nice, yeah. Of course, we might not be able to bring them around to the idea right away, but the more we can make it look like the war is the fault of their own kings and queens, the better our chances are.”
To his surprise, Snolt sighed and shook his head. “Sire, it just doesn’t work that way. Peasants and serfs don’t turn against someone with the Divine Right over them. They can’t.”
Matt raised an eyebrow at him. “Why not? Nobles and assassins do it all the time.”
The Goblin opened his mouth to answer and then paused. His expression quickly grew pinched with frustration and confusion. “I… I don’t know how to put it, sire. It’s just not something that happens. It feels… wrong, somehow.”
Matt turned in his saddle to look at Melren instead. The advisor looked incredibly disturbed. “I have to agree with Captain Snolt, sire. I can’t believe that it would be possible for a people to turn against their own appointed monarch the way you are hoping. The best we could probably hope for would be to see rioting and banditry, but even then…”
Melren fell silent, and Matt simply shrugged the words away. He knew they were being honest with him, but thought they were missing something. It didn’t make sense for the Divine Right to prevent an uprising, but allow rebels, traitors, and worse to turn against a ruler. It could just be a societal expectation, something deeply ingrained in how they all saw the world, but a people pushed to the limit weren’t going to allow a ruler to drive them into the abyss forever. Not back on Earth, and not here.
One way or the other, he was going to find out.
His army spent the next two days marching along the roads towards Brensville.
The roads on this side of the Blackstone River weren’t all that much better than those in the Sortenmoors, but even that small of a difference was telling. There were fewer sections of mud along the well-trod path, and the paths that branched off the road were well marked. Even the occasional groves that they marched past seemed cleaner and less tangled with undergrowth, though perhaps that was just the impression that Matt got as they continued on their journey.
They came across three separate villages as they moved across the plains. Two of them were abruptly evacuated as soon as the column came into view, with entire groups of Knights fleeing into their fields ahead of the army’s approach. The third village had a wall and closed its gates. Matt ordered his troops to bypass the place, circling around it out of bowshot. He was after bigger fish to fry than some farming village in the middle of nowhere.
There was some grumbling among the troops, and Snolt kept giving him pleading looks, but Matt ignored it. He had to remain focused if wanted to reach his goals.
Late in the afternoon on the second day, they came to their next target.
Brensville was another village that had grown fat and wealthy off the trade between the Order of Lion’s Roar and the Circle of Celrii, back before the latter had fallen under the reign of the Red Sorceress. Unlike Coorsford, the crossing over the river was not due to a shallow patch of water. Instead, some enterprising noble had built a broad stone bridge across the fast-flowing waters, connecting the two lands. The same noble had constructed the stone walls that surrounded the place, including the imposing gatehouse that now faced the bridge.
Matt hadn’t held out much hope that Brensville was still in friendly hands. Too many reports had suggested it lay in the hands of either Teblas’ sympathizers or agents of the Alliance. Now, as his army marched into position on the Alliance side of the bridge, he could see his fears were coming true. Alliance banners fluttered in the chill spring wind. Some of them were familiar to him.
“Murdersworn.” He said the name like a curse, and Melren grimaced.
“Yes, sire. It appears the Court of the Raven has secured this place.” The advisor shook his head over the sight of the banners fluttering in the wind. “I see some banners for Pinions as well. That is… unfortunate.”
Matt thought back over the reports he’d read about the abilities of the Alliance. “Pinions are their archers, right? The ones they use as skirmishers and ambush troops?”
Melren nodded. “Yes. They are bad enough to face when they are visible, but they have a disturbing habit of making it hard to see them. Fighting them in the woods, or in an urban setting is… unpleasant.”
Snolt snorted. “You mean most High Clans would rather burn a city down than try to hunt a banner of Pinions through the streets. At least, in my experience.”
Melren shifted his shoulders. “The Pinions place a high priority on killing enemy mages. Responding with maximum power is a logical move.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Matt shut out the noise of their bickering. He ran his eyes along the wall and saw the Knights there, already moving into position to defend the bridge. It would be a nightmare to assault the place. Between the fortifications and the narrow approach, all it would take to defend Brensville would be a group of heavy infantry and some accurate projectiles. With both Murdersworn and Pinions here, the Knights had both, and the prospect of a relieving force taking Matt from behind if he stayed too long.
It was fortunate, then, that he didn’t plan on wasting his troops that way.
He drew in a quick breath and glanced at the bickering pair. “All right. Have the men rest for a few minutes, but don’t let them unpack. We still have a distance to go tonight.”
Both Melren and Snolt paused, their expressions mirrors of surprise. They looked at each other, and then at him. Melren was the first to speak. “Sire, are we not going to attack here?”
“No.” Matt gave him an incredulous look. If the man thought attacking a fortification like that was a good idea, he needed to reassess Melren’s advice. “We won’t stay here long. Lifeguards, I need volunteers to come with me to the bridge.”
The lifeguards all exchanged a look. One by one, they all stepped forward, and Matt sighed. He should have expected it. “Okay. Those of you with shields, keep them ready. Those without, borrow some from the Spears. Tell them we’ll bring them back in just a bit.”
Balred looked around at the other lifeguards and then coughed into his fist. “My liege. What are we doing?”
Matt grinned at his lifeguard. “What else? We’re going to ruin the Alliance’s day.”
Matt could see the Knights formed up on the walls as they approached. There were already more of them than there had been, though none of them were firing at him yet. It was probably only because they were waiting for a bigger attack and didn’t want to waste their ammunition, but he’d take whatever delay he could get.
The lifeguards were already closed around him in a wall, with overlapping shields ready to block any incoming projectiles. It was almost endearing how much they cared so much about protecting him, and how frustrated they currently felt at his plan to expose himself to risk. None of them had complained—openly at least—but plenty of them were giving him glares.
He looked at one of them, a Goblin by the name of Malwun. She’d already saved his life when Suluth had nearly trapped him weeks before. Now she was sweating through her armor, trying to blur their image and project illusions of others in different spots along the bridge. Her efforts were probably another part of why they weren’t a collection of pincushions decorated with Raven-supplied arrows.
Balred seemed to be doing something as well, though. The Orc was muttering under his breath, and Matt noticed odd gusts of air stirring the dust on the bridge. Did the lifeguard have some kind of Air magic? Or was it something else? Matt shook his head, trying to focus on what still lay ahead. He couldn’t afford to get distracted now, even if the Pinions were holding their fire for now.
His group had nearly reached the halfway point on the bridge when Matt abruptly heard shouting from the top of the wall. He realized abruptly that he was out of time. “Brace yourselves! They’re going to start firing now.”
“Get in closer, sire.” Balred reached over and tugged him in closer. None of them seemed to doubt his prediction in the least; perhaps it was their faith in his judgment, or, more likely, the native pessimism of bodyguards everywhere.
He’d just managed to duck under cover when the arrows hissed into the sky. Matt grimaced and reached out to his magic yet again.
The rumbling, rough feel of his Source was back again. It had been subdued while they were on the march, but it had recovered that morning, which was fortunate all on its own. Matt poked at it slightly and then began to construct another new spell. This one he hadn’t used nearly as often, at least not outside of simple practice. He wasn’t as confident with it, but that mattered a little less as the arrows rained down and smacked into the shields his guards were holding. Trying to ignore their pained grunts, he set his hands on the stones of the bridge and concentrated.
It was called Autumnal Crushing Force, and he’d used it once to turn a sturdy boulder to dust. That result had surprised him, since the description of the spell had indicated it was only useful to break up small boulders into gravel-sized chunks. At the time, it seemed he had chosen a target too small to handle the power he could channel.
This time, however, his goal was bigger. Much, much bigger.
Matt allowed the spell to target the bridge going into Brensville, specifically the portion that extended ahead of him and his lifeguards. He thought his reach extended nearly to the heavy gatehouse at the end of the bridge itself, but it was difficult for him to be sure. It didn’t need to reach all the way; he just had to destroy enough of the stonework to keep anyone from being able to cross the gap.
Once he felt he had that much, Matt allowed the raging magic to fill the framework and spill out into the world.
The change was instant. One moment, the bridge to Brensville was strong and solid, more a feature of the terrain than a man-made structure. It was old, too, something that had stood for decades if not centuries. Then Matt’s power pulsed, and cracks spread along the stone. He felt the bridge’s spine shatter, fragmenting like a glass sculpture struck by a stone. His lifeguards shouted and stumbled backwards; an arrow slipped through the gap between two shields, and Matt jerked in surprise as the sharp point skipped off the still-intact stones behind him. Other arrows were caught by shields, or veered strangely aside as they drew near.
Matt staggered as the bridge began to shake. The parts ahead of him were beginning to crumble; he could barely hear the shouts of the Knights on the walls over the sound of stones tumbling into the river below. He grabbed Balred and yelled over the chaos. “Back across the bridge! Now!”
He didn’t need to repeat the order. His lifeguards ran back with him as the arrows stopped coming from the wall. Matt risked a glance backwards and saw that the bridge was still mostly intact, though the cracks spiderwebbed most of its surface. To his shock, the doors of the gatehouse had started to open—had the Knights been about to charge out across the bridge to fight him directly? Whatever their intention, none of them seemed to want to risk stepping out on the now-fragile structure.
The aftershocks of the spell faded as they reached the far side of the bridge, a fact that flooded him with relief. He reached the safety of the end of the bridge and fell down alongside his guards, all gasping for air as the distant shouts of the Knights chased him. A few arrows still whistled out from the battlements, but most of the Knights were just pointing down at the damaged bridge and shouting.
Matt stared at them, letting his breath go back to normal. He checked his Source and found plenty of power to spare; if anything, the spell had only riled the magic within him, setting it tumbling about at an accelerated pace.
He looked at the bridge, and then back at the walls. Then he smiled. “All right, we’re partway done. Who wants to try again?”
