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Iron Kingdom B3Ch3: The Sortenmoors
🕑 Added 2024-11-21 15:00:04 +0000 UTCIn the end, it took another four days to reach the borders of the Sortenmoors.
It would have been quicker, but unfortunately, Snolt’s hopes for good weather were ruined by an early rainstorm that had reduced the roads to slush and clinging mud for two full days. The initially high spirits of the soldiers had slowly dampened as they continued to forge their way through the resulting mire, headed for whatever chaos still raged ahead.
Fortunately, Tanya’s suggestion had paid off in the meantime. Melren had corrected some of the mantras that Matt had been using to try to form his next source, as well as suggesting some better ones. As a result, he’d made a surprising amount of progress, though he doubted he would gain new spells to use anytime soon.
By the time they finally reached the Sortenmoors, Matt felt as if the entire army breathed a sigh of relief. The road they were following had grown more and more rocky and uphill as they’d followed it. Wet rocks didn’t provide that much more purchase than mud, and he couldn’t count the number of swearing, mildly bruised soldiers that had needed to be helped up after a bad fall. The fact that the trees were thinning out the higher they went was only a mild benefit; the increased amount of sunlight was balanced out by the wind sweeping across the grasslands to make the soldiers shiver in their armor.
In the end, they finally crested one last hill, and came to the village of Sorbriar, the northernmost settlement within the Sortenmoors.
Or at least, the burnt-out ruins where it had once stood.
Matt felt a sinking feeling as they drew closer to the blackened, shattered remnants of the town. He’d seen ruins before and had burnt villages during his raids into enemy territory. Something about this place was different, though. There were signs it had been burnt down multiple times. Most of the buildings had been destroyed at least once, but there had been attempts to rebuild here and there, only for yet another fire to sweep through. The crude, scattered grave markers just outside of the town showed what had happened to those who hadn’t run fast enough to escape each time.
In the end, the destruction had been too much, or the few remaining holdouts had finally been hunted down. By the signs of it, nobody had returned to the place in weeks. Snow covered the few fragile buildings that remained standing.
The scouts that Snolt had dispatched arrived a moment later, and Matt grimaced as the Captain relayed their findings. “Nobody around, and no supplies either, sire. We’re lucky that we brought what we did, otherwise we’d be rationing what’s left.”
“We might have to do that yet.” Matt glanced at Melren, who had been going over the maps each night while Matt practiced mantras. “How much further before we reach the next settlement?”
“The very next village was Tolworth’s Den, but we had news that it was burnt down weeks ago.” Melren shook his head, consulting a parchment where he had sketched his own crude notes. “The next place that sounded like it was still intact was the town of Greyspring, two days further southwest.”
Snolt rode up next to the former nobleman and peered over his shoulder, the massive Warg he rode giving him more than enough height to get a good view. “He has the right of it, sire. We might as well keep moving, unless you still want to rest here for the night.”
Matt shook his head. “No. Let’s keep moving.” He glanced at the burnt-out shells of the village buildings again. There had to be some places that were still intact, didn’t there? “Make sure we keep our scouts looking as well. We know Teblas took a lot of his bandits with him to the Battle of Seven Princes, but there’s probably more than enough still wandering this place.”
Snolt nodded and set about organizing the patrols. Matt looked around, searching for any signs, but found only snow-streaked, muddy grasslands. In the distance, he could see the Blackridge Mountains, part of which made up the Onyx Clan territories. The headwaters of the Blackstone River were up there, which formed the southern border of the Sortenmoors as it flowed past on its journey to join up with the River Crimson. Together, they flowed south and into the Lakes of Glass, part of the territory belonging to the Order of Lion’s Roar.
It was terrain that seemed both beautiful and dreary all at once, especially with the remnants of the past night’s rainstorm still turning the sky grey. It almost felt like being back home in Wyoming, with the broad open skies and wind sweeping from the mountains, but then a Warg barked and he was brought back to his current situation with a jarring sensation.
He shook his head over the distraction and set Nelson moving again. Another two days was more of a delay than he’d hoped, but as long as he found what he was looking for, it wouldn’t be for nothing.
The town of Greyspring was a minor settlement in the Sortenmoors. Before Matt had arrived in the world, it had boasted a population of not less than two thousand peasants, made up of Wizards under the rule of the Circle of Celrii. Unlike most settlements in the area, it had been built with defense in mind, with a wooden palisade around the town proper. It had held out for at least three days during the Red Sorceress’ invasion of the Sortenmoors.
In typical fashion for her, she’d rewarded their stubborn defense with butchery. She’d slaughtered half of the population, reduced the survivors to serfdom, and then forcibly moved in a mixed population of Low Folk Orcs, Goblins, and Imps to take possession of the newly vacant fields and homes. Rule of the place had been given over to a Leaffall Orc noblewoman who had impressed her. The town had then been left to adjust to the new circumstances as the Red Sorceress had continued through the rest of the Sortenmoors, subjugating all that stood in her way.
Greyspring had then simply continued on, with minimal interference beyond the occasional harsh taxes and officious demands, until rebellion and invasion had swept in again.
Teblas had taken the town without any real effort, winning over the Leaffall nobles in charge of it with a combination of threats and bribes. He had moved on, trying to subdue more of the Sortenmoors, but as the area turned into a bloodbath, Suluth’s Shadow Hunters had launched a raid. They’d breached the walls and struck at the nobles in charge, killing them all along with a few serfs to set an example. When Teblas had sent banners to retake the town, the Hunters had retreated, taking some of the supplies as they went.
It had set a tone for the rest of the fall and most of the winter. Teblas’ soldiers would arrive, only to leave when they received new orders. Others would come—members of the Crown Guard, or Suluth’s Hunters, or some other random group of bandits—and take some of their due, occasionally damaging the town’s walls or buildings as they went. The patience of the townspeople had lasted for almost two months.
At that point, the town had started to fight back. A half-banner of Teblas’ men had been turned away after a short, sharp battle at the walls. An unidentified group of militia had launched their own small raiding party and had lost half of their number to arrows from the walls. More bandits gave the town a try as food became scarce and desperation drove them to try their luck. Aside from more burned buildings and more shallow graves, Greyspring remained unphased.
Matt kept that in mind as he listened to the alarm bells ring when his army marched into sight of the place.
Unlike Sorbriar, the town was obviously still full of life. Perhaps a quarter of the buildings had been burnt, but some of them showed signs of active repair. He saw movement on the walls, the shapes of archers that were pointing in his direction. There weren’t any flags; perhaps the serfs here had decided that they no longer wanted any.
After a short argument with Snolt and Melren, he led his lifeguard forward, riding ahead of his column. He wasn’t entirely convinced that he would have to fight in this place, and if he did, he wanted to be sure it wasn’t some kind of miscommunication. One of his lifeguards carried a grey flag of parley; another was carrying the flag of the Iron Kingdom.
That flag, in particular, was new. Tanya had apparently developed it while he was busy fighting for his life in the Grim Hollows. It was simple enough, with a red stripe on the bottom and a white one on the top. A wedge of blue took up the side closest to the pole, with six gold stars surrounding a seventh in the center of it. She’d claimed the red represented the bravery and sacrifice of the people, blue represented the justice and determination of the Kingdom, and white represented the peace that he was trying to build as King. The stars were supposed to represent the six High Clans, with the one in the center representing him.
Matt thought that she’d mostly just gotten lazy and fallen back on the red, white, and blue of the United States, but it was a serviceable enough flag. It wasn’t like he wanted to make one of his own, after all.
If the townspeople had seen it before, they didn’t give any sign of it. Instead, they finished locking the doors shut, and then waited as his little group drew near, obviously expecting him to announce himself. Matt brought Nelson to a stop on the road and drew in a deep breath. His raids into the Order of Griffon’s territory had at least given him practice announcing himself to terrified townspeople.
“People of Greyspring! I am King Matthew, ruler of the Kingdom of Iron. I’ve come to put an end to the bloodshed here in the Sortenmoors. Open your gates and allow us to take shelter here with you.”
There was a hurried conversation of some kind on the walls. Matt thought it almost reached the point where they were shouting at each other. He tried not to look like he was straining to hear what they were saying.
Eventually, however, one of the archers shouted back down to him. “How do we know you are who you say you are?”
The lifeguards stirred, but Matt settled them back into their saddles with a glance. “I’m here with nine banners of Crown Guard, and messages from Redspire. They’ll all confirm my identity.”
He heard a few loud curses from the top of the wall. The same voice shouted back at him. “Your pardon, sire, but there’s been a lot of armies riding around here lately. Some of them kept using flags of all kinds to mark themselves. Not all of them were honest.”
It was a reasonable concern. He smiled. “Is there any way I can prove myself, then? I would use my magic, but I’ve been told it is a little… unnerving.”
There was another whispered conversation, and then a new voice yelled down at him. “No magic! If you want to show us the truth, though, take off your helmet.”
This time, Matt completely understood the uneasy shifting among his guards. Removing his helmet seemed like a good way to get shot in the face. “May I ask why?”
“The tales say that King Matthew isn’t from our world. That he’s some kind of demon that killed the Red Sorceress and brought the curse of war down on us. He rides a giant monster and can break the earth as he walks. He’s a Human, they say, and his eyes are strange.” The unseen speaker grew more confident as he spoke. Matt tried to ignore the muffled chuckles among his guards. “If you’re really him, you’ll be able to show us just by taking your helmet off. Unless you’re just some Knight or Wizard who feels like they’re being clever.”
Matt let himself think about it for a moment longer. Then he nodded. “Fine then. If anyone tries anything, though, my troops won’t let any of you escape.” Silence answered him, and he sighed.
He reached up and unbuckled the straps holding his helmet in place. A moment later, he pulled it off and set it on Nelson’s saddle horn. “There. Can you see me?”
Up on the walltop, he saw townsfolk peeking over the edge of the palisade. They were a curious mix; he saw Orcs and Wizards side by side, without any apparent animosity. Apparently, the constant fighting had made for curious alliances. Maybe it would spread to the rest of the Kingdom, if he could just convince everyone to stop trying to wipe his people out.
More and more people were peering at him from the walls; he could see whispered arguments starting as they debated what they’d seen. He glanced at his guards, who seemed both impatient and amused. Then he looked back along the road, where his soldiers were still coming on their weary way, looking for rest.
Matt looked back at the wall top. “Send someone out. They can see if my eyes are strange, and then they can come back to the rest of you.”
One of the Orcs scowled down at him. “And give you a hostage?”
“I have nearly as many soldiers as you probably have people inside those walls. If I wanted, the whole town is my hostage.” Matt tried to restrain his annoyance, but he was just as tired and cold as the rest of his troops. “Just send someone out. Unless none of you are brave enough?”
The demand seemed to provoke another round of arguments, at least until one of them threw his hands up in the air. “Enough, I’ll just go. If he kills me, then at least you’ll know to kill him back, won’t you?”
With that, the man grabbed a rope from one of the others and started to rappel down the face of the palisade. Others on the top of the wall were holding the rope as he descended, letting it play out as he got closer to the ground.
When the man reached the ground, Matt dismounted from Nelson and walked forward. The lifeguards stirred, but he waved them back again. All the same, he kept his hand on his mace and studied the man carefully.
It looked like he was a Wizard or a Knight of some kind; honestly, Matt didn’t know if he’d be able to tell the difference when it came to one of their peasants. They had the same overlarge pupils of all their kin, though, and a wiry build that seemed to suggest some kind of hunter rather than a farmer or builder. A knife was sheathed in his belt, and he had an axe on his other hip.
Matt walked Nelson a little further out in front of his lifeguards, and then let the man come to him. He saw the townsperson take a few confident strides. Then his eyes seemed to lock onto Matt’s face, and he stumbled to a halt.
For a long moment, the man just stared. Matt looked back, feeling another twinge of impatience. He spread his arms. “Well?”
The man slowly went to one knee. “King Matthew. Welcome to Greyspring.” He paused. “I hope you take no offense at my words. Sometimes, when you hear rumors, it can seem—”
Matt waved the words away with one hand. He swung his way out of Nelson’s saddle. It felt absurdly good to be on his own feet for a few moments. “I understand.” He stepped forward and extended his hand. The man stared at it, not seeming to understand. “In my world, we shake hands to show trust. Stand up. Grab it.”
The man stood slowly. He cautiously grabbed Matt’s hand and seemed a little surprised when Matt simply shook it and released his grip. Matt smiled. “There. Now we’ve met. Will you let us in, please? It has been a long road.”
Still staring at him in apparent awe, the man had to shake himself to recover from his daze. “Y-yes. Of course, sire.” He spun around and looked up at the wall. “It’s him! Open the gates!”
“Are you sure? He doesn’t seem all that much like a demon.”
Matt cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to?”
There was a brief silence, and the man outside the wall grew a little pale. Then one of the men on top of the wall spoke again, his voice showing a little more strain. “N-no, sire. Just one moment. We’ll open the gates.”
Matt nodded, feeling a little relieved. The last thing he needed was to burn one of the last towns left standing in the Sortenmoors. He looked at the man who’d come to meet him. “Who is in charge here? Did any of the nobles survive?”
The man shook his head. “No, sire. I don’t think any of their heirs made it out of the Sortenmoors.”
It didn’t seem like the serf was all that broken up by the problem, either. Matt stifled a grin and tried to look serious. “I suppose that means you owe your service to me, then.”
There was a flash of reluctance and resentment in the other man’s expression. “Yes, sire.”
“Good.” Matt smiled. “That means, as of this moment, you’re all free.”
His statement made the man blink in surprise. He glanced at the lifeguards, who were watching him impassively. When he looked back at Matt, his shock gave way to astonishment. “Free? You mean—”
“You’ll have all the rights of a freeholder. That means you can arm yourselves, establish an Assembly, own property, and travel where you wish.” Matt frowned slightly. “I had sent a declaration…”
“We heard, but there was some… debate about what it all meant.” The man was grinning now, as if he’d somehow won the lottery. “The Voice said you meant it. That it was all true. We should have listened. Parthed! The Voice was right! We’re all free! Tell the others!”
There was a pause, and then multiple shouts rang out on the wall. Some of them were starting to yell questions down at the man in front of the gates, but Matt stepped forward.
“You said something about a Voice. What did you mean?”
The man’s smile had grown almost manic. “The Voice of the Sortenmoors. They’ve been waiting for you. We’ve all been waiting for you.”
Before Matt could ask another question, the town’s gates abruptly swung open. Matt looked up to find a sudden flood of curious townspeople streaming out. His lifeguards began to step forward, but Matt simply straightened up. He didn’t think his enemies would have been able to slip an assassin in here. He was still wearing most of his armor anyway, and if a portion of the people in the Sortenmoors had really been waiting for him…
Perhaps his mission to this place wasn’t quite as doomed as he’d believed. He smiled and stepped forward into the welcoming crowd just as the town’s bell began to clamor a different tune across the windswept moors. It was a much better day.
“We did hear about the proclamations, of course. There was the messenger, and then the rumors too.” The town Reeve, an Orc named Sarn, shook his head. He was the fifth person to hold the title in three months; the others had all fled or been killed by raiders from one side or the other. “The Lady Nebband told us that there had to be some mistake. She instructed us to ignore it and get back to work. When she died, there were other riders, other messengers. Some said you’d been killed, others that you were lying. Many of them tried to find recruits, to persuade the town to join one side or another. It was hard to know who to trust.”
Matt nodded. He was eating at a table with most of the surviving town elders, all of whom seemed relieved and overjoyed to have someone they could rely on to come to their defense. Hopefully, they would remain just as enthusiastic when they realized his banners hadn’t come to stay. “I am sorry that there has been so much chaos. The Kingdom has needed to face many enemies since I took the throne.”
Melren, eating across from him, nodded. “Indeed. Our King has already defeated most of the rebels, and turned back an invasion from the Noble Races. Soon, he’ll do the same to the Alliance of Light.”
“The sooner, the better, sire.” The man who’d greeted him outside the wall—who he’d eventually learned was named Ar’then—grinned and nudged a Goblin sitting next to him. They shared a chuckle. “From what your men have said, you’re fierce enough to have them trying to swim the Blackstone.”
Maybe it was time to temper expectations a little. “I certainly hope so. At the very least, I mean to see the Sortenmoors united again under one banner.”
The Reeve broke out into a wide smile. He smacked the table and laughed. “That would be a sight to see, sire. These days, it seems like the whole country will never see peace.”
Matt shook his head. “In any case, one of the things we currently lack is a good picture of what the situation is here. Not much of the news about the Sortenmoors has made it back to Redspire.”
The newly liberated freeholders exchanged looks. It was the Reeve who spoke again. “That would make sense, sire. News normally gets carried by merchants or travelers, and it isn’t safe for either here at the moment.”
“Do you have maps? Ones that could show me where our enemies might be located?”
Ar’then was the one who answered, looking a little grim. “No, sire. Most of the groups are keeping their camps hidden, especially these days. We know which of the towns and villages have survived, but aside from that…”
The Reeve grunted. “Actually, we know where one of the camps might be. There was a group that used to be loyal to Teblas, before he went east. We don’t know the exact location, but they’re nearby.” He gave Matt an apologetic look. “They send riders every few days, looking for what they call tribute.”
Matt nodded. “Even that much would be helpful. Any information is better than nothing.”
The Reeve nodded. “Well, don’t you worry. Now that you’re here, I’m sure the Voice will probably give you all the reports that you might need.”
Snolt spoke up before Matt could. “The Voice? We have a couple of those in Redspire, but we don’t know anything about one here.”
The freeholders looked at each other again and then back at Matt. “The Voice… well, once they heard the proclamation, there were a few towns and villages that believed it applied immediately. So they started forming militias to hunt down anyone allied to Teblas or the Alliance.”
Ar’then nodded. “Yeah, though they were a little extreme about it. Eventually, a bunch of them got together and chose someone to lead them. Called themselves the Voice of the Sortenmoors. Never seen them, though. Just heard about them running around the moors, hunting down people they called traitors and fighting whoever got in their way.”
“I see.” It was both good and bad to hear that he had explicitly friendly forces in the area. If the Voice was a true ally and would enthusiastically support Matt’s forces, it would be an incredible foothold in the Sortenmoors. More realistically, if the Voice of the Sortenmoors had just been using Matt as a figurehead to rally around, and took exception that an actual King had shown up to retake control, things were going to be far uglier.
He exchanged a look with Melren, who seemed to have similar misgivings. Then he looked back at the Reeve and forced another smile. “Well, here’s to the hope that we’ll put an end to all of this trouble soon. For the Kingdom of Iron!”
The surrounding diners raised their own voices to echo his words, and he continued to smile as his mind whirled with plans. He hadn’t seen an enemy yet, but something told Matt that he was going to run out of time. Soon.
“You wanted to see me, sire?”
“Yes.” Matt didn’t immediately look up from the map he was studying. It showed a much clearer picture of the Sortenmoors than he’d had back in Redspire.
According to the Reeve and the rest of the townspeople, there were only ten towns still intact across the entire Sortenmoors, along with about two dozen much smaller villages. Two other towns had more or less become independent forts for the winter, much like Greyspring had. Four more they considered contested, as militias belonging to remnants of Teblas’ supporters and other armed groups fought over them.
It was the last three towns that drew his attention the most. All three were located in the southernmost parts of the moors, on the banks of the Blackstone River. Coorsford, Brensville, and Bridgeton were all supposedly still intact, and they represented the southern gateways into the Sortenmoors. If the Alliance of Light wanted to cross into his territory, they’d have to cross the rivers at one of those three spots.
Unfortunately, the people of Greyspring had very little information on who owned those three towns. At least one of them had been fought over recently; Brensville was probably actually still in the hands of either the Alliance or Teblas’ loyalists, if there was any difference at this point. He guessed that Coorsford had been taken as well, since it was east of Brensville, and the Alliance could have taken it on the way to reinforcing Teblas before the Battle of Seven Princes. Of Bridgeton, further to the west, he’d heard nothing beyond the fact that it seemed to have not been burned.
All of which meant that of the three crossings he needed to control, two were in enemy hands, and the third was a mystery—and all he had to work with were some enthusiastic freeholders and nine banners of Crown Guard. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for success.
He sighed and pushed himself away from the table. “Thank you, Captain. Have we gotten reports back from the scouts?”
Snolt nodded and pointed to a place on the map near Greyspring. “Yes, sire. We found the bandit camp. They’re only a short distance from here.”
“Excellent.” Matt smiled. “Who found it? Was it Gwelfed?”
“It was, sire.” Snolt smirked. “I don’t call her the best for no reason.”
Matt nodded. He looked at the spot where Snolt had indicated the camp existed. It was located a short distance to the south and east. His soldiers might be able to reach it in half a day’s march. “How many troops are there?”
“Gwelfed said there were probably three or four banners there. No real soldiers, just militia.” Snolt hesitated, as if remembering the Irregulars that had fought at the Battle of Seven Princes. “At least, not highly trained militia, sire. She said she saw a few flags from Leaffall and the Alliance, but no armored forces.”
For a moment, Matt debated his options. He felt the urgency of securing the crossings. If he could capture Brensville and Coorsford, it would keep the Alliance on their own side of the river that much more easily. At the same time, if he went straight for the river, he’d be leaving a small army in his rear, where they could raid his supply lines. Besides, while Greyspring was excited about his arrival now, they wouldn’t stay that way if he ignored bandits that were harassing them.
As he studied the map, he felt a brief moment of pity for Teblas. The rebel had probably faced similar threats from militia on Matt’s side, and he’d wasted valuable time chasing them around the map. If Matt spent the early spring doing something similar, would he find himself wasting his own forces the same way? In a handful of weeks, the Alliance would be descending on his Kingdom like a hammer. Was chasing down a pack of bandits the way to prepare for it?
Was there even a way to really prepare for the incoming invasion? Nine banners weren’t going to stop the Alliance from smashing their way into the Sortenmoors. At best, he’d be able to slow them down, if he wasn’t overwhelmed completely from the start. If he was beaten at the crossings, he’d have to retreat quickly—something which would be severely harder to do if there were still a massive number of bandits all across his back lines.
Matt looked up at Snolt again. “Were the bandits aware of us? Did they have sentries out?”
Snolt shook his head. “There was no sign that they knew we were in the area, sire. Gwelfed said she saw a few sentries, but not a whole lot.”
Those answers helped him make his decision. “All right. Get the army up and moving. We’re hitting this bandit camp. I want the troops ready to move by tomorrow morning. Along with whatever volunteers want to come from the town.”
“Volunteers, sire?” Snolt couldn’t help but frown. It was obvious he didn’t like the idea of marching into battle alongside militia of any kind.
Matt nodded. “They’ll be helpful, Captain. Trust me. Besides, there’ll be plenty of fighting ahead of us.”
The Goblin grinned widely. He was always cheerful going into battle. “Yes, my liege.” He saluted and then left, a noticeable spring in his step.
Matt shook his head over the Captain’s enthusiasm. His finger traced a new path over the map’s surface. He’d have to find a way to reduce the number of crossings the Alliance could use to invade. After he managed that, he could start hunting down their patsies on this side of the Blackstone River. Hopefully, he’d be able to do it all before the enemy could stop him.
