‘First we get the King safely into the grounds of Cawyck Castle. Then we see which lords have heard the summons,’ he answered.
They had been travelling for over a week and Tobin had had plenty of time to compose letters to the lords of the realm that he knew the King could still call friend. At suitable locations he had dropped off a Royal guardsman who could be trusted to deliver the message safely. The letter was a call to arms, a summons to the lords of the realm to a war council. Hopefully many would already be making their way to Cawyck Castle, a safe haven for the king. At Oldcastle he had set a rider ahead to warn Lord Cavendish of Cawyck that the King was but a day out, and he was pleased to see the portcullis raised as they approached, but still felt wary.
The King was still delirious from his wound, and the perils of travelling had lengthened his recovery. Yet, the physician said, he was recovering, if slowly. The Queen tended to the King in his cramped cabin, and Tobin had grown to admire her resolve and courage over the last few days.
A few days ago they had sat together in the King’s cabin, watching Merric sleeping peacefully. They were both silent for a long time, lost in their own thoughts and fears. Suddenly she broke the silence.
‘So there will be war,’ she said, her voice matter of fact, as if speaking of something of no consequence. She looked so proud, and inner strength seemed to radiate off her as she spoke. He loved her a little then.
‘Yes my Queen,’ answered Tobin. ‘The dice have been cast, and we will have war now.’
‘Can we win?’ she asked, looking down at the King’s pale face.
Tobin sighed sadly, and tested a lie for a moment, something sweet to ease her concerns, but something about her made him realise that would have been an error. The truth would serve him better. ‘I do not know, my Queen. The Concord is made up of many high lords of the realm. Many of them have small armies at their disposal and can call on levies. They can afford to raise and equip men. Ryder is an experienced general; it will not be an easy thing.’
She looked back at him, her brown eyes sharp and penetrating. ‘But you are Tobin the Wolfhound. You are not Perriswood the Craven.’
‘That is correct,’ he had said. what else could he say, Tobin thought?
They sat in silence then, on either side of the sleeping King. Only the occasional sounds of lapping water or the call of the boat men to disturb their troubled thoughts.
Returning to the here and now, Tobin considered Remus’s question. It had been a good one. What now indeed? All Tobin could do was take stock of his position, and find out who stood with the King and also who stood against. This was the false peace before the war proper. That would begin in late spring. Not long to wait. Ryder would begin his campaign then, for the roads would not be as impassable as they often were in winter. Would he plan to assault Cawyck? Or would he seek to secure the countryside around the south? Or did he have some other aim?
Tobin liked to break a large problem down into smaller problems. He often reduced his campaigns into a series of obstacles that needed to be challenged and dealt with. Ryder’s war would begin in spring. Tobin’s had begun the day the King was brought wounded into the King’s Tower. Ordering the gates sealed he had set to work identifying the obstacles to overcome. His first obstacle had been to get the King out of Thornsreach. The King was nothing more than a hostage, while trapped in the King’s Tower.
That was simple. The castle had many ancient secret ways and sally ports that only to the King and a trusted few knew of, including those who held the title of King’s general. Tobin had sent men to smash down a wall in the under croft of the castle, and they revealed a tunnel that led deep under the city to exit at a narrow cave close to the beaches near the docks. The Thorne was a busy river, and it was nothing to arrange a large river boat to pick up the King and his family from the beach. Enough coin in the hands of a ship’s captain, guaranteed secrecy and co –operation. However he had also placed four Royal Guards aboard the ship to insure the captain did not have any sudden clever ideas about selling them out to the Concord. After performing his little mummer’s play to Ryder and Middleton they had set about moving the sick King through the tunnels. Remus and the remaining knights had helped carry the King’s cot through the tunnels. The Queen and her children coming with them. It had been a long and exhausting journey under the city. Eventually, in the early hours of the morning they reached the cave and were picked up by the Jealous Maiden. Once Tobin was satisfied the King was comfortable, he told the Captain to make his way inland to the spot where the Taw joined the Thorne. From that place the Taw headed in a westerly direction for Cawyck Castle.
He hoped the servants he left behind would be treated well. He knew Ryder was no butcher, but what of the Middleton? But he could not risk taking too many. In the end he took only a few of the men, including Remus, he had not even needed to be asked to undergo the perilous journey to Cawyck with a King that might die of his wounds. Tobin’s nerves had been frayed during the journey. Constantly he scanned the shore line looking out for enemy horsemen, or watching the river for another boat trying to intercept them, but the journey had been peaceful. It had been a mad ploy, but it had worked. Poor Ryder had thought he had won as he blocked the gates to the King’s Hill with his thugs. The Jealous Maiden was probably ten miles or so out of Thornsreach before Ryder realised Merric had escaped. Even if they had sent horsemen, or a boat, they would still be miles behind and unsure of where the King was heading. However, that knowledge had not prevented Tobin from worrying.
Yet, he had succeeded in getting the King to Cawyck, and that meant it was time to begin the fight back. He looked at Remus and said, ‘We need support from the Royalist lords. Words are no good we must raise the royal banner and call the lords.’
Remus nodded as he looked at the city that rolled past them. It seemed peaceful at this late hour with only a few house illuminated in the dark. It seemed strange to the mercenary that a king would have to sneak in to his own city like a common thief.
‘We could look to the companies,’ said Remus eventually. ‘Many would travel over the Grey Sea for coin, but only a few could be trusted. It’s a shame the Honourable Company was at Cathan. Old Lotho would have been a fine general to have on your side’
Tobin nodded. ‘I have already considered the free companies, and I have need of you, Remus,’ he said. ‘I need you to act as my voice to speak to an old friend of mine on the continent.’
Remus sighed mockingly. ‘Just when I was getting used to soft living.’
Both men laughed quietly at that, for the last few days had been less than luxurious on the cramped ship. Then there was a brief silence as Remus mulled it over, and then finally he nodded and said. ‘Aye, I will head out after I have rested and see what I can do. Who do you wish me to speak to?’
‘The commander of a company stationed in Ruosk,’ said Tobin. ‘It is the Red Dragons I would hire. Time is against us now, and you must do this as quickly as you can. We need those men.
Remus turned to face him, ‘The Red Dragons? But, my lord, they are Kalithans, they’re not human!’
‘I know who and what they are, Remus. Their commander is a…, a man who owes me a debt. One I mean to call in. Is this too much to ask of you?’ he asked.
Remus grinned into the night. ‘No my lord, I will not refuse a man who has the likes of Bara- Nac-Col indebted to him.’
‘You will be handsomely rewarded for your troubles,’ said Tobin, with a faint smile.
‘I expect to be my Lord Tobin.’ said, Remus, ‘It will not be easy to speak with him.’
They stood, on the prow of the boat, watching the city roll by in silence. Lost in their own thoughts and plans. Soon the formidable walls and towers of Cawyck Castle hooved into view, and the boat men began to call and shout to one another as they steered the ship to a small jetty that jutted from the walls of the Castle.
Tobin’s heart swelled in relief and pride as his eyes fell upon the scene before him. He he
ard Remus whistle softly at the sight of it. Thirty or so nobles in all their splendour waited for the King on the jetty. Their armour glittered like stars, in the light of the many torches held by their servants. Priests began to sing healing chants and rang bells as the boat came in sight. Thousands of soldiers lined the banks of the river, and at the sound of deep war drum they began to shout.
‘Long live the King!’ they chanted, ‘Long live the King!’
The Captain of the Ironsides
The wind blew through Jon’s hair. It had been a relief to take the stifling helmet off his head and feel the cooling wind run over his sweat covered face. He was roasting, even in the late winter air, in his armour. Though winter was passing, and Jon could almost smell spring in the air now. When spring came, the army of the Concord would leave the walls of Thornsreach and hunt down the King. That thought pleased him. The winter of king’s was coming to an end and a new spring of the free was on the way. Even if the fools of the Concord could not see it for themselves. But what of it? The Lords of the Concord believed themselves the new power in the Golden Isles, they would have their day, and then, if god was good, pass into the lands inglorious history as nothing more than an unpleasant memory.
He watched his men drilling outside of the city’s walls, and felt a surge of pride. They were learning fast. Even the Lords of the Concord, who had once seen his ‘rabble’ as a joke, were beginning to compliment him on the discipline of the men. The lords congratulated him as if he was simple child who had just learnt a clever trick. Let them! For he would reward them soon enough for their pride and arrogance.
God was on his side, he knew. How else could it have been so easy for him? He had challenged the powers and he had been rewarded. After the riots had calmed he had travelled the alehouses again, and spoke of the brutality of the lords and the foolishness of kings. He showed the poor that they lived in burnt hovels when the King, and his lapdog Tobin, ate larks tongues in their palaces. He turned their anger and resentment into a weapon, and slowly he had begun to build a new organisation of malcontents and jack-o-stripes that would make old Wallencourt shrink in shame.
Caling had come to his lodgings frequently, during the weeks after the riots. The young lord’s gold poured freely from his purse. Jon had spent it wisely, and had found it easy to raise a rabble to besiege the gates of the King’s Tower as asked by Caling. His men, as he liked to think of them, where the damned of Thornsreach. Criminals, thugs, the poor man and those who had found meaning in Free Jon’s words. Perhaps for the first time in their lives many of these men had a purpose that raised them out of the shit and filth of the Stews.
The day the King fled Thornsreach had been a blessed day, a day of revelation. The Lords of the Concord had lit the spark, and he rejoiced in the news that the wounded King was locked behind his own walls. But then word came that somehow the royal devil had escaped with his general. In his anger and disappointment Free Jon had returned to his lodging and cried and shouted in rage. His dreams that night were vivid and bright. They were filled with images of his dead wife and the mocking Dex. Mocking ghosts of the past that tore at his flesh and spirit. But, in his darkest hour he had his revelation. A white flash scoured his mind clean of all doubts, and the voices in his head were stilled as he realised the truth of his role. The Concord had failed him and the nation, but they had only begun the holy business of freeing the common folk. It was he who would be the new shepherd of the commoner. God had anointed him and tasked him with bringing his people to the holy land of freedom.
At first, he had spoken of his vision in whispers to his most loyal followers. He spoke of a world free of king’s and the robber barons of the Concord. It was a beautiful republic where all men were born free and protected by the laws of god. Jon had written an anonymous pamphlet that outlined his vision of the future. The pages were afire with his words and every page questioned the orders of things and spoke of a new way. He had called it the, World Turned Upside Down, and the people loved it. The Concord was furious and had tried to find the spreader of such blasphemies, but with the King went his spy network and Jon went undiscovered.
The Concord would not suspect Jon, for he did his part for them. Yet he loathed working for lords, and no longer trusted Caling. That man was like all of his kind, contemptuous manipulators who thought men like Free Jon were stupid. Caling hadn’t even thought to check if he was being followed, when he left Free Jon’s home. Jon’s own spies had told him of his frequent visits to Lord Middleton’s home. It was clear Caling was but a cat’s-paw for the lord, and Free Jon would play the game until it no longer suited him. He knew the Concord would not seek any real change, and he suspected Ryder meant only to chastise the King, to remind him of the power of the lords, not the people. Jon wondered if Middleton, a greedy young noble, had other ideas and fancied a crown on his head. How long would it be before the Concord was split by such greed?
But that was a problem for another day. Now the risk lay in open war. Word had spread that Tobin had raised an army to defend the wounded King at Castle Cawyck. The Concord had set about raising a force and fortifying the city of Thornsreach. Messages had gone out and Ryder spend many hours in a Council of War. The College of Cardinals, led by that snake Fenwick, had offered support to the Concord, and priests now preached the virtues of ‘just wars’ to their congregations. Men arrived daily to join the Concord’s cause, and the recruiting sergeants were busy men.
It had become an old game now, the game of nobles at war with one another. Jon knew the poor would be the first to suffer. Free Jon had raised men as Caling had asked, but he had made sure many of his men were loyal to him and his cause. As for the others he had bought their loyalty with god and pretty words. Many were ex-soldiers and rough sorts. Ill-disciplined, at first, but strong and tough. He had begged, borrowed and stolen equipment for them, and he had begun to study war.
His men joined the growing armed camp outside the city of Thornsreach. From the city walls could be seen tents and flags of diverse colours. A bright field of tents that filled the western reaches outside of the hanging gates. The captains and lords frequently drilled and exercised their men, and Jon had watched and learnt. He had followed Caling’s instructions, but Jon had his own plan, for he was not content with just a party of thugs. Slowly, he encouraged them to join in the drilling, and then he had armed them with chainmail and a spear. Not enough, but a start.
When he had recruited two hundred new men for his Ironsides, as he called them, he had marched them out and drilled. At first the men were a foolish sight, but he kept drilling them hard, and they learnt quickly. Soon his efforts got the attention of the Lords of the Concord, and many of them had begun to drill their men alongside his. Jon learnt the styles of command and movement of men in formation. It would be spring soon, and his Ironsides would be ready for war.
It had been hard, and his men had been jeered at by the soldiers of the noble’s houses at first. But he had faith and made sure his men practised and drilled every day. He kept their spirits up and he drilled alongside them. His men responded well to that, and he worked hard to be seen to be fair and kind. He knew his men’s chance would come and he would be patient. It was a strange thing to find himself a leader of men. Jon had never seen himself as a soldier but he found he had a knack for it.
As the weeks rolled by his ranks swelled, and he soon had close to five hundred men at his command. His men were getting sharper too. They stopped being a mob of individuals; they became a regiment, moving in synchronisation. He understood that war was about formations. Battles were lost when formation broke and men were slaughtered. So, he had drilled his men to fight in a methodical and disciplined way as a body. He had struggled to equip that many, but again Caling came to the rescue. The lord threw his money around with that over confident smile of his. The poor fool had no idea that judgement had been passed on him and he would one day be called to account.
War was a regrettable necessity, and many of the men who h
ad joined the Ironsides would be dead by next Wintersong. But the cause was just. Fear and compassion were luxuries now. Jon knew the war would be decided by the sword, and he wanted the common man to be the ones who were victorious. His Ironsides would be his sword and his shield. War would be the crucible where he would forge a new world, and his faith would sustain him.
Soon they would march out to war, and in the long days ahead, when towns and villages burned, when brother turned against brother, and the rivers run crimson; it would be Free Jon, and his Ironsides that would be left standing. they would bring about the Promised Land. Free Jon would see to it.
The Footpad’s Hunt
Tristan moved carefully in the darkness. His soft leather shoes made no noise as he carefully placed his feet on the ragged and filthy steps that led to his prey’s living quarters above a cluttered pawnbroker. He had spent too much coin and worked too hard to find this sink hole of a place for his prey to be warned of his coming.
He had not wanted to leave his King’s side, but Tobin had commanded it. So here he was in Conith, trying to find out who had sanctioned the death of Perriswood. Weeks of work in the port town had born a poor harvest. Only one thing had become clear to him; Perriswood’s murder had been committed by a professional killer. This was no simple whore hired to kill a lord.The woman who slew Perriswood had clearly planned the execution and her escape. Everything she had told the girls and the madam at the brothel had proven to be a lie.
He feared his investigation would grow cold with lack of information. Besides, he was hampered by the fact that the Conith town council had declared for the Concord and was raising troops. Known Royalists in high positions had been arrested or hounded out of the city. A shopkeeper, who had displayed the royal coat of arms, a black bear rampant on a red background, in protest at the council’s decision had been dragged out into the street and beaten to death by a mix of watchmen and townsfolk. It was not a good time to be a King’s man in this city. Tristan had to be careful and felt it was a thing passing strange to be a spy in your own country
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