“Yes, my lord.” The steward nodded and disappeared back into the passageway.
“You never know who might find their way into your service,” Damon pointed out.
“I suppose that's true,” Raedan conceded.
The steward returned and placed the wine and three cups on the table. He disappeared just as quickly. Raedan poured each of them a cup of the wine and drank; it was indeed sweet. Kent refused the cup and Raedan poured it into his own. Damon swirled the wine in his cup for a moment and then set it back on the table.
“What did the letters say?” Raedan asked. Damon’s brow was furrowed and his eyes were dark. Raedan had never seen the elf look so concerned. His stomach was twisted with an odd combination of anticipation and worry.
On the one hand, he wanted to know what the King asked of them, but he feared that the King would demand soldiers or more taxes. His fragile economy would collapse under the strain of even higher taxes or the loss of a significant portion of their male population.
Damon spilled the satchel onto the table. He handed the letter on top to Raedan. It was written with gold-flecked ink and carried the king’s seal at the bottom. “Best read it for yourself.”
The letter was short and to the point. It ordered the nobles of Ansgar to call their levies to arms, march to the nearest Royal Armory, and then make their way to Aetheston. They were to sail across the Vast Sea, to make common cause with Welos and Istivan in their war against the Empire of Chesia.
“So it’s to be war then.” Raedan closed his eyes and set the cup down. He wasn’t so thirsty anymore.
Kent read the letter, then cleared his throat and said, “Two thousand men will be a small portion of our population.”
“Two thousand men would be easy enough to suffer,” Raedan agreed. “But do you remember what happened when we had to call Hadrian’s levies to arms to free this barony?”
“The levies only served as border guards while fifty thousand more men were called up, armed, and trained,” Damon answered. “Even if you combine all of levies in Ansgar, we would only muster one hundred and eighty thousand men, at the outside. The Empire of Chesia has a standing army five times that number and are likely to have called up their own levies.”
“Even with the combined strength of Welos, Istivan, and our own levies, we will field a force of less than three quarters of a million,” Raedan continued. “I would estimate that by the end we’ll need to call up better than one in every two men to satisfy the King’s demands.”
“What other choice do we have but to submit our forces?” Kent asked.
Damon and Raedan exchanged a look.
Raedan had spent nearly every night since his return from his sister’s wedding with Damon discussing that very question.
They had weighed the options in case the King called the levies. They had both come to the same conclusion: the king would not be sated with only the levies from his lords. His paranoia and need for approval from the kings across the sea wouldn’t allow him to cut his losses.
Whispers had come from the capital for many years since Eadric Garrard had been crowned as King of Ansgar. They differed on the details, but told the same basic tale: the king was afraid. The king would want the Empire to fall, no matter the cost to his nation, lest the send ships across the Vast Sea.
Raedan had been the first to suggest that they ignore the summons from the king. They could say that the message never reached them, or their levies just could not be filled. But Damon had pointed out that neither of those was an answer that the King would accept. Raedan had suggested that they take their discussions to Duke Arndell and hope that he would make the right decision.
“I will take these letters to our brother,” Raedan said when he realized that a silence had settled over the room. “Kent, please have Veryan saddled and armored. And get a contingent together to join me at the Overlook at their best speed. Twenty men should do for now. Damon, please see to our messenger. Have him provided accommodations and a fresh horse in the morning. Something big and slow, but healthy.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Kent waited until the elf had left before he spoke. “You mean to stand against the king.”
“I mean to make sure that my people and lands are cared for properly. If that means I don’t send a levy to the King for him to ship across the Vast Sea, then so be it.”
“We cannot hope to stand against the King,” Kent pointed out.
He has much to learn, Raedan told himself.
His brother had been young when their father had passed beyond this world. He did not have the advantage of many years of study with a man that was considered a political and strategic genius. The elder Clyve had engineered more treaties and agreements for his territory than any man could be expected, and he had passed those skills on to his two eldest sons. Hadrian had learned more from his father’s leadership; Raedan had studied the man’s military maneuvering.
“We cannot stand against the King, alone.” Raedan put special emphasis on the last word. “I am not the only noble in Ansgar that will be hesitant to send levies across the Vast Sea. And if enough of us have the same idea, it is possible that the King will abandon this farce.”
Raedan saw the understanding in his brother’s eyes and stood.
“Bring your best men,” Raedan said as he rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Men that you can trust.”
“I’ll pick them myself,” Kent promised as they turned and stepped into the passageway.
Chapter 3 - Raedan
The roads between Orintown and the Overlook wound through low hills, narrow valleys, and around the two thousand foot canyon known as the Fall. For even the fastest mounts it would be an eighteen-day journey.
But Veryan was a massive beast of flight and traveled as fast as the best steam engines. He was the only male of the three griffins that Raedan controlled and the only one large enough to be mounted by anyone as large as Raedan. He was eight feet from the top of his front shoulders to the ground, fifteen feet long from beak to gold hindquarters, and brilliant white wings spread almost twenty feet. Raedan had designed a special saddle that held him to the great beast while in flight.
The sun had set several hours earlier and Raedan could see the watch fires on the Overlook from miles away. The castle had been built on the edge of the Fall, the old keep half underground in the cliff face. Over the centuries, the castle had expanded outward from the cliff’s edge as each generation added a little more to it.
One hundred foot walls surrounded the whole complex, thirty feet thick with ramparts along the top. The stables, practice yards, and musket range sat inside the outer wall. A second wall cut the yard in half, only sixty feet tall and fifteen feet thick. The armory, barracks, great hall, and Old Keep were inside.
Veryan slowed as he approached the Overlook and descended in a lazy spiral. A sharp screech warned the guards that they were near and Raedan could see torches lit as guards streamed into the yard. The arrival of the griffins was always a spectacle, even so late in the evening.
The griffin set down more lightly than anyone would have believed.
“Steward!” Raedan dismounted his creature and pulled his black cloak close around his shoulders.
A boy no older than ten hurried from the stables. “Yes, milord?”
“See to it that my griffin is fed. Be careful with the bindings on the saddle.” Raedan pulled off his thick riding gloves and stuffed them into a pocket. He turned to a guard. “Is my brother still awake?”
“I believe so, milord,” the guard said. “He was in his study at the last changing of the guard.”
“Take me to him.”
The castle was surprisingly lively for the late hour. Guards milled about in the yard and Raedan could see smoke rising from most of the barracks huddled against the outside wall of the castle. Inside the keep, maids scurried about with food and laundry to be washed.
Hadrian was indeed in his study. A pair of large printed bo
oks were open on the table and a stack of papers had collected near a lamp and an ink well. The room was large, but the dozen lanterns that burned in sconces on the walls kept it well lit. A handful of chairs were spread around the room, huddled around the four tables; some were stacked with books.
“The messengers arrived?” Hadrian asked without looking up.
Lord Hadrian Clyve, Baron of North Griffin Cliffs, was a thumb taller than seven feet and even more massive than Raedan. Gray had crept in at his temples but most of his long ponytail was still as black as night. Like Kent, he had inherited brilliant blue eyes from their mother.
“They did. And it isn’t good news.” Raedan sat in the chair that faced his brother across the large table.
Hadrian wrote something on a piece of parchment, reviewed the writing, and moved the paper to a new stack. “War, is it?”
“Aye,” the younger Clyve said with an edge of irritation. Raedan set the satchel on the desk and pulled out the letters.
Hadrian looked up at the tone in his brother’s voice.
“What happened?”
“The messenger they sent,” Raedan said. “Some lordling from the East. I haven’t had that much hostility directed toward me since we pushed the Frantans out of the Broken Plains.”
“You know how the lords are in the East.” Hadrian shrugged and took the letter from his brother. He read it twice then set it down.
“It’ll ruin my economy,” Raedan told his brother, though Hadrian knew it as well as he did.
Hadrian had been trained since he was a boy to take over the family lands as baron of the North Griffin Cliffs. His father and his advisors had taught young Hadrian what it meant to be a noble, how to handle the economy and the people of his lands.
Raedan, on the other hand, had not been trained in how to rule lands. Before he had taken the magic from the griffin mother, he had been on a path to be trained as a diplomat and presence at court. After, he had been relegated to the library and study to work with Damon and learn to control the powers that would one day flow through him.
When Hadrian had offered Raedan up as his replacement to take control of the Broken Plains Barony, a thinly veiled attempt to appease the other nobles around them, Raedan had protested vigorously against it.
Hadrian had promised his help in any way that Raedan would need, and Raedan was not afraid to take advantage of that promise. For most of the first year of his reign, Raedan had spent half of every month at the Overlook with his brother, going over the sums and accounts for his new lands.
“The levies won’t be the last of it.” Hadrian’s thoughts echoed Raedan’s own. “A war with Chesia will not end quickly, and once he is committed, the King is unlikely to withdraw his support from Welos and Istivan.”
Though they had little interaction with their sovereign, both Hadrian and Raedan knew that the King did not change his mind easily. He had denied the request for soldiers to free the Broken Plains from the grip of the Frantan invaders and had refused to reconsider, even after multiple requests from two of the western dukes and numerous other nobility.
“And what is this nonsense about marching the troops to Aetheston before they set sail?” Raedan shook his head. “It would make the most sense to sail from one of the closer ports and gather once we arrive on the other side of the Vast Sea.”
“The King wants to make sure that everyone is clear in what he intends to do,” a voice said. Raedan looked over his shoulder. Hadrian’s advisor had entered the study, his steps eerily quiet.
Auberon Strait was the bastard offspring of some elven lord and a high born lady in the East. He was a head taller than most men, though he was dwarfed by the Clyve brothers, with ears just slightly longer than normal. He was nearly four hundred years old; young in comparison to most of the elves that Raedan had met.
Auberon had served as the advisor and castellan for Castle Garand and the Broken Plains Barony. It had been Auberon who had ridden to the Overlook to tell Hadrian that the last Lord Garand had passed away and that he was the nearest male heir. When Hadrian had purged the lands of its barbarian invaders and installed his brother as the new Baron of Broken Plains, he had asked Damon Kor to serve as Raedan’s advisor and took Auberon as his own.
“And what does he intend to do?” Raedan asked. Auberon took the letter and his sapphire eyes flicked across the page.
Raedan crossed his arms, leaned back in the chair and rubbed the onyx stone on his chest. Something about the advisor unsettled him. He could sense the magic flowing through Auberon’s veins, but he had never seen the man with any of the typical symbols that he was of any Order. Raedan supposed that it was possible that the half-elf kept his gems hidden, but he couldn’t figure out why someone would do that if they knew that others would be able to sense their power.
Damon had suggested that Auberon didn’t know that he had magic in his veins. He had been born to a human mother and raised without the training and knowledge of his elven heritage. It wasn’t outside of reckoning that the half-elf had never been told of the magics that were his birthright.
Raedan doubted that explanation, though he didn’t have a solid reason to do so. The councilor was loyal, knowledgeable, and friendly enough. Raedan just couldn’t shake the unease that came with his presence.
“I would wager that he intends to send some of the nobles across the sea with their soldiers.” Auberon sat in one of the few empty chairs and picked up a book: the written history of the Clyve family. He thumbed through the pages. “There wouldn’t be any other reason to have the nobles accompany their soldiers to the capital.”
“I think Auberon is correct,” Hadrian said. “The King will want to show Welos and Istivan that he is committed to their cause. What better way to show that commitment than to send your nobles to lead their troops into battle?”
Some of the nobles, like Lord Tullen of the South Griffin Cliffs, were too old to be sent across the sea to lead their troops into battle. Others, like him, had no direct heirs or were not in a position to abandon their lands for an extended period of time. But there would be nobles who would have no answer to the King’s decree to travel across the Vast Sea.
“Not many will like the idea of going abroad for something that we have no direct interest in,” Raedan pointed out.
If there was one aspect of being a noble that he had grasped quickly, it was the attitudes of the nobles around him. Recently, the nobles of West Ansgar had become increasingly unhappy with the laws and decisions of their king, thousands of miles away. Some had expressed their discontent in private meetings, a few had done so in open council, but no one had yet made their displeasure known directly to the King. Raedan supposed that this might be the issue that brought all of those emotions to the surface.
“An understatement, my lord,” Auberon said. He set the book down on the table and steepled his fingers under his chin. His silky red hair fell over his ears and covered his eyes “But My Lords, what other option do we have but to call our levies?”
“I don’t know.” Hadrian’s eyes narrowed. “But perhaps Lord Croutcher will have some idea.”
Lord Dalton Croutcher, Duke of Arndell, was liege lord to both Hadrian and Raedan. He controlled most of the north-western territories of Ansgar and had long been an outspoken advocate of increased autonomy for the western nobility. If anyone had ideas to counteract the King’s overly aggressive policies, it would be Croutcher.
“When do we leave for Arndell?” Raedan asked. The city of Arndell was the largest in western Ansgar, two thousand miles to the south-southwest from the North Griffin Cliffs.
“I assume you have a contingent of guards riding this way?”
“Yes, Kent is riding with twenty hand-picked guards. They should be here by week’s end.”
“Very well.” Hadrian stood. “We’ll leave for Arndell the day after they arrive. That will let your guards get a night’s rest. The train will stop at Odwolfe Castle and we will see if Wallace or Cedric want to join us.”<
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“I will alert the guards,” Auberon said as he stood. He bowed and left the Clyves alone.
“There's something about him that doesn't sit square with me,” Raedan said. He folded the letter from the King and set it on the table.
“He has proved to be a capable and loyal advisor,” Hadrian said.
“I need to go into the vaults,” Raedan said.
The vaults of the Overlook extended two hundred feet below the ground floor. The upper levels were used to store food, beer and wine. The middle levels were used for more general storage: summer goods during the winter, winter goods during the summer. The lowest levels, buried deep beneath the surface, were home to the Vaults: cavernous rooms cut from the cliff face and sealed with iron doors.
“Something for Damon?”
Damon had culled out a corner of the vaults for himself. A small study, a library and a small chamber that he called home. The simple folk had claimed that they had heard strange voices in the depths of the Vaults and only the most stalwart servant was willing to make the journey into the depths of the cliffs.
“There are some books that he wants me to bring back to him,” Raedan lied.
“I'll have a room made up for you,” Hadrian said.
Raedan walked through the passages of the Overlook alone, a lantern in his left hand. He passed through the ground floor of the ancient keep. The smell of baking bread wafted from the kitchens, servants washed the stone floors, and guards milled about in the common rooms.
The stairway to the vault was guarded, but the men stepped aside as Raedan approached. The stairs were wide, curving in a loose spiral that would allow five men abreast to walk into the depths. Lanterns marked each of the levels and Raedan kept careful count of each wide entrance as he passed it. After the fifth upper level, the stairs narrowed; only three men could fit down the stairs to the middle vaults.
The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel) Page 4