The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel)

by Joshua Johnson

  “No one is likely to harass a train flying three different noble banners with armed guards visible on every car,” Cedric said as he stumbled from the coach, red faced and breathing heavily. “Your Grace.”

  “Lord McKinley.” Dalton inclined his head in greeting. Cedric was the heir to one of the two Earldoms that were pledged to the Arndell Duchy, but he was only an heir.

  “These coaches are too small,” Raedan announced he stepped from the coach and stretched his arms wide. “They aren’t very friendly to people of above average height.”

  “Well, it’s not the crafter's fault that the Clyves are grown large,” Dalton said with a grin. He had always been dwarfed by his two most massive sworn nobles, but he had never let it affect his attitude.

  “And large men need to eat,” Cedric said as he wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Indeed.” Dalton smiled, ran a hand through his black beard, and turned. “First, allow me to introduce my closest advisors and lesser lords.”

  The duke made the rounds, introducing each of the lesser lords and advisors to his sworn nobles. There were five of the Duke’s lesser lords and three of his advisors.

  “Well, now that introductions have been made—” Cedric licked his lips “—perhaps we could move the meeting inside?”

  “Of course, my lord.” Dalton nodded and turned to the stairs.

  The keep’s doorway was thick, nearly twenty feet from outer door to inner door, unusually thick for even the most robust keep. From the entryway it was a short walk to the keep’s main hall, a long room filled with large tables and benches. Tapestries hung on the walls and light shone in through colored glass to join the warm light of lanterns in sconces on the walls.

  The lords and advisors found their seats, Dalton at the head of the table with Hadrian to his right and Cedric to his left. Raedan sat to Hadrian’s right and the others sat according to their station.

  Stewards flowed from doors along the sides of the hall. They carried flagons of wine and beer and water, and cups enough for the whole party. Cedric was quick to pour himself a cup of wine and drained it in one drink. The others at the table were more reserved as they poured themselves refreshments.

  Another wave of stewards entered almost as soon as the first had left. They carried trays of beef ribs, roasted chickens, and venison fillets. Bronze kettles of soup and steamed vegetables were brought out and more stewards followed with silver plates, forks, knives and spoons. The servants set the plates and cutlery before the Duke’s guests and laid the food at the head of the table.

  “High Priest Delbridge.” Dalton’s deep bass voice cut through the small talk and the hall fell silent. “Would you care to provide us a blessing for this meal?”

  “Oh, uh, of course, Your Grace.” The priest pushed himself to his feet with shaky arms and raised his hands over his head. He was aging, fat in the stomach, and thick in the neck. He was shaved bald, as most priests were. He wore the white robe of a high priest, tied around the midsection with a crimson sash, the color of Bryn the All-Father. His voice deepened as he began his invocation. “All-Father, bless us this meal, the bounty of your lands and the work of our hands.”

  “Thank you.” Dalton cut into the first of the meats as the High Priest retook his seat.

  Lord Croutcher took the first cuts of each meat and passed it down the table to the others. Each took a serving and passed it along to the others until all of the dishes had been served.

  The lords and advisors carried on with small talk and murmurs, all of them aware of the heavy presence of the reason that they had come to Arndell, but none of them willing to bring the subject to hand before their host.

  Dalton spoke again, his voice somber, quieting the conversations about the table. “My Lords and advisors. The time has come for us to discuss the matters at hand.”

  The stewards slipped out of the hall and Dalton set his copy of the letter from Eadric Garrard on the table, the seal in full view of everyone.

  “This is the letter that the Lords Clyve, Lord McKinley, and myself received from His Majesty, Eadric Garrard, by the grace of the gods King of Ansgar, Duke of Elsdon and Protector of the Realm. In it, the King instructs us to call our levies to arms, equip them at the nearest King’s Armory, and march them thousands of miles to Aetheston. From whence we will board ships of the King’s Fleet, sail across the Straits of Steimor, and then march thousands of miles more to Welos, where we are to take part in a war that we have no interest in.” Dalton’s tone was harsh. “I have already discussed the matter at length with High Priest Delbridge and my own advisors, but I felt that it would be best discussed in open council with some of my most trusted sworn nobles and lords.”

  Dalton pushed his chair back and stood. His face was hard, his eyes distant with thought.

  “Your Grace.” Lord Newman’s voice was smooth and melodic. “We are your sworn lords. We will follow your lead in anything.”

  “That is not what I wanted to hear, Daryl,” Dalton said with a flash of anger. “You swore your oaths to me, true enough. But you’ve also sworn oaths to the crown, and if we do not follow the instructions of this letter, the King will hold you responsible for your part in it.”

  “Your Grace.” Hadrian pulled the Duke’s attention away from the lesser lord. He was better equipped to handle the direct anger of his liege lord, and the lesser lord looked thankful for it. “We will be held accountable, the same as you, but we look to you for your leadership. You control lands much greater than ours, with the incomes and levies that accompany them. We could stand against these instructions, but we would fall quickly if you were not with us.”

  Now it was Raedan’s turn to speak. “We swore oaths to the crown.” His brother was not as comfortable with politics as he was, so to hear him speak so soon in such a meeting brought pride to his heart. “But the King swore oaths to us as well. ‘To Protect the Sworn Nobles of Ansgar, I will make no laws or treaties or agreements that will put my Nobles at risk to lose lands, monies or peoples without due compensation and cause.’”

  “An argument could be made that the King intends to compensate us for whatever losses we could incur,” Lord Croxton said.

  “A valid argument,” Raedan allowed. He twisted his onyx ring with a finger and thumb. “But due cause will be a much harder argument to make. Little would be of importance to us on the other side of the world. The argument could be made in our favor that without due cause to send our levies we are not required to comply with these instructions.”

  “I had that thought as well,” Dalton agreed. “High Priest Delbridge, would you care to share your thoughts on this matter with the others?”

  “I, uh, the gods are not very clear on the matter of loyalty between king and noble,” the priest stammered. “The gods tell us to honor our oaths, when doing so does not break another, deeper oath. As long as the first oath is given in good faith by both parties, it is binding upon those who spoke the words and affixed their honor to the pact. However, the argument could be made that the King has not made good faith in his oaths.”

  The priest paused and rubbed his thick neck.

  “Then there is the matter of the Broken Plains Barony, wherein the King refused to call the levies to arms to free the land from invaders in order to return it to the rightful heir. In doing nothing, the King not only broke his oaths with the Lord Clyves, but with His Grace Lord Croutcher as well. As Duke and Liege Lord, Lord Croutcher exchanged oaths with His Majesty the King, that stated the Crown would come to aid of the duke and any of his sworn nobles or lords. According to the gods, in my understanding, that made any oaths sworn to him by Lord Croutcher void, and by extension voided any oaths made by the sworn lords and nobles of the Arndell Duchy.”

  “So at the least we have a standing in the sight of the gods for refusing this decree?” Hadrian asked.

  “As my understanding of the word of the gods goes, yes, my lord.”

  "That is enough talk of who is in the right,” Dalton sai
d. “We will call our levies to arms and march them to Tirrell. The other dukes will be assembling there as well and we will hold a council to decide how to approach His Majesty with our concerns. I have already called my full levies to arms, as I’m sure you saw on your way into the city. ”

  Hadrian felt that there was perhaps something his liege lord was not telling them. “Do you intend to march your full levies to Aetheston, Your Grace?”

  “Yes,” Dalton said. “Perhaps His Majesty will allow me to offer my full levies in exchange for the levies of my nobles. I am better able to suffer the absence of so many soldiers. I have also made arrangements for rail transport from Arndell to Tirrell for all of the levies that are sworn to my nobles. The process will be long, but the trains that I have collected will move men and equipment much faster than marching them.”

  “We thank you, Your Grace,” Raedan said.

  Hadrian’s eyes narrowed. He had known Dalton for far too long to be fooled by the man’s attempts to redirect the conversation.

  “Very well then. This meeting is over. My stewards have prepared quarters for everyone. We will be holding a feast to honor our gathered nobles and lords. Until then.” Dalton stood; those gathered at the table did so too. “I would have words with the Lords Clyve and McKinley before you retire to your chambers.”

  The lesser lords and advisors stood, bowed to the nobles and stepped out of the room. The doors were shut behind them and Dalton sat.

  “Your Grace?” Lord Cedric asked.

  “I want each of you to call your full levies to arms. I realize that it will take some time, but the majority of your troops will not be needed right away. Call your required levies and travel to Tirrell. Have the rest of the levies arm themselves from your personal armories and begin training. The majority of the Clyve troops have battle experience already, so bringing them back together will be a simple matter.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “I was serious about making an offer to Earl Garroway,” Dalton told the brothers after they failed to speak. “His Lordship commands one of the largest levies in Lord Ridley’s Duchy, but his heir is married to an eastern woman and his second son is betrothed to a Nordahrian noble.”

  “Your Grace, I will make an honest attempt at making the arrangements,” Raedan promised.

  “Very well. My stewards will see you to your quarters. I have much to think on before the feast.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Hadrian bowed and the others followed him out through the main door.

  The trio followed a steward up a winding staircase in silence. They took their time, thanks to Cedric’s slower pace, but reached their quarters all the same. Cedric said his goodbyes and retired to his quarters; Raedan joined Hadrian in his expansive suite.

  The room was large, for a guest suite. Colorful tapestries covered the walls between the long narrow windows, and dark carpets covered the floor. Large black leather furniture was arranged throughout the room and a massive bed occupied one corner.

  “He’s hiding something,” Raedan said when the door had closed. He brushed his fingers against the onyx at his throat. “I sensed it.”

  “I agree. I don’t suppose you were able to sense what he is hiding?”

  “I could do that,” Raedan admitted. “But it wouldn’t be right to do that to our liege lord.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Hadrian agreed. “I think he is hiding something about his plans once we reach Tirrell.”

  Hadrian sat in one of the luxurious chairs and pinched the bridge of his nose. If there was one thing he hated, it was being in dark when something major was afoot.

  Chapter 6 - Eadric

  The midday sun streamed through the glass ceiling and walls of the solarium, perched high atop the north tower of Grand Keep. Eadric came here when he needed time to himself, away from the constant harassment of his advisors and petitioners. Even with the cool breeze let in through the windows, the air was thick and hot.

  He turned away from the window as the door groaned open. Kendall stepped through the room’s only stone wall and bowed. The jewel in the pommel of his sword glistened in the sunlight.

  “Your Majesty, the council has assembled and is awaiting your pleasure,” Eadric’s chief guardsman announced.

  “Very well.”

  Eadric did not enjoy the meetings of his council. The tedium of everyday rule was something that he preferred to leave to them. But with war on the horizon, every meeting seemed to include some bit of information garnered from across the Vast Sea or some report about the readiness of his armies.

  The Grand Keep, the largest of the three main structures inside the grounds of Founder’s Castle, was a bustle of activity. Aside from the king’s offices, each of his councillors kept offices nearby and several of the larger aspects of Ansgar’s government took up entire sections of the building. Squires, pages, and servants paused with bowed heads as the King made his way toward the council chamber.

  Two more of the King’s Shields stood outside of the council chamber. They uncrossed their weapons, inclined their heads, and pushed the heavy door open ahead of him as Eadric approached.

  Inside, his council waited.

  The room was plainly furnished: a long pine table stained dark, surrounded by half a dozen plain chairs and a single ornate armchair at the table’s head. Lanterns hung in sconces and a single small map was prominently displayed on one wall. Long wide shafts carried light from above to illuminate the room.

  Alden Hanley sat to the left of the ornate chair, a book open before him and some maps strewn about. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. William Richards sat to his left, a small empty plate before him.

  Lord Robert Calvin, Commander of the King's Army, sat to William’s left. The aging commander was almost a part of the decorations in the Founder's Castle. He was sixty years old, almost too old for his post, but he had served as Commander for Eadric's father and the current king saw no reason for change. He still had a great strategic mind.

  His hair, or the little remaining at the edges of his scalp, had long ago gone gray and one of his hazel eyes was gray with blindness. He wore a green tailcoat with a double row of golden buttons down the front and golden shoulder boards, his rank embroidered upon them. The badge of the Elsdon duchy was embroidered over his heart. His green trousers had a golden stripe from ankle to hip and his belt held an empty holster on his right and an empty longsword scabbard on his left. Eadric had ordered that no one would be allowed in his presence with a weapon, save his guards.

  That declaration had been made shortly before Eadric’s sixteenth birthday. A pair of assassins had found their way into the throne room, disguised as wealthy merchants who sought trade treaties with Ansgar. The attackers had killed three of Eadric’s guards and nearly killed his regent, and older sister, Katherine.

  The assassins had been killed in the attack, and no one had ever discovered where they had come from or who had hired them.

  The event had been the catalyst for many of Eadric’s fears.

  Admiral Oliver Talbot sat across from his land-based counterpart. The admiral was a short, stocky man whose skin was worn from the many years of sun and wind. His blue eyes were distant, as if he were somewhere else.

  Lord Peter Wellstone sat across from Richards. Thick ledgers lay open around him, quills and ink wells nearby. Altavius Dohr sat to the right of Eadric’s own chair, resplendent in his thick green robes, tied at the waist with a gold sash. His staff leaned against the arm of his chair, and he hunched over in his seat.

  Directly behind Altavius stood a man who could be no older than Eadric. He was short and thin, with flowing red hair and deep sapphire eyes. He too wore a green robe, though his sash was white. He carried an emerald tipped staff and another emerald hung from his neck in a gold setting. His ears gave him away as one of Altavius’ many bastards: they were noticeably longer than a man’s, but much shorter than his father’s.

  Altavius had lived amongst men for more than
twelve hundred years. In that time he had taken more lovers than anyone could count. He had once said that he had a bastard child for every decade that the nation of Ansgar had been in existence.

  Most of the children were shipped off to serve in the houses of Ansgari nobles. Some left of their own will and sought fortune on their own. A very few remained with their father to learn his magics and prepare themselves to replace their father as Eadric’s advisor.

  The last heir to Altavius had left Aetheston five years earlier, his own life near its end. The children lived five times longer than the men and women around them, but no half-elf could hope to match a true-elf’s lifespan.

  “A new heir?” Eadric asked as he took his seat.

  “This is Sinclair,” Altavius announced. “And he is not my heir, as Lifebinders do not have heirs. Rather he is my successor.”

  “Very well, your successor,” Eadric conceded. “How old are you, Sinclair?”

  “One hundred and twelve.” The half-elf’s voice was deeper than Eadric expected.

  His age was not a surprise when Eadric considered how slowly elves aged. Altavius looked much as if he would be in his eighties or nineties if he were a man, but was instead at least fourteen hundred years old. Those who passed on from natural causes at younger than nine hundred were considered to have died too soon.

  “Very well,” Eadric said. He would not be able to push the man from the chamber. “Shall we begin?

  “Your Highness,” Lord Wellstone said. "We have been inundated with requests for loans from the Crown in order to fund the assembly of levies, arms, and supplies. Our current requests are up to twelve thousand crowns.”

  “Use your discretion,” Eadric instructed. “Take into account previous loans to these nobles and weigh that against the number of troops that they are able to muster.”