“Only if you are sure of their loyalty,” Magnus said after a moment. “And tell them as little as possible.”
“Of course, Father.” Roland took another long pull on his cigar. The gray smoke drifted from his mouth in a slow stream. He watched as it drifted toward the ceiling.
The younger Jarmann had many of his father’s features: the same strong jaw, tangled blonde hair and eyes that were so blue they were almost gray. But he had his mother’s ambition.
One day Magnus would pass his holdings to Roland and his legacy would be whatever happened between his armies and the forces of Ansgar.
His son would be a king and his grandson would be a prince, if their rebellion was successful. His nation would be free and his people would return to their own language and the old ways.
Failure would leave Kerberos, and the families that ruled it, in a worse place than where they were. The Jarmann family would likely be stripped of its lands and titles; if he were lucky, Magnus would be the only one executed for treason.
“I’m going to tell them today,” Magnus said at last. “If I’m going to drag them into this, they should at least know what they’re getting into.”
“They can begin calling the rest of their levies,” Roland said with a nod. “We’re going to need them armed and trained before the first of the levies cross the Straits.”
“We’re going to need to take the armories at some point,” Magnus said as he glanced at one of the many maps laid out across the table. It showed the location of every fortress and armory in Kerberos. “They have Black Mountain rifled muskets in those stockpiles.”
“There’s nothing better than a Black Mountain,” Roland agreed. “Our reserves should be tasked with that. What about Fort William?”
“Fort William will be a problem,” Magnus confessed.
The fortress, named after King William the Invader, was positioned on a large hill to the east of Agilard City and overlooked the main rail lines. Two regiments of the King’s Own, commanded by lords fiercely loyal to the Ansgari throne, garrisoned the fortress. A siege of the fortress would leave the fortress in the hands of their enemies and allow them to harass any travel into or out of the city.
“An assault by night will be best. Send skirmishers to ring the fortress by cover of darkness and send more over the walls with grapnels,” Roland suggested. “They don’t keep troops in the trenches so the walls will be our only obstacle.”
“We could cut off their communications,” Magnus said. “If they don’t know what’s happening in the East, they have no reason to interrupt our commerce and rail transports.”
“I think they may get suspicious when we have tens of thousands of soldiers encamped around our city and our fortresses are fully garrisoned.” Roland laughed and took another pull at his cigar.
“When the time comes, we’ll make that decision,” Magnus said to get his son off the topic.
He had spent too many nights plotting the downfall of the biggest symbol of Ansgar’s rule over his people. He had issues that were more immediate to keep him awake tonight.
“Go and summon the nobles and the generals,” Magnus said.
When Roland was gone, Magnus stepped out onto the small balcony outside of his study. The wind howled and Magnus pulled his fur cloak tighter around his shoulders. A storm had laid nearly a foot of dry, cold snow on Agilard and it whipped and stung his face. Campfires glowed beyond the walls of the Hellhound Castle’s extended fortress. More fires would burn tonight than had last night.
Thousands of soldiers had streamed into Agilard in short order once his decree had gone out to his lords, and thousands more were expected over the next few days. The levies of Kerberos would number over thirty-five thousand when they had assembled and their full armies would count over six hundred thousand when he ordered the strength of Kerberos to arms.
He wanted to order his levies to remain at Agilard until he was ready to reveal his plans to his nation and to Ansgar. They were the best trained forces in his territories and could be the spine of his army. But the King was getting impatient and any further delay might lead to action.
Magnus returned to his study and closed the doors to the balcony. A blaze roared in the fireplace, maps and books were spread across the table, and Rorik Karsten stood inside the huge doors. He was one of the few men that knew of Magnus’ plans to revolt; only Roland had been enveloped deeper than the fiercely loyal bodyguard.
“It’s nearly time,” Magnus said as he stood beside the desk. “I have made all of the necessary preparations, positioned the necessary spies in the Ansgari court, and have slowly brought in the necessary nobles and lords.”
“Your plans are sound, Your Grace,” Rorik assured him.
“Then why do I have this feeling that I am doing the wrong thing? Or that this is the wrong time for this?” Magnus shook his head and picked up the map of what Kerberos would become. It was rolled and sealed with thick black wax and a red hellhound seal.
“Your family has been planning this since the Ansgari forced your great-grandfather to bend the knee. Your father spent every spare moment sealing alliances or confirming bribes,” Rorik said. “If this opportunity had come to him, he would have been hesitant to seize it as well. You know as well as your father did that this course of action can only have two outcomes. But you will have the support of your nobles and your people.”
“Well, then I suppose I had better get this over with,” Magnus said and turned for the door.
The council chamber was full. Every noble that swore allegiance to Agilard had been summoned to the capital for this meeting and most of them had their representatives present. Magnus had also ordered them to bring the commanders of their levies and he had gathered his own generals as well.
“Your Grace, your hospitality is as generous as ever.” James Dietrich sat to the left of Magnus’ chair. The man was rail thin but known for his voracious appetite.
“I strive to keep my nobles happy,” Magnus answered as he slid into his seat.
“The roasted goat was especially delicious,” the Earl Red Glen continued.
“I’ll pass that on to my chef,” Magnus promised. “Now if I could have your attention please.”
The side conversations died out quickly and everyone looked up the table at their duke. Some of the men had worried looks on their faces. Others stared blankly ahead. Roland’s half smile was knowing and mischievous.
Magnus gathered his thoughts as he looked down each side of the table and made eye contact with each noble, advisor and commander.
“I’m sure that many of you are wondering why I asked you all here, rather than travel directly to Aetheston with your levies. Many of you have asked me what I planned to do about the King’s request for levies, and until now I have instructed you to follow His Majesty’s instructions. But that ends soon.”
“Your Grace?” Eldon Carsten, the Baron Felda, leaned forward in his chair, palms on the table with fingers spread wide. His eyes were eager and glowed with ambition.
Magnus’ voice began to tremble. “The time is nearly upon us to throw off the one hundred-year-old yoke of the Ansgari. Since the day that my great-grandfather bowed the knee, my family has been making plans and constructing alliances that would allow us to return to independence.” Magnus broke the seal on the map. “We have secured treaties with Beldane and Steimor to support our efforts to regain our freedom.”
“If Eadric is willing to call his full levies to arms, he will control an army that would be more than five times our own strength,” Bannen Mallory said skeptically. “Unless Beldane and Steimor are willing to supply us with two million soldiers each, we are going to face an army that will crush us in one attack.”
The Earl of Forest Glen would serve as Magnus’ Fleet Admiral when the war erupted. His fortresses commanded the northern passages through the Kerberosi Islands in the Straits of Steimor and his shipyards were the largest in Kerberos. He was a shrewd commander and strategist. He would
be the most challenging of the nobles to control.
“If the King is willing to pay for the full levies of every single one of his territories to be called to arms, supplied, and transported to our border, then we will face an army of more than two and a half million soldiers,” Magnus agreed. “But how likely is it that he would do that? The King believes that his soldiers are better, his weapons are stronger, and his generals more skilled. If we wait until his levies are across the Straits of Steimor and well on their way to Istivan, there will be no trained soldiers to lead his charge and many of his generals will be across the sea with them.”
“And our own trained levies will be with them,” Bannen noted.
“Yes, they will. But our commanders will be expecting a message from us. A message that will arrive long before any message from Aetheston reaches their camps. Our forces can withdraw without confrontation and be on their way back here before the rest of the levies know what’s going on.” Magnus paused for a moment to let the beginning of his plan blossom in the minds of his nobles and commanders. “The king will be forced to call up additional troops, untrained troops; we will have trained armies waiting to face them.”
“And how will we manage that, Your Grace?” Alger Greenbow, the Baron Hilldale, asked.
The Greenbows and the people of Hilldale still clung to the Old Ways wherever possible. They dressed in thick furs. They lived in tight-knit communities and shunned outsiders. They were the embodiment of the Kerberosi culture as it had been hundreds of years before the Invasion.
“By training the rest of our full levies while we await the moment when it is right to make our plans known to the rest of the world. Our fortresses along our border with Ansgar have all been rebuilt and reinforced since the Invasion and have been designed to better handle the realities of warfare in this age. Without trained soldiers in the field, the Ansgari forces will not stand a chance against us.”
“Your Grace, you have a map there?” Bannen asked with a pointed finger.
“This is a map of what our territories will look like after we have won our independence from Aetheston,” Magnus announced, unrolling it with a flourish. The nobles leaned over the table to look for their territories. Most nodded and sat down quietly.
“Your Grace,” Stefan Frisch, the Baron Ethelinde, said cautiously. “I couldn’t help but note the swath of land north of my territory.”
“That will be land acquired when my daughter marries Alrik Renwyk. And no, I have not decided who will be the recipient of those lands.”
“Your Grace,” Bannen said before anyone else had a chance to question their new borders. “Do you have a time frame for these plans?”
“We expect another six months before the levies are transported across the Straits of Steimor and on their way to Kirton. In that time we are confident that we can get enough infantry trained to successfully repel the attacks by the Ansgari army.” Magnus ran his finger along the thin line that separated Kerberos from Ansgar. “I cannot stress enough the importance of secrecy to these plans. If any word of these plans reaches Aetheston, we will have the full force of Eadric’s rage come down on us long before we are prepared to defend against it.”
The nobles looked at each other nervously. Several showed a spark of fear, others feigned indifference. Magnus made sure to look each man in the eyes before he rolled the map and tapped it on the edge of the table.
“The King has ordered that all nobles accompany their levies to Aetheston,” Magnus said at last. He cracked his knuckles; the popping sound echoed through the room. “Lords Mallory, Frisch and Ohlson will accompany our gathered levies to Aetheston. The rest of you will send your representatives or heirs while you return to your territories and gather your levies. I will be sending my commanders to your castles to organize and train them.”
“Your Grace, I believe that I would be better utilized organizing the coastal defenses in my territory,” Bannen said.
Magnus grimaced. This confrontation was inevitable.
“Roland has been placed in charge of all naval and coastal defenses,” he said. “His extensive experience in the Ansgari navy gives him a unique perspective on the naval defensive needs of our nation.”
“Your Grace, Roland is a boy. He has seen two major conflicts as an officer in the Ansgari navy and he was the first officer on a collier ship that hauled ammunition and supplies.”
Roland bolted upright and pressed his palms onto the table. “Then I suppose you’re going to ignore the Battle of the Golden Isles? Where I led two squadrons of frigates against the pirate defenses and provided the opening for landing forces.”
“A battle where you overtook the enemy in the dark of night while they squabbled amongst themselves,” Bannen shot back.
Roland bristled.
“Lord Mallory,” Magnus said, his voice cold. “You are being assigned to Aetheston for your experience and command ability. When the order comes, I will need someone who is best suited for the task.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Bannen said and slunk back into his chair.
Magnus stood and crossed his arms. All eyes were on him.
“Freedom is earned, My Lords,” he said in Kerberosi.
Chapter 8 - Hadrian
A brisk wind blew in from White Ridge Bay, driving rolling waves before it to crash against the cliff below Strong Castle. The sun was still low in the east and the bay was bathed in scarlet and golden light.
A small fleet sat at anchor in the bay. Fifteen swift corvettes, six schooners, five sloops, and five frigates were arranged on the outside of the harbor. Between them and the city sat two dozen merchant ships, huge and slow. The fleet had rolled their sails against the brisk wind and Hadrian could just make out the tiny cutters that carried men and supplies between the ships and the docks.
Those ships would carry his soldiers and the soldiers of twelve other nobles to Aetheston, to satisfy their king’s summons. A tent city had gone up on the slopes around the fortress as more than one hundred thousand troops had encamped around Strong Castle.
More ships were expected within a fortnight.
Hadrian pulled his cloak in tighter around his shoulders, adjusted the griffin head brooch that held it in place, and exhaled a white plume of breath. He rubbed his unshaven jaw and turned back toward the castle’s yard.
The hamlet of Fallcrest could be seen from the western ramparts, a bustling port famous for its spice market and expansive deep water docks. Strong Castle was a modest fortress, perched on a two hundred-foot cliff above the city that it had been built to protect.
The castle’s outer ramparts had been cut from the cliff’s thick gray stone; they were eighteen feet thick and stood eighty feet tall. As castles went, the fortress was oddly shaped. The two sides that faced the cliffs, west and south, were straight. The north and east sides curved from the north end of the western wall to the east end of the southern wall. Round towers marked the ends of the curved wall and a curved gatehouse provided entry to the inner keep.
The castle itself was cut from the creamy marble that had brought the first settlers to the area. Surrounded by a moat, accessible only by a drawbridge, and the main gatehouse, it stood one hundred feet tall, a square directly in the center of the castle. A small path encircled the moat on the outside and led from the stairs to the drawbridge. Hundreds of guards paced the walls and dozens milled about in the gatehouse.
The inner keep was already a nest of activity as hundreds of stewards, maids and pages scrambled about the castle on the business of their various lords. The nobles had been given quarters in the keep and they had each brought a contingent of guards and servants.
Passing the kitchens, Hadrian smelled brewing coffee, fresh honey bread in the oven, and bacon frying in huge pans. His mouth watered and he turned toward the meal hall.
Where the passages were a flurry of chaotic activity, the meal hall was the epitome of quiet and order. Tall windows in the east wall and lanterns on the other three bathed the room in gol
den light. The sigils of House Strong and his three honored guests hung at the back of the hall.
A dozen long tables had been arranged on the north and south sides of the hall, with long benches set behind them. Three nobles, seated by importance, sat behind the head table on a raised dais against the west wall. Another four sat at the table directly in front of the dais.
Baron Haldane Strong sat at the center of the high table, as was his place as Lord of the Keep. Though younger than Raedan by a few years, he looked older.
Earl Arnold Croft of Garroway sat three spaces down from Strong, on his left. He was short, pale and fat. He laughed at something Haldane had said, but the mirth never reached his cold blue-gray eyes.
Cedric McKinley sat to Arnold Croft’s left. Two empty plates were around him and a third plate of food was in front of him. He didn’t appear to be involved in any of the conversations that were being carried on by the other nobles.
Lord Stanley Cobern, Baron of Mantyre, Darrik Blackmer, Baron Black River, and Edgar Woff, Baron Great Bridge, sat with Raedan.
“My Lords,” Hadrian announced as he strode across the marble floor. The gathered nobles looked up from their conversations and greeted him. He took the stairs to the dais in two long strides and found his seat, four spaces to the right of Haldane.
His placement on the dais with the dukes and earls had caused some complaints among the other barons, especially those with territories that were wealthier or more populated than his own. But Hadrian would soon be the lord of two baronies and control as much land as several of Ansgar’s earls.
“Earl Chadburn’s train arrived in the night,” Haldane Strong said. Slayton Norwich was the last of the nobles expected to arrive overland. “And there was a signal from Fort Morden an hour ago: Lord Seward’s fleet has entered the bay.”
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