Hadrian frowned as he realized that he had not noticed the missing noble. Lord Dalwin Holloway was one of the most respected nobles in Ansgar. He had ruled his territory for forty-five years and was a solid supporter of King Eadric.
He was unsure of his own feelings on the matter. His family had been loyal supporters of the Throne for century after century. They had been given their lands by Liam the First King in exchange for gold to fund the initial colonization of Ansgar. They had prospered with the rest of Ansgar and his children would need for nothing.
But the Crown had become lazy and unresponsive. When his claim to the Broken Plains Barony had come to arms, King Eadric had refused to provide funds or soldiers for the fight to reclaim the territory. And the trade agreements that flowed from Aetheston like water had become increasingly detrimental to his merchants. Taxes had increased by nearly half since the time of his father and there was no end in sight.
An independent nation in the west of Ansgar would change so many dynamics that Hadrian’s mind strained to consider them all. First, he thought of his family. As one of the closest advisors to Duke Arndell, he would wield considerable influence on the formation of the new nation. More influence than he had over the laws and governance of Ansgar.
The nobles of Western Ansgar had been loyal servants to the King in Aetheston for more than twelve hundred years. With the exception of a single uprising in the early years of the nation, an uprising that had been more about showing force than actual independence, there had never even been the whisper of revolution. And now the dukes had set into motion plans that would not only bring the issue to the forefront, but would do so in stunning fashion.
Hadrian looked up when Raedan stood. His brother towered over the seated nobles that surrounded him.
“My Lords.” Raedan’s voice silenced the whispered conversations that had sprung up throughout the hall. He was eloquent, precise, and his voice carried well. He had learned well from their father. “I may be one of the newest nobles in this hall, but I come from a house with a long history and deep roots. I had to fight to reclaim the territory that would be mine. And when it came to that fight, His Grace Lord Croutcher and other nobles gathered here provided forces to my cause. But His Majesty King Eadric did not. He deemed that the territory was not worth the cost of the campaign to reclaim it. My lands are still in turmoil and our economy has not recovered, but I will stand with Duke Croutcher in this matter. I will pledge the service and arms of the Broken Plains Barony to this cause.”
Raedan remained standing. Other nobles stood and Hadrian found himself among them. The Revolution was started.
Chapter 9 - Raedan
Raedan clenched a small, tightly rolled cigar between his teeth. It wasn’t one of the cigars from the Black River, sweet leaf dipped in cherry juice, but it wasn’t terrible. A mixture of sweet and bitter leaf had been rolled and dipped in vanilla. The bitter leaf made it burn faster but also heightened the vanilla flavor.
A gentle breeze blew in from the west, driving a drift of light snow ahead of it. The snow was still thick on the hills but the roads were well traveled and the wind was barely noticeable, especially to Raedan.
He pushed against his stirrups and looked up and down the long column of riders.
Behind him rode four battalions of Baron Kendryk’s cavalry, led by Lord Tristen Burkes himself. The baron was a small man, barely six inches taller than five feet. He was thin to the point of being gaunt but he wore a thick cloak with a massive hood that hid his features in the dim light.
A standard bearer rode behind him with the baron’s banner raised high: a blue field struck with a gold lightning bolt. His men wore similar blue greatcoats and rode with their aging carbines across their laps.
Ahead of Raedan, two thousand of his own soldiers rode. Their black greatcoats made them barely visible in the sliver of moonlight.
Beyond the front of the column a pair of signal fires marked Fort Ewan.
Raedan glanced at the stars and the thin moon and tried to locate his scout. Even under full moon it would be difficult locating the smaller griffin; a new moon made it nearly impossible.
The column wound its way through the fields and low hills of Hampton, one hundred miles south of the nearest, and largest, crossing over the Hart River. His brother and the majority of the Northern Armies would be assembled at the Baron’s Keep. Some of them would be waiting for the weapons held in the armories of Fort Ewan.
Raedan kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks and galloped alongside his troops toward the front of the procession. He heard Lord Burkes in close pursuit and wished, not for the first time, that he had been allowed to lead this mission alone.
Sir Talvin Strong, Raedan’s best calvary commander and one of his military advisors, rode at the head of the column with his staff officers clustered around him. Sir Talvin should have rightfully been promoted from knight commander to colonel long ago but had refused the honor. That hadn’t stopped Raedan from giving him the position’s responsibilities and privileges, though.
“Sir Talvin, the fort awaits us,” Raedan said as he finally slowed and pulled up by his commander. He threw the remains of his cigar to the ground; the ember died with a hiss in the snow. “Do you suppose they’ll be happy to have four thousand cavalry rein up on their doorstep in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t suppose they’ll be bright eyed and bushy tailed,” Talvin said with a smile that was barely visible in the dark.
“We’ll stick to the original plan,” Raedan announced as Tristen Burkes reined up beside him. “My troops will head in to the inner keep; Lord Tristen’s troops will hold up in the outer bailey and await our signal.”
“My lord, I want to express my disappointment in your decision to send your troops in first. My riders have much more training than yours. And won’t the guards be suspicious that you are requesting arms when you already have revolving carbines?”
“They may ask,” Raedan allowed. He twisted his onyx ring on his finger as he spoke. “But by the time they ask, we will be within the inner wall and those revolving carbines will give my troops the edge over the guards.”
Raedan’s troops had already visited one of the royal armories and had retrieved their weapons. Tristen had not had the foresight to send his troops to do the same.
“The guards are sleeping. A watch will be minimal, confined to the outer walls.”
“They will wake their guards. If you don’t like my decisions, you are more than welcome to ride to Hampton and take it up with our commanding officer.”
“Ride a hundred miles to take up an argument with your brother; what a grand plan,” Tristen hissed.
“Then ride back to your troops and make sure that your commanders know what is expected of them,” Raedan ordered.
Tristen huffed and turned his horse back toward his riders.
Raedan watched him go and smiled at the providence that had placed him under his brother’s command. Lord Croutcher had been given command of the Northern Army. Dalton had named Hadrian as his cavalry commander because in all of Ansgar there was not a better rider than the elder Lord Clyve. His military training and commanding presence had made him a natural choice to lead the mounted portion of the Northern Army. And as Raedan was an experienced rider, he had been assigned to command two over-strength regiments of cavalry.
Lord Tristen had argued vehemently for the right to command the four thousand men. He had argued that he had spent his entire life reading about military tactics and was an accomplished rider. He had pointed out that his troops were part of his personal guard and that Raedan’s troops were just part of the levies that he had assembled. After nearly an hour, Hadrian had announced that he would stand by his decision.
“You don’t suppose your brother could arrange for His Lordship to find himself in command of a reserve unit and leave his troops to us, do you?” Talvin asked.
“No, I don’t suppose that would be possible,” Raedan said as he lit anothe
r cigar. He took a long drag, held it for a moment and then exhaled a thin cloud of smoke. “We will have the element of surprise, but I want our men to be careful. I don’t want anyone making a mistake that will lead to a mess.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The fort came up sooner than Raedan had expected. The outer wall was twenty feet of wooden palisade surrounded by a dry moat twelve feet deep. Fires burned in the corner towers and Raedan saw the shadows of guards watching as they made the final approach to the broad wooden doors.
“Who goes there?” a shadow over the gate demanded. The voice was thick with an eastern, noble accent.
“I am Lord Raedan Clyve, Baron of Broken Plains. We come by order of the King to arm ourselves,” Raedan said, loud but not shouting. “To whom do I speak?”
“Lord Thomas Hart, of Engle,” the voice replied. “Do you have the sealed letters that the King sent you?”
“We do.” Raedan held up a satchel. “Open the gates. The wind is picking up and we’d like to get out of it quickly.”
“Now we wait,” Talvin whispered.
“They’ve had other visitors,” Raedan answered. Butterflies danced in his stomach, his heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his palms were sweaty. He wiped them on his trousers and inhaled deeply to calm himself.
Long minutes passed before the sound of men removing a bar from the gate could be heard. The doors, six feet thick and each twelve feet wide, swung inward and lantern light spilled through the opening. A dozen men stood inside, half with muskets and the other half visibly unarmed.
“I thank you, my lord,” Raedan said as he urged his horse forward. A raised hand told his troops to follow.
“We’ll see those letters, my lord,” Thomas Hart announced. He was tall, thin and was wrapped in a green and white greatcoat with a hood pulled up.
“I wish to speak with the garrison commander directly,” Raedan said. His voice was stern and he held himself still as his troops began to ride into the fortress.
Beyond the wooden palisade, the old keep stood tall and dark. The inner walls were granite and stood forty feet tall. A few lanterns moved back and forth but the many slits in towers were dark and there were no guards assembling in the bailey.
“I’m under orders to inspect all papers, my lord,” the lesser lord insisted.
“I will speak with the garrison commander, and I will speak with him now. We are under a deadline to get to Aetheston. We’re slowed enough by our horses, don’t let your incompetence be discussed when I treat with the King.”
“My lord.” The lesser lord stood firm but Raedan could hear his resolve folding. “If I could—”
“Lord Hart, if you do not see me to the garrison commander immediately I will have you stripped of your lands and titles and you will serve the rest of your days as a private in someone else’s levies.”
“I, uh, yes, my lord.” The lesser lord bowed and turned toward the inner wall.
A wave of the tall man’s hand brought the drawbridge down over the thin moat.
A handful of guards milled about inside the stone wall but the barracks were dark. The massive stone keep that had once been home to one of Baron Hampton’s lesser lords was more lively. Fires burned in many of the windows and guards flanked the tall stairs that led to the main entrance.
The family that had once called this keep home, the Ewans, had passed into oblivion nearly a century before. The last Lord Ewan had no children and his only brother had taken to a life of piracy. Some lesser cousins had tried to claim the fortress for their own, but Baron Hampton had decided that it would see better use as a fortress. The stone walls had been repaired and the outer palisades constructed.
Now it saw use as a Royal Armory.
“I will see if Lord Lohberg is available,” Lord Hart said as he disappeared into the main entrance.
Raedan frowned and turned to watch as the second battalion of riders started through the gatehouse. He had expected to find a lesser lord in command of the garrison, not a noble who would not be as easily cowed. A noble might think it was his duty to try to fight the attackers that he found already within his walls. That would be an unfortunate turn of events for everyone involved.
By the time the noble realized what was going on, Raedan’s full complement would be within the inner walls and Lord Burke would have his forces spread throughout the outer bailey. His men were ready for what was about to happen; the guards were not.
A noble did have the benefit of being worth more when it came time to ransom prisoners back to their families. While a lesser lord might command a bounty of fifty golden crowns, a noble would garner Raedan and his men a ransom five times that amount. Two hundred and fifty golden crowns would give each of the four thousand common men of the expedition a bounty of thirty-eight copper pennies; most of them would only make that with a month of service.
By the time the noble finally appeared, sleep heavy in his eyes and night clothes under his thick robe, Raedan’s four battalions were inside the stone walls. One full battalion had dismounted, their revolving carbines held low to not draw the attention of the guards. The rest of the soldiers could have their carbines drawn in seconds. Raedan unsnapped the holsters on his revolvers and rested his left hand near the pistol on his right hip.
“What is the meaning of this?” the man who could only be Lord Lohberg demanded. He was short and fat, with rolling chins, a mop of receding black hair and what Raedan guessed were green eyes, though the lantern light made it hard to be certain. “Why am I awake at some ungodly hour of the morning for something as petty as a weapon requisition?”
“My lord, I am Raedan Clyve, Baron of Broken Plains. You must be Baron Aldenburg?”
“I am,” the man answered. “But that doesn’t answer why you demanded my presence. You could have shown Lord Hart your papers from the King and he would have been more than happy to get you enough weapons for your men.”
“Sir, I am a noble of Ansgar. I felt that it was only right to greet the garrison commander in person and ensure that there would be no trouble in transferring the necessary arms to my men.”
“You are the brother of a backwater noble, jumped up to nobility because the other nobles don’t trust your family enough to leave your brother in command of three baronies,” the man snapped.
Raedan ground his teeth and smiled a thin, dangerous smile.
“The reason that I wanted to speak with you directly was simple. There is no reason to be insulting.” Raedan turned to Talvin, nodded and then returned his gaze to the noble. His left hand remained near his pistol, but his right hand stroked the onyx that hung from his neck.
“What is insulting is being awakened so some piss poor noble can beg me for weapons,” Lohberg hissed. “I have half a mind to reject your request and send you—”
“Enough!” Raedan shouted. His voice boomed and echoed off of the stone walls.
Every conversation in the fortress seemed to be cut short. His men took it as the signal and in one smooth motion two thousand revolving carbines were drawn and aimed at the few guards that wandered the walls.
“I am here to claim this fortress and its contents for the Western Nobles of Ansgar and arrest you as a prisoner of war.”
“What?” The word was a twisted, confused gasp.
Planting emotions was one of the few skills that Raedan had studied on his own, away from the tutelage of Damon Kor. He had not yet perfected it, and could not implant the feeling without the subject knowing that something was wrong, but he could force the emotion onto someone and make them truly feel it. Fear flowed from Raedan to his victim.
“Your men will be allowed to return across the Hart River, unarmed, but knights, lesser lords and yourself will be held until such time as a ransom is paid,” Raedan said.
Raedan’s men began to move: some hastily climbed the stairs of the inner walls to gain a better position, others hurried to secure the gatehouse, and still more charged the barracks to ensure that the guards within didn’
t have time to muster a defense. Shouting came from beyond the gatehouse, but there was no gunfire, and the guards seemed too stunned to react.
“You will hang for this!” Jaron Lohberg shouted as he was seized.
“If I hang, this will be the least of my crimes,” Raedan said as he wheeled his horse around and trotted through the gatehouse.
Despite his opinion of their commander, Raedan had to grant that Lord Burke’s soldiers had performed their role to perfection. The gatehouses and towers were secured, the outer armories were guarded by men in blue greatcoats, and the guards had been gathered and were surrounded. Tristen was still mounted, his pistol in one hand at his side as he inspected the prisoners.
“Good work,” Raedan said as he stopped alongside Tristen. “Have torches raised on all of the gatehouses and towers. The wagons will be waiting for the signal.”
“Of course.” Tristen turned his horse and waved at the men in the towers. Torches were lit and the men took them to the tops of the towers to signal the waiting caravan of wagons that would carry the majority of the weapons to Hampton. “I count at least a dozen knights, and half as many lesser lords.”
“And a baron on top of everything,” Raedan told his peer. The man’s eyes grew wide and he grinned. “Not one of the wealthier barons, but we should get a solid ransom from his family.”
“Very good then,” Tristen said. “Shall we see what the keep has to offer?”
“There will be no pillaging,” Raedan reminded. “We intend to use this fortress. Only the armories are to be touched.”
“My lord, I thought that only applied to the soldiers. Surely we have the right to see what spoils we have taken in the keep?”
“We lead by example, Tristen,” Raedan said. “We will not ransack the Baron Aldenburg’s personal belongings. Though with the sun so near to rising, I may employ his kitchens before we leave.”
“As you say.” Tristen nodded and then turned his horse and trotted into the inner fortress. Raedan followed close behind.
The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel) Page 11