The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel)

by Joshua Johnson

The twelve hundred King’s Shields would be the core of his protection, reinforced by knights that had assembled as a part of his levy. And there would be the eleven thousand other soldiers from Elsdon. If someone wanted to push through the layers of Eadric’s defense, they would not likely be deterred by hiding behind the walls of Founder’s Castle.

  Eadric trusted William to command his armies, but if he led the attack on the rebels no one would dare challenge his authority again. He had studied military strategy and tactics, been trained in the arts of war and the subtleties of diplomacy. If anyone was qualified to lead the armies of Ansgar, it was their king.

  “And that is exactly why I intend on leading this campaign myself,” Eadric insisted. “You know better than anyone that I am the best person to lead my armies into battle, if battle is necessary.”

  “Aye,” Altavius grudgingly agreed.

  Altavius had been one of Eadric’s teachers. Though he had focused on the growth of the young king’s mental prowess and diplomatic skills, he had also assisted in the teaching of strategy and theory of warfare. The elf had conveyed as much of his one thousand years of experience to his young pupil as he could.

  “Then it’s decided,” Eadric said with a nod. “I want to leave within a tenth-day. Order Kendall to make all of the necessary preparations and pass the word to the other nobles and lesser lords to do the same. Begin arranging for trains to the west and have my personal train made ready.”

  Chapter 11 - Magnus

  A late winter storm had buried the Agilard Duchy in thick, wet snow, and a bitter wind was blowing in from the ocean. Magnus wore a black greatcoat over the black wool uniform that marked him as the commander in chief of the Kerberosi Army. Other than the sigil sewn over his heart, the uniform was identical to every other officer’s.

  He had ordered the uniform made to show that he stood with the people of Kerberos and would lead the battle for independence himself. At least on that point, Rorik chose not to argue. His chief bodyguard had, however, insisted that Magnus travel with a full complement of guards wherever he went.

  Rorik and four of his best men were clustered around Magnus. Rorik led the way and two guards rode on each of their sovereign’s flanks. Each of them carried a revolving carbine clutched in one hand and rested on their saddle horn. The shortened weapon was perfect for use on horseback and the revolving mechanism gave them eight bullets each. Under their greatcoats, each of the guards wore a pair of revolvers in thigh holsters and carried a short sword.

  Another twenty guards rode in two columns behind Magnus. A standard-bearer led the whole procession; the huge red hellhound of Agilard sewn onto an even larger black flag went before the mounted group as a way to announce Magnus’ coming.

  The soldiers had dug out trenches of snow along the main camp paths but the going was still slow for Magnus and his entourage as they inspected the camps. Their horses had been mired down in mud more than once and the paths between tents were at times too narrow for more than one mount to pass through at a time.

  Despite the bitter cold, blowing winds and unusually heavy snowfall, his lesser lords had assembled nearly the entire levies that he had asked of them. One hundred and fifty thousand soldiers and knights were gathered north of Agilard City and another two hundred thousand had gathered in four smaller camps near the western edge of the duchy.

  His generals told him that training was going well and that his infantry would have the skills necessary to be the backbone of the Kerberosi army. He had provided rifled muskets for many from the armories under his control but many still trained with hunting rifles or muskets. He needed to make his move on the King’s Armories and seize the weapons and ammunition held within. Especially the cannons.

  Kerberosi foundries had never been able to match the quality or speed of the Ansgari metalworks. They were close on rifled muskets and small arms, but on cannons they fell behind too far for Magnus’ liking. The cannons his men had been trained to fire were close enough to those that would be seized that the mechanics of the action were identical, but their sense of aim and range would have to adjust.

  Magnus rode past a battery of infantry cannons and shook his head. The light weapons were rare in Ansgar, where the infantry ignored the utility of the five-pound guns and claimed that they were too small to be effective in a fight with real artillery. While it was true that the five-pound cannonballs were not capable of the destruction the standard ten-pound guns could rain down, they had better range and their longer barrels provided better accuracy.

  Magnus reined up his horse in front of the largest tent pavilion he had ever seen.

  “And whose tent is this?” The gaudy purple canvas tent structure stood twenty feet at the center pole, at least twelve at the edge and was more than a hundred feet on each side.

  “Your Grace, it is mine!” a short man announced and then bowed. “Sir Byron Alfson, of Harristown.”

  “Ah, sir, you have me at a disadvantage.”

  Magnus inspected the knight with narrowed eyes.

  He had a mop of frail-looking brown hair tied into a short ponytail and a narrow nose that was flanked by light blue eyes. He wore a greatcoat that looked like it had been cut from the same fabric as his tent.

  Harristown was one of the small villages that had sprouted up along the rail lines that ran from Agilard to Aetheston. The strange grape beer that had made the town famous gave its color to everything the town did. They had even changed their sigil to a purple field with a golden mug.

  “This is quite the pavilion,” Magnus continued after a moment. “I didn’t know that the grape beer business had so much money to be made.”

  “We do our best, Your Grace,” the knight said. “I hope my pavilion does not offend you, Your Grace. While it is my tent, I have shared it with many of the knights from Lord Tallet’s levies.”

  “It does not offend,” Magnus lied. If he had his way, the knights would be sleeping in camp tents with the rest of his soldiers. But his advisors had warned him that not giving the knights and lesser lords their symbols of pride and authority could drive them away. He had been reluctant to accept the counsel, but in the end the tradition of tent pavilions and knightly feasts had been upheld. “Carry on, Sir Alfson.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” The knight bowed again and disappeared into his purple monstrosity.

  “I hope he doesn’t intend to bring that along,” Rorik grumbled as the entourage started back toward the city.

  “He won’t,” Magnus assured his chief of guards. “A word to his lord about a knight who tried to compete with his King’s pavilion will end that sufficiently well.”

  The sprawling camp had been set up twenty miles from Agilard City, on the far side of a sharp ridge of hills and a sloping valley, to prevent detection by the Ansgari men at Fort Williams. Sentries, mostly dressed as hunters or farmers, were spread throughout the land between the fort and the camps to prevent any scouts or wandering Ansgari from discovering the encampment.

  It was only a matter of time before one of the Ansgari visited Agilard City and heard of the camps from some drunken soldiers or traveling merchant, but so far that had been avoided. The Ansgari preferred to remain behind their thick masonry walls and dirt embankments and only traveled outside when their supply train from Aetheston was late.

  The Fort, as he had taken to calling it, was still a major concern and he needed to deal with it one way or another soon. He needed to send his gathered levies west, to prepare for battle with the Ansgari, and past Fort Williams was the best way. The Kerberosi rail lines were not as developed as those in Ansgar and only the major castles and cities were connected.

  “When we return to the castle, I want to meet with Lord Kershaw and his staff,” Magnus said as the group made their way back toward the rail lines. “He has some experience with Fort Williams; perhaps it will be an asset.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Rorik said.

  The group plodded through the mud and snow for another hour as it mad
e its way through the thin, winding paths between camps. They stopped another three times to greet lesser lords that had called up a particularly high number of soldiers or had contributed weapons to the cause from their own armories. When they finally arrived at the makeshift train station, Magnus was tired and the sun was well on its way to the western horizon.

  Roland stood on the platform beside Magnus’ passenger car, scraps of paper clutched in one hand and a look on his face that Magnus thought was a mixture of surprise and excitement. James Dietrich and Alger Greenbow stood behind him, their eyes bright with enthusiasm.

  “Some news?” Magnus asked as he dismounted his massive draft horse and stepped onto the platform.

  Greenbow’s excitement got the better of him. “That would be an understatement,” he said.

  “Best to be discussed inside, Father,” Roland said. His expression had settled into something more serious than before, but his eyes still glowed.

  “Very well.” Magnus stepped past the small cluster and into the luxurious passenger car.

  The car had been designed and built to serve as both a luxury parlor and a war room for Magnus. The carpets were a plush black, the furniture was cut from rich brown leather with gold studs, and the walls were painted a deep red. Two large tables were pressed against each side of the car and smaller side tables were spread throughout.

  Magnus threw his greatcoat onto a hook as he swept into the car, kicked his muddy boots into a corner, and plopped onto one of the thick leather couches. “Someone get me a whiskey.”

  “For all of us,” Roland added as he sat in a chair near his father.

  A steward scurried through the door at the back of the car.

  “How did your inspection of the camps go?” Roland asked. Magnus noted the change of subject and lifted an eyebrow. “Did you see the garish tent set up by that knight from Harristown?”

  “How could we have missed it?” Magnus asked. “It’s almost as large as my own pavilion.”

  “He said that it was the only pavilion that was ready for travel when the call to arms came,” Roland said. “Why would anyone even bother making something like that?”

  Magnus shrugged. “I suppose that when your town makes its fame from something, you have to pay homage to it.”

  The steward returned with a bottle of dark whiskey and a tray of glasses. When each man had been served, Roland waved the man out of the room.

  As soon as the door was closed, Magnus spoke. “Now that we have drinks, will you tell me what is on that paper?”

  “Proclamations from Aetheston,” Roland said and then tested the whiskey.

  “Another one?” Magnus’ eyebrows lowered and he pursed his lips. “What does it say?”

  “A demand that all nobles make their best speed to Aetheston to immediately declare their allegiance to the Crown and their loyalty to King Eadric,” Roland read from the first letter.

  “And to what occasion do we owe this summons?”

  “The letter does not say, in itself,” Roland said and shrugged. “But we have come to learn that the western nobles have…” He cut himself off as an excited smile tried to grace his lips.

  “Have what, Roland?” A hint of irritation crept in Magnus’ voice.

  “They have declared an open rebellion against Aetheston,” Roland said at last. Magnus heard the words but for a long moment he didn’t understand them. Then the realization hit him and his jaw fell.

  All of the planning that his family had laid down for nearly a century had been based on the assumption that Ansgar would stand united against the Kerberosi rebellion. Magnus had secured promises from Franta to cause enough trouble for the western nobles that they could not commit their full strength to returning his people to the fold. He had made secret trade pacts that would cut off the distribution of vital industrial supplies to Central Ansgar and would leave their production lacking.

  And in the blink of an eye not only had all of that planning been made unnecessary, but the western nobles had provided him with more help than he could have ever hoped for from Beldane or Steimor.

  Yes, Eadric would now be forced to call up his full armies, but they would have to split their attention on two sides. And, if the gods smiled, Eadric would drop his claim to Kerberos entirely and focus on dragging his western nobles back under his heel.

  “How many?”

  “Every noble west of the Hart River,” Roland answered. Magnus closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to count the number of soldiers that could be levied out of those territories. “Their dukes had already called up their full levies when Eadric dispatched his messengers. They are currently entrenched on the far side of the Hart.”

  “This is monumental,” Magnus said as he stood. “But we must act quickly.”

  “I have already dispatched orders to cut off all communication between Aetheston and the forts in Ansgar. But these letters came via telegraph; it’s possible the armories and fortresses have already been warned,” Roland said.

  The possibility that the Ansgari forces in Kerberos would be on the alert was a situation that Magnus and his generals had discussed but his forces were not in a position to put their plans into motion.

  “Then we must strike now.” Magnus grabbed a map and unrolled it on a table. “Our cavalry has already been assembled at three points along our border with Ansgar. They can sweep over the Ansgari fortresses at Warster, Lindholm and Vahr and take the armories there.”

  “Father, there was the second letter,” Roland reminded him. “When the King learned of the rebellion, he seized our representatives in Aetheston.”

  “Damn it,” Magnus swore. He intertwined his fingers and bent them with a satisfactory series of pops.

  He had sent Bannen Mallory with the levies because he was fiercely loyal to Kerberos and had the tactical and strategic skill to extract his forces from the press when the time came. Magnus had planned to make the man his Minister of War when their forces returned from across the Straits of Steimor.

  Now Mallory, and the other noble representatives that had accompanied him to Aetheston, were hostages. They were safe, as long as Magnus and the rest of Kerberos remained complacent, but Magnus could not waste the opportunity presented to him by the rebellion of the western nobles.

  “We will have to try to negotiate with the King to get them released,” James Dietrich interjected. “They are members of noble houses; surely a ransom can be paid.”

  “If Eadric doesn’t know what he has in using Mallory as a hostage, then someone else in his council will. If we don’t bow to his will and pledge our allegiance, it’s in his best interest to hold Bannen as a hostage,” Magnus said.

  “What about the other nobles? They have no strategic value,” Alger said, his voice urgent.

  “Gentlemen, I understand that you sent family members to Aetheston as representatives, but this is not a point that will be argued. When we make our declaration to Eadric, we will request that our people are returned to us. If he refuses, we will take our own hostages and somewhere along the line we will exchange them,” Magnus said. The tone in his voice made it clear that there would be no further debate.

  Everyone in the room knew that there was a serious possibility that the representatives in Aetheston would be executed by Eadric. Execution was not a common punishment in Ansgar, but the King had been known to pass the sentence for crimes less than High Treason. And with rebellions on either side, he would be desperate to send a message to the lords and nobles that opposed him.

  Magnus sipped from his glass as he thought; the whiskey helped. He focused on the burn as the amber liquid found its way into his stomach.

  “My Lords, if you would excuse us for a moment. I want to have a private word with my son,” Magnus said.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” James said. He, Alger and Rorik departed, locking the door behind them.

  “This troubles me,” Magnus said after another drink. “The timing is too perfect.”

  “It is a g
ift,” Roland argued. “The gods have smiled on our quest for freedom and have given us this opportunity.”

  “What if it is a lie?”

  He was looking too deeply into this opportunity, but he and the Dukes of Agilard before him had not hidden their plans from the King of Ansgar for nearly one hundred years by being careless and not looking at everything from every possible angle. The situation was just too perfect: the timing of the western rebellion right when he was on the brink of launching his own attack on Ansgar.

  If it were a lie, and he took the bait before he was fully ready, Eadric would roll down on him with the full force of his armies and there would be nothing that could stand in his way. Eadric would have his full levies to form the core of his attack and the support of the western nobles to overpower the Kerberosi defenses.

  If, however, the letters were not a lie and Magnus decided to hold back his attacks, he would never recover. Eadric would have the time to sweep down on the western nobles and get back to Aetheston before Magnus’ forces were ready.

  “If it is a lie, then we risk little more than we were going to risk anyways,” Roland said. “We are already committed to this course, Father. If this is a lie, then Eadric will have his levies to serve as the core of his attack. What does that give him? One hundred and twenty thousand soldiers who are trained and armed. We have more than that minutes away from us. Once we have seized the armories, there will be no difference between Eadric’s levies and our armies. But what if we don’t take this gift for what it is? The loss of this opportunity will crush our efforts to ever regain freedom. Your nobles will be disheartened and I doubt we will ever be able to convince them to attempt this again.”

  Magnus nodded in agreement. His son was right: this was the opportunity that Kerberos needed to break free from Ansgar’s grasp.

  Chapter 12 - Eadric

  Spring had finally started to show itself along the southern coast of Ansgar. The melted snows and constant rainstorms had left an incessant mire of mud and muck in their wake. Tens of thousands of horses and men camped on the slopes surrounding Cutler Keep had only added to the mess.