Lykourgos II: The Flowers of Spring
The Fourteenth Day of the Third Moon, 874 AD.
Haestinghen, Eastern Teleytaios, Klironomea.
So, here he was again. Haestinghen. Wars seemed to have a habit of drawing him to this town, or rather city since he'd finally given it the charter it had long craved alongside a few other townships, and it seemed that in spite of the boons he'd since granted the settlement it was not entirely enthused to see him march through again.
Ah well, no matter. It's only for a day or so before we continue marching to the border. With any luck Grand Duke Sigiros will have joined with us by them, but if he hasn't then it shan't matter. He'll just have to live with the knowledge that his men acted as the rearguard and reinforcements of the campaign, rather than as a part of the glorious van as he was originally promised. It's hardly my fault if he's too far away to make camp with us before the start of hostilities.
The people of Haestinghen had given him a lukewarm response, all told. War had brought him twice to their town already, once with flame and anger and a second time with mysticism and mercenaries, so it was of little surprise when they weren't exactly enthused to find he was back to marching across their urban and mercantile lives with war at his back once more.
Never mind the investments that had begun to pour into this newly-minted city like water since he'd taken the crown and throne. These people's memories went deep, and still they eyed him with suspicion.
However, the new Gentleman of the town had been rather more content with working under the crown than the old Gentleman, Manfred, had been. Iochford, he was called. A somewhat mousey man, but canny nonetheless. He'd seen the value in his hometown's new status as a city, and wanted to make the most of it. The man was also smart enough to know that working under the auspices of the crown would be much more profitable for him in the long run than working against it, especially if that meant royal assistance every five years when the mayoral keys of the city were to be passed to whomever the populous of the city decided most deserved it.
The man owned a manor house in the nearby countryside around half a mile from the city walls, and it was there that upon his invitation Lykourgos, as well as his entourage and councillors, had been housed for the night. Whilst the manor was nothing compared to the royal palatial complex at the heart Anaria, it still had its own sort of charm. A well kept garden, no larger than an acre at the most, gave him a lovely place to rest and gather his thoughts. It was almost a shame that he was to move on from this place tomorrow or overmorrow, but he wasn't willing to spend too long here; he'd already dallied in Haestinghen and spent too long inside its walls in both of the other wars that had called him to the city, so he didn't want to go three-for-three on that one.
Speaking of people who weren't keen to that the army was passing through Haestinghen again, Seventh certainly seemed to be near the top of that list.
It was understandable, of course. The poor thing had been closed off and frightful as they approached, jumping a little every time they heard steel-on-steel whenever the soldiers trained and knights sparred, but if Lykourgos had been kidnapped here he didn't think he'd want to make his presence known here a second time. There was a reason he had hardly visited Seastream after that little incident with the cult, after all. Nasty business, and he hadn't even been cut open.
He was unsurprised, therefore, that the seer had hardly left arms reach of Rhema these last few days on the approach to Haestinghen. They were certainly never out of eyesight of each other, a precaution that Lykourgos knew was to be just as much for Rhema's peace of mind as it was Seventh's. He had caught himself wondering which one of them needed the company of the other more, would break first without it, but so morbid a line of thinking he didn't really want to think about and so he had shunted the thoughts away.
The thoughts of his brother needing to be near the seer at all times brought forth images of Alekos to his mind. The Polaeran had stayed a few days after the coronation, and had spent the vast majority of his time with Lykourgos, but had needed to return home soon afterwards. It was just as well he did, Lykourgos thought, because otherwise I'd find myself so distracted that even the simplest of duties would surely flit away from me.
He pushed those thoughts away as well. He didn't want to be distracted at the moment.
Not when there was another war to win.
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It was in the gardens that he met with a few of his commanders, namely Romanos and Crowe, but this time they were also joined by the young Lieutenant Aetvia. Aetvia was one of the new generation of Lieutenants being trained by the Mistress of Iron, a position that was sorely lacking in talented people to fill it given that most of the last generation were now dead. Of all the old Lieutenants there were only a few left, and Lykourgos knew even less of them by name. That was why he was trying to make the effort to include the new Lieutenants in his war-councils one-by-one; he knew that he was going to need to rely on a few more of them in the coming wars and as such needed to know which ones were the most likely to follow his orders where applicable and bend the rules to achieve victory where not.
As of right now, Aetvia was his favourite of the ones he had met. He actually liked her more than he liked some of the old Lieutenants, especially Marren and Daniil. Actually, Daniil was starting to grow on him a bit more as of late. He still preferred the new Lieutenants to the man, but he was as good as his word in making sure his gaggle of traitors and reprobates remained loyal and true. He knew they were all on their last chance, after all, and had offered his own head once to his King already. If he was found lacking, the man surely knew that Lykourgos would make good on that offer.
As for Marren, well, the less said the better. The man was still loyal, and one of the best minds in the known world where siege warfare was involved, but he was not as sound as he had once been. He was... he was losing himself. To guilt, Lykourgos thought, but he wasn't really sure. Not that it mattered anyway, so long as the man did his job properly.
It was Wulfstan that Aetvia had been attempting to emulate, and whilst she couldn't quite capture that same half-mad look that the young man had carried himself with on the field she was certainly extremely close. More than that, she was just as capable as Wulfstan had been whilst leading men as well. He was glad to have her on side, not least for the loss of his two most favoured Lieutenants had been something of an administrative issue since the end of the civil war until now. Having a worthy successor around did much to improve the efficiency of the Armsmen as they looked to their Lieutenants for inspiration.
That was another thing that had begun to happen as of his coronation; the dead Lieutenants were starting to be honoured by their replacements. Isen, Wulfstan, Ingfred; he had learned that the younger generation of Lieutenants now looked to the older generation, to those men, as something akin to minor saints. The old Lieutenants were now something either to emulate or to shun, and with how they spoke of them it seemed as though it would only be a matter of time before their status as folk-saints amongst the soldiery would be cemented.
Those who yet lived were not exempt from such borderline hero-worship either. At least, the ones of note were not. Both Marren and Daniil had their admirers and students amongst the ranks of the new Lieutenants, according to Crowe anyhow. He wasn't sure how either man could warrant such admiration, but then he wasn't a Lieutenant or Sergeant, or even an Armsman. For all the respect he had for them he was royalty, and so he knew that the situation on the ground for his favoured soldiers would be sorely different than his own and as such give rise to what seemed to be strange new traditions to him but to them seemed perfectly logical.
He could see their titles in his head even now: Wulfstan, the fearless. Ingfred, the veteran. Marren, the engineer. Daniil, the death-seeking.
Isen. The traitor. He supposed every portion of the church down even to its folk sects needed villains to sneer at, even if the thought of Isen having earned some form of immortality through remembrance made him uncomfortable.
He wondered for a moment how this newfound hero-worship amongst the Lieutenants, and some of the other ranks as he had been informed, might interact with the so called 'Bastard's Boys' and other assorted groups that had pledged their undying loyalty to their king twice over. Would they but heads and refuse to work together, in which case the new beliefs would have to be rooted out no matter how useful they might prove, or would they end up blending and forming some sort of militant cult within the church wholly loyal to Lykourgos alone?
If it were the latter, then he was certainly going to encourage it.
"So," Crowe started, her voice a hoarse rumble, "I take it we're here to plan out the campaign."
It was not a question, but a statement. She was right, of course, but Lykourgos felt the need to nod anyway.
"Our plans as of now amount to marching along the Riverroad, tearing down the walls protecting Corthraxiopolis, and then continuing east. I was hoping that the three of you would be willing and able to cover the large gaps that so simple a plan leaves."
There was a grunt of assent from Crowe, and she nodded to Romanos as if signalling for him to talk. If the motion had been directed at Aetvia it would have made sense, for she was of a lower rank than the woman who was still technically the Mistress of Iron on the Inner Council but would definitely be losing that position when the Grand Duke met with them, but Romanos was her equal. It was strange to see them acting so... well, strange, around each other.
Peculiar.
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"Haengen makes up the western territories of Nordicos; there's nothing there but rocky hillocks. Not even true hills, just hillocks. It might prove uncomfortable for the army to move through such an area logistically, but there shouldn't be any places for ambushes or the like along the road either. So long as our supply lines are maintained it shouldn't be an issue. Megalothiriopolis is just off of the road, and so taking it should be the main priority. Not that we should worry about that; the city remains unwalled, and will likely declare itself neutral in the conflict as the army marches by if the Nordican's own forces aren't nearby to come to their aid."
Lykourgos nodded.
"Good. The rocky landscape might not be the best for the campaign, but it'd be perfect for setting up mining operations. Good mineral wealth. I have little doubt that the Grand Duke will pay handsomely for the rights to prospect and begin operations in such areas. As for the rest of the campaign?"
Romanos continued.
"After that we'll move on to the city of Corthraxiopolis, but as per your plan the army is to ignore the rest of the Archic foothills and continue east along the Riverroad to move through the remainder of the kingdom. After that we reach Licotemos, and the rest is for you to decide."
He nodded at his friend, and turned to face Crowe when he heard her start speaking from where Romanos left off.
"The important thing in this campaign are the urban centres of Corthraxiopolis, Megalothiriopolis, and Rochaven. Most of Nordicos' value comes from its cities, not its countryside, so by taking them we'll have a stranglehold on the rest of the nation. Megalothiriopolis and Corthraxiopolis are, as the Grandmaster noted, both either on the Riverroad or nearby. As such they will be in the path of the army as it marches north-east and then east. Rochaven is situated further south, and as such will need to seized likely by a smaller force sent purposely to secure their surrender."
Aetvia spoke up, seemingly a little embarrassed at having spoken without the assent of her superiors, but was calm nonetheless.
"I reckon that the smaller force sent to Rochaven should be left behind instead of 'ttempting to march to the main army; since that'll mean that if the forays into Licotemos go bad then the smaller force can set up in the hilly highlands of eastern Nordicos and ensure that the army has a series of prepared and provisioned fortifications to fall back and regroup behind.
"I've no wish for us to fail in Licotemos of course, yer 'ighness. But I feel as though it might be better to prepare for failure in case."
Lykourgos remained silent for a moment, and then smiled whilst nodding.
"Yes Crowe," he said whilst turning away from the Lieutenant and facing the Marshal, "I see what you mean. This one certainly has potential."
He turned back to face the Lieutenant, who now had a slight tint to her cheeks suggesting the beginnings of a blush.
"You'll do well in the Armsmen, Aetvia. Well indeed. Alright then, I think that should roughly cover that which I wished to know for now. We'll send out scouts to get the lay of the land in the coming weeks, but I think that we should fear little save their massed army in the opening months of the war. Great defenders on the battlefield they might be, but they aren't as well-versed in matters martial as they once were. Too many years of declining interest in their knights and armsmen have left them soft, and given that the only real fighters they have in the Grey Company are busy fighting in Dathan at the moment there isn't too much that will stand in our way here."
"I think it might best be noted, yer 'ighness, that ye've got two of the Scorpion-Engines amongst yer Armsmen as well. They mightn't be the nimblest of things, but they've got their uses where breaking a shieldwall is concerned."
Aetvia's words were coated by her thick Low-Klironomean dialect, which reminded him distinctly of the way his blind bodyguard talked. The way she spoke was different of course, her regional accent from central Teleytaios differing from Dreamwulf's accent, for his was of the northern lands beyond the Einarbrycge, but it was Low-Klironomean all the same. Though her accent may have made her sound 'common' he didn't much care for such discriminations. She spoke sense, was loyal, and knew what her job was as well as how to best carry it out. If anyone told him that he was a fool for trusting people like her in positions of leadership then he would just accept that they were being monumentally foolish themselves for believing in such rhetoric.
He nodded at her words with a slight smile and bade her to continue with a gesture, politely ignoring the fact that she'd referred to him as 'Highness' instead of 'Grace'. High and Low Klironomean differed in the use of such terms, Low-Klironomean not differentiating between the two as High-Klironomean did. She could hardly be held accountable for speaking the language of the majority of his kingdom, now could she?
"Well, I only mean to suggest that if we draw the Nordicans out into the field, they'll have a few Scorpion-Engines of their own to throw at the lines. Not only that, theirs is the fucking Widow-Engine. The lads 'll try to hold ground, but there's only so much a billhook can do against something like 'at. Get the Grand Duke to chuck his lot in ahead of us, the Scorpion-Engines I mean, and we'll at least be able to keep theirs busy."
He nodded with consideration, and then when the silence had stretched on long enough that he was satisfied she was finished talking, began responding with his own thoughts.
"Good points. Succinct ones as well, might I add. Good. I'm glad for your insights, Lieutenant Aetvia. I must confess to holding rather a measure of dislike for the Scorpion-Engines, both individually and as a concept.
"You see, as a concept it is treated as something new and radical. It is not. All a Scorpion-Engine is, at its heart, is a chariot. A large chariot capable of holding six men manning crossbows in the back as well as a driver and a Scorpion operator at the front, yes, but still a chariot. A chariot encased in a layer of armour to afford protection for those manning the contraption, as well as to ensure that the horses have no knowledge of where they are running to making them all but completely loyal to the steering of the driver, but still a chariot.
"They have been made for thousands of years, and thousands of years ago they stopped being used in warfare for the next reason I will mention; they're too expensive to maintain.
"Chariots were powerful. Chariots broke enemy lines. But they were too expensive and resource-intensive to maintain, especially when you could arm a hundred men with bows, spears, and swords for around the same price. With all the added expenses related to the excess gear of teh cScorpion-Engine, that price has gone up by an order of magnitude.
"I could arm, armour, and train nearly a full thousand men for the upfront costs of one Scorpion-Engine. A Scorpion-Engine can only be in one place at a time, but a thousand soldiers can be in a thousand places at once. A soldier can fight in a building, a street, a marsh, and a chariot cannot.
"I loath the idea of the Grand Duke keeping his own Scorpion-Engines around when for that same price he could field another two thousands. It's too inefficient."
Romanos placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping his tirade.
"Better him than you, Lyk. It's not your coin he's wasting on maintaining those things, merely his own. Besides, if all three of them, both those of the Grand Duke and the Widow-Engine operated by the Nordicans, end up destroyed in battle then that's a good excuse to use the rest of them for scrap when push comes to shove. I'm not the biggest fan of those things either, as you no doubt recall."
Lykourgos couldn't help but let slip a grin at that, his friend's repeated and vehement statements of dislike for those contraptions having been made abundantly clear in the years since the Twilight Rebellion.
"Show pieces. The lot of them. I'd sooner have a score of good men or a pair of ballistae at my back, but very well. If we aren't paying for them, there's no good reason to let them go to waste. It would be remiss to ignore the fact that both sides in the coming conflict are to have these contraptions on their side, even if I believe their use to be primarily aesthetic in nature."
There was a muttering of assent and a snort from Romanos, whilst the two women nodded. Lykourgos smiled, content. Yes, the gardens here were quite pretty. He did so adore the flowers that sprang forth and sprouted in these earliest days of spring.
He tried not to think about how many of them would have wilted and died come the summer.
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"- I believe it will be for the best."
Lykourgos turned the corner and entered his tent, raising his eyebrow at the noise as he found his spymaster and cupbearer in what seemed to be stubborn conversation with each other.
"Ilias. Eli. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Elikoidi, who seemed to have developed a habit of showing up unannounced out of thin air to upend some small facet of his life, smiled humourlessly at him. Ilias, for his part, just bowed.
"Lyk."
"Your Grace."
The two of them spoke at once, Ilias looking away soon after almost bashfully.
"Elikoidi," he continued, "I believed I heard some measure of disagreement between the two of you. Might I ask what the issue is?"
"Oh, certainly." His friend began with a flourish. "I'm sending that one away from you for a while."
That wasn't what Lykourgos had been expecting, and he was taken aback a great deal.
"I beg your pardon? Have you taken leave of your senses, Eli?"
His friend responded with a somewhat-sassy gasp, though Lykourgos was pleased to note that Ilias seemed a little happier now that he had some support.
"We need a spy in the Licoteman court. Our little friend here seems to be the best bet."
He continued to stare at Elikoidi, unimpressed.
"And why might that be?"
The Master of Silver rolled his eyes.
"Because the king of Licotemos is out hunting and has left his eldest son in charge, his son does nothing but hold banquets, jousts, and tourneys most days, and as such we need someone who has been trained to wait upon the orders of lords and princes to have access to their banquet halls as a serving-boy.
"It can't be one of my rats, because they're all urchins without a single idea of how to cater to such 'noble' men and women. It can't be someone too old, as the lords and ladies will want a prettier face to look at during their feasts rather than some wrinkled old crone, and most importantly it has to be someone we trust absolutely.
"Can you think of anyone else that can fit those criteria for us at the moment, my friend? Because please, if you can, tell me. If not, our little Ilias here is the perfect candidate to compile a report on the Licoteman court from within. My informants are not nearly so numerous that far from Anaria."
Lykourgos turned his head away a little and swore under his breath. Elikoidi was right, at the end of the day. Ilias was the best candidate for getting to know what was going on in Licotemos more intimately before the campaign into the verdant plains of the east began. Ilias, for his part, already looked to be resigned to his new role.
"I don't want to leave your side again, your Grace."
The cupbearer's words were small, but not quiet. The boy took a deep breath, then continued.
"I don't want to leave. But if it means it will help you win, then I'll do it."
Lykourgos smiled at the boy again, once more wondering why Ilias seemed to have developed a sense of hero-worship for him. There seemed to be a lot of that going around at the moment.
Elikoidi broke in once more, tone suggesting that he was saying a lot more than he sounded like he was saying on a surface level.
"I'm almost surprised you aren't more enthused. I thought you'd appreciate the chance to serve your King away from some of those around you."
There seemed to be a silent conversation between Ilias and Elikoidi at that, not that Lykourgos could decipher it, and afterwards Ilias seemed a little more... on board, with what had been said.
"When do I leave?"
Elikoidi looked to Lykourgos, then to Ilias, then back to Lykourgos, then to Ilias again.
"Tonight. Pack your things and saddle a pony, then follow the road east. I'll see to it that you're given supplies and coin to get your way there. Remember, show no more money than what you intend to spend, sleep with one eye open, and use a cover story the entire way there."
Ilias nodded.
"Got it."
"Good. You're leaving tonight, before this one gets too sappy and changes his mind."
Elikoidi pointed over his shoulder at Lykourgos with his thumb at that, to which the King merely rolled his eyes and lowered himself to eye level with his cupbearer.
"Be safe, alright?"
The young man nodded, smiling slyly but not without an unmistakable sense of gravitas.
"I will, your Grace. By your leave?"
Lykourgos nodded, pushing away the thought that he was sending away someone who trusted him to the moon and back without so much as having known it twenty minutes ago.
He really hoped Elikoidi and Ilias knew what they were doing here, for if anything happened to one of his friends he thought the stress might kill him.