Lykourgos IV: The Trumpets Sound Once More
The Eighteenth Day of the Third Moon, 873 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.
He looked at the map on his table with a grimace, moving the little pieces around in accordance with the latest intelligence he'd received. There was no-one else in the room at the moment, for he wished to be left alone after his 'altercation' with the Grandmaster, but he knew he couldn't afford to put this off any longer. War was here, whether he wished to be friendly with his commanders or not. There was nothing left to do but summon them to him and tell them of his next move.
The only trouble was... what was his next move? He couldn't very well pull the lowborn back from their fields so soon after disbanding, for not only would that be detrimental to yet another harvest but it would also result in a sharp spike in unrest amongst the rural poor. That led him to his second issue, however; the forces of house Blackoak, though delayed in their advance thanks to the death of their commander courtesy of Eli, were nonetheless soon to cross the border. Not just soon, but very soon. He would be very surprised if the enemy was not encamped in the ruins of Ousdaal this time next week.
He brooded a little as he consulted the list of numbers next to him for the umpteenth time that day. He hadn't truly needed to look at them for hours now, since they were all burned into his mind, but it didn't hurt to check again. He could count on some ten-thousand professional soldiers loyal to the crown, since those knights and armsmen who had fallen in the succession crisis had more or less been replaced by those squires knighted for bravery in battle and veteran levies hoping to make a career of soldiery respectively, and so his own forces weren't too bad in terms of numbers, but they were still facing seventeen-thousand men, two thousand of which were professionals and eight-thousand semi-professional. If he could scrape together just a few thousand more men he would be able to sway things to his side, especially if Lord Aertax or whoever was now in command of the Blackoak forces ordered their forces split.
He felt his lips curl into a snarl as he read Isen's name on the paper. Angels damn the man to the lowliest hell that existed! He'd not be making the mistake of trusting anyone to be alone around him again, save a very select few people.
He wasn't even sure if his closest friends were on that list at the moment.
He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He was being overly-dramatic. Romanos had said some very hurtful things, yes, but it was all in response to a miscommunication and an argument that had gotten out of hand. He'd make up with the man and forgive him, eventually. Probably.
He forced out an exhale and steadied his mind again. He would forgive Romanos, and he would do it soon. He couldn't afford to think otherwise.
"A one-man council of war then, little prince?"
Lykourgos looked up in surprise, the dark room previously lit only by tallow candles now seeming somehow brighter as the newcomer walked in.
"You."
The man smirked in amusement.
"Indeed, it is me. I thought you'd have sought me out by now, given our... previous interactions."
Lykourgos glared a little at the strange man.
"I'm uncertain if you've noticed, but I've been really rather busy these last few weeks. I was rather excited to speak with you and ask you some questions back when you were first uncovered and then again when the Seer woke you up, but I have other duties to see to now; there's nothing that could justify me spending my days with a man who hasn't even deigned to tell me his name yet."
The strange man seemed even more amused by something he'd said, but Lykourgos wasn't really sure what.
"Seer is such misleading title, even if it's all they understand of their powers for now, but I digress. Those 'duties' you mention can be left to other people. You are the king, in reality if not in law. I serve at your command, and you could have sent for me at any point."
Lykourgos scoffed.
"I am not stupid enough to leave the running of my kingdom to anyone else, not anymore, nor am I so filled with pride so as to think that a man who lived through the reign of King Harald the Second would be beholden to any man, no matter how high his social standing or legal ranking might place him."
The man was actually given pause for a split second, but then the smirk was back on his face
"And how did you come to that conclusion?"
He set his shoulders a little as he turned to better face the man, sitting up a little straighter compared to how he'd been previously hunched over the map and pages of statistics.
"You called out for a 'Harald' when you woke up, and clearly thought yourself in the midst of a battle. Now that by itself is not proof, for 'Harald' is a rather common name amongst the Low-Klironomeans and Skraelings, but then you called out for 'Korvanus' and demanded that he 'protect his king'. The only Korvanus I can think of in relation to a 'Harald' would be Ser Korvanus, the knight who later went on to become the first Grandmaster of the Order of the Bloody Cross and, in turn, was one of the first heads of the Ichorian Cult. The 'Harald' you spoke of can therefore only be King Harald Whitefield the Second."
The stranger just stared at him all the while as he spoke, the smirk eventually transforming into a wide smile. He seemed to be very satisfied with Lykourgos indeed.
"Yes, I think they might have been right after all. You'll do. You'll most certainly do. You asked for a name, and whilst I am not in the habit of handing out my true name to people such as yourself, there is one title you will know me by."
Lykourgos raised an eyebrow.
"And what might that be?"
The man huffed a little.
"I can already tell you will not believe my words, little prince. Few amongst your kind do, and most of those are not the sort of people I enjoy knowing who I am. I've walked amongst your kind for a very, very long time. Longer than you think."
"You speak in riddles. Out with the answer, man!"
"Very well," the man nodded whilst holding up his hands in a supplicatory gesture, "to you, I am Hydran."
Lykourgos' whirling mind came to a standstill. But that... that couldn't possibly be true! For one of the Angels themselves to be... but that was...
The man, the Angel, Hydran, raised an amused eyebrow at him.
"Yes, I did tell you you'd have trouble believing me. Regardless of whether you do or you don't, that's what you can call me from here on out. It's not my favourite name, but it's a lot better than some I've been given. Far, far better."
Lykourgos swallowed hard. This was his patron deity, the Angel he'd always prayed to, and here he was in front of him holding a casual back and forwards as though this were... as though Lykourgos hadn't repeatedly scoffed at him and been consistently demanding in their few conversations. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Angel held up a hand and stilled him whilst moving to lounge in a chair opposite the prince.
"Yes, I know, it's hard to believe and, if true, makes you feel fearful and anxious that you'll say or do the wrong thing. Trust me, I've seen it all before. I'd much rather you continued being snarky towards me, since it makes a nice change from the constant bowing and scraping I watch people do in my name. You could stand to be a little less standoffish though, and not just with me. Since waking up you've become hard as iron, strong and unyielding, yes, but brittle. Liable to be split in twain or shatter into a hundred shards before compromising with those around you, when it comes to your kingdom at least. Perhaps you should use your upcoming summons to try and mend some fences between you and your Grandmaster."
Hydran held up his hand again as Lykourgos opened his mouth, bidding him to wait a little longer.
"I'm not suggesting you forgive him for his rudeness outright since I know what your kind are like with grudges, but I will say that you should stop avoiding him. You're to be a king, and I do not wish to sound harsh but you need to act like it; you can't run everything by yourself, your Grace."
He looked down back at the map and away from his deity, shamefaced. His first real interaction with his patron deity when they both knew who the other was, and it had served mostly as an admonishment for his stubbornness. He nodded choppily, still dazed by the revelation that a true Angel stood before him. He didn't know why he wasn't more suspicious of the man sat before him, he didn't know why his mind told him that the man was telling the truth, he just... he just didn't know. Surely the logical thing to do would be to dismiss such outlandish claims outright, but then... but then he looked back up into the eyes of his chosen deity, first amongst the seven, and for the briefest of moments he could have sworn they were a brilliant light blue, not unlike the sparks that had flitted across the eyes of the young... well, Hydran had said that Seer was a 'misleading' title, but that was the only word his tired mind could think of in that moment.
He blinked, and for a single glorious and terrifying moment the man before him was not a man but a six-winged Angel, no, a giant, no, a mountain, no, a statue carved from a mountain with a baleful glare, no, he was... he was drowning. The man was drowning in cold, briny water, in water so deep Lykourgos could see nothing save the vaguely illuminated figure in front of him. For that single undefinable moment he felt a fear unlike anything he'd ever known, not even when he lay bleeding on the palace walls. Then there was nought in his vision but a series of arcane markings etched into a rocky cliff far from all mankind, sigils and glyphs that danced before his vision. Then there was nothing.
He blinked again, and the man was sat back before him in the palace again. Hydran rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, and then... and then... what had he been thinking about?
Oh yes, the misnomer of 'Seer' being used to describe Seventh. It felt a little like he was forgetting something, something recent, but he pushed the thought from his mind. How was 'Seer' an incorrect term anyway?
Unless... blue sparks, blue light, connection to this 'Hydran' who sat before him.
He let out a deep sigh as he slumped a little in his chair. He supposed that was just another 'revelation' to add to today's pile.
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"You speak the truth; I will do as you say. Will you be here for the council?"
Hydran scoffed.
"No, I will not. Mortal matters are for mortal decision making, not mine. Besides, this whole conversation never happened. I'd like to keep myself hidden in plain sight a little longer, prince of violets."
The man took a few steps towards the door, turning back and flashing him a smile as he left.
"I wish you good fortune in the days to come, little prince. This has been a most enjoyable talk; do make sure not to get yourself killed the wars to come. Saving you once was hassle enough."
Lykourgos nodded, more than a little dumbfounded, and then the man was gone. The door was shut once more, plunging the room back into the dim light of the tallow candles on the table. He wasn't sure how long he sat there unmoving, his mind seeming to whirl with action before almost shutting down again and again under the weight of what he'd learned, but he had a job to do.
"ILIAS!" He called, raising his voice as much as he was able. The young cupbearer scrambled into the room, squinting a little as he visibly adjusted to the darkness.
"Your Grace?"
"Have you read any of these reports, Ilias?"
The waved a small number of the papers in his hand, his cupbearer nodding as he realised what they were.
"I have, your Grace."
"Then tell me, if you're aware of course, do you know if the forces are still mustered?"
"Only the armsmen and knights, your Grace. Symon and his sellswords are still in the city as well."
"Then we'll rally them all. If the Starlings are still here as well they'll be joining me, they don't have a choice in the matter. Ilias, fetch me Romanos, Rhema, Crowe, and Symon. Patriarch Olyver as well; he seems to have gotten my message. Do not ask them to attend me. Tell them."
Ilias nodded and scampered off, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. It seemed his cupbearer liked it when he acted authoritative towards others.
"It will be done, your Grace. I'll get them now."
Lykourgos smiled at the young cupbearer as the boy swiftly made to leave. Ilias had certainly been an excellent choice for a cupbearer, being both well-informed with his ear to the ground and loyal to a fault. Not false loyalty like Isen had shown him either, but real and honest loyalty born of what seemed to be a mixture of friendliness, hope, and hero-worship. Ilias was very good at his job indeed.
Within the next half an hour the various figures he'd asked for all filtered into the dimly lit room, though he had thrown open the shutters of a window to let in a little more light. Crowe and Rhema had been the first to arrive, the large woman thumping her chest by way of greeting whilst his brother grinned at him and clasped his arm.
"So, this is it then."
Lykourgos nodded, faintly smiling back at his brother.
"This is it. War looms once more."
"At the very least this time we'll be on the winning side, won't we Crowe?"
The large woman gave the younger prince a rather exasperated look, though there was more than a hint of amusement playing across her face.
"That we most certainly will be, your Highness. I am certain we will be."
Romanos arrived not long after, Symon in tow. Upon seeing the elder prince a complex array of emotions seemed to flit across the Grandmaster's face, stilling only when Lykourgos nodded once at him in a gesture that he hoped came across as meaning 'we'll talk later'.
"Well, as I live and breath. I thought that ambitious bastard had done you in."
Lykourgos huffed out a bitter laugh at the sellsword.
"It was a rather close thing, but no. He failed utterly in his mission to kill me. Vengeance will come in time, of that I have no doubt, but we've got a larger issue at hand in the form of the seventeen-thousand men ready to cross our border at any moment. The plan has been made, and all of you have a part in it. Before the last member of our little council gets here, I wish to ask you something, Symon. Tell me, are you still interested in a decade's worth of employment?"
The man looked at him, a solicitous smile on his face as he took his seat at the table and lounged back.
"Always am, so long as the coin is good. Let me guess, you're worried about whether or not I've been offered anything by Blackoak, aren't you?"
Lykourgos paused for a moment, half the eyes in the room on him and half on Symon. Damn the man, but he was canny.
"I might be."
"Well, you've got nothing to fear. I was approached by an agent of the Old-Oak, and he offered to pay me exactly what you already have to switch sides and not a penny more, with no guarantee of future employment."
Lykourgos nodded.
"So you turned him down?"
Symon barked out a laugh.
"Turn him down? Of course not! I told him to give me half the money upfront, which he did, then I came back here. I'm not going to turn down free gold, but I'm also not going to risk our contract in the process."
"How can I trust you now that you've taken the gold of my enemy?"
Symon smirked at him.
"'Cause I'm giving you a third of it. Think of it as 'insurance' for my loyalty."
Lykourgos smiled despite himself at the man's words. The son of the late captain Symon was a very canny man indeed.
At that the door was opened again, this time by Dreamwulf who held it open for the last figure scheduled to arrive.
"His eminence, Patriarch Olyver of the Westcoast Church."
The patriarch was a slim man, some might even say lanky, but he still carried with him a sense of gravitas. Well, he did normally, but the gravitas he possessed was somewhat diminished by the nervous look in his eyes when he saw Lykourgos, but then that was to be expected. Fiery rhetoric from one party followed by blackmail from the other wasn't exactly a concoction that promised a happy partnership, but Lykourgos could make it work. He needed to make it work. Luckily for him the patriarch even more desperately wanted word of his so-called 'dabbling with improper sects' to remain under wraps, so the prince felt fairly confident that, come what may, the resplendent looking man would be very useful these coming moons.
"Patriarch, how good of you to come, please, take a seat. You've been in good health I trust?"
The man nodded slowly, clearly cautious and a little surprised.
"I have been... well, your Grace.
Lykourgos stared at the man for a few seconds, allowing silence to reign in the room before speaking once again in a very level tone.
"Any conclave problems?"
The 'holy' man shook his head nervously.
"Ah- no, your Grace. The rest of the conclave have fallen in line and have recognised that the... that the facts we knew at the time of our speaking against you were incorrect. False, even. The conclave have agreed that it is in the best interest of the pious to accept your rule. For the spiritual good of the realm. The ensuing... doctrinal differences amongst those below the conclave are being sorted as we speak."
Lykourgos nodded at the man's lukewarm tone. It seemed that the conclave of patriarchs weren't exactly happy with their forced and sudden shift in tone, but they would cope. He needed their support, and whether it was enthusiastic or not didn't matter for now. So long as they weren't actively stirring up trouble then he was content to mostly leave them be, save for the occasional request for forces such as the one he was to make now. Well, he would mostly leave them alone for now anyway. When things calmed down and he was firmly entrenched... well, who knew what would happen then? Such days were a long way off yet, plenty of time for him to plan out what exactly he would do with the patchwork of lands owned by the various churches, cults, and sects across the realm.
"Very good. A most logical course of action. Now, with that out of the way I'll begin, unless anyone has any objections."
The room remained silent for a few seconds, and so he took that as his que to continue. He gestured at the small stack of documents resting on the map on the table, bidding the others to look.
"We've got six-thousand armsmen, four-thousand knights, and two-thousand sellswords at present counting, as far as my reports and advisors tell me anyway. I seem to recall that the church holds a not inconsiderable number of fighting men under its command; Patriarch, I trust the church will be donating a portion of its forces to us for these coming trials?"
The patriarch nodded, gritting his teeth as he spoke. The man was clearly unhappy with being strongarmed like this, but then his career now rested upon him doing as he was told.
"Two-thousand men of the church's own forces will join you. I hope that will be sufficient, your Grace?"
Lykourgos nodded at the man.
"Very good. We can't risk mustering the levies again so soon after they were sent home, so we'll need to rely upon the forces we have at the moment. We now have fourteen thousand men to face the seventeen-thousand of house Blackoak, but every man of our force is to be of professional stock, or at least semi-professional. There's one other thing you should all know in advance: there will be no baggage train."
There was a sound of protest from Romanos, but Lykourgos held up his hand to stop him before he could start.
"The armsmen can carry their own provisions Ser, and so to can your men. We're going to move hard and fast to catch Blackoak by surprise, after all, if we went about this conventionally it would take us months to muster the levies and get moving. With this plan we'll be passing back through Ousdaal in three weeks. We'll force march our way down and cut the invaders apart piecemeal before laying siege to their border castles."
"There's one thing you're forgetting;" the sellsword captain said, "your siege train will never be able to keep up with the rest of the army."
"No, they won't." Lyk conceded. "But I haven't forgotten it. They'll need to be left in the dust, yes, but they're all still armed and armoured soldiers. I plan on leaving a token force to help them guard themselves whilst we march ahead and strike the first blows before the enemy's reports say we should have even been able to leave the capital. By the time the siege train catches up to the rest of our forces in the Owkrestan border territories we'll have soundly defeated any field army the Owkrestans can muster against us from house Blackoak, and perhaps even been able to storm some of the smaller keeps and forts along the way. Ousdaal and Carthos weren't big, that much is true, but they're a fair sight larger than the myriad of small mottes and towers that dot the border territories. That is my decree, and you're all to follow it. All our men are to carry with them their own provisions, and they're to set out at the eleventh hour tomorrow morning at a forced march pace. Are there any questions?"
There were a few muttered comments around the room, but none seemed too perturbed by what he'd said. Rhema was practically vibrating with excitement, seemingly at the prospect of marching to war alongside his older brother instead of against him. Oh, they'd seized the capital together, but this was different; it was one thing to take part in a battle together, but it was quite another to stand alongside each other on campaign.
Romanos was quiet, though it seemed he would be wanting a private audience when the meeting was over. Lykourgos didn't blame the man for his misgivings, after all, marching without any baggage train at all was certainly an unorthodox move, but the prince knew he'd come around when the reasoning was explained to him. He always did, in the end at any rate.
"No questions then? In that case you're all free to leave at your leisure. Good day."
He sighed a little to himself as his councillors walked out of the room, save Romanos who remained seated. The patriarch was rather diffuse in his parting words, but then that had been expected, and so Lykourgos wasn't too worried about it. It seemed less like disloyalty and more like cautious reluctance than anything else.
"You... you wanted to talk, Romanos?"
The bigger man nodded.
"I do. I'm sorry, Lyk. I didn't mean to say that to you. It was..."
"Hurtful?"
The knight nodded, a little regret in his eyes that was no doubt mirrored in Lykourgos' own.
"Yes. It was hurtful of me. I was just so worried that... well, you woke up through a seemingly mystical intervention and then became as hard and uncompromising as any blade born of pure iron. I was uncertain as to whether or not you were... well, still you."
Lykourgos nodded deeply.
"I understand, mostly at least. I never hid my intentions towards the nobles, not in an official capacity at least, but now I understand that not talking it through with you properly before I acted was a mistake. I will not apologise for their execution, for that was no error on my part, but I do wish to apologise for the cowardly manner in which I sidestepped your concerns and then childishly avoided you in the days hence. I am sorry, friend."
"Well," Romanos started with a small amount of mirth in his voice, "it seems we're both sorry then. A truce?"
Lykourgos nodded.
"A truce. That sounds like an excellent idea."
"Especially with the coming war. Which reminds me, I didn't want to bring it up in front of everyone but I am a little concerned as to your plan to have the knights carry their own equipment. The men will be tired by the time we reach the battlefield."
The prince went a little still, mulling over the point. It wasn't an invalid concern, after all, the effectiveness of the men relied upon their fighting readiness.
"True. But with any luck the knowledge that their victory in the field will buy them a few weeks of respite will tide them over. It's a risk we need to take; you can't deny that this is our best chance at victory."
"The Old-Oak will never expect it, not if he's still in his tower at Blacktree Hall. If he's the ground commander then he will have a better chance of reacting, but with the... mysterious death of the original commander he appointed to his forces, I can see very little chance of him taking a risk by directly commanding everything himself."
"So you think it will work?"
Romanos nodded, a small smile on his face as he looked Lykourgos in the eye.
"Aye, I think it will work. It's a risk, but I think it will work."
The prince nodded.
"I see. Thank you for your council, friend."
Romanos smiled a little wider, standing and making to leave.
"It's good to be back alongside you as well, friend.