Lykourgos VII: One by One the Branches Burn
The Twelfth Day of the Seventh Moon, 873 AD.
Copseshield, Western Owkrestos, Klironomea.
He'd been driving himself hard recently, his men even more so, but his strength was now back. For three moons he had campaigned, and already the speed at which he had progressed startled even himself. A 'lightening strike', men were calling this campaign, and it was not hard to see why. In three months he had routed the forces of Lieutenant Isen and swept the Owkrestans out of Klironomea. Not alone of course, for his brother had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations, but even so it was impressive.
In that time he had also marched his forces into Owkrestos itself, and although the siege train was still weeks behind him his army had been able to take the seats of two cadet branches of house Blackoak. Blossom Grove had fallen in less than a week, the result of five days of relentless assaults on the walls, and though all his men had were battering rams and scaling ladders they were still able to storm Kindling's Ash and open up new avenues of attack.
Now, sat in his tent in a siege camp outside the walls of Copseshield, he was almost certain in his victory over house Blackoak. When Copseshield fell, and it would fall soon, then Blacktree Hall itself would be completely open and exposed from the north. Perhaps more importantly than that, though he was in a state of peace with King Aleksandar of Owkrestos at the moment, the capital city of this kingdom would lay open to Lykourgos from the west. Owkrestos would fall to him, and within the year if all went as he willed it.
Though he had maintained complete confidence in his brother, it was still a relief when he heard of his victory over Ser Aerna. Originally the plan was that Lykourgos would reel around and help his brother after defeating Lieutenant Isen, but that had been completely unnecessary. Rhema had retreated into a local fort, not particularly big but certainly with enough room for four-thousand men to effectively garrison it. Ser Aerna had been bored by the siege and, instead of attempting to storm the walls which could have been risky, had instead taken to personally leading his knights on horseback to chase down any of Rhema's mounted bands who would harry the warcamp. Rhema had, somehow, managed to get out of the fort and lead one of these bands himself, which had led to the capture of Ser Aerna and the disintegration of command in the attacker's siege camp.
One drawn out shouting match over who held seniority between the various cadet branches of house Blackoak later and the camp was in flames, a messenger informing him that Marshal Crowe and Symon Symondson had led the garrisoned forces to burn and kill anything and everyone in that camp. With two tactical blunders the forces of house Blackoak had been reduced to a fraction of what they were.
Oh, how the Old Oak must be raging.
Ser Aerna had apparently slipped his bonds and escaped in the night, killing more than one of his guards before melting away into the night on horseback, but that mattered very little at the moment. The Owkrestan army, or at least the portion under the command of house Blackoak, was little more than a collection of tattered bands making their way back to Blacktree Hall to try and regroup into a cohesive force once more. It didn't matter; there simply weren't enough of them left to pose a true threat. Besides, a good portion of Lord Blackoak's assembled host had been formed of sellsword bands, and there was little hope of them making good on their promises to fight to the death. If he had to place a bet he'd say that they were already halfway back to their home territories to try and mitigate the disaster that their hiring had been.
Thinking on this for a little had given him two main lessons; the first lesson to be gleaned was that, no matter how much he appreciated the help of Symon and the Starlings, there was a reason he wasn't going out of his way to hire sellsword bands. Any ruler who relied on mercenaries for their operations, be they offensive or defensive, was destined to flag and fail. The second lesson was that, although he'd been pretty good at this already, he needed to re-establish the chain of command properly. If something were to happen to him he needed to know that there was a clear leader to take his place.
The obvious candidates were Grandmaster Romanos and Marshal Crowe, perhaps Rhema if it were a small army. Of course it needn't be that he was dead for such a transfer of command to be necessary; what if he were wounded, sick, captured? Someone would need to be there to pick up where he left off until he was returned to his forces. After them it was the lieutenants that were responsible for the men, but after Isen he didn't really trust them as easily as he once had. Elikoidi probably would have said he was finally learning. Lykourgos just felt as though he were becoming paranoid. He'd need to start trusting them once more; it wasn't them who'd betrayed him after all.
"Your Grace?"
Lykourgos looked up to see Ilias peeking his head through the flaps of the tent, a somewhat nervous look on his face.
"Yes, Ilias?"
"There's a knot of riders coming from the east. A hundred or so. They're flying a dozen different banners, but the biggest is the banner of house Wyldlarch."
Lykourgos smiled.
"Ah, it seems my message must have reached King Aleksandar after all. Come, help me ready myself. I take it word has been sent to the rest of the commanders in my force?"
Ilias nodded.
"Yes, your Grace. Romanos is selecting an honour guard for you."
"Good. You mentioned that there are only around a hundred men in total, but have we any idea how many actually intend to parlay with me personally?"
Ilias shook his head.
"Apologies your Grace, but I do not know. If I were permitted to guess I'd say the King himself and a handful of his lords, but for all I know they might all wish to approach you. I just don't know."
Lykourgos nodded. It was perfectly reasonable; Ilias couldn't be expected to read someone's mind, after all.
"That's quite alright Ilias. Hopefully I don't need to suffer the indignity of speaking with yet more nobles, but I don't think I'll be that lucky."
He continued to sit there for a few moments, mulling over what he would say and do. After a few seconds had passed he decided that it would be best to simply act in the moment. That's when he did his best work.
Well, while that might not be true I'm not really intending to maintain the façade of peace between us anyway. The King of Owkrestos might not be directly responsible for this war, but it is his vassal that has declared it and therefore it is upon him that the blame must fall. Teleytaios will not brook instability at her borders. I will not brook instability on my borders. Owkrestos requires a strong ruler, and if King Aleksandar will not be that ruler then I shall.
He blinked himself out of his thoughts and turned back to Ilias, giving him an apologetic smile once more.
"Ah well, there's hardly anything to worry about in either case. Grab Dreamwulf and Eros if Romanos hasn't already, then it seems we'll have to get ready for a royal meeting."
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Lykourgos trotted up the hill, certainly not resplendent for he was wearing practical and effective armour rather than his ceremonial plate, but looking regal nonetheless. He had his greatsword strapped across his back, not to mention the longseaxe on the left hand side of his belt next to the dagger he'd replaced. There were dirks in his boots as well, but seeing as they weren't visible that was beside the point. Upon his brow he wore not an opulent and dazzling crown, but a thin and plain circlet of gold. He wanted to show the Owkrestans that he was here as a soldier, a conqueror, not some princeling that stepped from the pages of a faetale or foppish monarch looking for plunder and prestige.
He was here for business, not glory.
Dreamwulf and Eros rode alongside him, as did Romanos and Ilias. This time it was Romanos who held aloft his standard, the blue cloth snapping and booming as it caught the wind. A body of knights rode behind some ten paces behind them, more as a precaution than anything else, though Lykourgos had wished for a few bands of Men-at-Arms to follow him to really hammer home the point that this was an army, not a band of chivalrous men in gleaming plate suits. Unfortunately the vast majority of the Armsmen were not trained to ride in gear as heavy as theirs, and as such more than one would have likely fallen from the saddle and just looked foolish.
Coming up the other way was a small band of regal-looking figures, their own banners waving proudly as knights followed up behind them. Lykourgos held up his hand, signalling for the knights not in his retinue to stop as he closed the distance alongside his four friends.
From here he could see the young crowned figure atop one of the horses opposite mirror the motion, the knights of the boy's own entourage stopping just as Lykourgos' had.
As they closed the last of the distance he bit back the urge to remind his friends not to speak unless he called on them. It would be more than improper for any of them to address the approaching king personally, hell, it could even be considered improper for him to do so given that he wasn't technically crowned yet, but he doubted anyone would bother pointing out that particular point. Still, there was no need to remind his friends of any of that. They all knew exactly what was expected of them in moments such as this.
Finally both of the small parties came to a stop, each one around ten paces from the centre point of their chosen meeting ground. Lykourgos summoned up the cockiest voice he could as he spoke, a seemingly-lazy smile very deliberately and slowly creeping across his features whilst he rested his left hand on the hilt of his longseaxe.
"Well, as I live and breath! King Aleksandar Wyldlarch the Forth himself! Welcome, your Grace, to Copseshield." He flourished a hand back towards the besieged castle before continuing. "It's inaccessible at the moment, but you're in luck! We'll have the gates open overmorrow, so you're more than welcome to wait until we're inside."
The young king was clearly trying not to look at all intimidated, but he was trying too hard not to react to what had been said, ironically giving away his nerves. The boy's smile was stiff and false, his eyes flickering about nervously first to the longseaxe on Lykourgos' belt, then to Dreamwulf and Romanos by his side, and finally up to the knights on the ridge before he managed to meet Lykourgos' eyes once more.
"Prince Lykourgos Sperakos. I heard that you were laid low by an assassin some months ago; I am pleased to see you standing and healthy."
Lykourgos smiled with amusement at the boy's pleasantries, knowing for a fact that the assembled lords in his retinue would much rather have seen him dead.
"Well, that's most kind of you. Still, I must say I've been quite disappointed in your ability to keep your vassals in check. I'm not sure if you realise this your Grace, but some eighteen-thousand men crossed into Teleytaios with the intent to overthrow my rule almost as soon as I had awakened from my slumber. I am... displeased with your inaction. Very displeased. I had hardly been able to recover from my injuries before your lords began their invasion, thinking us weak and unprepared. They were very wrong. I assume you received my message?"
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The young monarch turned a little green, but nodded. Heh, it seems the message got across perfectly well. It was intended more as a message for the lords at the young king's court than the king himself, but it might be useful to have the boy a little afraid of him in the long run.
"Good. I take it you are therefore here to submit yourself before me in recompense for your failures?"
The young king stood still for a moment, likely feeling a little ill at the memory of what must have been Isen's rotting and mutilated corpse, before shaking his head and proverbially finding his footing in the conversation once more.
"No. No, I am not. I am here to demand that you leave my lands at once. Leave my lands, or else enter into a deal with me. With my regency council. If, as I suspect, you are unwilling to leave our lands without bloodshed, perhaps there is something we can offer you to persuade you to leave?"
He raised an eyebrow at the boy. There was little a marionette such as him could offer the crown prince of Teleytaios, save delivering him his kingdom.
"And what might that be?"
"My help in your war against house Blackoak. The Blackoaks have long been a thorn in the side of royal authority in Owkrestos, and with your counter-invasion we have the upper hand we need to rid ourselves of this menace."
Lykourgos couldn't help but huff out a laugh as he smiled wryly.
"It seems to me, young King," he started, "that we do not require your help to defeat the forces of house Blackoak in the field. Somewhere around a fifth of your kingdom sits in my hands at the present moment, and I'm afraid to say that I have no intention of leaving these lands."
Aleksandar swallowed hard. It was harsh of him, but Lykourgos wasn't particularly impressed. The boy was smart by all accounts, but lacked the spine and power to prevent himself from being puppeted by his nobles. It would have been sad, only this king was to be his enemy. Still, he might be able to work with him. Maybe. The boy wasn't as smart as Alekos, but he wasn't stupid either. He'd know he stood no chance of victory here. To win this war Owkrestos would need a strong king, but it didn't have one. Aleksandar was weak, and both royals knew it all too well. They were enemies, but of the two of them one had found the strength to seize his throne, and the other had not.
He knew all too well that a weak enemy was far simpler to defeat than a strong one.
"You have no grounds to occupy these lands."
Lykourgos shook his head.
"I do, actually: my great-grandmother was a princess of house Wyldlarch on my father's side. Not that such a pretense is needed; I don't know if you've realised this but my army is mobilised and ready, not to mention in Owkrestos itself. Half of the forces Owkrestos had lie dead wearing Blackoak colours in Teleytaios, and any sellswords you could have hired on a short notice are scattered or vanquished. It will take you time to call up what is left of your forces, and in that time I will have been reinforced by the army of my brother and my siege train. I will uproot house Blackoak, then the rest of the Owkrestan lords. Who is it that acts as your wardens today? I see two figures glaring at me as I speak. Introduce them, if you would."
He allowed his eyes the briefest of flickers over to the two men. One was wearing a suit of gleaming and intricately engraved plate armour, and the other a suit of boiled leather over dull mail. Looking at the banners above he knew exactly who the two men were, or at least he was pretty sure he did as he recalled the lectures and lessons when he was a child. A red apple on an apple-green field, fess cottised with forest green: house Redseed. Four winding light-blue lines that gradually met each other as they descended, four becoming two a third of the way down and two becoming one two-thirds of the way down, on an ocean-blue field: house Fengrove.
As if in response to his thoughts the young king nodded and announced them formally, the two men bowing at him with scowls on their faces as they observed the formality of showing deference to a royal, even if he wasn't of their kingdom.
"Lord Fengrove of the Murkwater Redoubt and Lord Redseed of Grey Orchard. They are here to see to my protection on this day."
"I am pleased to announce to the both of you that this war will see your own castles stormed as well!" He grinned at them as faux-excited as he could before he turned back to Aleksandar. "'See to your protection'. They are here to ensure you read out your lines as written by your regency council, you mean. Don't you find it demeaning, having to bow and scrape from within your gilded cage whenever these feckless ingrates demand?"
The young king looked up at him, not quite insulted but almost... hopeful. Yes, Lykourgos could work with this. Aleksandar made to speak, moving his pony forwards a few paces as though meaning to distance himself from his puppet masters.
"Maybe... maybe it seems like we might have a common cause after all then. An alliance between our kingdoms?"
Lykourgos looked around at the assembled Owkrestan lords. He wasn't impressed. The offer of assisting this young king was almost tempting; to break the nobility here as he had at home and deliver this young king the key to his freedom would certainly see Owkrestos indebted to him for quite some time, but there were too many uncertainties with leaving these lands unattended by his own hands. No, there would be no deal made here. Maybe if he could get a private audience with this young king and really spell everything out to him things would be different, but no matter what this lad was set to lose his crown.
"No. Teleytaios will not stand for her borders being threatened any more. Teleytaios, as of this day, lays claim to all the lands formerly belonging to the kingdom of Owkrestos. Bend the knee to me and your lands and holdings will be seized. If you do not, then they will be seized by force. The only difference lies in whether your vassals wish to live as well."
The king of Owkrestos, young as he was, paled a little in his saddle. The Owkrestan lords and knights behind him were, to a man, either afraid or angry. It didn't matter; they'd hardly had the time to muster their local forces, and none at all to link up into an army. Even if they did, half of their kingdom's fighting forces were either scattered or fighting for him now. Lykourgos rode closer to the young man, ignoring how the hands of guards fell upon the pommels of their blades.
"You've always had trouble controlling your lords, haven't you? There are many out there who see you as a puppet. Is it true?"
The young king's eyes filled with shame as he gave a single, ever so slight nod in response.
"It is."
Lykourgos nodded, smiling a little as he looked over the boy's shoulder at the lords who controlled him.
"Don't worry, your Grace. I'm sure you've heard the rumours. I have a rather effective method for controlling noblemen. A very effective method. You'll not wear a crown much longer, but at the very least you'll get to watch them swing."
Lykourgos stilled his mind, leaning in closer and letting his voice lose its edge. There was no need to scare the boy more than was necessary; now that the lords knew their fates he could speak to this king more freely. His voice was not a whisper, but thanks to the space between the two royals and any attendants there was no risk of anyone else overhearing his words so long as he kept his voice quiet.
"Meet me in my tent tonight. Most of what I said is true, but other parts are not. So long as your lords know not of what we discuss we might yet work together."
The young boy looked at him, apprehensive, afraid, and yet hopeful. Then he nodded.
With that Lykourgos wheeled his steed around and cantered back off towards his own retinue, grinning widely. Things were going very well indeed.
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"Your Grace."
Lykourgos nodded at the young king as he entered his tent.
"Your Grace."
Gesturing to a chair he bid the monarch to sit before motioning for two goblets of wine, Ilias pouring the drinks out with expert precision.
The boy did not touch his drink, but Lykourgos made sure to take a few slow sips. Acting casual in an environment such as this often worked wonders with negotiations. Not that there was really much to negotiate.
"Does your council know you're here?"
The boy raised an eyebrow at his tone and spoke in defiance. It was the most spine Lykourgos had seen from him since meeting the lad.
"Does yours know you've declared war on Owkrestos?"
Lykourgos huffed out a laugh and clinked his goblet to the foreign king's.
"Touché. I asked to see you not to discuss things so much, but to deliver an ultimatum and help you see the benefits of what I want to do."
Aleksandar eyed him suspiciously.
"Go on."
"Your kingdom is now mine. It will be soon, anyway. Just as I did in Teleytaios I will dismantle the nobility here and forge Owkrestos into a part of a truly modern state. It is your choice if you try and resist with futility or embrace this change and be rewarded."
The boy scowled at him when he finished speaking, but credit where credit was due, he kept his temper in check.
"Rewarded how?"
"You care for your people, I know you do. Fear not, I have no intentions of mistreating them whatsoever, but if you surrendered to me now you would be guaranteed a position in my inner circle. You'd be the voice of the Owkrestans at court, you could ensure that their traditions are not eroded by outsiders. There's plenty of benefits to cooperation here, your Grace."
The young king seemed to mull the proposition over for a few minutes before rising to his feet, shaking his head with a resolute yet scared frown on his face.
"No. No, I will not stand by and let you do this. To hell with your deal, I'm done here!"
One of his guards made to stop the young man as he made to leave the tent, but Lykourgos bid the man halt with a wave of the hand. Without another look the young king mounted his pony and rode out of the camp, and by the angels he rode hard if the sound of his horse's rapidly hammering hooves was anything to go by.
"A pity," Lykourgos said to no-one in particular, "but I do not blame him. Ilias?"
"Yes, your Grace?"
" I want our commanders to know that, should King Aleksandar be spotted making his way to Stagspring, he is to be allowed to continue on his way unimpeded. There's little more he'll do in his reign."
His cupbearer nodded at him.
"At once, your Grace. Your will be done."
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A day and a half later and, just as he had promised the young king, it was done. A third cadet branch of house Blackoak had fallen to his forces, and now the amount of choices he could make in terms of where next to target had grown substantially. Not that he needed such an extensive list, for he knew exactly what he'd be doing and exactly where he'd be striking next.
"Ilias?"
"Yes, your Grace?"
"I want a message sent to my brother. Tell him to march on Blacktree hall, and that the siege train will join him."
Ilias looked up at him from the young cob he sat astride, the dapple-grey horse standing about five hands shorter than the prince's own destrier.
"Of course, your Grace. Anything else?"
Lykourgos stopped for a second, thinking briefly before shaking his head.
"Only a shorter message telling the siege train to head to Blacktree Hall as well. As for us? We're heading east. We're marching on Stagspring."
Ilias stuttered a little, confused.
"But- your Grace, we're just at war with house Blackoak, not all of Owkrestos!"
The prince smiled down at his cupbearer.
"We are now. You were present at that meeting, Ilias. You heard my ultimatum. We are at war with all Owkrestos, whether they wish it so or not. The first stepping stones across the river have been taken, and we must carry on to the other bank before the rest of our way is made slick by the deluge once more. We strike now, Ilias, before our foes have the chance to mobilise. We carry on marching until our enemies lie still and cold."
Ilias was silent a moment, the two of them staring out at the walls of Copseshield as the sounds of battle raged around them. The ladders were already in position at the walls, and the first few of his men had already found their way atop the battlements.
"It seems" Ilias began, "that for every enemy we defeat two more rise to face us. One of whom attacks us, the other being made by our own decisions."
There was no judgement or sadness in the voice of his cupbearer, merely a statement of fact. Ilias would not judge him for what he did, this Lykourgos knew, and so statements such as this that would have seemed disheartening had most others said it seemed perfectly innocent coming from the lad.
"Well," he responded with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he ruffled his cupbearer's hair affectionately, "I suppose we will be on the march for quite some time then."
Ilias nodded at him and turned to look back at the walls of the castle, Lykourgos doing the same soon after. A ram had battered down the gates and men were fighting amidst the splinters of the door and shards of what had been the portcullis. Atop the walls the fighting was still ongoing, his men gradually pushing the defenders further and further back even as more ladders went up.
Copseshield had fallen, just as Blossom Grove and Kindling's Ash had previously. One castle at a time Owkrestos would fall, with smaller keeps and watchtowers striking their banners and opening their gates or else falling in an afternoon. There was little to fear from Owkrestos now. He almost wished it had been more interesting thus far, seeing as he'd not faced any strong opposition since the armies of Lieutenant Isen were swept aside, but given that 'interesting' in this context would have meant 'anything that wasn't a complete and total victory' he'd be fine with the events that had occurred.
Lykourgos stood out before the walls of Copseshield, watching as his banners flew where once those of house Blackoak had fluttered in the wind. Owkrestos knew he was coming now. They knew his intentions. If King Aleksandar was unwilling to stand aside then he would be crushed, as would all those lords and ladies who followed him. He was to be a conqueror, and though he had no illusions insofar as thinking that there would be no unrest in these lands he was also level-headed enough to know that there was more than one way to deal with unrest; you caught more flies with honey than vinegar, after all.
After Owkrestos, who knew? Only one certainty stood tall in his mind at the moment:
This would be far from his last conquest. Owkrestos would be far from his last conquest. Klironomea called, ripe for his taking. He would not let opportunity pass him by. He could not afford to let opportunity pass him by.
To do so would be to scorn his duty, and he always did his duty.