Lykourgos VIII: Forwards March
The Twenty-Seventh Day of the Tenth Moon, 872 AD.
Haestinghen, Eastern Teleytaios, Klironomea.
He still couldn't believe it. Angels above, it had worked! The same thoughts rattled through his mind some four days after the man had awoken, the monumental nature of the event not lost on him. He'd compiled so many questions he needed to ask when the man next woke, having been assured it would be no more than a few weeks now by the Seer.
Surely it couldn't hurt to wait here until he woke again, could it?
He knew many of his advisors didn't agree with that point. Ser Romanos was failing at hiding his rising impatience, and Elikoidi's usually well-meaning barbs had been turned into insults born of frustration.
It didn't matter. Something was clearly going on here, and he didn't intend to be left in the dark when it came to a head.
He could afford another weeks wait.
Dreamwulf was sat to his left as Lykourgos consulted his notes, Eros the next seat over. Nasos moved deftly around the edges of the room with Ilias, cleaning and sweeping with brooms so as to make themselves useful whilst the council was held.
Well, was supposed to be being held. Romanos and Elikoidi were still yet to show themselves.
Normally when the prince's two closest advisors came to council meetings, each attempted to outpace the other, desperate to get the seat at the prince's right hand only to deny it to the other. Not this time.
When Elikoidi and Ser Romanos did stride into the room that was being used as a makeshift Inner Council chamber, they had their heads held high and were walking side-by-side with each other. Not only that, but they were ten minutes late.
They were never late. Their pride wouldn't allow it.
Neither moved to take the seat to Lykourgos' right. This time they sat side by side, opposite the prince.
"You're late. You're never late."
"We need to talk, your Grace."
The words were obviously laced with as much forced politeness as Elikoidi could muster, his teeth grinding as he took a breath. Ser Romanos continued from where Elikoidi left off.
"You need to move again. We can't sit cooped up here forever, waiting for some mystic to wake up. He's not going anywhere, your Grace, so why can't we continue the fight?"
He shook his head.
"I understand your concerns, but this is just as important as the war, if not more so! Think of what this man could tell us, what he must know! The Seer seems to revere him, perhaps he's also some sort of powerful magic-user! How can we abandon that?"
Ser Romanos looked affronted.
"Your Grace, you'd have us abandon the war? And for what, the potential that this man might be someone of importance from the past?"
Lykourgos shook his head.
"I don't intend to abandon the war, merely wait another week. Just one more week, that's all."
Romanos slumped in his chair, and Elikoidi stared, mouth agape.
"A week? A WEEK?"
Elikoidi stood and strode around the table, jabbing an accusatory finger at the prince.
"NO, NO, ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT! IF HE'S BEEN ASLEEP FOR CENTURIES THEN HE CAN WAIT A FEW MOONS MORE, BUT THE THRONE IS IN FRONT OF YOU! YOU HAVE A DUTY TO SEE TO, AND SO HELP US WE CAN'T JUST CARRY IT OUT FOR YOU!"
"Eli, listen, I know-"
"No, you don't, and that's the problem. You've got the upper hand and you're willing to throw it away and wait here for nothing. Don't you remember how much you wanted this? The kingdom, yours to rule, yours to save, yours to improve."
Lykourgos looked away.
"Look, I'm sorry if you aren't happy with this. But it's my decision to make."
If anyone else looked at Elikoidi then, they would have seen scorn and malice in his eyes. Lykourgos knew better. When he looked to his friend there was confusion and sadness hidden beneath it as he shouted.
"MAKE IT THEN. SEE WHERE IT GETS YOU, YOUR HIGHNESS."
Elikoidi's words seemed to shock himself more than anyone else. Lykourgos knew he didn't mean it, not really. Eli had always struggled with his temper, and would sometimes say something Lykourgos knew he regretted, but it had never been anything like this. Even if it didn't sound bad on a surface level, Eli had just insinuated that Lykourgos was not the heir to the throne, nor the rightful king. Let us be done with this, Eli.
Before his friend could speak Dreamwulf moved to place himself between Lykourgos and his two friends, his empty gaze scornfully levelled at Elikoidi. No, he's burnt his anger out. Don't challenge him here, please.
But his thoughts were lost on the others. Dreamwulf was doing as was expected of him, and the prince knew that Elikoidi's anger would be stoked by such an action.
"That's quite enough, yer Lordships. I'll not have you shout at his Grace. Not while I'm here."
The spymaster's own glare met the blind man's, hackles raised at the challenge. Eros sat still, trying to make himself as small as possible, while Nasos shooed Ilias out the door, to the quiet protests of the young cupbearer.
Elikoidi spat his words, his reason lost to choler.
"Oh great! His blind fucking dog wants to protect him now!"
"That is my job, Ser. I follow where the prince leads, not where others tell him to go. You'd do well to remember that."
"Oh, oh you fucking CUR!"
Elikoidi wheeled to face Lykourgos, still seated at the table. His taught skin was stretched into a sneering, angry visage, though his hurt was still visible beneath it.
"Put your mongrel's fucking leash back on, your Grace, and remember your DUTY!"
Dreamwulf snarled in response, his hand reaching down to his belt.
Lykourgos stood, putting a hand on his shoulder whilst Romanos did the same to Elikoidi.
"Come on, we're all on the same side here."
The knight looked to Lykourgos, but Eros spoke before he could continue.
"We really should be moving, your Grace. Leave behind a guard for the man and the Seer, but we need to continue this war. You said it yourself back in Aenirhen; if we stand by and merely observe our enemy's movements, then we've already lost."
Lykourgos braced his arms on the table. Before him stood his two options. He could either stay here and fulfil his private goal of the past two or three years, his occult interests at last bearing fruit, or he could set out immediately and win the throne.
His duty was clear, no matter how much he'd rather sit and wait for the former.
"Besides your Grace, perhaps by the time we pass back through he'll have awoken for true."
He looked around at the voice, surprised that it was Nasos who spoke.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I've allowed my personal obsessions to override my duty. We move out at noon tomorrow."
"South to the two sieges, or west to the capital?"
He rubbed his chin.
"You'll know come the morning. Ready the men to leave at daybreak either way. Dismissed."
Romanos and Elikoidi bowed, a relieved smile on Romanos' face and a forced one on Elikoidi's. With his anger burning out, experience told the prince that his friend was soon to throw himself into his work to avoid melancholia. Eros moved to follow them, no doubt off to spar with Romanos again. The prince sighed.
"Come on Dreamwulf. I need a drink."
The two moved to leave the room as Nasos shook his head. They passed Ilias, who was aimlessly kicking his feet into the air from the chair he was sat on just outside the doors.
"Attend us, Ilias."
"Aye, your Grace."
"Ale, if you please. We've an early start tomorrow."
Dreamwulf nodded.
"Aye, not a bad shout. Nothing worse than a headache from wine."
"Cloves and cinnamon as well Ilias. Honey too."
He turned his head at Dreamwulf's confused grunt.
"The days grow darker and the nights longer. I think it'll be nice to have some mulled ale."
"Can't say I've had it before your Grace. Cloves and cinnamon aren't exactly in my price range."
Lykourgos smiled at him, knowing the gesture was lost on the man.
"Well, they are now! Come on, let's get a fire going and get comfortable. I fancy talking for a while with someone who..."
He turned his face away as his cheeks began to flush.
"With someone who isn't either disappointed or angry with me at the moment."
Dreamwulf patted his shoulder.
"Well, I'm 'ere your Grace. Besides, it'll pass. They want what's best for you, they just don't know how to word it all proper."
"Yeah, I guess. Come on, we need to get a fire going in the hearth."
The bigger man nodded.
"Right then, let's get too it."
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Lykourgos sipped from his cup of mulled ale, still hot to the touch but not overly so.
"This is some sorta... comforting drink for you, yer Grace?"
He nodded, his smile audible through the content noise he made.
Dreamwulf smiled as well.
"I like it. I ain't used to fancy spices, but if this comes included in my job's perks I don't reckon I'll be looking for other employment anytime soon."
Lykourgos nodded back, his words leaving him momentarily. The argument today had shaken him more than he expected, but the warmth of the fire by his side and the familiarity of the drink in his cup soothed his nerves somewhat.
"Thanks for standing up for me by the way. I know it's your job but I still want to thank you. I know Elikoidi would never actually hurt me, but he's always had trouble controlling his tongue and caustic remarks. Sorry for what he called you, as well. Please know that he isn't usually like that, and I know he'll apologise in his own way soon enough. He hates it when he loses his temper like that."
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The blind man waved him off, smile still on his face.
"I ain't worried, yer Grace. It's my job. Asides, even if it weren't I'd still stick up for you. We're friends after all, ain't we?"
Lykourgos blinked, then smiled. Angels, that's gonna take some getting used to.
"Of course we are. Nasos hammered that in not too long ago."
His friend chuckled.
"Course he did. If it's any consolation he's given almost everyone in the retinue that talk by now, sans I think Master Elikoidi and Ser Romanos. The two of 'em scare him somewhat, I think."
This time it was Lykourgos who found himself chuckling.
"The two of them? They might get a bit hot-headed at times, as you saw, but scary? They're some of the biggest softies I know."
"I think that only extends to you, if it please yer Grace. Neither of 'em are particularly... open, to newcomers."
There was a comfortable silence as the two of them sipped from their cups, savouring in the rich flavours of the spices weaved together in the ale, sweetened by a generous helping of honey. It was one of Lykourgos' guilty pleasures he had kept since he was younger; he put in far more honey than was strictly necessary in the drink, allowing himself the sweetness every once in a while if he was feeling particularly stressed.
It felt nice to share it with someone for once.
"How come you ended up agreeing with 'em in the end then?"
"Other than to shut them up?"
The blind man snorted.
"Yeah, apart from that."
"Quite simply, the two of them have been my most trusted advisors for half a decade now, but they agree on almost nothing. When I say almost nothing, you might think I'm exaggerating, but I can genuinely count the number of times they've unequivocally agreed on something on one hand. As you've no doubt noticed by now, they bicker like no-one else. That means that when they both walk in like they did, borderline arm-in-arm, ready for a drop-in drag-out meeting, they need to be listened to."
Dreamwulf smiled at him again.
"The three of you seem to run a pretty tight ship, your Grace."
"Aye, we do. Romanos deals with the insufferable noble scions, Elikoidi keeps his ear to the ground, and I deal with legislative and administration issues."
"And you all keep each other's pride in check."
Lykourgos choked on his mouthful of drink.
"How da- Yeah, actually that sounds about right. To keeping pride in check!"
He raised his cup and gently bumped it against Dreamwulf's.
"To keepin' pride in check!"
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"Dreamwulf, if it isn't too rude of me to ask, I don't really know much about you from before we met. You've never mentioned your family other than they died of Black Grave. Would you like to tell me a bit about them?"
The bodyguard shrugged. He didn't seem apprehensive or affronted about the somewhat-tipsy prince's subject choice, more just mildly melancholic. It was as though he had come to terms with what had happened.
His stay in the monastery might have helped with that.
"Used to 'ave a big family on the farm. Me da and ma, me four uncles and three aunts, me four brothers and four cousins. Then there was the Grave in '58 and '62, lost me aunts then. The rebellion came after. The outbreak in '70 all but finished the last of us off."
Lykourgos swallowed his mouthful of drink. That was a lot of death.
"You had family in the Twilight Rebellion?"
His mouth had moved before his brain had even registered the words he was speaking. His bodyguard just nodded stiffly.
"Aye. They was closer to me dad than me, but me old man and his four brothers were drafted by Lord Porthan down in Seastream. Me oldest brother, too. Left me to look after me three younger brothers on the farm. I was... what, seventeen? Eighteen, maybe? I was old enough to go in any sense, but someone had to stay behind and raise the young 'uns with me da off to war. His brother's sons and daughters as well. Six of 'em went off to the war, and eight of us stayed back home. Only me da came back in the end. Don't know how me uncles died. Don't really want to know neither. According to me old man, deep in his cups, me brother was the last of 'em that went to war to die. He watched me older brother, his eldest son, get his face staved in by a mace. Said that he couldn't even find the body to bury after."
Lykourgos moved to place his hand on Dreamwulf's shoulder, but stopped himself.
Dreamwulf doesn't like it when people touch him. Not without announcing it, and I don't think he wants to be interrupted right now.
"Found me dad floating face down in the river one morning. Guess he couldn't take it anymore. Then, a year and a half later, the Grave came back. I kept me sight just long enough to watch all three of me kid brothers die, and three o' me cousins. Was only me and me and the second-youngest left after that. Tried to raise her as best as I could, killed more than one bandit tryin' to nab her in the year or so we were left alone together."
"What happened to her."
Dreamwulf shrugged. The movement was gentle, filled with questioning and defeat, but not sadness.
"I don't know. I ask meself that question all the time. She was always the quietest out of the lot of 'em, but I don't blame her. I didn't exactly talk much either after everything that happened. She worked the fields with me, took the crops to market with me, hell, she even helped me bury the others. Her own brothers."
Lykourgos shook his head, doing his best to empathise with his bodyguard, who just gave a tired laugh.
"Then I woke up one mornin' and the house was silent. It's morbid but I even waited a few days to see if she was dead, you know, if her corpse started to smell and all that. Nothing. I hope she was able to leave the farm behind, leave our broken homestead and go somewhere filled with life and laughter and happiness. That's the one thing I could never give her."
Dreamwulf wiped at his blank eyes before chuckling again. There was surprisingly little sadness in it.
"Then I left the farm. Nothing left for me there with her gone. Went to a monastery who took me in, did the menial work for them. More than once I killed bandits or wolves harrying 'em. Then you came by asking for holy people who could fight, and they put me forwards."
He sighed, and there was a pause for a little while.
"Not exactly the one-word answer you were hoping for I take it, your Grace?"
His words were of light-hearted teasing, completely at odds with the gravitas of the previous subject matter.
There was silence in the room, broken only by Dreamwulf finishing his current cup.
"Your Grace?"
"Thank you for sharing that with me Dreamwulf. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what happened, especially Seastream."
Dreamwulf reached over and patted his shoulder.
"Don't worry none, your Grace. It was war, and we lived on the wrong plot of land when it kicked off. Lord Porthan was the one who wouldn't lay down 'is arms and give in, so you had to fight him. Nothing wrong with that, it's just the way of the world."
Lykourgos smiled at the reassurance. He was so sure he'd see some hint of anger, of sadness or contempt in his friend's pale eyes when he looked up, after all, he was the one who crushed the three lords at Seastream, but when he forced himself to look up he saw nothing but acceptance in Dreamwulf's dull eyes. Maybe he didn't need to be so burdened by that particular thread of thought. His friends would make sure of that, he knew.
Friends. I like that thought.
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The morning approached with an air of caution. The townspeople here were still wary of him, no matter how much restraint he had exercised when dealing with the needs and wants of the soldiers under his command. Much of their trepidation stemmed from his previous stay here in the Twilight Rebellion; it may have been a single night, but every home had been forced into and every hiding place laid bare. Had he not been stopped by Romanos it was likely he would have razed the town to the ground in revenge when he realised his brother was still in the noble's hands.
The people here remembered that all too well.
They were not hostile to him, but not friendly either. They would doubtless be glad to see the back of his army.
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of his cupbearer on an Aleman Cob. He pulled on the reins of the small horse, bringing it to a walk. Ilias came up to him and Romanos, steadying himself with a message in hand.
"Ser, your Grace, news from the south! Carthos has fallen, and the seven-hundred men that were besieging it are now moving to reinforce twice their number outside Ousdaal!"
Romanos grimaced, and the prince did likewise. Not that moving out sooner would have solved anything, after all, it would take at least a week to march down to the two chapterhouses, and that was assuming perfect conditions. Even so, the prince knew his mind was made up.
"That decides it then. Ser Romanos, tell the men to stow arms and have the Lieutenants ready to march them south. Ilias, tell Symon and his Starlings the same."
Ilias looked mildly uneasy, but obeyed regardless.
"Aye, your Grace."
The dagger the prince had given him was still about his waist, and Lykourgos watched as he tapped the pommel twice and pulled it half out the scabbard before snapping it back in, testing it to make sure it would come out cleanly if needs be.
Lykourgos knew it wouldn't be needed, but he wasn't about to tell his cupbearer to stop doing that. It was a damn good habit to get into.
He looked at the empty space on his belt next to his longseaxe where the dagger used to be.
I should see about replacing that before I next go into battle.
When he had been fighting at the Einarbrycge he had a wounded hand and couldn't wield his favoured weapon. This time he would be at the height of his abilities; It was only fitting he was fully armed as well.
The men began to march out of the town in their thousands. Cavalry marched out in ordered ranks at a walk, followed by knights on foot close behind. They were resplendent with their colourful banners and glittering armour that caught the morning sun, dazzling the onlooking townspeople.
The armsmen made a less opulent show, looking more regimented and disciplined than their glorious counterparts, but no less deadly for it.
The prince had made sure to learn the strengths and weaknesses of the myriad forces under his command. The knights and armsmen were simple enough to understand, he'd trained with knights most of his life and led armsmen for years now, but the levies weren't as clear cut. They came from all walks of life with a great deal of improvised or hastily-fashioned weaponry. Most of them would have been able to see some of the smiths with the armsmen and get their weapons properly fashioned, but they were still a far cry from the castle-forged steel the rest of his army had.
The levies under his command could be roughly split into two groups, rural and urban. The urban levies were mostly frontline foot soldiers, coming from Seastream and Aenirhen, whilst the rural levies came from the breadth and width of his domain. The rural levies were almost exclusively skirmishers; the bowmen and javelineers amongst them were good troops, many of them having been 'gamekeepers' in peacetime. Lykourgos knew the term 'gamekeeper' to be a polite term for 'poacher', and that these men were technically criminals, but seeing as they were fighting for him he wasn't prepared to alienate them. Besides, it's not like he ever had the time to go hunting in his woods anyway.
The footmen and horsemen amongst the levies were less reliable. Where the skirmishing levies mostly came from the countryside these men were from the towns and cities under his control, usually Aenirhen, and had little to no combat experience. They could be relied on for little, but they were here nonetheless. He wasn't thrilled about using them in battle, especially since they could break at the first sign of bloodshed, but he had little choice. It was either that or remain outnumbered on the frontlines and shieldwalls of the coming battles.
The Starlings brought up the rear in their drab padded leather and chain hauberks. They were almost as disciplined as the armsmen, clearly surprising many who had come to know their raucous nature and rowdy dispositions over the last week and a half, but not Lykourgos. They were soldiers, and each man knew how to fight. Even if the younger or inexperienced amongst them wanted to walk out of lockstep as the levies did he knew that the veterans would beat them back into line.
Bringing up the rear were the siege and baggage trains, slower than the rest of the army but not nearly as much as would have been expected a decade ago; the armsmen were expected to march with their own tents and provisions, and so they didn't add to the train, nor did the Starling's, for they distrusted the levies and knights who formed the bulk of the baggage.
The siege and baggage trains were guarded on both flanks by wings of light cavalry, more to make sure bandits, raider, wolves and umbra kept their distance than to stop an army.
Still, his gut told him the siege train would be important soon enough.
Lykourgos knew what they would be facing when they did reach Ousdaal. The two-thousand men at the castle were an equal mix of levies and knights, and now that the smaller of the two castles had fallen he would not be surprised if the second had by the time they arrived as well. It had occurred to him that he had fought no armsmen belonging to his sister or brother yet. They must have been holding them back at the capital for the inevitable battle to come there. In that case I should preserve my own armsmen. They should operate the siege weapons, but I don't think it'd be wise to commit them to storming a fortress and losing hundreds, not before the capital is taken anyway.
In that case his options really revolved around the enemy’s actions. If they marched out to meet him with a woefully outnumbered force then he would crush them, unless they surrendered of course. But if this force and its commander was smarter than the Marshal Harran then they'd no doubt take refuge behind the walls of the larger chapterhouse at Ousdaal, forcing him to either storm the walls or risk a lengthy siege himself. He didn't particularly like either of those options, not with between nine and ten thousand Rose soldiers waiting behind him at the capital. Time was not something he wanted to waste any more of, the Angels knew he'd wasted enough.
Although saying that, his Trebuchets had yet to make their debut in this war. Perhaps it was time for his sister's forces to hear their song?