Lykourgos VIII: Two Bastard's Crowns

The Twelfth Day of the Eighth Moon, 873 AD.

Stagspring, Central Owkrestos, Klironomea.

The capital of Owkrestos had fallen with surprisingly little fanfare.

The city was old and venerable, but it was little more than a shell of what it used to be. Symon, having both taken the city before and arrived at the warcamp on horseback with a few dozen of his best men only a few days ago, had led the assault to take it again. According to him there had been guards on the old routes he and a few of his men had used to sneak into the city a few years ago, but in his own words he'd "Improvised a way for the lads to get through", and that had been that. Lykourgos didn't know what exactly it was that Symon had done to get his men into the city, but whatever it was it had been damn effective.

Well, he said it had been effective. With how few men were in the city to stop him Lykourgos wasn't really sure if he'd have needed to do anything at all. The walls had been sparsely guarded, and according to some Owkrestan deserters the streets beyond were barely patrolled. Stagspring was his, but the once great city was still gutted from the last time it was stormed by the Starlings a few years ago. With Symon at the walls again it was child's play to get inside since he'd already done it before, only this side they were fighting against King Aleksandar and not for him, not to mention the fact that the garrison was still a paltry and undermanned thing.

It hadn't taken long for Stagspring to fall, and with the fall of Stagspring the only fortified location that could be any real impediment to his efforts was that of Blacktree Hall, the home of house Blackoak. It felt strange to Lykourgos that the man who'd started this war was still fighting from within the confines of his castle, but the king he had sought to depose once all was said and done was already gone. What few men remained had put up some admittedly stiff resistance in the face of overwhelming odds, but with the Owkrestan nobles taking their retinues and men to their home castles in order to prepare for his coming there was nothing the beleaguered garrison could do to stop his forces. Not for long anyway, for Symon and one of the younger Lieutenants had come up with a plan.

There had been an exposed sewer grate large enough for four men to walk through side-by-side near the city, though any attempts to cut through or batter down the grate had been fruitless. Well, until the young Lieutenant had gotten an idea.

A pair of scorpions with small winches had been hastily assembled and lined up some forty paces from the grate. A pair of siege-hooks attached to lengths of rope had been modified to be released from the small artillery pieces, and then they were loosed into the sewer. When they were winched back they pulled tight against the grate, and though it held firm the winches had been good and strong. The second there was a bit of give from around the edges of the grate men with strong chisels and good workman's hammers began to chip around the loosening parts of the grate, and within two hours the work was done.

The Owkrestans didn't let this go unchallenged, to their credit. Repeatedly Owkrestan skirmishers let loose with shortbows whilst the men with chisels and hammers worked, but casualties had been relatively light.

If Lykourgos had been in command of them he'd have ordered the skirmishers to cover a few men with bills or billhooks, who would cut through the rope attached to the hooks and release the pressure from the grate for a time. But then if he'd actually known about what this Lieutenant was planning he would have ordered them to substitute the rope for a length of chain, so he supposed that really there were things that could have been done better on both sides of that small skirmish.

When the thousand under this Lieutenant, who Lykourgos was admittedly looking forwards to rewarding given their ingenuity, got into the sewers alongside the Starlings they were set upon by Owkrestan guards and armsmen, and in the darkness with their backs to the light the going was very tough for his men. Still, despite the casualties they took they'd pushed through the sewers and then, under the command of the Starlings amongst their number who knew the city well, regained their whereabouts and made for the gatehouses along the city to let their comrades waiting beyond the walls into the city.

A few hours later and the battle was won.

There hadn't been any grand procession, no glorious march to herald his victory this day. Instead he'd simply taken a brisk walk through the already ruined streets of Stagspring. He was attended by nearly a full score of guards including both Eros and Dreamwulf, for he wasn't going to tempt fate that brazenly, and the whole time he was walking all he could hear were the sounds of his men singing and celebrating their victory here.

"Blow the trumpet on Mount Aeyli,

for the Kings are all brought down,

who once ruled with peace and iron,

and wore their fortunes on their crowns!"

He couldn't help but grimace a little as they sang their songs. He knew that his complete and total victory was all but assured, but there was still a sense of emptiness rather than fulfilment. Until the war was completely over he couldn't afford to feel elated or jubilant. In taking Stagspring he'd done what no-one born outside of Owkrestos had managed in centuries, unless one counted Symon's Starlings, but it wasn't satisfying. There hadn't been any real struggle, no real risk, not since the armies of house Blackoak had been scattered like chaff on the wind. That had deprived Owkrestos of half of all its fighting men, including most of its best, and as such the Teleytaian armies hadn't encountered a single unified force since entering these lands.

And yet all the same he couldn't bring himself to feel accomplished.

Not in a self-deprecating way, but more because of a niggling sense of anxiety that had lodged itself in his mind like a burr. He'd been prideful after the succession crisis, and that hadn't gone well.

No, he'd much rather wait until all of this was finished with before he began to celebrate. It would be safer that way. Besides, there was still much work to do at the moment. Much, much work. The first thing he needed to do was... well, was to talk with the young King Aleksandar. Apparently the boy hadn't left his chambers in days, at least since Lykourgos' banners had come into view from the city.

He snaked his way through the halls of the Huntsfort, the walls strangely barren and austere for a castle built at the heart of a city of silver. His bodyguards gradually peeled off as he approached the room he'd been told to look in for the boy, and the singing of his men continued unabated outside.

"Ere's garments were rejected,

and they'll find them nevermore;

Erevan is fallen, is fallen, is fallen,

Erevan is fallen to rise no more!

Erevan is fallen, is fallen, is fallen,

Erevan is fallen to rise no more!"

The word he'd heard from servants about the castle was a little concerning. The boy had been rejecting his meals, claiming that he hadn't the appetite for food anymore. It might have been something to mention at some point, when all of this was finished with.

Lykourgos had walked into the young former King's chambers, and found him staring impassively out of a window overlooking the surrounding area.

"I came to find you when all was said and done," he'd started, "but you weren't in the royal chambers."

That had earned them a small shrug from the boy in front of him.

"I never liked how big my father's room was. It all seemed far too much for a child such as myself to look after."

He'd stayed silent for a moment, knowing that the boy wasn't just talking about the bedroom.

"It's over, then?" The child had asked.

Lykourgos had nodded, waited until he was invited to sit, then sat down next to the King. Angels above, he remembered thinking at the time, he's barely older than Ilias.

"It is."

"Did I do well?"

"As well as could have been expected, considering your strength was gutted by Lord Blackoak's invasion shortly after your own civil war ended."

Now they were in the present as the young royal nodded, but Lykourgos couldn't tell if he'd heard him or not. There had been a deep sadness in the child's voice when he next spoke, sadness tempered by resignation, as though he'd always known his fate in life was to simply be overthrown at some point.

"As was yours. That doesn't seem to have stopped you."

Lykourgos shrugged, unsure if the child was able to see just how different their situations had been.

"Teleytaios was left stronger by her internal struggles. Owkrestos was not. That's the main difference between our two kingdoms."

"I was a puppet. There was nothing I could have done, save what I offered you. If you'd have accepted I'd have been indebted to you for the rest of my life."

He nodded sombrely at the child. He'd had those same thoughts when they'd first spoken outside Copseshield.

"I know. The offer you made was one of the best ones you could have, and I'll not fault you for that. If my victory over house Blackoak had been less total then I'd probably have accepted, or at least negotiated further. As it stands the factors were outside your control. You did what you could."

The young king opened his mouth to speak, but he seemingly cut himself off by clutching at his stomach as it gurgled. Ah, so it seems the rumours were true. He has secluded himself here.

"You're looking a little thin, your Grace. I'll send for some food to be brought here."

He made to stand so that he could act on his words, but the young king's arm shot out and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, shaking his head.

"I haven't much of an appetite at the moment. The churning in my gut makes the thought of eating repulsive."

Lykourgos hesitated for a moment before sitting down again. Better to wait a little longer before broaching that issue again. The deposed king may have been his enemy in the war that had all but ended, but he had no reason to just let the boy starve himself.

"If you say so." Lykourgos took his seat once more, drumming the fingers of one hand on the windowsill. "Are you certain you're alright?"

"What difference does it make to you?" The child spoke back, no anger in his voice but certainly a level of resentment. "I rejected your offer. I'm to die soon anyway, aren't I?"

"Of course not. You've done nothing to deserve death. Besides, we're distant cousins."

"Through a woman who died before I was born and, as far as I'm aware, never once met you either."

He nodded to concede the point. Aleksandar here was far too young to have met his great-aunt, and seeing as she'd never wished to meet Lykourgos, her own grandson, as a babe due to his bastardry, it was likely she'd never have wished to meet this bastard royal either.

"Blood joins us all the same. We're family, if distant."

The boy huffed out a silent laugh. Lykourgos didn't blame him; his words felt weak at best.

"You know, I grew up on the songs and stories of my people's past." The child had begun, not once looking away from the window. "We were never like the other six kingdoms in the heptarchy; the blood of the Skraelings flows strong here, and in some places it never truly went away. Songs of the Great Hunter and the White Stag, of the Mist-Kings who reigned over fog and night. Songs of Cromdaw's Rebellion and the Last Stand of the Wild-Kings of Dampstone, and of course my favourite, Derry's Ten."

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Lykourgos had just nodded, uncertain how best to respond. After a few minutes the young boy had spoken again, but now his voice was cracking and he was threatening to lose composure.

"I always dreamed that one day they'd sing songs about me as well. I guess I've got my wish now; I'll be immortalised as the King who lost Owkrestos. All Hail!"

He gestured wildly with his arms in what Lykourgos surmised to be a mockery of a salute.

"Aleksandar," he started softly, "you did what you could. Your men, despite being vastly outnumbered, put up a stiffer resistance than most have on this campaign. You've done well. Your people will remember you as a king who went down fighting, but it doesn't have to end there. You turned down my offer before, yes, but I'm putting it forwards again. Perhaps you'll not be a member of the inner council, but I want someone who knows Owkrestos to help me make sure I don't disrespect the cultures present here. You can still fight for the rights of your people, but with words instead of steel. Your people are my people now, and I never want to harm my people. I'm not a tyrant, Aleksandar. I'm just a bastard, the same as you."

The child turned to look at him, a smile on his face that, whilst still so very tired, was not quite as bitter or resentful as the ones that had come before.

"If you say so. There's not much of a choice for me in this either way, is there? If you promise to keep the rights and customs of my... I guess they aren't my people anymore... if you promise to keep the rights and customs of your new people without impediment then... then you'll have my formal letter of surrender on your desk within the hour. Just... be kind to my people, please."

Lykourgos nodded solemnly.

"Of course. No good king should harm their subjects."

With that the child turned to stare out of the window once more, and by the end of the day the war would legally be over. It would just be a collection of motley nobles and upstart town gentlemen looking for autonomy to contend with now.

"Ilias," he called to his servant, who had been patiently waiting outside King Aleksandar's chambers this whole time, "find some food for our friend in there, won't you? Something light, preferably. He hasn't been eating these last few days."

Ilias shot a worried look at the closed door, then wordlessly nodded and scurried off. Ah, he thought to himself, of course Ilias doesn't want anyone to starve. He knows hunger far too well already.

If Lykourgos had his way no-one would need to go hungry again.

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Angels, but the tide of paperwork never ended.

He was lucky in a way; Lord Brathaxe had drilled the fact that paperwork was most of a ruler's lot very early in his life, so he at least had experience with things like this. He'd sent for a report on the state of the Owkrestan treasury, including the treasuries of the various lords around the kingdom, but that would take a few hours to arrive yet. He needed that to look though what sort of financial gains he could expect from his new lands, as well as just what each of them made. He had little doubt that, amongst the new lands that were to be his, there would be a great many regions filled with orchards, grain fields, clothiers, vineyards, and perhaps even a few more specialised industries besides. As well as that he knew that Stagspring sat on a vein of silver, and that there was a smaller seam of gold near the Owkrestan border with Triarios on the far side of the kingdom. Even if nothing else came to fruition then at least the two of them would be welcome additions to the Teleytaian economy.

Many of the mountains and hills that made up the highlands between Teleytaios and Owkrestos hadn't ever seen a prospector, since the region was plagued by border skirmishes and was generally seen as a backwater with little worth looking into. Now that the skirmishes were set to be ended permanently maybe it was time for some new mining expeditions to be sent forth?

Of course, first and foremost he needed to see to his military supplies. His men weren't at risk of running low on food at the moment, so there was no need to worry on that front, but there were other concerns. Arrows were one of them; seeing as his forces had been travelling without a baggage train there hadn't been any camp attendants and servants to hand. That meant no fletchers. On campaign, arrows were traditionally bulk-packed in barrels and transported in wagons. Longbowmen might be issued with three sheaves of 24 arrows each to carry into combat, and if the battle seemed as though it would be particularly lengthy or intense then runners could always be sent to bring up the reserves of arrows from the wagons. That system worked fine enough, but Lykourgos hadn't been allowing his supply train to keep up with him. There were plenty of arrows stockpiled here in Stagspring, and while they would do fine in a pinch they were all broadhead arrows, not the bodkin points that were preferred by his forces. Not only that, but the broadhead arrows here were almost all made from wrought iron, not steel. He'd have to slow down a little, perhaps waiting a moon for his supply lines to stabilise themselves before the war continued if he wanted to replenish the quality ammunition available to his forces. On the other hand, there weren't exactly many men in heavy armour in Owkrestos, especially not anymore. It couldn't hurt too badly to keep going, not now that the war was winding down into its final months.

Aside from arrows there were of course other supplies to consider; whetstones for blades, oils to keep armour clean, leather for stitching up broken backpacks and the like, etcetera. He'd hardly gotten through the logistics report from one of his Lieutenants stating that the poor material some of the men's tunics were made from had caused unexpected levels of wear, and that replacements were thusly needed, before another stack of papers found their way to his desk.

"Apologies, your Grace," an Owkrestan clerk nervously stated as they clutched their hat in their hands before their chest, "the document is extremely lengthy, but you asked for the last five years of tithe and taxation reports, as well as the harvests, from across Owkrestos. We've tried to keep the document as concise and succinct as possible, but-"

Lykourgos held up his left hand, finishing a note he was making with his right. For a few seconds the sounds of a quill scratching against paper could be heard over the silence, then he set down his writing utensil and turned to face the anxious clerk with a small smile on his face.

"That's quite all right, thank you. Please set it down besides the pile dedicated to forestry and royal hunting grounds, then leave myself and my retinue be."

The clerk nodded and moved the pile from where he had initially set it down to a new location on the table.

"Of course, your Grace. Honoured to serve."

With that the very nervous clerk moved out of the room, and Lykourgos tried to stifle a chuckle. It made sense they were afraid of him, since they had no idea what he was like yet, but when they heard that most of them would be keeping their jobs and positions they'd probably warm up to him a little more.

No nobles though. Especially not Blackoaks. He had no intention of repeating the mistakes of his forbearers by trusting either of those groups again.

As the clerk walked out Ilias walked in, a small letter in his hand with a wax seal on the envelope. A royal wax seal. The seal of the king of Owkrestos. Lykourgos smiled sadly.

"It is done?"

Ilias nodded whilst smiling back, though his smile was far happier.

"Yep. I got him some food like you requested, then stayed to make sure he ate some of it at least. After that he asked me to stay since he was nearly done with his letter, and then told me to take it straight to you."

The cupbearer's looked a little confused as to exactly why he'd needed to take this letter here, but he was still cheerful.

"What exactly is this letter, anyway?"

"This," Lykourgos replied, gently setting the letter on his desk without opening it, "is a letter of complete and total surrender from the former King Aleksandar Wyldlarch to me. As of him writing this letter he is the King of Owkrestos no longer. I am."

The letter rested gently atop a stack of papers, and he had to fight down the temptation to break the seal and check the contents of the letter, for it was worth more to him with the seal intact for now. He'd need to send this letter back to Anaria, back to his capital, with the seal in place so that no-one could say he'd tampered with the contents of the letter before it had been read.

With the amount of paper on his desk he was surprised that the wood hadn't given way in all honesty. Setting the document he had been working on to the side, he picked the next one out of the pile. Ah, now this one promised to be good. 'The State of the Royal and Noble Treasuries of Owkrestos'. It wouldn't even take him that long either, since this was all just pure liquid assets as opposed to speculations on harvests and tithes. If he took the total figure, and compared that to the rough estimates for total yearly income for the Owkrestan crown...

He flipped through the new document to find the page that held the information he was looking for, then grinned. In terms of liquid assets he had around three years worth of Owkrestan wealth as one lump sum. If he were to deal with unrest, then maybe a tax rebate for... two years seemed good, yes, a tax rebate for two years, that would take the edge off of the worst of the agitation that being under a foreign conqueror brought. That would mean he missed out on two years worth of income from his new subjects, yes, but that was offset by the fact that he had three years worth of it in the treasuries strewn across this realm. The last of those three years worth would likely be good for both repairing the damages his invasion had brought about and, hopefully, covering any shortfall that the chaotic interval between the changes of administration was certain to bring.

As he flicked from page to page of the new document there were certainly some sections that stood out to him more than others. The levies for one, which would likely take a few years to recover from the war, but most interesting was that of the new crownlands he'd just come into possession of.

Lykourgos couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he looked over just how much pastoral land he now owned. To the people who had once owned the little farmsteads it wasn't much, since they only owned a small percentage of the whole, but Lykourgos now owned all of it. The Owkrestan crown and nobility had owned around half of all the agricultural grounds in the kingdom, some six-million hectares, and of that land a little under four-million hectares were grasslands that saw to the raising and breeding of livestock. Sure, he knew that he would be far richer come the end of his campaign, but this was a veritable gold mine by itself! It might have seemed trivial or pointless to many, but not to him. Pork, mutton, beef, and goat were all valuable commodities in a continent of the hungry and the poor. Those estates would make for a good secondary income to bolster his own coffers, and with the right application of investment there was a good chance they could be worth more than the crownlands he possessed back home.

"Nasos, would you mind coming here for a moment? As you were raised to be a clergyman you must have some experience in matters of administration, yes?"

His friend walked over placing a hand on the chair he was sat on and gesturing for him to continue with a smile on his face.

"I'd like you to take this large document detailing what the crownlands and noble-owned lands of Owkrestos were used for, then cross-reference it with these tithe averages. Lets see what exactly we're working with and how productive these lands are."

"Of course, your Grace. Shouldn't be too difficult, since I'm just reading two sets of lists then doing some basic arithmetic."

Lykourgos raised an eye brow as he lifted the truly huge document off of the table and handed it to Nasos, the preacher letting out a 'oomph' as the weight of the text hit him.

"Okay," his friend said, "it still shouldn't be difficult, but it might take a while."

"You've got all the time in the world," Lykourgos replied, "and when I've finished looking over the logistical reports I'll help with it as well. I'd rather it be done accurately than done quickly."

Dreamwulf raised an eyebrow above a milk-white eye.

"Lot of paperwork, I take it?"

Ilias snorted besides the bodyguard.

"Like you wouldn't believe. I didn't know books could be made that big."

"It's not a book, it's a document." Nasos replied with a cheery smile, dropping the document on another table father back into the room, next to where Dreamwulf and Ilias were stood.

"What's the difference?"

Lykourgos answered in a dry tone without looking up from his own stack of papers.

"Books are fun to read."

"And this isn't?"

Ilias' tone was teasing, almost sarcastic, and Lykourgos was acutely aware of the mischievous smile that had spread across the cupbearer's face even without having to actually turn around and look.

"Ilias," he replied, his own tone a mix of his previous dry inflection and Ilias' own snark, "why don't you take this stack and find out for yourself? There's plenty of paperwork to go around."

Ilias spluttered a little, though whether his indignity was real or not Lykourgos wasn't sure.

"Why doesn't Dreamwulf have to help?!"

Lykourgos set his quill down slowly and purposefully, dragging his gaze from the numbers on the page to turn in his chair and look at the young servant with as pointed a stare as he could muster.

"Ilias. Dreamwulf doesn't have to help because he's a delight to be around. Also, he's blind."

"And I never learned my letters and numbers before I lost my vision!" The bigger man helpfully supplied in a voice that was probably too cheery for the subject matter, but then it was helping to keep him from doing administrative work so that probably helped a little.

According to the next document he now had fishing rights over the fens and rivers of Owkrestos, since that monopoly normally went to the houses Fenmarch and Fengrove and both of those were soon to vanish from the map. Not much of an important source of income, but a source nonetheless. As he continued working his way through the seemingly endless stacks of paper on the desk he allowed himself to pay a little attention to the conversation his friends were having behind him. He liked listening to the three of them talk and bicker amongst themselves, for there was something calming about their voices as he worked.

"You were a farmer once, weren't you Dreamwulf?"

"Used to be, yeah. Nothing as big as what you're saying this is though."

"Well," Nasos replied, "this isn't just one farm. This is like... several thousand farms. Maybe tens of thousands of farmsteads."

"Angels... I didn't know there were that many out here."

Though he didn't look over at his three friends gathered at the smaller table further back into the room, Lykourgos did keep an ear on their conversation. He smiled a little at the genuine wonder in Dreamwulf's voice; a lifetime spent north of the river Einar meant that he wasn't well versed in the scale of the world beyond what he knew. Nasos clearly thought it was endearing if the fond tone of his voice was anything to go by.

"Hmm... what exactly was it you were a farmer of? And how large was your farm, for that matter?"

Dreamwulf was silent for a moment, probably in thought, and so the only sounds that could be heard was the scratching from a pair of inked quills on parchment as well as shuffling papers. That and Ilias' bored huff.

"Truth be told it wasn't that large. I ain't certain whether it really counted as a farm, to be honest. It was more of an orchard now that I think 'bout it."

"Ah, so you're an arboriculturalist?"

Lykourgos snorted at the silence from his other two friends, and he didn't need to turn around to know that they were staring blankly at the preacher.

"Listen, Nasos. I've got no idea what the 'ell that word means. I will, however, agree with you. Mostly 'cause I think you're nice, but you also learned all these fancy words so you probably know better than me."

Lykourgos couldn't help but shake his head a little at the little back and forwards going on behind him. If nothing else it at least made paperwork a little less mundane.

Though he'd never been coronated and as such could not yet be called a king, he now wore two crowns atop his head.

Two was a good start, but he wanted more. Duty demanded more. And what duty asked of him, he would do. There was no choice but to continue marching onwards.