Six hours later, as the army settled into its camp—only a small distance from where Matt had told Tek he wanted to reach—Matt looked around the camp table at the officers he had brought.
They were a very different group this time. Snolt seemed to be invigorated somehow, as if the slaughter had dragged all the pessimism and discontent out of him. The other four captains also seemed buoyed by their victory, though they were all looking a little uncertain as to why he had summoned them for a meeting.
There was a pair of new faces at the meeting, however, accompanied by grim faced guards from the Eighth Spears. Nikles was scowling at the Frost Elf prisoners, one of whom was a lieutenant from the Winterknights, and the other who had apparently been a skirmisher captain. The Elves were just as uncertain as the loyalists were, and fear shadowed their expressions as they watched the other inhabitants of the tent.
Matt cleared his throat, and every eye shifted to him. “First, I want to once again congratulate you all on our victory. With the defeat of the enemy, the supply lines to Greymouth are secure, and our own march will be unimpeded.”
The Elves grimaced, and Snolt grinned. Captain Karve, however, sighed a little. “Would that the battle had been bloodless, sire, but we do have wounded. The prisoners will slow us down as well.”
He nodded. There had been well over a hundred Frost Elves taken prisoner, a mix of both Winterknights and their militia counterparts. Many of them had been wounded, and something close to two hundred more had been killed. There would probably never be any real estimate of how many went under the water, but there had to be many more. Itrelia was about to find herself missing quite a lot of men.
Of course, his own troops had taken losses. There were nearly two dozen of his men buried amongst the traitors, and several dozen more were nursing aches, pains, and bandaged wounds. Such things were unavoidable, but he had to deal with them soon.
“You are right, Captain Karve. Fortunately, we can handle things by dividing ourselves. Some of us will accompany the prisoners and wounded to Redspire, while the remainder of us continues on to our objectives. Specifically, the Eighth Spears will go.” He glanced over at Nikles, who was doing a very poor job of hiding his disappointment.
Creps raised an eyebrow. “A dangerous strategy, my liege. If the enemy returns, they may be able to find us separated and easily killed.”
Teplas snorted. “As if that lot will stop running short of Winterfast. I doubt any of them will be ready to try the ford anytime soon.”
“True.” Bort turned his eyes on the captives, who were alternating between glaring at their enemies and trying to avoid their attention. “Of course, perhaps we can make things a bit easier by simply killing these traitors.”
Snolt laughed. “That would save on supplies, at least.”
“No.” Matt saw them all look back at him, and he tapped the table in front of him. “Killing the prisoners means that the next batch of Elves won’t surrender. More of our men will die fighting people who have nothing left to lose. I won’t spill our blood in the future just to save a little time now.” It was a true enough statement, though in some ways he was lying. Time was crucial now, and getting the chance to set out on his mission was important enough to risk his own life, let alone others.
Still, the captains appeared to think his logic over. Karve nodded at last, and the Elves slumped a little in relief. “I see your point, sire. Still, it bothers me that we need to delay our work.”
“Your actions will be just as crucial as the defense of Greymouth, Captain. Trust me.” Matt looked at the prisoners. The skirmisher captain shuddered a little as he smiled, though the Winterknight simply raised his chin. “After all, we have treachery at home we must deal with as well.”
The statement brought a sudden pause to the war tent, and the Frost Elves seemed to go a little paler than they already were. His captains were exchanging looks with each other, clearly mystified, though both Bort and Creps were looking worried. Matt turned his attention back to Snolt instead. “Captain, do you remember the number of people who knew our route to Greymouth? Specifically, who knew it soon enough to be able to tell the traitors when they should cross the ford?”
Snolt frowned. “Not many, sire. We planned that pretty close to the mark, and even if someone in the ranks got the message out, they wouldn’t have been able to get everyone into position. In fact, I’d say the only ones who could do it were me and—”
The Captain stopped dead, and Matt chuckled at his stricken expression. “Given your valor in the battle, Captain, I think we can strike you off the list.” Then he turned back to the Elves. “Lord Tek, however, may have shown his hand. What was it exactly that he promised you? It was probably something that Itrelia didn’t know about, or else she would have been here to collect my head herself. Tell me, and maybe I can find a little leniency for you.”
To his complete lack of surprise, the Winterknight merely met his stare with an imperious look of his own. The skirmisher, however, was not so stubborn. “It was a deal. We would take you captive and send you back to the city. He’d dispose of you, and in the meantime, we could blockade the Greymouth, the way Lady Itrelia ordered.”
“Quiet, cur!” The Winterknight snarled at the other Elf, but the skirmisher snapped back at his nominal superior.
“Quiet yourself, lordling! If it weren’t for you and your princess, we wouldn’t be here!”
“I think that’s enough from you both.” Matt let his voice grow cold enough to affect even them, and both prisoners stiffened. “I would offer you parole, but as traitors, your word means little. Breaking one oath makes it so much easier to break the next, does it not?” He let the question hang in the air, and then he shook his head slowly. “All the same, we gave you quarter, and I will honor it. The Eighth will escort you back to Redspire, where your officers will be kept in the Tower of Blood.” The previous rulers had been less than creative in naming Redspire’s magic-proof prison, but the place had seemed secure enough. “Your men will be quartered under guard in the old barracks. When the rebellion is over, your actions will be remembered and rewarded accordingly.”
The Winterknight stiffened slightly at the start of the sentence, but the fight drained out of him as Matt continued. His skirmisher companion sunk down in on himself, simply looking defeated. At least, he did until Matt continued. “At the very least, your cooperation will guarantee your lives. For your help and your obedience, I will not put any of you to the sword. Your continued cooperation will determine what I eventually do decide to do with you. Am I understood?”
Both Elves murmured their understanding, and Matt nodded. He turned to Nikles, who was still watching him. “Sergeant Nikles, I will ask you to escort these prisoners back to their men.” He paused. “I am sorry to delay your reunion with your brother.”
NIkles grinned. “As long as he lives through this, my liege.” He bowed deeply and then gestured for his men to yank the Elves to their feet. The soldiers and prisoners left the tent together, leaving the captains alone.
“My liege, I knew nothing about any—”
“Calm yourself, Captain Bort.” He raised a hand to stop the Imp from speaking. “I don’t believe that anyone here had any clue about Tek’s plans. After all, he was willing to kill all of you, just to get to me. Am I wrong?”
The question brought another pause, this time one that was full of a far more personal meaning. He could see them reliving the battle they had just fought, and what it would have meant to have those banners attack them by surprise on the road, instead of meeting them at the ford. Snolt’s eyes were burning with growing anger as he looked up at Matt. “He wasn’t even just killing us, was he? Everyone at Greymouth, too.”
Matt nodded. “That’s correct, Captain. Hundreds of us—and the hundreds of his own sworn soldiers in the fortress garrison as well. How many lives would Tek sacrifice, just for a piece of power?”
Teplas shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. “Your pardon, my liege, but that’s not unusual for a lord.”
“And how quickly they say that, whenever they want you to spill your blood for their games!” Matt stabbed a finger back along the road. “The fact that they do it so often does not make me feel any better about the men we lost today, or the men we would have lost. I expect more from myself. Why shouldn’t we expect more from them?”
The captains shifted, their eyes darting to each other. It was fairly obvious that Matt wasn’t exactly saying things a king should say. Then again, they were probably thinking the same things. They’d probably always been thinking it, but saying it out loud was another thing entirely.
Karve was the first to speak up. “My liege, what will you have us do?”
The question was serious, in a way that caught Matt’s attention. Karve’s hand was on the hilt of his short sword, but not as if he meant to draw it for battle. It seemed almost like he was preparing to kneel, and the way the Orc’s eyes had locked onto him made Matt want to cheer. At least one of the captains was his now, completely—perhaps two, if there was more than bloodlust behind Snolt’s enthusiasm.
“I want you to escort the prisoners back to the city. When you reach Redspire, send a messenger to Tek. Tell him to bring his three captains to speak with you about a tragedy that has befallen the king.”
Snolt snorted, and the other captains exchanged grim looks of satisfaction. Karve simply nodded, and Matt continued. “When he arrives in the camp, I want you to arrest them on suspicion of treason against the Kingdom. Dress them up like Frost Elves and hide them among the rest of the prisoners. They can join the officers in the Tower of Blood and wait there until I arrive.”
Karve nodded slowly. “Yes, my liege. And what of his banners?”
“Without their leader and their captains, they probably won’t be ready to fight.” Matt shook his head. “Most of them aren’t going to be any more involved than we are, but at the same time, we can’t risk an attempt to rescue the traitor. Gather the rest of the city garrison, along with whatever freeholder militia you can muster, and compel them to give up their arms and armor. When they surrender, you can take their oaths that they will not support Tek, and send them home. Any who don’t swear, join him in the Tower.”
“Send them home?” Teplas sounded utterly mystified. “The moment they reach the High Peaks, they’ll be screaming about what we’ve done. We’ll be lucky if half the High Imps don’t rebel.”
“With the Noble Races on their doorsteps, and Tek already in the Tower?” Matt shook his head. “They won’t move quickly enough, and the ones who would hurt us the most—the ones in the mountain garrisons—are the ones he would have left to die. I suspect that we may get some protests, and perhaps they will petition for his release, but they won’t rebel. At least not before I return to Redspire to deal with him myself.”
Teplas looked around at the other captains, as if asking for their support, but the Imps were both avoiding his gaze. Matt suspected that both of them were going to be determined to prove their loyalty in the coming days, whatever reassurances he gave them. Snolt simply gave him a wry grin and then turned to Matt. “While he is doing that, what will be our mission, my liege?”
“The Third Spears will continue on the road to Greymouth, along with the Fourth and Tenth Footmen. Captain Creps will have command of the reinforcements until you reach the fortress, at which point you will give my orders to Captain Morteth.”
Both Teplas and Bort were frowning a little, perhaps wondering why Creps was being trusted with command, but the Captain of the Fourth merely tilted his head to one side. “Sire? Will you not accompany us?”
Matt shook his head. “No. I and Captain Snolt will be taking the First on another mission.” Snolt started to chuckle; the Goblin almost sounded unhinged, but Matt ignored him and pressed on. “When you reach the fort, tell Captain Morteth that he is to hold the fortress for as long as possible—and that if he sees the opportunity, he should sally out and destroy the enemy camp.”
Still frowning, Teplas blinked in surprise. “Sally, my liege? The Noble Races are likely to have more than enough banners on hand to prevent such an attack.”
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“For now, yes.” Matt gave him a confident smile. “Captain Snolt and I will be giving them something else to think about, so they may turn some of their soldiers back to try to deal with us. Tell him to watch for the opportunity and take it if he sees one. Otherwise, he is to wait for further orders. Understood?”
The three Captains all nodded, and Matt turned to Snolt. “Captain Snolt, we will be riding along a different path going forward. Make sure your riders take as many supplies as they can carry, while still moving quickly. We will leave the camp at dawn.”
“As ordered, my liege.”
Matt took one last look around the table and smiled. “Thank you again, for your loyalty and your bravery. Continue as we have, and we will keep our home safe. You are dismissed.”
The following night was a difficult one, filled with weary nightmares about the battle. A hundred different disasters plagued him. Nelson stepped in a hole during the charge, flinging him down to be trampled; his soldiers panicked and ran rather than pressing the attack; an arrow found him just as the Elves were on the edge of a rout. As the night wore on, the dreams shifted to the future. He died surrounded by starving Wargs in a high mountain pass; enemy cavalry caught him on the open plains; he reached Greymouth to find the fortress burning and broken. Each time, he jerked awake, his legs kicking out and slamming down into his bedroll as he fought to stay standing. It was a wonder he got any sleep at all.
When the morning came, the camp became a busy swarm of activity. Orcs, Imps and Goblins were packing up tents and tucking away supplies. Wounded were being loaded aboard the captured Elven supply wagons, and Frost Elves were being herded into lines following them by members of the Eighth. Matt caught sight of Nikles herding a reluctant group of Winterknights—disarmed and unarmored—into place. The Orc caught sight of him and saluted.
Mat nodded and started making his own preparations. He was certain that Captain Snolt was going to be ready to leave on time, and he had no intention of holding things up by making the First wait for him. They would have a long way to travel, after all.
Nelson continued to trot along beneath him as the column made its way along the road to Echo Pass.
They’d left the Old Crimson Road behind nearly six hours before, turning north and east rather than going south. From the maps he’d studied, it would lead them into a seldom-used pass through the High Range, well north of Greymouth. It was supposedly a cluttered, narrow way, possibly choked by snow—but he bet it would be unguarded and unwatched, especially as the enemy gathered their forces to assault Greymouth. Who would expect the Kingdom to strike back when they were going to be desperate to defend themselves?
The First Wargs loped along without any real sign that they’d been in combat a mere day before. True, some of the Wargs and their riders bore wounds, but most of them seemed unaffected by their injuries. Either their morale was still high from their victory, or the prospect of going on a raid against the Noble Races was exciting enough to endure a little discomfort. One glance at Snolt’s still-grinning face was enough to tell Matt he at least didn’t have to worry about encouraging his men.
“So Captain, have you ever used Echo Pass before?”
“No, my liege. The pass was declared unusable ages ago. I don’t think anyone has used it for at least five years. At least, not for any group larger than a scouting party.” Snolt seemed unbothered by the fact, though Matt felt a sense of foreboding. If the pass was blocked… “We still keep a guard post on our side of it, just to make sure that a batch of Knights can’t slip through without us knowing about it, but we mostly don’t bother. The pass is just normally too cold and too steep to worry about.”
Matt tried to keep his voice clear of concern. “Do you think we will have trouble using it?”
“No, my liege.” Snolt chuckled. “A couple of my scouts have actually served on the Echo Watch. They were sent there in punishment for some…unfortunate indiscretions. They told me the pass is good enough for a well-trained Warg to get through, as long as we take our time, and our supplies are going to hold out just fine. It’s a good thing we didn’t bring any of those supply carts along, though. There’s no way the wheels and aurochs could handle it.”
Nodding, Matt felt himself relax a little. He’d expected the road to be too rough to handle supplies, but it was good to hear the Wargs could manage it. “I guess we’ll have to make sure that our little visit is short and sweet, then, won’t we?”
“Either that, or the Knights will just have to share some of their food with us. After all, they are all about hospitality.” Snolt laughed hard enough that his Warg glanced up and back at him. The Captain leaned over to soothe the beast with one hand. “We should be fine, my liege. As long as we keep moving.”
Matt nodded, though he felt a slow, creeping feeling of unease. He’d conceived of the raid to relieve pressure on Greymouth, as well as a way to show the people of the Kingdom that he would fight on their behalf, but there was a fair bit of danger involved. If the enemy cut his banner off from escape, or if the Riders managed to eat their way through their limited supplies….
He shook away those worries. There would be time enough to deal with that later.
Two days later, as the First Warg Riders struggled their way down the east side of Echo Pass, Matt wondered again if he had really made the right decision.
Snolt had been right that the pass had remained mostly clear, but that hadn’t meant the journey had been pleasant. The narrow, meandering passage had been half covered in snow and rocks, to the point where several Wargs had picked up a small collection of new injuries while they slipped and scrabbled over the terrain. Wind and a fresh flurry of snow had only worsened the conditions, chilling the entire army to the bone while they tried to keep to the pass and make their way through the mountains.
Camping in the cold had been a highly unpleasant experience, and Matt was truly beginning to feel worn by the time the pass began to angle downwards once more. He hadn’t been sleeping too well, either, despite how exhausted he felt every time they made camp. Too much more, and he wondered if he was going to need Snolt to tie him to Nelson’s saddle.
The Goblin captain called for a halt, and the column came to a halt. Snolt glanced over at him. “We should probably rest here for a while, sire. Too much further and we might get too close to the watchpost that the Knights of Griffon built here. They must not keep close watch on the pass either, but it would only take one scout to catch us here.”
Matt nodded numbly. He’d known about the watchpost, but hadn’t thought it was a problem either. “How many men do we think they have stationed there?”
“Not more than twenty, not less than five.” Snolt shrugged. “We could strike at it, but it wouldn’t take long for them to build another one. Either way, they won’t stop us once we are past them. They can send as many messengers as they like, then.”
A thought forced its way through the haze in Matt’s mind, and he paused while he tried to find the words to express it. It took a lot more effort and time than he liked. “We have our scouts still fresh, right?”
Snolt peered over at him. “As fresh as we could be, coming over that pass.”
Matt grunted. His backside was still feeling every jolt and slip from that trail. The scouts would hopefully be a little less weary than he was. “Give them a few minutes to rest and then get them back on the trail ahead of us. I want them to wait between the watchpost and the nearest garrison for the Knights. Then we are going to move our camp close enough to get the watchpost’s attention.”
The Goblin grinned. “At which point they’ll send out their rider, and the scouts will take care of them.”
“I want the messenger captured, if we can.” Matt wavered a little on Nelson’s saddle and then heaved himself off of the beast. The warbuck glanced at him with a careful eye and then gave a dismissive shake of the horns. “That way, they can tell us where they were being sent.”
“And where the nearest reinforcements might come from?” Snolt thought it over, stroking his chin. He nodded and became all business once more. “I’ll have them out just as soon as their Wargs are ready, sire. How long should the rest of us stay?”
“Give it twenty minutes.” A twinge of pain shot up his spine, and Matt winced. “Maybe twenty-five.”
“Aye, sire.” Snolt grinned a little, though he did try to hide it. Matt could easily see through that poor effort, though, and he was tempted to glare at the man. Fortunately, he suppressed it and pretended to be above such things. A ruler needed to show strength, even if his entire body seemed ready to crumble to dust at the moment. He took another step and this time the ache seemed to shoot from his right knee all the way to his left shoulder. One more day, he promised himself, one more day, and things would be worth it.
A few hours later, as the Goblins and their Wargs clustered around the campfires, Matt watched as a disgruntled Knight in light armor was led into the camp by a pair of Warg-riding scouts. The scouts handed off their prisoner to two of their fellows, hopping off their mounts to take a rest by the fires. Their prisoner, however, was marched straight over to him, leaving his impatient, greatelk steed stomping and prancing nervously among the Wargs.
Matt stood up from the fire as the prisoner drew near. “Ah, our guest. Welcome to our fires.” A grim chuckle ran through the nearby Goblins, some of whom waved casually to the Knight in their midst. The rider swallowed a little nervously and raised their chin in an obvious attempt at bravery.
“You won’t get away with this. No matter who you are, the Knights of the Griffon will hunt you down and destroy you.”
“Well, I expect that they will certainly try.” Matt kept his voice light, and gestured to the banner gathered around them. “I don’t know if they will be able to anytime soon, though. Not since the majority of them are probably up in the mountains at Greymouth.”
The Knight winced slightly, and Matt felt a moment of sympathy for the young man. It was clear he didn’t exactly expect to walk out of the camp alive, and Matt could see the reason for his suspicions. The history between the Kingdom and the Knights of Griffon was long, bloody, and filled with slaughter on both sides. That kind of history was not something people easily set aside.
Then again, he wasn’t interested in rehashing history. He needed to know where his enemies were, and what would be the best way to stop them. Anything else could wait.
His guest for the evening had clenched his teeth, now. Maybe he was trying to keep them from chattering. “There are more than enough of us left to see you dead, raider. What kind of Knight would turn on his people to help these filth?”
Matt laughed a little. “I’m not a Knight, though I can see the resemblance. My name is King Matthew. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
He watched the Knight suddenly grow stiff. His eyes widened and ran over the camp a second time. This time he had to have noticed the banner of the First Wargs, set in the middle of the camp near a helpfully concealing tree. When his attention returned to Matt, his face had grown pale. “You-you can’t-you shouldn’t—”
“Be here? I know.” Matt made a dismissive gesture. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have come at all, but it seems like your lords are intent on killing my people. There’s only one way to deal with that.”
The veiled threat made the Knight shake himself. His eyes grew firm again. “You won’t get away with this.”
“I suppose we’ll see. Bring him.” Matt turned and led the way back to his tent, where he’d set up a table with the best map he could find of the area. Captain Snolt was sitting next to it, chatting with some of the bannermen. “Now I know that your friends in the watchpost will probably send another rider, but they won’t realize they need to for the first few days. I’d guess we have at least a week before we have to worry about anyone coming after us.”
The Knight gave a contemptuous bark of laughter. “You fool. The garrison at Eagleton will be after you in half that time. They’ll track you down and gut you like a boar.”
Matt tilted his head slightly. “Interesting. I guess some of the animals are the same between our worlds.” He turned to Snolt. “Do we know where Eagleton is?”
Snolt nodded, putting his finger on the map. “Right here, sire. Not more than a day and a half from here, at a good pace.”
“Sounds about right, then.” Matt turned back to the messenger, who was now looking horrified. “Thank you for the information, good Knight. Do you have anything else that you wish to tell us?”
The Knight swelled slightly. “It won’t even matter if you escape the garrison. Your people will die when Lord Hethwellow breaches the walls of your fortress at Greymouth. By the time you manage to drag your corpses back across the mountains, your entire Kingdom will be awash in blood and fire.”
It was a bit harder to keep smiling in the face of that kind of threat, but Matt managed it. “I see. So the main force is probably already up in the mountains. Good.” He stepped over to the map, peering over it. “I was a bit worried that we had come too soon, but I’m glad to hear that he’s already up there, instead of wandering around down here.”
He heard the Knight hiss in anger and frustration, but ignored him. In truth, he’d already guessed at half the information he’d heard from the man anyway, but he needed to put on a decent show. Especially for the next part.
Matt spread his hands over the map, running over the territory to the east of Echo Pass. Eagleton was close enough for a quick raid, but there were at least four other villages he could hit before the garrison came out after him. It was a tempting offer, but he doubted that Hethwellow would be bothered much by a few burning peasant barns.
“Well, I’m sure the garrison won’t mind when we pay them a visit. After we destroy a few villages as a distraction, to lure some of them away, of course.” He looked up and nodded to the guards. “Escort our guest to where we will be holding him for the night. My thanks, sir Knight.”
The Knight was still spluttering as the guards led him away. Snolt stayed behind, watching as they went. He looked back at Matt with a grin. “You are still sure about this, sire?”
“Yes. Make sure that they ‘let’ him escape before the end of the night.” Matt stretched a bit, popping the joints in his spine. “He won’t have a mount, so it will take him a while to reach the watchpost. Once he does, they’ll send a new messenger or two to warn the garrison that we are planning to attack them at Eagleton. That will keep them where they are, instead of chasing us.”
Snolt frowned. “But wouldn’t it be nice to take that garrison by surprise? We could do to them what we did to the Frost Elves.”
“Unlikely.” Matt shook his head. “They are a garrison, so they are behind walls and fortifications. They’ve got sentries up to keep us from getting close, and the towns around them will send warning even if we could sneak most of the way there. By the time we charged, we’d be facing almost three banners of infantry on our own, along with at least two more of cavalry.”
The Goblin captain grimaced. “Not the best situation, to be sure.”
“It’s that much better that we convince them to stay holed up in their little fort, worrying about us ambushing them. That way, we can tend to our true objective.” Ignoring the northern villages, Matt traced a path along the map that led south. He cut across the roads leading to the eastern side of Greymouth. “Hethwellow’s supply trains have to be moving through these roads. If we can catch enough of them, his forces will be left without food or fresh water. They’ll starve.”
Snolt nodded. “Hard to lay siege to a fortress in that situation. You really think they will pull back?”
“If they don’t, we’ll just keep feeding off of their countryside until they do. Or until someone else tries to stop us.” Matt smiled grimly. “Make no mistake, we’re going to have to be fast and clever, but if we do this right, then the Noble Races will be eating their own saddles before winter even starts.” Which meant that the Kingdom would survive another season, unless the enemy found a way to have steady supply lines through a mountain pass in the winter. Possible, maybe, but he didn’t expect someone like Hethwellow to have planned that far ahead.
Time would tell, of course. The raid had only begun.